Come Back

by Melissa Maygrove

  He retrieved the bucket she’d dropped near the stream and set it nearby, then he dipped a towel in the cold water, wrung it out and wrapped it around her injury.

  She shivered when the cloth touched her skin but relaxed as the numbing effect began to counteract the pain.

  “Better?”

  She nodded.

  He slid another smaller bucket over so she could rest her injured foot on it, then prepared to cook supper.

  “If you’ll help me move closer, I can do that,” Becca offered.

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” His words were genuine, but his smile held a trace of disappointment.

  He finally saw her for what she was—a burden.

  Becca sat with her hands folded in her lap and watched Seth go about their evening routine, doing both her work and his. Once he had tended to the horses and readied camp for the night, he lifted her into the wagon and helped her settle into bed.

  “Does it hurt much?”

  “No.” Her ankle throbbed, but it paled in comparison to the ache of worthlessness.

  After climbing back out, he drew the rear bonnet closed and left for his bedroll by the fire. “Call out if you need anything.”

  Becca eased herself out of the wagon and balanced on her good leg. She’d heard Seth moving around outside when he first awoke, but now camp was quiet. It was just as well. Using a stick as a crutch, she began to hobble in the direction of the nearest grove of trees. Or rather, hop. She still couldn’t stand to bear any weight on her bad foot.

  “What are you doing?” Seth called. He hurried to her side.

  Becca’s cheeks heated. “Making a trip to my area.”

  Seth shot her and her feeble crutch an exasperated frown. “And what did you plan to do once you got there?”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he was right. There was no way she would be able to hold up her skirts and squat down on one leg.

  He took the stick from her hand and laid it aside, then grasped her wrist and guided it over his head. “Hold on to me.” Once she’d draped her arm around his shoulders, he caught her behind the knees and carefully lifted her into his arms.

  Becca blinked back tears as he carried her toward the thicket and her last shred of dignity died. Having a man hold you steady while you relieved yourself went far beyond awkward.

  “I made something for you,” Seth said as they rounded the edge of the thicket. He turned her so she could see and inclined his head toward the ground.

  At the base of a tree, over a freshly-dug hole, sat an upside down crate with the middle two slats missing—just like the one she’d made for him after he was attacked. He’d grudgingly consented to pass water by way of a can, but when his daily constitutionals resumed, he’d insisted on going to the woods, even though he was so weak he could barely make it there and back. Her makeshift outhouse seat had been a godsend for them both.

  This one would be, too.

  Seth lowered her onto her good leg and helped her sit, arranging her skirts over the crate so that nothing but her split drawers was between her and the missing slats. Her ankles barely even showed.

  He squatted down, putting the two of them at eye level. “Will you be able to manage the rest by yourself?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  A spark of reward lit his eyes. “You’re welcome. Call for me when you’re done.” He rose and handed her some strips of old cloth from the pocket of his trousers, then strode away and disappeared through the trees.

  As he cooked and served their breakfast two days later, Seth’s fatigue was beginning to show. He didn’t complain about the toll the extra work was taking on him, but he didn’t have to. It was written in the lines of his face and the dullness of his eyes.

  “How’s your ankle?”

  “It’s much better,” she lied. Her ankle still throbbed, especially when she sat with it lower than the rest of her. Be it bitter or not, she wished for some willow bark tea. “If you’ll put a pan of water near me when we’re done, I can wash the dishes.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Becca lowered her plate to her lap and felt her spirit sag at his indifference. “I know it’s not much, but if you’ll let me help, we could get going sooner.”

  “We’re not traveling today.”

  “Why not?”

  “The horses need a rest and I need to hunt.” He eyed her from under the brim of his hat, then returned his attention to his plate. “I found a secluded area large enough to conceal the wagon,” he added between bites. “Don’t worry. You’ll be safe.”

  Becca picked at her food for the rest of the meal. What appetite his cool detachment hadn’t squelched had vanished at the news of his departure.

  Seth harnessed the team long enough to move the wagon, then climbed inside where she was lying and handed her a revolver he’d bought from Sam. “It’s loaded. Keep it with you, just in case.”

  Becca nodded and set the gun close by.

  “Where’s your knife?”

  “Right here.” She pulled it from its hiding place next to her pillow.

  “I watered Zeus and tied him to graze. I’ll move him when I get back. I’m taking Cyrus with me.” He adjusted his neck and shoulders as if he were anxious to get going. “Do you have everything you need?”

  Becca glanced around. A full canteen and leftovers from breakfast were within reach, and the special crate sat in the corner over a chamber pot. “Yes.”

  “Stay in the wagon and don’t let on you’re inside, no matter what you hear.”

  A twinge of insecurity sparked in her chest. “How long will you be gone?”

  “Depends on how soon I can find game.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze lighting on everything except her. “Probably not more than half the day.”

  “Be careful,” she called as he climbed out of the wagon and cinched the bonnet closed.

  “I will.”

  Becca hugged herself as the sound of hoof beats faded away. She knew they faced dangers on the trail no matter whether they were together or apart, but Seth’s presence, his unwavering vigilance, gave her a tangible sense of security. And his company filled a need in her so deep, she feared the wound it would leave when the time came for them to part. She was getting a tiny taste of it now, and her very soul was turning hollow.

