A frown of confusion tugged on his brows when their gazes met. Tears trickled from the edges of her eyes, slowly dripped down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” She crushed her face into his chest. “I've been so selfish."
The anguish in her voice hung in the air. His fingers moved through her hair, tugging gently on the back of her head so he could see her face. “Selfish?"
She nodded, eyes deep with sorrow. “All I've done is think about myself. It seems that's all I ever think about.” Her hands slipped from his waist, and she took a step back. “I can understand why you'd hate me. I've behaved horribly, and I'm so ashamed."
"Honey—” he started.
"Just please give me a second chance. Please forgive me.” She pushed against his chest and took another step back. “I don't think it's all my fault, it's how I've been taught to behave. I know that's just an excuse, but since I was born, people have said only children are selfish, and Professor Rutledge said millennials are the most selfish generation.” Her head twisted, forcing his hands to let loose their hold. “After living here, I've realized how wrong that is. Everyone here cares about each other so much."
Skeeter's tired mind tried to follow, but when she started talking about millennials he always felt a little confused.
She brushed the tears from her cheeks and paused near the foot of the bed. “I promise I can change. I'll do anything if you'll just forgive me.” Her chest heaved as if she was holding in deep sobs.
One step is all it took to pull her back into his embrace. He kissed her sweet smelling curls, ran his hands over the smooth contours of her back. “Lila, I'd forgive you if you stole the sun out of the sky. But, honey, there's nothing, absolutely nothing you need to ask forgiveness for."
Her body shuddered with a gulp. “Yes there is. All I've done since I arrived is thought about what I needed, what I wanted.” She glanced up at him. “Professor Rut—"
He pressed a finger against her lips. “Doesn't know everything. Just because someone tells you how you are suppose to think or behave doesn't make it true. And it certainly doesn't make you the person you are.” He gathered her in his arms, settled them both onto the edge of the bed. “It doesn't matter when a person was born, not the month, not the year, and not the generation."
Her mouth opened.
He shook his head, pressed a hand to her chest. “It's what's in here that makes a person who they are.” An encouraging smile formed on his lips, and he touched her temple. “And what's in here. You are a smart, beautiful, wonderful lady. One who has a heart of gold. No matter what some old professor told you, you're not selfish. No one around here believes that, and most certainly not me.” Framing her face he said, “I love you, Lila. I love you just the way you are. I don't want you to change one little thing about you."
She shook her head. “I'm not smart either. Everyone else knew what to do to help Bug. I didn't. I just stood there like a lump on a log. And I'm the one who went to college."
He chuckled. “Honey, a university isn't the only place to gain knowledge. Everyone knew what to do because they've done it before. Learned what to do by experience."
Her gaze searched his face, as if she studied to see if he told the truth.
He ran a thumb over her cheek, wiping away a single tear. “I've missed you so much these past few days."
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath before re-opening them. “I've missed you too, and I love you. I love you more than I ever thought imaginable."
A quiver of joy encompassed his body from the inside out. The kiss he initiated was long and loving and ended only because a faint knock sounded on their open doorway. Skeeter twisted, looked toward the opening. The oppressive silence of the house reminded him of other worries raking his mind.
Willamina, one hand braced on the doorframe, leaned into the room. “Come downstairs so I only have to repeat Bug's condition once."
He nodded, assisted Lila to her feet, and together they moved toward the door. She wrapped an arm around his waist, and he tightened his hold around her shoulder as they stepped into the hallway. The door to Bug's room was still closed. Willamina, her aged, hunched frame seeming more slouched, was further down the hall, knocking on other closed doors, but Ma was no where in sight. A sour taste filled his mouth, his stomach churning at the thought of his little brother dying.
Dull throbs began to beat against his temples, and his back teeth clenched together. This gut wrenching pain and the anger sizzling his body was as new to him as the soft, exciting sensations loving Lila gave him. When they stepped off the last stair, he took her tightly in his arms one more time, tasted the sweetness of her lips. How could a man love and hate the world at the same time?
