What happened to change her so that she wouldn’t look at him?
He could think of nothing.
She’d told him she needed to work off a debt to the Stones. Had Mrs. Stone said or done something to remind Addie of that? Perhaps making her feel there was no room in her life for anything else but their work.
“Whoa. This is where the passengers have to walk.” They’d reached a section of road barely wide enough to accommodate the coach wheels. Hawk and Nash had discussed how to handle this situation, and Hawk had said he thought they’d manage. “But”—he’d said—“I won’t put the travelers at risk.”
“I’ll tell them.” Nash climbed down. He pulled open the door.
“Another delay. Thisis?—”
Nash ignored Mr. Bertrand’s complaint. “The road is narrow and slippery. Hawk wants us to walk.”
Mr. Bertrand was the first out, grumbling the whole time.
Nash helped Mr. Zacharius, who took in the scene.
“Oh my!” He looked behind them, but there was no going back for any of them.
Mrs. Stone grasped Nash’s hand, and he guided her to a dry spot before he turned to assist Addie. But she climbed down on her own. Her foot landed in a mud puddle that, if she’d accepted his help, she would have avoided.
Lifting her skirt hem, she shook her foot and turned, her gaze crashing into his with such force he drew back. Before he could ask for—hope for—an explanation for her behavior, she jerked her attention to the others and joined her mother.
“I’ll help you.” He spoke to Mrs. Stone but meant it for Addie as well. “It’s very slippery. Addie, wait here, and I’ll come back for you. You too.” He extended his offer to the men.
Mrs. Stone clung to him as they picked their way across the treacherous trail. A sheer drop-off on one side and numerous puddles at their feet…some deep enough to go over low footwear.
Mr. Bertrand marched ahead of them, but after splashing himself with mud twice, he slowed down and followed Nash. The incline of the road caused Nash’s feet to slide backward several times. He barely caught himself and prevented Mrs. Stone from falling on her face.
They reached the crest. He led the woman to a grassy spot. Mr. Bertrand chugged after them.
Stubborn Addie had started up the trail. Her feet mired in the mud, and she fell forward on her hands.
“Wait!” he called, but the look she sent his way blared refusal. Unmindful of the mud he sent spraying from his boots, he hurried back to her. “I’m going to help you.” Whether or not she wanted it. “Give me your hand.” He extended his arm and waited.
“I can do it.” She pushed upright and then tried to free a foot from the mud. It didn’t release, putting her off-balance.
He caught her arm and prevented her downfall. “I don’t know why you’re angry with me.” The words came through gritted teeth. “But I’m not about to let you lay in the mud because of it.” His grip on her arm remained firm as she worked her shoes free.
Their progress was slow. He meant to get some answers from her before they reached dry ground. “What have I done to offend you?”
“Was Mother all right when you got to the top?”
“She’s fine.” He didn’t want to talk about her mother, the mountains surrounding them, or whether or not those were storm clouds building in the west. “You’re not. Why?”
She struggled to free one foot from the mud, balancing her weight on his arm.
“It’s time to move on.”
But he didn’t lift his foot, didn’t take a step forward. “Don’t you think I deserve to know why you are treating me this way?” He moved in front of her and looked into her face.
Her gaze darted to the side, shifted to the sky behind his shoulder, and then to the valley gaping to the side. Inch by inch, her gaze came to him, at first looking at his chin, but then making its measured way to his eyes.
She studied him.
Anger—or was it regret?—seeped from her gaze. Then shegave a sigh and a little nod. “I’ve been behaving badly. I apologize.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
