to pay for going against orders. The problem was, he was not willing to leave Lea
behind in Orson, not knowing how long he’d be forced to stay at the Citadel.
“Are you all right now?” Lea asked, peeking her head in the kitchen door.
Bevyn looked up. “I’ve got to report to the Citadel next week,” he told her. “I want
you to come with me.”
Lea came into the kitchen, her eyes worried. “I’m not a good horsewoman, milord.
I…”
“We’ll take the train from Clewiston,” he said.
Her face brightened. “The train? We’ll take the train?”
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“Aye,” he said. “They have sleeping cars and it’s a sight better than camping on the
ground or looking for hotels decent enough to stay in between here and there.”
She came to him and squatted down beside his chair. “I’ve never ridden on a train,”
she said.
He cupped her chin. “You’ll enjoy it, wench,” he said, leaning down to briefly touch
his lips to hers.
Lea glanced down at his lap. “Is everything back to normal?”
He laughed. “As much as it can get back to normal,” he said. He released her and
pushed the chair back, extending his hand to help her up. “We’d best go socialize with
our new landlady before she changes her mind about us staying here.”
“I don’t think we have anything to worry about there,” she said. She slipped her
arm around his waist. “She thinks you’re one delectable white man.”
“Did she say that?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.
“She did, but don’t let it go to your head, son,” Cornelia said as she came into the
kitchen. “Now get gone while I see to supper.”
“Can I help you?” Lea asked.
“No, you most certainly can not,” Cornelia said. “Don’t want no skinny white gals
getting in the way of my serious cooking. Take that boy and go off somewhere before
you get him all worked up again.”
“Come on, Bev,” Lea said, pulling on his arm.
“‘That boy’?” Bevyn repeated as Lea ushered him out the back door and into
Cornelia’s immaculate yard. “Did she really call me a ‘boy’?”
“I don’t think she meant it as an insult, milord,” she was quick to appease him.
“I didn’t take it as one,” he said, looking back at the kitchen door. “It’s just that no
one has ever called me a ‘boy’ before.”
“Even when you were a child?” she asked, leaning into him as they walked.
He turned his head back around, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants.
“Not even then. And no one ever called me ‘son’ either.”
Lea looked up at him. “What did your parents call you?”
Bevyn was staring at the creek to which they were walking for it ran across the far
end of Cornelia’s property, curving back toward the plot of land where he would build
their home.
“I didn’t have any,” he said quietly.
“No parents?” she queried. “What were you? Hatched?”
He glanced down at her. “No parents I knew of,” he corrected.
“Oh I see. You were orphaned,” she said.
“No, I was thrown away,” he said.
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They stopped on a rise that overlooked the shimmering waters of Willow Glen
Creek. Around them were tall cottonwoods and black walnut trees interspersed with
maples and poplars. It was a quiet, peaceful setting and the grass was lush and green.
Lea let go of his arm and sat down, bending her knees to one side, smoothing her
dress over them. He hunkered down beside her and picked up a long blade of grass,
running it through his fingers.
“Tell me,” she encouraged.
He wanted to. He just didn’t know where to start. She seemed to understand he
was marshalling his thoughts for she was quiet, waiting for him to speak, giving him all
the time he needed.
“They found me under a pile of trash in a vacant lot,” he said quietly. “I was only a
few hours old. Whoever the woman was who’d given birth to me sure as hell didn’t
want me and didn’t expect anyone to find me, I guess.”
“Who was it that found you?”
“Two priests from the Brotherhood,” he said. “It was by chance they were passing
by and heard me crying.” He tossed away the blade of grass and sat down beside her,
drawing his knees up into the circle of his arms. “They took me to the monastery to be
raised as a brother.”
“You were a priest?” she asked, surprised.
He nodded. “I took my final vows when I was twenty-eight and was given my first
assignment just after my thirtieth birthday.”
“How old are you now?” she asked.
“A lot older than you,” he said. He was staring at the creek but his eyes were seeing
something other than the light shining on the rippling waters.
Lea sensed he didn’t want to tell her just how old he was. “So did you forsake the
priesthood to become a Reaper?” she asked.
He laughed bitterly. “You must die to become a Reaper, sweeting,” he told her,
“and I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“I would like a fireplace in the kitchen,” she said, and when he turned his head to
her, she nodded. “A big fireplace made of fieldstone and I want the kitchen to be large
enough for a sitting room for when it snows outside.”
“Does it snow inside here in Orson?” he asked, lips pursed.
“It has been known to,” she said with a twinkle in her eye at his teasing.
“A big kitchen with a fireplace sounds nice,” he agreed.
“And a big window so we can look out and watch it snow.”
