Page 1 of Wagon Train Hope
1
Eighteen-year-old Irene Woods reined in her horse, every nerve in her body alert.
Her hands clasped the warm leather straps, and her head tipped sideways. She heard it again. A keening, gasping cry from the nearby thicket. She recognized that sound. Had known it all her life. It was Bertie, her big brother, who had stayed a child in his head. Something had frightened him. It could be anything from a strange noise to a stranger.
Why was he so far from the wagons? She shrugged. Probably looking for a spot of privacy to answer the call of nature.
Dismounting, she tied her horse to the nearest tree and eased forward in case Bertie had encountered real danger. Irene soon made him out through the branches. She opened her mouth to call but changed her mind. Better to wait until she could see what caused his alarm.
Leaves rustled as she moved. Hopefully, not enough to alert anyone…should there be another person present.
She drew up again at heavy footsteps.
“Bertie, what’s the problem?”
The deep voice belonged to Walt Miller, the eldest son of the family who had joined them for this journey west. His father, Gabe Miller, insisted their entourage of five women, a baby, and Bertie would benefit from the protection he and his two sons offered. He announced he’d accompany them across the country to Fort Taylor. Irene didn’t see the need for it. They had the scout, Joe. Besides, she was perfectly capable of taking care of her family on the trail.
With how long they’d been traveling now, she’d had time to prove her capability, although not everyone believed it. Especially Walt. What an annoying man. Disapproving of everything she did. How many times had she overheard the comments he did nothing to hide? The one stinging the worst was, “That gal is set on getting herself and maybe everyone else into trouble.” Sure, she wore trousers and rode astride and didn’t mind a good hard gallop on the back of her horse. But to suggest she’d ever do anything to endanger her family made her curl her fists. How dare he?
“Bertie?” Walt’s calm voice would reassure Bertie.
Huh. Quite the opposite of how he talked to her. She gritted her teeth. She would not recall his words. Nor would she let them hurt her. They were only his opinion. He probably didn’t realize—or care—how his words stung.
“I seen something.”
Irene eased forward an inch. Two. Three. Until through the fluttering green leaves, she got a view of Bertie. She studied the area around him. More trees. Some deciduous, some evergreens, and the usual underbrush. The grassy clearing where he stood held a smattering of rocks from small to not-quite-big enough to hide behind. Nothing in his surroundings gave her concern.
There was no one. Well, except for Walt, who stood three strides away, his arms at his sides.
“What did you see?” Still calm, relaxed even. His fingers, fanned at his side, informed her he was alert and ready to confront danger.
“Something.” Bertie’s voice quivered. “Where Alice?”
The black-and-white goat, Bertie’s constant companion, stood on her hind legs, reaching for juicy leaves to eat.
“There she is.” Walt nodded toward the animal.
Bertie looked behind him and released a whistling sound of relief. He patted his leg. “Alice, come.”
After pulling another mouthful of leaves off the willow tree, the goat dropped to the ground, trotted over to Bertie, and butted him by way of greeting.
“What did you see?” Walt continued in the same gentle, deep tone. Had he learned everyone needed to be patient with Bertie? It would seem so.
It wasalmostenough to make her like the man.
“Something. Over there.” Bertie jabbed his finger toward the waist-high, rough rock between Irene and him, blocking her view of whatever he pointed at.
A snake, maybe? A shudder shook her. She hated—hated!—snakes.
Walt edged closer. Studied the ground. “Maybe it was this branch moving in the breeze?”
Bertie had his arm around Alice’s neck, clutching his pet for comfort. “Maybe.” He swallowed loudly. “I scared.”
Walt squeezed Bertie’s shoulder. “Nothing to be frightened of.”
Irene blinked rapidly. Walt’s hand offered comfort to her brother, who was taller by only a few inches. She’d never taken note of how close in size Walt was to Bertie, who was a big man. Thank the good Lord, Bertie was gentle and usually cooperative. Seven years younger than he was, she’d never known him to be angry enough for his size and strength to be a problem. Though he occasionally displayed a stubbornstreak. A grin quirked her mouth. A good family trait, in her opinion.
She sniffed and backed away as quietly as possible in the thick brush and overhanging trees. Dare she hope Bertie’s talk about what he might have seen would drown out her departure, and Walt wouldn’t realize she’d watched?
