Page 32 of Wagon Train Hope
“I thought so, too.” They ate in companionable silence before she spoke again. “Ma’s roasting enough to do us a couple of meals. The rest they’re slicing into strips and hanging to dry. Gabe says we’ll have to stay here a day to preserve the meat for traveling.” She ate the last of her biscuits and dusted her hands together.
Joe approached, slid from his saddle, and squatted before them. “Someone has been there. I found tracks.”
His expression remained calm, but something in his tone said Joe didn’t like what he’d seen. “I followed them until they disappeared into the river.” He glanced over his shoulder, studying the trees. “I’d guess it was a lone traveler passing through.”
Joe might have meant to sound dismissive, but his tone hinted otherwise.
Irene’s eyes narrowed as she met Walt’s gaze. She gave a tiny nod.
Yes, she’d noticed it, too.
He leaned forward. “Does it seem odd that a man is traveling alone out here?”
Joe shrugged. “There’s always been those who prefer their own company. Might mean nothing, but we’ll double the guard tonight just to be certain.”
“I can help.” Irene’s offer shattered every sense of accord between them.
“Absolutely not.” Walt hadn’t meant to sound so vehement, but the idea of her wandering around in the dark twisted his insides into a knot that would take a week to loosen.
She pushed to her feet, grabbed his empty plate, and stalked back toward the wagons.
In a vain attempt to redeem himself, he added, “I’m sure your mother would forbid it.”
Her shoulders twitched as if shrugging off an annoying insect. But she didn’t look back or acknowledge his comment.
He straightened his legs, half intending to go after her and explain he only thought about her safety, but he settled back again. She’d already reached the camp, and he didn’t intend to have this discussion before an audience.
Perhaps he’d invite her to go for a walk. They’d meander down by the river. Or climb a hill and view the vast land spread out before them. Maybe he’d?—
What was wrong with him? He wasn’t planning to court the woman. Only make sure she didn’t rush headlong into danger.
8
Irene strode to where the others worked, avoiding the cats romping in the grass. She put the plate in the basin of warm wash water and scrubbed it within an inch of survival. As soon as it was dried and stowed with the other dishes, she grabbed a knife and attacked the meat. Cutting it into long strips provided a necessary outlet. What right did Walt have to dismiss her offer of help? Did he think she was incapable? Or worse—a hindrance? And she’d thought they’d learned to appreciate each other. Huh! How wrong she was.
She gripped her knife handle and yanked it along the edge of the meat.
“Irene, be careful,” Ma warned. “We don’t want any injuries.”
“Yes, Ma.” Irene sucked in air and forced her limbs to relax. Or at least she tried. Why was she letting Walt’s opinion matter? Why did she care what he thought?
She didn’t.
Ma rescued the lengths of meat Irene had cut, salted them, and hung them over the rack Gabe had fashioned.
Irene took in the rows already hung on the rack. “It’s good to have a supply of meat.”
“Thanks to you and Walt.” Louise washed a coffee cup.
Ruby jostled Irene’s side. “You two make a good team.”
With Gabe nearby, Irene didn’t give her opinion. He wouldn’t care to hear what she thought of his eldest son.
Her gaze circled the group. Cecil had gone to join his brother and Joe and likely get a report on what Joe had learned. By lifting her head fractionally, she observed them talking. She turned her back to the sight and focused on the meat.
Dusk descended, and they worked by firelight. Her favorite time of the day. Or at least, it usually was. Tonight, her already tight insides grew tighter when Walt came in. He yawned and stretched but didn’t sit. Cecil and Joe remained with the animals and circled the camp from time to time.
They worked later than usual. No doubt everyone was ready for bed. No one suggested Gabe play his guitar.
