Eirica dropped the reins, her eyes wide with horror. Around her, everything spun out of control as she helplessly watched Ian fall. Seconds passed with excruciating slowness like some horrible nightmare in which she couldn’t move or even scream. A loud buzzing in her ears garbled James’s shout.

Beside her, James dove toward her son, reached out and snagged the falling toddler by one hand, then hit the side of the wagon hard with the force of his forward momentum. Unbelievably, when he straightened, he held Ian clutched to him.

He tucked the screaming boy securely under one arm and staggered toward her, his features twisted with pain and pale with the fright her son had given them both. He passed her without a word, grabbed the trailing reins and in a harsh voice, halted the oxen.

Eirica shook with lingering fear and heart-thumping relief. The sight of Ian’s body falling into the path of the wagon wheel, creaking and groaning beneath close to two-thousand-plus pounds, would forever haunt her. If her son had hit the ground, the wheel would have rolled over him, crushing his head. Bile rose and burned the back of her throat. “James—”

Her voice faltered when James came toward her, his chest heaving, hot emotion shimmering in eyes gone dark as a forest on a stormy day.

“Want—to tell me again—you don’t—need—help?” The words came out clipped, stark and harsh, as if he’d just run a mile at full tilt.

Around them, wagons, animals and people filed past, eyes averted, none stopping to see if they needed help. A vein near his temple beat in time to the clenching of his jaw. His quiet anger engulfed her. She tried to speak but her heart thudded painfully in her chest, leaving her short of breath. Long familiarity with angry men made her take an involuntary step away from this man who’d saved her son’s life. Moments ago she’d felt safe with James, but the raw emotion swirling between them was too much for her.

Long seconds passed as they stared at each other. Harsh gasps of air mingled with Ian’s continued cries. Her gaze slid to James’s hands, measuring his state of mind. No fists. No clenching and unclenching, no bulging of muscles in his arm and his face hadn’t turned red and ugly, all signs that with Birk warned of some sort of physical attack, either with hands or feet—or both, depending on the extent of his rage.

Eirica remained still, afraid to move or speak. But beneath her frozen fear, warmth and a sense of renewed amazement curled from her toes to her heart. Though James was angry, he was in complete control of himself. His hands, still holding her son gently yet firmly, didn’t seem quite so frightening anymore. As earlier, his anger didn’t terrify her or make her duck for cover. There was no urge to brace herself for a blow or turn and run.

For the first time in her life, Eirica felt no fear and could even acknowledge that James had every right to be upset, angry even. Her own foolish pride had nearly cost her son his life. She owed much to this man whose quick actions had saved her baby.

James had saved her son’s life.

Ian was alive. Safe.

A deep shudder tore through her and she forced from her mind the memory of Ian’s near death. She desperately needed to feel her son’s soft body cradled close to hers. “Thank you, James,” she whispered, holding out her arms for Ian.

James ignored her and set the crying two-year-old down on the ground, keeping him from running to Eirica. Kneeling on one knee, he forced Ian to look at him. “Ian.” The deep, no-nonsense tone silenced the boy. With wide eyes, Ian stared at James, his lower lip trembling.

Eirica stepped forward, ready to protect her child. “James, he’s just a—”

“Don’t hit him.” From the back of the wagon, Alison’s shrill voice drew the attention of both adults. “He’s just little.” Alison and Lara watched the adults with trepidation.

The combination of fear and agitation in her daughter’s voice brought tears to Eirica’s eyes. Her Ali had tried so hard to protect her younger siblings from their father’s wrath, sometimes by hiding them when he was in one of his drunken moods. Once she’d even suffered a beating in their stead until Eirica arrived to stop Birk.

Alison’s frightened plea seemed to affect James as well. He glanced from the girls to Ian, then to Eirica. Four pairs of blue eyes framed by various shades of red hair watched him warily. His gaze lingered on Eirica. “No one will ever hit any of you again.” His voice deepened with emotion and there was no doubting him.

