Page 9 of Mail-Order Bride Runaway
“Have you proven it true?” She took a gentle sip and blinked back tears before she swallowed.
“Huh?” He wasn’t sure what she meant.
“Stripping bark off trees.”
“Never tried. No. But I’ll tell you this. It keeps you awake which is why I never make it in the evening.”
“Good idea.” She took another sip. This time her eyes didn’t water. “A person gets used to it.”
He laughed again and offered her another biscuit. They’d need more than that to get through the day. He pulled pickled pork from the grub box and handed her a portion.
“This is good,” she said.
“Mrs. Bennet’s recipe.”
“Mrs. Bennet?” Miss Epps sat down looking relaxed for the first time since he’d discovered her in the wagon. Coffee in one hand, the piece of pork in the other, she’d had to abandon the axe though it lay at her knees. He wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d forgotten it. He drained his cup and asked if she wanted more.
She grimaced. “Thanks, but no.” Her expression immediately smoothed. “I mean no offense.”
He chuckled. “None taken.” Carefully, so as to not stir up the grounds, he poured the dark liquid into his cup before he spun what remained in the pot and tossed the dregs into the bushes. He gulped coffee that burned all the way down. He opened his mouth and sucked in air to cool his mouth.
Miss Epps lowered her head but not before he caught a flash of amusement.
“My pa used to say that the best way to start a day was with someone greeting him with coffee and a smile. Ma did both for him.” He stared into his cup. Tilted the contents and sighed. “It’s a long time since she’s done so.” Why had he said that? He didn’t want sympathy. “Let’s be on our way.” He drained his cup, reached for hers, and trotted to the river to rinse them both. He filled two canteens and stowed them under the seat. Filling his pots with water, he soaked the fire. And soaked it again. The land was tinder dry this time of year. A neglected fire could do a lot of damage.
As he worked, Miss Epps retreated a distance.
Satisfied no embers posed a danger, he put the pots away and carried the grub box back to the wagon, and pulled the tarp tight.
He harnessed the horses. “Let’s go.”
Miss Epps eased to the back of the wagon. When he saw that she meant to hide under the tarp, he stood in her way.
“You can ride up front.”
She gripped the axe with both hands and stared past him. He didn’t move. She wouldn’t ride under the hot canvas as long as he was driving.
The axe head flashed as she twisted the handle round and round.
“Bring it with you if it makes you feel safer. So long as you promise you won’t attack me.”
She lifted her bluebird eyes to him. “I will protect myself.”
Annoyed at her judgment, he crossed his arms and leaned back. “Miss Epps, if I wanted to do you harm, I’ve had plenty of opportunity.” He might remind her that he’d been nothing but hospitable but what was the point?
She rocked back and forth, releasing a gust of air that rivaled the autumn breeze. “Very well. But I’m keeping the axe with me.”
As if he’d thought otherwise. Deciding it wise not to help her climb aboard, he waited until she was seated, her weapon across her knees, before he sat beside her and flicked the reins to start them moving back to the trail.
Silence hung between them. Awkward. Strained and on his part, annoyed. He hadn’t invited her into his life, but he was stuck with her until he could get her to safety. At least she could be grateful for his generosity and kindness. Content to dismiss his annoyance and enjoy the day, he settled into his own thoughts.
“Thank you for breakfast…and supper.” Her soft words caused him to sit up straight.
“You’re welcome.”
“The pickled pork was very good.”
The trail dipped ahead of them. The breeze lifted dust. “So, you said.”
