Revealed (31 page)

As they rode back to camp, Matthew found himself studying her—the resolute set of her shoulders, slender though they were, and the way her nearly black hair fell across them to hang down her back. He realized then that she wore it done up most of the time. Either that or twisted tight in one long braid that trailed down the center of her back. Still, how had he been with her all this time and missed how long it was? Or how it curled that way at the bottom?

With care, and certain she’d be none the wiser, given the plodding rhythm of the horse, he lifted a strand and rubbed it between his finger and thumb. Silky to the touch, a single curl wound itself around his forefinger with no prompting. He liked her hair better this way. He liked
her
better this way.

As that thought took firmer hold inside him, he didn’t resist when the gentle curve of her waistline begged for his attention. Unbidden, the pictures he’d seen earlier that night crept back into his vision. Annabelle told him she’d never posed for pictures like that, and he believed her. But countless men had seen her that way. Had been with her . . .
that way
.

He had gotten a glimpse of what her life had been like, and he wanted to do everything in his power to help her distance herself from it. To give her a fresh start. She wasn’t that woman anymore. Somewhere along the way he’d become convinced of that and had grown to like her in the process. But would he ever be able to truly see her as different? He recognized the good in her, her kindness and compassion. But would he ever be able to look at her, as a man looks at a woman, and not remember what she had been? What she had done?

Matthew stared at the dark curl still encircling his finger, then slowly inched his hand away until the curl’s spiral thinned, could no longer hold, and finally slipped free.

Even if he wanted to care more deeply for Annabelle, her past— and his—would never allow it.

Her hand trembling, Annabelle stared at the spots of blood darkening the white cloth. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Matthew wasn’t back from his scouting ride with Manasseh, then checked a second time. And a third. Each time, the cloth came away with fresh stains.

Moving a hand over her abdomen, she leaned against the wagon for support. It didn’t make sense. She hadn’t experienced any cramping in recent days, she hadn’t been working too hard, and she’d gotten plenty of rest, just like Doc Hadley instructed. He had said bleeding wasn’t wholly uncommon during pregnancy, so her baby was probably still fine. And it wasn’t much blood. Only spotting. She tried to deny the next thought entrance, but it bullied its way past her defenses. And her stomach went cold at its dark whisper. What if she was losing Jonathan’s child? She closed her eyes as a fragile moan rose in her throat.

She took a quick breath and felt wetness on her cheeks. When she heard the distant sound of horse hooves pounding the dry, hard prairie, she repositioned her skirts and hid the cloth. After pouring water over her hands and drying them on her apron, she walked out from behind the wagon.

Matthew was still some distance away, and she watched him ride into camp from the northwest. He and the gelding moved like one as they sailed across the Wyoming prairie, leaving clouds of dust in their wake. Seems the horse liked these early morning rides as much as Matthew did.

They were making good time on their journey and had passed Independence Rock and Devil’s Gate in the past three days. The landmarks were breathtaking in their beauty and encouraged a sense of community within her for the thousands of sojourners who had passed this way before them, some of whom had carved their names into the granite face of Independence Rock.

Annabelle bent to check the coffee, then lifted the lid on the cast-iron skillet. The corn bread was golden brown and crusty, the way she liked it. But her earlier craving for it was gone.

She handed Matthew a cup of coffee when he strode up. ‘‘Be careful—it’s hot.’’

He shook his head, a grin ghosting his features. ‘‘Every morning you tell me that. Like I haven’t just seen you take the pot directly from the coals.’’ He took a cautious sip. ‘‘Mmmm . . . you make good coffee. Thank you.’’

She managed a smile. ‘‘You’re welcome.’’

He quickly glanced at her and away again, then confined his attention to his cup. Clearly, he had something on his mind.

She recalled the night the wolves had attacked and the anguish she’d seen on his face when she roused him. She’d known then that he was wrestling with something—bad dreams, haunting memories, regrets—something that had sunk its talons in and wouldn’t let go.

She was familiar with stories from Matthew’s childhood and knew there was plenty of each to choose from.

The look on his face when he’d shared the news about Sadie earlier in the week had also been telling. She had started to hug him—which honestly surprised her as much as it seemed to have him—but then she’d held back . . . and had sensed his annoyance over it.

