by Merry Farmer
Graham still had the wooden leg Gideon had fashioned strapped to his own leg, and even though he grimaced in pain and leaned heavily on Gideon for support, he wasn’t using a crutch. Gideon carried Graham’s crutches in his free hand. A swirling burst of hope and pride filled Estelle’s chest. She had to glance away to keep everyone from seeing just how deep her feelings ran, but she couldn’t wipe the smile from her lips.
Estelle was smiling. It made every stab of pain and heart-stopping moment where he had to check his balance worth it. Graham gritted his teeth and tried his hand at walking down the slope leading to the river. It only took a few precarious steps to realize that the stiff, unjointed wood of Gideon’s creation wasn’t going to work on anything but flat ground.
“Stop, stop, stop,” he rushed to bring Gideon to a halt. “It won’t do.”
“The gradient,” Gideon said, nodding as if he could feel what Graham felt. “I hadn’t taken the uneven ground into consideration either. I’ll have to adjust the design.”
Without warning, in front of all the women and their washing, the children running and splashing, Isaiah Jones and every other normal person who was just trying to get a day’s work done, Gideon sank to his knees, handing Graham his crutches, and started unbuckling the straps that held the leg to Graham’s stump.
“Hold on there,” Graham stopped him, a wave of self-consciousness smacking him full force at the ugliness anyone looking at him could see. “What are you doing?”
Gideon blinked up at him as if the question had been asked in Chinese. “I need to take the leg off so I can fix it.”
Graham bent closer to him. “What, now? In front of….” He let his statement trail off, peeking around at the women. Some of them deliberately looked away as Gideon removed the leg and set it aside. One or two gaped in shock. Isaiah watched from a distance with stern disapproval that made Graham want to ball his hands into fists. Only Estelle continued to smile, instructing Tim in the use of a washboard as if Graham wasn’t even there.
“Gideon.” Lucy came skipping over from the basket of laundry she was wringing. “Do you want to go swimming? The water’s just fine. I was going to go back in as soon as I’d finished with the laundry just to enjoy myself. Do you want to come?” She paused, then added, “You can come too, Graham.” She punctuated the offer with an uncertain glance to his leg.
Graham was on his way to protesting when he noticed that Gideon had turned about nine shades of red. He couldn’t meet Lucy’s eyes.
“Um, well,” he stammered. “I have important work… adjustments need to be made….”
Graham blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. Gideon was a man of few words, but he’d become a friend. And though they’d never mentioned so much as a peep about it, Graham had the feeling his friend had taken a shine to Miss Lucy, of all people. He could stand there and protect his own pride, letting Gideon go back to work, or he could swallow his concerns and give his friend a push in the right direction.
He searched Estelle out to see what she thought. Her soft smile was all approval. Graham sighed.
“Why, we’d love to go for a swim,” he told Lucy. “Wouldn’t we, Gid?”
Gideon made a strange, strangled noise.
“Perfect. Fabulous.” Lucy beamed. “I’ll just sort my laundry out and take off my dress, and I’ll meet you in the water.”
She skipped off up the slope to her basket of laundry. Graham shook his head and let Gideon help him to sit. Judging by the censure in Gideon’s eyes, Graham was either going to get a new wooden leg with spikes embedded in the part that rubbed against his stump… or else Gideon was going to kiss him in gratitude. It was hard to tell.
Gideon let go of a breath and reached for the buttons of his shirt to strip down for swimming. He tugged his shirt it up over his head, tossing it aside. As soon as his chest was bared, he grunted and shook his head at how pale he’d gotten, wondering if he should leave his shirt off more often to get some color. He worked loose the fastenings of his trousers and slipped out of them, leaving him in nothing but his drawers.
He hated the sight of half a leg where a whole one should be. Undressing to swim in front of a crowd was easy compared to the jarring sight of nothing where something should be. He could feel folks looking at him, staring at the show, the jagged scar. He could feel Isaiah’s derision, like the man thought Graham had no business pretending to be strong when he wasn’t. But he could feel something else too.
