The way Truett stroked the back of her hand sent tingles up her arm. She shouldn’t be enjoying his touch so much.

When he stopped, she opened her eyes. He was no longer looking at her, but was gazing off to the side. “When I was seven years old,” he spoke slowly and deliberately, “my father and my two oldest brothers went off to fight the Yankees.”

Celia studied his face. He wore a blank expression, but his serious tone made her want to hear every word.

“Father survived, but I never saw my brothers again. They were both killed at Chickamauga.” He sighed and shook his head. “I was too young to go fight.” He stopped again and they listened for a moment to the frogs croaking to each other from down on the creek bank.

“This whole area of North Alabama, from the Tennessee state line to the Tennessee River below Huntsville, was occupied by the Yankees for almost the entire war. They headquartered in Huntsville and raided this area regularly. Near the end of the war, they burned most of the houses around here.”

His hollow expression made the air rush from her lungs. “I didn’t know.” She was afraid he wouldn’t go on, but finally he continued.

“One day they came, burning every plantation house they came to. When they got to us, Mama begged them to spare ours. She promised them she’d already freed all her slaves. She cried and pleaded. But . . .” he shook his head, “they burned our house to the ground.”

Celia whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“Griff tried to stop them.”

Celia’s heart was in her throat. She ached to put her arms around him, but she was afraid he would stop talking, stop opening up to her. Every word was a precious treasure.

“Griff picked up a big rock to throw it at them. I was standing on the porch, scared to death, but Griff . . . he didn’t see the Yankee soldier who came up behind him. The man pushed Griff down, and my brother hit his head on the rock he was holding. He was unconscious for a week, and when he woke up, it was obvious there was permanent damage.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I was only a child. There was nothing I could do, but it hurt to know that I hadn’t even tried to defend my home, my mother, or my brother. And now . . . I don’t want to be someone who stands by and does nothing, not ever again.”

Celia ached to comfort him, in awe that he would entrust this painful memory to her.

“I suppose the war was God’s judgment against us. We deserved what happened. No man should keep another enslaved. That’s the way I see it now. But how long will it take for this to be a joyful place again? How long does it take before a conquered land is allowed to prosper again? A hundred years? Two hundred?”

He stared up at the sky and she followed his gaze. A few stars had appeared.

“And when Sheriff Suggs tried to hang James, it wasn’t the first time he’d executed a man without a trial. He’s always done it quietly, making himself judge and jury, and nobody’s stopped him.” He shook his head. “After the last lynching, I decided to take matters into my own hands. And fortunately, I found out about what he was planning to do, before he tried to hang James, and I was able to save his life.”

His eyes met hers with that fierceness she’d seen in him only once before. “As a little boy, there was nothing I could do,” he said. “But now . . . That is why I wear the hood and cloak. And that is why I will do it again.”

He rose to his feet and pulled her up with him. He lifted her hand up to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers before pressing her hand against his chest.

An exciting tingle started in her fingertips and spread through her. Seeing the same tenderness and longing that was inside her reflected from his eyes . . . It was almost unbearable.

“Celia, let’s get out of here.” His voice was gruff and he squeezed her hand, bending his head so close she could feel his breath against her cheek. “I’m tired of this place, everything about it. Let’s run away and get married. Marry me, Celia.”

Marry? You’re going to get killed and break my heart, a voice screamed inside her. But he was so beautiful, so noble. Could he actually want to marry her?

Her eyes focused on his lips, so close and inviting. How she wanted to kiss him and hold him and comfort him. Lord help me, I can’t resist.

She placed her palm against his cheek. Gently drawing his face toward her and rising onto her toes, she pressed her lips to his.

The hunger in his kiss turned her inside out. He still held one of her hands imprisoned against his chest, where she could feel the thundering of his heart. He pulled her closer with his other arm.

She stroked his cheek as they kissed. The ache inside her increased and the only remedy seemed to be to keep kissing him and never stop. Slipping her hand around his neck, she buried her fingers in his still-wet hair.

He’s going to leave me just like Daddy. He’s going to die.

