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  He laughed, and the sound of it suddenly allowed her to breathe again.

  A resounding boom echoed from the opposite side of camp, and seconds later, the night sky lit with bursts of red and white. Another pop sounded and a streak of blue shot straight up into the darkness, exploding into a thousand specks of color. The specks rained down toward the plains, never quite completing their trek.

  Cheers could be heard from across the camp.

  Annabelle watched the fireworks, while also keeping an eye on Matthew. He hadn’t moved. Neither had she.

  A final burst of color filled the sky, followed by more cheers, and then the night fell quiet around them once more.

  ‘‘Did you enjoy the dancing tonight?’’

  She looked over at him, thankful for the momentary reprieve in which to gather her wits. ‘‘You asked me that earlier.’’

  ‘‘No. Before, I asked you if you had a nice time at the dance.’’

  She laughed softly, both confused and curious. ‘‘Surely you don’t think I actually danced with anyone, Matthew.’’

  ‘‘Just answer the question, Annabelle. Please,’’ he added more softly.

  She bowed her head for a moment. ‘‘No, I didn’t really enjoy it. The music was nice, people spoke to me. . . . They were all very pleasant, but . . . the dancing wasn’t my favorite part.’’ She gave a slight shrug. ‘‘This evening just didn’t turn out like I’d hoped.’’

  A moment passed.

  He extended a hand. ‘‘Would you give me a chance to change that?’’

  She looked at his outstretched hand, then at him as his question became clearer.

  ‘‘If it helps, you know we would’ve danced with each other at your wedding, Mrs. McCutchens. If we’d been on speaking terms at the time.’’

  That coaxed the tiniest laugh from her, but still, she knew she probably shouldn’t. She looked around to see who might be watching or if others were walking back from the celebration. But she and Matthew were quite alone.

  He cleared his throat. ‘‘Annabelle, I’m asking you to dance, not marry me.’’

  The subtle sarcasm in his voice set her at ease. This was the Matthew she knew and was comfortable with. ‘‘Do you even know how to dance?’’

  ‘‘Can’t say that I do.’’ He brushed a finger across the top of her hands clasped at her waist and winked. ‘‘I’ll make you a deal. . . . If I miss a step, I’ll let you teach me.’’

  Her mouth went dry at the look in his eyes.

  She slipped her hand into his, and Annabelle quickly discovered this man didn’t need any lessons. He might not have been the smoothest dancer, but Matthew Taylor knew exactly what he was doing.

  Swaying in rhythm to a nonexistent tune, she followed his lead, her hand on his shoulder, his hand pressed against the small of her back.

  After a while—she wasn’t sure how long—he stopped, and she drew back slightly so she could see him. He seemed to want to say something, but no words came. Instead, he slowly traced his thumb along the curve of her lower lip. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth, and his silent question was unmistakable. He was asking for her permission.

  She wanted to answer, but the hesitance inside her wouldn’t allow it.

  Apparently, he interpreted her lack of response as her answer and drew her close to dance once again. He didn’t loosen his hold from before or distance himself. And when he looked down at her again, the intensity in his eyes hadn’t faded. Quite the contrary.

  ‘‘I can wait,’’ he whispered.

  Searching his face, she knew with calming certainty that he meant it. He pulled her closer, and with the crackle of the fire as the only accompaniment, they danced.

  What was it about Matthew that touched a place inside her that no other man ever had? Not even Jonathan. And how could she be standing here now, feeling for Matthew what she should have felt for his brother? She half expected a sense of betrayal to accompany the thought. But it didn’t.

  She remembered telling Jonathan, just before he died, that if given the opportunity, she would have spent the rest of her life learning to love him the way she wished she could have. And she’d meant it.

  ‘‘A person can’t give what they haven’t got.’’

  Tears rose to her eyes as she remembered what he’d said. She’d given Jonathan all she had to give, at the time. For any other man that wouldn’t have been enough. But it had been for him. And though he never saw the fruit of it, he’d planted within her heart the very thing she lacked in order to love him. Through his unconditional acceptance of her, through his loving her despite her weaknesses and brokenness, he’d taught her how to love.

