Page 10 of Wagon Train Dreams
But Big Warrior clearly didn’t want anything to do with Hazel or her son.
Chapter Three
Aspasm twitched through Joe’s limbs as Hazel stumbled. Her knees hit the green grass. Her fingers caught the scraggly bushes. One foot slipped back a few inches. Everything in him wanted to leap forward, but he stilled his muscles. She’d be all right on her own. See? She struggled to her feet, trying to hold a distraught baby as she did so. He should stay away. She was a white woman. But when her foot slipped again, he couldn’t leave her alone. He couldn’t refuse to offer help, and in quick, long strides, he made it to her side. Petey reached for him.
Hazel drew back, hurt bleeding from her eyes, tearing a portion of his heart away, leaving a gaping wound.
He took her hand, not letting her decide if she should do so, and helped her to her feet. He did not let her go until they reached the top and joined Bertie.
“Mama be surprised I be wet.”
They retraced their steps until the wagons were in sight. As soon Bertie saw his mother, he jogged forward in his lopsided gait. “Mama! I fall in water.” He stopped. “See lots of deer, too.”
Marnie studied her son as if to assure herself he was unharmed. “Sounds like you had an adventure.”
“Yeah, Mama. Joe save my life.”
The announcement rang over the wagon wheels, raced across the canvases, and returned to those gathered nearby. Every head turned toward Joe.
He would not back up. Would not reveal as much as a hint of regret or worry or anything. Nothing.
“Bertie.” Marnie ran her hands along her son’s arms. “What happened?” A demanding look landed on Joe and then Hazel.
“I got wet.” Bertie patted his bottom, checking to see if it was still damp.
Before Joe answered, Hazel spoke. “We found a little waterfall. Bertie wanted to play in the ankle-deep water.”
“Limpy push me over.” Bertie grinned. “Joe save me. He my hero.”
Joe shook his head. He wouldn’t argue with Bertie and ruin his story, but somehow, he had to convince the others there’d never been any danger. But maybe he wouldn’t have to, for Marnie laughed.
“Joe, thank you.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’m glad you helped my son.”
What could he say? “Bertie is a brave man.” Let the fella enjoy his story. Believe it any way he wanted. If it gave him pleasure, Joe wasn’t going to take that from him. A man had to enjoy special moments when he could.
“I’ll take first watch.” He strode out to the oxen, keeping his back to the people he guided. They were all family, either by birth or by marriage or by adoption.
Did they understand how special that was? And how fragile?
He willed his ears not to hear their happy chatter. A laugh broke through. He tightened his jaw muscles. It didn’t matter who made the sound.
Petey cried and then quieted. A wagon creaked. Wood rattled as someone tossed out a piece. The oxen lay on the grassy hillside, chewing their cud.
Dusk settled around the camp like a soft, warm blanket.
Like a mother’s hug.
Like a father kissing a mother.
Of course, he thought of marriage. Of husband and wife. Of family. Surrounded by it at every turn, he’d have to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to.
But he hadn’t forgotten who he was.
Why had he told Hazel about his mother and father? Yes, she’d asked, but why would she care? Or, for that matter, why had he wanted to tell her?
On silent feet, he circled the camp. The oxen were content. No one stirred around the wagons. He wouldn’t grow careless, and he eased through the trees. The leaves rustled at his shoulders. The mossy ground padded his feet.
No wild animals stirred. No whiff of smoke or horses warned of unwelcome visitors, and he returned to the oxen. Sat where he could see them as well as the wagons.
