overly bright. “I doubt we’ll have the pleasure of such an encounter. They say he stays mostly to the mountain regions, busy running from the law.”
Mr. Rawson straightened in the saddle. “Nevertheless, be cautious. Villa has his share of admirers, young copycats eager to prove their manhood by acting the fool.” He shoved his broad-brimmed hat to the back of his head. “It’s been some years since I’ve seen Willem Dane. I don’t want an unfortunate mishap cheating us out of a reunion.”
An eager smile on his face, Cuddy gave his father a soldier’s salute. “Like Diego said, you can count on us.”
Mr. Rawson pulled back on the Appaloosa, tapping its sides with his heels. “That’s the problem. I am counting on you, Cuddy.” He nudged the horse around and scowled at his son. “Don’t let me down.”
Cuddy’s gaze followed his father’s broad back until the horse cantered out of sight. A mix of emotions played across his face, from an angry scowl to heavy lids lowered in shame. As he raised his eyes, they burned with a longing so deep Melatha’s heart ached for him.
Isi closed the distance between them and wrapped his long arm around his friend’s neck. “Wake up, amigo. We got us a ride to make.”
Visibly shaking off his father’s disappointment, Cuddy grinned. “You bet, brother. I’ll go hitch the wagon.” He wriggled loose from Isi and bounded down the steps toward the barn.
Isi moaned and dashed his hat on the rail. “Blast it, Mother! How can a man as kind as John Rawson be so cruel when it counts the most?”
Melatha squeezed his rigid shoulder. “There are many ways to be blind, my son. Mr. Rawson suffers the most crippling loss of vision.” She turned Isi to face her, using his rumpled collar for an excuse to gather all the comfort she could muster into her nimble fingers and press it into his neck. “Just pray he regains his sight where our Cuddy is concerned, before one of them stumbles and falls.”
***
Emmy lowered her book a smidgen and stole a peek at her papa.
It had taken miles of clattering track for the last bit of color in his cheeks to subside. After sputtering threats and frightening promises, using admirable restraint to hold his volume in check, he’d settled against the seat in a grown man’s version of a pout.
Emmy had taken refuge behind her copy of
Little Women.
At first, the story proved a convenient place to hide, but she soon became lost in the characters’ lives, due in part to a revelation about her own nature revealed within the pages.
Emmy’s temperament too closely matched that of headstrong, outspoken Jo. Like Jo, Emmy’s problems sprang from a tongue that was often too quick and too sharp and a mind that seldom engaged before she took action. Jo’s sister, the gentle, eager-to-please Beth, behaved more like kindhearted, forgiving Charity Bloom. It was as if Charity and Emmy were Louisa May Alcott’s characters in the flesh.
Emmy’s heart sank as Charity’s pretty face swam in her head. How different she would feel if the southbound railcar on which she traveled was headed north instead, carrying her to St. Louis to spend time with Charity and her new baby.
Sighing, she laid the novel in her lap and leaned toward the window to peer out at the rushing countryside. The rolling hills to the west had given way to flatland as far as the eye could see.
They’d left the station in San Antonio some time ago. The stretch of her legs she’d enjoyed there hadn’t been enough to ease the kinks from her bones. When she first heard of it, Emmy had dreaded the upcoming fifty-mile trek by wagon the most. Now, after hours spent sitting on the train, she couldn’t wait to get it started. The distance from Houston to San Antonio wasn’t the reason the train had trapped them for so long. Rather, it was the lingering stops at countless dingy, uninteresting depots along the route.
Emmy’s back ached, not to mention an unmentionable part of her
Mr. Rawson straightened in the saddle. “Nevertheless, be cautious. Villa has his share of admirers, young copycats eager to prove their manhood by acting the fool.” He shoved his broad-brimmed hat to the back of his head. “It’s been some years since I’ve seen Willem Dane. I don’t want an unfortunate mishap cheating us out of a reunion.”
An eager smile on his face, Cuddy gave his father a soldier’s salute. “Like Diego said, you can count on us.”
Mr. Rawson pulled back on the Appaloosa, tapping its sides with his heels. “That’s the problem. I am counting on you, Cuddy.” He nudged the horse around and scowled at his son. “Don’t let me down.”
Cuddy’s gaze followed his father’s broad back until the horse cantered out of sight. A mix of emotions played across his face, from an angry scowl to heavy lids lowered in shame. As he raised his eyes, they burned with a longing so deep Melatha’s heart ached for him.
Isi closed the distance between them and wrapped his long arm around his friend’s neck. “Wake up, amigo. We got us a ride to make.”
Visibly shaking off his father’s disappointment, Cuddy grinned. “You bet, brother. I’ll go hitch the wagon.” He wriggled loose from Isi and bounded down the steps toward the barn.
Isi moaned and dashed his hat on the rail. “Blast it, Mother! How can a man as kind as John Rawson be so cruel when it counts the most?”
Melatha squeezed his rigid shoulder. “There are many ways to be blind, my son. Mr. Rawson suffers the most crippling loss of vision.” She turned Isi to face her, using his rumpled collar for an excuse to gather all the comfort she could muster into her nimble fingers and press it into his neck. “Just pray he regains his sight where our Cuddy is concerned, before one of them stumbles and falls.”
***
Emmy lowered her book a smidgen and stole a peek at her papa.
It had taken miles of clattering track for the last bit of color in his cheeks to subside. After sputtering threats and frightening promises, using admirable restraint to hold his volume in check, he’d settled against the seat in a grown man’s version of a pout.
Emmy had taken refuge behind her copy of
Little Women.
At first, the story proved a convenient place to hide, but she soon became lost in the characters’ lives, due in part to a revelation about her own nature revealed within the pages.
Emmy’s temperament too closely matched that of headstrong, outspoken Jo. Like Jo, Emmy’s problems sprang from a tongue that was often too quick and too sharp and a mind that seldom engaged before she took action. Jo’s sister, the gentle, eager-to-please Beth, behaved more like kindhearted, forgiving Charity Bloom. It was as if Charity and Emmy were Louisa May Alcott’s characters in the flesh.
Emmy’s heart sank as Charity’s pretty face swam in her head. How different she would feel if the southbound railcar on which she traveled was headed north instead, carrying her to St. Louis to spend time with Charity and her new baby.
Sighing, she laid the novel in her lap and leaned toward the window to peer out at the rushing countryside. The rolling hills to the west had given way to flatland as far as the eye could see.
They’d left the station in San Antonio some time ago. The stretch of her legs she’d enjoyed there hadn’t been enough to ease the kinks from her bones. When she first heard of it, Emmy had dreaded the upcoming fifty-mile trek by wagon the most. Now, after hours spent sitting on the train, she couldn’t wait to get it started. The distance from Houston to San Antonio wasn’t the reason the train had trapped them for so long. Rather, it was the lingering stops at countless dingy, uninteresting depots along the route.
Emmy’s back ached, not to mention an unmentionable part of her
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