He wanted privacy, but somehow he knew Emma wasn’t going to let go, not without talking to him.
So he steeled himself and whirled to face her. She drew up, shoulders heaving. She’d been almost running to keep up with his strides. The bottom of her skirt was soaked, probably dragging her down with its weight as it had picked up mud and water from the wet grasses.
“Are you all right?” she asked quickly.
“I’m fine,” he said shortly, and saw her draw back slightly at the harsh tone in his voice.
Being hard and cold was the only way to get through to her.
“It’s just—” she pushed. “I thought I saw you’d scraped your knuckles—”
He glanced down at the back of his hands and saw she was right. His knuckles were raw, even bleeding in places. “Must’ve happened when I was scrambling down to get the girl.”
“Scrambling…down…?”
He waved off her tentative question. Let McCullough tell where he’d found Nathan if he cared to. “I’ll wash up in a bit. I’m fine.”
He waited a beat, not sure how to continue. Not wanting to continue, even though he knew it was for the best.
Her blue eyes were wide, shadowed. Was she trying to do the same? Find a way to let him down easy?
His jaw tightened at the thought, he was unable to stop his back teeth from grinding.
“You shouldn’t be out here with me.” The words gritted like dust in his mouth. He almost choked on them, but he forced himself to be stoic, to reveal no emotion.
Her chin went up, but he saw the slight tremble in her lower lip. “I’m a woman grown. I’ll go where I want.”
“McCullough won’t like it.”
She flinched and he felt a pang of guilt for hurting her. But he couldn’t keep on like this, live in this limbo.
He would do what he had to do.
“There’s no understanding between Tristan and me,” she said. She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, her chin shifted to the side as her eyes went past him.
What wasn’t she telling him? There was something underneath her words.
Then she looked back at him and her eyes seemed to be communicating something, but he knew not what.
Everything inside him protested. Everything inside him wanted to reach out for her, pull her into his arms and kiss her again.
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
He knew Emma, knew her pure heart. If he kissed her when she was meant for someone else, all he would do was hurt them both.
And he refused to do that to her.
“McCullough is a good man,” he told her, his voice low to hide the huskiness in his tone.
“So are you,” she said quickly, adamantly.
He shook his head. He was a work in progress. He might get there one day, be a man Emma could be proud to stand beside, but he wasn’t there yet.
She opened her mouth with her expression scrunched and petulant, as if she might argue with him.
He needed to get away before he succumbed to her sweet nature, before he started believing again.
“He’ll make you a fine husband,” he said with a firmness he tried to feel.
He was telling her that he, Nathan, wouldn’t ask. If there was a moment to argue that they should be together, this was it. And he wasn’t arguing for them.
He was giving her to McCullough.
She realized it, too. Her beautiful eyes filled with tears and pain sliced through his midsection. Maybe his heart was breaking. Or maybe his whole self was breaking, because they weren’t meant to be together.
Then she averted her gaze, hiding her eyes from him, hiding her emotions. Shutting him out.
And that hurt even worse.
It took everything in him to remain still, not to reach out for her as she turned and walked back toward the circled wagons.
He’d done it. He’d let her go.
But despair choked him.
It was the best thing for her, but he was bereft. Bereft of her company, her smile, her gentle presence.
He knew there would be no more evening readings. No more companionable conversations in camp.
He was well and truly alone, and it was no one’s fault but his own.
Chapter Twenty-One
Early the next morning, Emma worked feverishly at scrubbing the skillet where eggs had congealed in one side.
Nathan sat on a crate across the campsite, finishing his breakfast. Alone. Neither of them spoke.
Emma had lost her appetite.
She felt his occasional glances as acutely as if he had touched her. But he never met her eyes.
He wanted her to marry Tristan. Or so he said.
Tristan, who had spent ten minutes chatting with her quietly as they’d both eaten breakfast, asking about the little girl with the broken arm and Emma’s medical training at her father’s side, then telling her about his daughters.
He hadn’t understood from her request for Nathan last night that she’d chosen Nathan. Nor he had sensed that something had happened between them.
Nathan, who wanted her to marry Tristan.
Nathan, who wouldn’t even look at her.
The Blue Mountains standing silent sentinel, so close now, were supposed to have been a sign that they were close to finishing the journey. They’d almost made it.
But she was not happy. Not one bit.
Hence the near-violent scrubbing.
“Um…I think it’s clean.”
Rachel’s voice broke Emma out of her chaotic thoughts.
She looked up to see that Nathan had vacated his spot and only she and Rachel were left in the camp.
Her heart dropped, even though she hadn’t expected Nathan to speak to her. She’d hoped.
Rachel began gathering the few items that had been left out.
“Are you all right?”
“Of course,” Emma answered. There was nothing physically wrong with her.
