His Forgotten Fiancée. Evelyn M. Hill

night demanding to know who he was.

      He raised one eyebrow. “Do I pass muster?”

      “I’m sorry?”

      “You’re staring.”

      She swallowed her disappointment. For a moment, she had expected him to be his old self again, holding out his hands to her and smiling. The new Matthew did not behave like that.

      She felt sorrow for the loss, something precious as gold slipping through her fingers. If ever he loved her, that part of him was forgotten. Maybe he’d never loved her at all. How could she tell?

      “You’ll do.” She hefted the basket with her shopping, but he slipped it from her grasp. He offered her his left arm, escorting her down Main Street for all the world as if he were promenading down the finest street in St. Louis on a Sunday afternoon. Despite her depression, she spared a moment to be amused by his air. He had always treated her like a rare precious object. Right up to the point he had left. How many other women had he treated in the exact same manner while he’d been away? Granny Whitlow’s comment about all the pretty women in California was probably true. She sighed. He looked at her sideways but made no comment on her mood.

      When they got to the livery stables, they found Frank Dawson leaning against the wall, arms folded. He ignored Matthew and spoke to Liza. “I’d like a word with you.”

      Matthew frowned, but he handed the basket back to her. “I’ll help harness the horse.”

      Frank waited until Matthew was out of earshot before he spoke. “Are you serious about that man? He looks like a vagabond, from what I can tell.”

      “I thought he looked much more respectable now that he’s had a shave and a haircut.”

      “He don’t seem like the man you described when you came up here, is all.”

      “Frank Dawson, I told you I was engaged the first time I met you.” Her hands gripped the basket more tightly, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you thinkin’ I’m a liar?”

      He held up his hands. “Whoa! Don’t be so hasty. I’m thinkin’ you don’t know what you want. And this man just dropped in out of nowhere. You might be mistaken.”

      “I’m not.”

      “You just watch yourself, that’s all. Don’t trust him too far. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

      She nodded, but she did not relax until he was out of sight. Frank wasn’t a bad person, and she liked him, but she wished he wasn’t so protective. She wasn’t the least bit interested in him romantically. She had been clear on that point from the day they met, but he wasn’t listening. None of the men in her life seemed to want to listen to her. She wanted what she had had with Matthew on the trail—that sureness of belonging with him—wanted it so badly that she ached with the loss. The loss felt like missing a part of herself. If he no longer wanted her, well, she would have to accept that. But she would not settle for less. She knew the difference now.

      As she climbed into the wagon, Matthew dropped something small into her lap. “Here.”

      She looked down. A black-and-white bundle of fluff was making a determined effort to climb up her bodice. Round green eyes met hers, innocent and curious. “What is this?”

      He very deliberately did not look at her. Instead, he settled into the seat next to her, took up the reins and flicked them against the horse’s rump. As the horse started to move off, she was distracted from the little bundle of energy in her lap to protest. “I can drive.”

      “The fact that you are able to do so does not in any way imply that you should have to do so.”

      “You can’t expect me to sit here like a fine lady from back east who does nothing.” She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or to scowl right back at the man. “It is a bit late now for me to start acting all helpless. Since you left, I’ve learned to fend for myself. I had to. And you are avoiding the subject of this cat.”

      “Kitten,” he said, still looking ahead instead. “Only a couple months old. I have it on good authority that he likes having his ears ‘scritched.’ Turns out Jim Barnes felt the need for a harmonica. I suggested a trade.”

      “You thought I needed a kitten?”

      “He can catch mice for you.”

      She looked doubtfully down at the little kitten, still trying to climb her dress, and then back up at Matthew.

      “Eventually,” he amended. His tone was nonchalant, and he kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but she could see his ears were turning a bit red.

      She scratched the kitten under the chin and then moved up to behind the ears. The little animal closed his eyes and purred loudly. She had to smile. “Thank you.”

      Once across the river, they rode in silence as the trail wound its way through a forest of big-leaf maples and bitter cottonwood trees. Occasionally they would pass a clearing with a log cabin surrounded by fields of buckwheat or corn or rye. Most of the settlers in this area were already at work harvesting their crops, the men scything the grain while the women bundled the sheaves into shocks to dry. Children ran to and fro carrying water to the adults sweating in the hot sun.

      After a few miles, the road narrowed to nothing more than a deeply rutted trail beside a creek that wound its way into the thickly forested hills. Trees arched overhead, and encroaching branches reached out on either side. She had to duck under one that tried to snag her bonnet.

      She was extremely conscious of every breath taken by the silent man next to her. They were forced to sit so close together on the bench that his coat sleeve brushed against her shawl. Thankfully, keeping ahold of the restless kitten gave her something to do with her hands.

      They had never simply sat like this before, just the two of them alone. When they sat together, it had been with the others around the campfire. On the trail, they had walked side by side through the grasslands and the badlands, talking about what their future would be like in Oregon. They were going to have six children. She’d picked out their names. He had laughed and said he’d better keep practicing law as well as working the land. It had seemed so simple back then. Anything was possible; everything she’d dreamed of was within reach.

      When they had fallen in love, she had thought they would spend the rest of their lives together. But Mavis had been right; that had been a fairy-tale romance. Now it was daylight.

      All this past year, she had nursed a secret hope that Matthew would come back to her. Even as he stayed away and stayed away, and no word came, she’d kept the dream alive by picturing him returning, coming in the door and sweeping her off her feet and solving all her problems. Mr. Brown would cower before him, her father would cheer up—everything would be wonderful.

      Reality was like cold water thrown in her face.

      He handled the horse competently, with minimum fuss, until the road forked. One track continued on straight, while the other turned left over a bridge that crossed the stream. He stopped the wagon. “Is it really so difficult to provide signposts? Which way?”

      Wry amusement lightened her mood a trifle. The man needed to be taught a lesson in the perils of being overprotective. “Folks round here know where they are and where they want to be. If you don’t know where you’re going, then it makes no sense for you to be doing the driving.”

      His thick eyebrows drew together, a crease forming between them. “Which way?”

      She leaned forward to rescue the kitten, who was batting at the loose reins as they dangled from Matthew’s fingers. Then she sat back. “I never thought to ask about your ancestry,” she said sweetly. “I’m guessing half man, half mule.”

      He heaved a sigh, then dropped the reins and gently gathered up the kitten out of her hands. “Fine. You drive, I’ll scritch.”

      She picked up the reins and clucked to the horse, who moved forward across the bridge. The