Wagon Train Sweetheart (Journey West 2)

by Lacy Williams

  Nathan hadn’t shown his face for the noon meal. There was a chance he was avoiding her.

  Had she seemed like a busybody, worrying about Georgie?

  When he hadn’t appeared for lunch, Emma had prepared a plate for the missing man.

  And now Ben had confronted her.

  “I’m not coddling Nathan,” she defended herself. As if their prickly acquaintance would allow it. Nathan barely tolerated any of her friendly overtures.

  Ben raised one expressive eyebrow.

  “All right. Maybe I’m attempting to take care of Nathan, but it isn’t as if he has anyone else.”

  “He isn’t a stray puppy,” Ben said.

  She knew that. She was perfectly aware that Nathan was a man. A virile, rugged man.

  Who was probably enough like her brothers that he wouldn’t appreciate her concern or might even see it as interference.

  And the concern in Ben’s furrowed brows was unmistakable. The last thing she wanted was for Ben to forbid her from seeing Nathan. There was nothing inappropriate between them, only friendship. The barest of friendships.

  And she knew, with a strange certainty deep inside, that Nathan needed a friend. Whether he admitted it or not.

  “It’s only a bit of lunch,” she said, affecting a casual manner. “I’ll come right back to the wagon after I deliver it.”

  Ben still didn’t appear convinced.

  “You can’t expect him to keep his precarious health without sustenance,” she pushed, hoping that Ben would feel some level of compassion for the other man.

  Finally, Ben nodded, though his frown remained.

  Emma bussed his cheek before scurrying off to the Binghams’ wagon to look for Nathan.

  She found him sleeping in the shade of the wagon, oblivious to the bustle of people around camp getting ready to pull out.

  He’d curled on one side with one muscular arm pillowing his head, his back to the wagon’s frame.

  The position was telling about how guarded he was in general.

  The little dog lay at his back, head raised and alert, as if he was guarding Nathan.

  She stepped closer, hesitating, and found she could see the side of his face slack with exhaustion.

  Her entire being softened toward him. How hard had he pushed himself, driving those oxen today?

  No wonder he hadn’t appeared for the noon meal, if he’d fallen to sleep.

  He’d recovered from the measles, but his cough and weakness remained. But she could guess that he was as stubborn as her brothers and that if she suggested he rest in the wagon, he would refuse.

  She would have to settle for feeding him.

  “Nathan,” she said softly. The bugler would call for pulling out at any moment.

  She saw his small start, the exact moment he came to consciousness, though he didn’t immediately move.

  She took one step back, conscious that she had invaded his space.

  He rolled over, one hand moving to rub down his face. The exhaustion she’d noticed as he slept remained and she bit her tongue to keep from asking after him.

  “I brought you something to eat,” she said instead.

  He squinted up at her, as if he couldn’t understand her motives. Or perhaps it was simply the sun at her back blinding him.

  “You’ll need to keep up your strength,” she said, and thrust the plate at him.

  The dog whined in welcome.

  And Nathan smiled. A tired, half bit of a smile, but it was there.

  Chapter Nine

  Two days later, Emma counted Nathan as much improved. His cough had lessened, although it remained a concern. He’d become a fixture in their camp of the evenings, reading to the children at her urging, instead of remaining in the background.

  The children continued to treat him with awe and some fear. She’d hoped that with time, both Nathan and the children would grow used to each other, but that hadn’t transpired as of yet.

  The land had changed yet again, this morning bringing them to a series of high, rocky bluffs that led the wagons in a snaking line along the banks of the river. The imposing cliffs, some hundreds of feet high, made her dizzy to look up their perpendicular edges to the cedars that looked so small at their tops.

  It had rained much of the night, a soft, driving patter, and the ground remained wet. Emma’s skirt quickly became sodden and heavy, chilling her.

  And she wished to be home. Would she find a new home in the West, in the Oregon Territory? With Tristan McCullough?

  Bright morning sunlight streamed over her head, warming her and at least starting to dry her skirt as she trudged alongside Rachel, who had been quiet and pensive these past days.

  The cliffs grew closer to the riverbed, and the wagon wheels began sinking into the soft, muddy bank. The men pushed the oxen harder, so they wouldn’t become stuck.

  And then there was a sound like a huge, rushing waterfall, only it wasn’t water tumbling down the mountain, it was the bluff itself, a hundred yards in front of Emma.

  She and Rachel watched in frozen horror as three wagons were swept away beneath the flood of earth and rocks, several more were knocked to the side, animals scrambled for purchase, and men and children ran for safety. Women screamed. Children cried.

  It seemed like forever, though it must’ve only been moments.

  And then Emma ran forward to the wagon, blessedly far enough that it was safe. Ben was safe, though the oxen shifted nervously in their traces.

  “My bag,” she said, to no one, as Rachel flew past her toward the wreckage.

  Precious moments were lost as Emma rifled through the wagon, finally coming up with the satchel that held her medical supplies.

  Where was Nathan? Her thoughts ran to the enigmatic man, but she was sure the Binghams’ wagon had been behind the Hewitts’.