While not much else might be clear to her, she trusted James and took a step toward him. When James shook his head, she hesitated. It was easy to acknowledge trust, much harder to prove it.

With gentle fingers, James forced her son to look at him again. “You scared your ma and me something fierce, Ian. Leaning out of a moving wagon is very foolish and dangerous. You must never, ever do that again.”

Rather than leave his rebuke at that, James pointed to the wagon wheels and went on to explain to Ian—and the two little girls watching and listening—what had nearly happened. When he finished, after making sure all three of her children understood the dangers, he stood, lifting Ian into the cradle of his strong arms.

Ian’s bright blue eyes were wide, but not with fear as Eirica expected. In fact, her son stared at James with what looked to be awe on his face. Straddling the wagon tongue, James deposited Ian back inside with his sisters, then removed his hat and dropped it onto the little boy’s head. Ian giggled and pushed up the wide brim as the hat completely covered his eyes, nose and most of his mouth. Still grinning, Ian played peekaboo with Lara. Alison stood to one side, watching James intently.

James wiped his forehead with his arm then reached out to draw her to him. The child threw her arms around his neck. Watching the two, Eirica felt her eyes tear up. Her daughter and this gentle giant of a man shared a deep bond, forged when Alison had been kidnapped and James had helped rescue her and his sister.

He put Alison down and stroked her curls. “Ali, you’re the eldest. Your ma needs you to help her by watching Lara and Ian when she’s busy. Will you do this for me?”

The little girl’s mouth dropped open, then she nodded solemnly. “I’ll help Ma, James, and I promise to be good. Maybe Lara and I can play with the beads Jessie got us at Fort Ke’rny.”

James ran a hand down her pale cheek. “That’s a great idea, Alison.” He stepped away from the wagon.

With her children settled, seemingly none the worse for the scare, Eirica was torn between gratitude for James’s quick reflexes and the lingering thread of resentment at his interference. But it was hard to be angry at a man whose very interference had saved her son’s life. On top of that, his handling of her children had been right. She’d have coddled Ian, too relieved to have him safe after his near brush with death to scold him. But not James. With no sugarcoating or anger, he’d made his point without lifting a hand against her children or causing them to obey out of fear. Her resentment died.

She peered into the wagon, needing to reassure herself they were indeed all right. They were sitting quietly, watchful but not afraid. She walked around to the back of the wagon where James had unhitched his horse. Though he seemed calm, the tightness etched around his mouth and the lines around his narrowed eyes conveyed the anger residing within. Her knees shook. He had every right to lash out at her. Her hand fluttered to her throat. “I’m very grateful—”

Her heart stopped when he lifted his hands. She couldn’t stop the automatic flinch from a blow that she knew wouldn’t come. A long pause fell between them, then James reached out slowly to grasp her shoulders. There was no force or pain in his grip. Only the gentle massaging of her tense muscles. The look in his eyes let her know he’d seen her instinctive reaction, but he didn’t acknowledge it verbally. Instead, he pulled her to him, held her tightly, his voice, taut with emotion, fanned her ear.

“That was too damn close,” he whispered.

Eirica felt some of her shakiness fade beneath the soothing warmth of his embrace. For a moment she allowed herself the luxury of accepting the comfort he offered.

She needed his touch, his secure embrace and the brief moment to lean on someone. What would she have done had her son been injured or worse, killed? A stab of pain went through her heart. She couldn’t bear to think of what might have happened. James tightened his hold and for a long moment, they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms. Then he put her from him, keeping hold of her shoulders, his fingers firm but not hurtful.

“Look at me, Eirica.”

Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his, saw the sadness he couldn’t hide.

“I don’t want your gratitude. I want your friendship, your trust.” He threw his head back as if in pain. “Hell, I want more than that and you know it, even if you won’t admit it.” His fingers slid up the sides of her neck until they tenderly cradled her jaw. His hands were large, his fingers spread from her chin to her temple. He tipped his head down and searched her face with eyes that mirrored his soul, revealing all that he felt.

