Chapter 13

Thirteen

"I dropped my spoon!"

"I need more biscuit."

Abigail rested a hand on baby Ambrose's tummy. She'd laid him on a blanket after she'd finally figured out that his constant crying wasn't over the tooth his four-year-old brother Ishmael thought he was cutting but the soaking wet diaper he wore. Now he smiled at her with one brown fist in his mouth, dark eyes dancing as he gurgled.

It'd been a long day of travel. Folks were plumb worn out. These children's parents had fallen ill, so Abigail had offered to help while the parents got some rest.

"Stay there," she told the brown-skinned Ishmael and his toddler sister Charity. The two young children sat on a crate and short barrel, respectively. She watched them for a moment to ensure they were doing what she'd said, and then went back to diapering the youngest.

Abigail hadn't realized what a miserable state the Fordhams were in. The family was quiet, never caused trouble, kept to themselves. No one in the company had noticed that their food supplies were dwindling. They needed to purchase more flour, salt, and other staples at the fort, or they would run out of supplies before they reached the mountain passes.

Keziah Fordham had been suffering from stomach pains and couldn't keep any food down; her husband was worse off. After Abigail had been called to help them, she'd spent the first part of the evening preparing a quick supper for the children, who were badly in need of baths and their clothes a wash. Abigail had been run off her feet trying to keep up with them after the wagons had circled this evening.

She hefted the baby into her arms and moved to where she'd left the biscuit pan near the fire to keep bugs away.

"I'm full," four-year-old Ishmael said when she offered him the biscuit.

The baby gripped the shoulder of her dress in one soggy fist.

"I done!" Charity, the toddler, spoke non-stop, but many of her words were gibberish to Abigail's ears.

"She's done," Ishmael echoed.

"Let's clean up—" before Abigail could get the words out, both children had tipped their plates onto the ground, splattering what was left of their food on the ground. They jumped up and began tussling.

"Stop! You're too close to the fire!" She moved to grab one of them, her skirt swishing too near to the flames for comfort.

"What's going on here?" Hollis's voice boomed, startling her and earning a cry from the baby.

Hollis stepped between the two children and the fire, scooping Ishmael into a hold he might've used for a sack of flour, the boy pressed horizontally next to his side.

Abigail swayed gently side to side, patting the baby's back. Hollis's questioning eyes met hers.

"I came looking for you. Evangeline said you'd been over here all evening." His gaze was almost… concerned?

No doubt he'd finally gotten hungry enough to seek out his supper—he'd skipped both breakfast and lunch—only to find the fire cold and no food to be found. She felt a vague sense of satisfaction that then caused a brief flare of guilt.

"These hooligans needed someone to feed them their supper," she said.

She'd sent word to him earlier about the Kimball family; the Fordhams were their nearest neighbors in the wagon train. He'd have heard that they were ill, too.

He raised his brows as he looked at the mess left by the two plates, now seeping into the ground. Looked at her attempting to calm the baby.

No doubt she was disheveled and probably covered with remnants of food—the baby had been challenging to feed, constantly pushing away the spoon. When she'd given in to him to attempt to feed himself, he'd flung little bits of mashed potatoes at her.

But Hollis's eyes were warm.

"Children," he said with a pointed look at the two little ones staring wide-eyed at him, "it's time we helped Mrs. Abigail clean up."

Mrs. Abigail.

The honorific in front of her name did something twisty to her insides, and she turned away. Humming to the baby came naturally. She'd never had nieces or nephews, not even little cousins to snuggle.

Behind her, Hollis instructed Ishmael and Charity to clean up. Ambrose finally calmed, lying his head on her shoulder. Or perhaps he'd just worn himself out. He'd been inconsolable all evening. Missing his mam?

The sun was quickly heading toward the horizon. Her own stomach growled. Between feeding all three of the little ones, Abigail hadn't had a bite to eat herself.

Still humming, she turned to find that Hollis and the children had made quick work of cleaning up the mess. Hollis had found the bucket of clean water she'd stashed beneath the wagon, halfway behind one of the wagon wheels. Out of the way of small feet that would knock it over. Both Ishmael and Charity's faces and hands were clean. That was surely good enough for tonight.

Hollis must've seen the admiration in her look, but his eyes cut away.

"There's a pallet already laid inside the wagon," she murmured to Hollis. To the little ones, she put a cheery note in her voice. "It's time for bed. Why don't you climb into the wagon?"

Hollis bent to help Ishmael with his boots while she kept the baby on her shoulder as she squatted to help Charity with her shoes.

"Tanks fer supp'r," she said with a sweet, shy smile.

Before she could brace herself, Charity threw her arms around Abigail's neck. She wobbled, the unexpected movement throwing her off balance.

Hollis steadied her with one hand between her shoulders.

"You're welcome," she breathed through the tight hug around her neck, unexpected tears pricking her eyes.

What would it be like to have a child of her own, a family of her own? She hadn't thought about it for a very long time. After Mr. Smith had betrayed her, she'd been so focused on reaching Oregon, on finding her brother and settling, that she had put such thoughts out of her mind completely.

But as the girl moved away and Hollis helped Abigail straighten with a hand beneath her elbow, her shoulder brushed his broad chest. Felicity's words from the morning burst into the forefront of her mind. A good match.

Hollis gazed down into her face and, for a moment, his glance appeared to encompass the babe on her shoulder. A soft light filled his eyes, the shadow of pain shifting into something else—something that looked like wanting.

Her breath caught, lodging behind her sternum.

And then the moment broke.

Hollis moved away, helping Ishmael crawl up into the wagon in his sock feet. Abigail peered over the wagon's side as Hollis, with his greater height, reached in and pulled a quilt over the two children. They looked terrified, their eyes wide in their faces.

"What if wolves come 'n get us?" Ishmael whispered.

"Wolves," Charity echoed.

Abigail's heart squeezed. "Your mam and papa are sleeping in the tent, right there," she said, pointing over their heads to the tent just behind the wagon, where it was quieter.

"There are lots of men watching over the camp," Hollis said solemnly.

"Watchin' for wolves?"

The big, tough man nodded with a gentle seriousness. "You'll be safe."

Ishmael turned his gaze on Abigail. "I like that song you was hummin'. Wouldja sing it?"

"Pwease?" Charity had the biggest set of pleading eyes Abigail'd ever seen.

She began to sing the lullaby she'd learned from her mother. On her shoulder, Ambrose went relaxed and limp.

"You sing," Charity demanded of Hollis.

Abigail kept singing, waiting for the wagon master to refuse. Only to feel a bolt of shock when he joined her, his bass an octave deeper than her alto. She couldn't seem to look away from him, though he kept his eyes on the children in the wagon.

Hollis was singing.

He stumbled over the words at first. His voice was rough—from disuse? A note missed here and there. She couldn't stop wondering how long it had been since he'd sung—this song or any song.

He'd been so lost to his grief. And now?—

Hope trilled through her on the wings of this lullaby.

She stood near enough to slip her hand, the one not holding the babe, into his larger one. She couldn't look at him when she'd done it, not when she expected him to drop her hand as if burned. To reject her.

But he didn't.

He held on.

And turned toward her, the motion turning her, too, so that they stood face to face as the last notes of the lullaby faded away.

What kind of spell was Abigail weaving over him?

Hollis went quiet, his throat raw from singing—or maybe from the memories that had flowed through him, the grief that had at once pricked him, and now flowed away like water running down a hill.

It wasn't gone, not completely. But healing, leaving a scar.

He was peripherally aware of the two Fordham kids with their heads together, whispering, just out of sight inside that wagon, and the soft sigh from the baby drifting to sleep on Abigail's shoulder.

In sharp relief was the beat of heat, like a jagged lightning strike, running from their linked fingers and pressed together palms.

He was mesmerized by the brown pools of her eyes. She was... happy with him. A quiet joy flowing from her into his heart. He couldn't help leaning closer. Close enough to feel the sweet warmth of her breath on his chin, count the individual eyelashes surrounding each eye.

He distinctly remembered the feel of her lips pressed to his. He could taste?—

"Don't kiss me if you don't mean it." The vulnerable whisper drew him back to his senses.

He let go of her, took a step back. He reached up to remove his hat, push a hand through his hair.

What had he been thinking?

He hadn't been, that much was clear.

But his heart was still throbbing in his throat, and he wanted to pull her into his arms.

She watched him with soft eyes. Her hand came up to rub the sleeping baby's back. "I care about you," she said with a quiet seriousness that hit low in his belly.

He wanted to deny the words, the connection they implied. He couldn't?—

"I think you care about me, too."

Something hot sliced through his insides. His nostrils flared. "I'm attracted to you."

He could admit that. Surely she already knew.

"I think it's more than that," she challenged with a lift of her chin, something deeper in her eyes. "It's been between us since the beginning of this journey. Since before either one of us was willing to admit to it."

He shook his head slowly but still couldn't tear his eyes from her. If she touched him, it might set off the tension vibrating through his entire self. He felt like a keg of powder. Ready to explode.

He was poised to run.

She didn't move toward him.

"I don't want an annulment. I want our marriage to be real." Her lips firmed into a line, her chin lifted with determination. But he saw the uncertainty in her eyes even as his chest ballooned with panic.

The baby made a soft noise and nuzzled his face into her collarbone.

Something that had been niggling in the back of Hollis's mind solidified. He grasped onto it, grateful for something else to focus on. "You said their parents are asleep. Why?"

She glanced at the tent just beyond the wagon. "They're sick. The Kimballs, too." Her brow creased with concern. "I sent Owen with a message for you earlier."

Frustration fired. "Why didn't you tell me yourself?"

"Because you've been avoiding me," she returned with a bite to the words. "Owen was nearby and I knew—I thought he'd give you the message."

