Wagon Train Sweetheart (Journey West 2) Page 7

  What had happened? Moments ago, he’d been charming a little girl, helping Emma by distracting her. Now suddenly he was aloof. Even uncomfortable.

  He blew out a breath, rubbed a hand across his bearded jaw. “Look, Emma—Miss Hewitt.”

  She went back on her heel as he changed the salutation to the more formal surname.

  “I appreciate you taking care of me, but there’s something you should know…”

  His voice trailed off, but then his jaw came up and his shoulders straightened as if he’d come to some kind of decision.

  His face turned toward her and his onyx eyes met her gaze. They were filled with determination, but behind that, shadowed.

  “I heard what you said to your family yesterday. About me.”

  She flushed, remembering how she’d come to his defense. If it had been anyone else, she likely would have kept her opinions to herself. Her natural shyness often prevented her from speaking her mind in the company of others, as evidenced by what had happened the morning Nathan had collapsed.

  “I’m not the kind of man you think I am.”

  Nathan’s quiet words drew her out of herself, out of her thoughts and self-deprecation.

  His jaw had tightened and a muscle ticked in his cheek. What was he trying to tell her that was making him so serious?

  “What kind of man are you?” she asked.

  “A thief.”

  She flinched at the unexpected words.

  “I mightn’t have taken your hair combs, or anything else on this trip, but I have done so in the past. I’ve done my share of poaching and fistfighting. And other things I’m not proud of.”

  He stared at her, his expression hard.

  She didn’t know what to make of his unexpected confession. There was a reason he was telling her this, but she couldn’t fathom what it might be. Her breaths were coming short and her stomach had tightened painfully.

  And then she saw his hand, half-hidden behind his thigh. Trembling.

  Something more was going on here. She must tread carefully.

  “To what purpose were your crimes?”

  “What?” His sharp question was laced with surprise. Had he not understood her?

  “Why did you do those things?”

  “Does it matter?” he demanded, voice gone slightly rough. “I did them. I’m a criminal.”

  “Emma!” Ben’s voice called from the front of the wagon. “We’ve got to pull out, can you put up the tailgate?”

  “Yes,” she called back, but she didn’t let her gaze waiver from Nathan’s face.

  “What I said the other night remains,” she said softly. “I forgive you. Perhaps you need to seek God’s forgiveness. And forgive yourself.”

  She stepped off the crate she’d been using to gain a better height and lifted the heavy tailgate, carefully latching it into place. Nathan watched her, his brow heavily wrinkled, as if in consternation.

  She lifted the empty crate and hung it on its peg on the back corner of the wagon. But she had one more thing to say.

  She stood on tiptoes, clasping the top of the tailgate to steady herself. “No matter your past, I still believe you need a friend, Nathan Reed. And I aim to be just that.”

  She left him sitting in the wagon bed as Ben commanded the oxen into motion.

  Chapter Six

  If Nathan expected Emma to heed his warning about his character and avoid him, he was surprised.

  She checked on him throughout the day, as sweet and kind as ever. He couldn’t understand why. Hadn’t she heard what he’d told her about his criminal past?

  From inside the wagon, he’d watched the landscape change from the rocky bluffs to a marshy bottom where the wagon’s wheels had slogged through and the oxen had attempted to slow and graze as they’d pulled. He’d often heard Ben’s deep voice from outside and in front of the wagon, urging the animals forward.

  Then out of the marsh, they’d traveled along a creek bottom, mostly covered with grass.

  He’d split his attention between watching the landscape pass and reading. Neither the book Emma had lent him nor the land kept his attention overlong—his thoughts kept tracking back to the woman, time and again.

  He felt slightly better, able to sit up for periods of time, but he had little hope of being out of the wagon tomorrow. His cough acted up when he took the slightest effort, whether it was standing or walking. He would never be able to control the oxen, and his fatigue persisted.

  The bugle sounded as twilight fell and Nathan was able to disembark the wagon after Ben had pulled it into the familiar circle, the circle that protected their caravan and its animals.

  It was a relief to stretch to his full height, unencumbered by the wagon bonnet or the jumble of the Hewitts’ belongings.

  He lingered as long as he could, taking care of his personal needs. It was full dark when he returned to the Hewitts’ camp, the night sky sparkling with stars too numerous to count.

  His stomach rumbled with hunger, but he considered ducking back into the wagon. If Emma came after him, he could feign sleep.

  He didn’t need food as much as he needed to keep his distance.

  A soft bark greeted him as he neared the wagon. Scamp. He’d heard Emma use the affectionate name and figured it was as good as any.

  But he didn’t want the little rascal announcing his presence to the entire company.

  Too late.

  A shadow separated from the wagon. Emma. Waiting on him again.

  “Are you all right?”

  She didn’t seem to consider whether he might’ve been doing something he oughtn’t. She only asked about his well-being.

  And something inside him rose up in response. He tried to cram it back down into the darkness inside him, but there was some part of him that liked it that she cared enough, as a friend, to ask.

