The Journey Home. Linda Ford

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      “I thought you were anxious to wash.”

      He studied the house, the door now closed. “Your friends won’t understand your keeping company with me.”

      “I’m not keeping company with anyone.”

      He didn’t make a move toward the nearby water trough.

      “They do understand the need for water.”

      Sam whinnied and nudged Kody. He could ignore his own thirst, but it hardly seemed fair to deprive Sam of a drink. “Lead on,” he murmured, a sense of exposure causing him to put the horse between him and the windows of the house.

      They both washed, then Kody pumped fresh water for them to drink. He filled the canteen and waited as Sam drank his fill.

      Charlotte wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and smoothed her damp hair off her face. “I’m going on to town. Harry must have sent word by now.” She hitched the rifle over her shoulder, tried to tuck the unwieldy bedroll under one arm as she struggled to carry the bulky bag in the other. Then she resolutely headed down the road.

      Knowing he had to do what Ma would consider the right thing, Kody fell in beside her. “How far is it, did you say?”

      “Didn’t.” She paused. “Five miles.”

      He swallowed a groan. He wasn’t used to walking and had already used his feet for three miles while Sam plodded along with an empty saddle. “Seems a shame for Sam to be doing nothing.”

      “No need for you to go out of your way.”

      “I hadn’t planned on going to Big Rock. Hadn’t not planned it, either. I’m only passing through on the way to something better. Picking up work where I can find it on my way north.”

      “What’s up north?”

      “Canada and a new life.” As soon as he earned some more money he’d be ready to start over. “Hear you can find places where you never see another soul for months at a time.”

      “I’m here to tell you it can get might lonely not seeing another person.” She shot him a look so full of disgust he chuckled.

      He understood her response to being alone differed vastly from his own reasons for wanting it, so he didn’t say anything.

      They walked onward a few steps.

      “Seems a shame for Sam to be doing nothing.”

      “No one asked you to accompany me. Get on and ride for Canada.”

      He snorted. “My ma would give me a real dressing-down if she heard I’d done such an ungentlemanly thing.”

      “Your ma isn’t going to know, now is she?”

      “You can never be sure.” His voice rang with a mixture of regret and pride.

      She laughed. The sound made his insides happy. “I’ve heard of mothers having eyes in the back of their heads,” she said. “But this is the first time I heard someone suspect their mother of having long-distance sight.”

      He smiled, liking how it eased his mind. He’d gotten too used to scowling. “It ain’t so much she’ll see me do something, but if I ever see her again, she’ll see it in my eyes.” He’d never been able to fool Ma. She seemed to see clear through him. Which was one more reason to stay away from Favor, and Ma and Pa and all that lay in that direction.

      Charlotte stopped and considered him. “Do you know how fortunate you are to have such a mother? If I had such a mother I’d never leave her. What are you doing going to Canada to be alone?”

      “I have my reasons. Now save me from my mother’s displeasure and ride Sam to town.”

      She studied him for a long moment. His skin tightened at the way she looked at him. He saw the fear and caution in her eyes, knew she saw him as a redskin, someone to avoid.

      With a hitch of one shoulder to persuade the rifle to stay in place, she turned her steps back down the road.

      He’d met this kind of resistance before and sighed loudly enough for her to pause. “My horse ain’t Indian. Or half-breed.”

      Her shoulders pulled up inside her faded brown dress. He could practically see her vibrate, but didn’t know if from anger or fear or something else. She let her bag droop to her feet and turned to face him. The sky lightened, with the brassy sun poking through the remnants of the dust storm, and he saw her eyes were light brown.

      “Are you accusing me of prejudice?” she demanded, her voice soft, her eyes flashing with challenge as if daring him to think it, let alone say it.

      Could she really be free of such? His heart reared and bucked as long-buried hopes and dreams came to life—acceptance, belonging, so many things. He shoved them away, barricaded them from his thoughts. Best he be remembering who he was, how others saw him. “Nope. Just stating a fact.”

      “I couldn’t care less if your horse is Indian, black, pink or stubborn as a mule. I prefer to walk.” She spun around and marched down the road, sidling sideways to capture the escaping bedroll with her hip.

      He grinned at her attempts to manage her belongings. For a moment he stared after her. She said words of acceptance, but he doubted she meant them as anything more than argumentative.

      He followed, leading Sam. “He ain’t stubborn.”

      “How nice for you.” She continued, unconcerned by the wind tugging at her skirt and dragging her coppery-brown hair back from her forehead, undaunted by her belongings banging against her shins with every step.

      Mule-headed woman. She made him want to prod at her more, see what would surface. He tried to think of a way to challenge her insistence on walking, wanting to somehow force her to state her opinion on his race. No doubt she had the same reservations as—ha, ha, good word choice. Again, his mother would have been amused. The same reservations about Indians most white folk. “My mother would want you to ride,” he murmured.

      Finally she nodded. “For your mother.” He secured her things to the saddle, then she tucked her skirt around her legs and used his cupped hands to assist herself onto Sam’s back. “I’ll ride partway. You can ride the rest.”

      He didn’t argue, but nothing under the brassy sun would allow him to ride while a white woman walked at his side. He could just imagine the comments if anyone saw them.

      “Seems everyone wants a new life,” she said from her perch on Sam’s back. “Except me. I’ve been quite happy with the one God provided.”

      He wondered how being abandoned made her happy or caused her to think God had provided for her. “How long since your brother left?”

      She darted him a look, then shifted her gaze to some distant point down the road. “Near a week.”

      Kody had learned to let insults roll off him without response. In fact, he’d learned to ignore lots of things in life. But a week? Well, he figured she had to be made of pretty strong stuff to still be fighting.

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