Seeing the naked love exposed in his darkened eyes, Eirica opened her mouth to deny what he felt toward her, then shut it. What could she say? For to respond verbally to the anguish etched in lines on each side of his mouth, in the tautness of his jaw and staring at her from his sad, haunted gaze, meant opening the door to feelings he’d only hinted at but not put into words—words she didn’t want spoken aloud. The very thought of him loving her frightened her. She shook her head slightly, denying what she knew to be true.

“Yes,” James whispered, using his thumbs to caress the lines of her jaw. “But I won’t say the words, not yet, not until you’re ready to hear them.”

Eirica’s heart raced with excitement and fear. He couldn’t—she wouldn’t—“James—”

With a groan, he closed the space between them and lowered his head to brush a tender kiss over her lips, the contact no more than a feather-soft caress, yet time seemed to come to a halt. Her lips parted, his lingered. Their breath mingled. Then he stepped back, released her and jammed his hands into his pockets.

Wide-eyed, she stared at him, forgetting all the reasons why she had to deny herself a second chance at love. Was it so wrong to want what she’d dreamed of as a young girl? To have a love as strong and lasting as the Svenssons’? To have a home filled with love and laughter? And family?

James drew in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as he fought for his own control. Agitated, he ran his fingers through his hair. “Don’t ask me to apologize for that. If Ian had fallen beneath those wheels, you’d have buried your son today.”

Reminded of what her own foolish actions had nearly caused brought Eirica back to reality—and her senses. A sob rose and stuck in the back of her throat. “You don’t need to remind me how close I came to losing him, James.” She turned her back to him.

James gently spun her to face him. “There’s no room out here for misplaced pride, sweetheart. Your family’s survival depends on you knowing and accepting your limitations. When you need help, dammit, ask for it. Don’t sacrifice your health, or the safety of your children, for pride’s sake.” He fell silent, his gaze holding hers.

Eirica tried to speak but was so overcome that she could only stare at him, her face hot with humiliation, shame—and the emotions kindled by his kiss. Deep inside, a curl of hope swirled in a buried recess of her heart. She locked it away to take out and examine later, when she was alone. Right now, the enormity of what had nearly happened left her paralyzed.

What would she have done had James not been there? In her condition, she’d never have reached Ian in time to prevent a tragedy. Staring at the distant eastern horizon, she thought of the many graves of children she’d duly recorded in her daily journal entries. So many lives lost so young. It made her ill just to think how easily Ian could have become another woman’s journal entry.

James mistook her silence as refusal and, as if afraid of saying or doing more than he should, he released her and mounted. Eirica felt lost and alone. Wiping the tears from her cheeks with her apron, she tried to pull herself together. There would be plenty of time to think about the tragedy her actions had nearly caused.

She placed a hand on her belly, ready to admit she just wasn’t able to handle the oxen in her condition. James was right.

But where did that leave her? If she couldn’t manage out here, how would she manage alone in Oregon? Worry wound through her mind, leaving her feeling panicky. Taking a deep breath, she shoved it aside. Right now, her first priority was catching up to the others and to do that, she needed James. Lifting her head, she stilled her nervous jitters and placed a hand on his knee, then jerked away at the warm hard feel of him. Embarrassed, she put her hands behind her back. “Don’t go.”

His smile warmed her. Shyly, she lowered her eyes. She didn’t deserve such thoughtfulness and consideration. He dismounted, moved close and lifted her chin once more. Her heart lurched. Was he going to kiss her again? Lord help her, she wanted him to, but he didn’t.

“Thank you, Eirica.” He stared into her eyes for a long moment then released her, handing her the horse’s reins as he strode to the front of the wagon. First he lifted out Lara and Alison, settling them both on the back of the horse. Next, he swung Ian onto his broad shoulders. Eirica listened to the sweet giggles of her girls and her son’s delighted laughter and felt lighter of heart than she had in a long time.

James really was a nice man—too nice, she thought, resisting the urge to touch her fingers to her mouth to feel where his lips had brushed hers. Eirica fell into step beside him, leading the horse. She snuck a glance at the silent man walking next to her. He chose that moment to look her way. Their gazes meshed, hers shy, uncertain, his filled with longing and desire.

