Free Taking Faith by Shelly Crane

I'm sure everything looked just peachy to him."
                  Roger nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Probably." He continued to stare at her, so she stared back. "Amy, thank you. You did what I couldn't last night. I…" He swallowed hard. "I don't know what to do about…this." She didn't know what he meant by 'this'.
                  He moved slowly and practically slow motion as his arms came around her. She knew he was being cautious so as not to scare her, but she still held her breath as he pulled her gently against his warm, hard chest. He exhaled and let his arms relax a bit when she didn't pull away. His cologne was a full on assault in her nose pressed to his shirt.
                  She knew he was just thanking her, but she had begun to feel strangely about him and though it felt nice, she didn't know if she was ready to welcome that or not. So she pulled back and gave him a small smile. "Sit down. I'll get you some breakfast."
                  He did as she said, yawning and rubbing his hair as he did so. She brought him a refill of coffee and a ham biscuit, and one for herself. She sat opposite him and tried to think of what to fill the awkward silence with.
                  "Are we working today? I let you sleep late, I didn't think about that. Sorry."
                  "No. No work today," he answered and rubbed his side. "I think we'll just stay here today and relax a bit." He took a bite and groaned as he chewed. "This is some kind of biscuit. Where did you learn to cook?"
                  "My mom, I guess." She swirled her coffee in her cup and watched it. "She was always raising me to be a good wife." She looked sadly at him. "I guess it worked out, huh?"
                  He laughed once without humor. "I'm sure this isn't what your momma had planned for you."
                  "And what about your momma?" Amy asked, remembering the gruff woman that she'd met. "What was she like when you were growing up?"
                  He shook his head, a line creasing his forehead in thought. "Momma was pretty much... She was always…prickly, like Dad is. He broke her long before I came along." Amy flinched at that. "Sorry," he said sincerely and put his head in his hands. "She's never smiled for as long as I can remember. She never laughed or did anything with me that wasn't on her chore list."
                  "That's terrible," Amy said, imagining such a life. "It must have been terrible to be stolen and then be pregnant. With that man…" She looked up at him to see her watching. "I know he's your father, but-"
                  "No, the truth's the truth." He leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. "No man in his right mind would say that my father was a kind or just man."
                  "So, why did you…" she stopped, changing her mind about her question.
                  "Why did I what?"
                  "Nothing." She started to get up, but he grabbed her hand easily.
                  "Tell me. Why did I what?"
                  She took a deep breath. Was she really about to get emotionally intimate with him? "Why did you turn out the way you did?"
                  He scoffed. "Like what? A mean bastard?"
                  "No," she whispered. "Not a mean bastard."
                  His face was tight, like he was once again struggling with something. "Do you have any idea how much I wish I hadn't hit Elena?"
                  She felt her mouth drop open. That was the last thing she ever expected him to say. "Why did you?" she asked, tough in her heart, she already knew the answer.
                  "Because, my mind, the mind that my father gave me and drilled with his rules, made me think that I had to hit a woman to do what was right, to teach her. I needed…to