“I still have to lay out the breakfast things,” Alex said, releasing the brake on her chair.
Freddy gripped the handles of the chair and pushed Alex forward. “Who’s the man I saw helping Grady and the boys put out the fire?” She waited for a minute then called, “Les? Are you coming? I swear, if you go to him now, I’ll smack you myself. Get over here.”
The three of them had never worked together as a unit, but it seemed natural to help Alex finish cleaning up from supper while she told them about the guest who was visiting their camp.
Freddy listened, but she noticed they were all distracted. Les kept looking toward the observers’ camp and Ward. Freddy’s gaze continually strayed to Dal. And Alex positioned herself in such a way that she could see the bearded man who sat silently drinking coffee with Dal.
The men looked back at them.
Alex packed away the breakfast utensils, covered a large bowl of dough that needed to rise before noon, then she slid her crutch under the driver’s seat of the wagon. She was preparing to crawl up when she felt strong hands on her waist, assisting her. Once on the seat, she looked into the steady grey eyes gazing back at her.
“Thank you.” To her surprise, he walked around the mules, checking the harness, then climbed into the wagon beside her. He would have taken the reins from her hands, but she said, “No,” and reminded him that Joe’s will prohibited anyone from helping.
Before Dal set off in front of the herd, he rode up beside the wagon. “You’re welcome to stay with the drive until we reach Fort Worth,” he said, then glanced at Alex. “Do you mind having company? We could give our friend here a horse.”
“I don’t mind.” She braced her leg against the fender and smiled at their guest. “Hang on.”
The wild careening ride across the prairie range didn’t terrify her as it once had, but she’d never really become accustomed to it. Today, however, with someone watching, she was proud of how well she managed. It occurred to her that she was succeeding, doing what she had to do. A burst of self-confidence straightened her shoulders, surprising her. She hadn’t experienced any sense of genuine self-confidence since the accident.
Dal waved her off near a grassy-banked creek and galloped back toward the herd. Grady and the observers’ wagons hadn’t yet arrived, but today, the vast open spaces didn’t frighten her. Twisting on the seat, she found her crutch, poked the tip on the ground to scare away any lurking snakes, then remarked, “I wish I knew your name. I don’t know how to address you.”
He hesitated, then used a finger to draw something on the seat space between them. When Alex frowned, he did it again. “John! Is that your name?”
What he did next paralyzed her. Reaching out a hand, he patted her flat skirt. Gazing steadily into her eyes, he raised her skirt and petticoat. Shock dried her mouth and her heart slammed against her ribs.
“Don’t,” she whispered. She wanted to jump out of the wagon, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Worse, they were alone, and she was defenseless, sitting in the middle of nowhere with a strange man who was pulling up her skirt. Panic stopped her heart, until she realized there was no malice in his gaze. Only a depth of compassion that brought sudden helpless tears to her own eyes.
He pushed her skirt to her lap then looked down at the smooth stump the surgeons had left. And Alex knew agony. This was the first time anyone other than a doctor had looked at what remained of her right leg. She couldn’t think, couldn’t draw the next humiliated breath. She sat as still as a stone and wanted to die. When he touched her knee she gasped, and cognizance returned with the crimson that set her face on fire.
In a flurry of mortification, shame, and fury, she slapped his hand hard and tried to shove down her skirts, but he caught her wrist and forced her to look into his eyes. Sympathy and compassion, sadness and understanding, that’s what she saw, and it crushed her.
Silent tears spilled over her lashes when she realized his touch on what remained of her leg had been as gentle as a lover’s. There had been no revulsion in his gaze, no drawing back. She covered her face with her hands and drew a deep shuddering breath.