Loving the Baby’s Protector on the Trail (Preview)

Chapter One

Oakridge Valley, Nebraska, 1870

The rains were coming, everybody agreed on that. The man at the general store warned Savannah about it when she paid for her goods. 

“We don’t get much rain in these parts,” he commented, “so when it comes, it’s bad. You take care of yourself now, Miss Quinn.”

She offered a faint smile and said something polite, hurriedly taking her leave. Pa wouldn’t like it if supper wasn’t on the table in time, and they needed the groceries to get everything ready. Really, there was no time to waste. 

Maisy was already working on supper when Savannah returned. The air was heavy and thick, promising a storm sooner or later. Savannah suppressed a shudder. 

“I got everything on your list,” Savannah explained, putting down the basket. “Shall we get started? You said Pa wanted a beef pie?”

“That’s right,” Maisy answered, flashing a smile. She looked more tired than she had when Savannah had left, fine lines sketched out around her eyes. She looked much older than her thirty years. 

She didn’t have those when she first got married to Pa, Savannah thought dully. Odd to think that it’s only been four years. 

“Could you start peeling the potatoes?” Maisy added, dropping a great lump of dough onto the floury counter and beginning to knead it. “Oh, and the little man woke up minutes after you’d gone and bawled his eyes out when you weren’t there.”

Savannah chuckled to herself. “He missed his big sister, I suppose.”

The baby wasn’t crying now, at least. He lay in his little basket, his favorite rattle—a proper silver thing, with a thick handle and a ridge running around the head of the rattle, very heavy—tucked in behind him, set in a quiet corner of the kitchen. He was an observant baby, keenly watching everything that went on with large eyes. Savannah pounced on her little brother, lifting him into the air and pressing a kiss to his fat little cheek. 

Sawyer was nearly eight months old and already seemed big for his age. He’d be walking soon, and then he’d grow so fast they wouldn’t be able to keep up. He gurgled happily, waving his arms unsteadily. Savannah gently put him back in the basket and unhooked her apron. 

Supper would have to be ready by six o’clock, and they’d already wasted too much time. There was work to get done. 

Warm sunlight streamed through the window, filling the kitchen with humid heat. The idea of a storm and rain seemed ridiculous, but Savannah had lived in Oakridge Valley long enough to understand the dangers of the sudden storms. 

In fact, she knew better than most. 

Thunder cracked in her head, and Savannah shuddered. To distract herself, she hastily untangled her braided hair and began to twist it up into a simple knot at the back of her head. Her hair was long, down to her waist, and a vibrant copper color. She was used to hearing compliments on her hair and how pretty it was, but Savannah couldn’t help but feel that her hair got in the way. 

She was in the process of tying it up when the back door creaked open. Both she and Maisy glanced up, expecting to see Pa step over the threshold. 

It wasn’t Pa. 

“Mr. Connor,” Savannah burst out, surprised. “I…We didn’t expect to see you.”

“Oh, please, Miss Quinn. Call me Jack, can’t you? We know each other well enough. Mr. Quinn said I could go on ahead of him and get a cup of water.”

Jack Connor was the foreman at Quinn Ranch and Pa’s right-hand man. He was a hulking man with a lopsided nose from frequent breaks, small and deep-set gray eyes, and thinning fair hair. 

Savannah didn’t like him. He had a way of looking at her, his gaze sweeping up and down her form, that made her feel itchy and uncomfortable. If ever he was around—and he usually was—she was sure to feel his eyes on her. 

Savannah was used to being looked at, of course. She was Mr. Quinn’s daughter, after all, and got enough compliments on her appearance to know that she was good-looking. There was a difference, however, between being looked at normally and the way he looked at her. 

Before she could say another word, Maisy was at her side, with her usual placid smile on her face and a cup of water in one floury hand. 

“You finish up the dough, Savannah,” Maisy said sweetly, her gaze fixed on Jack. “I’ll take care of our guest. Here’s your water, Jack. You want something to eat?”

