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“You’re not coming with me,” Mom says. “I can take care of Chance just fine on my own. You need to get back on the trail.” She pulls a duffel bag from the cab and tosses it over to me. “Here, I brought you some nicer clothes. You might want to freshen up a bit more before you see Riley again. I hope she likes corn bread.”

Mom’s convinced that anyone who doesn’t like corn bread isn’t right for me. Granted, it is a weird coincidence that all the girls I’ve dated so far haven’t liked corn bread. But it’s not exactly the kind of question that’s easy to work into conversation before a first date. Hey, how do you feel about corn bread? ’Cause my mom has this theory…

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, sliding the carrying strap over my shoulder. “But I don’t see how I’ll be able to catch up with the wagons without a horse.”

“You can take the mules,” she says as if the answer’s obvious.

“What mules?”

“Sal and Buck,” Mom says. “With you staying back, Dad wasn’t sure they’d have enough hands on the trail to deal with them. Jake’s not exactly the best with mules and you know how skittish they get with Wanda. Mack agreed to stable them and he’s got an old buckboard wagon you can borrow.”

I’m confident I can handle Sal and Buck, since I helped train them, but I’m not sure about the wagon. Without having a feel for how it handles, I’m not keen on testing it out in the growing darkness. I glance down at my watch. It’s already 6:00 p.m. By the time I get the team hitched…

“You don’t have to leave tonight. Get yourself a good night’s rest and head out at dawn. Sal and Buck are fast and you can shave some time going through Horsethief Gulch. You should have no trouble catching up to them by dinner tomorrow night.”

I pull her in for a bear hug. “Thanks, Ma.”

She squeezes me back. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Mrs. Martinez called earlier today. She’s already making lists of possible dates for you for the Harvest Dance. She’s still going on about introducing you to her niece. Or her cousin’s niece. Someone’s niece, anyway.”

I groan. “Mom, Mrs. Martinez has to be stopped. There’s no reason a sixty-year-old woman should be that invested in my love life.”

Mom laughs. “I told her you’re already spoken for.”

“This isn’t the 1900s. Who uses the term ‘spoken for’ anymore?”

“Mrs. Martinez.” Mom grins. “She used the term at the quilting bee yesterday.”

I roll my eyes. “Riley won’t even be here for the Harvest Dance.”

“Mrs. Martinez doesn’t need to know that,” she says with a wink. “I should head out.”

“Drive safely.” I kiss the top of her head. “Take good care of Chance for me?”

“Always.” She leans up and kisses my cheek. “Be safe out there, sweetheart.” She pulls open the driver’s door and pauses with her foot on the running board. “You really do like this Riley girl, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I really do.”

CHAPTER 43

Riley

DAWN BREAKS ON our last full day on the trail and I’m filled with a restless energy. If Colton were here, I’d be able to draw from his calm, centered nature. But right now, I seem to share the same wild and unpredictable energy as the flock of red-winged blackbirds Barnaby is studying through his binoculars.

At nooning time, I settle down against a wagon wheel and flip open my sketchbook to a blank page. With Colton on my mind, it’s no surprise that he’s the subject of my latest sketch. I draw him as I remember him from two nights ago, looking up at the stars, his Stetson tipped back on his head. His lips are slightly parted, as if he’s about to speak, the reflection of the campfire brightening his eyes. The glow of the firelight softens his chiseled features, but the stubble along his jawline keeps him looking more rugged than boyish. My pencil glides over the paper as I sign and date the sketch.

This Colton is so different from the Tall, Dark, and Irksome first impression I had of him. This is the Colton hidden beneath the watchful, careful, by-the-book outer layer that felt like an impenetrable wall until we kissed. This is the Colton who challenges me to coax him into a rare smile. Who offers up dry humor and keen insights when least expected. Who’s managed to stake a claim on my heart.

I flip to a fresh page and start a new sketch of the surrounding landscape. While I might not get picked to paint the mural, I’m excited to have some new pieces for my art portfolio. Coming to terms with my new life in Nebraska is going to be a process, but I think I can find a way to accept it and be happy. Now I just have to find a way to tell Colton everything and trust that good things are possible.

We continue east along the trail at a slow, steady pace and reach our campsite by midafternoon. Once everyone’s settled, Wild Wanda gives a natural-cloth-dyeing lesson while Captain Walker and Felix make dinner. Beans and rice, bacon, and biscuits, with potato pudding for dessert.

Dusk falls and Ty pulls out a harmonica. He puffs up his cheeks and starts blowing, the wheezy chords cutting through after-dinner conversations. Felix picks up a fiddle and joins in. Soon I recognize “Sweet Betsy from Pike.”

“I love this one,” Dad says, slapping his hand on his knee.

Wild Wanda grabs a washboard and wooden spoon and adds some percussion while leading the passengers in a sing-along.

“One evening quite early they camped on the Platte…”