Panic gripped her. She was kissing him, precisely what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do.

The dream-image of him lying dead on the ground forced itself to the forefront of her mind. No. She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear to love him and lose him that way.

Celia pulled away and clutched at her chest. “I can’t do this. I can’t—” She gasped, unable to continue. She tried to pull out of his arms but he wouldn’t let go.

“No,” he growled. “You’re not going to do this to me again.”

Celia heard the pain in his voice and stopped struggling.

“I know you care for me,” he said. “What is it you’re so afraid of? What?”

She couldn’t tell him.

He gripped her upper arms. “Tell me.”

“I-I . . . I couldn’t stand it if you died. And you don’t seem to care.” She spoke the last statement in an angry whisper. “Don’t you see? Daddy died and I’m so angry.” She drew in a sharp breath at her words, then choked back a sob.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me, Celia. You have to trust God.”

“God didn’t keep my father from dying, did he? How can I trust Him?”

“You’re doing all right, Celia.” His eyes seemed to plead with her. “God is taking care of you and your family.”

“No, I’m not all right!” Celia tried to take a deep breath to calm herself, but her chest couldn’t seem to hold the air and all the hurt, too. She shook her head. “I’m not all right. I miss my father. I didn’t want him to die.”

He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and holding her tight. She sobbed against his shirt. How could Daddy let himself get killed, and how could God let him die? God could have saved him. God was all-powerful. But He let him die and now she would never see her father again. He could never provide for her, never comfort or advise. He was gone.

Truett stroked her hair, murmuring, “I know, I know. It’s all right.”

Of course he understood. He’d lost two brothers, and Griff too—at least, the Griff he had known before the accident—and it had obviously broken his heart.

She wrapped her arms around the solidness of him. The tears seemed to have loosened the pain in her chest so that she could breathe again. She took a deep breath, still pressing her cheek against his chest. Finally, when she believed she could speak without breaking down, she said, “I’m afraid for you, Truett. I’m afraid you’re going to die and leave me broken . . . like my mother.” The words made her start crying again. She didn’t like hearing the truth in all its stark ugliness.

“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear,” Truett quoted softly, “but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.”

“I know I shouldn’t be afraid.” She lifted her head to look at him. “But, Truett, I—”

His lips pressed tenderly against her forehead and she forgot what she was going to say. He kissed her temple, and then his lips moved down to her cheek.

His mouth, so tender and warm, continued down to her chin, then moved to her lips, caressing gently.

“Celia? Truett? Are you out here?”

Celia instantly let go of him and stepped backward, hitting the tree trunk with the back of her leg.

Had Will seen her and Truett kissing? Her face burned and she covered her lips with her hand, afraid he would see the evidence of Truett’s kiss there, where the sensation of it lingered.

Truett grabbed her by the elbow to steady her.

“We’re over here!” Truett called. He whispered, bending down to her, “Celia, I—”

“I have to go in. I don’t want Will to see us.” She turned to run but he caught her arm and wouldn’t let go.

“Wait.”

She waited. When he didn’t speak she turned to look at him.

“Can I come tomorrow night—after supper—just to talk?”

“Yes. But only if you promise to kiss me goodnight.” She broke free of his grip and almost laughed at her own brazen words.

By the time she reached Will she had slowed to a walk. She motioned over her shoulder. “He’s over there, by the tree.”

As she reached the back door, Truett called out, “I promise!”

Celia laughed as she stumbled inside.

But later, after everyone else was in bed, Celia sat on the front porch with her face in her hands. “What have I done?”

Kissing Truett had felt so good, but she never should have done it! She couldn’t marry him. She couldn’t believe he had asked.

The question had been posed in the heat of the moment. Perhaps he might not have meant it. And she hadn’t given him an answer, either.

The thought of marrying Truett terrified her, sending panic straight to her toes. At the same time, it also filled her with longing and delicious anticipation.

Celia bent over and moaned into her hands. “Oh, Lord, this is terrible.” She shook her head. “I’m terrible.”