Eirica felt herself drowning in eyes that reminded her of a spring field of dewy green grass. It was so easy to imagine running, twirling and spinning freely across that field, her laughter ringing out as he gave chase. Together, they’d fall onto the carpet of softness and he’d lower his head once more, touch her lips with his.

As if he knew where her thoughts had taken her, James smiled, revealing an unexpected, but sweetly appealing dimple in his left cheek. Her pulse raced. Oh Lord, no man should have such a powerful smile.

His hand lifted, his thumb brushing a wisp of hair from her face. “A man of honor should state his intentions up front. You have no male relatives for me to speak to, so let there be no doubt between us, Eirica. I aim to court you. I want to start a new life in Oregon with you at my side, as my wife. I’ve raised my brothers and sister and I’m not getting any younger. A man needs a family of his own.”

Eirica felt adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions. James seemed to be everything she’d ever dreamed of, longed for, but she knew first-hand how fast a man could change once he had what he wanted.

But James isn’t anything like Birk. He’s different. He’s kind.

He’s the hero I’ve dreamed of all my life.

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. The pain of knowing she’d once thought the same of Birk made her wary. How could she trust herself to recognize the truth? “James, I don’t know what to say—”

He reached out to place one finger tenderly against her lips. “Don’t say anything. I won’t rush you, but it’s best you know now how I feel. Just think about it, about us. Give me a chance. That’s all I ask.” His finger slid down past her lips, lingered just beneath her chin before he turned his attention back to the trail, whistling softly.

Eirica touched her cheek, then, her lips. Things would never be the same between them. Before, their attraction had been unspoken, something neither had acknowledged. But now, with his boldly spoken words, it hung between them.

James wanted to court her. He wanted her for his wife.

She longed to put her trust in him, to allow herself to dream of love and happiness. She wanted what he offered, what his heated gaze promised.

Eirica forced her mind away from such foolish notions. Her weakness made her angry. If she married James, she’d lose the independence she’d gained with Birk’s death and her dream of owning land would also die.

And it was that dream, the need for security, that gave her the courage to face each day and continue on. Like Sofia, she would lay claim to her share of land, as was her right as a widow, and in Oregon, she’d have what she’d never had before: security—land—in her name, not a husband’s. Not even for love could she give that up.

Coralie walked behind her wagon, the merciless sun beating down on her. She stifled the complaints gathering in her mind. She was hot, tired and so sick of the dust. But what good would it do to protest day after day that she was tired of walking? It wouldn’t change the fact they still had weeks of travel left.

Weariness glazed her eyes and thirst left her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. She eyed the water barrel on the back of the wagon several feet in front of her, but the effort to quicken her steps for a taste of tepid water seemed too much. No, this trip had not been anything like she’d thought it would be.

She shuddered, grateful her friends back in Westport weren’t there to see how awful she looked. If Sarah or Becky ever saw her wearing plain calico and thick, clunky boots instead of fine slippers made of the softest kid leather, they’d just about faint.

Coralie sighed with longing. Someday, she’d don the fine silks and satins she’d worn all her life. She had one last delicious creation hidden in her trunk. Thank goodness she’d been smart enough to save it for her arrival in Oregon City.

She dabbed the beads of sweat forming along her forehead and grimaced at miles of white-capped wagons stretching out beyond forever. If she never saw another covered wagon, slept in a tent on the hard ground or cooked bent over a fire with the wind whipping her hair and skirts, it’d be fine with her.

And while most emigrants had to continue that existence through the first winter, she’d already decided to find herself and Jordan a room in a hotel or boarding-house. Surely, Oregon City would have something decent? Everyone else could share a one- or two-room shack until they could build permanent homes come spring. Not her. She planned on sleeping on a nice soft bed in a warm room and having what she missed the most—privacy.

Coralie wanted Jordan to herself for a while.

