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The wagon rocks as Colton hoists himself up into the seat beside me. His leg presses against mine. “Ready?” he asks.

“Cowboy, take me away,” I say.

Colton grins over at me and grabs hold of the reins. “Get up, Sal, Buck,” he says with a flick of his wrist. The mules start forward in a slow, ambling walk. He lifts his Stetson and swirls it over his head.

I adjust my bandanna, tied over my braided pigtails, and give a formal wave like a Prairie Princess in a wagon parade.

Even though we plan to meet up with everyone else in Darby later today, all the passengers and crew have gathered to see us off. I wonder if this was how pioneers bade farewell to fellow travelers on the trail.

“Have fun,” Dad calls.

“Love you,” Mom says.

“Riley and Colton, sittin’ in a tree,” sings Caleb, like he’s four, not fourteen.

Are little brothers ever not annoying?

Colton chuckles and grabs my hand. “I don’t know of any good climbing trees around here, but I know a place where we could kiss under a tree.”

“That’s kind of the same thing,” I say.

“Trot, team, trot.” Colton urges the mules into a faster gait and soon the cool wind is rushing over my heated cheeks. It’s different sitting up here, at the front of the wagon. Birds dart and dive around us. A prairie dog scoots across the trail. Instead of watching the world pass by, I’m facing the prairie head-on.

The wagon bumps up over a small rise, and Colton slows the mules. “Easy, Sal. Easy, Buck.”

The view of the rippling, rolling hills around us takes my breath away. “It’s beautiful.”

“You asked me once what I thought was the best thing about living in Nebraska,” he says.

“You said something about saddling up Chance and riding out in the open range.”

“This right here,” Colton says. “This is it.” He wraps his arm around my back and tucks me into his side. “I’m glad I get to share it with you.”

For a moment, I daydream about a summer with Colton out here on the prairie. Of him showing me all the midsummer flowers. Of Fourth of July fireworks and Saturday-night stargazing. Of kissing my very own cowboy. It might take a while to let go of some of the anger and resentment I’ve been holding on to, but I’m feeling good about the possibilities.

“Are there fireflies out here?” I ask.

“Not now, but there will be.”

I picture a field at dusk dotted with glowing, twinkling lights. It must be like magic. “Will you teach me to catch them?”

“Of course.”

We continue down into the slight valley and make our way toward a distant grove of trees. Little by little, the trees grow in size until our wagon pulls into a shady spot beneath them. Yellow and white flowers dot the blades of grass around us.

“This is Plum Grove,” Colton says. “I thought we could stop here for a rest.”

“Are these the trees you wanted to kiss me under?” I ask, batting my eyelashes at him.

“Maybe,” he says, brushing his smiling lips over mine.

Colton ties up the mules and then helps me down from the wagon. He grabs the picnic basket and a blanket from the cargo bed and leads me deeper into the grove of plum trees. There’s a small clearing with dappled light filtering down through the branches. “In a few weeks, the plum trees’ll be covered in bright white flowers that smell like grape Kool-Aid.”

“No way.” Nebraska is full of surprises.

Colton unpacks the basket. He hands me an apple, some bacon, and an aluminum-foil-wrapped loaf. While he cuts the apple into wedges with his folding-knife, I unstopper a bottle of lemonade. Then I unwrap the loaf and break off a chunk.

“Oh my gosh. This corn bread is so good,” I say, brushing a crumb from the corner of my mouth. “You should try it.”