She poured herself a mug of coffee and sat on an upturned crate. ‘‘Find anything on your ride this morning?’’

‘‘It’s clear until about two miles out, then there’s a dried-up creek bed that might give us a headache or two.’’ He claimed a seat opposite her. ‘‘I rode up and down a ways each direction, trying to find a better path to cross on but had no luck.’’ He hesitated. ‘‘A couple of days ago, on a fella’s advice in that last town, I chose a route a few miles farther north than the one Brennan indicated on the map you gave me. I was thinking we could meet up with them faster this way, and there weren’t any towns in between where they might have stopped. But seeing that creek bed, I have a better idea now of why Brennan swung to the south.’’

Regret lined his expression. Hearing the same in his tone, she offered a conciliatory nod. ‘‘But if it’s dried up, what does it matter?’’

‘‘It’s rutted with some deep gullies in spots, and there’re plenty of rocks and boulders, and a steep grade on the north slope. We’ll need to clear a path before we can cross, but I can do that easy. It’ll just take me a while. I’ll probably have you ride buckboard when we cross, holding the reins just in case, while I go in front and lead the team. I can watch the wheels better that way too. Together, we can get the wagon across, no problem.’’

She nodded in agreement, her mind drifting back to her earlier discovery that morning. Part of her wanted to confide in him about her fears for the child inside her, while a greater part of her remembered how he’d reacted when he’d first learned about it. He’d not mentioned the baby since leaving Willow Springs, and she wondered if he ever thought about it or if he even believed there
was
a baby. Knowing there was nothing he could do, she decided to keep it to herself. Besides, God already knew, and maybe His knowing would be enough.

Matthew sliced a piece of corn bread, slathered it with butter, and took a bite. ‘‘Mmmm . . .’’ He held up the remainder, acknowledging his approval.

Annabelle smiled her thanks, her thoughts turning to what awaited them. ‘‘Any idea of how far we are from Idaho? Or when we might meet up with Jack Brennan’s group?’’

He drained his mug. ‘‘We’ve made good progress so far. If we can keep up this pace and fair weather holds, we should meet up with them in about two weeks’ time. By the fourth of July for sure.’’

‘‘Brennan told Jonathan when we set out from Denver that if he’s on schedule, he doesn’t have the wagons travel that day. They have a celebration that evening with fiddle playing, dancing, games, and lots of food. Even fireworks, from what I remember Jonathan saying.’’ With her being so recently widowed, she knew no one would ask her to dance, but she looked forward to the festivities just the same.

Despite the topic, a somber shadow darkened Matthew’s expression. He refilled his cup and took a slow drink. ‘‘There’s something on my mind. Something I’ve been wanting to say to you.’’

Annabelle thought she knew what was coming, but this man had surprised her before. She kept silent, giving him room to arrange his thoughts.

‘‘That night . . . in the shack.’’ He cleared his throat. ‘‘The one last fall . . .’’ His voice held a gentle inflection, almost like he was asking a question.

As if there could be another night in question. ‘‘Yes, I know what night you’re talking about,’’ she answered softly.

He chewed the inside of his lower lip, hesitating again. ‘‘I said some things to Johnny that I wish I could have taken back before he . . .’’ His jaw clenched briefly. ‘‘Before it was too late. I don’t know why I said them.’’ He sighed. ‘‘No . . . that’s not true. I know exactly why I said them. I was angry and hurt, and saying those things was my way of getting back at him. It always was.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Since I couldn’t ever hit him hard enough to take him down—’’

‘‘You used words to injure him instead. You’re good at it too.’’ She tempered the truth with a smile. ‘‘But then again . . . so am I.’’

He watched her for a moment, understanding in his gaze. ‘‘Yes, ma’am. That’s something we definitely have in common.’’ He rubbed a hand along his bristled jaw. ‘‘It’s too late for me to tell Johnny I’m sorry, no matter how many times I’ve wished I could, but . . . I can still tell you.’’ It seemed to take all of his concentration to get the next words out. ‘‘I’m sorry, Annabelle. I said some hurtful things about you to my brother that night, knowing you could probably hear every one of them.’’ He paused. ‘‘Am I right to assume that you heard
everything
Johnny and I said to each other that night?’’

