Gently, he lowered her skirt then took her hands in his. Waiting. “You want to know how I lost my leg,” she whispered. She was too confused, too deeply rattled to tell a coherent story. Face flaming, she jerked away from him and lowered her crutch. “Perhaps later.”
The shock of what he had done remained with her, and consequently the noon dinner was a slapdash affair, and some of the boys complained. But his steady regard made her nervous and clumsy. She would have preferred not to share her wagon with him in the afternoon, but she couldn’t manage a moment alone with Dal to arrange it. So she didn’t speak or look at him during the ride to the bedding ground, nor did she address him while she prepared supper. But there was not a minute when she didn’t think about the strange incident. She was horrified that he would lift her skirts and look at her leg, that he would touch the stump. Stump was such an ugly word that she cringed even to think it. She couldn’t bear that he had looked at it, touched it.
After washing the supper dishes, she laid out the items she would need in the morning and finally was ready to put away the hated crutch and return to her wheelchair. Instantly John came to her. He pushed her into the shadowy line where the light from the fire and lanterns met the night. How odd that he’d guessed that was where she usually ended the day, away from the wagon and drovers, but sitting where she could watch them. He sat beside her and lifted an eyebrow. When she didn’t speak, he touched her skirt where it lay flat against the chair.
“It was a carriage accident,” she said finally, sounding angry. “My husband was killed, and my leg was crushed.”
He continued to watch her, his expression telling her that he knew there was more.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Alex whispered, looking into his eyes, “but I feel as if I know you.” And somehow he knew her. “You, too, have known sorrow and loss.” She could see that in his face, in his eyes. “I wish I knew your story.”
He turned his face toward the men sitting around the campfire. Tonight Freddy was reciting something from a play, and the drovers were drinking coffee and listening intently. After a few minutes they applauded loudly enough to show their appreciation, but not loud enough to startle the steers on the bedding ground.
Alex didn’t understand the attraction she felt toward this strange man. His attention was flattering, and she supposed the surprise of a man’s interest was part of his appeal. Another part might be the fact that he clearly had been a gentleman at one time. Perhaps that was why her panic had been short-lived when he raised her skirts. Intuition insisted she was in no danger from him.
“Who are you?” she wondered aloud, letting her gaze travel along his profile and wanting to touch the softness of his beard. He didn’t answer, but his gaze was gentle.
They sat in companionable silence at the edge of the darkness even after the drovers began to drift toward their bedrolls. Alex remembered the painful silences that had sometimes opened between herself and Payton, but there was nothing awkward about this silence, nothing edgy or anxious.
It didn’t make sense, but she would miss him dreadfully when he left.
“I don’t care what Frisco said,” Ward stated angrily. “We can’t afford a hotel!” He walked to the observers’ fire and poured himself a cup of coffee. “We’d have to pay for two rooms and meals… if you want to rest, you can do it here.”
They were camped a few miles south of Fort Worth. Close enough that Les could see the boomtown in the distance, but far enough away that their herd didn’t impinge on other herds that grazed outside the town. The grass was good here and the west fork of the Trinity River offered sweet water and a comfortable crossing. She could glimpse an old abandoned fort on top of the bluff overlooking town.
“We’ve been on the trail almost two months and I haven’t seen anything except dust and the tail end of the herd,” she said, looking toward the smoky haze overhanging the town. “I’m longing for a real tub bath and a real bed.” And a night that wasn’t interrupted by her turn on watch. A night without rocks digging into her back or the sounds of male snoring all around her.
“I’ve just told you that we can’t afford two nights in town,” Ward said sharply.
“Luther said the estate would pay for me to stay over and rest.” The stubborn tone in her voice made her pulse accelerate. She knew he wouldn’t strike her, not with people wandering around both camps, but she saw the vein throbbing in his temple and knew his temper was rising. Fear, strong and habitual, closed her throat.
“You. It’s always you,” he said with disgust. “You never think about me!”
The words were intended to make her feel guilty, were intended to manipulate and control. She knew that, perhaps she had always known it, but the ploy was effective just the same. For a moment, she stood very still, trying to summon a tiny bit of courage.