Page 60 of A Rugged Beauty
Her stomach twisted. Dinah would’ve liked her. But Hollis didn’t.
She went to the wagon to plate some of the biscuits for Hollis, grateful for the moment to turn her back. She was the one who'd prompted the conversation, asked about his wife. But she hadn't expected to feel the well of emptiness that came with the discovery of how deeply Hollis had loved her.
Hollis ate the biscuits, part of him realizing the delicious taste while the bigger part of him tasted only ash. He tracked August as the man walked into the circle of wagons after a shift on watch.
August caught his stare and shook his head. Still no sign of any man riding alone.
Disappointment surged. Hollis wished he couldknowwhether the man he’d met in the wildfire and storm had been following the company. Or had he been a lone traveler, worried for his own survival? It bothered Hollis that no one else had seen any sign of him.
A few others from the company were stirring, but most of the camp slept on. The sun was rising over the eastern horizon, a ball of fire. Folks were tired. They needed the rest, though Hollis hoped to make twenty miles today.
Abigail puttered around the wagon, keeping her back to him. He felt like his insides were on fire. He hadn't realized until he'd dredged up the memories how much he'd forgotten about Dinah. The loss felt fresh all over again. Five years ago, he'd forced himself to forget, pushing through the dangerous overland journeys, working like a dog until all he could do was drop into his bedroll at night. Too tired to cry, to face the grief that had dogged his every step.
Now he couldn't find a clear memory of Dinah's smile. Every time he pushed, his traitorous mind brought a flash of Abigail's wide, happy grin and bright eyes.
Grief flared, hot and bright. He'd longed to have that family with Dinah. Longed for their baby to arrive, not knowing that would be the end of everything good for him. After awhile, he couldn’t face his parents, the shared grief too much to bear.
Abigail moved behind the wagon. He still felt the awkwardness of waking up next to her—of bumping into her in the semi-darkness. In camp, everything was different from their mornings together in the wild.
He wanted to pull her closer, wanted her in his arms again.
He wanted to be across camp. Away from her.
Now was his chance. The sun was up, which meant he could get to work.
He returned the tin plate she'd given him to the wagon. She was tying off a strap where one of the pails hung along side.
"Better'n my ma's biscuits," he said. "Thank you."
She glanced his way in surprise. "Is your mother still living?"
He swallowed a sudden hot knot in his throat at the mention of his mama and nodded. "Far as I know. My pa owns a liveryback East. My brothers and sister live there too. Or they did when I first came West. One of my brothers might’ve come West.”
Her brows crinkled. “You don’t know?” A hint of censure in her voice.
“I left before he reached Independence.”
There was a bit of judgment in the sideways glance she sent him. "I can't wait to see Joseph. It's difficult when letters take forever to find each other—or they don't at all."
"I haven't written them since I left." Why had he admitted that?
Her sharp look was an echo of the guilt he felt.
"Whyever not?"
It was too difficult to find the words. To admit out loud to something he'd only admitted to himself. Especially to someone as joyful as Abigail.
"I've known for a long time that I'll end up alone." It was easier to say it if he didn't look at her, so he didn't. It was better that she knew why they couldn’t make a real go of this marriage.
He watched the horizon, watched a little jut of rocks where a hill rose in the distance. And he caught sight of a glint of light.
Something man-made. It couldn't be natural, the flash, pause, flash of light.
The sun was reflecting off of a pair of field glasses.
His body reacted before he could think anything through. He left Abigail without a word, heading for his horse picketed outside the line of wagons. He didn't take his eyes off that place against the hill, though the flashing had stopped.
There was someone out there. Maybe the same man who’d attacked him.
