Page 39 of Mail-Order Lady

“Robert.”

“Yes.” The word was a half-second late.

“How far to the next water?”

“Two hours.” A pause longer than the answer warranted. “Maybe three.”

The team was drifting toward the right edge of the road. Did he see it?

She reached out and touched his arm.

He startled. Had he fallen asleep? He pulled tight on the left rein, and the team swung back toward the center of the road.

She drew a breath. She had to take action. “Robert. Stop the wagon.”

He glanced at her. “What?” The team didn’t slow.

“Stop the wagon.” She kept her voice perfectly level. “Please.”

He pulled back on the reins, and the team eased to a halt in the middle of the flat stretch. He set the brake. The geldings stood breathing hard, their heads dipping low.

He turned on the seat to face her. The hollows under his eyes were nearly black in the morning light.

“What’s wrong?”

She made her hands unclasp themselves in her lap. “You’re what’s wrong. You haven’t slept in four nights. The wagon almost ran off the road just now, and you didn’t see it until I said your name. You’re going to drive off this trail if you keep going, Robert, and I can’t sit beside you and let it happen.”

His face didn’t change. “I’m fine⁠—”

“You’re not.” The words came out too sharp.

He blinked once.

She softened her voice. “You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine since we left Fort Benton. I don’t know what’s wrong, and you won’t tell me. I can’t make you confide in me, but I also can’t let you keep going without sleep. Let me drive, and you rest.”

His jaw moved. “Clara⁠—”

She shook her head hard. “I’m going to drive.”

“You can’t⁠—”

“I can. I’ve been watching you for six days, and the ten days to Fort Benton before that. I know the team. I know the brake. I know the road runs flat for the next several miles—I heard you tell Bea so at supper last night. You can take over again the moment the terrain turns difficult. Until then, I am going to drive, and you are going to lie down in the back with Bea and sleep. Or else we’ll stay parked right here while you sleep. You decide.”

He stared at her.

She’d never spoken to him this way. She’d never spoken to anyone this way.

The stillness on the wagon seat stretched between them.

He looked at her for a long moment. Something moved behind his eyes—not quite surprise, not quite resistance. More like a man who’d been walking a very long road and had just been told he could sit down.

His jaw worked once. He eyed the team, the road ahead, then his own hands on the reins.

“The near gelding pulls a little left on the downslopes.” His voice had gone hoarse. “You have to keep light pressure on the off rein, or he’ll drift you wide on the turns. The brake handle sticks halfway down. You have to push it hard. Don’t ease into it.”

“All right.”

“If the off gelding stumbles, pull the rein tight. You have to keep his head up.”