Lila opened her lips, deepening the fierce kiss Skeeter initiated at the bottom of the stairs. She could feel his pain and his love, and wrapped her arms around his neck, held his head in place. Fate was cruel, the way it played give and take with a person's life. She had so much thinking to do, so much to figure out, but the one thing she didn't question was him. He was her anchor, and if the tether holding them together ever broke, she'd die on the spot.
The opening and closing of doors, or some such scuttle noise made her ease her hold and let him break the contact. His eyes glistened, not with mischief or joy, but with tell-all sadness. She shut her eyes at the sight. The soft brush of his lips touched her forehead before he turned them toward the kitchen area.
In no time, the entire family had gathered in the room. Willamina sat at the head of the table, Eva, Snake, and Hog sat in three of the chairs and Kid, with Jessie cradled on his lap sat in another. One open chair waited for her and Skeeter. He sat, pulled her onto his lap as Joe, and several other ranch hands as well as a couple of diggers lined up along the wall.
Lila settled upon Skeeter's solid thighs, leaned against his chest. Jessie, her blue eyes rimmed red, reached over to clasp her hand. She returned the hold, wrapping her fingers around Jessie's, as all eyes went to Willamina.
"Well, it ain't good,” the woman started, patting the solid table top. “Someone dang near split his head open, and he's lost a lot of blood.” She tugged on one floppy earlobe and continued, “Stephanie got the gash sewed up, and we set an herb poultice on the worst of it."
"Did he wake up?” Kid asked.
She met his gaze with a serious frown. “Nope, and we can't say if'n he will."
Lila blinked at the tears stinging the backs of her eyes. Bug was so young, and though she hadn't gotten to know him as well as Snake and Hog, he'd been extremely kind to her. He looked a lot like Kid with dark brown hair and eyes. The other boys resembled Skeeter with lighter hair and hazel-green eyes. But like Skeeter, Bug was always smiling and jumping to do something or another for someone.
"What can we do?” Skeeter asked. His hold on her hip tightened.
Willamina shrugged her stooped shoulders. “Wait. Hope. Pray."
Eva gasped and smothered a sob with her hand. Snake reached over and ran a hand over the girl's shoulder. He looked at Skeeter. “Who did this?” His eyes became little more than slits.
"I can't say for sure, but...” he paused, looked around the room. “There's a man from the dig site I want to question. Buffalo Killer and his braves are searching for him."
"Johansson?” One of the diggers asked.
Skeeter nodded.
An eerie feeling tickled her neck, she twisted against it, and her gaze landed on the painting above the fireplace on the far end of the great room. Instantly, she recalled what Willamina had said. Pete was out there. Could he have done this to Bug? He was certainly capable of something this dreadful.
"There's always been something fishy about that feller,” the digger said.
"Like what?” Skeeter asked.
The man shrugged. “Can't really say for sure. It's just a feeling."
Lila turned, ready to tell Skeeter about Pete when Hog stood up, his chair scraping the floor as he slapped the table. “Well, then let's go find the bastard!"
The room erupted with commotion as the ranch hands and diggers started talking amongst themselves, nodding and gesturing.
"I'm in,” one of the ranch hands said, stepping toward the table.
"Me too,” added a digger.
"Hold up,” Kid said with authority. “We don't even know where to start looking. We're better off waiting to hear from Buffalo Killer.” He glanced toward Skeeter. “Don't you think?"
"Yeah, he's sending out a scouting party tonight. He'll give us a report in the morning.” Skeeter rubbed at his temple with his free hand and glanced toward Willamina. “Maybe by then Bug will wake up, give us more to go on."
"I hope so.” Her narrow eyes remained solemn as she added, “But can't promise nothing."
Lila bit her lips. She couldn't tell him about Pete. He had enough on his mind already. And she really didn't want all of the brothers, ranch hands, and diggers to know it was her fault Bug was upstairs—dying.
She lowered her head. Here she was only thinking about herself again. Could she change? Skeeter's hand touched her cheek, tucked her head beneath his chin. She twisted, hid her face in the cotton of his shirt. It didn't matter really. Bug's condition wouldn't change whether Skeeter knew Pete was here or not. Her self-rationalization kicked back. But it might be easier if he knew Buffalo Killer's men should be looking for Pete and not some digger.
