The rapist had stolen her future as surely as Wyatt and Adler had stolen Clay’s, and his hands and jaw set like stone.

“You can leave now.” Leah rolled her head on the pillow and lifted a faint smile to him. “There’s nothing to say, and that’s all right. I understand.”

If only he could fix this, but his medical kit lay empty. “I wish . . .”

“It’s all right. Just pray. Please pray.”

“I will.” He picked up the violin and stood. “I’ll visit tomorrow if I can.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, almost as serene as the day he’d met her.

That smile made his gut twist harder than if she’d burst into tears.

He strode out of the ward and into the hot humid night. Prayer was powerful. It was. But what about that verse in the book of James? If someone was naked and hungry, it was worthless to tell her to depart in peace and be warm and filled.

Sometimes a man needed to offer a blanket, a hot meal, or a bandage.

“Lord!” Clay stopped on the concrete path between the long narrow hospital buildings, and he raised his face and his voice to the starry sky. “I only have a hundred bucks or so. I have nothing to give her, nothing but my name.”

And the stars brightened, and light poured through them into his eyes and his mind.

His name.

The pinpoints of light coalesced into a beam, illuminating his path with utter clarity, every step marked and sure to the very end.

No, he needed to think about this. He pressed his hand over his eyes to block the light, to think clearly, but the light chased down every objection and turned every dark spot bright. In any other circumstances, the idea would be crazy. But in his circumstance—in hers—nothing could be more logical.

Clay spun back to the women’s surgical ward, and he marched, then jogged, then ran. Up the stairs, through the door, past startled nurses, to the foot of Leah’s bed, breathing hard.

She frowned up at him.

The light couldn’t contain itself, and he opened his mouth. “Marry me.”

Leah shook her head a bit. “What?”

“Hear me out.” He set the violin on the chair and paced beside her bed, each step of his feet imprinting the steps of his life. “It’s all so clear. I was telling God I had nothing to offer you but my name—and that’s the best thing I could give you. Marry me, and you take my name with all the rights and privileges attached to it.”

She stared at him, slack jawed, and she scooted up to sitting. “Clay? That—that’s crazy.”

He held out both hands as if he held his name in a gift box. “No, it’s perfect. Marry me, and you can keep your baby.”