Images of her husband’s handsome face and hard, lean body made her sigh with longing. She rarely saw him during the day, forced to be content with his presence on those evenings when he wasn’t on first watch. And even when he did spend the evening with her, between the long grueling hours it took to prepare a meal and the rest of the evening chores, there was little time for talk. Most of the time, when they retired, they both fell into an exhausted slumber.

She frowned. Last night, cuddled close, she’d tried to tell Jordan about their baby, eager for his reaction when he learned he was going to be a father, but he’d fallen asleep! Tonight would be different. Just imagining his reaction made her smile and chased away the tiredness. She gave in to her need for a drink to ease her parched throat and swallowed two ladles of warm water, then joined her brother who flicked his whip to keep the sluggish oxen moving.

“What’s the grin for? What have you done now?” Elliot asked, his blue eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Coralie affected a look of outrage. “I haven’t done anything.” Well, she’d done something, as had Jordan, but she planned to keep that news to herself for a while. Instead, she threaded her arm through Elliot’s, her step light. “I’m happy, brother dearest.” And that was no lie, despite the dust and heat and long boring days and longer, lonely nights.

“She’s in love, Elliot.” Jessie spoke from behind them then dismounted Shilo, her black horse, and led her.

Elliot made a disgusted sound and quickened his steps. Coralie shot a warning glance at her sister-in-law. Poor Elliot. He suffered from a broken heart. She narrowed her gaze as sisterly indignation rose. How dare that mousy pastor’s daughter lead him on, letting Elliot believe they would marry once they reached Oregon.

The chit had no backbone, allowing her father to end their courtship just because Elliot didn’t belong to their church. Well, that was her loss. She had no doubt Elliot would find someone else, someone special. He’d already caught the eyes of several young women.

As if to prove her right, two giggling girls ran past, eyeing Elliot. Coralie scowled when they looked as if they were going to stop and chat. One narrow-eyed glare from her convinced them to keep going. A jab to her side let her know Jessie had seen her.

“What?” Coralie widened her eyes but determination filled her. Those two were simpering, giggling chits with heads filled with cotton and air. Neither deserved someone as wonderful as her brother.

Coralie couldn’t help glancing behind her to where Sofia and her three grandchildren walked beside their wagon. She focused on the older girl, Catarina, who was the same age as herself and Jessie.

“Mind your own affairs, Corie,” Jessie muttered beneath her breath, but she, too, eyed the De Santis girl with speculation.

Sniffing, Coralie whispered, “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought the same thing.”

Elliot glared at them from over his shoulder. “What are the two of you plotting now?”

“Nothing,” they answered in unison.

“Don’t get any ideas, either one of you.”

Coralie quickened her pace and caught up to her brother. She hooked her arm through his. “Oh, Elliot, love is wonderful. You’ll find someone else, someone worthy of you, maybe before we reach Oregon.”

Elliot pulled free. “Not a chance, Corie. I’m not interested in acting like a besotted fool again and you’d best remember that. You, too, Jessie.” He sped up the oxen, deliberately distancing himself.

Respecting Elliot’s desire to be alone, the two women dropped back. Glancing behind them, Coralie spotted Eirica walking beside James with Ian in her arms. Coralie laid her palm on her still-flat belly, glad she’d be in Oregon before she swelled with child. Life on the trail was difficult enough without the added burden of being so near birthing time.

Thinking of Eirica reminded Coralie of the woman’s mildewed baby clothes and blankets. If only she could sew—but she’d never seen the purpose in learning when her father owned a store and could either buy what she needed or hire the work out to a seamstress. She glanced at her sister-in-law. “How skilled are you with thread and a needle, Jessie?”

Surprised, Jessie lifted a brow. “Don’t tell me you want me to mend all those ruined gowns of yours? Not a chance. I hate mending.”

Coralie waved her to silence. “Not mending, sewing from scratch.”

Jessie grinned. “Well, James made me sew a shirt for him once. He thought it was important for me to know how. He gave me a good shirt to use as a pattern so I took it apart and made him a new one.” She giggled. “He wore it once. An hour. One sleeve was too short and tight, the other long and baggy. And the seams in the side had already started pulling apart.”