“A big window with mullions,” he added.
“And shutters.”
“Naturally.”
“And nice plush carpeting,” she said wistfully. “Dark green.”
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He turned his back to her and lay down, putting his head in her lap, staring up
through the tall tree branches at the blue sky. “And a copper tub big enough for the
both of us.”
She ran her fingers through his dark hair. “A big porch that wraps all the way
around the house.”
“With a swing in the back for sitting on cool summer evenings,” he amended.
“A tin roof for when it rains.”
“Aye,” he said, and sighed. He crossed his legs at the ankle and threaded his fingers
together over his flat belly. “Everything that will make it a home.”
“Our home,” she said as she gazed across at the land where their house would be
built.
“Our home,” he repeated.
He was quiet for so long after that, Lea did not need to look down to know her
Reaper was asleep. When she lowered her gaze, she smiled, her heart filling to the brim
with her love for the man. His dark lashes were like smutty little crescents over his
tanned cheek and his full lips were slightly parted to reveal the stark whiteness of his
even teeth. To her, he was perfection, the most handsome man she’d ever had the
pleasure of knowing.
Her attention went to the tribal tattoo on his left temple and cheek, and she
wondered how he came by it. If he had not known who his father was, how was it he
had a parti
cular clan’s marking? And at what age had it been applied? Once more she
wondered how old he was, but something told her he would never reveal such
information to her.
Sighing, she stilled her hand on his hair, not wanting to wake him for he looked so
peaceful, so…well…young as he lay there.
It was nearly sunset by the time Bevyn awoke and he was surprised to find himself
on the ground, his head in Lea’s lap. He looked up at her to find her gazing down at
him with a small smile on her lips.
“Hey there, sleepyhead,” she said, tugging gently on his dark curls.
“How long have I been asleep?” he asked.
“At least three hours,” she said. Her legs had gone to sleep along with him.
“Oh man,” he said. “I’ve never done that before.”
“What? Falling asleep in the middle of the day?”
“Aye,” he replied. “Reapers don’t sleep all that well. Sleeping so soundly when I’m
with you truly surprises me.”
She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “Did you know you snore?”
“I do not,” he said indignantly.
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“Shh… Listen!” she said, her eyes sweeping back and forth as though danger were
close by.
Bevyn held his breath, tuned his hearing to their surroundings, but heard nothing.
“I don’t hear anything,” he said.
“That’s because your snoring scared all the birds away,” she said in a stern tone.
He snorted and sat up, running his fingers through his hair. “Funny,” he countered.
Getting to his feet, he put his hands to the small of his back and stretched, his backbone
cracking beneath the strain.
“I bet you’re hungry,” she said as she looked up at him.
“I am starved,” he told her, “but steer me away from any more sugar for the day,
will you?” He held his hand out to help her up.
“That would be best,” she said with a giggle.
Walking back to Cornelia’s house with their fingers entwined, Bevyn stopped and
looked around them, a frown on his face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
It wasn’t that something was wrong per se, he thought, but that everything wasn’t
right either. He felt as though he were being watched and the feeling had settled
between his shoulder blades like a wet, slimy rag. He shifted his shoulders and the
feeling faded away.
“Nothing,” he said, but unease lingered in the depths of his golden eyes.
Supper was ready when they entered the black woman’s immaculately kept house.
Baked ham, corn on the cob, mixed greens with a tart vinegar and pepper sauce
sprinkled on them, sliced tomatoes and cornbread hit the spot and Bevyn consumed
two plates full of food before finally pushing back from the table, refusing a third glass
of cold milk.
“I’m stuffed,” he admitted, rubbing his flat belly.
“Won’t offer you none of my blueberry pie,” Cornelia said as she brought the
savory confection to the table and began cutting a piece for herself and Lea.
Bevyn licked his lips, for the aroma coming from the tart berries filled his nostrils
with sheer delight.
“No,” Lea said. She didn’t even glance his way.
“Most assuredly not,” Cornelia agreed as she handed Lea her slice of pie.
Bevyn sighed deeply like a man much put upon, but had to agree he didn’t need
any more sugar. He got up and left the women to their eating, though his mouth
watered to try just a forkful of the pie.
Lea found him on the back porch after she’d helped Cornelia clean the kitchen. His
hands were hooked around the support beam that ran the length of the construction
and he looked almost as though he were hanging there. He was staring intently at the
creek.
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“Is something wrong, milord?” she asked, sliding her arms around his waist and
laying her cheek on his broad back.
“Nothing I can put a name to,” he said. “Just a feeling, sweeting.”
“What kind of feeling?”
“That someone is keeping an eye on me,” he said. “I don’t care for the notion.”
