Free Ashes and Memories by Deborah Cox Page A

had no quarrel with, all to preserve a way of life he was never privileged to enjoy.”
    “You are correct,” he said, his quiet, steely voice shivering down her spine. “I know nothing about your father or your life. But neither do you know anything about me or my life, and I will thank you to remember that.”
     “Oh, I can guess,” Emma countered, driven by memories of how the war had destroyed her father, heedlessly ignoring the dark fury that shone in his eyes and the ominous tightening of his jaw beneath his beard. “Let’s see, you lived on a plantation that belonged to your father and his father and his father before him. You had servants to do your bidding day and night. You attended a university and you never had to work a day in your life. And when it came time to go to war, your family arranged an officer’s commission for you so you wouldn’t have to get your hands dirty.”
    Slowly Reece came to his feet, his gaze never leaving hers. Emma recoiled from the fierce glint in his eyes as he moved toward her like a lion stalking its prey.
    “I have had to fight for everything I have,” he said, his voice softly trembling with the effort at control.
    Emma heard the breath escape her lips, felt the heat of his private hell reach out to her through his desolate eyes and wondered at its cause. What could have produced such a barren, soulless chasm in a man?
    “My father,” he continued with a hint of bitterness, “came out of the mountains of South Carolina one day and tore fifty square miles of raw land from the wilderness and turned it into a thriving plantation. He taught me all he knew about how to take what you want and how to hold onto it. He never took anything he had for granted.”
    Emma’s heart quivered as the urge to flee, to run as far and as fast as she could, pulsed through her. But how could she run when she couldn’t even move?
     “He died at Shiloh. You are right about one thing,” he told her. “I fought in the war like your father. I was a major in the 43rd Battalion, Virginia Cavalry under John Mosby. We were partisan rangers operating behind enemy lines, so don’t try to tell me about war, Miss Parker.”
    She backed away from him, from the barely controlled rage in his expression and the rigid tension that vibrated through his body.
    “I know what it’s like to sit in a dark encampment, unable to risk a fire because the enemy is so close you can hear the rattle of their dishes at dinner,” he went on. “I know what it’s like to wade through mud and muck and blood. And I know what it’s like to watch friends and comrades torn to pieces before my very eyes by cannon and rifle and bayonet. And I know what it’s like to be stripped of everything so that all you have left is your dignity and your --"
    The crack of gunfire rent the tension in the air. Emma nearly screamed, rendered immobile by the fear that pulsed through her.
    Another volley of gunfire came from downstairs. Instinctively, she searched the room for a place to hide, her gaze coming to rest on Reece. The desolate, tormented darkness was gone from his eyes, replaced by a cold, determined fury. The fire of battle lit his face as he grabbed his revolver.
    Her journalist’s curiosity surfaced, and Emma took a step to follow him as he rushed past her. She’d seen him handle two dangerous situations already. There was no reason to believe he couldn’t handle this one as well.
     But before she could take another step, he turned to face her, the cold menace in his expression stealing her breath.
    “Stay here!" he commanded sharply.
    “But I want to --"
    “I said stay here.”
    She nearly protested, but the violence in his eyes stopped her. In that instant she understood the source of his power. She only had to look into those eyes to know that given the situation, the man before her was capable of anything. Without another word, he cocked his pistol and rushed from the room.
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER