Chapter 4

Four

It hadn't worked.

Sparrow lay huddled in the tree shelter, staring out into the night.

She had spent the entire afternoon ranging farther and farther away from the campsite, finding every downed log, branch, twig, and piece of tree bark she could find and delivering them to H, who had fed them to a bonfire that stretched ten feet in the sky and sent a plume of dark smoke heavenward. Her skin and hair still smelled like smoke, even now.

As the afternoon had waned into the evening, she'd returned to the fire with another armful of wood. With every load, H's shoulders drooped more.

When the sun slipped behind the horizon, he'd told her no more. No more wood. They would let the fire burn out.

That had been hours ago.

Thunder rumbled from the clouds gathering on the horizon behind her. She didn't understand how it could rain when the cold air felt so dry. Or maybe the storm was far away. She huddled deeper beneath the fragrant cedar boughs H had cut with his knife.

She'd seen the nicks in his hands, the scraped knuckles. A pocketknife wasn't the right tool to cut away the branches and boughs, but he'd done it anyway. And it was a good thing, because this cool air had pushed through as their bonfire had winked out.

Even with the extra insulation of the branches, she couldn't seem to get warm. She shivered beneath the shelter, hugging herself, while H lay near the fire. In the dim, flickering light, she saw his body quivering, too.

Was he asleep? It had been dark for a long time, but she'd been unable to quiet her mind. Thoughts of the unknown, what they might face tomorrow, kept her from sleep, even though her body was exhausted.

When another rumble of thunder broke the silence, she shifted beneath the branches. H's head turned slightly.

Awake, then.

She slipped from beneath the scratchy branches. He caught her movement and sat up. As she drew closer, the flickering firelight highlighted the lines of concern around his eyes.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

She shook her head.

He looked surprised for the barest moment when she folded her legs beneath her and sank to the ground beside him.

The fire popped, the scent comforting. But the warmth only extended to the tip of her nose and brushed her cheeks.

She couldn't stop shivering.

But when he unbuttoned his slicker and opened it as if he was going to take it off, she shook her head. He couldn't be any warmer than she was. It wasn't a winter coat.

Instead of taking it off, he extended his arm. When she leaned closer, he tugged her into the curve of his body, letting the coat enclose as much of her as it could.

Heat from his body seared her as she nestled into him. His arm was a comforting weight over her shoulders and she let her cheek rest against his chest. After those first few hours, her wariness had seeped away.

It seemed… natural to trust him. He was protective, he watched over her. He constantly scanned the horizon and had warned her about the berries.

H had made her feel safe.

His chest rose and fell, his hand flexed against her elbow. Some tension eased out of him. Had he been worried about her? Or was he soaking in the warmth of sitting close like this, too?

Another low rumble of thunder. This one quieter. Farther away? Today as she'd ranged farther and farther afield in search of firewood, she'd seen the cracked ground, all the summer grasses dead or dying.

H had been right when he'd said earlier this afternoon that if it rained, her shelter wouldn't provide much cover. The fire would be doused in a strong rain, though it seemed less and less likely that they would see any moisture tonight.

"We can't stay here," she murmured.

"No, we can't." His chest rumbled beneath her ear.

There was no use wishing someone had come for them today. There was only the fear of the unknown, not knowing what would happen tomorrow. What if they never found anyone? What if they walked into danger?

Or what if they searched for help in the completely wrong direction?

He must've felt her rising tension as questions and worries swirled, but he didn't try to comfort her with platitudes. His hand rubbed up and down her arm, sending goosebumps skittering down her spine. Then he clasped his hand over her elbow, a steady weight that was more comforting than any words.

"Where do you think we are?" she whispered.

She'd seen him flipping through the small, leather-bound book as he'd tended the bonfire.

"Nebraska Territory, maybe. Or Utah Territory. Near as I can figure it from these notes, at least. And that's if I calculated the miles up correctly."

They truly were in the wilderness. Miles from civilization.

"It's possible we were part of a wagon train. The notes in this book seem to indicate stopping places to allow animals to graze."

But she heard what he didn't say. If they had traveled with a wagon train, how had they ended up out here alone?

"We'll follow the river," he said. "If there are other travelers, they'll want water for their livestock."

The fire flickered, casting shadows against the trees across the clearing.

"While you were hunting firewood, I caught some more fish. Put them on a makeshift stringer down in the water. We'll have food until we find the next place to camp."

"Clever."

His chest expanded beneath her at her faint praise.

"We'll be all right," he said.

But was there a way to be sure of it?

He must have sensed her doubt, because he rested his jaw atop her head.

This was the closest they'd been physically. It felt necessary, because of the chilly air. She was certainly warmer, tucked against him like this, than she'd been under a blanket of boughs. And he seemed to have no reservations about having her close.

"Do you... do you really think we're married?" she whispered.

