All more to like about him, which was proving to be a problem, because she didn’t need to like him any more than she already did.
Bellamy halted and scanned the sloping riverbank that spread out in the clearing. It was less populated with only a few tents, and it looked cleaner and didn’t have quite the stench as the other area.
“I’ll head down and inquire.” Bellamy moved off the trail while pinning her with a censuring look. “Please stay with the horses.”
“It’s not fair that you have different standards for men and women.”
He cocked his head and studied her for a moment longer than necessary in that unique way of his that said he was seeing more than most people.
“What?” she asked.
“Just so we’re clear, I don’t have a different standard, which is why I believe you as a woman have every right to keep writing and publishing.”
“But ...?”
“Nobuts. You also have a right to go into the immigrant camps, but I’d like to selfishly keep you safe.”
Selfishly keep her safe? What exactly did he mean by that? Whatever the insinuation, warmth wafted through her—warmth she didn’t want to feel and didn’t want to acknowledge. She had to force herself to ignore it.
“Bell-amy,” she dragged out his name with a teasing voice. “Are you implying that you care about me?”
He shook his head and returned to his descent. “Only to the extent that I’d like to avoid having your da kill me if anything happens to you.”
“Blame it on my da,” she called after him. “But I know the truth now.”
He snorted.
She smiled. She’d done it. She’d kept herself from having a lovesick moment over him. This game of feigning not to like him was complicated, but she could do it.
Her gaze snagged on a movement in the brush ahead. Someone or something ducked out of sight into the tall grass behind a dogwood. Had it been a rabbit or a squirrel? Or a person?
“Hush now,” said a child—a boy. It was followed by whining—decidedly from a girl, both resembling Seamus’s and Moya’s voices from the previous night.
Zaira’s heart thudded an extra beat.
Bellamy was already down the hill and making his way toward a tent. She wanted to yell out to him that she’d found the children, but she also didn’t want to scare Seamus into running away again.
She quickly secured the lead lines. Then, holding her breath, Zaira crept as quietly as possible toward the dogwood. She strained to hear anything more. But she couldn’t distinguish any sounds past the uniquechik-ewww.f the Mississippi kite with its slender gray body soaring nearby above the grassland, hunting the grasshoppers buzzing loudly in the heat of the day.
As she reached the dogwood, she didn’t hesitate. She pushed aside the low branches and was rewarded by the sight of two little faces, the sunshine bathing them and making them squint.
“Seamus and Moya.” Relief filled her. “I’ve been worried sick about the two of you all day.”
Seamus was holding a hand over Moya’s mouth. She said something, but his hand muffled the sound.
“We don’t need your help,” Seamus stated in a huff.
In the daylight, Zaira could see that both of them hadbrown hair—or perhaps their hair was brown because of the filth. Their faces were thin and smudged with dirt, making the blue-gray of their eyes all the brighter. Lines streaked through the dirt on Moya’s cheeks, probably from tears.
“It’s me, Zaira, from last night.” She held up both hands so they could see they had nothing to worry about. “Bellamy and I have been searching for you.”
Moya broke free of Seamus’s hold, and she scrambled forward before he could grab her back. In the next instant, she was flinging herself upon Zaira. The lass wrapped her arms around Zaira’s skirt and buried her face in the folds of satiny material.
“You’re just fine,” Zaira crooned. “Everything will be all right.”
“I want my mama.” Moya’s heartbroken cry was garbled in Zaira’s skirt, but it was still clear enough.
Seamus slid out of the brush and tugged on his sister. “Come with you now, Moya.”
