Page 14 of Wagon Train Redemption
“My father had a lovely, big garden. He was good with growing things. Both plants and animals. He sold produce, milk, eggs, and butter in town.” The smile flattened as if something had been stolen from her.
He had so many questions. Was her father also good with growing girls? When had she lost her mother? Why had herjoy fled as she talked?
“Time to move out.” Joe called them back.
“Why don’t I walk with you this afternoon and we’ll continue catching up?”
Emotions chased each other over her face. Surprise, uncertainty, and then resolve. “Very well.” It wasn’t the warmest welcome he’d ever had, but it was enough.
For now.
He helped get the oxen hitched to the wagons. Checked to see if he was needed anywhere and waited as the wagons rolled out. Everything appeared to be in order. Ruby drove the middle wagon. Angela walked beside it. He rode to her side, dismounted, and fell in step.
“So where were we?”
She gave an eye roll at his eagerness, just as he’d hoped she would. “Well, I’ve done school and gardening. Cooking and sewing. That about covers it.”
“Phfft. Four years reduced to two sentences. That’s not good enough.”
She stopped and confronted him, her hands on her hips, her expression demanding. “Isn’t it about your turn?”
The idea pleased him. “I left home. Worked to earn some money before I signed on with the NWMP, and here I am. Look how I also condensed four years to two sentences.” He preened to suggest he was pleased with himself.
She laughed. The sound of pure enjoyment rippled through him.
“That’s not good enough.”
He leaned closer, pretending confusion. “What else would you want to know?”
“Pemmican.”
He rocked back on his heels. “What?”
“You said you survived for a time on it. Seems to me there’s a story there. So tell me.”
They started to walk again. The wagons rumbled ahead, leaving them bringing up the rear. Not that he minded.
“Carson, are you stalling?”
“No, I’m thinking.” Where was the best place to start, and how much detail should he give? “There was this crazy trapper and his partner. I knew he lived on the edge of sanity. I was out patrolling nearby and thought I’d check on them. I discovered he’d taken his ax to his partner. I buried the dead man before I went in search of the other one. I trailed him for two weeks. My supplies were low. I didn’t want to take time to hunt for fresh meat. All I had was pemmican. I ate it for four days straight before I overtook the man. He put up a fight, but I captured him.” He skipped the part where he’d ducked the man’s sharp hunting knife several times before laying his hands on a hefty tree branch and whacking the man over the head. He’d only subdued the man because he was out cold. “The trapper had very few supplies, so the two of us ate pemmican until we reached the fort.”
She had drawn to a halt to gape.
He smiled. “And here I am. No worse for the experience.”
Her throat worked. She blinked. Drew in a sharp breath. “Yes, here you are. That’s good.”
“Thank you.”
Coldness trickleddown Angela’s spine. He’d relayed the story short on details, but she’d easily imagined him tracking a crazed man, alert to every sound as he rode through trees, across open grassland, and up hills, every vista presenting a potential ambush from a man with a bloodied ax. Being hungry was a minor detail in comparison.
She’d managed to choke out a few words before her throat closed off.
Carson must have wondered at her silence for he nudged her. “Your turn.”
She forced her quivering legs to hold her weight. “For what?”
“Tell me a food story from your four years.”
