He was angry with Sara for being perceptive and voicing her opinion. And what she’d said was valid, whether he wished to acknowledge it or not. If he’d had the courage to walk away from Alaina, she would be alive now. And yet, Alaina would have been the first to remind him that such a life would not be worth living.
He had fought both sides until finally realizing that Alaina had been right. Life would not have been worth living without each other. Life would be empty, meaningless, a grueling repetition of nothingness without each other.
So they took a chance and seized life with a firm grasp, and now, looking back, he would not have given up a moment of the brief time he’d shared with her. He had known true happiness, and would cherish the memories of their time together and their love, which had produced their son.
Alexander was all that mattered now, nothing else. His life would be for his son, and he would see that Alexander grew into a fine young man Alaina would have been proud of.
“It feels like a snowstorm might be brewing,” Sara called out.
Cullen gave a glance to the gray sky, noticed the decidedly sharper nip to the air and had to agree. Winter might just dump one last snowstorm on them before spring buds bloomed.
“Any shelter along the way, if need be?” he asked without turning around.
“If the weather holds until early afternoon, we’ll reach an abandoned farmhouse. Might be worth settling there for the day.”
He agreed with a nod. It wasn’t wise to be caught in a snowstorm, especially an early spring one. They hit fast and furious, dumping enough snow to trap travelers and freeze them to death and leaving just as fast. He had a good reason to keep himself alive—his son.
Not that only a few months ago he would not have preferred death. When he saw Alaina lying on the ground, blood gushing from her stomach, he wanted to scream. It hadn’t been fair. They were so close to freedom, and when he held her in his arms and realized how near to death she was, he wanted nothing more than to perish with her.
Alaina had changed all that when she struggled to tell him of their son.
We have a son—Alexander.
He would never forget her words. Fighting through pain and her last breaths, she had spoken the words clearly. She fought to let him know that he had to live. She knew him well. She knew he would want to die along with her, and also knew he couldn’t. He had to find their son. The child conceived from their love.
“Snow!”
Sara’s shout startled him, though the heavy snow startled him even more. He’d been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed it had started snowing and was now accumulating on the ground. It was falling hard and fast, and they had hours yet to go before they reached the farmhouse.
“We should pick up the pace!” Sara shouted to him.
He turned around to see that she had fashioned her shawl around her head, face, and neck to protect her from the storm. She was quick to respond to a problem, asking no help, yet offering sound advice.
He nodded and didn’t bother to ask if she was all right. She obviously was, having kept up the arduous pace and now suggesting that they set an even more exhausting one.
The storm intensified, and the two riders and their horses were worn out by the time they reached the farmhouse. What remained of a partial stable was enough to house the horses against the storm.
Before Cullen could order Sara to take shelter in the farmhouse while he saw to the animals, she was already seeing to the care of her mare. Once both horses were secure from the elements, Cullen took hold of Sara’s arm and, huddling together, they made their way to the farmhouse.
The wind whipped the heavy snow around them, stinging their faces and near blinding their path. With a gentle hand, Cullen eased Sara’s face into the crook of his neck to protect her.
Once at the farmhouse, he gave the door a hard shove with his shoulder, and with an arm around Sara’s waist, rushed her inside and fought the driving wind to latch the door shut.
They both immediately took stock of the room. Small but sturdy, it looked to have withstood its abandonment with little decay. A broken table missing a leg lay on its side, while a lone wooden chair remained unscathed. A narrow, lumpy bed, but its stuffing still intact, hugged the wall to the right of the cold fireplace, which was cluttered with debris.
“Break up the table for firewood,” Sara directed, rubbing her hands. “We need to get warm.” She reached for a barely usable broom tucked in a corner and began clearing the rubbish out of the hearth.
Cullen shook his head as he shed his fur cloak and hung it on a peg near the door. That she was one to take charge and capable of looking after herself was obvious, and yet when he’d offered her shelter in the crook of his neck against the wind, she hadn’t objected, but had huddled against him without protest. Her warm breaths had kept the cold off his neck, and for a brief second he thought he felt her moist lips skim his flesh. Just the thought of that now, to his surprise, sent a shot of searing heat through his body.