Angel's Embrace by Hubbard Charlotte

Author:Hubbard, Charlotte [Hubbard, Charlotte]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781477806463
Publisher: Montlake Romance
Published: 2007-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Billy went out early to do the morning’s chores before church. He nodded to Asa, who was stirring up batter for fritters to go with the rasher of bacon waiting to be fried. When he stepped outside, the stillness of the July dawn warned him it would be a hot day with no rain or relief in sight.

The leaves of the cottonwoods along the river seemed to hold their breath—but they were still green, while the grass around the house and in the pasture was looking dry. It brought to mind Michael’s message from last night, about how those who loved the Lord were like the trees who sent their roots into the stream and flourished.

Was he faithful enough? He’d spent a fitful night, wondering if he could have said something different to Emma. Wondering if his feelings for Eve and Olivia were the beginnings of a lifetime of love the Lord had sent him, or just his sense of duty kicking in. Once more Wesley had made a mess of things and he, Billy, the responsible twin, was making things right.

He stopped at the barn to gaze back at the white house in the shimmer of the sunrise. Feelings welled up within him, for this had been his home—and yet it really wasn’t. The Malloys had taken him in and loved him like family, but he was a Bristol. And that would never change.

He turned his face from the sun as warring emotions punched him in the gut. Much as he loved Michael and Mercy and the family they’d pieced together, he wanted to go home. Here in the summer sun’s unflinching light, he realized he had no desire to finish that little house at the corner of the homestead—whether Emma decided to live there or not. He wanted that place in Richmond with the white pillared porch and the lilacs, even if the fences were falling down and the windows were broken.

A sigh escaped him, and bitterness rose up in his throat like bile. Best to feed and water the horses like always: Obadiah Jones had sent word yesterday that he’d be coming for his horses this week. They figured he’d show up today for Sunday dinner, as he always did.

Billy swiveled to go inside the barn, but then gasped. Michael was standing there, watching him. His hair was still mussed from sleep. His golden brown eyes were as devoted as an old hound dog’s.

“Mighty serious thoughts, Billy,” he observed. “If something’s on your mind—and it’s been that kind of a summer—I hope you’ll tell me about it. It’ll go no farther, you know.”

Billy’s eyes smarted with unshed tears. He suddenly felt like that ten-year-old waif this compassionate man had taken up onto the seat of his stagecoach, after he’d been abandoned and his sister Christine became such a pill.

“You always know when I’m stewin’ on somethin’,” he breathed, “so tell me this, Michael: why can’t I think of nothin’ but going back to that house in

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