Page 25 of Wagon Train Promises
“No, he wandered off with a sniff of disinterest.”
“Good. Well then, I’ll say good night again.”
“Good night to you.”
A coyote sang in the distance.
“Cecil?”
“Yes?” Was she as reluctant to say a final good night as he? Though he couldn’t say why he felt that way. Only that it was lonely out here with just a skunk and coyotes for company. He swatted away a bug crawling on his neck. And insects. But who wanted insects?
“I’m glad you aren’t going to smell like skunk tomorrow.”
Did he detect humor? He snorted. “I guess I wouldn’t be good company, then.”
He waited for her to respond, but the pause lengthened until he decided she didn’t intend to say anything more. He was about to shift his position when her voice came again.
“I’m glad it didn’t happen.”
“Me too.” He put another log on the fire, shifted to his side, facing toward her tent, and waited. But sleep claimed him.
He woke in the pale gray light and lay there recalling everything that happened during the night.
Had she said something just before he fell asleep? Something that had made him smile? The happy feeling still clung to him, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what she’d said. Something about the skunk? Or was it about him? Them?
Or had he imagined it?
CHAPTER 7
Louise lay motionless in her bedroll. Wood thudded. Flames flared, sending bright flashes across the tent wall. Cecil was up and about. Had she really said those things to him in the night? It was only because it was dark, and she was half asleep, but still?—
The words echoed in her head.
I enjoyed spending the day with you.
“Lord, help him not to take that the wrong way.” She felt like she needed to explain to God that she only meant he was good company. Nothing more. Anyone with eyes could see that he and Hazel belonged together. Louise had no intention of interfering.
The wilted bouquet lay by her head. She trailed her fingertip along the fragile red petals of columbines and the rough center of brown-eyed Susans. He’d added three sprigs of sage. That scent filled her nostrils throughout the night. She pressed the flowers to her nose. What did he mean by leaving them? The unexpected kindness seeped a pleasant feeling into her very pores.
Not that she’d let it make her do anything foolish, like let it mean more than a sweet act from a sweet man.
A groan started in her throat, but she held it back. He was a good, kind man. A perfect mate for Hazel.
She might have lain in bed all morning except nature called, and she hurriedly dressed, finger combed her hair back and braided it, securing it with a length of ribbon that was worn to threads.
Without looking Cecil’s direction, she hurried to the trees. Upon her return, she went to Hazel. Her friend smiled at her, her eyes clear.
“How are you feeling?” The signs suggested she’d improved a great deal.
Hazel yawned. “Tired but glad to be alive.”
Louise’s smile hid a shudder. Several times after Peter’s death, Hazel had wondered why she was still alive. Saying she had nothing to live for. That changed once she felt the baby move.
Petey sat at his mother’s head, playing with a string of buttons and singing a wordless song.
Louise helped them both dress for the day. She held Hazel’s arm as they made their way to the nearby bushes and stood back as Hazel crossed to the fire unassisted, Petey toddling at her side.
Only then did Louise look at the swollen river. Her lips puffed out. Good. The water hadn’t risen further. On the opposite side, the others gathered around the campfire. Smoke, laden with the aroma of coffee, beans, and bacon, drifted toward them. The rumble of her stomach turned her attention back to the fire and breakfast preparations.