  She needed a distraction. The time would pass more quickly if her mind was occupied. She couldn’t do much with an injured ankle, but she could read and she could draw.

  Pushing herself into a sitting position, Becca propped against the side of the wagon and retrieved her sketchbook. Her subject was what it often was these days. The man who would be part of her life for the next few weeks, and a part of her heart forever.

  Soon she was lost in the task of recreating him on paper—his handsome face, his gentle eyes, the way his muscular frame filled his clothes and stirred her every time she saw him. She often thought back to the night he’d comforted her and held her in his arms as they slept. She craved that closeness, and each time he carried her now, it made her hunger for it even more.

  Becca’s stomach growled as she put the finishing touches on the third drawing. Judging by the patch of sky she could see out the front of the bonnet, it was high noon. She put her things away and unwrapped her lunch.

  As she nibbled on biscuits and bacon, she tilted her head and listened for the sound of Seth’s approach. The nook he’d hidden the wagon in had been reassuringly quiet, save an occasional snort from Zeus, but now she longed to hear the clomping of Cyrus’ hooves.

  Seth hadn’t arrived by the time she finished eating, so she reclined on her pallet and tried to busy herself with a book. That quickly lost its charm.

  With each degree the sun lowered in the sky, the doubt chewing at her confidence rose. When night fell, fear sent her mind racing and weakened her limbs.

  Where was Seth? Even if he hadn’t found game, he would have returned by now. Zeus needed tending. She did, too. He’d only left enough food f
or her midday meal. Not that it mattered. She couldn’t eat if she tried. But still.

  With a whispered prayer, Becca crawled under her blankets and willed herself to be patient. Seth was strong and smart. If he wasn’t here, he had a good reason.

  Becca pushed her aching body up from her bed and rubbed her scratchy eyes. The night had been long, and sleep had been scarce. She’d jerked at every sound and imagined every scenario that might keep her protector away—most of which did little to calm her ragged nerves. Still, she wouldn’t let go of her faith, in Seth or in God.

  A year ago when she realized no one was coming for her, the desertion shook her belief to its very foundation. But, with Seth, she was finding it again. His kindness and his insistence that she not give up was restoring her trust, little by little.

  Life was not without trials, and maybe this was one of hers—one that would bring about something better if she didn’t allow it to destroy her.

  Becca sat up and checked her canteen. It was less than half full, but no matter. She could make do. Surely Seth would return soon, now that it was light.

  Bracing herself on the barrels and crates, she hobbled about and searched for food she could fix without the aid of water or fire. Her appetite was meager, but she was weak from going without supper. After collecting some hard tack and a bag of dried berries, she lowered herself to her pallet again.

  Becca took a few bites and chewed the dry lumps of mush, sipping just enough water to wash them down, then she capped her canteen and blew out a breath. She could do this. Today was no different than yesterday. No. It would be better. She’d busy herself with drawing and reading, and, before she knew it, Seth would ride into camp.

  She tugged her braid loose, brushed her hair, and replaited it, then gathered her art supplies and tried to think of something she could draw that would lift her spirits. The corners of her mouth turned up. Seth falling into the water when he’d tried to impress her by catching a fish with his bare hands—that was an image she’d never forget. With a giggle similar to the one she hid behind her hand the day it happened, she started sketching.

  A frustrated blow from Zeus pulled Becca from her thoughts, along with gnawing rumbles from her stomach. The horse was growing restless. So was she. It was well past noon, and Seth still wasn’t back.

  After forcing down more hard tack and berries, she considered getting out of the wagon and tending to Zeus. The horse seemed fairly docile, but he was new and big. If he took a mind to run while she was leading him, she wouldn’t be able to hold him. And Cyrus couldn’t pull the wagon alone.

  Becca leaned her head back against the taut cloth of the bonnet and sighed. As much as she pitied the poor animal, she had no choice but to leave him where he was.

  “I hear ya, boy,” she muttered when he stomped and snorted again. “I’m stranded without food and water, too.”

  She picked up a book, but set it aside before she’d even read a whole page. Something was wrong and she knew it.

  She stared at the dimming patch of sky until it turned black, wringing her hands as dread curled its icy claws around her gut. Either Seth had been injured so severely he couldn’t return. Or he’d chosen not to.

  Becca winced as the pain of abandonment sliced through her, wounding her worse than it had the first time. Clutching one of Seth’s shirts to the throbbing ache in her chest, she choked on a sob and cried until she fell into a despondent sleep.

  The sound of footsteps met Becca’s ears as she opened her eyes, and dread brought her mind and body to sober attention. Someone had found the wagon.

  She eased her knife from under her pillow, then reached for the gun. Her whole body trembled as she lay with the cold steel of the revolver heavy against her chest. Just like the pale morning light that invaded the front of the bonnet, the intruder would find her. It was only a matter of time.

  Could she really shoot another human being? To kill?

  And what if there was more than one?