  She stopped dancing and drew back to look at Matthew again.

  She laid a tentative hand to his chest. ‘‘Is there any way you’d consider asking me that question again?’’

  Matthew’s expression clouded. ‘‘I wish I could, but . . .’’ Barely above a whisper, his voice convinced her she’d missed her chance.

  ‘‘I just can’t remember the question.’’

  She watched a smile inch its way across his mouth. She should have known better than to have left herself open like that. A look of anticipation moved over his face that warmed her, head to toe.

  He traced another path—similar to his first, feather light— across her lips. And this time, she answered without hesitation.

  He kissed her, gently at first. After a moment, she couldn’t help but smile, and she felt him do the same.

  He pulled back slightly. ‘‘Did I miss a step somewhere?’’

  ‘‘Not at all,’’ she answered softly. ‘‘I’d just like to change my answer to your earlier question. You asked me if I enjoyed the dancing tonight, and I said it wasn’t my favorite part. . . . I was wrong.’’

  Satisfaction slipped into his eyes, leaving no doubt he knew what she meant.

  ‘‘It has been my favorite part.’’ She pursed her lips. ‘‘Next to the spiced cider, of course.’’

  His arms tightened around her. ‘‘Well, that’s real good to know, ma’am. I’ve always been partial to a good cup of cider myself.’’

  Then he cradled the back of her neck and kissed her again, more thoroughly.

  CHAPTER | THIRTY - THREE

  MATTHEW WATCHED AS JACK BRENNAN made his way through the crowd and toward the wagon that would serve as a makeshift platform. The distant outskirts of Boise City made a welcome backdrop. Nearly two weeks had passed since they’d met up with Brennan’s group, and together, the closeknit community had endured their share of struggles along the way. The steep ascent and even more difficult descent of Big Hill had been a challenge. They’d lost two wagons when the rigging gave way and the ropes snapped, sending two wagons plunging downhill. Thankfully, no one had been seriously hurt in the accident. Though they’d still had time to travel a couple more miles that day, Brennan had insisted they camp there for the night.

  Matthew saw several men stop Brennan as he approached the platform, shaking his hand or clapping him on the back. Women reached out and touched his arm, conveying their thanks.

  His esteem for Brennan had steadily grown over the past couple of weeks, despite his hasty opinion formed on their first meeting. It had caught him off guard to discover that he and Brennan were so close in age. He’d expected a man with Brennan’s trail experience to be a person of greater years. Someone more like Bertram Colby. And he’d have been embarrassed to admit it to anyone, but having misconstrued Brennan’s initial concern for Annabelle hadn’t helped his opinion of the man either. But even from that, something good had come. It had spurred him to act when he might not have.

  ‘‘And just what is that smirk for?’’ Annabelle asked, standing beside him.

  ‘‘I’m not smirking. I was . . . contemplating.’’

  ‘‘You were too smirking.’’ She turned to Sadie. ‘‘Wasn’t he smirking?’’

  The barest hint of a smile touched Sadie’s mouth. ‘‘Yes, Mr.

  Taylor,
you were.’’

  Annabelle grinned at him, giving Sadie a sideways hug. ‘‘See, I told you!’’

  Matthew scoffed playfully. ‘‘Ganging up on me again.’’

  He and Annabelle had spent a lot of time together over the past few days but none of it alone. Not like the night of the dance. He remembered every detail of their kiss that night. Some days he could think of little else.

  Cheers went up as Jack Brennan gained the platform. He raised his hands to quiet the crowd. But instead of growing hushed, the people cheered and clapped all the more. Brennan shook his head and laughed. He waited a moment and tried again. This time, the crowd complied with his wishes.

  ‘‘Several of our number will be leaving us tomorrow, so this being our last night with all of us together, I thought I’d share a few words.’’

  ‘‘Only a few, Jack?’’ came a voice from somewhere near the back.

  Laughter rippled through the crowd.

  ‘‘Watch out, Harley. It’s not too late for me to lose you somewhere across Oregon.’’