Laughing, Jessie slid Coralie a look of pure devilment. “The shirt was hopeless, as was the good one I’d taken apart. After that, whenever he or the others needed shirts, he paid someone else to sew them. Figured it was cheaper than wasting good material on my feeble skills. Why?”

Coralie wrinkled her nose. “I want to make Eirica some baby clothes. I suppose I could ask Anne to teach me.”

Jessie elbowed her. “I thought you were knitting a blanket for her baby.”

“Please, let’s not talk about that. By the time I finish it, her babe will be grown! Sewing has to be easier.”

Jessie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Eirica probably already has everything she needs, Corie.”

“But she doesn’t, Jessie.” Eirica’s dismay at finding the baby clothes in ruins still worried Coralie. Her friend had looked so beaten and with all she’d gone through, Coralie wanted to do something to make it right. Quickly, she told Jessie what had happened. Then she grabbed Jessie by the hand and pulled her in the direction of the Svenssons. “Come on. Let’s go talk to Anne. She can teach both of us to sew.”

Groaning, Jessie pulled back. “Not me, Corie. I don’t sew.”

Coralie ignored Jessie’s protests. “If I have to learn to cook and sew and knit and heaven knows what else, you can learn to wield a needle right alongside me.”

Night had fallen when James shifted in his saddle then stood in the stirrups. The guitar slung over his back chimed with the motion. His mount, a mare this time, tossed its head and side-stepped, as if telling him to settle down. But he couldn’t. Thoughts of Eirica filled his mind and the need to see her made him restless. Knowing he had to give her time to adjust and accept his intention to court her, he’d volunteered for first watch, hoping it’d keep him too busy to think about her. But nothing could erase the feel of her lips against his. It didn’t matter that it had been brief, the barest brush of her silky mouth against his. The memory lingered, leaving him thirsting for more.

He ran a hand across the back of his neck. No matter how sweet the memory, kissing her had been a big mistake. For the first time since he’d met her, he’d had the opportunity to spend a whole day in her company and what did he do? Opened his big mouth and ruined it, sent her fleeing from him as soon as she’d been able to get away.

Depressed, he slumped in his saddle. “Way to go, you damn palooka.” Duarte, one of the horse wranglers, favored the term for a dumb lout and right now, James felt as though it fit him like a second skin. At the noon stop, Eirica had shared her cold meal with him and allowed him to watch the children while she rested, but when they resumed travel she’d avoided him, choosing to walk with Anne or Coralie. The same happened when they stopped for the night. She stayed away from his wagon.

Heck, he didn’t even get the chance to talk to her, to ask if he could set her tent up. Dante had taken care of it and unloaded what she needed for the evening. “Young whelp.” But there wasn’t any heat in his words. Sofia’s grandson might have eyes for Eirica, but he was too young for her—in life’s experience if not in age.

No. The person he lashed out at was himself. “Scared her off. So much for courtin’ and goin’ slow.” He slapped his thigh with the palm of his hand. Both his mount and the nearby cows started, but James didn’t notice. Over and over, he replayed the events of the morning, starting with Eirica’s stubborn attempt to handle the wagon. When he saw her struggling to control the team, witnessed the lines of defeat on her face and the tears in her eyes, he’d wanted to scoop her into his arms and reassure her that she didn’t have to do a man’s work, she had him to take care of her.

Yet, she didn’t want his help. Didn’t want his charity. Charity! The word still stung. As did her comment that friends didn’t barge in where they weren’t wanted. He shook his head, trying hard to understand her, but she didn’t make sense to him. Why would she try to handle the oxen in her present condition? Especially when she didn’t have to. It was just plain foolish in his opinion, as proven when Ian had toppled out of the wagon.

His heart still pounded when he thought of what might have happened. Seeing Ian fall had taken ten years off his life, and worse, had made him forget that Eirica was fragile, that she needed to be treated gently. He’d yelled at her, accused her of being so cussed stubborn that she’d endanger her children before swallowing her pride. Then he’d had the gall to kiss her and state his intentions.