"Ah, hell,” Hog's voice echoed the quiet room. “If I can't go chasing the bastard, I might as well cook something. You fellas must be hungry."
"No, not really.” Skeeter's voice made his chest rumble beneath her ear.
"Well, you'll eat anyway,” Hog answered, sounding remarkably like Ma Quinter.
Skeeter leaned back in the chair, she lifted her face. His eyes were closed. She moved to slip off his lap. His hold tightened and his lids lifted. “Where are you going?"
"I'll help Hog."
"You don't need to."
She rested her hands on his shoulders, leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Yes, I do.” It would give her hands something to do while she thought—came up with a way to tell him Pete had somehow made it through the tunnel and was responsible for Bug's condition.
He twisted, caught her lips for a quick peck before she stood. His half-cocked smile was meant just for her, and tugged at her heart. The tired, stained looking lines around his eyes pulled harder. What she wouldn't give to see him as happy as he had been that first day in the cave, when he talked about Buffalo Killer and his peyote buttons. A smile tried to twist her lips into a comforting reply, and she hoped it showed how much she cared for him. She gave his cheek a quick caress before moving to the counter where Hog had started piling an assortment of cooking utensils.
"The rest of you grab some chairs off the porch and make yourselves comfortable. I'll make enough for the lot of you,” Hog said.
Ranch hands and diggers alike took no time in following his orders. Jessie and Eva were soon delivering cups of coffee while she rolled up her sleeves to make a pan of sticky buns. Hog had plunked the recipe in front of her and nodded his head as if he didn't need to say anything else. He didn't, she'd made a batch the day before, and they'd turned out quite well. Coarse, brown sugar and thick, fresh butter made the bits of bread dough tastier than any she'd ever eaten from the Cinnabon kiosk at the mall.
The thought of doing something constructive, showing Skeeter she wasn't helpless, filled her with determination and confidence. Measuring ingredients into a bowl, she puckered her lips and concentrated on her task.
It was several hours before the men cleared out of the kitchen, and Skeeter settled a hand on her hip to tug her toward the staircase. He'd excused himself earlier to use the big outside tub Snake had built, and his freshly shaven cheek rubbed hers. The contact sent a warm rush of pleasure all the way to her toes.
She hung the dishtowel over the edge of the sink and wrapped both arms around his waist as they walked across the polished wood floor. They paused here and there for him to snub out the lanterns. A faint scent of coal oil spiraled into the air along with fine wisps of black smoke. The scent wasn't unpleasant, but then again, her nose was busy reveling in the smell of the spicy soap her husband had recently used. Her body, tingling from head to toe, couldn't wait to enter their bedroom on the second floor. Walking around the stairs for him to extinguish the lamps in what she called the living room, her gaze went to the painting above the fireplace.
With his free hand, he rubbed the arm she had wrapped around his midsection. “Eva painted that,” he said.
It was a statement, not a question. She nodded. “Isn't it gorgeous?"
He kissed her temple. “Yes. Yes, it is."
"I asked her to make another one, but smaller. Eight by ten or so.” She flinched at the memory. Again, she'd been thinking of herself, hadn't considered the amount of work it would be for Eva. But, knowing the big one wouldn't fit through the tunnel, she'd asked for a smaller one she could take to the future.
Skeeter twisted. His hands flowed over her upper arms, gently caressing. She tried not to meet his gaze, but he made it impossible by lifting her chin. A quizzical expression covered his face. “What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I—uh...” She couldn't think of an excuse.
One of his hands roamed down, his fingers threaded with hers. “Come on, my little wife. It's time for you to get some sleep."
She started to protest sleepiness, but knowing her words would be selfish, held them and followed as he blew out the last two lamps. “You must be exhausted,” she said instead, focusing her thoughts on him.
He tugged her closer as they walked up the steps. “Yes, I'm tired. But I can't wait to crawl into that big bed of ours and hold you next to me. I just can't seem to sleep without you by my side."
"Really?"
A low chuckle left his chest as they topped the staircase. “Yes, really."
She almost said, ‘me too,’ but that too, would have been self-centered. Her mind mulled, wondering if something that made them both feel good was selfish on her part or not. A conclusion hadn't formed by the time they entered their room.