Him? How did he look at her? He felt Louise’s questioning gaze on him, but he couldn’t meet her eyes. Not until he figured out what Miss Rolfe meant and could change it. But surely it was only the wishful thinking of a woman desperate to find a husband.
Slowly he brought his gaze to Louise, his eyes revealing nothing but denial.
She squinted at him long enough to make him want to blink, but he would not. If he looked at her in any fashion, it was only that he didn’t want to see something bad happen to her before they reached the ranch. Partly because anything bad would mean a delay and he didn’t have time to waste if he meant to buy himself a ranch before Christmas, and partly because, yes, he cared for her, for the sake of their shared past.
It was in his best interests in every way to keep her safe and able to travel every day. That’s all it was.
Chapter Seven
Louise wanted to tell Nate she didn’t need his tender care—she’d only accepted his help to get her away from Vic—but it had felt so good and safe to rest on his shoulder. What was the harm in relaxing in his arms for a little while?
By the time they stopped for the night, she was weary clear through and only too happy to let him lead her into the way station.
“This is where we spend the night,” he said.
She looked around the long room mostly filled with a wooden table, a few cupboards and a stove. Through one door she could see a narrow cot in an equally narrow room. There were no other doors. No other rooms. “Where do we sleep?”
“We sleep on the floor.” Nate sounded apologetic.
“I knew that.” She’d read about those traveling by stagecoach. But somehow knowing it and being faced with it were two different things. “It will be fine.”
“Then maybe you can stop squeezing my arm. My fingers are going numb.”
“Okay.”
“I still can’t feel my fingers.”
She looked at her hand. “Really? I told it to let go.” But her fingers still gripped him so hard she knew she would leave permanent indents in his flesh.
He slowly pried her fingers open and held her hands, palms down so she couldn’t latch on to him again.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“I can see that. Do you want to sit?”
“I’ve been sitting all day.”
“I know. Do you want to walk?”
She nodded. Why was she being so silly? To a large degree she had taken care of herself all her life. She’d lived in rough mining camps where accommodations were more primitive than this. She didn’t need anyone to hold her hand. If it weren’t for Vic’s threats she wouldn’t even have appealed to Nate in the first place. It had to be pregnancy doing this to her...making her needy and weepy.
No. She would not cry. Deep breaths. She had to take deep breaths to keep the tears at bay.
“Come.” He pulled her outside into the cold air and held her by the shoulders. “Are you going to faint?”
“I’m fine.” She swallowed twice. Fainting had not entered her mind, but tears were so close to the surface she tasted their salty brine in the back of her throat.
“Yeah, I know.”
She chuckled at the droll tone of his voice.
“That’s better. Now, if you’d boss me around, I’d feel even better.”
She sputtered a protest. “I am not bossy.”
“I know.”
They both laughed.
“Are you feeling better now?” he asked.
She pretended to be huffy. “There was never anything wrong with me. I’m fi—”
“I know. You’re fine. You are enjoying the journey. Just as you’ll enjoy the food here and the nonexistent bed.”
She turned away from him as her tears threatened to overflow. She’d give anything for a soft bed to rest on, but if everyone else slept on the floor, so would she. She shivered as a cold winter wind blasted around the corner. “Let’s go inside.”
He led her back, held the door open and followed her inside.
The driver and the man who ran the stopping place came in behind them.
“The temperature is falling tonight.” The man hurried to the stove and threw in two chunks of wood. He was short and moved as if his boots were full of springs. “Stew’s about ready. And bread fresh from the oven.” He opened the door, and the aroma of freshly baked bread wrapped around Louise. How bad could things be when the man made his own bread?