do you put into these beans to make them taste so good?” Taking a ladylike bite, Susanna leaned back against the wagon wheel to savor it. Nate had provided a stool for her so she didn’t have to sit on the ground, making this meal all the more pleasant. With Daddy fed and taken care of, she could finally eat her own supper—beans again, but wonderfully mouthwatering.
“Now, don’t go asking about my cooking, young lady.” Seated on the ground, his back against a bedroll, his long legs stretched out in front of him, Nate spoke in that teasing tone so much like her brother’s. “Angela—she’s our cook and housekeeper—would tan my hide if I gave away any of her secrets.”
“Humph.” Susanna sniffed with a bit of artificial pique. “As if I didn’t have a few secret recipes of my own.” Not many, but enough to impress folks back home, especially at church dinners. Like Nate’s family, hers had employed a housekeeper who’d taught her some basic cooking skills, which had come in handy on this journey. But she wouldn’t mention that they’d had servants, for that would reveal their financial status.
“I’m sure you have some very fine recipes.” He chuckled and shoveled in another bite.
On the other side of the campfire, Zack whittled on a stick, his empty plate beside him. He stretched and yawned, then took himself off toward the horses grazing nearby.
Susanna busied herself with finishing her meal before sitting back to relax. After a long, hot afternoon of riding into the sun, they sat facing the trail they had just traversed, taking refuge on the shady side of the prairie schooner. Now as the sun went down behind them, it cast a deep purple hue over the eastern range bordering the San Luis Valley.
“What a wondrous sight,” she murmured. “We have our beautiful Appalachian Mountains back home, but these are so much higher. They’re truly awe-inspiring.”
“They are indeed.” Nate pointed his fork toward the tallest peak, which still wore a snowy white crown from last winter’s snow. “That’s Mount Blanca, and the whole eastern range is called Sangre de Cristo.”
“Sangre de Cristo. That’s Spanish, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Just about every place around here has a Spanish name because Spaniards were the first Europeans to settle here.” Nate’s soft gaze toward the east bespoke a love of the scene. “Sangre de Cristo means blood of Christ, an allusion to that deep, rich color.”
“Ah.” Agreeable warmth filled her. She’d never dreamed she could enjoy the companionship of a Yankee man this way. But Nate hadn’t said or done anything that was even slightly improper. “Those Spaniards were people of faith.”
“At least the old padre who named these mountains was.” He shot a curious glance her way. “And you?”
His question confused her for only a moment. “Oh, yes. My mama always said that after all the South suffered in the war, she didn’t know how anyone could go on without the Lord.” She instantly regretted bringing up the devastating conflict that had shaped her entire life. But Nate didn’t bat an eye, so she hurried on. “I made my decision to follow Christ when I was nine years old, and He’s never let me down.” His understanding smile invited her to echo his question. “And you?”
“Yep, around that same age. Ten, actually.” He stared off as if remembering. “When the Colonel came home safely from the war in answer to our prayers.” A frown briefly creased his brow, though Susanna could not guess why. “Of course, lots of fathers came home badly wounded or didn’t come home at all. But at ten, I was only concerned about my own. As time went on, praying and trusting God became as natural as breathing.” He grunted out a laugh. “Now, don’t get the idea I see myself as somebody special. Just the opposite, because I need the Lord’s help all the time to do the right thing.”
Susanna’s heart warmed at his guileless confession. “I believe we all do, Nate.” She’d watched Daddy’s faith dip after Mama’s death, but as they headed west, he seemed to grow more encouraged. Although she would never understand his urge to go digging for silver, anything that gave him a reason to live had her approval, even if she had to be dragged along on his quest. Even if she had to wait to see her own dreams come true. She supposed parents were always a mystery to their children. “Do you always call your father the Colonel?”
“Yep, just like everybody else.” Nate grimaced. “If you ever meet him, you’ll understand why.”
“He’s that intimidating?” Susanna knew many former military officers, Daddy included, but they were Southern gentlemen and never made a lady feel uncomfortable. Maybe Northern officers didn’t have the same good manners. They’d certainly treated the South badly.
“You could say that.” Nate stood and took her empty plate, setting both of them in a metal pail.
“I’ll wash the dishes.” She rose and brushed dust and twigs from her skirt.
“Nope.” Nate held up a hand. “You go see to your father. Maybe you can light a lamp and read to him. I’m sure he’d like to have his mind on something other than...” He shrugged, a charming gesture that conveyed sympathy and understanding.
“Thank you. I’ll do that.” Tears stung Susanna’s eyes, but she managed to keep her voice steady. “We’ve been reading Charles Dickens’s Bleak House on our journey. Fortunately, those thieves weren’t interested in stealing books. I’m sure hearing another chapter will take his mind off his pain.” How kind and thoughtful this man was. Not at all like the Yankee carpetbaggers she’d learned to distrust and avoid. But she quickly shut the door on the warm feelings trying to invade her heart. Mama would turn over in her grave if Susanna even considered finding a Yankee attractive.
“Bleak House. That’s a good book. My folks sent me back east for a year at Harvard, and that’s where I first read Dickens’s works.”
So Nate had an education and liked to read good books. Now she had something to discuss with him, something that would keep her thoughts off how handsome he was.
She climbed into the back of the wagon to find Daddy staring at her with a slight grin on his dear bruised face. Heat flooded her cheeks. Had he been listening through the canvas to her conversation with Nate? She searched her memory for anything that might have sounded improper but came up with a clear conscience. Why had she worried? Probably because Nate was a Yankee, and Daddy had always said nothing good ever came out of any Yankee. But here he lay with more mischief than censure in his eyes.
“What are you up to?” She would get the upper hand before he could say anything.
He chuckled, then coughed, then grimaced and groaned.
“Oh, dearest, don’t laugh.” She knelt beside him. “Zack said you probably have some broken ribs and should try not to laugh or cough.” She eased him up and gave him a drink of water from a canteen. “Would you like for me to read to you?”
He gave a brief nod. “First take this.” He handed her a wrinkled, sealed envelope from the broken remnants of their traveling desk.
“What on earth?” She accepted it only to discover its unusual weight. “Is this one of our gold pieces in here?”
“Shh.” He gently clasped her free hand and whispered, “Tomorrow when we reach that hotel, slip this to the manager—before Northam speaks to him, if you can. And don’t say anything about it to these cowboys.”
“What?”