  He nodded, when he’d intended to brush by her and clamber back up into the wagon. He looked down on the dog at his feet, wagging his whole rear end in silent joy at seeing Nathan.

  “Supper’s on,” she said softly. “Join us.”

  He hesitated and she must’ve known it, because she cajoled, “Please, Nathan.”

  And somehow he found himself settling beside her on a blanket spread near the fire, accepting a plate of food, the dog at his side.

  The food smelled so good—a gamey meat, biscuits, some kind of floury gravy—that he was desperately tempted to begin shoveling it in his mouth with his fingers.

  But he’d felt how she’d watched him the past times he’d eaten at their fire. He knew he didn’t have any manners, that he was as good as a wild animal.

  But he wasn’t an animal. And someone as fine as Emma deserved politeness at her table, such as it was.

  So he forced himself to use the fork that felt unfamiliar in his clumsy fingers. Forced himself to eat slow, chew his food.

  Her sister, the one who chattered all the time, sat across the fire with Ben and his fiancée and Mr. Bingham. Pressman was nowhere in sight and not for the first time, Nathan wondered at the friendship between Emma and the other man, whose unusual behavior had caught Nathan’s interest.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  He startled when a female voice sounded from Emma’s other side, the question directed at him.

  He’d seen Sally Littleton around their camp but never had reason to speak to her. She held a baby on her lap, who cooed and drooled and waved a chubby hand in the air.

  He swallowed the hunk of meat in his mouth and nearly choked on it. “Somewhat,” he finally answered, gruffer than he had intended.

  “Emma is a good nurse. She’s helped doctor Johnny twice, hasn’t she, little one?”

  Nathan wasn’t sure if the woman’s words required a response since her tone
had changed at the end of her sentence so that she was cooing at the baby.

  “I’m sure the orphanage would have discovered your nursing skills before long, if you hadn’t left,” Sally continued, now speaking to Emma.

  “Orphanage?” he echoed, because he’d lost the conversational thread.

  Emma cleared her throat. “After Papa passed, I became involved with a local orphanage. Doing some cooking on occasion. Sewing clothing for the children.”

  “So that’s what you left behind,” he said softly.

  Emma’s eyes flicked up and met his, shadows dancing in their depths. Or maybe it was just the reflection of flickering flames playing tricks on him.

  “Not a suitor?” He wasn’t even sure where the words came from, but they were out of his mouth before he could call them back.

  “No.” He could be mistaken, but he thought he saw her cheeks go pink before she ducked her head.

  “Well, it’s off to bed for this strapping boy,” Sally Littleton said as she stood and gathered her things in one hand while she held the baby in the other.

  “Good night,” Emma offered quietly.

  And then their neighbor was gone and he was alone with Emma on the quilt. Her sister had disappeared, along with Mr. Bingham, and only Ben and Abby sat across the fire from them, whispering to each other and not paying any attention to Nathan and Emma.

  “What about you?” she asked. “What did you leave behind to come West?”

  “Nothing.”

  She wrinkled her nose at his simple statement, but he wasn’t putting her off. It was true.

  “No family?” she pressed.

  He shook his head. Beth was gone, as was his mother, and he’d left his pa behind and counted it a blessing.

  “What about Beth?” she asked, her words going so quiet that he almost didn’t hear his sister’s name.

  His jaw tightened, his back teeth ground together. He shook his head. He didn’t—couldn’t talk about Beth. What had happened, his guilt, was too painful.

  But Emma was not offended that he didn’t answer.

  “Where did you grow up?” she asked, voice still friendly and open. Scamp lay down between them on the blanket and she scratched between his shoulders, which just enticed the dog to roll over and offer her his belly. She scratched that, too.

  “Arkansas,” Nathan answered with abruptness. “On a farm.”

  “Oh. We have that in common.”

  She sounded so pleased about it that his stomach curdled. “Hardly. We were dirt poor. I doubt you’ve ever known hunger such that your belly turns into a little stone inside of you.”

  “No, but my family lost much in the Panic,” she said.

  He’d forgotten. He knew she must’ve had a difficult time with her father ill and then passing. But he doubted she knew what it was like to not know where your next meal would come from—or if it even would.

  He went silent. Afraid to say the wrong thing again. Afraid she would get up off the blanket and leave. When he should’ve been the one escaping back to the wagon.

  “I think you must’ve overcome much to become the man you are today, Nathan.”

  And then in the wake of those words, she did stand up, brushing off her skirt.

  “Prickly or not, I like you.”

  Her simple words kept him awake long into the night, long past the time when campfires had gone out and murmurs had quieted throughout the camp.

  She couldn’t mean it.

  * * *

  Two days later, Nathan chafed at the forced confinement of the wagon. Outside the canvas cover, life went on. Children laughed and played. Women talked and gossiped. Men drove the oxen.

  But Nathan was stuck where he was.

