Page 52 of Wagon Train Honor
Then, they both spoke at once.
“Petey’s sleeping,” she said.
“The horses are coming along fine.”
They laughed. Did he find their comments as ordinary as she did? Did he have a host of more important things burning at his tongue like she had?
“Tell me about the house you’re going to build.” She wasn’t thinking of sharing it with him but wanted to picture him living in it.
“It will be of logs cut on my own land.” Pride rang in his voice. “Carson has offered to help me with the construction.”
“I can see my brother doing that.”
“And then I’ll help him build his house.”
“Of course. I never thought otherwise.” She flashed a smile his way to assure him she wasn’t judging.
“The kitchen and living room will face the valley so we can enjoy the view.”
She half stumbled. Checked the ground as if to blame it for her feet faltering. We? Did he see her in his house? Had he forgotten she’d be far to the north? In Banff? Sharing her drawings of flowers and plants with those cataloging such? But he went on as if he hadn’t realized what he said.
“Both those rooms will be spacious for a growing family.” Brightness flooded his features. “The back of the house will hold a large pantry and three bedrooms. There will be an attic for storage. It will be sturdy and welcoming.” His gaze sought and found hers and lingered.
Was he seeing her? Or his dream? Was he seeing her as part of his dream?
A pregnant silence hung between them as she imagined herself in the house he built, watching from the window while he did his chores, waving when he looked up and smiled across the distance. She drew in a sharp breath and held it until her thoughts righted. There was no place in his dreams for her. Or for him in hers.
“It sounds very nice.” Her voice might have wobbled. Surely not enough for him to notice.
“Doesn’t it?” Hope colored his words, but she couldn’t say if it was the anticipation of his dream or if?—
There was no imagining her in it. She tried for another topic. Came up empty-handed. Flowers would be good, and she scanned their surroundings. But something other than a bright patch of color caught her attention.
“Robert.” She pointed to the south to a gray twisting cloud hanging along the horizon. “Is that smoke?”
He followed the direction of her finger. “Not smoke. It’s a dust storm.” His voice grew fierce. “Go to the wagons.” He raced to Walt and spoke. Walt galloped ahead, shouting instructions.
“Stop the wagons. Pull in tight to each other, back end to the wind.”
Robert was on his horse, pushing the herd against the wagons.
A good plan. The wind would drive them, but with the wagons before them parked side by side to form a barrier, they wouldn’t drift away.
He dismounted and uncoiled rope to form an enclosure such as they used at night. Seeing his intent, Ruby hurried to help. Joe and Cecil joined them, securing the animals as best they could.
Already the precursor of the storm blew at her skirts and tossed her hair.
Robert grabbed her hand. “Come. We’ve done what we can.” They raced for the wagons and dove beneath the closest one. She turned toward the approaching cloud. A roar like an angry bull accompanied it.
The horses and oxen bowed their heads and kept their backs to the wind. And then the dust swallowed up everything. She pressed her face to her knees to avoid inhaling the driven dirt.
Robert wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, cradling her against his chest, shutting out much of the wind and dust.
The wagon shifted both from the gale and from the horses pressing closer. The roar increased. Ruby slipped her arms around Robert’s waist and held on.
Please, God, make it stop. Keep us safe.
The storm continued, buffeting them, blasting them with dirt. And then the velocity decreased. The growl softened to a moan. The tightness of Robert’s arms eased.
