"Actually, kind sir, I would love to get away from these lumbering beefsteaks." Arching her back to work out the kinks, Ashleen surrendered the bullwhip to Renny. "Between you and me, Renny me darlin', the only use I can see for oxen is dinner."
"We should've kept the horses." Renny's lip thrust out, his eyes sullen. "They would've been fine. I know it."
Ash tucked a wispy curl beneath her bonnet and lay a hand on Renny's thin one. His nails were bitten to the quick, a dozen scratches crisscrossing his skin from his forays through the brush.
"I wish we could have kept the horses, too, Ren," she said with a sigh. "But now that we've been on the trail awhile, I have to admit that Mr. MacQuade was right. The trail is too rough for them, the wagon too heavy. They would've broken their hearts lugging this big hulk of a thing all the way to Texas."
Renny gave a snort of disbelief, but Ashleen rushed on. "At least we got to keep Cooley," she said, waving her hand to where the horse was tied to the wagon, its velvety muzzle turned pointedly away from the milk cow trudging alongside. "I don't know what we'd have done without that horse of yours."
"I do. I wouldn't've gone! I would've—would've told that Mr. MacQuade to—to go to hell."
"Renny!"
The boy flushed, but his eyes were narrowed with defiance. "Well, he says it all the time, and you never tell him not to."
"I am not responsible for Mr. MacQuade's language, Renny O'Manion. But I am responsible for yours. 'Heck' is a perfectly acceptable substitute—"
"It's not half as good as hell. Babies like Liam say heck, and—"
"So will you, unless you want me to scrub your mouth out with a prickly pear."
The threat seemed dastardly, but immediately Renny's stubborn-set lips began to twitch. They split into a reluctant, pouting grin.
"Now, try to keep control of these high-spirited beasts while I'm away," Ashleen teased him, tweaking his nose. "I know they race at terrifying speed, but I have faith that you'll manage to keep 'em from running away."
"If only they would run," Renny groaned.
"Well, Mr. MacQuade insists it's possible for them to get restive—especially if they're thirsty. But I have a hard time believing it."
"I think a whole tribe of Indians could come whoopin' down on 'em, and they wouldn't even blink," Renny said sullenly.
Ashleen's laughter rang on the air as she leapt lightly down from the wagon. "I certainly hope we never have the opportunity to find out."
For a while she wandered along beside the vehicle, glad of the opportunity to work the kinks out of stiff muscles. But before long her gaze tracked again from the dark-braided hair of Meggie to Garret MacQuade, her mind drifting back to her earlier musings.
No, she had not imagined Meggie's fascination with the glowering man who served as their guide. If there were just some way to bring them together—she grimaced—for longer than three seconds of snapping out commands, was it possible that the child might actually respond? It was the faintest of hopes. And yet with each week, each day, each hour Meggie spent in her silent world, Ashleen feared it would be harder and harder to break the child free of whatever bonds entrapped her.
If MacQuade could stir even the slightest of reactions from the little girl, Ashleen had to try.
How? Ash thought wryly. By inviting the man to a banquet in his honor? The smile faded, and she caught her lip between her teeth. No. A simple plate of roast prairie chicken and a dried-apple pie. A half hour, maybe more, for Meggie to be close to Garret MacQuade... listen to him talk... and, pray God, to talk herself.
Ashleen sucked in a bracing breath. She paced back to the side of the wagon, laying one hand on the rough wood as she angled her face up toward Renny. "You watch the younger ones for me, Ren. I—I think I'm going to walk ahead and talk to Mr. MacQuade."
"Why? He'll just yell at you."
"Probably. But I'm going to invite him to dinner anyway."
"What?" Renny exploded. "You can't—can't—the way he's always scowlin', he'll make the milk go sour."
"Then you'd best be prepared to drink water." Ash looked up into the boy's face, high above her on the wagon seat. Lines of disgust furrowed Renny's brow, his mouth puckered as if he'd just had a gulp of milk as distasteful as he'd predicted. "Renny," she explained gently, "in spite of all Mr. MacQuade's shouting, he is being very kind. He didn't have to guide us."
"I wish he hadn't."
"Be that as it may, if he does come this evening, I'm depending on you to be polite."
"Not to him, I won't! After the way he treated you, and the way he yelled at Meggie, and—"
"Renny, I'm asking you to be polite as a favor to me. Please." Ash glanced again to the solitary horseman. "He probably won't come anyway," she said, more to herself than the boy.
