Page 47 of A Rugged Beauty
"Owen tells me that the last time Hollis was separated from the caravan, there was unrest."
The knot in Abigail's stomach pulled. It was true. When Hollis had been injured in the twister, the men had nearly come to blows about what course of action they should take next. But Hollis was back with the caravan now. Surely the men, everyonein the company, knew that their best chance of surviving this journey was under Hollis's leadership.
But Rachel didn't have to say any more for Abigail's thought to roll to each time people she'd thought sensible and intelligent had succumbed to their fear and made bad choices.
The wilderness wasn't merciful.
And she knew how Hollis took responsibility for every life under his care. She'd seen it firsthand when he'd taken such meticulous care of her. And many other times on the wagon train.
"Some families are talking about leaving the caravan," Rachel said urgently. "Waiting at the next fort until another caravan passes through." She sighed. "Please, can you try to talk to him?"
"Of course." Abigail's sharp answer seemed to placate Rachel, and as the first of the wagons began rolling out, Rachel hurried away.
Abigail walked to the front of the wagon, the oxen in their traces ready for the command to get moving. Her heart was heavy. Hollis would take it personally that some families didn't trust his leadership. It wasn't his fault that they'd been separated from the caravan.
Maybe she could've stopped him from saying what he had—or maybe not.
She knew how much he cared about getting this specific bunch of travelers across the mountains and to Oregon. And she knew—now—what he'd suffered in his past.
He hadn’t meant to let her in, but that didn't change the fact that he needed help.
She didn't know what that would look like. Whether he would let her help or not. But someone needed to stand at Hollis's side. As a friend.
And perhaps that someone was supposed to be her. Even if he didn’t want it to be.
Hollis’s eyes scanned over the land ahead. A small bluff covered with a grove of trees extended on either side would provide a windbreak for the wagons when they circled in another forty-five minutes. A thread of relief flowed through him as he glanced down at the open logbook in his hand.
His mount shifted slightly beneath him, but Hollis moved easily with the horse.
The sun was on its downward trajectory. They'd made good time today, in spite of a handful of stops—once to dig a wagon out of a sandy spot and once to make a repair.
They'd make camp here. Hollis had a note in his book that nearby hunting should be viable.
Everything was fine. Only he felt discomfort, as if his experiences the past few days had turned him from a round peg that fit his role perfectly to a square block that no longer seemed to suit.
He wished he could forget the entire thing.
Pounding hoofbeats came from behind. He wheeled his horse, hand reaching to rest on the stock of his rifle.
Owen and August slowed their horses from a gallop. He worked to calm his pounding heart. Blew out a gusty exhale.
He was still too jumpy. Maybe because last night's sleep had been disjointed, a mix of memories and dreams.
He'd woken from a visceral dream of the kiss he'd shared with Abigail. The moment left him both ashamed and desperate to hold her again in his trembling arms.
"We'll camp here tonight," he said as Owen and August reined in and walked their horses toward him. He threw one arm wide to show the spot he'd imagined.
The men's gazes roamed the site for a moment, but then the two brothers shared a look before their attention returned to Hollis.
"What is it?" he prodded.
There'd been a long discussion this morning with the captains—more questions than usual—about their route. What now?
"I rode back a piece," August said. "Looking for signs of the man you fought with."
The man’s horse was lathered. Good thing the wagon train wasn't far behind. The animal could rest tonight. Hollis knew August wouldn't push him again tomorrow.
"There was no sign of any camp. I found the ridge you and Abigail climbed, found remnants of your big bonfire. But there was no sign of anyone else. No sign of a horse. Nothing." August's words were matter-of-fact, but the expression on his face was grim.
