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Authors: Susan Edwards
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arms crossed, her eyes challenging him. Unwilling to allow this dark-eyed woman to worm her way further into his territory, he hacked another chunk of meat from the carcass, using more force than needed. He sent Coralie a fierce frown from over his shoulder.
Had he seen real dejection in her eyes before she’d turned away? Working with her so closely since he’d volunteered to teach her to cook, he knew it was a sore spot with her that she hadn’t managed to master bread-baking and had to endure a goodly amount of teasing with each failure.
“Well, what’re ya waitin’ fer? That bread ain’t gonna bake itself.” Coralie was his protégée and he’d be damned if he’d allow that woman to teach the lass how to bake bread—not when his trail bread was the best.
With a cry of happiness, Coralie spun around and hugged him again. “Thanks, Rook. I won’t burn it this time, I promise.”
After Coralie released him, Rook stuck his pipe between his lips and moved back to his work area, keeping Coralie close so he could keep an eye on the bread making. Chopping up bits of meat to add to the boiling pot of beans, he refrained from watching Sofia. He was cooking his stew, no matter what.
But as he hovered over Coralie, repressing his shudders as she spilled flour and made a gummy mess of the dough, loneliness assailed him. The love surrounding him brought home just how empty his life had become. At his age, wandering from place to place no longer appealed. He longed to put the past behind him and settle in one spot to live out the remainder of his years. He slid his gaze to the black-haired widowed woman working not more than five feet from him.
Sofia glanced up from a frying pan of sizzling meat and lifted her eyebrow as if she read his mind and knew the unrest in his heart.
The tantalizing scent of spices reached him and made his mouth water. He sent her a disgruntled glare, gave his attention to Coralie and started telling her one of his tales to keep his mind from wandering down forbidden paths. There was no other woman for him. He was destined to roam alone until he met his maker.
For the women traversing the trail, their day commenced before night released its grip on the world to the light of the sun. No matter how tired or how far they traveled the day before, the women left their tents to prepare for the new day long before the sun peeped over the eastern horizon.
Eirica, snuggled between her quilts, woke to the sounds of muffled chatter outside her tent. She wanted to open her eyes but they refused to cooperate. Surely it couldn’t be time to rise already. She felt as though she’d only just gone to bed. Between the hard, rocky ground and her heavy, cumbersome womb, sleep usually came in fitful bouts, leaving her feeling tired and achy in the mornings. What she wouldn’t give for a soft feather bed.
She huddled deeper into the warmth surrounding her, dozing lightly. Outside, noise continued to disperse the fog shrouding her senses. Somewhere on the other side of the canvas walls, the sounds of clanking pans and the harsh whirl of a coffee grinder made her wince. Groaning, she ran her hand through her disheveled hair and rubbed her gritty eyes. Precious time was wasting. There was much to be done before the signal sounded to hit the trail.
Slowly, she worked the stiffness from her back, shoulders and neck and thought of the decision she’d made during the long night while sleep eluded her. It troubled her greatly that she had to rely on others so much. Each person traveling west had their own load to carry—it didn’t seem fair that she added to it.
So this day, her eighty-first of traveling, marked her first step toward independence. Anne and Lars, Jessie and Coralie, Wolf and Rook, and all the others had been there for her and her children while her ribs healed and she came to terms with what Birk’s death meant to her life. They’d all been so wonderful, but good conscience deemed it
Had he seen real dejection in her eyes before she’d turned away? Working with her so closely since he’d volunteered to teach her to cook, he knew it was a sore spot with her that she hadn’t managed to master bread-baking and had to endure a goodly amount of teasing with each failure.
“Well, what’re ya waitin’ fer? That bread ain’t gonna bake itself.” Coralie was his protégée and he’d be damned if he’d allow that woman to teach the lass how to bake bread—not when his trail bread was the best.
With a cry of happiness, Coralie spun around and hugged him again. “Thanks, Rook. I won’t burn it this time, I promise.”
After Coralie released him, Rook stuck his pipe between his lips and moved back to his work area, keeping Coralie close so he could keep an eye on the bread making. Chopping up bits of meat to add to the boiling pot of beans, he refrained from watching Sofia. He was cooking his stew, no matter what.
But as he hovered over Coralie, repressing his shudders as she spilled flour and made a gummy mess of the dough, loneliness assailed him. The love surrounding him brought home just how empty his life had become. At his age, wandering from place to place no longer appealed. He longed to put the past behind him and settle in one spot to live out the remainder of his years. He slid his gaze to the black-haired widowed woman working not more than five feet from him.
Sofia glanced up from a frying pan of sizzling meat and lifted her eyebrow as if she read his mind and knew the unrest in his heart.
The tantalizing scent of spices reached him and made his mouth water. He sent her a disgruntled glare, gave his attention to Coralie and started telling her one of his tales to keep his mind from wandering down forbidden paths. There was no other woman for him. He was destined to roam alone until he met his maker.
For the women traversing the trail, their day commenced before night released its grip on the world to the light of the sun. No matter how tired or how far they traveled the day before, the women left their tents to prepare for the new day long before the sun peeped over the eastern horizon.
Eirica, snuggled between her quilts, woke to the sounds of muffled chatter outside her tent. She wanted to open her eyes but they refused to cooperate. Surely it couldn’t be time to rise already. She felt as though she’d only just gone to bed. Between the hard, rocky ground and her heavy, cumbersome womb, sleep usually came in fitful bouts, leaving her feeling tired and achy in the mornings. What she wouldn’t give for a soft feather bed.
She huddled deeper into the warmth surrounding her, dozing lightly. Outside, noise continued to disperse the fog shrouding her senses. Somewhere on the other side of the canvas walls, the sounds of clanking pans and the harsh whirl of a coffee grinder made her wince. Groaning, she ran her hand through her disheveled hair and rubbed her gritty eyes. Precious time was wasting. There was much to be done before the signal sounded to hit the trail.
Slowly, she worked the stiffness from her back, shoulders and neck and thought of the decision she’d made during the long night while sleep eluded her. It troubled her greatly that she had to rely on others so much. Each person traveling west had their own load to carry—it didn’t seem fair that she added to it.
So this day, her eighty-first of traveling, marked her first step toward independence. Anne and Lars, Jessie and Coralie, Wolf and Rook, and all the others had been there for her and her children while her ribs healed and she came to terms with what Birk’s death meant to her life. They’d all been so wonderful, but good conscience deemed it
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