Page 27 of Mail-Order Lady

Mrs. Wang. He spun. How could he have forgotten about her? Some kind of protector he was.

But Mrs. Wang still lay relaxed in the bed of the wagon. She waved them off, and her eyes drifted shut again.

He heaved out a breath. All was well then…at least for now. He could no longer see around the corner to gauge where the other traveler was.

Another glance at Clara showed she faced forward now, settling back into her usual position.

He took up the reins in both hands, getting a better grip than before. “Walk on, boys.”

The geldings started out in tandem, and the wagon settled into the same cadence it had maintained all morning.

He waited a quarter hour before glancing back again. No sign of dust rising from the road. No rig either—nothing on the horizon that suggested a hired team. The fellow on the roan had probably turned north toward Butte, maybe trying to meet up with the Mullan Road. And Margaret McKinney, wherever she was at this hour, hadn’t quickly put a driver on the road behind them.

He didn’t quite trust the empty road. But he’d take it.

By the time the sun had begun to sink behind the peaks ahead, he’d been looking for a place to camp for a half hour at least. The first day on the trail was always the hardest, even though they’d been traveling this route two days before.

Clara, for her part, hadn’t complained once. She’d barely even shifted on the seat, though she had to be near numb from the hard bench.

He found a hollow just as the light dropped behind the ridge—a natural bowl below the trail, sheltered on three sides by a low cutbank and a stand of cottonwoods that sheltered a narrow creek, if he remembered correctly.

He pulled the team off the trail and down the gentle slope into the dip, and the sound of the wind cut off almost immediately. Better than he’d hoped.

“We’ll stop here.” He set the brake, and Clara was already climbing down on her side. She didn’t need his help, clearly, though Mrs. Wang would appreciate a hand down.

He came around to the back and helped her to the ground. She descended with her usual unhurried dignity, then moved toward the cottonwoods, likely to relieve herself and gather firewood. She’d made camp enough times to know what needed doing first.

Clara had already begun untying the canvas over the supply boxes in the wagon bed.

“I’ll see to the horses.” He moved to the nearest trace and started loosening the leather buckle. “If you and Mrs. Wang can manage the fire.”

“Of course.”

He unhitched the team and led them to the creek. The thin, cold thread of water he remembered running over smooth stones was now wide enough that he'd be challenged to step over without jumping. He let the animals drink, then picketed them on a line between two cottonwoods where the grass was decent, and rubbed each one down with a handful of dry grass.

The smell of woodsmoke wafted through the air before he’d finished with the second horse.

When he came back into the hollow, Clara was crouched beside a small fire, adjusting larger sticks in the flame to nestle the water pot near the heat. Apparently the women had already gathered cooking water. How had he missed their movements near him?

Of course Mrs. Wang was more than capable of moving easily through the mountains. He grinned at the woman, who sat on a flat stone nearby, placing food on plates. When they’d stopped at midday, she’d brought out fare from the hotel kitchen. Beans, roasted foul, and even a wedge of cheese. Now she looked to be dividing the remainder between three plates.

He scooped up the drinking flasks and took them to the creek to refill.

When he arrived by the fire again, Clara handed him a plate and motioned to a log they’d dragged over.

“Sit. You must be exhausted.”

No more than her.

He let himself meet her gaze as he accepted the dish. The firelight flickered off her cheek, rendering it even smoother than usual. The way her eyes smiled, even when her mouth didn’t form the expression… This woman was so beautiful it made his chest ache.

The pink in her cheeks now didn’t help—the same color that had brightened them this afternoon when she’d worked herself off his lap and given him that sheepish smile. His legs still burned where her hands had braced against his knees.

And she was his wife.

His wife.

How had this happened?