Being grateful
705 Words
*Wade*
I kneel beside the creek, habit making me stir up the water before I lean over to fill the canteens. Still waters can throw a man's reflection back at him.
I drop to my backside, close the canteens, and rub my hands over my face. I owe her another apology. My reaction to her kindness frightened her. I saw it in those eyes of clover that reflect her heart as openly as a book. They were filled with joy when I turned around, and I walked away leaving them filled with despair.
I feel like I’ve just squashed a beautiful butterfly for doing little more than innocently landing on my shoulder. I am nothing but a clumsy ogre.
I close my eye against the memory of last night. I owe her an apology for that too, even though she has no way of knowing what transpired by the campfire after she walked into the tent. How does a man apologize for taking advantage of a situation without causing more harm?
One way or another, I need to make amends. My lustful thoughts have no place on this journey.
I pick up a stick and draw a "B" in the mud. I trace the right side until the groove is deep and water begins to seep into it. Then, I carve the "C" and stare at my brother's brand, emblazoning the sight in my mind and in my heart.
I know that the marriage ceremony that will take place when we arrive at the pack is only a formality. As far as Chase is concerned, Briony became his mate the day he joined her initial to his. I would do well to remember that.
I toss the muddy stick aside, force myself to my feet, and wander back to camp, my apology tagging along like an unwanted puppy.
I stop dead in my tracks, my practiced words forgotten as I stare at Briony walking through the camp, her hand covering her left eye. She trips over a rock, stumbles, catches her balance, glances down, her eye still covered, and speaks to the rock as though it were some child who had wandered across her path. "Oh, I didn't see you."
She lifts her gaze and continues to roam the small area, her skirt coming dangerously close to the fire.
"What do you think you're doing?" I bellow as panic grips me.
She spins around. Her cheeks flame red as she lowers her hand. "I was trying to see the world as you see it."
I hunker down before the fire and pour the remaining coffee over the low flames. "Believe me, you don't want to see the world as I see it."
With small hesitant steps, she eases closer to the fire, wringing her hands. I know I should apologize now, but damn if I can remember the words I wanted to use.
"I've noticed that you try to keep... your... your right side facing me. I thought it was because you were trying to spare me the sight of your scars..."
Her words slice through me like a knife. If I could, I’d spare her my presence altogether. Damn Chase. All six bullets wouldn’t be enough satisfaction.
"I realize now that your vision is hampered," she continues.
"I'm like a horse that wears blinders on one side, so just stay to the right of me," I say gruffly.
She lets out a soft sound. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."
"You didn't embarrass me. You just came dang close to setting your skirt on fire." I explain.
"Oh." She gnaws on her lower lip. "At least you don't have to squint when you aim a rifle."
My gaze hardens on hers. Sympathy fills those green eyes, along with the tears.
"I was trying to think of a reason why you might be grateful that you lost an eye. I know it's a silly reason, but sometimes when I'm bothered by something, if I can find a reason to be grateful…"
Drawing myself up to my full height, I glare down at her. "Do you know what would have made me grateful, Miss Starweaver?"
She shakes her head slightly.
"If I had lost both eyes."
- Writer
