Page 7 of Wagon Train Redemption
“They should return soon.” Her back to him, she studied the direction the others had gone.
“I could use a cup of coffee.” He emptied the pot and sauntered to the creek to fill it. Coffee would be good. Perhaps she’d relax if she had some.
When he returned, she had beans ground. He held out the pot, and she dumped them in.
While the brew simmered over the coals, he hunkered down on a log stool.
She put two pieces of wood on the fire, raising a shower of sparks. She removed the lid on the beans again and stirred them. Something on the table seemed to require her attention, though he couldn’t see what and all she did was dust her fingers alongthe surface.
“Angela, is something wrong?”
“What?” She jammed her hands into her apron pockets. “No. Why do you ask?”
“Do I make you uncomfortable?” He pushed to his feet. “I’ll go check on the livestock.”
Angela twisted her apron.She’d offered her forgiveness, and she meant it. But forgetting was far more difficult. What was it Father had said on more than one occasion? “Feelings will always follow actions. Do what is right, and the feelings will follow like the caboose on the end of the train.” For Father, she’d make the right choice. And for God, she added, knowing Father would expect it. No more than she expected it of herself. “No, wait. You haven’t had coffee. Let me get the cups.” She plucked two off the table.
Carson lifted the pot and filled the mugs she held. “Thanks.” A note of caution dulled the words and his eyes. Brown eyes, unlike the blue of the rest of his family. His hair was brown too while his siblings all had blond hair. Hmm. He was the odd man out. Not unlike her.
A brisk shake of her head stopped her silly musings. “I’ll get cookies too.” She put the tin of oatmeal and raisin cookies on the log stool closest to him and sat on the next one over. Not so close as to make her uncomfortable, but not so far away as to fill his eyes with that uncertain look.
“Thanks.” He bit into one. “These are good.”
“I made them.”
He ate one and took a second. “Did you know these are my favorite kind?”
“I remember you telling your ma molasses cookies were your favorite.”
His expression sober, he nodded. “Them too.” He leanedcloser, glancing around as if to share a secret. “The truth is, every cookie is my favorite.”
Her laughter slipped out. “Guess that makes you easy to please.”
“Indeed.” He scooted back, contentment relaxing his face.
She narrowed her eyes. Was he teasing? Or bragging? Going with the first, she fluttered an airy wave. “At least when it comes to cookies.”
“Oh, in other ways too.” He grinned.
“Really? Do tell.”
“I’ve been known to live for days—weeks, even—on cold beans and hard biscuits.” He gave a shrug. “Even made do with pemmican for many days while I was tracking a man.”
Those words crashed her to reality. “A Mountie must encounter a lot of bad things.”
A dark cloud crossed his face.
She tipped her head upward. The sky was a sunny blue. The shadow on his face came from inside him.
“It’s safe to say that life is often laced with unsavory things.”
The coffee had cooled. Nevertheless, she curled her fingers around the cup, seeking warmth and comfort.
“You shuddered.” He swallowed coffee. “Why?”
She shook off the feeling. “It’s true. Life is full of things I’d like to avoid.”
“Being an orphan is one I suppose. I’m sorry that happened to you.” The gentleness in his voice edged through her struggle to keep the past locked away.