Savannah was grateful to slip back into the kitchen and turn her back to Jack, but not because she saw him scowl at Maisy.

“Thanks, Mrs. Quinn,” he answered shortly, not sounding grateful at all. “Hey, Savannah, you ought to have your hair down more often. It suits you. Don’t you think it suits her, Mrs. Quinn?”

“It’s more practical for Savannah to have her hair up when she’s working in the kitchen,” Maisy answered coolly, saving Savannah the trouble of responding. 

Gritting her teeth, Savannah concentrated on the dough. It was going to be a good pie crust, she could tell. Crisp and buttery and the perfect consistency. 

Savannah would make apple pie with what was left. She’d add sugar, of course, and maybe cinnamon. There were raisins left, and maybe…

“I’d like a word with Savannah, Mrs. Quinn.”

She flinched at Jack’s voice, cutting across the quiet kitchen. 

He’s not just here for water, she thought, her heart sinking. Still, she didn’t turn around, letting Maisy handle it. 

“Savannah’s busy, Jack. And shouldn’t you call her Miss Quinn? I’m not sure that Tucker would be happy to hear you talking to his daughter so informally.”

Jack gave a bark of laughter. “You don’t have a clue what’s going on, do you? Well, alright. You’ll see, soon enough. Tucker and I are closer than you can imagine.”

Savannah flinched. She’d never heard Jack call Pa by his first name before. 

Jack stamped away across the kitchen, and Savannah heard the door slam behind him. In his basket, Sawyer began to fuss again. 

Savannah turned uncertainly. Her stepmother was standing over Sawyer’s basket, watching him with a strange expression on her face. 

“That man makes me uncomfortable,” Savannah whispered. 

“Hush,” Maisy said at once. “You don’t want your Pa to overhear you, do you? He’d be terribly upset to hear that you disapproved of his foreman.”

Savannah set her jaw. It was true—Pa would see it as an insult to himself. Besides, no good would come of it. He’d never allow Jack to be parted from him. 

“Best to just ignore it,” Maisy added, after a moment. She flashed a tired smile at Savannah. “Try and avoid him, if you can. Don’t disturb the peace, eh?”

“The peace is already disturbed,” Savannah found herself saying, her voice getting louder. “I hate Jack Conner, and I hate the way he looks at me. I know about the way he treats his women. I know he goes to the saloon. I know about the soiled doves he spends his time with, and…”

“Hush, hush, child!” Maisy hissed, flying across the kitchen. She seized Savannah by the shoulders, her stepmother forcing her to look at her. “You can’t talk like this. You are too outspoken, Savannah.”

Clenching her teeth, Savannah wrenched her shoulders away. “Don’t call me child. You’re only six years older than I am.”

At once, Savannah wished she hadn’t spoken. Maisy flinched, her large blue eyes filling with hurt. Clearing her throat, she turned away. 

“I suppose you’re right,” Maisy murmured. “I’m not your real mother, am I? I feel…I feel so much older than I am, sometimes. So tired. I’m sorry, Savannah.”

At once, guilt came flooding back, and Savannah hurried to wrap her stepmother in her arms. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her cheek pressed against Maisy’s. “I didn’t mean to be unkind. I just don’t like the way Jack looks at me.”

Maisy gave a misty smile in return. “I understand, but really, you simply have to ignore it. It’s all part of being a woman, having men look at you that way.”

Savannah clenched her jaw. “It shouldn’t have to be.”

Before either of them could speak, the door slammed open, loud enough to make Sawyer give a surprised wail. 

At first, Savannah was sure that it was Jack, come back for something nefarious. 

She was almost relieved to see that it was Pa. 

Almost. 

Tucker Quinn was, at forty-five, the richest and most influential man in the whole of the valley. His ranch stretched from one peak of the valley to another, and all the neighboring ranchers understood the importance of staying on good terms with him. And his foreman, of course. The Quinn women weren’t quite so important.

