Page 2 of Wagon Train Honor
Returning to the matter of the letter—How was he to know which of the single gals to ask for? Of course, if she was standing nearby, he’d know it was her.
“Good day.” He again tipped his head to the homesteaders, then slipped out the door. He moseyed over to the corrals, leaned on the top of the fence, and contemplated his quandary.
An old mare trotted up to have her neck scratched.
“So, old gal, what should I do?”
The mare whinnied.
“Sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying. I never did learn to talk horse.” Nevertheless, he continued to tell the animal his problem. “See, I could march up to the campsite and wait for them to offer me a cup of coffee. Or I could watch for the young lady to wander off by herself again. That way, I could be sure of being able to speak to her.”
Did a nod from the mare suggest agreement?
Robert grinned. Exactly what would she be agreeing to? “I’d really like to see her alone, you know. Maybe she’d talk to me.”
Another agreeing nod from the understanding horse.
“Or I could scare her into hiding again.” A huff emptied his lungs. “Still… You’re right. I’ve got nothing better to do than wait.” He patted the warm soft neck and angled to the corner of the pen with a good view of the wagon train’s camp. Perhaps too obvious, though.
“Well, shoot.” This wasn’t like him at all. With sure, determined steps, he crossed the dusty trail toward the campfire.
Ruby Woods’seyes had been drawn to that red jacket. Yeah, like a moth to a flame. She tried not to notice where he went as she retreated to the wagons. Tried not to look that direction. She heaved a sigh when he disappeared into the store. Now she could concentrate on… She looked around. What had she been doing?
Her sketchbook was safely stowed in the valise containing her personal things. No one would ever look for it. She let them assume she was only making notes about their travels. Not that anyone seemed to notice what she did, which was fine with her. She’d never cared to have attention drawn her way.
Oh right. She was preparing to do some mending for Ma. Bertie was hard on his clothes. There was always a tear to fix or a button to replace. She caught up the shirt and sewing basket and dropped from the wagon to press to the wheel furthest from the trail separating the camp from the trading post. She’d be out of sight and yet able to see enough through the spokes to know what was going on.
The red jacket came out of the store. Not that she noticed, of course. It was merely a passing observation.
She needed a button for Bertie’s shirt and turned her attention to looking for one in Ma’s sewing basket. But the bright color was visible out of the corner of her eyes. The Mountie crossed to the corrals and leaned on the fence. He was tall. Taller than average. Dark-blond hair curled from under the edges of his hat. Of course, she’d seen it and his dark blue eyes on the hill where he’d disturbed her. Not that she’d paid any attention.
With deft fingers, she threaded the needle and jabbed it through the holes in the button and into the fabric. Two more times. Three. Four.
Her hand paused midair as the red patch moved along the rail fence of the horse pen. And stopped.
Finish the button. Stop being distracted.
In and out with needle and thread. Tie it off. Cut the thread.
He moved again. Dust trailed after his boots. She didn’t look up but didn’t need to in order to see he came in her direction.
Scrambling to her feet, she hurried into the wagon. Had she escaped his notice? Not that she was hiding. She simply didn’t like how he’d discovered her on the hill. How long had he watched her? When she was sketching, she often became unaware of her surroundings. Not a good thing, as she well knew. To think someone could sneak up on her was unsettling. Thankfully, it was a Mountie, so she had nothing to fear.
“Hello. I’m Constable Robert Davis.”
Gabe and Ma were by the fire, and Gabe called out a greeting.
“Is there anything I can help you folks with?” She’d only heard him speak a handful of words, but the Mountie’s voice was as unmistakable as the red jacket.
“We’re doing fine, thanks. We’ve decided to spend a few days repairing and resting before we embark on the next segment of our journey. Allow me to introduce us.” Gabe gave his name and Ma’s. Mr. and Mrs. Miller. It still felt strange to hear Ma referred to as a Miller rather than a Woods.
“And our son, Bertie. Bertie, come say hello to Constable Davis. He’s a Mountie, just like your brother.”
Ruby didn’t need to find a hole to peek out of to know Bertie had gone into hiding.
She grinned. Much like herself.
“Like Carson?” The sound came from under the next wagon.
