She said something he couldn’t make out.
He slowed the team some, so he could hear her over the rumble. “What did you say?”
“I said it's so empty.”
“It is. But that emptiness is opportunity. We can shape it, make it our own.”
A crease appeared between her brows as her eyes searched his. “Do you really think we can?”
“I do. It won't be easy, but with some effort, we can make a life for ourselves here. A good life.”
Jackson faced forward and urged the team to resume their original pace.
As the sun climbed higher, Amanda's posture began to slump, her face growing pale and etched with fatigue.
Jackson slowed the team again. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m just tired.” She attempted a smile and failed miserably. “It's been a long journey.”
Jackson stared at the road ahead, debating. Twelve miles was nearly a full day’s ride in a wagon, and he didn’t want to be navigating unfamiliar paths in the dark. But she needed a rest. “Let's take a break, get some food in you.”
He guided the horses off the trail, bringing the wagon to a stop near a small copse of trees. With practiced ease, he jumpeddown and circled around to Amanda's side. “Here, let me help you,” he said, reaching up to support her. He lowered her to the ground then kept a guiding hand at her waist as she walked.
“I can manage,” she insisted weakly, her pride obviously warring with exhaustion.
Jackson’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “I know you can, but you don't have to.”
As they reached the shade, Amanda leaned against him, seeming grateful for his strength, and whispered, “Thank you.”
He patted her hip reassuringly. “You never have to thank me for being a gentleman. You’re clearly unwell. I’d be a poor excuse for a man if I didn’t help.” He found a soft patch of grass and lowered her onto it. “Now, sit there and rest while I get you something to eat.”
He retrieved his satchel from the wagon and set out a simple spread on a clean cloth. His hands worked methodically, slicing bread and cheese, mindlessly preparing rations from years of military routine while his thoughts ran amok.
Amanda sat with her legs tucked under her skirt, her eyes following his every move and filled with warring emotions—gratitude for his care tinged with guilt so heavy it weighted her slender shoulders. “You don't have to fuss so,” she said, her fingers absently plucking at blades of grass.
“It's no fuss,” he said as he divided an apple between them then handed over her meal in a cloth. “You need to keep up your strength.”
She nibbled on the apple and took a few small bites from her sandwich, her mind clearly elsewhere.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said, settling beside her with his lunch.
Amanda looked as if she didn’t want to answer. “I was just thinking about home. And the future. I still can’t believe myfather didn’t question you when you asked for my hand instead of my sister’s.”
“He seemed a little surprised, but he didn’t challenge my choice. Most of our conversation revolved around my ability to provide for you and my plans to move west.”
“You should have told him I was pregnant.”
“I would’ve, if it had come to that, but I wanted to spare you that shame.”
Amanda looked down and placed a hand on her growing abdomen, which was still hidden by her clothes. “They’ll figure it out as soon as the baby’s born.”
“Not if we wait a few months to send the birth announcement.”
She looked back up at him, obviously conflicted.
“Do you regret your decision?”
“No. It's just...”