Pa was not as tall as Jack, and he was more wiry than powerful. His hair was more gray than black, but his eyes were sharp and bright as freshly-cut emeralds, just the same as Savannah’s. 

Aside from their eyes, she didn’t resemble Pa at all. No, Savannah knew well that with her tall, willowy figure, her copper hair, and her oval face, she looked exactly like Ma. 

Judging by the way Pa’s gaze hardened when he looked at her, he thought so, too. Behind him, a couple of Pa’s key workers waited. She recognized Ted and Burly Lennox, a pair of thin, unpleasant Irishmen who bothered the women in town and drank away their wages weekly. They lingered a moment, as if unsure whether Pa would come out and give them more tasks. After a moment, they shuffled away, and the door swung closed. 

“I hope you two aren’t wasting time,” Pa commented, eyeing them narrowly. “And somebody stop my boy crying, how about that? It’s not good for the Quinn son and heir to lie bawling in his crib all day.”

Savannah hurried over to Sawyer’s basket, scooping him up. Sawyer was not a difficult baby and was easy to soothe, but he often seemed more upset and capricious when Pa was around. 

Perhaps he senses the atmosphere changing. 

“You’re home early, Tucker,” Maisy said, taking a nervous step forward and offering a faint smile. “Supper isn’t ready.”

“I know supper ain’t ready. I’m not a fool. I want a snack. Make me a sandwich, won’t you?”

Maisy swallowed thickly, nodding. She hurried over to the counter and took out the bread. Pa settled himself at the head of the kitchen table, sniffing loudly. 

“Don’t turn your back to me, Savannah. Show a little respect to your father, can’t you?”

She flinched, turning around at once. She still carried Sawyer, tucked against her shoulder. Pa eyed her sourly, his gaze running up and down as if looking for faults. His fingers began to drum against the kitchen table. 

“Jack came in for water a moment ago,” he said at last. “Did you talk to him?”

Before Savannah could speak, Maisy turned from the counter, wringing her floury hands together, and answered for her. 

“Savannah was very busy, Tucker. Jack said…”

“I didn’t ask you,” Tucker snapped. “I’m talking to my daughter. Hold your tongue, can’t you?”

Maisy blanched, ducking her head. She glanced briefly at Savannah, apologetically, and turned back to her sandwich-making. 

“Yes, Jack came in here,” Savannah answered, as calmly as she could. She stood as straight and tall, looking Pa in the eye. 

She and Maisy managed Pa in very different ways. Maisy tried to figure out what Pa might want or need to hear, ahead of time. She cringed around him, trying to mollify his bad temper. She was a hard worker and a sweet woman, and did her best to make Pa’s life as easy and pleasant as she could. 

Well, none of that seemed to be enough. In fact, Pa seemed to despise Maisy more than ever these days. Now that she’d had their son, he seemed to like her even less. 

If it doesn’t work for Maisy, it won’t work for me, Savannah reminded herself. I’m going to hold my head high and keep my dignity. I bet that’s what Ma would have done. 

“Jack is a decent man,” Pa stated. “He’s been like a son to me. I don’t know how this ranch would work without him. I’ve decided to bring him closer into our family. Now, he’s said that both you and Maisy aren’t friendly to him, and that’s going to stop right away, you hear?”

Savannah clenched her jaw. “Maisy is perfectly friendly to him, Pa.”

“Don’t contradict me. Now, I’ve got some news. Good news, and I’ve decided to tell you about it now.”

Maisy approached the table, meekly setting a sandwich down in front of Pa. He picked up the sandwich in one hand but didn’t even glance at Maisy. 

“You’re twenty-four, Savannah,” Pa said briskly. “It’s high time you were married.”

Savannah’s heart plummeted. A nasty, cold feeling swept through her. She caught Maisy’s eye and saw terror in her stepmother’s face, too. 