Slowly, he checked on Estelle. Sure enough, she was watching him with more than a little interest. She’d already seen the pitiful sight of his stump. No, Estelle’s eyes were making a slow perusal of his chest and arms. He could practically feel the way she took in the muscles that had developed to compensate for his lost leg. His skin may have been pale, but he’d stayed fit and lean. The spark in Estelle’s eyes was about as far from pity as a woman could get.
Just knowing that the woman he had highly inappropriate thoughts about on an hourly basis could look at him and see something she wanted instead of what he lacked was all the motivation Graham needed. With nothing but his drawers to hide what God gave him, he’d scandalize the entire wagon train if he didn’t get a move on. He reached for one crutch and used it to power himself to a standing position.
It was just his luck that that whole series of movements only lit the fire in Estelle’s eyes and darkened the flush in her cheeks. He made for the river much faster than he should have. As he stumbled over a soft spot in the grass, nearly yelping in surprise, the humor of the situation struck him.
With a laugh and a shake of his head, he hobbled the rest of the way into the water. It didn’t help matters that his self-deprecating laughter had started Estelle off on a round of giggles of her own. Lord help him, she was the most beautiful sight on the prairie, and that included the heaven-colored sunrises and sunsets they’d been treated to.
It wasn’t until he was several yards out into the water where the river ran deeper that an unexpected sensation washed over him. He leaned back in the silt and soap-scented water and lifted his one foot off the river’s floor.
“Hmm,” Gideon remarked from a few yards away. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Thought of what?” Graham asked, but he already knew.
Lying back on the water, his crutch spiked into the soft mud of the river’s floor to anchor him, Graham floated, the current washing over him. One leg or two, it didn’t matter, he drifted just the same.
“A man doesn’t need two legs if he’s not planning on standing in the first place,” Gideon said, talking to himself as much as anyone else.
“What do you mean?” Graham asked. Gideon’s words sounded a lot like what Clarence Nelson had told him.
Gideon didn’t reply. He was too lost in his own thoughts and calculations. He didn’t notice anything at all until Lucy came splashing into the water.
“That’s it, I’m done with chores for the day,” she declared, wading closer to where Gideon had ducked into the water up to his neck. “I think we all deserve a break from work now and then, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Gideon sank further into the water.
Graham was forgotten by the both of them as Lucy and Gideon began a sort of slow chase through the flowing river. Lucy talked and inched closer to Gideon, and Gideon swam farther away. In no time, they were yards downriver, drifting out of earshot of everyone else.
Graham shook his head, chuckling for his friend. His thoughts stayed in that warm, pleasant place as he tested what it felt like to push his way through the water with his arms alone. He’d gone swimming often enough as a boy. It wasn’t difficult. It was too bad there wasn’t a lot of water in Denver City. He could have made a life as a fisherman—or at least a lure—in a place with water.
As he chuckled at his thoughts, he felt Estelle’s gaze on him again. Sure enough, when he checked, she was watching him. Tim was doing most of the laundry work now—face pulled tight in concentration. Graham wondered if E
stelle knew how she affected him with that sultry stare, that undisguised ardor. He shifted his floating stance to keep his hips, and what was trying to stand out between them, from being seen. A little cold water would do him some good.
A year or two ago, Graham would have thought nothing about seeking out a way to get a woman with a look like Estelle’s into a corner to see how far the two of them could take things. Now, he wasn’t so sure. She deserved better, that much was clear. What wasn’t clear was how long he could keep telling himself that before the pressure did him in.
Chapter Seven
“Government is the future of the West,” Nelson explained to Graham a couple days later as the two of them walked side by side. Graham concentrated on taking one step at a time. Nelson gestured toward the horizon, his smile wide. “Folks have been moving out this way for years, but for farming and mining. Now they need guidance. Guidance from men of vision and intelligence.”
