Page 21 of Wagon Train Honor
“Maybe someday you will.”
It felt like a promise—one he wouldn’t be able to fulfill—yet it brought a smile to her lips. “Maybe I will. In the meantime…” The sketchbook was open on her lap before she wondered if he wanted to move on. “Do you mind? I’ve never seen those blue flowers before.”
“I like watching you draw.”
“I should be self-conscious. No one has ever watched me.”
“But you aren’t? Why is that?”
She twirled the pencil between her fingers as she contemplated her answer. But she couldn’t find one. “I don’t know.”
His legs folded as he sat beside her. They studied each other. Was he looking for the reason?
“It’s because you feel safe with me.” His deep voice and slow smile said he liked to think that.
She opened her mouth and closed it again without saying a thing. It was true. Then she thought of her answer. “You’re a Mountie. Shouldn’t I be safe with you?”
His eyes darkened to midnight. His gaze delved way past her usual barriers. She couldn’t stop him. Didn’t try. Even when a smile curved his mouth.
“Ruby Woods, you are safe with me and not because I’m a Mountie. You can trust me with your secrets. With your hopes and plans.” At that word, he pulled back. Not that he moved away, but his eyes shuttered.
“Thank you.” Her pencil drew lines almost of its own accord. Yes, she did trust him. And that was comforting.
Forcing her thoughts back to the page, she focused on drawing the flowers.
He watched her, a fact that neither disturbed nor distracted. It took concentration to get the flower right. And yet, her thoughts went on their own journey, exploring why she enjoyed his company. Didn’t resent it. Didn’t just tolerate it. Butenjoyedit.
Satisfied at last with her rendering of the flower, she sat back.
“It looks good.” He unfolded from his position and helped her to her feet.
“Thanks. By the way, how did you learn to be so patient?”
His hand tightened slightly. Her question must’ve surprised him.
“Patient?”
“Robert, you didn’t move once while I sketched. You didn’t sigh or moan. Your patience amazes me and, frankly, surprises me.”
“Surprises?”
She stopped, forcing him to do so as well. “And now you’re reduced to echoing my words. Why? Is it something I said? Or did? I hope not.”
His throat worked. His gaze went past her. Past their surroundings. As if his thoughts took him far away. He cleared his throat. “I never thought about it. My pa taught me how to remain motionless and patient.”
Shouldn’t it be something he was grateful for? Appreciating what his pa had done? But even without the tightening of his fingers on hers, she would have known it wasn’t true by the strain on his face.
“Robert?” She tugged his hand until his gaze returned to her. “How did he teach you?”
His dark, hollow-eyed gaze held hers. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I told you Pa drank.”
“After Timmy’s death.”
“Truth is, he drank before that, just not as often or as bad. Henrietta and I learned to listen for his boots on the wooden step. We could tell how steady he was and know if we needed to hide. No matter where we lived, we would find a spot where we hoped he wouldn’t find us. Sometimes, it was under the stairs or in a dark closet. Sometimes in the coal bin or in the cold, damp basement.”
Sensing how painful his memories were, she caught his other hand and held tight.
“We huddled together. Never making a sound. Never moving until we knew it was safe.”