“M-Married, Pa?” Savannah stammered. “But you need me here. Maisy needs me, and Sawyer…”

“That’s enough. We don’t need you here. Maisy will do well enough without you. No, I’ve made up my mind. You’re getting married.” He paused, giving her a wry smile. “You don’t seem happy. I haven’t even told you who you’re marrying yet.” 

Savannah swallowed thickly. She thought about telling Pa how much she loved him and couldn’t bear to leave him. That was what Maisy would do. Maisy would try to beg. 

I love my stepmother, but sometimes I wish she had a little more backbone. 

Would that do any good, though? Probably not. Savannah didn’t look at Maisy. She focused on Pa. 

“I thought you might have guessed,” Pa responded, chuckling. “I always thought you were a smart girl. You’re marrying Jack Connor.”

There was a long, taut silence. Swallowing thickly, Savannah carefully put Sawyer back in his basket. 

“Pa, I can’t marry Jack.”

Pa’s smile dropped from his face like a stone. “No? And why not?”

“I…I don’t like him, Pa. He makes me uncomfortable. I’m sorry to upset you, but…”

“If you’re sorry to upset me,” Pa interrupted, “then why are you doing it?”

He wasn’t shouting, not yet. His voice was quiet and menacing, a prelude to something much worse. Savannah’s palms were sweaty, and she curled her fingers into fists. 

“I love you, Pa,” Savannah said, and tried her best to sound as if she meant it. “But I can’t marry Jack Connor. He won’t make me happy, and I’m sure I wouldn’t make him happy.”

“Let me be clear,” Pa said again, his voice flat and blank. “This isn’t a question, Savannah. We’re not having a discussion here. You’re my daughter. Mine. This is my house, and my word is law. I’ve thought long and hard about what your future must be. Now that I have Sawyer and you aren’t my only child, it’s high time you were married. I want a dynasty, girl, and that means grandchildren. You’ll marry Jack, or so help me, I’ll beat you until you beg to be allowed to do your duty. Do you understand me?”

Savannah said nothing. She was shaking, nausea creeping up her throat, and burning the back of her tongue. 

Pa rose slowly to his feet, fingers braced on the kitchen table. 

“Girl, I said, do you understand me?”

She swallowed thickly, trying to work moisture into her mouth. 

“I understand you, Pa.”

“I understand you, sir.”

“I understand you, sir.”

Pa gave a short nod, sitting back down with a thump. “That’s the last time I’ll repeat myself when I ask a question, Savannah. Things need to change around here. I’ve been too lax with discipline, but I can promise you that it’s over.”

He picked up the sandwich, taking a large bite. 

At once, he choked, spraying half-chewed bits of bread and meat everywhere. He slammed the sandwich down on the plate, hard enough to make both sandwich and plate fly up in the air and land on the kitchen floor. Crash. Shards of pottery flew everywhere, tangled up with sandwich pieces. 

“What the hell do you think you’re serving me?” he hollered, rounding on Maisy. Maisy gave a strangled cry, ducking back against the counters. 

“It’s…It’s only chicken! We had some leftover from…”

“Leftovers! You had the nerve to serve me leftovers, woman?”

Pa’s hand shot out, and Savannah closed her eyes so that she didn’t have to see the slap. 

She heard it, though. 

Maisy didn’t cry or yelp. She never did.

“You don’t serve me leftovers,” Pa hissed, faintly out of breath. “Forget the sandwich. Concentrate on making something edible for supper, you hear? Jack will be joining us. If it’s not good, you’ll be sorry.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Rounding on his heel, Pa stamped over to the door. 

“Somebody better clear up that mess,” he spat, gesturing to the broken crockery and sandwich on the floor. Then he left, slamming the door behind him. 

He left silence behind him. No, not complete silence, as Sawyer had begun to keen quietly, frightened by the noise and anger. 

Savannah drew in a deep breath and took a step toward Maisy. Her stepmother was half turned away; her chin dropped to her chest. 

“Maisy? Are you hurt bad?”

