Page 36 of Conveniently Wed
She took off the lid, and a large green amphibian leaped toward her.
She was proud that only a small shriek escaped and that no one had been on her side of the wagon to witness her clang the lid down, trapping the frog inside the pot.
She supposed she should be angry at the man, but after his gentle care of Emma earlier, she couldn’t muster it.
Or maybe this was just the way Western men courted their womenfolk?
She shook her head, remembering his words about being on his own. There was something deeper underneath them, but she didn’t think he wanted to share it with her—if he even knew himself.
“Food on?” asked Chester, bringing the firewood that Edgar had told him to fetch.
Seeing the older, grizzled cowboy gave her an idea. “Do you know how to cook a frog?”
She followed his directions, swallowing her squeal when she had to dismember the poor animal. This had better be worth it.
And it was, when she presented her husband with the fried frog legs, arranged neatly on top of his biscuit and stew.
His eyes widened, and the cowboys all around guffawed. Even Emma smiled from her retreat in the wagon.
His eyes sparked. She thought for a moment he might be angry, but then he ripped into one of the legs with his teeth like a mountain man with no manners—harking back to their earlier conversation, no doubt.
He raised the bone to salute her.
And she retreated behind the wagon as the cowboys laughed again—this time her husband included.
Supper was long gone, and Fran was attempting to muster the energy to take the dishes to the stream. They’d made camp about the same distance away from the one they’d found the day before.
She leaned on the corner of the wagon as she attempted to cajole Emma into helping her. The other girl remained holed up inside the canvas-covered box.
“Please come down,” Fran said. Suggested. Gently.
Emma shook her head slightly, eyes flickering past the firelight to the shadows beyond. Still afraid.
“Is it Edgar? His brothers?”
“No. They’re fine. I don’t know…some of the others.”
Fran’s curiosity piqued. “Has someone said something inappropriate to you?”
“No, just….”
Emma was sensitive. Had always been so. Fran thought her mother probably wouldn’t have sent Emma to the finishing school but she’d once overheard her father saying that Emma neededsomethingto bring her out of her shell.
And she had become more social around her friends at the Girls’ Academy. Until the awful Mr. Underhill had changed everything.
With the visible fear on Emma’s face, Fran couldn’t push her into getting out of the wagon.
Even if it meant she had to do all the dishes on her own.
She was so tired that it made her answering “fine” sharp.
Emma looked apologetic, but apology didn’t really help get the chore done.
Fran wished—for both their sakes—that things were different.
No doubt Emma did, too.
She couldn’t let guilt cripple either of them.
