By midday, the rain still fell, and Parson led them into a cluster of pines thick enough to provide shelter. “Let’s eat a bite here and rest the horses.”
The food pack was strapped onto Grant’s pack mule, so he dismounted and worked to pull out the smoked meat and cornbread Parson had cooked up before they left the rendezvous. Frank came to his side and took the food Grant handed him.
Something about the younger man standing so close beside him brought a sensation of familiarity. As if they’d stood like this before.
He glanced sideways, but Frank’s hat shielded most of his face, since he was shorter than Grant. He could see the man’s shirt, though, and again that familiar feeling swept through him—along with an awareness of the way the wet cloth clung to his body.
Revealing definite curves.
His mind struggled to catch up with what he was seeing. To process what it all meant. Then a flash of memory slipped in. Him, standing next to the woman by thewaterfall. Showing her the map he kept in his pocket. She’d been wet, drenched from the spray, her dress clinging to her frame. To her curves.
Exactly the way this shirt outlined the form of the person standing next to him.
Realization swept through, souring in his gut. This was no boy.Notthe brother.
The woman herself.
She must have realized something in him had changed, for she looked up at him, tipping her hat to reveal her wide eyes. Drips of water had run down her cheeks and chin, clearing away the mud she’d plastered there and revealing smooth, tanned skin.
His gaze dropped to her hands, which held a pack of meat. Fingers too small to be a boy’s. They weren’t delicate and pale like his wife’s had been. The nails were short and dirty, the skin darkened from hours in the sun. But definitely a woman’s hands.
He took a step back as his mind processed what this meant on the journey. They couldn’t allow a woman to travel with all these men. He jerked his gaze to her face again. She could possibly be the nineteen years she’d claimed. When Gloria was that age, he’d just begun courting her. She’d been fashionable and coy and—he found out later—determined to catch him, if only to frustrate her father by setting her sights beneath his plans for her.
This woman was completely opposite of Gloria. But she ignited his protective instincts in a way his wife never had. Gloria had never needed this kind of protection ... at least he’d not thought so.
As pain twisted in his belly, a new determination rosewithin him. He’d not protected his wife the way he should have. Not at the end. But maybe he could redeem himself now, at least in a small way.
She still stared at him, like a frightened deer. Probably waiting for his reaction. He could start with learning her name. He didn’t even know Frank’s last name—rather, the last name of the person he’d thought was Frank. But she might have made that up too, if he’d asked.
He kept his voice low. “Who are you?”
Her gaze turned wary. “Frank. Frank Collins.”
Grant growled and shook his head. “I mean who are youreally? I know you’re the one I met at the waterfall. What’s your name? And I don’t want a lie this time.”
She wilted. Nearly melted in front of him as her shoulders sank and her expression collapsed. Her neck flexed as she swallowed. How had he not noticed the thin column of her neck? Certainly no Adam’s apple there.
She opened her mouth, and he had to lean in to hear her quiet words. “Faith Collins.”
But then she straightened, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin to meet his gaze. “You’re not to tell the others.”
He raised his brows. “You’re in a fine position to make demands.”
She blinked, then a corner of her mouth curved. Her face lit, even with only that tiny movement. Her eyes twinkled. “I suppose you have a point.”
He tried to hold onto his frustration, but that grin had a way of clearing his mind. He shook his head to bring back his focus. “You can’t travel with all these men.”
Her smile dimmed a little but didn’t fade completely. “That’s why they need to think I’m a man.”
He scowled. “A boy. Not a day over fifteen.”
She wrinkled her nose, but still kept her grin. “Fifteen, then. Will you keep my secret?”
“Ya’ll huntin’ the game over there too?” Parson’s voice broke through their conversation. “Just pull out the meat and pass it around.”
Faith—Miss Collins—sent him a final pleading look, then turned and carried the pouch of jerky to the other men.
Grant’s mind spun as he pulled out the cornbread and took it to Riggs. “Pass it around.”
