Chapter Six
“HARRIET.” MISS TIMPERMANlooked straight ahead as she repeated her sister’s name. There was a spark of hesitation in her voice, and Matthew hoped all was well with the younger Miss Timperman. “Well . . . which story of her did you enjoy the most?”
Matthew thought through the few she’d mentioned in the letters they’d exchanged. “The one with the rabbit. That one made me laugh so much I read it aloud to my parents.”
She finally looked at him and smiled. “Harriet does so love rabbits.”
Matthew tilted his head. If he remembered that story correctly, Harriet had run away from the wild rabbit outside their home. She was so frightened, she tripped right over the dog who had covered her face in kisses as Harriet was certain the rabbit would hop up and eat her alive. But thathadhappened some time ago, so perhaps . . . “She’s changed her mind about them, then?”
“She . . . uh . . . well, yes.” Miss Timperman glanced toward the ground, so quickly that Matthew wasn’t certain if her cheeks had actually gone pink or if he’d imagined it. “Please forgive me. I’m tired, and I fear I won’t be much of a storyteller at the moment.”
“Of course.” Matthew could have smacked himself. After all she’d been through, it was selfish of him to ask her to entertain him.
Off toward the west, the sun was beginning to sink, casting a glow that illuminated the mountains far off to the east. They wouldn’t have daylight much longer. “Why don’t we look for a place to make camp for the night?” he suggested.
She nodded, shooting him a grateful smile.
They walked on for a few more minutes before Matthew pointed out a lone tree. It wasn’t much, but it was as good a place as any. He took off his coat and laid it down on the flattest piece of ground he could find and gestured to Miss Timperman to sit.
“Thank you,” she said. “But what will you sleep on?”
“I’ll be fine.” He settled himself nearby, close enough to be of comfort—he hoped—but far enough away to keep her from thinking he was after anything untoward before their marriage.
Her stomach grumbled and she placed a hand over it. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m just as hungry. Tomorrow we’ll try to make better time, and perhaps we’ll arrive soon after that.” Or so he hoped. He’d done more traveling east than south in his search for her, so they couldn’t be too far away from the river. It was lack of water he worried about more than lack of food.
Keep faith. Matthew could hear his father’s voice in his head as he opened the canteen and handed it to Miss Timperman. She took only a sip, and he was grateful she was a sensible woman. It was difficult to stop when one was so thirsty, but she must know they wouldn’t make it to the river if they gulped the little water they had.
“We ought to get some sleep,” he said as he laid back on the ground, knowing he wouldn’t sleep much himself. Between the possibility of rattlesnakes and the outlaws changing their minds and returning, his mind would be too on edge to fall asleep for long.
What he would do if either of those possibilities—or any other just as heinous—came along, he didn’t know. Never in his life had he wished so much for a weapon of some sort. Even a butter knife would give him at least a degree of comfort now.
Miss Timperson curled up on her side, facing him. Matthew tried to keep his eyes facing upward, toward the stars that were beginning to dot the sky, instead of staring at her.
“It looks the same here as it does everywhere,” he said, more to distract himself from the way she looked to him to keep her safe than in actual admiration of the night sky. Although itwasimpressive, the thousands of pinpricks of light against the velvety black that would emerge after a while.
Miss Timperman turned to look up. “I don’t know. It somehow seems bigger here. With more stars than I remember seeing in Kansas City.”
Matthew frowned at the sky. She’d only been in Kansas City a short time, waiting to board the wagon train in Independence. “I would have thought they’d look the same at your farm,” he said carefully.
She said nothing for a moment, and then, “No. Most certainly not the same.”
He rolled over to face her. Something most definitely didn’t add up. The hair color, Harriet and the rabbit, the farm, the money . . . He hadn’t dared ask about the money. “Daisy,” he said slowly. “May I call you Daisy? I feel as if we know each other very well from our letters.”
“You may,” she said. She didn’t ask to call him Matthew in return.
