Chapter 1

Ablast of cold wind almost took Cecil Miller’s hat off. He clamped it to his head and tore his attention off the wagon pulling from the river on the opposite bank. Behind him, black clouds scudded across the sky, moving closer at a furious rate. What? When had that happened?

“Storm coming,” But no one heard his call. Two wagons and their occupants were on the far riverbank. Only Louise and Hazel’s wagon remained on this side, waiting to make the journey across the rapidly moving water. Where were they?

He ran past the stationary wagon and skidded to a halt. Louise sat on the ground, bent over a book, reading. Hadn’t she glanced up? Didn’t she notice the change in weather? “Get in the wagon.” The words roared from his mouth.

Her head jerked up. Her brown eyes widened. Her mouth opened?—

He’d already learned that she wasn’t keen on accepting help. Even less on taking orders. Especially from him. Maybe becoming a nurse meant being in charge. Not that he cared. There were more important things to deal with than her resistance.

“Hurry!” Already, scattered drops of rain cut into his skin.

And into hers, convincing her without another word from him.

But did she head for shelter? No.

She grabbed her skirt and raced past the back of the wagon. “Hazel and the baby.”

Cecil was hot on her heels. He’d expected the pair to be inside where they often were.

Hazel sat on the ground, her head down, one-year-old Petey playing at her feet. Huh, so they weren’t in the wagon.

Had he ever seen a wearier-looking person? Mentally, he kicked himself. He should have noticed how tired she was. Surely, he could have done something to ease things for her. Sure, he’d tried, but he should have tried harder.

But there wasn’t time to think about it now.

Louise scooped up the little one, covering his head with her hand to keep the driving spears of rain off him. “Hazel, come on. Get into the wagon. Hurry.”

Hazel blinked as if bringing her view into focus.

There wasn’t time to wait for her to sort things out.

Cecil caught her arms, pulled her to her feet, and rushed after Louise, half-carrying Hazel. She struggled to get her feet to the step so she could crawl into the wagon. Rather than wait, he lifted her in.

Louise scrambled in on her own, and Cecil followed so fast he stumbled and caught himself on a crate. They made it just in time as the heavens opened, pouring down sheets of rain. The onslaught against the canvas bonnet was like a roaring animal. He tightened the drawstring at the end of the wagon after him to provide protection.

His boot caught on a box as he edged forward past the many crates and bundles to cinch the front drawstrings tight. “That should keep us dry.” Though the term was relative. Already a trickle of water ran across the floorboard behind the seat. Maybe, in the gloomy interior, the others wouldn’t notice.

Hazel shivered. “I should have been watching.” Her words dragged out slow and heavy.

“We’re safe for now.” Louise’s eyes questioned Cecil.

He nodded. The oxen were resting in the nearby trees. He didn’t think they would bolt. For certain, his horse wouldn’t. He, the two ladies, and the baby were out of the rain, and although they’d be crowded, they weren’t in any danger.

How could he reassure them?

“This isn’t the first storm we’ve weathered.” He smiled, letting warmth fill his words. Maybe they’d hear that and forget the rain pelting the wagon.

Neither of them smiled back.

Before he could try again to ease the tension, little Petey squirmed in Louise’s arms.

“Down.”

Hazel caught her son’s thrashing arms. “Baby, it’s too crowded for you to move around.”

A small clearing near the front with a ball waiting indicated a place where Petey often played. Right now, it held Cecil’s feet as he had no other place to put them. The ladies crowded into the rest of the space. Louise perched on a crate. Hazel hunkered down on a lidded box. Every other inch of space, apart from a narrow alley down the center, held their supplies, and now that space held their feet.

“Down!” The little guy’s tone threatened tears.

Cecil dropped to a crate. “I’ll take him.” He swooped the little one from Louise’s arms and perched Petey on his knees. “Petey, how would you like to play a game?”

“Play.” His eager nod sent a spray of blond hair around his face.

Louise shifted her feet, forcing Cecil to move his knees out of her way.

Petey leaned forward. “Play.”

Cecil laughed at the boy’s demanding tone. “Here we go.” He took the little hands in his and swung the short arms in time to the words.

“Tick, tock, tick, tock, listen to the little clock.

“Tick, tock, tick, tock,

“Now it”s striking one o”clock,

“One.”

At “one,” he lifted Petey’s hands over his head. The rumble of the little guy’s laughter tickled Cecil’s insides.

