Page 12 of In These Hills

Mr. Poyner must have seen some hint of agreement, because he motioned her over.

Yet the closer she came, the less sure she was how well Mr. Poyner actually knew the man. Rough didn’t begin to describe him—an overgrown beard, mud-caked dungarees, collar-length hair long overdue for cutting, and a broad frame filling most of the seat. But it was the way he glanced at her, then quickly looked away, that drove shame like a spike through what remained of her pride.

“Mrs. Josephine Dunham, meet Dodge Coburn. He’s agreed to take you on to Lynchburg.”

Lynchburg . . . The name sounded vaguely familiar, yet she knew nothing about this area. She also knew she was in no position to negotiate. Although she did wish Mr. Poyner hadn’t shared her real name. “Thank you, Mr. Coburn. I appreciate your willingness to—”

“Best climb on up. Need to be on our way before the skies split wide open.”

A shadow flitted across Mr. Poyner’s face but Josephine chose not to acknowledge it. She spoke softly so only he would hear. “Mr. Poyner, your kindness is something I will never forget. Much like yourself, sir.”

“I wish you only the very best, Mrs. Dunham. I’ll be praying for you, ma’am. God go with you.” He glanced back at the wagon. “With you both.”

His afterthought only stoked her uncertainty, and as she rounded the freight wagon and was about to “climb on up” as Dodge Coburn so chivalrously suggested, she spotted a rock about the size of her fist. Without hesitation, she discreetly scooped it up and shoved it into her coat pocket holding the rag doll. No man would ever gain the upper hand on her again.

She climbed up to the seat, not waiting for assistance. Good thing, considering Dodge Coburn offered none. But now that she was up here, she would’ve sworn the seat had shrunk by half. And judging by the way the dog eyed her, the animal, some sort of cattle-herding dog, she thought, appeared to be as amiable as its owner.

“Jessie,” he said softly. “Come on, girl.” With a jerk of his head the dog edged closer to his side.

Josephine barely got seated before he flicked the reins and the wagon jolted forward. She held on, the conveyance rough and complaining over the rain-rutted roads. But she didn’t mind. Every rotation of the wheels put more distance between her and the authorities at the train station. And Mayor Darden and prison.

Hand in her coat pocket, she drew courage from the rock and kept her attention confined to her lap as they drove through town. Hunger gnawed her insides and her throat felt like gravel. Hopefully Lynchburg wasn’t too far away.

The occasional clink clink from the wagon bed told her the cargo was likely glass—delicate, and plenty of it judging by the stacked, tarp-covered crates. She hadn’t noticed any company name on the wagon, and the freight was strapped down tight.

Not until the outskirts of town did she lift her head, a cold breeze kicking up once again. They turned onto a dirt road lined by winter-paled fields, the waist-high grasses bending in the wind while barely budded oaks, poplars, and maples hinted at spring. Woodsmoke and pine drifted on the air. The gentle sweep of the hills—rolling for miles—tempted her with a peace she didn’t dare trust.

Fatigue washed over her, and she steadied herself on the seat, stiffening her back. How long until Lynchburg? And what help, if any, waited there?

Dodge Coburn hadn’t looked at her since they’d left the livery, much less said anything. Which was fine by her. She already felt self-conscious about her appearance, and his initial response upon seeing her hadn’t helped. She cast a discreet glance his way, highly doubting conversational skills were his strength, but hard work clearly was. His muscular forearms and thighs said as much, and his hands, calloused and rough, told a similar—

“So do you plan on doing me in somewhere along this lonely stretch, ma’am? Or will you wait till we’re up in those hills?”

Josephine glanced over. “I-I beg your pardon?”

“That rock you tucked in your pocket.” His gaze slid to hers. “Or did you just take a sudden shining to it back there at the last.”

Embarrassed that he’d seen her pick it up and wondering now if he knew something about her, maybe even what she’d done to the mayor’s son, she faced forward, flustered by his accusation. And the startling blue of his eyes. “I . . . I was simply—”

“You have no cause to be afraid of me, Mrs. Dunham. I’ll do you no harm, ma’am.”

“I am not afraid of you, Mr. Coburn. And I’ll have you know I can take care of myself.”

Those eyes met hers again, and she knew he heard the false bravado in her voice as well as she did. But it was the fact that her countenance so clearly bore the evidence of her ability to “take care of herself” that completed her humiliation.

She stared ahead, absentmindedly urging her hair forward on one side until she became aware of what she was doing. And stopped.

They rounded a curve and a creek bed lay ahead, its entry fairly steep and its depths swollen from recent rains. The dog whined, ears pricking, and Josephine held tight to the seat again, bracing for the crossing. What she wouldn’t do for a sip of that water. But not if it meant being more beholden to this man than she already was.

Dodge Coburn expertly guided the wagon down the descent and through the swift current, the wheels creaking and slipping in the rocky bed. He took it slow and steady, speaking soothingly to the team of mules as he did. Once they cleared the creek, he brought the wagon to a stop, set the brake, and climbed down. A sharp whistle, and Jessie bolted to join him.

Josephine turned on the seat, wondering what he was doing and if there was time for her to get a drink.

“No, ma’am. You stay put.”

It was not a request, which only made her want to climb right down and prove herself a self-sufficient, independent woman. Yet, weak as she felt, she doubted she would make it back up without assistance. And the very thought of having to ask him for—

He reappeared, canteen in hand, water dripping from the sides, and held it up to her. Her throat convulsed at the mere promise. She drank and drank and drank, the water cold and crisp. Finally, she paused and dabbed at the corners of her mouth, the left side tender, her breath coming hard.