Rose(119)
He held Rose a little closer. “I don’t know why it took me so long to realize I loved you. It gives me cold chills every time I realize how close I came to losing you. For such a wonderful person, I’m remarkably dense.”
Rose twisted around until she could kiss him on the nose. “Well, you finally figured it out. That’s all that counts.”
George dropped his head until his lips caressed the top of Rose’s breast.
“You sure you’re happy?”
“Deliriously,” Rose answered, twisting around so he could reach her more easily. “You?”
“Completely.”
The two of them surrendered to the desire which was washing over them like storm-tossed waves. Soon they were conscious only of each other.
Chapter Nineteen
In the days that followed, Hen didn’t smile again. He insisted they bury Alex Pendleton next to their mother. He said Alex had never had a mother he could remember. Now he would, and Mrs. Randolph would have someone to look after.
Hen refused to say anything about what he had done that night beyond that he’d brought in a milk cow he’d found “wandering lost on our land.”
Less than a week later they found out.
The brothers rode home from the range to find an army lieutenant and a detachment of six men camped in the yard. Old man McClendon and two of his clan were there as well.
“Let me do the talking,” George warned his brothers.
“Why?” Monty demanded.
“Because I never know what you’re going to say.”
“You’re not the only one with any brains around here. I can—”
“Keep your mouth shut,” Hen growled. The unexpected sharpness of his twin’s order stunned Monty into silence. At least for the moment.
“Are you George Randolph?” the lieutenant asked.
“Yes,” George answered as he dismounted. His gaze cut to where Rose had emerged from the house, Zac at her side. The boy broke for George.
“They say you killed somebody,” Zac said, clinging to George for assurance. “I told them you didn’t, but they wouldn’t believe me. They wouldn’t believe Rose, neither.”
George knelt down to give Zac a reassuring hug. “Either,” he corrected, taking the boy’s hand in his as he stood up and turned to the officer. “What’s this about somebody being killed?”
“I’m Lieutenant Crabb,” the young man said. “Mr. McClen-don here says one of you killed two of his kin. The others swear to it.”
“What do you mean by one of you?” George asked.
“You, or one of your brothers, or one of the men who works for you,” the old man shouted.
“You might as well include the rest of the county,” George answered quietly. “I have six brothers counting this little rascal here. At the moment, I’ve got fifteen men working for me.”
“He’s come to arrest you for murder,” one of the younger McClendons shouted.
“You can’t arrest me because somebody killed one of your kin,” George said.
“Texas is under Reconstruction,” the lieutenant said. “Certain laws have been suspended.”
“Which ones?” George asked, his gaze pinning the lieutenant down. “The ones which protect honest citizens from murderous attacks in the middle of the night? The ones which protect women and children from being murdered in their beds? Or just the ones which are supposed to protect honest citizens from charges leveled by men in the Reconstruction office?”
“What are you talking about?” the lieutenant asked.
“I’m saying that this old man and his clan stampeded through the middle of our camp six nights ago and murdered one of my hands. And I’m not saying someone did it. I’m accusing him,” George said, pointing straight at old man McClendon. “And every man here will swear to it, won’t you, boys?”
They nodded their assent.
The lieutenant turned to McClendon, but the old man’s eyes gave nothing away.
“And I’ll swear he attacked this house right after that,” Rose said, stepping forward. “I wounded him in the left shoulder. Make him take off his shirt if you don’t believe me.”
“He says he got that wound when your men attacked his family. He says your men wounded more than half a dozen of them.”
“You can see the bullets embedded in the logs,” Rose said, pointing to the easily seen scars on the house. “You can tell from the color of the splinters they’re fresh.”
The lieutenant looked undecided.
“I can show you our camp if you like,” George volunteered. “We’ve cleaned it up, but you can still tell what happened. I can also show you young Alex’s grave. It’s under that large oak.” He pointed.