Page 9 of A Rugged Beauty (Wagon Train Matches #5)

Nine

The usual morning noise from camp was familiar, but something about the familiar was grating today. Part of Abigail missed the gurgling of the river, the quiet birdcalls.

Hollis's closeness.

She worked to put that from her mind as she took the pan of biscuits away from the campfire.

"Oh." Alice had come around the corner of one of the wagons and nearly ran into Abigail. "I didn't know you were there."

Abigail nodded acknowledgement. No harm done.

Alice waved a book in the air as she stepped around the fire. "Leaving this for Hollis. Leo wanted him to have it."

Good. Hollis's captains were rallying around him. Whether he would let anyone close was a mystery, but he needed friends.

Alice left the book on the open tailgate of Hollis's wagon. She was hurrying out of camp, obviously in the middle of packing up, but hesitated. "You're awfully quiet this morning. Everything all right?"

Abigail felt a shadow of herself. Or maybe it was the grief from regained memories that hung over her like a cloud. It wasn't good if Alice had noticed.

She attempted a smile. "Just feeling a little discombobulated being back in camp. I'll be all right."

Alice watched her with serious eyes. "You certain?"

Abigail nodded. "Every day on the trail is one day closer to seeing my brother."

That was the reason, Abigail realized, she had come on this journey. She needed to focus on Joseph, on her future. But she couldn’t find the hope she’d felt before she’d left her home in the East. The unsettled, bitter memory of Mr. Smith’s betrayal was too fresh. New again with the return of her memory.

Alice didn’t seem to notice Abigail’s uneasy attitude. She ducked out of the campsite, no doubt off on another errand. Abigail moved to the tailgate of her wagon where she'd set out several tin plates. She pushed for a sound from her throat. It was difficult to think of the tune, to begin to hum.

She felt much the same as she had after her mam had passed away.

Her skin prickled with constant awareness. No matter what she did, an ache knotted her stomach.

Chin up.

Joseph's voice in her head reminded her that there was no room for sadness. Not with so much to be done.

She didn’t understand it. How could she be grieving the loss of a... friendship... with Hollis when it hadn't been real?

But it had felt real. When they'd fought against the elements, fought for survival, it'd been the two of them against the entire wilderness.

She blinked away the memories and realized she'd stopped humming again.

She let a tune vibrate from her throat, louder this time, as she spooned gravy over the biscuits. They'd been on the trail long enough that there were no bits of ham in the white gravy. This morning, she'd been conscious of the fact that the salt barrel was half-empty too. She'd been a little more stingy with the salt and pepper in the gravy. Were they halfway through this ordeal?

With nothing left but to serve the breakfast, she harrumphed when she realized her humming had faded again.

She strode through the camp, aware of a woman in conversation with her neighbor, a whisper cut off as Abigail walked past them. A man and his teenaged daughter stared at her as she progressed through camp.

She tried to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. It was only simple curiosity, she told herself. She simply wasn't used to being back in camp yet.

Hollis stood in conversation with Leo and another one of his captains. His head turned toward her. He must've seen her approach. But the moment their eyes met, he turned his face away.

Her breath felt caught in her chest at his slight—but it was the deeper punch of hurt from remembering his face in the lantern light last night, down by the river, that made the place behind her nose burn. The hurt felt as physical as a cut, but she pushed a trembling smile to her lips. She placed the tin plate atop a barrel behind Hollis with just a bit too much force before she whirled and strode away.

She hadn't known Hollis had been married. That he'd lost his wife and his unborn baby. What kind of woman had captured the taciturn man's attention? Hollis was a dynamic leader. Had his wife been just as commanding?

Abigail brushed her cheek, dodging a small child chasing a loose chicken. No tears had escaped, though her chest felt tight with pent up emotion.

Hollis hadn't shared any of his past with her willingly. She knew too much about him, had seen the depths of emotion he always kept hidden. That's why he'd turned his face away from her.

It still hurt.

Whatever hope she'd held onto that some thread of the friendship they'd forged out in the wild remained were now shredded.

As she packed away the cooking implements, she was aware of the movements of others in camp, the searching looks as folks gathered their belongings. The sun warmed things quickly. The dry wind brought to mind the smoke from the wildfire that had burned her throat and lungs.

