He sat down, but his gaze lingered on her. As he ate the hearty breakfast she'd prepared, he noticed her untouched plate and the pallor of her skin. But before he could press further, she busied herself with cleaning up, skillfully evading his concern.
"Deborah," he started, but she cut him off.
"Go on, Aaron. The cattle won't drive themselves to Fort Worth."
"All right," he said reluctantly, sensing this wasn't the time to argue.
Outside, the air was thick with dust and the lowing of cattle. Aaron mounted his horse, the familiar creak of leather comforting. His men were already waiting, their faces set with determination.
"Ready, boss?" Pete asked, tipping his hat back.
"Let's do this," Aaron replied, the words rumbling from deep within his chest. He glanced back at the house once more, wishing Deborah stood there waving him off.
The drive was long and hot. It was already October, and it should be cooling off soon, but it didn’t seem like soon enough to Aaron. They pushed the cattle along, the animals stirring up clouds of dust that clung to their clothes and skin. Despite the grueling work, there was camaraderie among the men—a shared joke here, a pat on the back there. They were a team, bound by sweat and the danger they’d shared.
"Hotter than a billy goat in a pepper patch," Jim remarked, wiping his brow with a dusty sleeve.
"Yep," Aaron agreed, squinting against the glare of the sun. "But we'll make good time if we keep at this pace."
"Deborah'll be proud, boss," Tom added with a grin.
Aaron nodded, his heart swelling with pride—and a twinge of worry for his wife left behind. But he shook it off, focusing on the task at hand.
"Come evening, we'll be in Fort Worth," he said. "Then it's just a matter of selling these beasts and heading home."
*****
DEBORAH SAT ON THEporch, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze following the path that led away from their homestead. The silence of Aaron's absence clung to the air like the summer heat, pressing down upon her with an unfamiliar weight. She turned as the screen door creaked and Cassandra stepped out, carrying two glasses of lemonade.
"Here," Cassandra said, offering one of the glasses. "You look like you could use this."
"Thank you." Deborah took a sip, the tartness making her pucker slightly. "I've been feeling off, Cassandra. Not just my stomach. It's like everything's topsy-turvy."
"Tell me about it," Cassandra urged, her voice steady and concerned.
"I can't keep much down, and I'm tired all the time. At first, I thought it was worry for Aaron, but now..." Deborah trailed off, her blue eyes clouded with uncertainty.
"Let's see Hortense. She'll have something for your stomach, at least." Cassandra's suggestion was practical, as always. Hortense was the local midwife who also did a great deal of healing with herbs.
"Suppose it couldn't hurt," Deborah murmured, allowing a faint smile to touch her lips as they set off down the road.
The walk to Hortense Blakely's place wasn't long, but the sun bore down unrelentingly. Hortense's herb garden welcomed them with its fragrant promise of relief. The older woman met them at the door, her keen eyes missing nothing.
"Come in, come in," Hortense beckoned, leading them to her cluttered kitchen where jars of dried herbs lined the shelves.
"Deborah's not well," Cassandra explained succinctly.
"Let's have a look at you, child," Hortense said, her fingers surprisingly gentle as she took Deborah's wrist, feeling for her pulse. “Let me examine you.” She led Deborah from the room to her spare bedroom, which she used for checking the women who came to her.
After a short exam, Hortense nodded sagely. "Well, I'd say congratulations are in order, Deborah. You're expecting."
"Expecting?" Deborah echoed, the word foreign yet filling her with a sudden rush of joy.
"Indeed. A little one on the way."
Overwhelmed, Deborah felt the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. "A baby..." She’d noticed her cycle had been missing for a couple of months, but she’d thought it was the stress of Aaron almost dying.
"Let's get you some ginger tea for the mornings,” Hortense suggested, already moving to gather the necessary ingredients.
