Page 8 of Wagon Train Honor
Every muscle twitched. Her hand jerked. Her fingers tightened. “It’s a good thing I didn’t have my pencil on the paper. I would have ruined the entire drawing.” Her lips pressed tightly, she hustled away. “There’s a good reason I like to be alone when I’m drawing.” She jabbed her pencil toward him. “Undisturbed peace and quiet.”
He withdrew five feet and sat with his legs pulled toward him, his arms around his drawn-up knees. “I’m sorry. I was only being friendly. Interested.”
The air seeped from her chest at the same rate regret filled her head. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
Although he nodded, his eyes remained wary.
Already, she regretted her agreement to let him accompany her, although she would rightly say it was less agreement and more surrender. He’d left her little choice. Unless, of course, she wanted him to tell everyone of her plans.
She didn’t. Ma had enough to deal with already, considering the move, the travel, Bertie, Irene, and Hazel getting married, and even Ma’s own marriage to Gabe. Never mind coping with the many trials of the trail. Mud, mosquitoes, and?—
Better not to give her one more matter of concern. And Ma would have objections to her youngest child going away.
“But I am seventeen. Almost eighteen.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Did I say something?”
“Yeah, you said you were seventeen going on eighteen. Not that I asked.”
She couldn’t deny it, but neither was she going to claim it. “I sometimes talk aloud to myself.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t need to hear it. Yes, it was crazy to talk to herself. But no need to point it out. She rushed on before he got a word out.
“If you’re going to follow me everywhere, we need to have some rules.”
That closed his mouth in a hurry.
Now, she scrambled to think how to tell him what the boundaries of this agreement would be.
Chapter 3
Rules? She meant to lay down rules for him?
He stood, straightening his back until he reached his full height, forcing her to tip her head back to look at him. “Rules?” Where was the rest of his argument? His protest?
Crossing his arms, widening his stance, he tried again. “Rules?” Could he do nothing but repeat her word?
She stowed the pencil in the leather loop from which she’d removed it, set aside her sketchbook, and gracefully, slowly—deliberately slowly, he was certain—got to her feet.
Ha. She still had to look up to meet his gaze. In fact, her head barely came to his shoulder. Itty-bitty thing she was. Little in size but that didn’t stop her from facing him, her mouth firm, her eyes challenging.
“Yes, Constable Davis, rules. I’ve agreed to let you accompany me.”
“Agreed? Seems to me?—”
“But I want to proceed with my work.” A tip of her head toward the sketchbook she’d set aside as if he might not know what she meant. “I find it impossible if you continually bother me.”
“Bother you?” Never before had he been reduced to parroting words. But when he opened his mouth, she hurried on before he could say anything.
“Yes, bother me. Your feet crush the flowers. Your legs—” She shook her head.
What about his legs? But she didn’t finish. Instead, she attacked him from a different direction.
“Your questions distract me, your assumptions annoy me, and your peering over my shoulder is—” She lifted her hands into the air. “It’s impossible.”
“Impos—” No, he wasn’t going to repeat her words again. He rolled forward on his toes, adding an inch or two to his height.