“Men like you?” Graham asked.
Several feet ahead, Tim—who was walking by Estelle’s side, holding her hand—turned to check on him. Graham grinned and winked. Tim burst into a round of boyish giggles. A strange, expansive feeling spread through Graham’s chest. Crazy as it was, little Tim was growing on him.
“Men like me, yes,” Nelson went on. “Men like you too, if you play your cards right.”
Estelle smiled down at Tim. The tableaux of the two of them pulled the warmth around his chest tighter. When she peeked over his shoulder, sending him a look that was almost coquettish it was so charming, he nearly missed a step.
Dang and blast it, ever since that day at the river, when Estelle had watched him swimming, the heat of her thoughts clear in her eyes, Graham hadn’t been able to stop himself from daydreaming about her, about a possible future with her.
“Let’s leave the card-playing to Charlie,” Graham chuckled. He would drive himself mad if he dwelled on a future that would never happen.
Then again, when Estelle looked at him like that, and when Clarence Nelson spoke, the impossible seemed possible.
“It’s all about image,” Nelson went on. “How things look to those who only get a quick glance. Regular folk don’t have the patience for government. They don’t care what you really think or do, only what you say you’ll do and how you look saying it.”
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Graham said.
Nelson shrugged. “It’s the way it is. And that’s why, if you stick with me, you’ll have a future in politics.”
“Because America loves a war hero?” Graham echoed the sentiment Nelson had been drumming into him for the last few days.
“Exactly.”
Ahead of them, Tim laughed at something Estelle showed him. Her smile was enough to light up the darkest night. Nope. It was no good fighting it. He wanted her, and if Nelson followed through on what he’d been promising, he could have her.
“You know,” Nelson began, proving Graham’s thoughts, “politicians do better when they’ve got a beautiful wife to show off, maybe a couple of darling, towheaded children too.”
Graham turned his head to arch his brow at the man. “Is that so?”
“We’ll stop here for the afternoon,” Pete called out from the top of his horse, riding up alongside Graham’s wagon. “It’s getting too hot for the animals. For some of the people too.”
It was getting too hot, Graham agreed. And he was getting too many ideas.
“Let me know if I can help with anything,” Graham told Pete as the wagons slowed to a stop all around.
“Will do.” Pete nodded and nudged his horse ahead.
“And you let me know if there’s anything you need me to do,” Graham said to Nelson.
“You can count on it.” Nelson nodded and picked up his pace to return to his own wagon.
With his oxen now stopped, Graham went to work securing his wagon for the midday rest. He headed around the back of his wagon, but was almost cut off and sent sprawling as Charlie Garrett came rushing past.
“Sorry, Graham,” Charlie said, catching his arm and stopping the both of them from spilling to the dirt.
“No harm done,” Graham responded with a smile. In the last few weeks, he’d almost become friends with Charlie, but not quite. Charlie was good at more than just cards, he was good at keeping himself to himself. “Where are you off to in this heat in such a hurry?”
A mischievous grin spread across Charlie’s face. “I’m off to collect a prize.” He winked.
“Good luck, then,” Graham chuckled, letting him go.
Charlie tipped his hat, then rushed on. His strides were purposeful and sure, and his widening grin made Graham itch with curiosity. There had been a high-stakes poker game last night. Someone had lost something big, and Charlie had won. Graham shook his head.
“What was that all about?” Estelle asked as she and Tim pulled boxes of lunch supplies out of the back of the supply wagon.
“No idea,” Graham replied.
She chuckled and started setting up a quick camp. “What were you and Mr. Nelson talking about back there?”
Graham’s grin widened. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
The teasing look she gave him was enough to addle Graham’s brain.
“Looked like the two of you were plotting,” she went on.
“Maybe we were.” Graham winked, which caused Estelle to laugh. Yep, he wanted her all right.
