Wagon Train Sweetheart. Lacy Williams

allowed her hand to move until her fingertips brushed Mr. Reed’s temple. Still hot.

      In the dark, she fumbled for the rag and bowl of cool water. She dabbed at his forehead, feeling that her efforts were in vain. What if Mr. Reed died? The man wasn’t even her acquaintance, yet she felt responsible for him.

      “It wasn’t that I resented being the one to care for Papa,” she murmured. “But it was…difficult. Being closest to him when his spirits suffered. He battled despondency and often there was no comfort I could bring him…”

      She was surprised when a sniffle overtook her. She’d thought she had mourned her father completely, but perhaps this trip was calling for more from her.

      “Dealing with his bodily functions…”

      She paused. “Perhaps I did resent my siblings a bit,” she admitted. “For not asking if I needed their assistance.”

      It felt good to say the words, admit to her unkind feelings, knowing that no one would ever hear her.

      “Of course,” she went on to excuse them, “it wasn’t as if Ben and Rachel ignored their responsibilities. Ben was constantly busy running the ranch. And Rachel took over the entire household. The situation was difficult on all of us.”

      And that was why her siblings had wanted a new start.

      But the truth was, she’d hoped to find her new start right at home.

      * * *

      Nathan lay in the dark, knowing he should tell Emma Hewitt he was awake.

      The booming thunder had shaken him out of the place of darkness that had claimed him…all day apparently.

      Or maybe it had been the clutch of her small hand against his shoulder that woke him.

      He should tell her.

      But some small part of him that hadn’t died with Beth had savored the soft brush of her fingers against his blazing forehead, the thought that someone wanted to converse with him.

      Oh, he wasn’t kidding himself. He knew she was caring for him out of basic human kindness—even that was as foreign to him as a store-bought candy. As out of it as he’d been, he had still heard her soft-spoken words and had felt her each time she’d smoothed back his hair, had bathed his face and neck with water, had helped him sip water from a tin cup.

      No one treated him this kindly. Not since Beth.

      Most people acted as if he didn’t exist, or if they had no other choice but to talk to him, treated him like dirt.

      It was what he deserved.

      But that one small part of him held his limbs captive and numbed his tongue so that he just lay silent and still.

      He didn’t particularly like the dark, confining space. He was used to sleeping outdoors, even in the rain.

      He couldn’t see her, but he could make out a darker shadow that must be her form sitting close at his side. Beneath the damp smell of rain floated the scent of their foodstuffs. Flour, sugar, coffee. And a hint of wax, perhaps a candle that had guttered out.

      And something he couldn’t identify. Flowers or freshness…­­it must be her scent.

      She was still speaking in a low voice.

      “Once Ben received Grayson’s letter, there was no talking him out of his plans. And Rachel on board, as well…how could I hold them back from their dreams?”

      What about her dreams? It didn’t sound as if Emma had wanted to take the trip West. Why not? Curiosity stung him. He might not ever get answers, not if she stopped talking. Because he would never ask.

      Light flashed again, not so brightly this time, perhaps farther away. Thunder rolled. Water from the cloth she was using trickled down his jaw and behind his ear.

      It tickled, and he used all the willpower he possessed not to move.

      “I hope your little dog found a safe place to curl up for the night.”

      Mutt. The animal didn’t really belong to Nathan. It had attached itself to him the second night he’d been in camp. He’d waited for someone to claim the dog—it was friendly enough to belong to a family. But no one ever had. And maybe the little dog’s protruding ribs meant no one would.

      Just like no one claimed Nathan.

      He hadn’t been able to avoid the slight feeling of camaraderie with the animal, so he’d taken to feeding it scraps from his meals. It had started following him around, but Nathan didn’t regard it as a pet. It would wander off at some point.

      “Storms like this are just one of the dangers on the trail,” Emma whispered. “Illness, poor nutrition, early winter, stampeding buffalo, snakes…”

      She recited the list as if she’d read it in a book somewhere. Nathan had spent so much time trapping and living off the land that he didn’t even notice the critters she’d mentioned. If you were listening, you could hear stampeding buffalo from a mile off and get out of their way. Snakes didn’t bother you unless you got in their space.

      It was the humans in the caravan that were the real danger. And didn’t he know it? His past had taught him that men couldn’t be trusted. He might have acquaintances back at Fort Laramie that he did business with, but there was always a part of him that held back. And look what had happened after he’d joined the wagon train. He’d been falsely accused.

      There was a sudden muting of the rain outside. Prickles crawled along his skin and light flared. He caught a glance of Emma’s chestnut hair and bright eyes before he had to close his eyes against the painful brightness.

      There was a loud crack, then a boom, shaking everything until he was sure his teeth rattled.

      And this time was different from the last. Voices cried out. Screamed.

      Emma’s hand gripped his wrist painfully.

      A loud thump against the side of the wagon startled her and she jerked, releasing him.

      “The Ericksons’ wagon got struck by lightning and caught fire!” That was Ben Hewitt’s voice. “Stay put for now, I’ll come for you if I need you.”

      What a disaster. The torrential rain should help, but the lightning could’ve hurt the family inside the wagon or caused significant damage. He should get up to help, but he still couldn’t figure out how to get his legs to work. Maybe he was sicker than he’d thought. Or had they tied him up so this suspected thief couldn’t get away?

      Emma shifted beside him. Another lightning flash and he saw that she’d curled up into herself, drawn her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Her head was tucked down and she was rocking very slightly back and forth. She was muttering something, but he couldn’t make out the words over the continuing rain.

      She could be praying.

      Or upset.

      How many times had his sister curled up just like that during one of their father’s angry spells?

      Unexpected emotion ran hot through his chest and he did something he hadn’t done in years. He reached out for her.

      Fever still coursing through him, his arm shook, but he cupped her elbow in his hand.

      Somewhere in the haze of the day, he remembered her saying something about him not liking her. The statement was something of an untruth. He didn’t like anyone. No one liked him.

      But when she stilled beneath his touch, he scrambled for something to say and what came out was, “I don’t dislike you.” His voice was raspy from disuse.

      There was a beat of silence. As full and tense as that moment before the lightning had struck.

      “You’re awake,” she said, surprise in her tone.

      “I’m feeling a mite better.” It