Chapter 27 Riley

CHAPTER 27

Riley

MY EARS ARE bleeding.

Or, at least, they feel like they could be. Jake hasn't stopped talking since we left Clark's Sod House, which is actually pretty impressive since I'm riding in the wagon with the canvas pulled all the way down and he's on the opposite side on a horse.

"So then the bronco bucked and twisted to the left and I went flying off. Broke my arm in three places. I still have the pins. Oh, here's a funny one for you. One time me and some guys decided to…"

Jake drones on as I flip open the magazine I borrowed from Barnaby to an article about the sandhill crane migration, which apparently occurs from February to mid-April in Nebraska. I had no idea sandhill cranes are a prehistoric species. I wonder what the pioneers thought of hundreds of thousands of them descending on the Platte River in noisy flocks. Maybe next year I'll try to get to Fort Kearny to see them, I think, surprised to find I'm not nearly as disappointed by that thought as I would have been a few days ago.

Immediately I think of Colton, who's a big reason for my sudden change of heart. Not only has he helped me see the beauty in Nebraska but he's also opened my eyes to the possibilities. I don't want to put the covered wagon in front of the oxen, but I can't help but hope that maybe he could be a part of my new life out here.

As a friend.

As more than a friend.

My skin warms at the thought and I press my hand to my cheek. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel the soft pressure of his thumb, rough against my skin, as he traced the side of my face. He's so different than he first seemed. Definitely not so irksome anymore.

Jake, on the other hand…

"…Dave's in the middle of the garden, pretending to be a scarecrow when…" Jake starts laughing to himself. "This is the best part. A whole flock of crows swoops in and lands on his outstretched arms. There must have been ten of 'em, at least. Scared Dave so bad he started jumping and waving his arms around, and damn near gave Joe McTavish a heart attack. Hilarious, right?"

Um…sure?

"Right," I mumble, because what else can I say when the humor isn't just lost on me, it's hidden like buried treasure I'm not about to hunt for.

"Hey," Jake says, his shadow nearing the tent. "I can borrow a set of wheels tonight. Want to go for a late-night drive?"

"I think I'll pass."

"But I haven't even told you where we're going yet."

It really doesn't matter, because the only place I want to be tonight is with Colton. Still, I'm curious. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, um, there's the overlook at Silver Lake. Or we could drive out to Cattleman's Pass."

"Are the views any different than what we've seen on the trail so far?"

"No."

"Is there anything particularly special about them?"

"It's where everyone goes," Jake replies.

"I think I'll hang back at the fort," I say, flipping the page to find a gorgeous pen-and-ink illustration of a meadowlark, its breast tinted a vivid yellow with watercolor. The image is so lifelike I half expect the bird to hop right off the page and take to the skies.

Jake keeps talking, but I'm finally too distracted to pay him any attention. I turn to the accompanying article—a story about the artist, Marybeth Shelton, who runs a bird sanctuary and rehabilitation center in Kansas. I get lost in the details: how she was always into science and nature, spending her school days creating drawings in the margins of her notebooks; how she majored in biology and minored in art; how she started selling portraits of the birds she takes in to help fund the sanctuary. Now she sells pieces on commission.

Commission.

A girl can dream.

The next page is a spread of more of her artwork. Like me, she switches between pencil, ink, pastels, and paints. Some of the images are simple, like an American kestrel in flight, the quick pencil marks blurring as the bird dives across the page. Others are more complex, filled with fine brushstrokes and masterful shading, like the great horned owl with golden eyes that practically pierce the page.

Her feature gives me hope that I can find a way to meld my love for science and art, too. Now I just have to convince my parents that minoring in art is a viable career choice and not a waste of time. At least the whole waste-of-money part of the equation won't be relevant in that discussion, since tuition isn't a concern anymore now that I can attend Alden University for free. Maybe I can subtly leave the magazine open to this article on the bed in their room tonight to soften them up to the idea.

The wagon shifts around a corner and a whoop rings throughout the caravan. "Fort Bellows ahead."

Dad does an excited wiggle in the front seat. "Isn't this great?" He glances over Mom's head to find Caleb snoozing away.

When our eyes meet, I offer a reserved smile. This is me testing the waters to see if I can float the truce wagon across the raging river between us. Dad beams at me in return. There's still a ways to go to make it to the other side, but at least I have oars in the water.