"He didn't." Anger stirred. He tamped it down to deal with Owen later. "How bad off are they?"

His spirits sank as she listed off the same symptoms four other families had experienced. He couldn't deny it any more. They were facing the beginning of an epidemic.

"I need to think," he told her as his stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten. There wasn't time for that now.

She moved toward the Fordhams' tent as he stalked off.

He reached for his pocket, for the leather bound book that he needed to help him parse an answer. But the book wasn't there. He had left it on the wagon wheel when he'd arrived in camp and found Abigail absent.

As he strode into the small section of camp Abigail had carved out for the two of them, Owen approached from the opposite direction, Leo on his heels.

Hollis gritted his teeth as he reached for the logbook. He didn't even want to look at Owen right now. If there was any sign that this man was undermining Hollis's leadership, it was that he hadn't delivered Abigail's message. If he'd been too busy to do it himself, he could've sent someone.

"We've got another two families sick," Leo was the one who spoke.

"Four more," a soft, feminine voice said from the shadows. Maddie, drying her hands, approaching from outside the camp. She must've been washing up at the creek.

Hollis felt the news like a physical blow.

"All the same symptoms?" he asked. There was no time for personal feelings in this moment. He had to put his frustration with Owen aside in favor of helping the company as best he could.

"Doc thinks its?—"

"Typhoid." Owen and Maddie spoke at the same time. Maddie scowled a bit—why? He didn't have time to figure that out, either.

He flipped to the small leaf he'd used as a bookmark earlier today. Read quickly from the page. "We're only two days from the fort," he said.

Owen was already shaking his head. "Doc says if we push too hard, folks won't get the rest they need. They'll die."

Fire licked inside of Hollis. "If we get caught on the mountains too late, we'll all die," he reminded his captain in a tight voice.

"There'll be folks to help at the fort," Maddie interjected.

Abigail had joined them, Hollis realized belatedly. She hung back near the wagon, a few steps from Maddie.

Trust Owen.

Abigail's words from last night blasted through his memory, but he rejected them. Owen didn't deserve his trust. Not now.

"This company is still under my leadership?—"

"What kind of leadership doesn't care whether you lose families to sickness?" Owen demanded.

"Hang on," Leo said, with a hand out to try and calm his half-brother.

"I do care," Hollis ground out. Ten lost. The number from his logbook was always on his mind. He didn't want to add to it. "That's why reaching the fort is imperative."

"Doc says?—"

"Doc isn't the leader of this company," Hollis burst out. "And neither are you. I won't let you stay on with my company if you keep challenging my decisions."

The words hung between them. Owen stared and Hollis held his gaze, determined not to be the first to look away.

Leo said something to Owen that Hollis couldn't hear. Hopefully asking him to see reason.

Owen scowled. He whipped his hat off and dusted it against his pant leg.

Hollis turned to Maddie, who was watching with wide, serious eyes. "You've been our camp nurse all these weeks. Can folks make it to the fort?"

She hesitated. It was small, but it was there. "I think so. They might have some medicine that will help. Food stores that some of the families need."

He'd learned to trust his instincts, and they were telling him that the right thing was to move. He caught Abigail's eye momentarily, quickly looking away.

I want our marriage to be real.

If she was close enough, if they were in private, she'd ask him whether he was pushing on out of stubbornness. Somehow he knew it.

He wasn't. But the uncertainty gnawed at his gut.

Owen stomped off, and Maddie said something low to Abigail before scurrying off into the center of camp.

Leo walked around the campfire to come face to face with Hollis. "If Owen leaves the company, August will, too."

Was it a warning, or a threat? Leo considered Hollis seriously and Hollis had to wonder if Owen had told him about the memory problems. Were all of Hollis's captains questioning his authority?

"And what about you?" Hollis demanded. "Will you leave?"

The larger wagon train offered more protection for Leo and his brothers' herd of cattle, offered a watch at night to help out the cowboys that Leo had hired earlier in the journey.

A smaller wagon train would make an easier target. Leo had to know that.

When Leo rubbed one hand down his face, Hollis noticed how peaked he looked. Was he sick, too?

"I don't know," Leo said. "I need to talk to Alice. Evangeline. And my brothers." Leo had more to protect than when he'd left Independence. His wife had a wagon full of gold hidden among her things. Leo had a daughter now. Surely he'd see Owen's stubbornness for the bad idea it was.

Hollis let him go, frustration and concern boiling into an inferno inside him.

Then Abigail was there, offering him a biscuit with a piece of ham squished into the middle. "Eat."

He hated that she saw what was gnawing at him inside. Her words from earlier wouldn't leave him alone, like buzzing bees.

Distracted.

He couldn't afford to be distracted. Not with an epidemic on his hands.

"I have nothing to give you," he said. "That's my answer."

He saw the stricken expression on her face but forced himself to turn away.

It was too painful to hope and then have everything good ripped away from him. He needed focus now more than ever.

Marrying her had been a mistake. One he never should've made.