14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

I sa blew on her steaming cup of coffee the next morning, her hair uncombed and eyes gritty from several hours of heavy sleep. Junior pulled a tin of papers and a tobacco sack from his saddlebag. He had perpetually glanced her way since he'd risen from his bedroll that morning, and it grated on her nerves.

"What are you looking at?" she muttered after another glance, then grimaced at that first astringent sip of coffee. Why he had to brew it to such a tarry consistency was lost on her. She dropped half a handful of sugar in to make it palatable.

"Not sure," Junior replied, carefully pulling a rolling paper from its sheaf. "Haven't figured it out yet."

Isa grunted, finding his joke unworthy of a verbal response.

They sat side by side on their bedrolls, which had lumped together sometime in the middle of the night. Isa squinted against the sun's rays on the eastern horizon. An urgently full bladder had awoken her the hour before, and she'd had to untangle herself from the vise of his limbs so she could answer nature's call. She'd returned and was caught unaware at the sight of him sleeping on his back, neck exposed, an arm thrown over his head in childlike repose. She'd stood, frozen, her chest surging with warm emotion. Helpless against its tide, every wall, every boundary she'd constructed over the years, was ruined by the familiar feelings. Feelings she'd been certain she'd grown out of now returned with disturbing ease. Their resurgence was unwelcome and unsurprising.

It was precisely why she'd so adamantly denied the need to travel with him. Revering someone without being on the reciprocating end of admiration was an experience she never wished to suffer again. Unrequited love was devastating, and Isa was wholly averse to undergoing such illogical anguish ever again.

She refused to. They would be friends. Nothing more.

And she could think of no one in greater need of friendship than Junior. He was slowly opening up, secrets unfurling from every small revelation. She still didn't know why he'd killed those Rangers or who was following him. Questions bubbled up in her, straining to be freed. Isa adored puzzles. Pulling answers like splinters from an enigma was her forte. But something told her to be patient with Junior. He needed someone to listen at a pace he set. Every time she pushed, he pulled. The best course of action was to do nothing at all. To simply exist in companionship.

With new determination, she set her tin coffee cup down. "Teach me how to do that."

Junior glanced up from dexterously tucking and rolling his cigarette. "You'll waste papers."

"I will not," she exclaimed, scooting closer. "I bet I could ascertain how to do it on the first try. Let me watch you roll one. Slowly."

"Alright." He pulled his leather drawstring sack of White Burley tobacco, roughly shredded and fragrant, between them.

Isa watched him thumb out another rolling paper, close the tin, and assemble the cigarette on its metal lid. When he placed a generous pinch of tobacco atop the paper, it looked like far too much; several rough grains spilled from the miniature mountain. After brushing the excess back into the sack, Junior's large, square fingertips folded the paper over the hill of tobacco, then, pinching both ends with thumbs and forefingers, he rubbed the paper back and forth until the action evenly distributed the leaves. Once the contents were secure, Junior tucked and pressed the lower piece of rolling paper down, bringing the top to his mouth. He licked its top edge, then rolled and tucked some more, securing the cigarette. He proffered it for her examination, but she brushed it aside to grab his tin and bag instead.

"I have it," she murmured, reaching beneath the lid for a paper.

Lip quirking, Junior watched Isa pinch and roll the ends of her paper. Several leaves tumbled into her lap. Brow knitted in concentration, she pressed down on the bottom and licked the top edge of the paper. Once finished, she held the cigarette up for his inspection. It was a little loose, a lot wet, and thicker in the center than the ends.

Junior said nothing. He plucked it up with two fingers, put one end in his mouth, and grabbed a stick from the fire. Lighting the tip, he dragged in deeply and winked at her.

JUNIOR TOOK YET another shortcut, and Isa followed along without complaint. She was nauseatingly aware that it was their last day traveling alone together. There would be no more scenic trails of gold and crimson foliage, no more dipping feet into ice-cold creek water. No more stolen kisses. No more secrets.

"I'm starved." They had traveled the same road for miles with only an occasional wagon passing by to break the monotony. Red clay squished beneath equine hooves from a recent rain. Songbirds flitted to puddles to bathe, feathers ruffled.

"We're just outside Dogwood," Junior appeased. It brought her suspiciously alert. He was never kind if he didn't have to be. "I'm surprised you haven't recognized it by now."

Isa ran an appraising eye over the red clay road, the branching driveways that led to farmhouses in the distance, the thickness of the wood line. "How far are we from town?"

"A few miles west. We should be at the hotel by dinnertime."

"God does answer prayers."

"This is it. Right after this curve." He nodded ahead.

Once the road's curve straightened into a long, narrow path of ocher with a strip of green in its center, Isa spotted the drooping shell of a dilapidated old house. It had once been grand, with a picket fence encasing a tiny yard. The roof had caved in, and all the windows were knocked out by the elements and thrown stones. The forest had nigh taken over it, but Isa felt a flash of recognition. Six years before, she'd ridden on this very road searching for her missing sister-in-law.

"It's where those men took Poppy," she breathed.

"And where you went after them with a sack of sunflower seeds," Junior added dryly. "Look."

He wasn't pointing at the old house. Isa glimpsed yellow blooms on tall green stalks at the tree line, and her mouth opened.