For a moment, time seemed to pause.

His apology was real. She didn’t doubt that. She also knew what else he was fishing for—the question he didn’t want to ask.

Since that night in the shack, she’d known that Matthew had never been with a woman in a physical sense. She’d seen his embarrassment when she had opened the door, full well knowing what he had been thinking at the time. That she would make fun of him, which she had almost done back in Willow Springs. But thankfully God had stayed her spiteful tongue.

She saw penitence in his eyes now, coupled with timidity, and wished she could tell him how much more of a man his choice made him in her estimation. But she couldn’t find the words to answer his unspoken question and was fairly sure he wouldn’t want to discuss the matter with her anyway.

Finally, she nodded. But by then, the lengthy pause had answered for her.

Matthew leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs. He laid his cup aside, then pushed to standing. ‘‘Well, it’s time we moved out.’’

She rose and went to stand before him. So many times in her life she’d used words to hurt people, to put them in their place, to get revenge. And though she knew the next words out of her mouth would hurt, she also prayed they would heal.

She reached out and took hold of his hand. ‘‘Matthew, look at me.’’ When he finally did, she saw evidence of the silent battle inside him. ‘‘Jonathan knew you didn’t mean those things you said. He told me as much before he died.’’ Matthew clenched his jaw tight, and her throat threatened to close at seeing his reaction. ‘‘He loved you to the very last, and I’m sure he’s still loving you even now. Just like he promised to keep on loving me.’’

Matthew took in a deep breath and wrapped both of her hands between his. Annabelle closed her eyes at the tenderness of the gesture. His thumb traced lazy circles on the top of her hand, and a tremble moved through her. She felt a tear land on the side of her wrist but wasn’t sure if it was hers . . . or his.

CHAPTER | TWENTY - SIX

L
ATER THAT DAY,
Annabelle wiped the moisture from her brow, drank deeply from the canteen, and dabbed the water on her face and neck. The cool, dry air of morning had long since been chased away by the midafternoon sun, and heat rose in thick waves across the arid plains. The prairie offered no shade other than the cluttered confines of the wagon, which was stifling hot. She much preferred being outside, where she could enjoy the occasional breeze that was gradually picking up as the day grew long. Same as the bank of dark clouds building in the north.

She cringed as Matthew hoisted another of the larger rocks from their path. His shirt was drenched with sweat from having carved out a path for them to cross the dry creek bed. He sank down on the edge of the south bank, and she took his freshly filled canteen to him.

He tipped it up and took a long drink, then poured the remainder of it over his head, face, and neck. He combed his hair back with his hands. ‘‘Thank you.’’ His breath came heavy. ‘‘I didn’t think it would take me this long.’’

She heard the frustration in his tone and followed his gaze to the thunderhead rising like an ominous tower in the sky. Neither of them had voiced their concern, but they’d both watched it build throughout the day.

‘‘Can I do anything else?’’ Other than leading the gelding, two of the grays, and the cow across earlier, and tethering them on the other side, he hadn’t allowed her to lift more than a few small rocks. Which she was secretly grateful for, under the circumstances. She’d managed to seek the privacy of the wagon and had checked twice during the day, relieved to find no fresh spotting. Seems God had been faithful to hear her prayers.

Matthew shook his head. ‘‘I just need to clear out those last few rocks. Then we’ll try crossing.’’ He glanced again to the north. ‘‘We need to get across before that storm breaks. If we don’t, we might be stuck on this side for a day or two. Or more.’’

She frowned at the creek bed. ‘‘Do you really think that much rain could fall?’’

He rolled his shoulders. ‘‘If that thunderhead breaks like I think it will, this ravine will fill in a matter of minutes. The ground is dry, but it’s also sunbaked. It won’t be able to soak up the water fast enough.’’ He pointed to the north bank. ‘‘It’s a mite steeper on that side too. Not bad, but if it starts to rain heavy, it’ll turn to mud pretty quick.’’

‘‘So let’s pray it doesn’t rain until we get across.’’

‘‘Believe me, I already have been.’’ He pushed himself up, weariness weighing his expression.

She reached for his empty canteen. ‘‘I’ll make sure everything in the wagon is secured.’’