They must be. Surely they must be in order to end up together out here in the wild. A stranger wouldn't have been swept into the river with her, would he? Had their wagon been lost? Their belongings? Questions swirled.

He didn't shift away, but she felt the stillness in him.

"I had another memory," he said softly. "Only a partial one. A fancy dress, like someone would wear at a wedding. A clutch of flowers. It felt... real."

A knot in her belly loosened and butterflies took flight. She was married to H. Somehow, it felt right.

The awareness had crackled between them all day. It was there when he glanced up as she dumped her load of sticks and twigs. The cut of her eyes to him, the way she couldn't ignore where he was as she'd readied for bed and climbed into the shelter.

It was a relief, somehow, to acknowledge it.

Her heart took flight as she tipped her head toward him. He shifted slightly and lifted his head. Now they were face to face. His hand clasped her shoulder.

She reached up to touch his jaw. The stubble scratched her sensitive palm. His dark eyes appraised her, waiting patiently for her next movement.

"How can it be possible that I don't recognize this face," she whispered. "But that my heart recognizes yours?"

Her fingertips grazed his cheek, his temple. He closed his eyes as she ran her fingers down the bridge of his nose, then gently past his lips to his chin. His eyes flashed open and he let loose a low groan, as if he couldn't hold it in any longer. His hand moved from her shoulder to cup her jaw, and he leaned forward.

"Tell me if you don't want this," he whispered fiercely.

Her only answer was to tip her face up so her lips brushed his.

That gentle, barely-there touch wasn't enough. For either of them.

His hand slipped to the back of her neck, fingers tunneling into her hair, to tug her closer. His lips slanted over hers, warm and tender.

Maybe it was the fear uncoiling inside her, that his embrace felt like a safe place to hide, but she leaned into his claiming kiss.

It felt as if the first time she'd experienced such a kiss. It must be because of the memory loss, it had to be, if they were married. And yet this felt like the very first kiss. Like anticipation—had he been thinking about her all day? The way she had been thinking about him?

Like hope.

Like home.

A loud pop from the fire and he pulled back reluctantly. His eyes roamed her face as he tucked a dislodged tress of hair behind her ear from where it had fallen in her eyes.

His tender touch brought on a haze of tears.

"Hey. It's all right," he whispered.

He brushed a kiss to the center of her forehead and then shifted, tucking his coat around her again, pulling her into his side. "You should rest. We don't know what kind of terrain we'll meet tomorrow."

His cautionary words made it hard for her to relax, but eventually she nodded off with her head against his shoulder.

H's heart pounded against his ribcage as Sparrow settled against him. Had she felt his hand shaking as he'd tucked that piece of hair behind her ear?

He was grateful for the chance to turn his face to the fire as her head tucked between his neck and shoulder. He couldn't explain the emotion that had come over him as his lips had found hers. It wasn't only a strong, protective urge that had risen inside him but a tender affection, and something else. There was a strangeness about her lips under his. It felt bone deep, as if the familiarity he'd felt all day didn't extend to the kiss, to having her in his arms.

It must be the poison from the berries affecting him. He'd seen the wedding in his memories. Sparrow must be his wife.

But for those moments after the kiss, when she'd looked at him with such trust in her eyes, he'd felt panic rising up inside him. He couldn't explain why. Or how it was more than being stranded in the wilderness, alone, with no tools and limited ammunition. It was her. An uncertainty about the kiss they'd shared.

He shouldn't dwell on it. The feeling was already receding. It would do little good for him to try and suss out its origins, not without his memory.

Sparrow's breaths evened out, and she leaned more heavily against him. He'd fed the fire a big log not long ago, and it would burn consistently for a while yet.

Uncertainty swamped him even as this sign of her trust, that she'd sleep tucked against him, should've been reassuring. It was far from the distrust of yesterday.

What if traveling upriver was a mistake?

He'd hoped vainly that her idea of sending up a tower of smoke would attract help. He'd spent part of the afternoon hiking downstream, not expecting to find people but needing to eliminate the possibility.

Not far from the river, there'd been signs of wagons crossing, ruts in the grass as if it had been merely days since conveyances had traveled in this direction. There'd been numerous old campfires, stamped out. A lone sock left behind in the grass.

Signs of the wagon train should've been comforting, but if they'd crossed this terrain, why hadn't they come looking for H and Sparrow?

Was there something more sinister at play? Was it possible they'd been exiled from a caravan? Or perhaps everyone had succumbed to a sickness and they'd been the only survivors. But then where were their supplies?

Or could his log book mean that he was a scout, that he and his companion had traveled farther afield than they'd intended? What if the caravan had left without them?

A large caravan like the one he'd seen signs of wouldn't travel quickly. Most of the pioneers would walk while oxen carted the heavy wagons loaded with supplies.

How did he know that? He felt it with such certainty. He must have been traveling on one of those wagon trains.

Even so, if H and Sparrow had been left behind for days, it might not be possible for them to catch up on foot.