The bugle blew. Only a few minutes left.

She hefted a heavy crate and had just placed it in the back of the wagon when someone called out to her. She turned, eyes assessing the campsite. Everything was tucked away, save Hollis's plate. He'd probably have someone else return it to her.

Rachel, Owen's wife, approached. Her tiny baby rested against her chest, wrapped in a thin blanket that criss-crossed Rachel’s shoulders and somehow held the infant in place.

"Morning," Abigail greeted.

Rachel nodded. "Is there anything you need before we embark on today's leg?"

Abigail shook her head. "I heard you rescued a child—put yourself in peril to save him."

Rachel looked faintly embarrassed. "I'm glad to be back on dry land, that's for sure."

"It felt a little like we were in Noah's day, didn't it?" Abigail expected a smile at the joshing statement, but Rachel shifted her feet as if anxious about something. One hand rubbed up and down the sleeping baby's back.

"Owen asked me to speak to you," Rachel said finally. She exhaled a blustery breath and shook her head, color high on her cheeks. "I'm not used to being a captain's wife—not yet."

This was official business?

Abigail clasped her hands behind her back.

"There's been—some of the women, and men, gossiping about Hollis's statement that the two of you were married."

Abigail worked to keep her expression neutral. That was the reason for the covert glances she'd received all morning? For the whispers and abruptly ended conversations when she'd walked past? Frustration boiled inside her, but worry twisted her stomach.

"Owen is going to bring the matter to Hollis," Rachel said.

Abigail could only imagine what that conversation would entail. Hollis would be deeply unhappy to be the subject of gossip in his own wagon train.

"We'd like to ask—Owen and I—if you'd speak to Hollis as well. Let him know that he has our support, but that something needs to be done about this."

Abigail turned to lift and secure the tailgate, hoping the other woman wouldn’t see her hand shaking on the rope tie. "I don't know that he wants to hear from me."

Not today. Maybe not ever.

Rachel cleared her throat. "I don't know what happened between you for those days you were missing..."

Abigail didn't respond to the leading statement. A quick quelling glance over her shoulder tightened Rachel's lips.

Abigail moved to the other end of the tailgate to secure it as well.

"Owen tells me that the last time Hollis was separated from the caravan, there was unrest."

The knot in Abigail's stomach pulled. It was true. When Hollis had been injured in the twister, the men had nearly come to blows about what course of action they should take next. But Hollis was back with the caravan now. Surely the men, everyone in the company, knew that their best chance of surviving this journey was under Hollis's leadership.

But Rachel didn't have to say any more for Abigail's thought to roll to each time people she'd thought sensible and intelligent had succumbed to their fear and made bad choices.

The wilderness wasn't merciful.

And she knew how Hollis took responsibility for every life under his care. She'd seen it firsthand when he'd taken such meticulous care of her. And many other times on the wagon train.

"Some families are talking about leaving the caravan," Rachel said urgently. "Waiting at the next fort until another caravan passes through." She sighed. "Please, can you try to talk to him?"

"Of course." Abigail's sharp answer seemed to placate Rachel, and as the first of the wagons began rolling out, Rachel hurried away.

Abigail walked to the front of the wagon, the oxen in their traces ready for the command to get moving. Her heart was heavy. Hollis would take it personally that some families didn't trust his leadership. It wasn't his fault that they'd been separated from the caravan.

Maybe she could've stopped him from saying what he had—or maybe not.

She knew how much he cared about getting this specific bunch of travelers across the mountains and to Oregon. And she knew—now—what he'd suffered in his past.

He hadn’t meant to let her in, but that didn't change the fact that he needed help.

She didn't know what that would look like. Whether he would let her help or not. But someone needed to stand at Hollis's side. As a friend.

And perhaps that someone was supposed to be her. Even if he didn’t want it to be.

Hollis’s eyes scanned over the land ahead. A small bluff covered with a grove of trees extended on either side would provide a windbreak for the wagons when they circled in another forty-five minutes. A thread of relief flowed through him as he glanced down at the open logbook in his hand.

His mount shifted slightly beneath him, but Hollis moved easily with the horse.

