Page 18 of Wagon Train Hope
“Why don’t I ride out a way and see if they’re coming?” Before her ma or Walt could protest, Irene swung to the back of her horse and galloped bareback across the grass.
Walt bit back the protest burning across his tongue. Free was one thing. Moderately wild wasn’t too bad, but riding recklessly over unfamiliar ground was unacceptable.
He couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop gritting his teeth.
Marnie correctly read his thoughts. “Walt, any attempt to tame her will only make her unhappy.”
“Don’t you worry about her? She’s so…so…” He couldn’t speak the words in his mind to her mother.
“Carefree? Happy? Exuberant? All things I wouldn’t change about her.”
“She could get injured.”
“It’s also possible she might trip over a snake and get bit without doing anything riskier than walking across the campsite.”
The truth in those words didn’t make him feel any better. He ground his teeth at her reckless ride. So what if they’d enjoyed a pleasant afternoon? So what if she’d told him things that helped him understand her better? So what if he’d confessed secrets to her?
They weren’t really secrets. Only things he had never told anyone before.
That didn’t change who she was nor who he was. They were as different as night and day. Fire and water. Not thathe had any intention of spending time with her apart from what the journey required.
He stared at the crippled wagon. There would have been a terrible accident if the wheel had come off. Someone might have been hurt. Or worse. Bad things happened.
They happened more often when one wasn’t careful. He needed to remember that fact.
5
Irene leaned over the neck of her faithful horse, Hopper. The wind sifted through her hair and stung her eyes. She blinked away tears. The thud of the animal’s hooves reverberated in her chest.
“Hi-yah!” She yelled at her horse to go faster until there was nothing but the wind, the horse, and the freedom.
She crested the hill. She wanted to race onward, think of only the wide-open spaces. Erase the confusing hours fishing. But wisdom said she couldn’t continue to gallop across the prairie. She slowed to a trot and then a walk. Hopper pranced as she signaled him to stop, cupped a hand over her eyes, and stared in the direction Cecil and Joe had ridden. A hawk soared overhead, riding the wind currents with effortless ease.
No sign of a returning wagon. In fact, no sign of another human being. Lonesomeness sucked at her insides. She never wanted to be alone like that. A glance over her shoulder and the sight of the tiny camp reassured her. Ma and Gabe stood together by the fire.
A smile curved her mouth, and she nudged her horsearound to watch them. Ma was happy. For that reason alone, Irene liked Gabe. Though she’d liked him fine before he courted and married Ma.
Her attention shifted further. Bertie sat close to one of the wagons surrounded by his pets. Past him, Hazel rested on a blanket amusing Petey. Louise, Ruby, and Angela had their heads bent over the quilt squares on which they embroidered things that signified the journey—a trio of covered wagons, a bowl of red raspberries, Bertie and his pets, the fire with cooking pots over it—so many things to immortalize. Irene had started a square, intending to fill it with colorful flowers. Maybe she’d do a second one with a fishing rod and a fish, with a bucket on the ground holding more fish.
Finally, reluctantly—or did she mean, eagerly though she’d never admit it—she let her attention go to Walt. He stood strong and tall, his hands on his hips, studying the propped-up wagon.
Her gaze lingered. No longer could she avoid her tangled, confusing thoughts. She’d enjoyed fishing with him. Been comfortable talking to him and hearing what he had to say, especially when he said he remembered Bertie before his illness.
A bird flew up from the grass and, with a tiny cry, flitted away from the intruders.
Irene palmed the spot where Walt had touched her. The gesture had surprised her clear to the roots of her hair. More surprising was how it made her heart tip over and pour out feelings she hadn’t before known. She would have leaned into his touch, except Bertie had come along and pulled her back to reality. But her confusion lingered. Was it possible Walt saw her differently from how she assumed? Could she be wrong about him, and he was warmhearted and not judgmental? Or was her heart wrong?
Walt shifted from the wagon, then widened his stance and crossed his arms, appearing to watch her.
If only she was close enough to see his face and perhaps read his expression or his eyes and guess at what he was thinking.
She signaled her horse to move forward, her gaze still fixed on Walt. The distance narrowed until she made out his face. His lips set in a straight line. His eyes were shaded by his hat. He leaned back on his heels and continued to watch her approach.
She was about to lift her hand in greeting when he strode past the wagons. He continued until he reached the oxen. He patted one on the head, another on the rump. Never once did he look back.
Not that she cared. Of course, she didn’t. She swung to the ground and tied her horse to the wagon, then joined Ma and Gabe, flopping on the ground beside them.
The sun shone low in the west. Pink stained the sky much like the cheeks of an embarrassed young woman caught staring at a man.