I loosen the fastenings of the canvas window flap and roll it up so I can get a better view. Jake leans forward in his saddle and tips his hat to me. "There you are. I missed seeing your beautiful face."

I'm sorely tempted to drop the canvas back down just so there's something to separate us again, but I catch a glimpse of the fort out of the corner of my eye.

It's not that I was expecting a scale model of a fort or anything, but this place is way bigger than I imagined it would be. It's practically the size of a small village. A thin cloud of smoke rises behind the giant wooden posts that separate the buildings inside from the surrounding prairie.

"Do you know how Fort Bellows got its name?"

Jake settles his hands on the pommel, reins tucked loosely underneath, and begins.

"Alfred Bellows owned this land all his life. He was descended from some of the first settlers to come this way, and this particular spot had been in his family for generations. Before his untimely death…"

Jake keeps right on talking while I lean across the wagon's aisle and poke Caleb in the side. He swats my hand away.

"You'll probably want to wake up to see this."

"Is it an all-you-can-eat cereal buffet?" he mumbles.

That's oddly specific and not at all enticing, but then again, my brother's always had a thing for sugar-coated grains and milk.

"No."

As the wagons roll closer, two giant wooden doors open inward to reveal a dirt lane leading into the fort. Buildings line both sides of the street like they do in old Westerns, with hitching posts out front and a raised platform for pedestrians to walk on. Or, in this case, congregate on, since people are gathered to greet us—some wearing modern clothes and some dressed like pioneers. We roll under the carved wooden sign bearing the fort's name and I adjust my bonnet to get a better view. My eyes search the crowd for Colton, but I can't spot him. My heart sinks a bit that he's not here to greet me.

Our wagon eases to a stop in front of O'Connor's General Store and whatever building is on the other side. Caleb's still sleeping and I'm not about to crawl over him to lift the canvas.

Up front, Mom, Dad, and their new besties, the McCreadys and the Stones, are oohing and aahing.

Jake turns to me with a grin. "Civilization at last. Running water, electricity, high-speed internet if you know the Wi-Fi password, which I might be willing to share."

"Cell service?" I ask.

"Sometimes."

For the first time since we left Darby, I pull out my phone and power it on. It takes a moment to search for a signal. The bars fluctuate between none and one, and then, like a miracle, two bars. I grip the phone tight, expecting it to suddenly shake like I'm holding a mini earthquake in my hands with all the notifications coming in.

Dr. Michaelson's office: Don't forget to schedule your six-month dental cleaning.

Avondale High School: Please remember to return all outstanding library books before July 1 to avoid penalty.

Quinn: Hope you had a good flight. Miss you! Call me when you can.

It's not nearly as fantastic as I thought it would be to have service and I'm surprised to find I'm not disappointed with the lack of messages. Who needs cell service when you're out on the prairie with a cute cowboy? I look up and spot a pair of familiar dark eyes fixed on me.

Colton.

I barely register powering off my phone and sliding it back into my bag.

"How about I show you around, give you a behind-the-scenes tour?" Jake waggles his eyebrows.

"I'm all set," I reply as I take in Colton in his pioneer costume.

He was right. I almost don't recognize him in his rugged outfit. He's dressed in dark brown trousers hoisted high up on his waist with a pair of black suspenders. His loose-fitting shirt is a dark green cotton, open partway down like a popover without the buttons and the sleeves rolled up to the middle of his muscular forearms. Instead of his Stetson, Colton wears a black felt hat with a wide brim and his modern work boots have been replaced by a dusty and scuffed pair that look like they're at least a hundred years old.

Not gonna lie, it's a good look on him. A very good look. Maybe too good, given how the tween girls in front of the general store are eyeing him.

Jake sneers down his nose at Colton, which he can only do because he's atop his horse. On the ground, Colton has about three inches on him. "Nice hat, man."

"You can pick up one just like it at O'Conner's," Colton says. "Tell Jim I sent you, and you might get the friends and family discount."

Jake balks. "I'd never wear a hat like that."

"Your loss," I say. "Maybe with a hat like that, you'd be the center of attention." I give a pointed glance to the giggling tweens and grab my backpack.

Colton's eyes glisten when I turn to him. "Welcome to Fort Bellows. Meet you at the back of the wagon?"