  She didn’t have time to dwell on her intense relief at that realization, not with fellow travelers hurt or worse…

  As she neared the rockslide, she saw a small boy sitting alone, wailing, his forehead cut and bleeding.

  Farther along, Ben and several other men dug with shovels and pickaxes where the bonnet of a wagon could barely be seen above the mass of earth and rock.

  Emma knelt next to the boy, attempting to calm his loud cries. Were his parents buried there?

  She could overhear clearly, as Nathan rushed forward to join the men, a man she didn’t recognize grunt, “We’ve got enough hands here.”

  She gasped as she took his meaning. The wagon was still buried, yet the man was turning away Nathan’s help?

  But Nathan didn’t argue, just walked off in silence. She watched him pick his way over the edge of the rockslide, farther along the river’s edge, farther away from the majority of their caravan, the wagons trapped back here.

  Then a young woman rushed up toward Emma, sobbing, claiming the young boy. She was rumpled and dirty as if she’d been tumbled end over end by the rockslide, but she appeared whole.

  And when Emma looked back up, Nathan was gone.

  * * *

  What had he thought? That just because Emma and her family had reluctantly accepted him at their campfire that he would be welcomed by other families?

  Seething with anger at the rejection—at himself for the stinging feeling in his chest—Nathan stalked along the edge of the rockslide, picking his way carefully over the slippery rocks and moist earth.

  Water rushed in the river just behind him, trickling in a musical way over rocks and the streambed. A shock of beauty against the horror of the moments before.

  The truth was, he hadn’t thought. Some long-buried part of himself had called for him to help, to rescue. To be a part of the community. Ha.

  He’d long passed the bustle of the activity, where the ot
her travelers had worked like busy ants. Where he hadn’t been welcome.

  He didn’t know what he was doing. Looking for someone isolated out here who might need help? Or licking his wounds?

  The bright sunlight didn’t illuminate anything out of place. No swath of fabric, no person driven this way by the rockslide.

  Then he heard a small sound. A cry.

  Was it a child? This far from the rest of the wagon train?

  He spun in a slow circle, ears attuned to every small sound, listening for the cry to come again.

  Crickets chirped. Far back at the caravan, voices called and a shovel struck rock. Wind rustled leaves in the nearby aspens.

  And there. The weak cry came again.

  He found it trapped beneath several rocks the size of bread loaves, weak and whining.

  A wolf cub, with only its gray snout and one white paw visible beneath the rocks.

  It was small, so young that its eyes were barely open. Not a newborn, but close. Had its den been dislodged in the rockslide?

  He glanced around for its mother, just in case.

  And saw instead, Georgie’s towheaded form standing a piece off. Watching him.

  “Whatchu got there, Mr. Nathan?”

  Georgie’s words were curious but wary. He had come to the campfire reading last night, but kept his distance from Nathan, though he hadn’t been able to hide a bruise on his cheek. Courtesy of his cousins?

  Now the boy scrambled closer before Nathan could tell him to go away. He scampered so close that he stood next to Nathan in moments.

  “A baby wolf,” the boy breathed.

  “Stay back,” Nathan warned, but Georgie wasn’t paying him any mind. He squatted over the injured animal, reaching out.

  “Don’t—” Nathan knew the danger an injured animal could pose and reached for the boy. Too late.

  The pup licked Georgie’s hand.

  The boy inhaled hard. Then looked up at Nathan in a way that no one had since Beth, his eyes pleading.

  “We gotta help him.”

  Nathan exhaled, the sound harsh in the stillness around them.

  He couldn’t let the boy get his hopes up.

  “He’s hurt pretty bad.”

  Nathan didn’t have to dig the pup out to know the extent of his injuries. With such a small body, he must’ve been crushed beneath rocks larger than he was. Probably the kindest thing to do would be to put the animal out of its misery.

  “He probably isn’t gonna make it. Look how he’s been crushed by the rocks.”

  Maybe Nathan should’ve softened the words—though he had no idea what to say or how—but the boy needed to know the truth.

  “We can’t just let him die, Mr. Nathan.”

  The undeserved trust the boy placed in Nathan made him hesitate, when he should’ve insisted they put the animal out of its misery.

  “Please, we gotta help him.”

  Nathan knew the folks in the wagon train wouldn’t welcome a wolf in their midst. He also knew the wolf wouldn’t survive.

  Looking down on the boy’s earnest countenance, the expression trusting that Nathan would do the right thing, pleading…

  Nathan couldn’t forget that Georgie had no one except his bullying cousins and a possibly negligent aunt and uncle.

  He didn’t answer the boy but he did kneel and carefully begin drawing the rocks away from the wolf cub.

  * * *

  Emma was exhausted, drained from treating the injured.

  After the disaster earlier, the wagon master had called a halt. Sam Weston had ridden out and determined that there were no other passable trails and this pass would have to be dug through.

  They’d circled the wagons, even though it was early afternoon, as the men worked and women tended to those injured.