No doubt. He’d really made a mess of things now.

Swinging his guitar from around his back to his front, he absently strummed the strings, seeking an uplifting song to chase away his depressing thoughts. What drifted over the herd of cattle were the soft chords of a mournful love ballad.

Nearby, a lone cow lifted her head in response and lowed at the sliver of moon hanging among bright glittering stars in a sky of translucent black. James closed his eyes and sent his baritone voice sliding through the night, soft and silky as the fur of a newborn calf. When the last note left his lips, James dropped his hand with one last strum across the strings. His gaze lingered on the shimmering sheet of light above him.

“You got it bad, brother,” an amused voice intruded.

James twisted in his saddle, frowning. “Shut up, Jordan.” He didn’t bother to deny it. He turned his back on his sibling and hoped he’d leave it be. Of course, it was too much to ask.

“Never thought I’d see the day when my big brother carried his heart on his sleeve. Ain’t love wonderful? Cooeee!”

James rolled his eyes. Wonderful wasn’t the word he’d choose. Frustrating, painful and depressing were more like it. “You lookin’ for a fist in your yapping jaw?”

Undaunted by his brother’s bristling, Jordan pulled his mouth organ from his pocket and sat back in his saddle, his eyes shadowed by the night. “Your watch is over, big brother. Go on, get out of here.” With a self-satisfied grin, Jordan lifted his hands to his mouth and launched into a jaunty tune.

James wheeled his mount around and rode off, fighting envy that his brother and sister had both found love. But he was happy for them. He thought of Jeremy—the youngest—who seemed to be content to be alone. With all the single women on the trail, Jeremy could certainly take his pick—including Sofia’s granddaughter. She seemed nice, the sort of woman who’d make a man a good wife. But so far, Jeremy had stayed clear of her, never once even trying to flirt with her or get to know her. Well, his brother would find love when the time was right.

When James reached the spot where the rest of the hired hands had bedded down, he turned his mare out with the other horses and retrieved his bedroll from a pile on the ground near the supply wagon. But instead of laying it out, he hefted it over his shoulder and started walking, his guitar slung over his back.

He picked his way around wagons, tents and wandering animals, using the light from above, mixed with the glow of campfires to find his way to the wagons. From inside canvas tents, hushed murmurs and soft chuckles reached his ears. Husbands and wives talked or, judging from some of the sounds, made love before sleep claimed them. The noises intensified his own single status, which made him feel so alone. He stopped and tipped his head back. Hundreds of thousands of stars winked down at him.

Foolish mortal. They seemed to mock him. And they were right. Only a fool fell in love and willingly opened himself to the heartache and pain that accompanied it. James slapped his hat against his thigh, understanding fully the pain Jordan and Jessie had gone through before finding love. And like them, he vowed to carve out his little bit of happiness with the woman who held his heart, even if it took a long time to win her love and trust.

As quietly as possible, he entered the wagon circle, found the wagon that belonged to him and his siblings and unrolled his blankets beneath it. Sitting on the ground to remove his boots, he paused, his gaze sliding toward Eirica’s tent pitched outside the circle two wagons down. He could see only a portion of it. No light burned inside. She’d be asleep by now but at first light, James planned to go to her and apologize for his earlier behavior. He’d also be on hand to assist her with her wagon and oxen.

James started to pull one boot off, then froze when a dark shadow crept up the side of Eirica’s tent. It was too tall and thin to be from one of the wandering oxen in the middle of the corralled wagons. So, who was sneaking around her tent this late at night? And for what purpose? Crime on the trail ran rampant, and rumors of a thief stealing food and clothing had recently traveled from wagon to wagon.

Around him, soft snores gave testimony to the fact that everyone else was fast asleep. Whoever was moving silently beyond his line of vision couldn’t be up to any good, especially hanging around so close to a single woman’s tent.

Crouching down, staying close to the wagons, James crept forward to find out.