Wagon Train Sweetheart

Depths that didn’t throw accusation or revulsion or derision when she looked at him. Only a gentle friendship that he didn’t know what to do with.

He wasn’t the man she thought he was. Yesterday, he’d overheard her defend him to her brother, but what she thought about him wasn’t true. He had plenty of dark things in his past. Things he wasn’t proud of.

Things that Beth would be ashamed to know he’d done.

A sudden fit of coughing took him and he ducked away from the canvas, deeper into the wagon.

He heard movement from outside the wagon, the rustling of clothes. Probably Emma’s dress.

He went hot. Would she figure out he’d been watching her?

He couldn’t stop coughing, even when it felt as if an entire lung lodged in his throat. Then Emma was there, undoing the canvas cover from the outside and thrusting a dipper of cool water into his hand.

He took a breath and a sip. The icy water soothed his throat enough that he stopped coughing, at least for the moment.

The concern on her expression made the poker of fire in his chest burn hotter. The sky behind her turned blue and it made her eyes—and whatever was in their depths—shine brighter.

“Woke up to ice on the water bucket this morning,” was all she said. Then, “Are you still fevering? Your cheeks are flushed…”

She stepped up onto a crate on the ground at the foot of the wagon bed and reached up to touch his forehead with the back of her wrist.

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