Free Lorraine Heath by Texas Destiny

loneliness so deep that it hurts the heart.”
    “Only if you let it, Mr. Leigh.”
    Houston didn’t know if he’d ever heard words spoken with so much determination or if he’d ever seen anyone look as serene as Amelia did. The breeze blew wisps of her hair over her face, and her lips curved into a smile.
    “I think it’s beautiful,” she said quietly.
    “You have no idea what you’re heading toward.”
    “No, I don’t. But I know what I’ve come from. And I have no desire to return to it.” Turning her head slightly, she glanced down at him and gave him a rueful smile. “You were right this morning when you said I didn’t want to view the world as you do. You see only the emptiness. I see a place that’s waiting to be filled with dreams.”

Chapter Six
    “D allas? Dallas, I’m scared.”
“Don’t be.”
    But Houston was afraid. The clouds passing across the midnight sky reminded him of ghosts, and he imagined that he could hear their tortured cries in the rushing waters of nearby Chickamauga Creek. He drew the blanket up to his chin, but it didn’t stop his shivering.
    “Dallas, I’m scared about tomorrow.” His harsh whisper echoed around him, more frightening because his pa had told him that Chickamauga meant “river of death” in Cherokee.
    Lying on the pallet beside him, Dallas rolled over and mumbled, “I ain’t gonna hold you, but you can scoot a little closer to me if you want. Just don’t let anybody see you doin’ it.”
    Houston inched over until he could feel the warmth of Dallas’s body, but not the solidness of his touch. He didn’t want his father to find him sleeping right beside his brother.
    “What if I die?” Houston whispered.
    “You won’t. Just stay by my side. I won’t let nothin’ happen to you.”
    “Swear?”
    “Give you my word.”

    Amelia awoke to an anguished wail that ripped through her dream into her heart. With trembling fingers, she turned up the flame in the lantern.
    Her blood pounded at her temples; her breath came in short gasps. She took a deep breath to steady herself. In her dream, she and a man she wanted to believe was Dallas—but who had looked remarkably like Houston—had been walking through a field of clover. His arm had been around her, and she had felt safer than she had felt in years. She didn’t think the cry had come from her.
    She slipped off the cot and eased into her night wrapper, drawing it tightly around her as though it had the power to ward off her fears.
    She tiptoed across the tent, guided her fingers through the tent flap, and peered through the small opening her narrow fingers created. She could see Houston hunkered down before the fire, wearing his duster, his hat drawn low over his brow as though he had plans to ride out.
    She widened the opening in the tent. “I thought I heard a cry,” she said, her voice quivering.
    He visibly stiffened. “It was just an animal. Go back to sleep.”
    His rough voice didn’t ease her doubts. He reached for the pot of coffee. As he poured the coffee, he trembled with such intensity that the brew sloshed over the sides of his tin cup.
    Amelia pulled her wrapper closer, gathering her courage within its folds. Leaving the tent, she padded across the campsite and knelt beside Houston.
    “I said to go back to bed,” he said gruffly.
    “Do you think we’re in danger?”
    “No.”
    He gripped the handle of the pot so tightly that his bones were visible against his skin. Reaching out, Amelia covered his hand, her palm cradling his knuckles. He jerked at her touch, but he didn’t attempt to pull away.
    She rubbed her hand over his, surprised to find his so cold. Slowly he relaxed, his fingers loosening their grip on the handle. She eased the pot away from him and set it near the fire.
    He wrapped his hand around the tin cup. She was amazed that the cup didn’t dent with the strength of his grip.
    “When I was a child,” she said quietly, “I used to have nightmares, and I would