H should've had a horse. It didn't make sense that he was on foot.

Sparrow's breath caught and she jerked. Her head tipped from where it rested against his shoulder and she came fully awake.

"All right?" he asked.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her blinking rapidly, saw awareness slip back into her expression.

"I dreamed—but I don't think it was a dream. I think that was a memory," she said quickly. "I saw part of it this morning, or rather felt it." She exhaled noisily, rubbed one hand over her face as if to clear away cobwebs that remained.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"It feels so tenuous," she said. "There's a woman—my mam." She shook her head slightly, her arm bumping against his. "I think she's... packing." Her voice pitched quieter. "She lost her job. As a... cook, I think? There's something… I can't—something bad happened. We had to move." Her voice grew stronger. Maybe the memory had solidified? "Everything I'd known, all my friends, had to be left behind. She must've felt the same fears. Where would we go? My brother and I would need provided for."

A faint sadness tinged her words. "She didn't show any fear. I couldn't stop crying."

He could hear in her voice how the loss of that security had affected her. "That must've been difficult."

His arm had gone numb from where it'd been braced behind her. He hadn't noticed it until she'd moved, until the rushing blood sent prickles of pain underneath his skin. When he could feel his fingers again, he let his hand close over hers on her knee. "Can you remember anything past those moments?"

She shook her head slowly. "Only her face. She was smiling, but her smile was hiding something. Her worry, maybe. Or uncertainty."

He squeezed her hand. "Those worries—food and shelter—are for a parent, not for the child you were."

She managed a small smile, but her brow remained wrinkled. "I think that's what she was trying to tell me."

"A man's heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps."

Her smile turned wry at the verse from Proverbs. "We must've been okay." She rubbed her forehead. "I think so. I wish I could remember."

"Me too." If he knew what direction they should walk tomorrow, he'd feel more confident.

He shifted his legs, realizing that his left foot was falling asleep, too.

She seemed to notice his discomfort for the first time since coming awake. "I don't think either of us will get much sleep sitting next to the fire like this."

She glanced over her shoulder to the shelter. "It was too cold to sleep, even with the branches."

He shook his head to show his confusion. He didn't know what she was suggesting.

If he wasn't mistaken, a faint blush tipped her cheeks as she murmured, "We could lie down next to each other in the shelter, beneath the boughs. It would be warmer."

An instant denial sprang to his lips, but he swallowed it. He could see the lines of exhaustion fanning from her eyes and the droop of her shoulders. It seemed they'd escape the threat of rainstorms—for now—as the thunder and clouds had moved away. But the chill that the far-off storm had brought wouldn't lift until the sun came up—and he planned to be long gone by then.

She was right. Their only hope of staying warm enough to sleep was to huddle together.

He followed her to the shelter and bumped against the upright branches, nearly dislodging one or two before he laid down at her side.

There wasn't enough room inside the small shelter for either of them to stretch out. She curled into him, her back to his front. He pulled several of the scratchy cedar boughs over them, turning his face away when one branch poked into his cheek.

It was awkward in the darkness. Without the fire near, he could only see the shadow of her. He couldn't make out any features, though his face was only inches from her cheek.

When a tiny shiver shook her, he had no choice but to wrap his arm around her middle. Almost instantly, she settled more closely into him. Warmth bloomed where they touched. Her head softened into his sternum and her breaths evened out. She must be exhausted.

He was, too, but he couldn't settle. There was something inside him that reacted strongly to being the man who'd provided warmth and shelter, the man she could lean on to find comfort and peace enough to sleep. But there was also an unease inside him, an echo of what he'd felt when he'd kissed her. Was it wrong to be close like this?

He didn't have an answer for that. Both of them were making the best guesses they could as to who they were to each other, how they'd ended up out here, and what they should do next. Holding her felt both right and wrong at the same time. He didn't understand how that could be.

Her skin was warm and he couldn't seem to keep himself from pressing his nose into the softness behind her ear. She smelled like the river water he'd seen her splash on her face, and something more. Something uniquely her.

He searched through the darkness of his mind, reaching for the memory he'd seen for only a snatch of time. The pink gown. He didn't know a thing about women's dresses, but he could see the quality of the work. The fine stitches, the lace at the cuffs. This was a special dress. He willed the woman in his memory to turn around. He glimpsed the flowers in her hands, but something about her fingers bothered him. As he tried to focus on why, the memory shifted.

A feminine voice, too low to make out. But he recognized the worried tone. Sunshine falling at an angle through a dingy window. A house?

He grabbed for the memory, tried to reorient the view. Who was speaking? Where were they? What was through that window?

But as he grasped for it, the memory faded and disappeared.

He stared into the darkness, holding Sparrow. Why had they left a home like the one that had flashed through his memory? What had they left behind?

He had no answers, only a deep disquiet as he held her in the darkness and wrestled with the shadows in his mind until he finally fell asleep.