  That drew even more laughter, and Matthew was again impressed by the sense of community that had developed among these people and how easily Brennan fostered it. In a way, he would miss the camaraderie once they branched off tomorrow and headed farther north toward Johnny’s ranch. His anticipation at seeing the land was both exciting and painfully bittersweet.

  Brennan started speaking, and the quiet chatter ceased. ‘‘I appreciate each one of the families represented in this gathering tonight. You men and women . . . and children,’’ he added, winking at someone in the front, ‘‘have done well in this journey. You’ve got iron in your souls and determination in your hearts.’’ His deep voice carried over the hushed crowd. He spoke for several minutes, recalling humorous incidents that had happened along the way, reliving memorable moments, and good-naturedly ribbing a few men who tried to heckle him.

  Then he paused, and his expression grew somber. ‘‘Since departing Denver that first morning, we’ve become more like a family and less like strangers. But we’ve also left behind some of those we love most dearly in this world.’’

  Matthew experienced a tightening in his chest as he sensed what was coming.

  Brennan pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. ‘‘If you’ll bear with me, I’d like to read the names of those we’ve had to say good-bye to. I’ll read them in the order in which we laid them to rest.’’

  Matthew saw Annabelle bow her head, and he did likewise. He reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers.

  ‘‘Jonathan Wesley McCutchens . . . Jewel Eloise Young . . .

  Imogene Elizabeth Anderson . . . Ben Everette Mullins . . .’’ Brennan paused between names as he read.

  Matthew sensed a common thread being woven through him, Annabelle, Sadie, and everyone around them. He chanced a peek at Annabelle beside him. Her eyes were closed, her head still bowed.

  Tears trailed Sadie’s cheeks, yet she didn’t make a sound. She didn’t move.

  ‘‘Virginia Mae Dickey . . . Onice Dale Whitehead . . . Rayford Denton Whitehead . . . Agnes Preston Gattis . . . Charles Wilson Gattis . . .’’

  He’d never imagined so many had been claimed from their number. No doubt over the past few days, he’d spoken to mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and grandparents who were still mourning their loved one, trying to let go and move on inside even as they continued to push westward.

  Brennan read the final name, folded the list, and bowed his head. Everyone did likewise. ‘‘Dearest Jesus, you know our hearts.

  Every pain we feel, you feel. Nothing happens to us that doesn’t first filter through your loving hands. We sorely miss these loved ones we’ve laid to rest, and we ask, please, Lord, that you bring peace to the hearts that are hurting and guide our path to bring us Home to you.’’

  Matthew looked past Sadie, quiet on the wagon seat beside him, to Annabelle, keeping pace with them on the gelding. He peered over to check how she was holding the reins. They were looped through her fingers, just as he’d taught her. He’d been right about this becoming second nature to her.

  Since parting from Brennan’s group three days ago at the Snake River, the mood among the three of them had taken a more somber tone. Matthew knew where his tension stemmed from—having to leave soon. And he had almost convinced himself that Annabelle’s reticence was rooted in the same thing, at least in part.

  Twice in the last couple of days, he’d come close to confessing everything to her. Telling her about San Antonio, his debts, the bounty hunter—everything. But the lack of privacy, and mainly his lack of nerve, kept him from it. He would do it before leaving. He just needed to find the right moment.

  ‘‘How much farther do you think, Matthew?’’ Annabelle asked.

  ‘‘No more than a day. You’ll be home sometime tomorrow.’’ The smile he mustered felt stiff and unconvincing.

  They drove longer into the day, his desire being that they’d be able to arrive at the ranch before dark the following day. As Annabelle and Sadie set about preparing dinner that night, he unharnessed the grays, led them to a nearby stream, and set them to grazing until after dinner.

  When he returned, he caught the familiar aroma of Annabelle’s biscuits. She and Sadie were working side by side, laughing about something. He paused by the wagon to watch Annabelle, following her movements as she bent over the fire and lifted the lid from the kettle using the hem of her apron. He rarely gave any heed to Annabelle’s clothes, but he’d long noticed the curves beneath them.

  At that moment, she turned. When their eyes connected, she stilled.

