Page 29 of Wagon Train Honor
Besides, they would soon part ways. A thought that should have promised relief. Instead, it settled into her heart like a heavy rock.
She pushed aside her unwelcome musings. Today might be all they had. And she meant to enjoy it.
They left the wooded area, climbed a hill, and drew to a halt.
“The view!” The words breezed from her lips as she shaded her eyes and looked from the dark pines at her feet to rolling green hills descending into faded grass. She inhaled. “Sage. I smell sage.”
“As a color or a plant?”
His deadpan expression and his flat words did not fool her. He was teasing her. She shoved on his shoulder, which didn’t move him so much as an inch. He stood as solid as a boulder.
She pushed a little harder.
He didn’t budge. Instead, he raised his eyebrows as if asking what she was trying to do.
It sent her into laughter. “Takes a lot to move you, doesn’t it?”
His brows quirked. “More than an itty-bitty thing like you.”
“Itty-bitty?” She wanted to protest, but her amusement didn’t allow her to. Grinning, she turned back to the scene. “How far do you think we can see?”
“Twenty miles maybe?”
“Nah. I think we can see tomorrow over the horizon.” She tented a hand over her eyes and stared. “That’s west, right?”
“Yes. Where we’re headed. Where our future lies.”
She didn’t want to talk about the future or think about it. Today was enough. To her right, wildflowers scattered like an unseen hand had broadcast seeds along the hill. She made her way toward them. Yes, there was one she hadn’t seen before, and she pulled out her sketchbook, sat down, and set to work.
Robert followed, sitting nearby, his legs crisscrossed in front of him.
She turned to a blank page and, with a few deft strokes, captured his likeness. It was a basic outline. She studied it a moment. Plants were almost the only thing she’d drawn since Mr. Elliot had shown her his book of flowers. Yes, she occasionally drew other objects of nature like the rocky cliffs she’d done in the morning. But she’d not drawn people since…
Since she was in grade one and drew a rough sketch of the teacher. Not Mr. Elliot. Nor would she ever forget that particular purveyor of wisdom—Miss Newman. Ugh. An old maid with an old maid’s warped view of the world. Or at least, that’s how Ruby saw it now. Miss Newman noticed Ruby’s drawing. Wiped it from Ruby’s slate. Then, in a voice cold enough to freeze the water in the nearby bucket and sharp enough to cut the resulting ice into spears, she berated Ruby for wasting time and informed her, in no uncertain terms, that she must never, ever draw someone without their permission.
The tips of Ruby’s ears burned now even as they had back then, and she covered Robert’s likeness with the next page. He must never see it.
She turned her attention back to the dainty yellow flowers at her knees. Woodenly, she finished the picture.
Robert lay stretched out on the grass.
Had he fallen asleep?
Easing closer, she watched his chest rise and fall. Indeed, he slept. Careful not to make a sound, she watched him. Still careful, she plucked a feathery head of grass, leaned close, and tickled his nose.
With a quickness that caught her unaware, he captured her wrist, pulling her off-balance. She fell against his chest. Her breath whooshed out. Her heart stalled. Or at least, it felt like it did. His bottomless dark-blue eyes reached into her soul with the power to leave her unable to move.
“Ruby?” Her whispered name carried a hundred promises.
She edged closer. Her breath joined his in sweet unison.
He caught the teasing stem of grass. “What were you planning to do?”
Her thoughts righted with a crash. Not kiss him. That was for sure. She sat back. Sighed with exasperation. “You were sleeping. I meant to wake you.”
“You succeeded.” He sat up. “Are you finished the picture?”
Hadn’t he said he liked watching her draw? Sure, didn’t sound like it. “Are you done sleeping?”
