He wanted children.
Just the thought gave him an unexpectedly comfortable feeling. It was like another gear in his life clicking into place. Another piece of a puzzle which, when complete, would tell him who George Randolph was. He knew it was the right piece because it felt good.
He wanted to tell Rose. He wanted to share this moment of discovery with her, but there wasn’t time. If they were to have any future, with or without children, he had to concentrate on the McClendons.
“We have to have someplace to go, somewhere they won’t find us.”
“We could go into the brush,” Salty said.
“That won’t stop them for long. They’re more at home there than we are.”
“I know where we can hide,” Zac said. “In the cave.”
“What cave?” George asked.
“The cave in the creek. Under the pecan trees.” They stared at Zac. “It’s big enough for all of us. I go there all the time.”
“So that’s why I can never find you,” Rose said.
“Can we get there without being seen?” George asked.
“Sure. I do it all the time.”
“Then you and Rose take the food and ammunition there right now,” George said.
“I don’t want to go without you,” Rose objected.
“It’ll be best for Salty and me to stay. If they do attack while you’re at the creek, don’t fire on them. I don’t want them to know where we’ve gone.”
Rose realized that if they abandoned the house, the McClendons might destroy everything in it. She hated to think of losing the beautiful bedroom furniture, but there wasn’t anything else in the house that was really important to them.
Except the picture of Tom Bland.
She hurried into the boys’ bedroom. She opened the drawer and quickly retrieved the picture. She was about to turn away when she noticed the protruding corner of a second picture frame. Rose pushed aside the shirts covering it.
Surprise stilled her breath. It was a picture of George’s family taken in front of their Virginia home, probably just before they came to Texas. Zac was still a baby in his mother’s arms.
Her gaze was immediately drawn to the tallest boy standing behind his mother. A tender smile softened her features. George. He looked so young and so serious. Not as handsome as now, but it was easy to see in him the man he was to become.
Inexorably her gaze was drawn to the man standing at the right of the group. She was stunned. William Henry Randolph didn’t look a thing like she’d expected. He was the best-looking man she’d ever seen. The only one in the picture who was smiling; his charm transcended the limits of the tintype. It was almost impossible for her to believe that the father George feared and the twins despised could live inside that gorgeous man. There was no weakness, no dissipation, no viciousness written in his face. He looked like the answer to any woman’s prayer.
Her gaze shifted to Aurelia Randolph. She was a pale woman, fragile, shy, and tired. She was easily outshone by her husband—she had none of the energy, the vitality that practically jumped out of the picture—but she was still very beautiful. Rose felt a twinge of jealousy that any woman could look that lovely after bearing so many children.
It was easy to identify the rest. Tyler off to one side, a loner even then; the twins on either side of their mother. She assumed it was Hen who rested a protective hand on her shoulder. Jeff completely overshadowed between George and his father. And the smaller version of George must be Madison.
She rummaged through the drawer to see if there might be more pictures, but she found none. She wrapped both pictures very carefully. It was possible they would be the only mementos of George’s life before the war. He would need them to keep the memories fresh.
The attack came five minutes after Zac and Rose left the house. It wasn’t a frontal assault. They came from all sides, through the brush, from the corrals, across the yard.
“We can’t hold them very long like this,” Salty called from across the breezeway.
“Just keep firing as fast as you can,” George replied. “If we can break this first attack, we’ll have a chance.”
Ordinarily two men wouldn’t have been able to stand off so many, but the builders of the house had cleared the ground for at least fifty yards in all directions. George and Salty had a clear shot at each McClendon the moment he broke cover. Within fifteen minutes the attacking force had been reduced by a quarter.
The McClendons drew back.
“Now what?” Salty called from the kitchen.
“We wait,” George called back from the bedroom. “And we load as many rifles as possible before they come at us again.”