A series of frustrating negotiations later, she trudged back to the shop front. Though her stomach was fortified by a warm bowl of beef stew and cornbread from the restaurant on the corner, her pride was in tatters. Mack looked up from where he sat nibbling on a packet of crackers and sipping a fragrant mint tea.
“I’ve hired a wagon.” Her tone was flat, but at least it didn’t shake with frustration.
Mack frowned. “It’s nine or ten miles by land to Coupeville. We should hire a small boat.”
“In your condition? I can’t put you through that just because I made a mistake.”
The truth was, even though she sympathized with Mack’s condition, she would have tossed him aboard without an ounce of remorse. But unfortunately, only one captain was willing to brave the heavy fog, and his exorbitant price was three times that given by the local farmer who offered the use of his wagon. Her meager coins simply couldn’t cover the cost, and it would be beyond mortifying for Mack to know that.
“Really, it’s fi—”
“We’ll take the wagon.”
“As you command.” Mack stood and brushed crumbs off his jacket. They stepped inside the shop to pay Mack’s tab, adding two fresh muffins made by the shop owner’s wife and another pack of crackers for Mack. Clutching the small brown sack, Winnie led the way to the farmer’s mud-splattered, battered wagon. It would have to do.
“Front or back?” the farmer asked, scratching his scruffy beard flecked with whatever he’d been eating before their arrival.
Winnie could overlook his eating habits, but an unwashed odor rose from his wrinkled clothes. She didn’t wish to be called a snob, but she couldn’t possibly sit beside that man the entire ride andnotplug her nose. She glanced at Mack. He raised one eyebrow in silent communication.
“The back is fine,” she said.
The farmer shrugged. “Suit yourselves.”
Mack helped her into the wagon, and she sat between a couple bags of cabbages. Mack adjusted some bulkier sacks and settled in close to her. He side-eyed her, his lips twitching.
“This is fine,” she repeated.
“I like your spirit, Bobcat.”
The farmer clucked at the pair of ancient horses, and they rolled slowly through the town. Winnie eagerly observed each clapboard storefront and modest dwelling. A new place, even one she hadn’t intended on visiting, was nothing to be scoffed at. Her knowledge of the world was so limited that even a small harbor town on Whidbey Island provided her starving, intrepid heart with sustenance.
The first miles passed quickly, even pleasantly, and the cool breeze was a small price to pay for unfettered views of the countryside. Halfway through the journey, however, a thick undergrowth took over the edges of the narrow, uneven dirt road. The wagon leaned sharply, and Winnie gripped the side of the wagon bed with both hands. Just when the farmer got the horses under control, the back wheels jolted over a downed branch, and she flew into the air. Mack grabbed her ankle just in time, and she landed heavily on top of the cabbages.
“This might not be fine,” she said with a wince.
When Mack didn’t have a snappy reply, she stopped rubbing her bruised hip and looked up. His forehead was pinched, and beads of sweat clung to his temples. Even in the dusky twilight, his cheeks were pale.
“Are you going to be sick?” Though she meant it kindly, it came out like an accusation. She wasn’t sure she could handleanotherdelay.
“I’m trying my best,” he gritted out, his eyes closed.
She drew a breath and strived for patience. “Perhaps we should stop for a few minutes. Just to get your bearings.”
“I can deal with it.”
She eyed him doubtfully but decided to let him act tough for a while longer. When a pitiful moan slipped out, she shook her head and asked the farmer to stop.
“Go.” She nudged him with her boot. “Take a walk.”
He practically fell out of the back of the wagon and staggered into the trees. Winnie clambered down and rounded the front of the wagon to inform the farmer what was going on.
“I won’t wait long.” The farmer spat a wad of tobacco toward the ground, and Winnie tried not to gag. What she wouldn’t give to already be in Oak Harbor, comfortable in her hotel room and far away from these men.
“He’ll be along any moment,” she said with more confidence than she felt. But the minutes ticked by with no sign of Mack, and her already brittle nerves frayed even more. When the farmer pointed impatiently to thick gray clouds forming low in the sky, she said, “I’ll go find him. We’ll be right back.”
Before the irritable farmer could reply, she hurried in the direction Mack had disappeared. She found him a few minutes later, half supported against a tree trunk. “Are you quite all right?”
“Yes, I just wanted a few extra minutes without all that bouncing.”
