Page 29 of West Wind
Everyone but her.
She jumped up and followed him to his roan. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” she called to his back when they were far enough away from the camp so no one else could hear.
When he turned to face her his easy smile was gone. Of course he hadn’t intended to say a word to her.
“Goodbye, Widow Brown. Have a safe trip.”
She felt small, lonely, lost, as she watched him prepare to leave her. “The Castletons seem very nice.”
He nodded.
“I like the children,” she said, trying to make her voice bright. “That’ll be fun. I’ve never spent much time with children before.”
Shelley visibly relaxed. What had he expected? That she’d run after him begging him to take her?
“I wonder if you’ll feel the same way by the time you get to California,” he said casually. “They seem like a lively bunch.”
She wished there was more light on the edge of the camp so she could see his face clearly. She didn’t want him to leave. No matter how safe she might feel with the Castletons, she’d never feel as safe as she did with Shelley.
That wasn’t all. She admitted to herself as she watched him prepare to ride out of her life forever that she really did love him. Not like she thought she’d loved Henri, comfortable and safe and pleasant. This love was tearing her apart, ripping her heart from her chest. She’d never expected love could be so painful.
He didn’t return her love, and that’s what made it hurt. She was nothing more than a nuisance, an obligation to be gladly transferred to someone else. How would he remember her, if he remembered her at all?
“I didn’t mean to make you hate me,” she said.
“I don’t hate you, darlin’,” he answered gruffly. “Myself, maybe—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice urgent. “Please don’t. Not because of me.”
A goodbye kiss would’ve been nice, but she knew Shelley wouldn’t move any closer to her, and she was afraid if she made the first move he’d reject her. She didn’t want to part that way.
“No regrets,” she whispered. “Agreed?”
“No regrets, Annie Brown,” he said, but there was a touch of remorse in his voice. He turned away and mounted his roan.
She watched him ride away from her without giving her so much as a backward glance. She watched until the darkness swallowed him whole, and still she stood as though rooted to the spot.
“Is everything all right?” Suzanne’s soft question surprised her.
“I’m fine.” She turned to her new friend. Suzanne reached out to wipe a tear from Annabelle’s cheek with her callused hand.
“You just need a good night’s sleep,” Suzanne insisted. “We’ll put you in the wagon with the children.” She placed a motherly arm around Annabelle’s shoulders.
Annabelle wiped her face. When had she started crying? Had Shelley seen her tears? She hoped not. “I have a bedroll,” she said. “I can sleep outside.”
“Nonsense,” Suzanne said with authority. “These two wagons are ours. Charles and I sleep in this one.” She gestured with her free hand, keeping the other firmly on Annabelle’s shoulder. “You will sleep with the children in this one.”
Annabelle stuck her head through the wide opening in the back. “Lots of room,” she conceded.
“Tomorrow morning after we load up again, there’ll barely be room to breathe.” Suzanne’s voice was light. “We hit the road early, so you’ll be wanting to get to sleep before long.”
Annabelle tried to push aside all memories of Shelley. “How many miles do you travel in a day?”
“About fifteen. Sometimes twenty,” Suzanne answered.
Annabelle bit her tongue. Fifteen or twenty miles! She and Shelley had always traveled two or three times that distance in a day. It would take forever to get to San Francisco. The news shouldn’t have surprised her. The ox-drawn wagons were slow, and would be heavily laden.
She lay awake long after everyone had gone to sleep. When she looked overhead all she saw was darkness, deep and complete. The children slept soundly, occasionally throwing their little bodies about with abundant energy, even in sleep. Eventually, she slipped out of the back of the wagon and sat against a large-spoked wheel.