Maisy turned to face her. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and there was a growing bruise across her cheek. Almost without thinking, Savannah lifted her hand to her own scar, bisecting her lower lip and running down onto her chin. After that incident, Pa tended to take off his ring before beating his wife or daughter. 

Usually, at least. 

“I’m fine,” Maisy responded, her voice steadier than Savannah had expected. She passed a shaking head over her hair. Maisy’s hair had once been her crowning glory, a torrent of flaxen curls which waved thickly down to her shoulders. These days, she generally wore her hair in a tight, unflattering knot, keeping it smoothed back. Her hair seemed to be thinning, too. 

“Maisy, maybe you should sit down.”

The older woman shook her head, moving over to where Sawyer was still fussing in his basket. She crouched before the baby, smiling at him. Sawyer’s lower lip ceased wobbling, and he began to smile gummily at his mother. Maisy lifted his rattle and eyed it thoughtfully. 

“Your Pa means what he said, Savannah. He’ll make you marry Jack.”

Savannah bit her lip. “I know.”

Maisy turned around to face her. “You have to get away from here.”

For a moment, Savannah was sure she’d misheard. Of course, she’d thought of running away a thousand times before, but the question was, where would she go? She had no money, no friends, no real knowledge of the outside world. Pa would come after her, of course. She would probably not make it out of the valley, even. And once Maisy had arrived, Savannah had finally found a friend. She’d thought about running away still, but somehow the idea seemed even more ridiculous than it had when she was younger. 

“How?” she heard herself say.

Maisy rose to her feet, looking Savannah dead in the eyes. There was a cool, calm expression on her face now. Determination, that was it. 

“My sister, Caroline, lives in California. She’ll shelter you, I know it. But you must promise me that you’ll take Sawyer, too. I don’t want this life for my baby.”

Savannah sucked in a breath. “I’m not stirring a step away from this place without you, Maisy. He’ll kill you.”

Maisy shrugged. “Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. My health isn’t what it was, you know.”

“I am not going without you. But, Maisy, how would we get to California?”

Maisy gave a small smile, turning away. “I’m working on a plan, Savannah. Once things are in place, I’ll tell you all about it. For now, let’s keep our heads down and let Tucker think that we’re on board with what he wants. But let me tell you this, girl, I will not see you marry Jack Connor, not while there’s breath in my body.”

Chapter Two

A sigh of relief rippled through the wagon train as they trundled into Oakridge Valley. It was a bigger town than the ones they’d been passing through before now, so there would be an opportunity to replenish their depleted stores, buy more supplies, and have a proper rest. 

West wasn’t quite sure how his caravan had ended up leading the train, but it was probably for the best. A number of their fellow travelers simply didn’t seem to know how to travel. They made stupid decisions, like choosing to bring half a house’s worth of furniture, loading up their wagon until their poor horses could scarcely move. 

That was another thing—they all brought horses, instead of oxen. When West explained that they needed both, they just looked at him with wide, baffled eyes. 

There’d been deaths already. One wagon had overturned while they crossed a river, and everybody inside it drowned. There’d been an accident when a wagon got stuck in mud, and one man tried to push it out by putting his weight on the spokes of the cartwheel. When it shifted, he was thrown forward, off-balance, and fell underneath the wagon, which rolled over him. 

The unlucky man had died almost instantly, but it was still a gory scene. West had just been able to stop Willa from seeing it, but as time went on, she was more and more likely to see something unpleasant. 

I can’t protect her forever. 

This wasn’t a pleasant thought, and he immediately put it out of his mind. 

They reached a wide, empty patch of ground beside a ditch. A river bubbled past it, and there was enough room for them all to camp. West took the initiative of pulling in first, and as expected, the others all followed dutifully. 

“We stopping here?” called Mr. Hardy, a little unnecessarily. 

“That’s right,” West called back. “We can take a couple of days, but no more than that. Really, I’d like to leave tomorrow, if we can. We’ve still got a long way to go, and we can’t start relaxing till we get there.”