  They’d lost two people who had been suffocated by the dirt and rocks before the others could dig them out. Emma hadn’t known them, or their names, but she remained shaken and upset even as the camp settled.

  The trail, the land had turned vicious. It seemed to wait, lulling its travelers into a sense of safety, but days like this made survival a question that thrummed through her deeply, wounding her spirit.

  How could God allow this to happen? Tear apart two families by unexpected deaths, leave children without their parents…

  There were no answers.

  Only her anxieties, and the knowledge that months of travel remained, and ceaseless prayers.

  A twinge of relief burst through her as she saw Nathan trudge into camp. He carried a small bundle in his large hands, and was that…? Georgie strode at his side, looking up at the man and speaking with animation.

  Ben called out to Nathan as he passed the area where the men worked. Nathan nodded tightly, but kept moving toward Emma.

  Rachel and Abby were deep in conversation and didn’t notice as Emma went to meet the two males.

  Nathan’s expression was pinched, frowning, though he seemed to be listening to the boy at his side.

  She met them behind the family wagon, where there was some semblance of privacy from prying eyes. Nathan’s little dog appeared from under the conveyance, where he must’ve been resting, and stood at her side.

  Nathan’s expression softened to concern as she drew near.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, voice low.

  Georgie’s head came up, those bright eyes assessing her. “You hurt, Miss Emma?”

  Their concern brought hot tears to her eyes unbidden, and she shook her head and blinked them away.

  “I’m fine.” Physically, at least. Emotionally, she didn’t know when she would feel settled again.

  Above Georgie’s head, she met Nathan’s eye. His glance examined her more closely than she would’ve liked. He knew. Knew she was discomfited and upset.

  But he didn’t say anything about her fragile emotional state.

  “Miss Emma, lookit. We found him buried under some rocks.”

  Georgie’s subdued excitement had her sending a questioning glance at Nathan.

  He opened his hands slightly toward her and she saw the small dog cupped in his palms.

  At her side, Scamp growled. The little animal’s pointed ear twitched.

  No, not a dog.

  “Is that a—”

  “Wolf cub,” Nathan said.

  Worry spiraled through her. “The committee—”

  Nathan cut her off with a sharp shake of his head.

  “Georgie, I’ve got an old towel in my satchel, tucked in the box on the front of Binghams’ wagon. Fetch it for me.”

  Nathan’s comment was more of an order but Georgie ran off without argument.

  “You can’t have a wolf in camp,” she rasped. The committee would never allow a wild animal among their group.

  “I couldn’t tell him no.” Nathan seemed frustrated as the words flew out of his mouth.

  He untucked the pup from where it was wrapped in the tail of his shirt. Scamp growled again until Nathan gave a command that had the grown dog hiding beneath the wagon again.

  The wolf cub barely moved its head, panting, its chest heaving with each breath.

  “It won’t last the night,” he said softly, looking to make sure Georgie wasn’t returning. “It was crushed beneath large rocks—its insides must be crushed.”

  He shook his head, looking down on the animal.

  “I should’ve put it down.”

  He sounded confounded, utterly confused as to why he hadn’t.

  And her heart turned over in her chest.

  He’d spared the boy’s feelings—must’ve spent time digging out the pup and bringing him here, all for Georgie.

  “All I could think was getting him back here, but it isn’t go
ing to change anything…” He looked so uncertain.

  Ben shouted Nathan’s surname and his head came up. “They want me to work.”

  His frown reminded her that another man from the wagon train had rejected his help earlier in the day.

  Georgie rounded the wagon, waving a ratty piece of toweling.

  And she found herself reaching for the injured pup even as her emotions expanded toward the man himself. “I’ll take care of him until you’re finished for the day.”

  * * *

  Nathan returned to camp well after dark, trailing the other men. They’d dug through the worst of the rockslide, leaving enough room between the bluff and the river that their wagons should be able to pass in the morn.

  He’d loitered at the river’s edge after washing up, wasting as much time as he could.

  He didn’t know what he would face when he returned to camp. Would Emma have told others about the cub? Would he face more judgment from the caravan?

  And that was if the pup lived.

  The fires had burned down by the time Nathan slipped around the Hewitts’ wagon into their campsite proper. Ben and Abby were nowhere to be seen and Rachel ducked into the family tent as he approached, looking as if she was bedding down for the night.

  Emma and Georgie sat together near the dying fire, their heads bent over the tiny bundle of cloth between them, their profiles throwing long shadows that met at his feet.

  Nathan hesitated, but he’d done this. He’d brought back the wolf pup, knowing it didn’t have a chance, knowing the boy would face this sorrow. It was his responsibility—he wouldn’t leave Emma to face it alone.

  They must’ve heard the scrape of his boot against the ground because both looked over their shoulders at the same moment.

  He nodded his hello, stepping closer.

  In the light thrown by the fire, he saw Emma’s face was wet with silver tears. Georgie’s lower lip trembled.

  Nathan crouched near them, between them but slightly behind. “Did it…”

  Emma nodded quickly, reaching out and squeezing Georgie’s shoulder. “We made him as comfortable as possible, kept him warm here by the fire.”