said at the same time.
Billy wanted nothing more than to sit down and fill the hollowness some people called hunger. Instead, he had these two people—three, if you counted the baby—to contend with.
And a storm in his head as violent as the one raging outdoors.
Chapter Three
A shiver raced across Vivian’s shoulders and reached down her throat to grab her heart in a cruel grip. She was hungry, yet she hesitated. Mrs. Black scared every last bit of courage from her heart.
“Ma won’t be changing her mind. You might as well pull up to the table.”
Vivian ducked her head to hide the sudden sting of tears. She longed to be safe. Until this morning, she had always chosen the easy route, doing what was expected of her. Her fear switched to anger. Look where that had landed her.
“I’m getting mighty hungry and when I’m hungry I get cranky.” Billy sounded as if he’d already crossed the line into that state.
Realizing her precarious position, Vivian jerked as if lassoed unexpectedly from behind. She did not want to see Billy upset in any way. She remembered him from school. How he’d stood with fists curled as the boys taunted him. She’d wondered how they had the nerve to test Billy’s mettle. Even back then he was big enough to do serious harm to several of them before they could stop him by the sheer weight of their numbers. As she’d watched, her heart tight with distress at their taunts, tears raced to her eyes. Then Billy looked directly at her. She’d seen the pain in his gaze and knew how much this tormenting hurt him. Then his anger exploded. Only he didn’t turn on the boys responsible. He started pounding on the walls of the barn on the school property. She’d almost been ill at how he’d thrust his fists again and again into the unyielding wood until his knuckles were torn and bleeding.
She did not want to trigger such a violent reaction because of something she did or failed to do, so she slowly made her way to the table hoping he would think her shivers came from moving away from the fireplace.
To think she’d handed the baby to Big Billy. Certainly, his crying made her feel helpless and frustrated, but as soon as she shoved the bundle into his hands she knew she’d made a mistake. Billy had only to curl his big fists to squeeze the life out of the infant.
She’d held her breath, praying he would choose not to. God mercifully answered her prayers. The big man cradled the baby gently and the little bit of squalling intractability settled down.
Suddenly, her fears subsided and her heart calmed. Somehow, and she couldn’t explain it, she knew Billy would not harm a living soul. Perhaps it was seeing how gentle he was with the numerous cats, or watching his patient concern over his mother or realizing that even in his anger almost eight years ago, he had not turned against those responsible.
She straightened her shoulders, shifted the baby and walked to the table. There were three chairs. She avoided the one vacated by his mother.
Billy waited until she sat, the baby cradled in her left arm. “I’ll pray for the food.”
Startled by his announcement, expecting him to care little about godly things, she darted a look at him, caught him watching her and quickly bowed her head.
“I ain’t a bad man,” he muttered.
She wanted to tell him she didn’t think so, but when she stole another glance he had closed his eyes. Just as well. She wasn’t sure what she thought of this big man. She, too, bowed her head.
“Lord, some have hunger, but no meat; some have meat, but no hunger; I have both. God be praised! Amen.”
Vivian coughed to hide her sudden desire to laugh. She kept her head down, glad of the need to concentrate on her meal. She doubted Big Billy would share her amusement at the grace he’d chosen.
In the pantry, his mother mumbled something unintelligible but clearly was annoyed.
How did Billy live with this day in and day out? It was enough to drive even the strongest man to lunacy.
Anger gnawed at her throat. It wasn’t her fault she was stuck with a crazy woman and a reluctant man. She had a clear-cut destination and a task to take care of. Only the storm had diverted her. Lord, God, keep me safe, help me make it to town and enable me to accomplish my purpose.
She ate slowly as she considered her situation and what she could do. Nothing for now. Except pray. She wished she hadn’t told him the truth about being unmarried. It always made her feel dirty and stupid. She should have never listened to Wayne’s promises. But if Billy felt the usual disgust at evidence of a woman with loose morals, to his credit he had hidden it.
Billy ate as if he’d never get another chance. He’d taken the platter she thought for serving food, and consumed the stack of potatoes, four venison steaks and well over a dozen eggs, used four thick slices of bread to clean his plate, then sat back with a huge sigh.
Aware she’d been staring these last five minutes, Vivian ducked her head but not before Billy noticed her interest.
“It takes a lot to fuel me.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Tea,” his mother called.
“Coming, Ma.” He tossed a handful of tea leaves into a big brown china teapot, poured in hot water and let it steep. “She’s not always like this,” Billy said. “Only when there’s strangers about.”
He was blaming Vivian, which wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her fault. As if aware of her upset thoughts, the tiny boy stiffened and whimpered. Her anger vanished and she murmured soft noises to the baby. “I’m sorry, son. I love you and will get you the sort of home you deserve.”
Billy took a cup of tea to his mother. Vivian heard the woman mumbling her complaint, and Billy’s deep voice responding, trying to reassure her. Somehow, despite his size and the timbre of his voice, he had the power to calm his mother. It seemed to work for the baby, too.
On his return, Billy offered Vivian tea.
“Thanks.” Maybe it would soothe her nerves, growing tighter with each passing moment. In fact, if she listened carefully, she could hear them humming like frost-tight wires. She wanted only to get to Quinten. She hadn’t been back since being whisked away to the orphanage seven years ago. She could hardly wait to start over as an adult, a mother and according to her plan, the wife of an upstanding citizen.
A cat rubbed against her leg, startling her. She gasped.
Billy studied her. “You scared of cats?”
“No. I just never had one rub against me while I sat at a table.”
“You never had a pet cat?”
“No.” Mother had considered cats dirty. The orphanage didn’t allow pets. And the Weimers had cats only in the mill—wild, mangy things you couldn’t get close to. Or want to.
“Then I guess you might find it unusual to have so many.”
“How many are there?” She’d tried to count.
“Eight in the house.