Nobody needed reminding. Already, people had started dumping things they didn’t need by the side of the road, leaving a sad little trail of furniture and personal treasures on the road behind them. Somebody had even lugged a piano almost all the way to the valley, only recently abandoning it one week ago. There was something so very sad about the lopsided piano fading into the distance behind them. 

Willa had been sleeping in the back, jerking upright as the wagon rolled to a halt. 

“Pa?” she mumbled, wiping sleep from her eyes. “Where are we?”

“A little town where we can rest,” West explained, leaping down from the wagon seat. “What have you been craving lately? We can have a treat, if you like.”

Willa crawled out of the wagon, still yawning. Her straight black hair fell like a curtain around her face, making her look younger than ever. She would be thirteen later in the year, and West still couldn’t quite believe that he had a twelve-year-old daughter. 

“I’d rather rest,” she huffed, scowling. “You drive the wagon as if you’re trying to break the wheels off. I wish you’d let me have a go.”

West bit back a sharp retort. Let it go for now. She’s only a child. You can worry about her moods when we get there. For now, just concentrate on surviving. 

He’d heard from other parents that teenage girls went through a troublesome phase, and that it differed from child to child. 

I’ll do my best for Willa, but I never thought that I’d be doing this alone. 

Willa jumped nimbly down from the wagon seat, landing barefoot on the scrubby grass. She yawned and stretched leisurely. 

As she did so, West noticed a stocky-looking, middle-aged man walking toward them. A rancher, by the looks of it. He walked to meet him. 

“Afternoon,” the man commented, giving West a sharp look. “You fellows part of a wagon train?”

“That we are,” West answered. “Is this your land? If it’s troublesome for us to be here, we’ll move on.”

The rancher shook his head. “I don’t mind. You’re lucky, though. If you’d landed on Tucker Quinn’s ranch, they’d have run you off, make no mistake. But I don’t mind you being here, you aren’t in the way. Besides, my son and daughter-in-law run the general store, and I imagine you folks will be bringing plenty of business their way.”

West snorted. “You’re right about that.”

“Come on up to the ranch house if you want milk, eggs, maybe a few sides of beef, that sort of thing. We’ll fix you up, if you’ve got money.”

At least this fellow is going to be civilized about it. 

“Much obliged. We’ll do that.”

The rancher hesitated, his gaze slipping over West’s shoulder. He frowned. 

West knew, without looking, that Willa was approaching them. As if sensing the man’s growing disapproval, she stopped a few paces behind them. West knew that Willa probably looked a sight. They all did—they were sweaty and grimy, covered in dust from the road. Willa was certainly still barefoot. Besides that, her calico dress was a little too small for her and torn at the hem. 

“This girl with you?” the rancher demanded, an edge in his voice. “She’s mighty dark.”

West clenched his jaw. 

Stay calm. You need to stay on his good side if you want to camp on his land. 

“That’s my daughter,” he answered, as coolly as he could. The rancher’s gaze shot back to him, shocked and bewildered. 

“She looks half-Indian,” the rancher managed at last, clearly uncomfortable. “And you don’t look old enough to have a daughter looking as grown as that.”

Discomfort coiled in West’s chest. “She’s twelve,” he stated firmly. “She’s not grown. And I was eighteen when she was born, and I can assure you that I wasn’t grown, either, even if I thought that I was.”

The rancher sniffed. “If you say so.”

West smiled. “Could you point us toward the town? We’d like to do a little shopping before we turn in for the night.”

***

“I didn’t like how he looked at me,” Willa murmured, her eyes on the dusty toes of her boots. “I hate that everybody can tell where I came from.”

West took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You just ignore them. They’re dumb as rocks, all of them. You’re a beautiful girl, and you’ll grow into a beautiful woman. And tell me, what twelve-year-old girl can hunt like you do?”

That cheered Willa up a little bit. Sniffing, she threw back her dark hair, standing a little straighter. 

“Well, I have Mama to thank for that.”

West squeezed her hand again. “You sure do.”

