Chapter 45

I did indeed dream that night. I saw Charnock lifting his gun, and in the dream I couldn't move. I saw the muzzle flash, and the bullet coming toward me. I screamed in the grip of the nightmare, and it must have escaped into the real world, for when I started awake, sitting straight up in bed, Cecelia was right beside me clutching my shoulders.

"Are you all right, Darvin? I heard you through my sleep, though I was impersonating a log."

I couldn't speak for a moment; it was all I could do to get enough oxygen into my lungs. Finally I said, "He was killing me, Cecelia."

"He has not killed you, my love, and he never will. I will not permit it." She said this not with bravado, but as a simple statement of fact, and her calm tone settled me down more than the words. I didn't doubt, though, that if it came to it she'd kill Charnock herself rather than let him kill me.

I reached for her, and she let me fold her into my arms. "What would I do without you, C?"

"I don't know, Darvin, and I must own that I do not particularly care. You have me, now and forever, and we will get through this together."

"The last time I shot someone I didn't have you to hold me. How I got through that is a puzzle."

"But you did get through it, and came to me. And I will never leave nor forsake you. I am yours forever, mi paloma. The sun will cease to shine, and the wind will refrain from blowing, before I abandon my love for you."

She hadn't intended it, but her language brought a smile to my face. "Did you know that you sound like a treaty with the Indians?"

I felt her shrug her shoulders; it was night, and I couldn't see her. "Perhaps I do. But I shall not break this treaty; I pledge my life and heart to you forever. Even if you drive me away, I shall still love you, and pray for you."

"Well, I ain't a-gonna run you off, Cecelia. I'd as soon lop off my arms and legs – it'd be easier to live without them than without you." I drew in a shaky breath. "I ain't gonna be able to sleep for a while. I think I'll go read."

"By all means. Would you like me to sit with you?"

I considered it. "No, I think not. I think it'll be as soothing to have you in here sleepin' peacefully as to have you beside me tryin' to stay awake."

"Very well, beloved. I shall sleep, then, for I am tired from worrying over you."

I looked toward her, knowing where she was by her voice and the hands that still rested on my skin. "You keep tossin' out those pet names, an' I'm gonna wonder who you are and what you've done with my wife."

She chuckled, and gave me a gentle slap on the shoulder. "Go read your book, you pest. And I'll try to think of some more pet names – perhaps sprite, elf, or fiend."

I climbed out of bed, feeling for my sweat pants. "Fiend maybe, or pest, but I ain't a pale English governess, so the other two wouldn't work."

"That's your view of things, Darvin," Cecelia said, and I heard the bed rustle as she laid down. "I have the correct view, and tomorrow I shall educate you thereon. Go away and let me sleep."

I chuckled at the gentle order, and went away so she could sleep.

I was still up when Cecelia awoke. I heard her alarm go off – faintly, for the bedroom door was closed – and after a few minutes she came out in a pair of jeans and one of my cowboy shirts, her hands behind her head fastening her hair in its ponytail. "Could you not return to sleep, Darvin?" she asked as she bent down to give me a kiss.

"I got wrapped up in the book, and finished it, and found a new one, and I'm nearly done with that," I said, holding up my current volume - Southern Storm by Terri Blackstock.

"When you began reading Christian fiction, you didn't hold back," she said. "And not only is it Christian fiction, but it's romantic fiction most of the time. What happened to my cynical husband?"

I smiled up at her. She had one of her hands on my shoulder, and I reached up and squeezed it. "I was only cynical about romances and about Christian fiction, and when it comes to secular romances I still am – mostly they're all about heaving bosoms and guys who look like Fabio and have the brains of a pet rock. Maybe there are people who like that stuff. Maybe there are women who don't care about a guy's single-digit IQ just so long as he's got that kind of physique. But I know something about romance from the inside, and we got a lot more going for us than heaving bosoms and rippling pecs."

Cecelia smiled delightedly. "My bosom isn't capable of heaving; that would require a rather larger one. And your pectoral muscles will never make it into a calendar. But we do have romance, don't we? For we love each other unreservedly, and you at least show it in many unmistakable ways."