Page 26 of Mail-Order Lady

The road was empty.

That was a good sign. Right?

He shifted the reins to one hand and risked a glance at Clara.

She watched the scenery ahead on her side of the wagon—a bluff and a cluster of cottonwood trees. The breeze had pulled that same piece of hair free from her pins, and the strand fluttered along the curve of her cheek in a way that⁠—

He forced his eyes back to the road.

The trail shifted northwest ahead as they moved from the plain into the mountain country. The team was so seasoned, he didn’t need to guide them to stay on the road when the track was this wide. Just keep the reins steady.

As they curved around a boulder, he let his gaze travel back again.

A small rise of dust hung in the distance. Perhaps half a mile. Maybe more.

His pulse kicked up. Would they try to overtake the wagon? Or had they been paid to follow at a distance?

The dust hung low and thin—the kind a single horse raised, not a hired rig with a team and a driver.

Not Margaret then. But maybe someone she’d hired.

Or perhaps just a stranger who’d set out from Fort Benton today. Mayhap the man who’d been saddling his mount at the livery while Irish helped Robert hitch the team. The rider had been poorly suited to the animal. That was the thing that stood out more than anything.

Not the rough coat or the unshaven jaw and longish hair or the way the fellow had angled himself away when Robert glanced over. Men looked like that all over Fort Benton and the entire territory. He’d long since stopped reading character from grimy clothes.

But the horse had sidestepped as the stranger tried to check the girth, and the man had yanked at the bridle in the impatient way of someone who hadn’t grown up around animals. A roan as spunky as that one would be a handful for a greenhorn.

One of his own horses stumbled, jerking Robert’s focus back to the present. He gripped the reins tighter as the front wheel dipped off the road. The wagon lurched hard to his side.

Clara slammed into him, nearly sprawling across his lap. He fought to pull the rig back to the road. To keep the gelding from going down.

The animal finally regained his footing, and Robert reined the team to the right to pull the wagon back up on level road.

The wheel caught solid ground again with a jolt that shook them all. After another few steps on even ground, he hauled back on the reins to halt the team.

The animals pulled to a stop, breathing as hard as he was.

His pulse thundered as he shifted his focus to Clara. “Are you all right?” She lay across his lap, both hands braced on his knees. Had she been hurt?

“I’m…fine.” She sounded breathless. And shaken.

As he was. But more from the feel of her body against his than anything else. Her warmth spread like a blanket across his legs.

She started to work herself back to sitting, and he shifted the reins to one hand to help her.

Or maybe to keep her in place. Every part of his body would rather pull her closer.

But he gripped her elbow to help her upright. She gave him a sheepish smile. A flush warmed her cheeks, and the spring sun wasn't entirely to blame.

“Are you hurt?” He dropped his voice a bit, but the tone came out far too intimate.

She darted her gaze to her hands and straightened a little more. “I’m fine. Sorry about that.”

He cleared his throat to add a bit of propriety to his tone. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I think a bit of rock at the edge of the road must’ve crumbled.” Or he’d not been paying close enough attention.

He’d better remedy that.

Clara turned to the back of the wagon. “Are you hurt, Bea?”