Page 27 of Wagon Train Honor
“It’s hard to eat when you’re so attentive.” He kept his voice low, the words for her ears only.
“Oh? Sorry.”
But she didn’t leave off her intense interest.
He regarded her through narrowed eyes. “I know what you’re doing?”
“Oh, really?” Her eyebrows galloped toward her hairline. “What am I doing besides waiting patiently for you to finish?”
No one seemed interested in them, so he leaned closer until they were almost nose to nose. “You are trying to make me self-conscious about my appetite and maybe even about my size.”
She jerked up, her eyes round in denial. “Or maybe I’m admiring both.” Color flooded her cheeks, but she didn’t break eye contact.
He almost choked on his muffled laughter. He consumed the rest of his meal in record time, and they hurried away.
“Where are we going?” she asked as soon as they were away from the camp.
“Uh?” He didn’t have a plan but wasn’t about to admit it. “Your pick. We could visit the cemetery or climb a hill overlooking the river or look through the trees for more flowers.”
“I think you know which I will choose.” She patted the side of her dress, thudding her notebook.
“The woods it is.” Not that he minded. He could sit and watch her draw, and she’d talk. Did she realize how much she talked when she was distracted?
They entered an aspen grove. The air was cooler and scented green.
He laughed. “Do you smell it?”
Lifting her face to the sky, she sniffed. “What?”
“Green.”
A grin split her face. “I certainly do. Now lead on, Mountie man.”
Fallen leaves crackled underfoot. Two crows protested the intrusion, and from the branches came the “sweet baby” call of a chickadee. They ducked past low branches and were rewarded with a mass of white flowers. He inhaled deeply. “There’s something about walking in the woods.”
“Fairy bells.” She sat on the ground, her notebook on her knees, and began drawing.
“The quarter I’m planning to get has wooded areas on it. Lots of people would say to clear the land, but I aim to keep some of it wild and untamed. Like this.” He breathed deep, filling his senses with the sights and smells, then sat beside her, watching the feathery petals take shape.
She lifted her pencil. “Carson plans to file on a homestead as well. Are you going to be neighbors?”
“He’s looking more for grassland, but we plan to be close enough to visit. Does Carson know of your plans?”
Another pause from drawing as she gave him a look full of disbelief. “Of course not. He thinks I’m a little girl running around with paper and pencil and scribbling crude pictures.”
“I’m sorry someone thought your drawings weren’t wonderful, but I can’t believe they were ever crude. In fact, I’m guessing you were born with a pencil in your hand and even before you could talk, you could draw a cat that looked like a cat—nottwo balls on top of each other with triangles for ears.”
Laughter rang out from her. Sweet, happy laughter.
He leaned closer. “You never ever drew a cat like that, did you?”
“Not that I recall.” Her attention returned to the page.
He imagined her as a child trying to draw things. He formed a nice picture of a little girl with blonde hair fluttering about her face, her tongue pressed to her upper lip as she drew. “What was the first thing you can remember drawing?”
The pencil paused midair. She frowned straight ahead. “I don’t remember a time I didn’t draw. In fact—” She laughed. “I do recall getting scolded for drawing on some important papers.” She bent over the page again and then stopped to look at him. “Come to think of it, the first thing I recall drawing that I was pleased with was the tree outside my window. I watched it every night. A bird built a nest where I could see it. I drew the branch with the nest and in it two hungry little birds with mouths open.”
“What did you do with the picture? Did your mother keep it?”