  A slow smile curved her mouth and Matthew returned it, feeling all the while like a child having been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Yet her manner bore no reproach over having caught him staring, and he was thankful for her understanding. He didn’t see her only in that way, after all. He saw all of who she was. But desiring her was part of that all. Kathryn Jennings had challenged him to try and find some common ground with Annabelle. Considering the outcome of that request, he let out a sigh. He’d found so much more than common ground with this woman. The transformation that had taken place in her had him dazed.

  ‘‘Do I have time for a quick bath in the stream?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘If you make it fast. Then Sadie and I’ll take our turns after dinner.’’

  He grabbed the wash bucket from the wagon, along with a fresh change of clothes, and set out down the path. After he’d walked a ways downstream, he peeled off his clothes and sank into the cool water. He soaped up his hair, then dunked his head several times, noticing how long his hair had gotten since that last cut in Willow Springs. He finished bathing, shaved, dressed again, and made his way back to camp.

  When he rounded the bend, he found Annabelle and Sadie waiting. Their simultaneous smiles had an unexpected effect on him, but it was the glimmer of mischief in Annabelle’s expression that triggered suspicion.

  His steps slowed. ‘‘What’s wrong?’’

  ‘‘Nothing’s wrong.’’ Annabelle shrugged. ‘‘We’re just glad you’re back.’’

  Sadie held out a tin pan piled high with crisp bacon, boiled potatoes, and biscuits already split and slathered with butter.

  With a thank-you, he took the plate and shot a glance at Annabelle. He then looked back at Sadie, not trusting these two— especially together—in the slightest. He knew better. He studied the food, then seeing nothing unusual, lifted the tin over his head and peered beneath it.

  That drew a soft chuckle from Sadie.

  Annabelle giggled. ‘‘I promise you, Matthew. We didn’t do anything.’’

  ‘‘Right . . . and I’m supposed to believe you.’’

  Annabelle’s mouth dropped open. ‘‘I’m hurt. Truly.’’ But her tone said otherwise.

  He turned to Sadie. ‘‘If you tell me there’s nothing wrong with my food, Miss Sadie, then I’ll believe it.’’

  The sweetest look of since
rity came over the girl’s face. ‘‘There is nothing wrong with your food, Mr. Taylor. I give you my word.’’

  Without hesitation, Matthew tore into a biscuit, noting the way Sadie’s face lit up. ‘‘You, I trust,’’ he said between bites. ‘‘But her’’— he motioned toward Annabelle—‘‘not a chance.’’

  Sadie laughed full at that before getting her own plate. The sound of the girl’s laughter was almost musical, and Matthew couldn’t help but steal another look at her. Still baffled by their initial reaction at his arrival back to camp moments ago, he sat down to eat—and worked to hide his surprise when Sadie claimed the spot of ground next to him.

  He chose not to comment, deciding to let her set whatever pace she wanted in their relationship.

  They ate in silence for a while. Then Sadie set her plate aside.

  ‘‘We were speaking of you upon your return, Mr. Taylor. That was the reason behind our smiles.’’ She bowed her head, her hushed voice growing even softer. ‘‘I thank you for what you did for me.

  You do not know me, and yet you did this. I owe you much for your kindness.’’

  Not knowing how to respond, Matthew looked at Annabelle for direction and saw the tears in her eyes. Sadie reached out a hand toward him, stopping well shy of touching him.

  Following her lead, he offered his hand to her, but palm up, letting her make the final decision.

  She placed her hand in his and gave the tiniest squeeze. ‘‘I am glad you are here, Mr. Taylor.’’

  It took a moment before Matthew could respond. ‘‘Not half as glad as I am, Miss Sadie,’’ he whispered. ‘‘And I give you both my word on that.’’

  Annabelle awakened during the night. Unable to sleep, she rolled onto her back and let her gaze wander lazily from star to star overhead. Resting her hand on her stomach, she imagined who the baby nestled inside her might favor once it was born and whether it was a boy or a girl. She hadn’t experienced any other problems recently and offered up a silent prayer of thanks.