Celia had never been one to ask her mother for advice. But right now she wished she had someone—anyone—she could talk to. Were her fears irrational? She didn’t think so. There was a wanted poster with Truett’s face—er, mask—on it, and a sheriff with a complete disdain for the law out to get him.

I have to save him.

That was it. She had to take matters into her own hands and figure out a way to save Truett.

So if that was settled, why did her stomach feel so unsettled? Because she wasn’t sure she could save him, and she still didn’t know what was going to happen. If she was married, could she still take care of her family and open her own shop? How could she ask Truett to move with her to Nashville and leave his family and his medical practice behind in Bethel Springs?

He seemed willing to leave, but what would it cost him? His family needed him—his mother and Griff. How could they get along without him? And this town needed him. They would all hate her if she took him away.

To marry was to doom herself to long days trapped in a kitchen for the rest of her life. At least, that was what she had always thought. If she married now, so young, it would go against everything she had vowed never to do.

But then again, she’d already done things she thought she’d never do, starting with fainting at the sight of blood, then inviting a man to her house, then kissing him—not once, but several times!

Lizzie and Will had teased her about the way she had stayed out so long in the dark corner of the yard, alone with Truett Beverly. And tomorrow she’d have to deal with more of Lizzie’s raised eyebrows and secretive smiles, insinuating comments and hopeful inquiries about Truett.

But she had loved being with him, listening to him pour out his painful memories to her, feeling his pent-up emotion in the way he kissed her. Oh my. It was wonderful! But terrifying at the same time.

Celia held her stomach and leaned forward in her chair. “Oh, Lord, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more miserable in my life.”

Truett had never felt happier in his life.

In spite of his sore muscles and the fact that he hadn’t slept much, he whistled a lively tune as he unlocked his office door the next morning.

The night before, after his “meeting” with Celia, he and Will had waited outside the henhouse for the possum to come back. Sure enough, they hadn’t had to wait long before he showed himself. Truett handed the gun to Will and let him shoot it. Then he’d gone home to plan his proposal to Celia—which was what kept him up most of the night.

Strictly speaking, he’d already asked her to marry him, but he hadn’t done it right. The words had slipped out before he’d thought. Not that he didn’t mean them. His way of asking just wasn’t conducive to her taking him seriously and giving him an immediate answer. This time he would kiss her after asking, instead of before . . . and during.

He took off his vest and was hanging it on its hook in the back room when the door opened and someone entered.

Truett turned to greet his first patient of the day.

Sheriff Suggs and Almira stood just inside the door, both staring at him with very different looks on their faces.

Almira’s face was red and puffy, her eyes wet. Her mouth hung open and she pierced Truett with a pleading, desperate look.

Sheriff Suggs’s face was hard and angry, his eyes black. A black shadow darkened his face, defying the early morning sunlight.

“Sheriff.” Truett nodded a cautious greeting. “Miss Almira.”

The sheriff was holding Almira by her arm, and he dragged her forward.

His insides knotted. “What can I do for you?”

“Doc, Almira finds herself in a bit of trouble. I want you to make the trouble go away.”

“What exactly is the trouble?” But he was afraid he knew.

Sheriff Suggs mouth twisted in an ugly half-grin. “She’s in the family way. And as you know, she ain’t married. And as you also know, she was raped.”

Almira let out a strangled cry, like a wild animal caught in a steel trap.

The sheriff yanked on her arm, making her cry out again. “But she don’t like to talk about it, as you can probably understand.”

Almira began to sob, her hair hanging down over her face.

The urge to plant his fist in Suggs’s face almost overpowered him for a moment. But he said a quick prayer and managed to calm his racing pulse.

“I’m sorry,” Truett said quietly, “but I don’t see how I can help.”

“Oh, I think you understand perfectly well how you can help us, Doc. You’re a medical man with a medical education. You know how to get rid of this unwanted . . . problem.”

Truett’s face burned. “Sheriff Suggs, am I to believe that you wish me to forcibly abort Miss Almira’s baby?”

The sheriff squinted, looking him in the eye. “See there? You understand me right perfect.”