Shades of Honor (13 page)

Boyd sat on top of the filthy rock and hung his head. “Why the hell didn't we just hitch up a horse?”

Radford squeezed Boyd’s shoulder. “You're missing the point. We didn’t need a horse because we had each other.” With their combined strength, the four of them had been able to move the boulder, but more importantly, his brothers couldn't have done it without Radford’s help. In those few moments they had needed him.

Boyd slapped his hands to his thighs and stood. “It’s too late to do any work tonight. Let’s go to the Pemberton. Kyle’s buying.”

“Like hell,” Kyle said. “Duke and I bought last time. You can put your money on the bar for a change.”

Boyd caught Radford around the neck and pulled him along behind Kyle. “I think it’s your turn, Radford.”

Two loud snorts came from Duke and Kyle, making Radford laugh. Their youngest brother was a clever rascal with a manipulative side, but Radford couldn’t have loved Boyd more than he did in that moment. Boyd’s ability to charm anyone who crossed his path was a talent. His ability to make Radford laugh was a welcome gift.

Patrick Lyons thumped four foaming mugs on the bar in front of Radford and his brothers. Boyd caught his wrist. “Let’s go
a round
, Pat. I win, you buy this round.”

Pat grinned and planted his elbow on the bar, but Duke yanked Boyd back by the collar. He dragged him to the empty stools at the far end of the bar. “I came to drink tonight, not break up a brawl because you idiots overturned some unsuspecting patron.”

 
Kyle smirked at Radford. “This ought to be good for a free round. Maybe you should try Patrick next. You stomped his ass a few years ago.”

 
“No, thanks,” Radford said. “I’ve been in enough battles without adding arm-wrestling.”

“The war was a long time ago.”

Radford rotated the bottom of his mug on the oak top of the bar, watching the golden liquid swirl up the sides. He gestured down the bar where Boyd was giving his victory whoop. “Every time I look at Boyd, I see Dad. He loved tipping with William and cutting up like Boyd is doing.”

“All Boyd does is raise hell. One minute he’s got me splitting my sides over some dumb stunt he’s pulled, and in the next second I want to pound him for being such a pain in the ass.” Kyle shook his head and laughed. “Actually, he’s just like Dad in that way.”

 
“Yeah. Kind of tough to see it so clearly tonight without getting dragged down.” Radford turned to Kyle with a melancholy smile. “Guess I'd just like to enjoy a beer without a head full of restless memories.”

Kyle nodded as though he understood, but silence stretched between them for several uncomfortable minutes before he spoke. “Is it because you can’t stand the memories? Is that why you left after Dad’s funeral?”

Radford snorted. “Hell, I left for so many reasons I'm not sure I could list them all.”

“I've always wondered if it was because of me.”

Radford's eyebrows went up. “You?”

Kyle nodded. “Seems like I was always giving you grief. You know how I taunted you for joining a war I thought was senseless? Well, I guess I was just jealous that you were fighting for an honorable cause, earning respect, and making Dad so proud all he could talk about was you. I was pissed that he wouldn’t let me go with you.”

Surprise rushed through Radford. “Why? You should be counting your blessings that you didn’t. I sure as hell wouldn't want to do it again.”

“You were excited enough when you left for Syracuse to volunteer with William. What happened? I've always wanted to ask, but you close up when the war is mentioned.”

Radford took a long drink from his mug then placed it on the counter. “You ever killed a man?” he asked quietly.

Kyle’s brows shot up. “No.”

“Well, it's the worst feeling you could ever experience. It doesn't sound bad saying the word, but it's sickening to hear a man scream and watch your bayonet sink into his chest while he stares at you in disbelief. It was the eyes that haunted me most. The way they’d drain of life and glaze over right there in front of me is something I’ll never forget.” He paused, then looked at Kyle. “I did that to men.”

“Jesus, Radford.”

“I puked the first time I did it.”

Kyle caught Radford’s wrist and squeezed it. “I shouldn't have asked. I’m sorry.”

But Radford barely heard him. He was seeing the bloody faces of his friends, hearing the shots and screams, smelling the acrid smoke. And he was running through the trees...

“Radford?”

He jerked, his mind crashing back to the present as he ducked Kyle’s concerned stare. Radford scraped his wet palms across his trouser legs, reminding himself it was sweat and not blood he was rubbing off. “I think I'd like another ale.”

“I think two would be better.” Kyle flagged Patrick over with the drinks and shoved two of them in front of Radford.

Radford downed the first one, picked up the second and brought it to his lips. It hovered there a moment before he returned it, untouched, to the bar. “I could use a lighter conversation if you don't mind.”

“Actually, I’d appreciate it, too.”

The silence stretched until Radford found himself groping for a topic. “So is Evelyn excited about the house?” he asked, speaking the first thought to enter his head. As usual, she was foremost in his mind, but he hoped Kyle hadn’t noticed.

“Hard to tell. She’s worried about being away from William. We’ve asked him to live with us, but he’s determined to stay in his own house. If he does, it’ll be difficult for Evelyn to care for him after we’re married, which is why I want her out of the livery. It won’t be long before she’s got her hands full with William and a baby.”

Radford took a long drink from his mug to cool the burning sensation that started creeping up from his stomach. Of course she’d be having Kyle’s baby. She’d be sleeping in his bed, making love with him, having his children.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Kyle asked.

He finished his drink and banged the mug back on the bar. “I need another ale.”

“I’m ready, too.” Kyle raised his mug and signaled for the bartender to bring another round. “I haven’t thanked you yet for running the livery for me, but I do appreciate it, Radford. If not for you, I would have suggested that William sell it.”