  Breathing as softly as her rising fear would allow, she focused on the sounds. Maybe she could discern the number of people—the extent of the threat.

  Boots scuffed the ground to her right. Then silence.

  A low growl rumbled from a man’s throat.

  Something bumped and jostled the wagon.

  “Well, damn.”

  Becca’s hand clamped over her mouth and stifled a sob. Never had she been so glad to hear a curse. Seth. Her shoulders shook and tears escaped the corners of her eyes.

  Wiping her face, she returned her weapons to their places and pushed herself into a sitting position. He’d come back.

  Seth set his tools aside and walked to the rear of the wagon. He’d looked in on Becca when he returned late in the night, moonlight glistening along the tracks of her tears. The thought of her crying herself to sleep had gutted him, but her breathing was slow and deep, so he’d reluctantly left her to sleep until morning. Now scuffling sounds came from inside. He started to open the bonnet, but decided to announce himself first. The woman was armed.

  “Becca, you awake?”

  “Yes.”

  When he pushed the fabric aside, he was greeted with the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

  “How’s your ankle?” he asked as he helped her climb out.

  “It only hurts a little.”

  Before he could move to pick her up, she threw her arms around his neck and held on tight. A moment later, he returned the hug and tried not to crush her. Leaving her hadn’t been easy, but being kept from her damn near tore him apart.

  Red-rimmed eyes met his as she pulled away. “I’m glad you’re safe. I...” She shook her head. “Never mind. What took you so long?”

  “It’s a long story,” he said as he carried her over to the fire and set her on a blanket he’d put there for her. “One you’ll need to be sittin’ down for.” He filled their cups with coffee, then took a seat across from her and stretched out his aching legs.

  Seth paused to take a sip of the strong black brew. “The day I left, it was nearly noon before I managed to track any game, and I had to go quite a ways from camp to find it. By late afternoon, I had a turkey and a deer. Had I left for camp right then, I would have been back by supper.”

  Becca lowered her cup and swallowed. “What stopped you?”

  “Indians.” He watched her eyes round with fear. “Not all Indians are dangerous, Becca.”

  “I know.”

  Problem was, it was hard to tell which tribes—and even which encounters—were going to be friendly. He let that fact lie.

  “Anyhow” —he took another sip— “I sought out a hilltop to survey my path before returning. Good thing. There was a group of them traveling east through the valley.”

  “Right below you?”

  He nodded. “I was safe, but I was stuck. I couldn’t chance being seen—or worse—leading them back to you. I was forced to stay where I was until they were gone.

  “I kept watching, and more kept coming. Then they made camp. I had no choice but to bed down for the night.”

  She’d been sipping her coffee with relish. Now her cup sat forgotten in her lap.

  “I climbed back up on the hill the next morning and watched them again. I figured they’d pack up and leave early, but some of them stayed behind. By the time I was sure my path was clear, it was nearly dark. At first, I thought that was for the best, since it would help conceal my movement, but then clouds rolled in and hid the stars from view. I lost my way and had to stop and wait again.”

  Becca’s lips parted and she slowly shook her head.

  “Finally, the sky cleared, and I was able to find my way back. Needless to say” —he grinned— “Cyrus wasn’t happy.”

  She laughed, but he could see the relief in her eyes.

  He felt the same.

  “Zeus wasn’t happy either,” Becca said with a chuckle. Then her mirth promptly faded. “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, he’s fine. What about you? Did you have enough to
eat and drink?” He mentally kicked himself for not leaving her extra supplies.

  “I made do.” Becca sipped her coffee again. “What were you grumbling about earlier?”

  “I was greasing the wheels and dropped the mop.”

  “Oh... Need help butchering?”

  Good grief. She must be bored. “Nah, I already did it. But you can help me roast the turkey and salt down the venison.”

  Becca beamed. And her smile struck him square in the heart.

  How would he ever let her go, much less, hand her over to another man? Even if that man turned out to be worthy? Even if he was her betrothed?

  Seth steered the wagon through a flat stretch of prairie, thankful for Sam’s advice about storing water when it was plentiful to get them through these arid stretches of desert. That’s all this part of the journey was—mountains and streams followed by miles of barren sand. Feast followed by famine.

  Ironic how the landscape matched his state of mind. He’d go from wanting to claim Rebecca as his own to wanting to do the honorable thing and return her to her intended. Most days, the battle between his feelings and his integrity occupied his every thought.

  Feelings would have already won, were it not for his lack of assets and the wealth of honor instilled in him from an early age. It didn’t matter that he wanted Becca. He wasn’t in any position to give her the kind of life she deserved.

  The best he could do was give her back her sense of self-worth, and then deliver her to the man who could give her everything else.

  He shifted on the jostling oak seat and glanced over at her. She was bent over a mound of fabric in her lap, totally absorbed with manipulating cloth and guiding a needle and thread.

  “Ouch.”

  “That wouldn’t happen if you’d refrain from sewing on a moving wagon.” She’d stuck herself at least a dozen times.

  “What?” She made a face and pointed to her ear.

  He slowed the team so she could hear him over the noise. “I said that wouldn’t happen if you’d refrain from sewing on a moving wagon.”