been feeding me, I’ll have to start walking beside the wagon instead of riding in it.”
Ruth flushed beneath his praise. “Figure a man needs a square meal under his belt if he’s going to see a group of women safely cross-country.”
“Well, you’re going to make some lucky man a fine wife.” He grinned at her as he tugged the saddle cinch tighter.
Color flooded Ruth’s cheeks, and she turned away to dump the coffee grounds on the fire. “Seems the least we can do for you, Jackson.”
The girls pitched in, gathering up the plates and cups. Patience tucked the remaining strips of bacon inside the last biscuit and folded a napkin around it. “For later,” she murmured as she handed it to Jackson.
“Thanks.” He tucked the napkin into his shirt pocket, then shook out his coffee cup, his eyes scanning the hills behind him. A movement in the brush some hundred yards away caught his attention, and he froze. Was someone trailing them?
Casually he turned back to the group and handed his cup to Harper, who stood at the bucket rinsing the dishes. “Thank you kindly,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” she replied without a glance. “I’m just a real sweetheart, ain’t I? Gonna make some man a real fine wife.” She threw back her head and laughed.
Jackson turned toward the hills and bent to pick up his gear, keeping an eye on a thin line of brush running the length of the ridge. This time he saw a speck of fabric and the quick bob of a head. He groaned as he looked down and shook his head. Glory. Now why on earth was she following them?
“Something wrong?” Ruth asked.
Jackson considered telling her that Glory was following them, but he dismissed the idea. No use getting the girls stirred up. If Glory was following instead of joining them,she must have her reasons, though he couldn’t imagine what they would be.
“Just falling behind schedule,” he said. “Let’s get a move on.”
Sighing longingly, Glory parted the thicket for another look. The aroma of frying bacon still scented the air, and her stomach knotted with hunger. What she’d give for a serving of that breakfast. When the wagon started moving, she was going to search the camp for scraps. Her shoulders slumped. She knew that Jackson and the girls were careful not to waste food or leave anything behind.
She couldn’t run down the hill and join them, much as she wanted to. She’d told Jackson that it was time she started a new life on her own. Of course, then she’d thought she would stay in Squatter’s Bend. That was before she figured out that people didn’t like her there. Truth was, she didn’t like the people. And now she’d killed one of them. She sighed heavily. She could still see the two men who’d cornered her in the alley, the spurt of bright red blood after she’d struck one of them . . . could hear the snarled threat: “You’ll hang for this!”
Not only would she have to hide from Amos, who was surely pursuing her for Poppy’s gold and his own personal revenge, but now she would also have to dodge the law.
Hiding here in the dark woods, she had considered returning to Squatter’s Bend to explain to the sheriff whathad happened in that alley. It had been a desperate act of self-defense. She’d never meant to hurt anyone, only to get away from those awful men who’d given her no means of escape. But would anyone believe her? She doubted it. Surely the folks in Squatter’s Bend would believe otherwise.
She was a stranger, and the tall man obviously lived there with Charlie. “You killed Charlie. You killed Charlie Gulch!” that man had shouted. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she corrected herself: the man who had been Charlie Gulch.
No one would believe her, and if she went back now, it wouldn’t bring the dead man back to life. If she returned, Amos would likely be there ready to tell his story, a pack of lies about her stealing gold that belonged to him.
No good could come of her going back.
Ruth flushed beneath his praise. “Figure a man needs a square meal under his belt if he’s going to see a group of women safely cross-country.”
“Well, you’re going to make some lucky man a fine wife.” He grinned at her as he tugged the saddle cinch tighter.
Color flooded Ruth’s cheeks, and she turned away to dump the coffee grounds on the fire. “Seems the least we can do for you, Jackson.”
The girls pitched in, gathering up the plates and cups. Patience tucked the remaining strips of bacon inside the last biscuit and folded a napkin around it. “For later,” she murmured as she handed it to Jackson.
“Thanks.” He tucked the napkin into his shirt pocket, then shook out his coffee cup, his eyes scanning the hills behind him. A movement in the brush some hundred yards away caught his attention, and he froze. Was someone trailing them?
Casually he turned back to the group and handed his cup to Harper, who stood at the bucket rinsing the dishes. “Thank you kindly,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” she replied without a glance. “I’m just a real sweetheart, ain’t I? Gonna make some man a real fine wife.” She threw back her head and laughed.
Jackson turned toward the hills and bent to pick up his gear, keeping an eye on a thin line of brush running the length of the ridge. This time he saw a speck of fabric and the quick bob of a head. He groaned as he looked down and shook his head. Glory. Now why on earth was she following them?
“Something wrong?” Ruth asked.
Jackson considered telling her that Glory was following them, but he dismissed the idea. No use getting the girls stirred up. If Glory was following instead of joining them,she must have her reasons, though he couldn’t imagine what they would be.
“Just falling behind schedule,” he said. “Let’s get a move on.”
Sighing longingly, Glory parted the thicket for another look. The aroma of frying bacon still scented the air, and her stomach knotted with hunger. What she’d give for a serving of that breakfast. When the wagon started moving, she was going to search the camp for scraps. Her shoulders slumped. She knew that Jackson and the girls were careful not to waste food or leave anything behind.
She couldn’t run down the hill and join them, much as she wanted to. She’d told Jackson that it was time she started a new life on her own. Of course, then she’d thought she would stay in Squatter’s Bend. That was before she figured out that people didn’t like her there. Truth was, she didn’t like the people. And now she’d killed one of them. She sighed heavily. She could still see the two men who’d cornered her in the alley, the spurt of bright red blood after she’d struck one of them . . . could hear the snarled threat: “You’ll hang for this!”
Not only would she have to hide from Amos, who was surely pursuing her for Poppy’s gold and his own personal revenge, but now she would also have to dodge the law.
Hiding here in the dark woods, she had considered returning to Squatter’s Bend to explain to the sheriff whathad happened in that alley. It had been a desperate act of self-defense. She’d never meant to hurt anyone, only to get away from those awful men who’d given her no means of escape. But would anyone believe her? She doubted it. Surely the folks in Squatter’s Bend would believe otherwise.
She was a stranger, and the tall man obviously lived there with Charlie. “You killed Charlie. You killed Charlie Gulch!” that man had shouted. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she corrected herself: the man who had been Charlie Gulch.
No one would believe her, and if she went back now, it wouldn’t bring the dead man back to life. If she returned, Amos would likely be there ready to tell his story, a pack of lies about her stealing gold that belonged to him.
No good could come of her going back.
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