Page 53 of A Rugged Beauty
The tension inside of him rolled to a boil and he had to turn away. She looked soyoung. With her entire life ahead of her.
She was a reminder of everything he’d lost.
And everything he’d never have again.
"She pretended to be an upstanding woman, but now Ma says she's not. She’s like a soiled dove from one of those saloons."
"Who'd ever want to marry someone like that?"
Hollis rounded a campfire where two teen girls hadn’t bothered to keep their voices down. One of the two wore a tightly-braided mass of black curls that reminded Hollis of his mother.
The sun was on its descent and the last of the wagons were circling up. Several of the first wagons had already unloaded, and he was on his way to see Abigail.
It would be another hour before the group met for his announcement, and he still wasn't sure what he was going to say to the company. And now this.
The girl with braids caught sight of him and the thundercloud that must be his expression, because she duckedher head meekly. Her companion was facing away from him when he passed by their supper preparations.
She gestured with one hand. "My ma was worried things out here in the west would be uncouth.”
The first teen nudged her friend with an elbow. The girl looked around, and her eyes went wide.
"Evening, Mr. Hollis." The girl with the braids almost gasped the words.
He should stop and speak to them. They were clearly talking about Abigail, spreading gossip. Anger surged through his veins. Abigail had helped a dozen families throughout their time on the Trail. Maybe more. She'd worked tirelessly to feed folks when they were ill, to help with chores. To triage and help Maddie doctor folks when the tornado had wrecked their company, when the outlaws had attacked.
She didn't deserve this.
And he was the only one who could do anything about it.
He passed by with a grimace instead of a smile and hoped they'd think twice about their talk.
He still wasn't sure of his words when he found Abigail crouched over a fire she must've only just lit. She was feeding twigs from a small supply to grow the flames.
I know this.
For a moment, the memory of her looking up at him with shining eyes from that primitive bow drill blasted through his mind like a stampeding buffalo.
He cleared his throat. "We need to talk."
When she glanced up, her eyes were hooded. "Supper will be ready soon. If you're famished now, I've got some biscuits left from breakfast." Her lashes fluttered down, hiding her gaze from him.
Something tugged deep inside, a wish that he didn't dare admit to.
"I'll eat later," he said.
This time, the look she gave him was pointed. "You've got to keep your strength up." Her eyes softened. "That scrape on your face looks a mite better."
She shifted her attention back to the fire, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him for longer. The fire popped, but she didn't jump.
Her words made his chest ache. When was the last time someone had worried whether he'd eaten enough, or that his wounds were healing? Probably his Ma, before he'd left home.
Years ago, he’d told his family he was coming west. He’d had letters from home, but had never written back. Just this spring, he’d received a letter from his brother Booker that he wanted to take the Oregon Trail. But Hollis had left before Booker arrived in Independence.
He hadn't let anyone close enough to care whether he was all right. Not since Dinah had passed away.
“Aren’t you angry at me?” He scratched the back of his neck. “You've probably got a right to it after the way I talked to you last night."
There was a prolonged moment where she kept her face averted before she stood, swiping dust off her hands. When she finally glanced at him, her eyes were clear. "No matter what, I hope we're still friends."
