Juniper turned the direction he pointed. “Come with me, Faith.” A bit of time outside camp was exactly what she needed.
The distraction worked, for by the time she and her sister returned with arms full of pine branches, she was exhausted and ready to collapse on top of them. Hopefully she could keep her mind off Riley long enough to sleep tonight.
Twelve
The tent was just wide enough for the four of them to sleep under its shelter, and Riley laid his bedding a few steps away. His bedding didn’t consist of quilts as theirs did, but a fur to lay on and a woolen blanket to cover himself with, the kind that had been packed in the supply wagons.
Darkness had almost settled fully by the time they ate and packed away the remnants of food. Back home, they wouldn’t have thought to retire this early. But from that first long day on the trail west, the moment work was done in the evening, Juniper longed to collapse onto her blankets.
Now, though, as she sat on her bedding at one end of the tent, she couldn’t bring herself to lie down. This wasn’t even a tent, really. More like a roof with a bit of oilskin hanging partway down the back. With Riley stretched out mere steps away from the front, he was right there. So very close.
Rosie and Faith had gone to the little trickle of water down the slope to refill their drinking containers and wash up for bed. She and Lorelei had already finished that task,and her sister now lay with the coyote pup tucked against her side, feeding it scraps of meat.
Riley sat on his blankets, facing uphill, which put his side to them. He was writing in a book, likely a journal. And maybe that was why she was having trouble settling into sleep. What was he writing in there? Only a description of what he’d done that day, or were they his thoughts? Maybe it wasn’t a diary of the events of his life. Perhaps he kept a log of weather, or animals he saw, or his communications with tribes. He might even be writing a novel. There were at least a hundred things he could be penning on those pages. A thousand. Ten thousand. And that made her want to know all the more.
The only way she would ever know was to ask. Did she dare pry that far? Perhaps she could just speak of it in general terms. And better to do it now before Rosie and Faith returned to provide even more of an audience.
She picked up a strand of long grass and twisted it in her fingers. “Do you keep a daily log of things that happen during your time in these mountains? I would think you’d have a great many adventures to report.” There, that didn’t sound so much like she was nosing into his personal affairs.
He glanced up, his expression almost startled, as though he’d not felt her watching him. “No, but I’ve trapped with several men who did that, and I’m sure their journals would make for lively reading. My writing wouldn’t be so interesting.” He dipped his head back to his paper like he planned to say nothing more.
Disappointment pressed in her chest, and maybe a bit of frustration too. Perhaps it was rude of her to be curious, but it was just as ungentlemanly of him to ignore her veiledrequest. He must realize what she was asking. Though she’d heard men weren’t always aware of subtle hints. Perhaps she should come out and ask the question straightaway.
She tossed aside the mangled grass blade and reached for another. “If not a daily log, what are you writing?” She managed to keep her voice casual, but breathing through the pressure in her chest proved harder. There was nothing that couldn’t be considered nosy in what she’d just asked.
He lifted his focus again and raised his brows at her. A definite sign he realized she’d stepped too far. “I’m not writing much, just a basic description of the terrain. Mostly I’m sketching a map.” He turned the book so she could see.
The weight on her chest fell away, and she sucked in a breath at the surprise of what he showed. “Really?” Of the long list her mind had conjured, making a map was not among the things she’d considered. In fact, drawing in any form hadn’t been included. But why not? The forms of art usually weren’t far from her thoughts. Though could mapmaking be considered art?
She couldn’t see the map well, and the wording was too small to read from this distance, but what details she could make out looked very much like other maps she’d seen, with shading that could be mountains or trees. And a set of squiggly lines must be the river.
Yes, what he held up was definitely art, though not the same level of details as her own sketches. But he wouldn’t be able to spend weeks on each drawing as she did.
She looked back to his face. “Have you been contracted as a surveyor?” Wasn’t that the kind of work his father had done? Or maybe he’d been a guide for surveying parties.
Riley shook his head, turning the book back to face himself.“It’s just for my own records. I traveled so much with the cavalry that I started sketching all the places we went to keep track of them. Then, when I mustered out and started trapping, I kept up the practice. It’s kind of interesting to see how much of the land on either side of the Rockies I’ve traveled through.” He dipped his head again and returned his pencil to the paper, but this time he seemed to retreat into the work, almost as if he was embarrassed about revealing so much.
“That’s fascinating. Do you try to travel a different route every time you go somewhere so you can see new terrain?”
The corners of his mouth curved, and he glanced up at her. “If I have that liberty. If I’m traveling with a larger group, I don’t usually get to decide our trail.”
She dipped her chin. “Makes sense. Are there places you mark that you’d like to return to later? Maybe in a different season?”
Again, a hint of embarrassment touched his features, but this time he didn’t return to his work. “Some. The Rockies have so many pretty spots. I mark the ones I like best, but like I said, I don’t always plan my travels for pleasure.”
This new side of him made him even more fascinating than before. “Are there any places you haven’t yet been where you hope to travel to?”
A spark lit his eyes, then he dropped his gaze back down to the page on his lap. He didn’t resume sketching, though, just seemed to be considering. “I’d like to go farther north. Follow the backbone of the Rockies as far as it goes. I don’t know of another man who’s done that, and there’s definitely no maps for it. There are so many mountains and really high elevations, which means all travel would need to be doneduring the summer months. I think it would take more than one summer to follow them all the way north and sketch the land.”
As he spoke, his tone took on an excitement it didn’t normally hold. Not volume, for he still kept his voice low. But this dream meant something to him. He’d been thinking on it for a while, from the sound of things.
She tried to work through such a journey in her own mind. “That sounds like something that would be hard to do alone if the mountains are as numerous as you say. Traveling with a group would be easier, no?”
He gave a slow nod. “That’s why I haven’t done it. Any man who’s trekked across the Rockies once knows how treacherous the journey is. Riding the crest for months at a time would be hard. But something about those mountains, being in the middle with peaks stretching as far as you can see in every direction ... it makes you realize how small you are. It gets in your soul.”
She could imagine what he described. This open land they traveled through already made her feel that way. What would it be like to take the journey he spoke of? To paint some of those majestic views?
The swish of quiet footsteps coming up the slope broke through their conversation, and they both turned to watch Rosemary and Faith approach in the near darkness. She’d forgotten about Lorelei lying on her blankets, hearing her conversation. There wasn’t anything shecouldn’toverhear. But what did she think of Riley’s dream? She had her face turned away as she watched their sisters’ entrance into the little camp.