The sun was on its downward trajectory. They'd made good time today, in spite of a handful of stops—once to dig a wagon out of a sandy spot and once to make a repair.

They'd make camp here. Hollis had a note in his book that nearby hunting should be viable.

Everything was fine. Only he felt discomfort, as if his experiences the past few days had turned him from a round peg that fit his role perfectly to a square block that no longer seemed to suit.

He wished he could forget the entire thing.

Pounding hoofbeats came from behind. He wheeled his horse, hand reaching to rest on the stock of his rifle.

Owen and August slowed their horses from a gallop. He worked to calm his pounding heart. Blew out a gusty exhale.

He was still too jumpy. Maybe because last night's sleep had been disjointed, a mix of memories and dreams.

He'd woken from a visceral dream of the kiss he'd shared with Abigail. The moment left him both ashamed and desperate to hold her again in his trembling arms.

"We'll camp here tonight," he said as Owen and August reined in and walked their horses toward him. He threw one arm wide to show the spot he'd imagined.

The men's gazes roamed the site for a moment, but then the two brothers shared a look before their attention returned to Hollis.

"What is it?" he prodded.

There'd been a long discussion this morning with the captains—more questions than usual—about their route. What now?

"I rode back a piece," August said. "Looking for signs of the man you fought with."

The man’s horse was lathered. Good thing the wagon train wasn't far behind. The animal could rest tonight. Hollis knew August wouldn't push him again tomorrow.

"There was no sign of any camp. I found the ridge you and Abigail climbed, found remnants of your big bonfire. But there was no sign of anyone else. No sign of a horse. Nothing." August's words were matter-of-fact, but the expression on his face was grim.

“The wildfire could’ve burned everything away," Hollis said. And with the heavy rains that had followed, it wouldn’t be a surprise that any trace of hoof prints had washed away.

Owen's expression was carefully controlled. "You sure Abigail didn't get a look at the man? His horse? Anything?"

Hollis shook his head. "It was dark, smoke everywhere. She was too far away."

August's horse shifted. Hollis jerked his head, indicated for them to start moving. He'd go to meet the caravan and guide them to this campsite.

The brothers fell in beside each other on his left, all three of their horses at a walk.

“The Good Lord knows we’ve been watchful,” Owen said.

The two men exchanged glances and then August spoke. “Owen was separated from camp and heard a rumor that someone was tracking the Fairfax women. Looking for an emerald.”

The words spurred a memory from the depths of Hollis’s mind. Yes. He remembered Owen’s fear when he’d returned to camp just over a week ago.

"We haven't seen any signs of a lone scout—or anyone,” Owen said slowly. Thoughtfully? "Maybe he was a settler. Not someone following us."

"We'll want the men on watch, regardless," Hollis told him. He couldn’t read Owen’s stare. Did they think Hollis had made up the altercation?

"A few folks are feeling poorly," Owen offered next. "Upset stomachs, fever."

Hollis's stomach knotted. "We've had a few cases of something similar already," he said.

The Schaefer family had been hit by a stomach illness weeks ago. It’d affected Alice Spencer and a handful of others. There was always the worry of an epidemic. One big enough to spread throughout the caravan. But a few isolated cases didn't merit worry. Not yet.

The two brothers exchanged another glance. Hollis held back a sigh. Obviously, they needed to tell him something else. They'd ridden out here together when Owen could've come alone to make his report.

"What is it?" Hollis barked.

"There's been a lot of grousing today," Owen said. "Folks accusing you of being a hypocrite."

Hollis felt the sting of the words, fought to douse his temper when it threatened to spark. "In what way?"

Owen didn't look particularly happy to be the one delivering this news. "Some are saying you’re a liar on account of not being married to Abigail. Some are saying you took liberties, being out there alone with a single woman for several days. And all that after you’ve held others to the company’s rules."

Now his temper did ignite, but he bit back the roar that wanted to escape. What right did anyone have to talk about him like that? Or Abigail?

"Some of the women are saying its a scandal," August said quietly. "Getting their menfolk riled about having to follow your dictates when you are exempt.”