“Evelyn would have shot you.”

Kyle laughed. “She’d have been upset, but she would have forgotten about it once she had a baby to keep her busy.”

Evelyn loved the livery. She needed to be there with her horses, whether she had ten kids or none at all. Marriage had no bearing on her dedication to her father or her business, and it baffled Radford that Kyle didn't understand that. The Evelyn he knew would find a way to have a family and the livery. In fact, he'd wager his share of the mill on it.

 
 
o0o

Hours later Radford climbed the porch steps, which was usually an easy thing to do, but tonight his feet refused to cooperate without considerable thought as to their proper function. By the time he managed the top step, he needed to brace himself against a pillar to keep from crashing through the front door.

It wasn't that he was intoxicated, really. His thinking was clear enough. It was just those damn feet of his that had suddenly developed a mind of their own. In fact, he was quite proud of himself. Any attraction he had felt for Evelyn had vanished into the white foam of his mug. The more he drank, the less often his mind wandered back to her, so he drank enough to chase her thoroughly from his thoughts like any good brother would do.

Kyle deserved his allegiance, especially since he was such a damn good drinking partner. Radford chuckled, remembering how Duke and Boyd staggered from the bar in defeat and he and Kyle had taunted them for being too young to hold their barley. But Kyle's pathetic attempts to mount his horse had Radford gasping with hilarity and stumbling along the boardwalk like an idiot. Those burly arms of Patrick's had come in handy after all. Too bad he wasn't here to open this damned door.

The door played tricks on Radford; moving left, then right, then left. Radford straightened, took a fortifying breath, and eyed the screen door. He watched a moment, timing its movements, then lunged for the knob. His hand hit the wood frame with a resounding crack and slid upward offering him no cushion as his side slammed into the steel handle.

He yelped and staggered back. Pain spread through his side and he saw a lovely vision of an angel in a thin white gown with gorgeous black hair flowing past her hips. The damned door handle must have punctured his side and killed him! Radford gripped his ribs, waiting to hit the porch floor, but before he had a chance to keel over, the angel clutched his arm.

That’s when he realized it was Evelyn, and that she was standing before him in her nightclothes. Jarred from his stupor, Radford panicked, knowing he was in no condition to resist temptation tonight.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her soft voice filled with concern.

Radford didn’t want her concern. He wanted her to go back inside the house and lock the damned door. His thinking was too scrambled from alcohol, and his body too needy to resist temptation.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He’d just play drunk. Hell, he was drunk, so if he acted despicable enough, or just plain crazy, maybe she’d go back in the house and leave him alone.

 
“What are you doing?” Evelyn asked, wondering why Radford was stumbling around on the porch. She had heard him when he first climbed the steps then listened for him to come inside. But after several minutes of his thumping, she decided she’d better see if he needed help, which he obviously did.

He squinted at her then blinked twice with great exaggeration. “Who are you?” he asked, listing far left then tottering back to center.

“Radford, what have your brothers done to you?”

“It wasn't their fault,” he said belligerently.

Her laughter seemed to annoy him because he gave her an adorable frown. Even his lip curled a bit and Evelyn felt the urge to touch it. Oh, he was delightful like this. God forbid anyone should be traveling by at this time of night and see her on the porch in her
nightrail
, because she wasn’t about to go inside. This was a side of Radford that her curiosity wouldn’t let her leave unexplored.

He glared at her. “You can afford to laugh. You're an angel, but I...well, I’m no good.”

There was something in his confession that tripped Evelyn's heart. Whether he was drunk or not, there was pain in his voice and she wondered what caused it. Maybe now that he’d dropped his guard, she could discover what he kept hidden behind those golden eyes of his. Her conscience hollered
No fair
, but she turned a deaf ear.

“Why would you think that, Radford?”

“You should know. You’re an angel, aren’t you?”

“I'm Evelyn Tucker and I have more faults than you could name.”

“Evelyn wears pants.” He stared purposefully at her legs. Evelyn looked down then stepped quickly out of the light.

“Don’t be rude.” She was thankful he was drunk and unlikely to remember.

“Well, she does,” he insisted, “and she has a
compaszh-nate
nature,” he said, slurring the words.

Evelyn giggled. “A what?”

“Her eyes are deep green...and her hair...” He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He spoke slowly and so softly that Evelyn had to move closer to hear him. “Her hair is the color of midnight in February. It's the kind of hair that makes a man want to feel it on his face.” He cupped his hands as though he was holding something precious and fragile and slowly raised them to his face. He smoothed his palms across his cheeks then sighed in disappointment.

“I like her hair,” he whispered, and Evelyn felt the caress as surely as if he'd touched her.

Her heart jumped and her neck tingled and she thought of touching him then, just once. Just to see what his
stubbled
chin felt like. But she clutched her hands behind her back instead.

Radford opened his eyes and they were accusing. “I thought angels had white hair. How come yours is black?”

“Oh, Radford, come sit down before you fall over.” She took his hand and tugged gently.

“No!” He stared at her then squinted and rubbed his forehead as though trying to clear the alcohol from his brain.

“Come on,” she said, directing him to a high-armed, cushioned chair that wouldn't allow him to fall from the sides.

 
“
Dammit
all.” He clenched his fists and collapsed into the chair.

“Why did you drink so much?”

He drew a deep breath and let it rush out. When his eyes met hers, they seemed clearer, more focused. “I needed to.” He sank lower in the seat and rested his head against the back. “Go to bed.”

“You need help getting up the stairs.”

“I’m staying here. Go to bed.”

She was silent a minute, studying him, wishing he’d open his eyes. “I don’t want to,” she said quietly.