That thought felt like a long slog through mud. Matthew tried to push it from his mind as he took a small sip from the canteen. They had to reach the river today, or he’d be facing something a lot more terrible than choosing another woman to write to. His throat was parched with the small rations of water he’d had yesterday, and there was barely enough left in the canteen to sustain the both of them through the day.
With the need to get to the river in mind, he gently shook Miss Zane’s shoulder until she awoke. She blinked at him with eyes as dark as chocolate as she pushed a strand of hair from her face. A tiny stab of disappointment sliced through Matthew at the fact that she was not Miss Timperman.
“Water?” He held out the canteen to distract himself from that line of thinking. She reached out a hand and he handed it to her. “Just a sip.”
She dutifully drank only a little before returning the canteen to him. “I am awfully thirsty.”
“I know.” He slung the canteen over his shoulder. This was the first complaint she’d had, and it was hardly one at all. He could addresilientto the list of Miss Zane’s attributes. “I am too. I’m hopeful we’ll reach the river today if we start walking now.”
She nodded and stood before bending over to pick up his coat. As she handed it to him, her face, still pink from yesterday’s sun, went an even deeper shade of red.
She didn’t need to ask, and he mentally berated himself for not offering to distance himself for a few minutes last night so she could attend to her needs. “I’ll wait over there.” Matthew pointed in a northerly direction.
Miss Zane nodded gratefully, and in a short time, she joined him and they were on their way again.
The walk was quieter today. As many questions as he had about Miss Zane, Matthew feared speaking would only make them both thirstier, and so he kept conversation to the minimal amount needed.
The day stretched on and on. Matthew kept an eye out for snakes, outlaws, and the welcome water of the Arkansas River. He steered Miss Zane away from a rattler midafternoon, when the creature’s telltale sound made him grab hold of her arm. She didn’t protest, instead allowing him to lead her in a wide berth around the snake.
And when she said, “Thank you” in that melodic voice of hers, all his troubles felt as if they’d retreated toward the horizon. Only when he finally let go of her arm and tore his eyes from hers did they come rushing back—along with every shred of his sense.
He needed a woman who was honest, not one who had lied and schemed her way to Colorado. He would repeat that to himself as much as necessary, even as he questioned it.
Step after step, they continued through the sagebrush, spiky grasses, and sandy dirt, despite the rawness in their throats. Here and there, a cheerful wildflower poked its face up from the monotony, a reminder that there was hope still to be had. Matthew clung to that hope. He thought of his parents waiting back in Crest Stone, the land he’d purchased, his dreams of a ranch, his friends in town, and the woman at his side—the one who entrusted him to lead her to safety—and he kept going.
Late in the day, the glint of something bright nearly blinded him.
“What is that?” Miss Zane asked, holding a hand over her eyes to shade them from the sun that had begun its decline toward the western horizon.
Matthew stopped and squinted. It couldn’t be . . . He almost didn’t dare hope it was. And if anything, he didn’t want to raise Miss Zane’s hopes. “Let’s find out.”
She nodded, and from the way she held his gaze, he knew she understood. But the smile that crossed her face as she turned to look forward again was contagious, and he found himself grinning in anticipation of the cool, wet river that awaited them.
Chapter Nine
THEY REACHED THE RIVERin just under an hour. It was slow and sluggish at this time of year, and it rolled by them as if it didn’t care at all about their arrival.