Past Petey’s head, Cecil’s gaze connected with Louise’s. Brown eyes that revealed nothing. And sent a shiver down his spine. Why did she regard him so coldly? He’d done nothing since they left Bruffin, Manitoba, but be helpful, doing what he could to keep everyone’s spirits up. Not that there was a lot of complaining, but there had been plenty of challenges. From alkali flats to unwelcome visitors. One of the latter led to a marriage between his brother, Walt, and Irene, one of the Woods girls. A smile filled his insides at their happiness.

“Play!” Petey said.

Cecil left off looking at Louise and wondering about her attitude toward him and turned his attention back to the little boy. He continued the ticktock game, counting up to five o’clock. Each time he lifted the little arms up in accordance with the number. Five times for five o’clock. Each time bringing giggles from the boy.

Dark streaks ran down the canvas bonnet as the rain pounded down. They would be hard-pressed to stay dry if this continued.

“Tick, tock, tick, tock, listen to the little clock.

“Tick, tock, tick, tock, now it”s time for us to STOP!”

Shifting Petey to one side, he studied the situation. Louise wore her customary bland expression, giving away nothing. Brown eyes, brown hair pinned back into a bun that had come undone in her haste to get inside. She wore a simple gray dress and a white apron.

Come to think of it, had he seen her wear anything different? Not that he’d noticed.

Hazel was as fair as moonlight. Eyes as blue as her son’s.

“I’m cold.” Hazel shivered.

The pounding rain brought with it lowered temperatures.

“We need our blankets.”

Why did Louise look at him as if he held the blankets prisoner?

“They’re in that crate.” She tipped her head toward the box he sat on.

“You need me to move? Just say so.” He jerked to his feet and eased as far away as he could.

“Thanks.” She tossed the word over her shoulder as she lifted the lid and unearthed four gray blankets like army issue. They’d be itchy as all get-out but warm. “Here you go.” She wrapped a blanket around Hazel’s shoulders, her hands gentle like?—

He blinked. Like Gramma’s. He blinked again. Swallowed back the lump that caught in his chest.

Louise handed him two blankets. “One for you. One for Petey. He needs to be kept warm.” Did her steady gaze mean she thought he wouldn’t know what to do?

He waited for her to close the lid on the box and sit back, a blanket around her shoulders, before he returned to the seat. “Here ya go.” He draped the coarse material around Petey.

“No.” Petey shook it off.

Cecil tried again.

Again, Petey resisted.

There was more than one way to handle this. Cecil scooped up the red ball, stuck it under the blanket, and drew the fabric around Petey.

“You want to keep your ball warm?”

Petey’s blue eyes studied Cecil as if the boy wondered if it was a trick. Then he nodded, pulled the ball to his lap, and shrugged back into the blanket.

“You handled that well.”

Cecil jerked his attention to Louise. She’d said something good about him? Had noticed he did something good? In the weeks they’d been traveling together, this was a first. Not that she said bad things. Mostly, she seemed to ignore him. Not that it mattered to him. Not in the least. He had other things on his mind. Like?—

Well, other things.

Louise duckedher head at the surprise in Cecil’s dark-brown eyes. They always made her heart do strange things. Not that she would dignify the silliness by giving those things a name. After all, she knew what she was. Her life had left little time for frivolity. And now she was a nurse who meant to take her skills to the far west.

Besides, she couldn’t help but notice his interest in Hazel. Like the time she’d come upon them by themselves in a stand of trees. They’d been in an embrace. One that suggested more than friendliness. Or the time she’d seen them sitting side by side by some water. His arms had been around Hazel and Hazel’s head pressed to his shoulder. And there was?—

Never mind. Suffice it to say she’d seen plenty of evidence that they were interested in each other.

The pair were close to the same age. Hazel was twenty-three. She’d heard enough discussion to know Cecil was a few months younger. The two would make a great couple. Cecil was good with the baby, and Hazel needed someone to take care of her.

This is why Louise joined the wagon train when she heard Hazel meant to travel west with her mother and sisters and brother to join the younger brother at Fort Taylor, where he was a North-West Mounted Police. She would make sure her friend got enough sleep. Ate properly. Had time to take care of her baby. Besides that, the trip sounded romantic. Nursing in the West. Traveling on a wagon train. Even the trials they’d encountered were exciting. Or at least interesting. Or did she mean challenging?

She might have dreamed of doing wonderful nursing things on the trip made by wagon and not by rail because Hazel’s brother Bertie was afraid of trains and strangers. But everyone was surprisingly healthy. Even Hazel now huddled beside her, shivering under the blanket.