But she felt Rachel’s gaze on her as she lugged the heavy skillet toward the wagon.
Her sister was far too perceptive. Emma didn’t particularly want to discuss the events of last night. They were too fresh, stung too much.
“Ben said to make sure everything was as secure as we can make it. Apparently there will be some rough terrain today.”
She nodded. She could imagine so, with the granite mountains hovering above them, both beautiful and treacherous.
Just like her love for Nathan had turned out to be.
With her emotions too close to the surface, she brushed past Rachel at the tailgate of the wagon.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Rachel asked softly.
Emma inhaled reply through her nose. “Not really.”
“All right.”
Shocked at her sister’s easy acquiescence, Emma snorted an indelicate half laugh, shaking her head. Rachel was always a surprise.
“He told me that Tristan would make a good husband.”
“Who, Nathan?”
Emma nodded, her eyes filling with tears as she thought about the entire conversation again.
“Why would he say that?” Rachel’s tone revealed how perplexed she was.
Emma shrugged, unable to speak over the lump that filled her throat.
“Did something happen between you? Did you argue?”
Emma laughed, though the sound emerged suspiciously like a sob. “No. We’ve barely spoken since we returned to camp, since Tristan’s arrival.”
“You didn’t talk to him about your feelings?”
“I—I tried to bring it up, but he was already turning me away.”
Rachel was silent for only a moment as they tied down the crates in the rear o
f the wagon. “Do you suppose he thought that’s what you wanted? To marry Tristan?”
Emma’s thoughts whirled.
“I can barely speak to Tristan when we’re together. Surely he would see that…”
“Nathan certainly has sharp eyes, but perhaps viewed through a lens of jealousy…”
Had Nathan been jealous? Because she’d taken too long to decide to speak to Tristan?
She remembered his hot temper, his jealous kiss when the soldiers had escorted the sisters back to the wagon train at the fort.
Why would his reaction be different this time?
Unless…
Nathan had a negative view of himself. What if, in his mind…
“He decided Tristan was the better man?”
It seemed a bit ridiculous when Emma said it aloud.
“Without talking to you,” Rachel agreed.
Emma’s ire built. How could Nathan just give up on them because Tristan had appeared?
Of course, they hadn’t exchanged any promises. And things weren’t always easy for him—as evidenced by Stillwell’s continued accusations and suspicions.
But for him to give up… She knew he carried a burden of guilt over his sister’s death. Did he think that somehow he was protecting her by pushing her at Tristan?
He couldn’t be more wrong.
“I thought you were done allowing the men in your life to make all your decisions for you,” Rachel said, a mischievous smirk on her lips.
“I am.” Emma felt a sense of determination as she said the words.
Perhaps there was no future for her with Nathan, but she wasn’t going to let him decide on his own.
* * *
Nathan buckled the last of the harness straps on the Morrisons’ oxen, his movements jerky and uneven. He hadn’t tasted a bit of his breakfast. It had all tasted like sawdust, watching Tristan lean close to Emma in conversation.
He’d given her his blessing, but oh, it hurt seeing the two of them together. Imagining her in McCullough’s home, his girls gathered around her in the family Nathan knew she wanted.
Imagining the child she would bear for McCullough.
He gritted his teeth so hard he thought he heard them grinding.
“I’d appreciate you not frightening the Morrisons’ animals with your temper.”
He took a step back from the oxen. He’d thought Clara was behind the wagon, securing the tailgate and any loose belongings for the arduous journey they were in store for today.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
The oxen stood placidly in their traces. They hadn’t seemed to notice Nathan’s inattention or his ire.
Clara crossed her arms, which only brought to attention the bulge of her belly. He couldn’t help his eyes going there, and the sharp knife of pain imagining Emma in the same condition—with McCullough’s baby—made him scowl.
She looked down and realized that her posture revealed the secret she’d been trying so hard to protect and let her arms fall to her sides.
“I didn’t take you for stupid,” Clara said.
Nathan bristled. He had taught himself how to read. He wasn’t stupid.
“You’re letting Tristan McCullough step in and court Emma.”
Yes, he was doing that. And he didn’t want to talk about it. “It ain’t your business.”
She shook her head. “Maybe not, but I still say you’re making a big mistake, not fighting for her.”
She had never wanted his help, now she wanted to give him advice?
He saw red just thinking about it. “What good would it do, delaying the inevitable? Her brother wants her to marry McCullough.”
Saying the words was like hot knives tearing through his gut.
“What does she want?” Clara asked softly.
That was what hurt the most. He could see Emma accepting him, temporarily. But when she tired of him, of the trouble that followed him around, she would end up with someone like McCullough.
And the hurt would incinerate him.
“Have you even asked her what she wants? Told her you’re in love with her?”
