“I still can’t believe you’re here,” she sobbed, clinging to his shirt. “You meant it, didn’t you, about taking me to Nevada?”
“I meant it.”
“I won’t be afraid at all if I’m with you.”
You’re getting in way too deep, Jake Harkner, he told himself. Jake looked into her blue-gray eyes, his heart aching at the gaunt look of her too-thin face, the tears on her cheeks. He gently wiped at them with his fingers. “I told you I meant it about getting you to Nevada,” he repeated. “Just don’t cry, Randy. I can’t stand to hear a woman crying.”
She forced a weak smile through her tears. “I’m trying to stop,” she told him. “I just hate to cry. Did you ever…feel like there was so much…to cry about that you might as well…not bother crying at all?”
He grinned. “Most of my life.”
She saw the sadness behind the smile. Yes, he did know what she meant. Who would understand better than a man who had been through what he had? She wanted to tell him again that she loved him, but she suspected that if she did, now that she was fully awake, his mood just might change on her again, as had happened so often back at the cabin. The old defenses would rise, and the spell would be broken.
As though he read her thoughts, he suddenly scooted her back into her own bedroll. “I’d better get those potatoes cooking,” he said, quickly turning away.
No, Jake, she thought. You aren’t ready to hear those three words. Not yet. A woman had to be careful with a man like Jake, but then it was a long way to Nevada. For now she just had to be grateful he had found her at all. Again fate had brought them together, as though it was all meant to be. Maybe Jake didn’t realize that yet, but she did. God was moving to change Jake Harkner’s life, and she was all part of his plan.
***
The next month was spent following the regular route west, easy to identify from twenty-five years of emigration to California and Oregon, from discarded debris and old campsites. The horizon seemed endless, and never had Miranda felt so insignificant, a tiny moving dot on the vast, open plains. Her foot slowly healed to the point where she could wear a shoe again and could dress and ride up front in the wagon seat. Although she still limped a little, it felt good to be so close to normal again.
With Jake at her side, she felt stronger and surer than ever, safe and protected. He had stopped at a fort and purchased two oxen, since Outlaw and his packhorse were really not meant to be wagon horses. The daily work had been hard on them, and Jake knew they would never make it all the way to Nevada. Miranda grinned at the memory of an experienced driver at the fort showing Jake how to guide oxen. With oxen, a man had to walk beside them, goading them along with a switch. She supposed Jake had never dreamed he would be doing such a thing, and it warmed her heart that he was grudgingly trudging along like some common settler just to get her to Nevada. On horseback, he could be much farther ahead by now, but he did not complain.
She wondered if he ever wished it was true that she was his wife. That was what he had told the men at the fort, and the group of prospectors who had passed them on horseback yesterday. He did it to protect her, knowing what most men would think about a single woman traveling alone with a man.
That man had been as respectful as he could be, other than his cussing. Miranda thought how, if they could never be anything else, they were certainly good friends by now. Jake was learning to trust her, learning not to be so defensive, learning to laugh. He was always looking out for her, had even had a wheelwright and blacksmith at the fort work together to make some curved iron bars that could be bolted to the wagon so that it could be covered with canvas to keep everything inside dry in case of rain. He had taken a great risk staying around the fort as long as they had, considering the fact that soldiers were there, men who would have arrested him in a moment if they knew who he really was. He wore just one of his revolvers at his side, kept his rifle and shotgun, as well as her own rifle and his spare revolver, under the wagon seat.
The days were spent covering as many miles as humans and animals could stand, and so far there had been no major mishaps. Jake preferred not to hitch up with a bigger wagon train. He felt they could make better time on their own and he didn’t want to take the risk of being recognized. Once they reached Nevada, he figured there wasn’t much chance anyone would know who he was. In the meantime, he was sticking to the name Jake Turner.
Miranda didn’t mind the two of them traveling alone. She reasoned she should be missing the company of other women, should be afraid with just one man for protection; but she found she enjoyed just being with Jake, and she trusted in his skills and his unique survival experience to keep them safe. She had never been happier, and she knew she was in love, whether Jake Harkner realized it or not. Nothing had been said about it, and she knew Jake was doing everything he could to avoid the subject, pretending he was just taking her to Nevada because he “owed her”; but she had not missed the hint of pride and possessiveness in his voice when he had told other men she was his wife, and she was sure it was not all an act. Did he really think he could take her to her destination and then just leave her there and go on alone?