The Vines Of Blood And Ash ( Book Two of the How Deep the Roots Go series)

Chapter 45

Time ticked by slowly in the weeks that followed the battle. It mirrored the leisurely transition into fall when the leaves barely hold a brush of color on their delicate form, yet the promise for a new season lingers on the air like a lover's touch.

The battle had been fought; it had been conquered by good. But still, a restlessness stirred around inside of Temperance — murmuring in the hearth of her soul.

"What's the matter?" Roman asked, the front door closing behind him. He exited the house with two mugs of coffee in hand.

Temperance was seated on one of the white rockers on the front porch, slowly rocking it with the balls of her bare feet. She smiled at him, opening her hand and accepting the mug. "It's difficult to believe it's finally over."

Roman arched a brow and took a sip of his coffee and leaned on the porch rail, looking over toward Lilly's home. Both Lilly and Wyatt were outside as well; they too were most likely discussing the outcome of it all. It had been the main subject at the last couple of dinners they attended, even on Easter.

"I imagine it will sit with us for quite a while," Roman answered, raising his mug as Wyatt lifted his own in salute. "Perhaps forever," he added.

"How are you feeling?" Temperance asked, lifting her mug to Wyatt as well.

"Thank God for Lilly," he answered, turning his head. "Her healing herbs fixed me right up."

"You probably should have taken an antibiotic," Temperance replied dryly, remembering the lashes that ruled over his copper flesh, exposing the deep layers of his skin.

He turned around, leaned his back on the rail. "Now you sound like my mother."

Temperance batted her eyelashes. "Wise woman."

He nodded, thinking of how he was to propose his question. "Speaking of," he began, his eyes locking with hers.

Temperance clicked her tongue, her lips forming a devilish smile. "Oh boy," she started. "What is it?"

Roman let out a long breath and looked at the liquid in his mug a moment, then his gaze met his wife's stare.

By habit, she tucked her hair behind her ear, then tilted her head just a bit, waiting for him to speak.

"My mother and father were asking where we are intending to live," he voiced. "My house just sits," he added, seemingly hesitating for a long moment. "I need to do something with it. Luckily, Mom informed me that one of my cousins would be willing to rent it if need be."

She nodded in thought, remembering the conversation they had long ago about it. She wasn't sure then if she could ever leave her childhood home, but since the battle and all that they had endured, she was ready for that clean slate.

He saw her formulate a response, saw the wheels spin in her head. He waited. He hoped...

She tapped her mug with her fingernails. "We'll live on the bayou," she replied softly. "In the home you built."

He looked surprised and relieved all at the same time. She set her coffee down, smiled and stood, and walked to him.

She placed her hand on his cheek, searching his dark eyes. "I think it will be a good place for us to raise the baby," she whispered.

His hand lifted to hers, clutched it in his own. He brought it to his lips, laid a slow kiss on her palm.

"You sure?" he asked, his smile deepening. This is why he had built that house, he thought. To turn it into a home; to fill those empty rooms with children — to grow old there.