  He was much stronger than before. His fever had never returned, but his hacking cough persisted. Each time he had a coughing fit, he ended up as weak and limp as a finely tanned rabbit’s fur. Ben and Emma had insisted he remain in the wagon one more day, but he wanted away.

  He was used to being a loner. Being on his own.

  After eating supper together these past nights, and the forced intimacy of their close confines, Nathan knew how very dangerous being around Emma could be.

  He didn’t understand her.

  How could she state that she wanted to be his friend after what he’d told her? He’d expected revulsion, rejection when he’d told her that he was a thief. Or at least for her to turn cold, treat him like the cur he was.

  She’d done none of those things.

  Her continued acceptance made him want to take the friendship she was offering.

  But it was dangerous to want. He’d learned it the hard way, growing up. Whether it was a toy or food for his always-empty stomach, during his childhood the chances were that he’d get a smack if he’d told his pa he wanted something.

  His family had been constantly on the edge of poverty.

  As to wanting a friend, he’d given up on that after he’d failed Beth. He didn’t deserve a friend.

  Which was why Emma’s continued kindness in the face of his confession baffled him.

  Worried him.

  What expectations did she have of him?

  If she couldn’t see it now, when would she figure out that he wasn’t friend material?

  Her dazzling smiles made him uncomfortable, more so because he knew he didn’t deserve them.

  And the thought that burned a hole in his gut…what if he failed her like he’d failed Beth?

  He slammed the thick book Emma had lent him closed, frustrated that he’d become distracted by thoughts of the beautiful woman. Again.

  He attempted to stretch out his legs, but there just wasn’t room among the jumble of the Hewitts’ belongings.

  The forced inactivity wore upon him, more so because without something to distract him, his thoughts circled back to Emma like a hawk hunting prey. Over and over again. With alarming frequency.

  He wanted out of this wagon.

  He growled, a low sound of frustration ripping from his chest.

  “Well, hello to you, too.”

  His head whipped up and he chastised himself for being lost in his thoughts because the very woman he’d been thinking about had approached and was walking close behind the wagon, peering up at him.

  Afternoon sunlight turned her hair to gold and the cloudless sky made her blue eyes seem even brighter. Behind her, in the distance, the sparkling water of the big Bear River shone in the sunlight—almost as dazzling as her smile.

  “Are you bored with the book?” she asked.

  “The book is fine,” he said shortly. It was he who was distracted.

  He’d come to a decision earlier, after she’d told him she would continue to be his friend. No matter how kind she was to him, he would turn away her offers of friendship until he could escape the wagon or until she realized he wasn’t friend material.

  “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

  Suspicion rose but was quickly disregarded. Emma was so open and trusting—possibly to her own detriment—that whatever task she’d brought him wasn’t to his harm.

  She tossed a burlap sack into the wagon bed. It landed heavily against his legs.

  “What is this?” he asked, but curiosity had him unfurling the top of the bag before she’d answered.

  Inside was a tangle of ropes.

  “One of the young boys has been collecting pieces of rope. Some of them are in decent shape and could be spliced together to make a longer piece. Restore their usefulness.”

  He didn’t know what to think about such a task. It was busywork, something to keep his hands occupied. Wasn’t that what he wanted?

  He met her gaze squarely and she looked at him with no guile. “I think we’ll find th
e rope still has use left in it.”

  There was something, some message, underneath her words. He was an expert tracker and could name the prints of dozens of animals, but he couldn’t decipher her deeper meaning.

  He thought to refuse her, in keeping with his plan to make her believe he wasn’t friend material, but then she added a soft, “Please.”

  She was too good to have to beg someone like him.

  He nodded.

  Her answering smile was brilliant and lit her face. He forced himself to look away, to stare at the level sandy plain, covered with sage. Anywhere but at her.

  Chapter Seven

  That same afternoon the bugler called for a halt after only five miles, for which Emma was grateful. Her stomach grumbled for sustenance, although she felt she’d ingested several buckets’ worth of dust. The oxen and wagons kicked up much into the air on this stretch of plain.

  She was also grateful for the short day because she suspected Nathan must be climbing the walls inside the wagon. She’d given him the rope-splicing task, hoping it would keep him busy enough that his attitude wouldn’t suffer. The task was childish, something an eleven- or twelve-year-old could’ve done, but he’d accepted it without complaint.

  Without saying much of anything.

  That was one of the challenges plaguing her. Nathan had been a loner for so long, it seemed that either he didn’t know how to converse or he didn’t want to.

  But she knew he must want a friend. Her assumption was sparked by the hint of vulnerability she’d seen—or thought she’d seen—when he’d tried to scare her off days ago.

  She’d finally figured out his intentions. Mostly because she’d pored over the conversation mentally since it had happened.

  But the question remained—why? Why did he want her to stay distant from him?

  She’d thought that what they’d shared as he’d been in the throes of sickness had cemented a friendship somehow because with Nathan, she didn’t feel the same awkwardness that intruded on every other relationship, even acquaintanceship, with the opposite sex.

  But what if he was only being polite and bearing her presence because she’d cared for him?