Louise pulled the blanket tighter around her friend and drew her into her arms. “You’ll warm up in no time.”

Hazel’s head rested on Louise’s shoulder. The poor woman was tired. Still nursing the baby in the morning and evening took a lot out of her. As did the trip. Louise pressed her cheek to Hazel’s head. The two women were best of friends and had been for a long time, even though Louise was two years older. When they were younger, the age difference had been a slight barrier. Now, it no longer mattered.

The wagon shook from the onslaught of the wind. How long would the canvas keep them dry?

Cecil looked over his head. Perhaps having the same thought.

Their gazes connected. And held for a moment. Silently sharing concerns. But what could they do besides wait for the storm to end?

He shifted his attention to Petey, who squirmed and fussed. Poor baby. He must be so tired of not being able to trot around. Cecil began to sing. She’d heard him before, mostly around the campfire as his father, Gabe, played his guitar, and they sang. So, hearing his deep voice was not a surprise. But still pleasing and soothing.

The first song was familiar. Her own mother had sung it to Louise’s younger brothers. The next one she’d never heard before. Something about a happy little lamb who skipped through life. The words held her attention.

More importantly, they held Petey’s attention.

“He knows a lot of children’s songs,” Hazel spoke softly.

Cecil heard and chuckled. “My grandmother sang them to me.”

The blanket slipped lower as Louise shifted position. “How old were you when your mother passed away?”

The man’s smile faded. “Two. I don’t remember her. I’m grateful my grandmother took her place.”

“I don’t recall when you lived in Bruffin.” Hazel clutched the blanket around her like a shawl. “Just like I don’t remember Bertie before he got sick.” She ducked her head. “So much sadness. Bertie, your mother, now my husband, my father, and your grandparents.”

A damp pall brought on by more than the wet weather shrouded the tiny space.

“Ah. But you have Petey. A reason to be glad.”

The warmth in Cecil’s voice stirred a response in Louise’s heart. This man would make Hazel a good husband. What could she do to encourage her friend to consider it?

A sigh fluttered from Hazel’s lips. “Don’t misunderstand me. Petey is certainly a gift for which I am very grateful. Yet—” She lifted one hand as if letting something go. “It doesn’t negate the other.”

There was no argument for that. Louise knew it as well as anyone.

Cecil nodded and returned to singing softly, though his choice of songs had taken a turn. He sang hymns of God’s care and unfailing love. When he sang the Twenty-Third Psalm, tears clogged Louise’s throat.

God was her Good Shepherd. She’d do her best to follow Him faithfully.

Petey grew restless.

“He’s hungry.” Hazel reached for the box holding their food and pulled out a biscuit.

The child took it and began to eat.

Cecil eyed the biscuit. “Guess we’re all hungry. I don’t think we’ll be crossing the river any time soon. What have you got in there?” He swallowed loudly.

Louise couldn’t keep back a chuckle. “Getting hungry, are you?”

He grinned at her. At least he wasn’t offended by her unnecessary comment. Her cheeks warmed as his gaze held hers several seconds longer than one might expect. “Starved to a shadow.” His stomach growled in agreement, and his grin widened.

Fine, she’d admit she found something about him appealing. The way his eyes spoke volumes. The way he sang as if to ward off sad thoughts for both himself and others. The gentle way he teased his older brother. The?—

Enough. He’d make Hazel a wonderful husband, and she’d be glad for them both.

Hazel passed around biscuits and chunks of cheese, then huddled under her blanket again.

The rain continued to beat down, but inside the wagon, they were safe and dry.

And in good company. Her best friend. The sweet baby and the—the?—

The nice man.

She shrank back into her blanket and focused on the biscuit in one hand and the cheese in the other.

The possibility of marriage had passed her by. She knew that. A man would want a woman nearer his own age if he were young. An older man would want a young woman so she could work hard. Not that Louise couldn’t work hard and meant to do so.

But she was twenty-five. Not ancient by any means, but she felt so much older than her age.

She’d spent her younger years caring for her brothers. As George had said, when he made it clear he intended to pursue other women, her life was too narrow. Bound up in her brothers. Well, they were grown now and didn’t need her. And she was striking out on an adventure. Going West to nurse. She meant to make good use of her training.

But who knows, where there were at least ten men to every woman, there might be someone who would look past her age, past her seriousness, and see all that was in her heart that she was willing to share.

She ducked her head to hide her smile. She’d just proven one thing. She wasn’t too old to dream.