Page 53 of Conveniently Wed
He couldn’t fail his pa.
And he didn’t dare risk trusting his heart to a woman.
So he’d been hiding with the cattle all night.
The cookpot was caddy corner to the wagon and looked like it might have a bit left for him. All he had to do was go get it and slink back into the shadows before Fran saw him.
Except when he was ladling the savory-smelling stew into his bowl, he heard a sniffle from around the side of the wagon.
Was Emma upset again?
He’d known women, especially young women, needed reassuring, but this was getting to be a bit much.
He peered around the corner of the wagon. It wasn’t Emma crying softly into her apron. It was Fran.
Fran, who’d suffered in silence while he’d asked her to do things she’d never done before in her life, like driving the wagon and cooking for twelve men.
Was crying.
He must’ve made some noise, because she looked up. The firelight behind him reflected off the tears on her cheeks.
Another woman might’ve turned to him, wanted him to see her pain or even fix it, but Fran turned away, ducking behind the other end of the wagon.
Aw, snakeskin.
He couldn’t just leave her.
He closed his eyes briefly, then made his way around the wagon, leaving his supper behind.
Fran wasn’t curled up in a little ball, like he might’ve expected.
She was standing tall—still didn’t reach his chin, she was so tiny—and wiping her face with the edge of her shawl. Pretending, with a smile, that she was fine.
“You all right?” she asked. “You’ve had a long day in the saddle. How’s your hand?”
He waved it at the silly woman. All his fingers moved like they were supposed to, even if his hand was still sore and swollen.
“What’s going on?” he asked. He leveled a look on her, trying to send her a silent message that he wasn’t going to take any nonsense answer.
“Oh,” she laughed a little, but it sounded too much like a sob to be real. “Just having…a moment. I didn’t want Emma to hear.”
Her eyes flickered briefly to his face. “Coddling her again,” she amended.
If she was trying to throw him off the track, it hadn’t worked.
He let his hand close over her elbow, even though he knew he shouldn’t touch her. “Fran,” he warned.
That’s when her chin tilted down, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“I’m just second-guessing myself,” she said.
“What do you mean?” he prompted, when she didn’t continue.
She took a tiny breath. Another. Then answered, “Things I might’ve done differently. What if I’d been more proactive finding work in Memphis? Emma and I could’ve been long gone from the finishing school when Underhill came calling.”
“Or you’d have been completely on your own,” he felt compelled to point out.
She wiped her face again.