He had barely admitted it to himself and ignored Clara’s pointed words.
Clara shook her head again, disgust evident in the set of her mouth.
“She deserves better than me,” he muttered.
“It ain’t really fair of you to decide that for her.”
Maybe Clara was right, but his way was safer. For them both.
“This way, she won’t get hurt.” He didn’t know why it was important for her to understand. Clara was a friend, of sorts. Something he hadn’t allowed himself to have in so very long…in years.
“How do you figure?” Clara asked, a bit perplexed.
“I… A long time ago, I failed someone I loved. She…died and I could’ve stopped it.” All of Emma’s assurances on the matter rolled through his head. Maybe he hadn’t been completely at fault, maybe he was forgiven, but he still felt he could have prevented it if things had been different.
“If something bad happened to Emma because of me, I couldn’t bear it…”
And Stillwell and his accusations proved that it could. If the altercation with him had gotten out of hand, she could’ve been in danger.
Clara nodded, as if it was all making sense to her now.
“So instead of hurting her later, you’re hurting her now. Protecting yourself.”
His head came up and he immediately protested, “No—”
He shook his head, denying it even as his heart pounded loud in his ears. Was she right?
He raised both hands and gripped the hair at his temples, pressing the heels of his hands into his head. “I can’t fail Emma.” It would kill him.
He could feel Clara’s eyes on him but he stared at the ground. Admitting it made him vulnerable, but…it was the truth.
“What if you are failing her, right now?” Clara asked quietly.
He jerked his head up and found her looking at him with compassion that made his gut tighten painfully.
“She’s in love with you, Reed. If you walk away from her, you’ll be failing her.”
The bugle rang out, clear in the morning air. It was time to start moving, and Nathan had been so distracted by the conversation that he hadn’t gotten Mr. Bingham’s oxen in their traces.
When he rushed to the wagon, he found that the same young man he’d helped with hunting had put the oxen in their harness. Unfamiliar gratefulness expanded his chest and he nodded his thanks to the kid.
He needed his full concentration to maneuver the wagon over the rough terrain today, but he couldn’t ignore Clara’s words as they bounced through his head over and over in a continuous loop.
She’s in love with you.
He couldn’t forget how she’d confronted him in the woods after they’d seen the Indians. She hadn’t let him hide behind his fears. Would she have been so passionate to make him face his demons if she didn’t care about him?
If you walk away, you’ll be failing her.
The last thing he wanted was Emma hurt. If she was in love with him and he was pushing her at McCullough…could Clara be right? Was he hurting her with his actions?
The hope that he’d thought disintegrated last night when he’d pushed Emma away had been brought back to glorious life by Clara’s words. Was it possible that Emma wanted to be with him?
There would still be obstacles in front of them. He would only have the little money he’d earned driving Mr. Bingham’s oxen on this journey West, and no job waiting for him. But with Emma by his side, those obstacles suddenly seemed smaller…
But what would her brother think? Would he approve of Nathan’s courtship with those obstacles in place? Or would he refuse Nathan’s suit?
And there was also McCullough. He had traveled out of Oregon City just to meet Emma. He’d spent days talking with her, taking walks, sitting next to her at breakfast.
If Nathan was serious about pursuing Emma, he would have to talk to Ben. He owed it to Emma to do things right, to act in an honorable manner.
But it also made him nervous, thinking about speaking to Emma’s brother. Ben might not think he was the wagon train thief any longer, but Ben’s allegiance was to McCullough.
What would he say to Nathan?
And…he’d hurt Emma. Her silence this morning was proof of that. Would she forgive him…would she still care about him?
Nervous anticipation filled Nathan. He was through hiding.
It was time to change his future.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nathan had chewed over his words all morning, in between traversing the difficult, rocky trail.
They reached a part of the pass where each wagon had to be hefted up a cliff face, using ropes and pulleys. The oxen turned uneasy. The whole day had already been grueling.
And McCullough mentioned there was another cliff just like this one to be found in the afternoon.
And Nathan still had to talk to Ben.
The wagon master called for a break after they’d managed to get all the wagons up with only a few minor mishaps. By that time, the sun was high and bright in the sky.
And Nathan had no excuse.
He found Ben and McCullough together, near a pretty little stream flowing over some rocks. Thankfully, they were alone, speaking in low tones.
His palms were sweaty and when the both glanced at him, his mouth went dry and all of the words he’d planned to say dissipated in the fine afternoon breeze.
“Something wrong?” Ben asked.
“No.”
Nathan’s face flamed. He hadn’t expected to face both of them together and this was the most uncomfortable situation.
But it was for Emma. He had to remember that.
He jerked his chin in Ben’s direction. “First, I wanted to say thank you for taking me in when I was sick. And for being at my side when Stillwell wanted to make more trouble for me.”
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