He continued on to his oxen. It wasn’t difficult to free the beasts from their yoke in order to lead them to the river for a drink, but it did take muscle. Muscle was something Graham had, but not the balance to go with it. He thanked God that oxen were docile creatures as he maneuvered himself between his team and leaned against one while unlatching the yoke.
“Let me take care of that for you.”
Graham snapped his head up from his work and frowned as Isaiah strode toward him. He walked so easily, with such pride. It irritated Graham to no end and wracked him with guilt at the same time. He had no business resenting a man for the use of his legs.
He could, however, resent him for interfering.
“I’m fine,” Graham told him. “I’ve just about got it.”
Isaiah blew out an impatient breath and shook his head, as though Graham were a willful child. He marched up to the front of the oxen, stepped over the wagon’s tongue, and lifted the yoke, freeing the oxen with one smooth, well-balanced movement.
The oxen jolted and wandered forward, pushing Graham off-balance. He scrambled to get his crutch in place, stumbling and landing hard on his backside across the tongue. Isaiah huffed and reached under Graham’s arms to heft him upright.
“I can stand on my own,” Graham insisted.
“That’s not what it looks like to me,” Isaiah replied with a smirk, bending to hand Graham his crutch.
Graham’s temper soared. When Isaiah took charge of the oxen and walked them away from the wagons and down toward the river, Graham followed.
“I’d appreciate it if you asked before you assume I need help,” he said, catching up to Isaiah. “I still have one good leg and two good arms.”
Isaiah barked a laugh. “Is that what you were trying to show off to Miss Essie the other day in the river?”
Graham stumbled, which only aggravated him more. He had to catch up to Isaiah a second time to say, “Estelle and I have become friends. Don’t assume any more than that.”
“I won’t if you won’t,” Isaiah grumbled in reply.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Isaiah kept silent. They reached the edge of the river. Several other teams of oxen had been taken to the river, giving that stretch the appearance of a crowded stockyard. It wasn’t only oxen, though. The large number of farmers and pioneers lingering while their animals drank kept Graham from questioning Isaiah and getting to the bottom of his sly comments.
“Afternoon, Lt. Tremaine.” One of the farmers nodded to Graham.
Graham nodded and gave a tight smiled
in return. “Afternoon, Walter.”
“Lieutenant?” Isaiah murmured on the other side of Graham’s oxen.
Graham ignored the scorn in his voice. He’d earned his rank, paid for it in blood. Whatever Isaiah’s problem was—and it was growing clearer and clearer to Graham that he did have a problem—he couldn’t grudge him that much.
“Mighty hot, isn’t it?” Walter went on.
“Sure is,” Graham replied. He glanced across to Isaiah, was stroking one of his oxen’s back, checking its neck for signs of wear from the yoke. All things that Graham could and should be doing on his own.
“Yep. The trail could use some rain.” Walter nodded, then leaned over to check on his oxen the same way.
Frustration rolled off of Graham, bunching his shoulders, as he checked over the ox nearest him. What should have been a natural course of caring for his animals suddenly made him feel as though he was struggling to keep up with the other men, as if he was one step behind them, one step behind everything.
As soon as Walter’s oxen finished drinking, he pulled them away from the river and started back toward the cluster of wagons with a nod, leaving Isaiah and Graham more isolated from the handful of other men by the river.
“I think it’s admirable that you’re letting Gideon Faraday experiment on you,” Isaiah struck up a new conversation. “Shows a fair amount of trust, I’d say.”
Graham narrowed his eyes and faced Isaiah across an ox’s back. “Gideon is a friend. He’s trying to help.”
“Of course.” Isaiah leaned casually against one of Graham’s oxen, resting his arms on the beast’s back and fixing Graham with a knowing grin. “Just don’t think that playing with some wooden leg is going to impress Miss Essie.”
The man was jealous. Graham took in a slow breath to steady his temper and to push down the idea that Estelle was his and no other man had the right to look at her. “You sure do have a lot to say on that topic. Seems to me that other people’s friendships are not open for comment by third parties.”
