It was a while before any of them could recover. Travis, touching his brother’s forehead in affection, smiled at the man holding his wife. “Take care of my women while I go get a wagon,” he said.
By the time he returned, they were surrounded by plantation workers who stood helplessly by as the house burned. It was too far gone to try to save it. Men were getting the horses out of the nearby stables, and two more men helped Travis put Wes in the back of the wagon. Jennifer sat by her uncle, too tired and dazed to speak.
When Travis and Regan were on the seat, he turned to her. “Shall we go home?”
“Home,” she whispered. “Home is where you are, Travis, and that’s where I want to be.”
He kissed her. “I love you,” he said, “and—.”
“I’m bleeding to death, and you two are courting,” Wesley bellowed from the back.
“Courting!” Travis snorted, clicking to the horses. “Little brother, you don’t even know what courting is. As soon as you’re up to the excitement, I’m going to tell you about the world’s best courtship. Maybe someday you can be half as creative—.” He stopped and narrowed his eyes at Regan, who’d started laughing, and his look of injury made her laugh harder.
“I think I’d rather hear Regan’s side of any of your stories, Travis,” Wesley said, smiling, his eyes closed.
“Home,” Regan said, wiping her eyes. “It’s going to be very good to get home.”
Travis began to smile also as he turned the horses toward the Stanford plantation.