They had a list as long as their arm for shopping. Tinned goods, all the salted meat they could carry, flour, and more. That was just the food they’d need, to say nothing of water and other supplies. 

And a new dress, West thought, noticing that Willa’s dress came to her knees now. She was getting too grown to wear things that short. 

Abruptly, she grabbed his hand, her eyes lighting up. “Look, Pa, a bakery! A proper one. Don’t it smell good?”

West paused, smiling wryly. “Sure, but we can’t take pastries on our trip, can we?”

“No, but for tonight. I bet they have pies. Oh, and sugar! We could get something with sugar in it. And some loaves of bread!”

West wavered. It would be good to have a proper loaf of bread. He’d never had to bake bread himself, and learning on the road wasn’t the best way to go about it. The hard, tasteless discs he generally produced seem to last for a while, but they weren’t exactly delicious. Besides, it hurt their teeth to chew them, and he was pretty sure that bread wasn’t meant to be like that. Mentally, West reviewed the money he had left, and glanced down at his daughter’s hopeful, earnest face, smiling hopefully up at him. 

“Well, alright,” he said at last. “Just a few things.”

Willa beamed. “Thanks, Pa.”

The bakery was mostly empty, which was a relief. A stocky woman stood behind the counter and eyed West and Willa with equal distrust. The pastries and pies were set out neatly behind a glass window, which Willa pressed herself against, eyes wide. 

“I’ll get to you in a moment,” the shopkeeper informed him crisply, and turned back to the customer she was already seeing. 

A young woman stood ahead of him at the counter. She was tall and a little too thin, with a thick rope of braided copper hair hanging down her back. She glanced briefly at them, just enough to display a flash of real green eyes. West blinked and hastily turned away. 

She’s pretty. 

When was the last time he’d noticed a pretty face? West determinedly conjured up the memory of his wife’s face and tried to ignore the pretty stranger. 

“I’ll have one of the strawberry tarts, too,” the woman said, and the shopkeeper nodded. 

“You got the last one, miss.”

At once, Willa’s face fell. “Are there no more strawberry tarts, Pa?” she asked, her voice a hushed whisper. 

The woman seemed to notice, glancing over her shoulder at them. 

“Yes, but don’t worry, I’ll get you something else,” West whispered at once. 

Willa wasn’t a spoiled sort of girl, and she hid her disappointment well. Nodding, she turned back to the pastry display. 

The woman took her basket of baked goods and left the shop, not looking around her as she went. 

He ordered what he and Willa wanted, paid for it, and left at once. They’d barely crossed the threshold before the woman was back again. 

This time, West couldn’t ignore her. She stared at him, her gaze firm and unblinking. That wasn’t common in these parts. Most women tried to pretend that drifters and travelers like West and Willa didn’t exist. He understood why—it was generally safer for them. 

“Here,” she said, holding out the strawberry tart. “For your little girl. I didn’t mean to get the last one.”

Willa bit her lip. “I shouldn’t have said it out loud. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Don’t be sorry. Here, take it. You deserve a treat. I imagine you’ve traveled a long way and have a long way more to go.”

Willa glanced questioningly up at West. After a moment, he nodded. 

Willa took the strawberry tart, beaming. “Thank you, ma’am. You’re awfully kind.”

The woman gave a slow, tired sort of smile. “My name is Savannah, and I’ve an awful sweet tooth. It’s best that you have the pastry, I think. So long as I remember milk bread for the baby, that’s all I need.”

Willa brightened—she was at the age where she liked children a good deal. 

“You have a baby?”

“No, my little brother.” Savannah laughed. “His name is Sawyer, and he’s the cutest thing I ever did see. Well, I’d best be going. Safe travels to you both.”

And then, just like that, she was gone, hurrying away across the road with her basket swinging on her arm. 

West found himself staring after her, an odd prickling sensation crawling down his spine. 

He gave himself a little shake and pointedly turned away. 

“Let’s get back to camp, Willa,” he said. “We’ve got a lot to do.”