Page 41 of Wagon Train Hope
She chewed her lip. From the start of this journey, there’d been disagreement about whether to rest the entire day or not. Ma had decided they’d have a short time of worshipbefore setting out on their Sunday travels. “We need to be making up time, don’t you think?” She bit her lip hard to keep from adding that she was certain God would understand the necessity of travel. A short laugh escaped.
His eyebrows went up.
“I was thinking that God would understand if we overlooked one Sunday. Then I realized how faithless it sounded after reading the Bible back there.” Her lungs expanded with a deep breath. “We should put the worship of Him above the fear of the future.”
His dark eyes bored into her. “You mean we should trust God to see us safely to the Fort?”
A grin pulled up her mouth. “Now that you mention it, it does seem like a good idea.”
He tipped his head back and laughed, the sound drifting down the hills and filling in the hidden places. “It appears we can agree on something.”
Agreeing felt good. Of course, she wasn’t about to admit it. “I’m sure it’s not the only thing we’ve agreed on. For instance, we agreed I’m a better rider than you.” She kicked her horse and galloped off, yelling at the top of her lungs.
The thunder of her horse’s hooves made it impossible to hear if he raced after her. A glance over her shoulders revealed he did.
Instead of galloping further, she reined in as he caught up.
He stopped, facing her, close enough their knees touched as they stared at each other. Was he looking for something? Or had he seen something?
“Why did you stop?” he asked.
“To wait for you.” Her voice had deepened.
Their gazes locked. She was slipping, falling. The sensation didn’t frighten her but rather warmed her. And gave her a sense of security.
Troubled by what that meant, she broke free of the look. “We should get back.”
They rode side by side, taking their time. Conversation consisted of mundane things. The shape of the twisted pine tree, the hawk soaring overhead, the need to cut hay?—
He didn’t ask why she’d waited for him. Not that she could have explained. But a portion of her heart had opened up and waited for something unfamiliar. The feeling was new and fragile. Bringing it out to the light of day threatened its existence. So she kept such thoughts to herself.
They approached the wagons. Bertie played with his goat outside the circle and trotted out to greet them. They unsaddled the horses and brushed them, moving in unison, then turned them out to graze with the rest of the livestock.
Ma looked up as they joined the others. “I wondered when you’d get back.”
Irene wrapped her arms around her mother and hugged her. “Missed me, didcha?”
Ma patted her back. “Yes, of course I did.”
Stepping back from her mother, Irene encountered Walt’s gentle gaze. He gave a little nod…as if he was telling her to pay attention. To what? She’d simply greeted her mother?—
She’d come right out and asked if Ma missed her, and Ma had said yes. Would she have given the same answer if Irene had asked a similar question in the past?
Thoughtfully, she grabbed the empty water buckets and trotted to the stream.
Walt followed. “How does it feel?”
“What?” She might be thinking something different than he.
“Hearing your ma say she missed you.”
Cold water sloshed over her hands as she dipped the pails to fill them. “Felt good.” Straightening, she faced him. “How did you know?”
“It was in your face.”
“What did you see?” No rancor soured her tone. She truly wondered.
“You were surprised. Maybe—” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “All you ever had to do was ask.”