For a blink, his memory pushed forward a slice of minutes when another company—Hollis’s first trip across the prairie and mountains on the Oregon Trail—had bucked his leadership. He'd heard the whispers, one of his captains had mentioned the unrest.

He'd naively thought the trouble would blow over on its own. That his actions would speak louder than words, that they would see with their own eyes that his leadership was impeccable.

Instead, they'd formed a mob and attacked him. He'd been outnumbered, beaten. Lying on the ground, trying to protect his head even as a booted kick came flying toward his ribs. Through his arms, he could see snatches of the fear driving the travelers, fear turned into anger. Anger turned into a mob.

Abigail's brother, Joseph, had saved him. He'd stepped in with two other men and had run off the attackers.

The wagon train had split, with Hollis and a handful of wagons following his leadership. Only after they'd reached Oregon had he heard that the caravan that had split off from his company had suffered heavy losses—more than half their number had died along the journey.

"I'll make an announcement tonight," he said.

Owen frowned. "I'm not certain that's the best course."

Something tugged in Hollis's spirit at the argument. He had to remind himself that Owen was a smart man, a good leader.

"What do you think should happen?" he prompted when Owen hesitated.

"They're not going to believe you, not when you can't refute that you said you and Abigail were married. And there's no hiding the fact that you were alone together for several days. If you were truly married, there'd be no talk."

Owen’s words instantly conjured a vision—not a memory—of Abigail in a wedding dress, Abigail curled up against him in their bed.

He wanted that.

The want shamed him, so he shoved it away.

"No," he said sharply.

Owen's face turned into a storm cloud but August spoke gently, "If you'd consider?—"

"I won't," Hollis interrupted.

"We could keep the ceremony quiet," Owen argued. "Pretend it'd happened before you two got lost. There were only a handful of folk who knew about me and Rachel in the beginning.”

"She's already been in close company with you," August said quietly. "Always near Felicity, with you only a few wagons away."

"Because Joseph asked me to look after her."

The request had come in a letter along with fare for Abigail to make the journey from Independence. He'd owed Joseph, after the other man had saved his life. Hollis would've made a vow to the other man if he'd been present, instead he'd made a vow to himself to watch over Joseph’s sister on the trail.

A vow that didn't include marrying her.

There was something broken inside Hollis. Joseph knew it. Marrying Abigail would be the last thing he would want.

"No." Hollis infused the word with finality. "I'll make an announcement tonight. Gather the captains—gather all the men once we're circled up and the oxen are cared for."

Owen's lips went tight, but he kicked his mount into a trot, quickly outpacing the other two. He glanced over his shoulder once, but August didn't move to join him.

Hollis kept his gaze resolutely over his horse's ears. He felt too raw to hear anything his scout had to say.

"Anything you need to talk about?"

Hollis shook his head at August's words.

"Clearly something happened between you and Abigail out there."

Hollis hated how calm his friend sounded, while Hollis's insides were twisting like a barrel of snakes.

"It's there in the way she looks at you."

A split-second flash of memory. Abigail's eyes, filled with affection and joy as she'd devoured the fish he'd grilled over the open fire.

"Nothing happened," Hollis growled.

August plodded along beside him for several quiet moments, then pushed his horse into a faster walk. Then he turned back and faced Hollis as Hollis kept his horse at a walk.

"Even if you make some kind of announcement, people are going to talk," August said. "About Abigail."

Hollis knew that. He hadn't been able to think about anything else since Owen had made his proclamation.

"Her reputation will be ruined. Word might even get out when we reach Oregon, if folks talk enough."

August wheeled his horse and rode off, dirt flying from beneath the horse's hooves, leaving Hollis to stew.

Ten lost . It had come to him that morning, a remembrance of the words’ meaning.

Ten souls, lost on this journey.

So many.

If he didn't handle this correctly, if the wagon train split, there was a chance more folks would die out here.

He had a responsibility to the company.

And a responsibility to Abigail.

She'd be affected if people speculated about their relationship, about what might've happened between them during those days they were alone together. He couldn’t damage her prospects for a good marriage in Oregon.

Something inside of him revolted at the idea of her married to another man. Yet she would never have that chance if he let the rumors fly. She’d be ruined.

But if he agreed to a foolhardy marriage, he’d ruin himself.