to be around her.
A twig snapped in the trees behind her. She spun around, expecting to see Hetty. The man who came out of the shadows made her heart skip a beat. And because she was so hurt, she lashed out at him.
“What are you doing here?”
Beau flinched. The anger in her voice was unexpected. “You hadn’t oughta be out here in the dark alone.”
“There’s nothing left in this world that can hurt me more than I’ve already hurt myself.”
“Don’t say that,” Beau begged, and stopped her when she would have run past him. “Wait. You don’t understand.”
She laughed then, but it was not a happy sound. “Oh, I think I understand everything just fine. I have disgraced myself and my family.”
Beau’s hands slid up the length of her arms of their own accord. He could feel the softness of her flesh beneath her blouse. And then he thought of that preacher, putting his hands on Charity in much the same way and he froze. What if he was frightening her? What if his touch disgusted her? He turned her loose abruptly.
“I’m sorry, Charity, girl. I shouldn’t have touched you like that.”
To Charity, it was a slap in the face. She’d been right all along. He loathed what she stood for. That’s why he had let her go. That’s why he was leaving the ranch. She looked up at him then. At the way the moonlight lit the contours of his face, making him seem older—harder—even angry. Her voice was trembling.
“I disgust you.”
The despair in her voice broke his heart. “No, Charity, no!”
“Don’t pretend with me Beau James. I can’t bear it. I’ve had my fill of men who say one thing and mean another.” Then she bit her lip to keep from crying. “Besides, I understand your feelings. Yes, I was wronged by Randall Howe, but it was partly my fault.”
“No, Charity, you misunderstood my—”
“Please Beau, let me finish.”
He bowed his head. Even though the pain in her voice was like knives in his heart, he did as she asked.
She sighed then, as if the weight of the world was square on her shoulders. Her gaze bore into him, wanting him to believe—needing him to understand. Not so he might love her. Just so he wouldn’t hate her.
“It was my dream, you see. I’d had the same dream seventeen times. I thought it was God telling me what to do with my life. I told Reverend Howe about it. He was going to help me become a nun.”
Beau’s head jerked up like a gutshot steer. A nun? This was the first he’d heard of such folly. His eyes narrowed angrily as he looked at her there in the moonlight. A nun. Not only no, but, hell no. A woman like Charity Doone was meant for a man’s empty bed and warm embrace. And he had both. If she would only care.
Charity continued her story, unaware of what was running through Beau’s mind.
“I told him everything.” Her mouth tilted in a bitter smile. “I let myself believe something false. I deserved what he did.”
Beau’s face was hot. His daddy used to say that Beau let his anger show more than any boy he’d ever known. Thankful for the gentleness of moonlight and the darkness of night, he cleared his throat. She’d had her say. Now it was his turn.
“No ma’am, you did not deserve to be mistreated. He was a man of the cloth—a man you were raised to trust. It was him that stepped over the line.” Then he touched her hand, then her arm. “Charity, girl, it doesn’t matter what he did to you. You’re what matters.”
Charity was stunned. She mattered? But did she matter to him?
“Those are kind words,” she whispered. “But find me a man who can ignore what I’ve done and I’ll show you a saint.”
Beau laid his hand at the side of her face. “I reckon you’re lookin’ at one now, but I ain’t no damn saint. I’m just a man who’s in love with a fine, gentle woman.”
Before, the pain had been too great to cry. But now the tears came, flowing free and cleansing.
“You love me? After all that I’ve… that he—”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Beau.”
Her tears were his undoing. “Lord, girl. Don’t cry. Don’t cry no more. I can’t bear it.”
He took her in his arms. “I have loved you for a long time now, Charity Doone. And I ain’t pushin’ you none, but when I get back from killin’ that preacher, I want