Wagon Train Sweetheart

Nathan ground his back teeth against the protest that wanted to escape. Those were his belongings. Meager though they might be.

What right did they have to go through his things? Just because someone thought they’d seen him committing theft? In the dark?

But he doubted anyone would be on his side if he demanded fairness.

“He could’ve hid the combs somewhere. Along with the other stolen goods,” Stillwell argued. What did the other man have against Nathan, anyway? A lot of suspicions, that’s what.

“Can anyone verify your whereabouts last night before the party?” Hewitt asked Nathan, not unkindly.

Nathan kept his eyes on the brightening horizon. He’d been minding the oxen last night, separate from everyone as they’d washed up and chattered and prepared for the party.

Most of the time he didn’t care that he was excluded from the gatherings. But last night it would have been nice to be one of the group. Then he wouldn’t have been in this predicament.

Not that it mattered much in the scheme of things. He hadn’t stolen those hair combs, but he’d done enough thieving and snitching that he deserved whatever punishment they would mete out.

Would they exile him from the caravan? He could live off the land, trapping and hunting the way he’d done for years. But he’d hoped for more. The small amount Mr. Bingham was to pay him for pushing the oxen to their destination was to be socked away so Nathan could purchase land.

Or would they deem that his misdeeds were enough to hang him? He’d heard of it happening in other situations. The thought sent a shudder through him.

Someone else was talking but a peculiar buzzing sound blocked the words and his light-headedness got worse. His stomach pitched from the dizziness.

Everything around him began to darken—but that wasn’t right, was it? It was morning, it should be getting lighter as the daylight brightened.

Then he blacked out.

* * *

The men had fallen into low-voiced squabbling and, at first, Emma Hewitt was the only one who witnessed Nathan Reed slump to the ground.

And when the men noticed, they went silent.

No one rushed to help him.

“Really,” she huffed quietly. Emma did not like being the center of attention, but did the men have a shred of decency in them?

They couldn’t seem to come to agreement on anything. After she’d discovered the missing hair combs yesterday, her brother had filled her in on the ongoing investigation. She’d heard talk among the other travelers; whispers of a thief among them, but the bite of violation remained this morning.

Someone had rifled through her things.

But that didn’t matter right at this moment.

She picked up her skirt, intending to go to the fallen man, when her brother Ben touched her arm to stop her.

“Wait. He might be faking. Pretending to swoon so if someone gets close he attacks or takes them hostage.”

The alarming white pallor of Nathan Reed’s face indicated otherwise.

“He’s not playacting,” Emma insisted, tearing her arm away from her brother’s grasp.

She went to the prone man, meeting Mr. Stillwell, her brother’s friend, at his shoulder. Ben followed a few paces behind.

Mr. Stillwell squatted as she knelt at Mr. Reed’s side. Stillwell touched his forehead. “He’s burning up.”

But he didn’t look as if he intended to do anything about it.

She shook Mr. Reed’s shoulder. “Wake up,” she whispered.

She moved to touch his face, then faltered. If the great, burly, bear of a man was one of the children, she wouldn’t have hesitated to examine him as necessary, even if it seemed far too intimate with a grown man.

She would think of him as a little child. She must. Even though he was the furthest thing from it.

Holding her breath, she peeled back one of his shapely lips. His thick beard abraded her knuckles.

He might’ve fainted from the fever or lack of sleep or food, but the marks inside his mouth confirmed what she’d already guessed. The contagious disease that had plagued their caravan had claimed another victim.

“It’s measles,” she murmured.

Her brother crouched at her side, Ben’s presence reassuring. “You sure?”

She was. “Some of the children had the same white spots on their gums. See there?”

Ben’s nose wrinkled and he only glanced cursorily into Mr. Reed’s mouth.

“What do we do now?” Stillwell demanded.

Before she could think to prevent it, he raised his hand and slapped Mr. Reed’s cheek. His dark head knocked to one side.

Emma gasped.

She could not abide injustice. In any form.

“Don’t touch him like that again,” she commanded.

But maybe Stillwell hadn’t heard her. His eyes passed over her almost as if she wasn’t there at all.

Stillwell stood, directing his words to the other men. “He’s a thief—”

It was easier for Emma to direct her words to the unconscious man on the ground. “Whether or not he’s a criminal, he’s still a human being and deserves basic kindness. And care.”

She looked up and met Ben’s gaze. The men stood behind him, none paying attention. She’d spoken so softly that likely many of them hadn’t heard her.

That was normal. Her opinions were rarely heard. And for a long time, it hadn’t mattered to her. It did now.

But when Ben spoke, people listened. And he spoke now. “Emma’s right. We can’t punish a man in this condition. We’ll stay the verdict until he’s on his feet again.”

The group of men grumbled. “What’re we going to do with him?”

“We should just leave him behind,” Mr. Stillwell said.