stayed near the edge of the woods, giving Nathan a moment of privacy. He should probably be thankful for that, but the fact that he was still under watch put a taste of bitterness in his throat.
Nathan had turned back toward the wagons but paused, still under the cover of trees and brush, supporting himself with one hand on a nearby tree trunk.
A cough overtook him, and kept hold of him until he almost thought he would suffocate. When he could finally catch his breath, he was as limp as a wet washcloth.
“Reed, you all right?”
Nathan jerked and the unexpected movement sent him into another fit of coughing.
“You surprised—” cough “—me,” he told Hewitt.
Anger fired. He was so weak and distracted by his condition that the other man had snuck up on him. If Hewitt had had nefarious intentions, Nathan could have been dead.
He didn’t like being caught unawares.
“You need to lean on me to get back to the wagon?”
“No,” Nathan said shortly.
He pushed away from the tree, and tottered. Hewitt took one step toward him, but Nathan waved the other man off.
“Don’t like accepting help, do ya?” Hewitt trailed him as Nathan stumbled toward the distant light of campfires past the ring of wagons.
The other man must be a couple years younger than Nathan and didn’t have Nathan’s bulk. If he’d been at full strength, he might’ve gotten in Ben’s face and told him to leave off.
But he was so tired, he couldn’t even manage that.
So he didn’t answer.
The glow of light around the canvas wagon bonnet got brighter. Almost there.
“Reed.”
Nathan stopped at the commanding tone in Hewitt’s voice. He didn’t want to turn around, but he did. They stood in the darkness just outside the ring of wagons. He didn’t look at Hewitt, though he sensed the other man glancing around them.
But there was nothing out here except darkness and the backside of the wagons. Nathan looked up into the night sky, the thousands of stars, pinpricks of diamond light against the midnight blue sky.
“I want to talk to you about Emma,” Hewitt said, voice low. “She told me she’s worried for you. Our pa—” he cleared his throat, before continuing “—died of pneumonia, at the last.”
Nathan stood there in the dark with a man who wasn’t a friend but hadn’t been unkind to him, not really. Some long-lost sense of propriety pushed Nathan to say, “I’m sorry.”
Hewitt nodded. “Just don’t be deliberately cruel with my sister. She’s more sensitive than she lets on.”
Heat prickled up Nathan’s neck. He didn’t acknowledge Hewitt’s words.
He wanted to make some retort about Hewitt not even noticing his sister’s fear of thunderstorms, but he didn’t. Emma had trusted Nathan with the fear in confidence and he wouldn’t break it.
And some tiny part, deep inside him, liked that they shared something that no one else knew about.
He turned back toward the wagons and saw a figure move to stand in the open—backlit by firelight, Emma’s long-limbed form her golden hair haloed.
“There you are,” she said.
For a moment, he let himself pretend she was looking after him. Waiting for him. Imagining that someone cared about his welfare was like a fist tightening his gut.
Dangerous, pretending was.
“Worried about me?” Hewitt asked, bussing her cheek with a kiss as he neared.
“Abby was.” Something passed between the two siblings, some wordless communication that Nathan couldn’t decipher.
Was Hewitt’s fiancée worried about him being with Nathan, alone outside the protection of the wagons? Or was there something else?
Then Hewitt passed her with a squeeze of her elbow.
Nathan hesitated.
Exhaustion weighed him down. He should get back in the wagon. Stay isolated.
Then he registered that she held a plate of food in her hands and his stomach rumbled loudly in the quiet.
“Figured you must be hungry.”
And what he’d been pretending suddenly became very real.
* * *
In the flickering firelight, Emma saw Nathan’s hesitation.
He took the plate from her with a nod and turned his back to her, using the nearby wagon to shield him from the others, she supposed. What had happened in his past that made him wary of even a small act of kindness?
He held the plate up close to his face and began shoveling food into his mouth with his fingers.
She’d watched him do the same on another occasion, when he’d refused to eat at their fire. Eating quickly, like an animal might, devouring the food in moments.
Or as if there had been a time in his life that he’d been starved. And now he was afraid he’d lose his chance to eat if he didn’t gobble it down.
She swallowed back the emotion that rose at the thought of such a history and cleared her throat.
He looked over his shoulder at her, clearly in mid-chew.
“Nathan, we’re friends now. I won’t have you going back to hiding in the shadows. Come sit at the fire.”
His eyes widened and she thought he would refuse, so she stepped forward and took him by the elbow as if he were a child and pulled him with her.
Perhaps she’d surprised him into compliance, but he didn’t resist her.
At the fire, she sat down, and since she already had hold of his arm, she tugged him down to sit at her side, and then let go.
He kept his head down, and his inky hair was long enough that it hid most of his face from view. But she still saw him snatch glances up at the group congregated around the fire.
Ben and Abby sat off to one side, a little apart from everyone else, whispering to each other. Which left Emma and Nathan with Rachel and Mr. Bingham for company.
“The Littletons already retired,” she told Nathan. “My sister, Rachel.”
Rachel watched him with unabashed curiosity. “I’m glad you’re feeling somewhat better.”
Nathan looked up and nodded briefly, then back down to his plate.
A wiggling ball of fur approached from behind
