A Handful of Heaven

137

Chapter Thirteen

Yes, I think it is.

she

need

It's someone else's story.

138

"When father was drunk, he was mean," she said matter-of-factly. "He would scream and yell and rage. And there was the strap. ..."

The strap. She hadn't meant to say that, hadn't meant to think about it. But suddenly it was there, in her mind, and she couldn't dispel the picture of it.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately not to remember. Memories hurtled one after another through her mind: her mother, broken in mind and body; herself, huddled in a corner, watching it all and crying, always crying; her father's drunken, leering face and high-pitched holler. And the strap. Always the strap. An uncontrollable shiver swept Devon's body. Stone Man's hold on her tightened. "Did he hurt you?" His voice sounded angry, almost predatory. Devon flinched. "I told you not to interrupt." "Did he hurt you?"

She could tell he'd keep asking until she answered, so she did. "He didn't beat me."

It was the answer she'd always given herself, and it was true. He'd never beaten her, except in discipline, and then only when she'd deserved it by being a bad daughter. So why was it that whenever she thought of him she got a sick, hollow feeling in her stomach?

Such a pat, well-thought-out answer, thought Stone Man. The simple sentence tore at his heart. She was trying so hard to be calm, to be perfect. He felt a white-hot surge of anger at the man who'd taught her that only in perfection could she find love.

He didn 't beat me. The sentence was a shield, an automatic response she'd come up with to keep her analytical mind from digging any deeper.

But the pain was still there, buried just beneath her calm, rational exterior in a box marked DO NOT OPEN. He knew because he was thirty-nine years old, and he had the same pain locked away in his own soul.

She couldn't go on pretending she hadn't been hurt. If she did, she might end up like him, bitter and alone. He didn't know why the thought bothered him so intensely, but it did.

He had to help her. But how? Nothing in his life had pre-

1

pared him to take on the role of comforter. He reached out to her in the only way he knew; he tightened his hold on her body. Before he knew it he'd said, "Fists aren't the only way to hurt people."

She drew in her breath sharply.

"Let it out, Dev. I'm right here, I'll take care of you."

Amazingly she believed him. For the first time in her life she felt protected.

"He hated me." The three tiny words slipped from her mouth, and the moment they did they freed her.

Tears coursed down her cheeks. She wept; for the father's love she'd never known, for the mother's caring she'd done without, for all the times she'd stopped herself from crying. She cried until her soul was parched and dry, and there were no tears left to cry. When she was finished, she felt stronger. Whole.

She pulled a wrinkled-up handkerchief from her apron pocket and blew her nose. Cautiously she looked up at Stone Man. He was looking down at her, and there was a tenderness in his eyes that stole her breath.

The moment stretched between them, and slowly Devon

became aware of how she must look. Her hair had come

'oose and no doubt looked like a lopsided bird's nest. And

er eyes! Lordy, her eyes felt like sun-baked mud puddles,

U dry and cracked and red.