"Last I saw him, he was on the back porch," Helen said. Robert guided Meg around the corner of the

house. Prudence was stomping the earth while Dr. Martin stared at her in bewilderment.

"Why would I want something he made?" she cried. She pressed her finger against Dr. Martin's chest "I just wanted to die of embarrassment when I saw you talking to that coward."

"I talked to a lot of men today, Pru. I don't recall talking to any coward."

"That Clayton Holland. You went right over to his wagon-"

"If you see a coward when you look at that young man, then you stop by my office tomorrow, and I'll fit

you with a new pair of spectacles. I wouldn't weather the hatred of the people in this town even if they

promised to make me a rich man, and they're giving him a hell of a lot less than that."

She pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose and thrust up her chin. "You needn't bother to call on me any longer. I won't be answering your knock."

She strutted away like an enraged hen. Dr. Martin picked up a mangled twig. "I guess there's no point in asking her to marry me now."

"Give her a couple of days," Meg said. "Everyone seems to have short tempers today."

"It sure ain't like the old days. When we gathered, we had a good lime and were glad to see one another." He smiled lightheartedly and slipped the twig into his coat pocket "Were you looking for me?"

"Yeah, Doc. I slammed a hammer against Meg's hand," Robert said.

"Now, why did you do that?" Dr. Martin asked as she gently took Meg's hand and examined it.

"I was stupid enough to think I could help build the barn if I had someone hold the nails for me."

"That doesn't sound so stupid to me, but I'll confess I can think of things I'd rather do with a pretty girl

than build a bam." He winked at Meg. "You're gonna have a little bit of bruising, but it shouldn't stop you from dancing tonight."

As twilight neared, Clay heard the hammers fall, one by one, into silence. He didn't need to look to know that he was being left to put the final boards into place. He'd had the unrealistic hope that maybe he'd finish first He'd certainly had the incentive. Finish up his side and be gone, but he wouldn't leave before he finished what he'd started. Even if it took him past midnight.

He set the board against the frame. As he had most of the afternoon, he turned slightly, pressed his backside against the board, reached down, and tapped the first nail into position. Straightening, he moved the board a fraction of an inch, making certain it was level with the other boards. Out of the

corner of his eye, he saw Lucian striding toward him.

"At the pace you're working, you'll be here till midnight," Lucian said just before he slammed his hammer against the nail Clay had used to set the board into place.

Both men heard the wood split and watched as a liny fissure raced up the center of the board. Raising a

brow. Clay looked at his brother. "I'll be here till dawn if you help me."

Lucian wrapped his hand around the head of his hammer. "They made bets on whether or not you'd stay

the whole day."

"How much did you lose?"

Lucian dropped his gaze. "Why didn't you leave?"

"I suppose that's what a brave man would have done."

Lucian snapped his head back. Clay captured his gaze and said, "But a coward might have stayed,

hoping if he built one wall, he might knock another one down."

"Lucian?" a soft feminine voice asked.

Lucian spun around. Clay'd never seen a hat come off a head so fast in his life.

"You shouldn't be over here, Taffy," Lucian said quietly.

Smiling softly, she extended a dipper of water. "I thought you might be thirsty."

Lucian grinned. "How could I be thirsty when you been bringing me water all day?"

She shrugged slightly, her cheeks pinkening. "You just looked thirsty."

"Then I reckon I am."

Lucian took the dipper and drank the water, his eyes never leaving Taffy. He handed the empty dipper

back to her. "I appreciate the thought."

In the distance, the tuning of a fiddle sounded. "You gonna stay for the dance?" Taffy asked.

"I haven't decided yet."

"I was hoping you might. I thought maybe you'd ask me to dance."

Lucian sighed deeply. "I talked to your pa." He shifted his hat to the hand holding the hammer and

touched his thumb to her check. "Taffy, honey, he doesn't want me calling on you."

She studied the ground, then nudged Lucian's foot with her toe before meeting his gaze. "I don't see that

it's his decision to make. I'm almost seventeen, nearly fully growed, and he doesn't know what I look for in a man."

Lucian chuckled. "Girl, you're gonna get me a good sound beatin'."

"I'm worth it," she promised before she walked away.

"Just between you and me," Clay said, "if I had to choose between a pretty girl wanting a dance and

pounding nails into boards, I'd pick the pretty girl."

An appreciative smile eased onto Lucian's face. "She is pretty, ain't she?" He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back before Clay could remind him the wall wasn't finished. He fell through the frame and hit the ground.

Clay threw his head back and laughed until his sides ached.

Standing within the twilight shadows, Meg heard the deep laughter rumble, the first sound of pure

unexpected pleasure she'd heard all day.

She watched Clay extend his hand and pull Lucian to his feet. Lucian walked away, and Clay pounded the nails into the one wall of the barn that was not yet completed.

She heard the bittersweet strains of the fiddle wrap around the echoes of the solitary hammer.

Why had he stayed?

Why had he stayed to suffer the wrath and scorn of people who would prefer to lie among snakes than

speak with him?

And why did she feel so guilty for not acknowledging his presence? They had a pact, a gentlemen's agreement, which he'd honored today.

Why did she wish he hadn't?

He didn't silence his hammer until night fell. In the dark she watched his silhouette walk to the wagon

where the twins had gone at dusk.

He'd spent his entire day giving his neighbor the wall of a barn, and no one had thanked him. He'd spent

a stormy night carving a child's marker for which no one would ever thank him. In the name of honor, he had sacrificed his dream of going to Europe.

She wondered how many other things he may have done in his life for which he had received no praise or