"Are those—"

"Yep. They've been growing wild for years now. There's a trail of 'em going about ten miles in." He nudged his horse forward, and Isa followed behind. A cluster of heliotropes basked in the midday sun. Dead stalks littered the ground. Most had gone to seed, evidence that they had been plentiful in the months before. But, despite it being late October, some flowers still bloomed, their faces turned toward the sun. In the woods behind them, a few tall stalks popped up sporadically, spindlier in the shade than their brothers in full sun.

A trail of sunflowers , she thought wondrously. She'd left a trail of seeds behind her in the summer of '88, praying a posse would discover it. A girl of sixteen in overalls and braids, it hadn't been long before she'd been caught by Poppy's abductors. It had been worth being chained with the other girls. She could still picture the dirty, frightened faces of the hungry girls in the wagon beds, tethered together by their necks. At her first opportunity, she'd lit a wagon on fire, alerting their position to Junior and the other men trailing them.

Yes, it had been worth it.

"Did I ever thank you?" she asked Junior abstractly, reaching over in the saddle to brush her knuckles against the yellow petals of a particularly large sunflower.

Junior studied her profile. "Thank me for what?"

"For saving my life."

"Oh. It wasn't nothing," he grunted.

She didn't bother correcting the double negative. "Don't pretend it wasn't, Junior. It was."

"Reckon you did half the work yourself," he said after a pause. "Led us to them. Lit the wagon on fire. Pushed that bastard's gun up and moved so I could get a clear shot."

As if through some unspoken agreement, the two of them had never talked about it. Isa pulled a petal from the head of the gargantuan flower and scrutinized the yellow spear, softer than a baby's cheek. "We have always made a decent team."

"Still do." He leaned over in his saddle, propped his forearm against the horn, and plucked the sunflower. He handed it to her, eyes intent upon her face. "Can't see sunflowers anymore without thinkin' of you."

Warmth climbed her neck and cheeks as she took it from him. Brushing the petals against her lips, a laugh slipped out. "I was so infatuated with you when I was a child. I'm surprised you allowed me around at all."

The expression wiped from Junior's face like a rag across a blackboard. "What?"

"Oh, yes. I was drowning in puppy love." She'd sworn she would take her secret to her grave, but he had been acting wholly irregular since their journey began. It was only sensible he'd skewed her thoughts to the point she would act in kind.

"I didn't know—"

"For heaven's sake," Isa burst out, flicking her petal at him. It drifted harmlessly onto Champion's coarse mane. "I followed you everywhere. No matter how you teased me, you could do no wrong. Not to mention, you look the way you do."

"I look—"

"And I was a child," Isa finished with gusto. It was liberating, telling him. A release. It lanced wounds that had swollen tight and painful. Now that it was out there in the world, her biggest secret seemed so small. So insignificant. It had lost its power in the course of a few sentences, and now she was free. "Of course I was besotted with you. And now that I'm an adult, I know exactly what to expect when it comes to love."

The way Junior sat on his horse gave her the impression she had aimed a double-barrel shotgun between his eyes without warning. It was as diverting as it was vexing. He seemed to gather himself up, straightening from his slouch. "What do you mean, ‘You know what to expect'?" His question was cautious, as though he was unsure he wanted to know.

"I have a theory," Isa said, running her flower over the apple of her cheek. "Well, an analogy, really. Being in love is like being shipwrecked on an island. The object of your affection is the island, and how they reciprocate your love is the level of hospitability your surroundings are. Some islands are beautiful but barren of all sustenance."

"Is this barren island supposed to be me?" Tawny brows settled dangerously low over his eyes.

She laughed. "Hush and listen. Some islands are heaven on earth, but you break your back digging irrigation. You die of thirst catching water, starve for lack of nourishment, and only bushels of money from shipments could keep you alive. And some islands don't look promising at first, but there are trees loaded with fruit, hidden waterfalls of fresh water, and treasures at every turn."

"I'd rather put the work into the barren island. You can plant fruit trees there. Dig a well."

Her mouth curved in a secret smile, and she hid it behind her sunflower. "People make islands habitable all the time."

"Yeah. It doesn't have to stay empty. It just needs a good farmer."

Isa's smile faded. "I learned not to allow myself to be shipwrecked on a barren island. If I fall in love with someone, they need to sustain me. Not kill me. They need to love me first."

He cleared his throat. "You said you don't want to marry."

"I don't."

"But you're talkin' about love."

A carriage turned the corner in a bustle of rattling wheels and giggles. A courting couple waved merrily as they passed. Isa and Junior nodded back. Isa grabbed Mirage's reins and nudged the mare toward the road. Junior reluctantly followed behind.

"I'm not saying I'll never marry, just that I'd prefer not to. Better women than me have eaten their words over stronger convictions. I'm saying that if I marry, it will be to a man deeply in love with me." She considered this for a moment. "More in love with me than I am with him would be preferable. I'd like someone to have powerful feelings for me , for once."

Junior said nothing, but she paid little attention to his typical capricious brooding. She was busily basking in the relief born of confession.

Glancing back at him, she called, "Race you to the hotel!"

Mirage's heels threw enormous clods of red clay at the golden-haired man.

Junior didn't move an inch.