He took his hands down and shifted so he could pull her into the safety of his arms,
putting his chin atop her head. The night air was a bit chill with just a hint of wind
wafting over the grass. They stood that way for a while until Lea yawned.
“Let’s go in,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”
The Reaper’s hawklike gaze was still scanning his surroundings. He felt acutely
uncomfortable but could find nothing out of the ordinary that would cause the
sensation. As he escorted his lady inside, he felt keenly the weight of unfriendly eyes on
him and shifted the muscles of his back again to rid himself of the notion someone had
a bead right between his shoulder blades.
Climbing the stairs, they were a bit surprised to find Cornelia on the landing, her
arms crossed over her large chest. She nudged her chin toward a door on her right.
“That is your room, Lea,” the black woman said. “The one on the other side of mine
is yours, milord.”
Bevyn blinked. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, his hand tensing around Lea’s.
Cornelia shook her head. “You two ain’t married and until you are, while you’re
under my roof, one of you won’t be living in sin.”
“But we’ve already…” he began, his voice sounding like a little boy’s who was
being denied his favorite toy.
“Won’t be no hanky-panky being done under my roof,” Cornelia said. She unfolded
her arms and shook a finger at Bevyn. “And I am a light sleeper, son, so don’t think
you’ll be sneaking into her room later on this evening. You hear?” She narrowed her
eyes. “Do you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, and caught himself before he could kick at the carpet
with the toe of his boot in a show of his irritation.
“That goes for you too, Lea,” Cornelia said. “No trying to tippy-toe into his
bedroom.”
“No, ma’am,” Lea agreed. “I won’t.”
“So kiss her good night, son.”
It was a chaste kiss with a minimum amount of pressure applied, but the looks the
two exchanged could have set kindling afire. Bevyn watched his lady go into her room
and close the door before he let out a long, heartfelt sigh.
“This just isn’t right, Miss Cornelia,” he complained.
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“You’d best marry her if you want to sleep with her under my roof.” Cornelia
sniffed and went into her own room, trusting he’d do as he vowed and not go into Lea’s
room. She—like every one else—knew Reaper vows were always kept.
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Chapter Five
Lea wasn’t the least surprised to find Bevyn had been up long before sunrise and
had already eaten a hearty breakfast before she’d even turned over to find the sunshine
streaking through the window curtains.
“Reckon he went to gather up a work crew to start that house,” Cornelia laughed.
Sure enough, Lea found out her Reaper and the sheriff had ridden to the sawmill in
Clewiston with two buckboards to bring back lumber to begin the foundati
on.
“They can have the shell up in two weeks if the weather holds,” Cornelia told her.
“I’m thinking the weather darn well better hold for that boy!” She’d slapped a meaty
hand on her thigh, laughing.
After a small morning meal, the women had gone out on the back porch to shell
peas for lunch. Sitting on the swing, Lea could see men clearing the lot where the house
would be built. Trenches were being dug for the waterlines that would run from the
central water tower.
“That boy means business when he does something,” Cornelia observed. “A gal
could do worse to have a husband like that.”
Lea bit her lip as she looked at the black woman.
“Uh-oh,” Cornelia said, her plump hands lowering to the pan of peas. “I don’t like
that look. What kind of look is that supposed to be, child?”
Lea said nothing for a moment as she gathered her thoughts, wanting to say the
right words, needing the older woman to understand. At last, she lowered her head,
unable to look at Cornelia as she spoke.
“I don’t want to marry him, Miss Cornelia,” she said quietly.
Cornelia’s thin eyebrows shot up. “Why not?” she asked. “You know darn well he’s
a good man and even a blind fool can see the boy loves you.”
“It’s not that,” Lea said. She lifted her head, giving Cornelia a steady look. “I love
him with all my heart, Miss Cornelia. I fell in love with him that first night but I’m not
going to marry him.” She looked down at the peas in the porcelain pan. “I can’t marry.”
“Why not?” Cornelia demanded. She waited impatiently for the younger woman to
reply.
Lea cocked one shoulder. “You know what he is,” she said.
“Aye,” Cornelia stated, narrowing her eyes. “What of it?”
“There is something inside him that makes him what he is,” Lea said.
“I’ve heard tell it’s some kind of creature that gives him his powers. You afraid it
might jump out at you and say boo?”
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Lea’s lips stretched in a reluctant smile. “No,” she answered, and then the smile
wavered away. “But I don’t want it in me either.”
Cornelia was seated in her favorite rocking chair. She set the chair into motion, her
hands in the pan shelling peas. “Who says you have to have it in you to be married to
him?”
“Being married to a man means having to do whatever he tells you,” Lea said.
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