Page 42 of A Rugged Beauty
Evangeline had several guidebooks packed in her supplies, Abigail remembered. August had commented about how frivolous it had seemed that she, the daughter of a wealthy lumber magnate, had brought an entire library along in her wagon. But surely the guidebooks would be helpful now, with Hollis's memory impaired.
Hollis's shoulders were set and tense. She could see it from here, though his back was to her. Everyone would be depending on him, now that he'd returned. The responsibility was a big one when in his right state. But without his memories, was he feeling uncertain? Angry?
"Abby?" The nickname slipped from Alice's lips as she drew back the blanket. Behind her, a washtub was steaming. She'd laid a clean towel over the edge and now she offered Abigail a bar of sweet-smelling soap. "You okay?"
Abigail forced a smile, though it felt like it wasn't quite the right shape on her lips. "Fine. Just woolgathering."
Alice's gaze went past her. Abigail feared she'd see the men and guess at her seesawing emotions. She quickly ducked past her friend. "Thank you for the bath."
Alice murmured a response and left her there.
Abigail didn't want the hot water her friends had labored over to go to waste, so she quickly slipped into the tub. The warm water was a balm to her skin. The scent of the soap familiar and welcome. But thoughts of Hollis plagued her.
His strong arm coming around her when he'd dove into the raging river to rescue her.
The warmth of sharing his coat next to the fire.
The way he'd held her and comforted her.
His kiss, the way it'd claimed her.
What had been a friendship—and barely that—before they'd been separated from the company had become something more.
For her, at least.
She had no doubt that when Hollis's memory returned, any moment now, he'd hate the closeness they'd shared. He'd worked hard to keep everyone around him at arms' length. She doubted he'd told anyone else about the tragedies from his childhood. She knew more about him than anyone else. And he wouldn't like that. It wouldn't matter that she would never tell a soul.
Frustration rolled over her like a wave in the river, and she let herself slide down until her knees were sticking up out of the tub but her head was underwater.
With her eyes tightly closed and everything around her muted, she could pretend, if only for one moment, that things could be the same as they had before her memory had returned.
She’d liked belonging to Hollis.
It was growing dark by the time Hollis had a minute to wash up.
"You haven't had a moment to yourself."
August.
Hollis had repeated the man's name over and over in his mind so he would remember it.
The man—his friend?—approached where Hollis stood between two wagons looking out at the last sliver of the setting sun.
"What can I do for you?" Hollis asked.
August shook his head. He’d stuck close all day, covering for Hollis when the blanks in his memory might’ve troubled the other travelers. It hadn’t been until midday that Hollis realized he hadn’t told Owen or Beaumont or Gerry Bones that his memories were gone.
August had something in his hands and held it out now, offering it to Hollis.
Clothes, he realized. A rough towel, a bar of soap. August extended his other hand. A straight razor. A flicker of some recognition fluttered inside Hollis as he took it.
"Most of the men bathe down by the river, though the water isn't very clean after the storms.” A gentle suggestion in the words.
Hollis thanked him with a nod.
August hesitated. "You doing all right? With everything?"
"Fine."
