Chapter Ten
James stood at the edge of the camp, his arms crossed as he watched the wagons and the people moving about.
As he did, his focus drifted, his eyes searching the camp until they landed on Angela. She was a little distance away, sitting with Elias by the fire.
James frowned, rubbing a hand over his chin. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them since last night, a new kind of distance that hadn’t been there before. Angela had been avoiding him all morning, her gaze darting away whenever he looked her way.
He let out a low sigh, glancing down at the muddy ground.
He knew he hadn’t handled things well last night.
He’d seen the fear in her eyes, the way she’d flinched at every flash of lightning, and he’d felt his patience fraying, his irritation rising.
He’d told himself it was because they couldn’t afford weakness out here, because fear was dangerous when it wasn’t kept in check.
But deep down, he knew there was more to it than that.
The truth was, he didn’t know how to respond to someone like Angela.
Her fear had been so raw, so open, and it had struck a chord in him he hadn’t felt in years.
He wasn’t used to softness anymore, wasn’t used to dealing with emotions he couldn’t control.
The trail had made him hard—it had to. It was the only way he knew how to survive.
Out here, you built walls, you buried your pain deep, and you kept moving forward, no matter what. Anything less could get you killed.
He glanced back at her again, watching the way she laughed softly at something Elias said, her smile hesitant but genuine.
There was a part of him, buried deep, that ached to reach out, to apologize for his harshness, to tell her he hadn’t meant it the way it had sounded. But that part of him was small, smothered by years of habit and the cold, practical logic that had become his shield.
James straightened, turning his gaze back to the horizon.
Maybe it was better this way, he told himself.
Better that she kept her distance. He wasn’t the man she needed, not here, not on this unforgiving trail.
He was a guide, nothing more, and his job was to get everyone safely to California.
Feelings, regrets—they had no place out here.
But as the wind tugged at his hat and the sun warmed his face, he couldn’t help but feel the cold echo of his own words. Because no matter how much he told himself he didn’t care, the truth was that he did. And it scared him more than he was willing to admit.
***
With the camp settled and nothing to do but wait for the ground to dry, James found himself with rare idle time.
He pulled a small knife from his belt and a chunk of rough wood from his saddlebag.
It was a habit of his on long, quiet stretches of the trail—something to keep his hands busy, his mind focused.
He turned the wood over in his palm, studying its grain, then began carving, the blade slicing away thin curls that drifted to the muddy ground.
The rhythmic scrape of the knife was soothing, almost meditative.
The noise of the camp faded, and for a moment, it was just him and the feel of the wood beneath his fingers.
He didn’t know what he was making yet, just carving for the sake of it, letting the shape reveal itself as he worked.
It was easier to lose himself in the familiar motion than to dwell on the ache in his chest, the nagging sense that he’d handled things wrong with Angela.
He hadn’t been carving long when he heard footsteps approaching. He glanced up, half-expecting it to be someone needing his help, but instead, he saw Toby making his way over, his hands shoved into his pockets, his expression thoughtful.
Toby’s face was lined with more than just age—it was lined with the years on the trail, the kind of wear that came from a lifetime spent battling the elements and guiding people through the wilderness.
“Mind if I sit?” Toby asked, nodding toward the empty crate beside James.
James gave a short, silent nod. “Go ahead.”
Toby lowered himself onto the crate with a grunt, leaning back against the wagon wheel. He pulled a bit of tobacco from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers as he watched James carve.
The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a while, the kind of silence built from years of shared experience. Toby didn’t rush to speak, didn’t push. He just sat, rolling his tobacco, squinting up at the sky where the sun was starting to peek through the clouds.
After a time, though, James could feel Toby’s gaze lingering on him, studying him in that quiet, knowing way he had. He paused his carving, glancing over.
“You got something on your mind, old man?” he asked, his tone dry but not unkind.
Toby snorted, shaking his head. “You’ve always been sharp as a tack, haven’t you?
” He took a slow, deliberate breath, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.
“I was just watchin’ you. Can’t help but notice you’ve been in a bit of a mood today.
Somethin’ bothering you, or is it just that usual prickly disposition of yours? ”
James huffed a laugh, though there was no real humor in it. He resumed carving, his knife moving a bit more aggressively now.
“Nothing you need to worry about, Toby.”
“Uh-huh,” Toby replied, drawing the word out, his voice laced with skepticism.
He took a small bite of his tobacco, chewing thoughtfully.
“Could’ve fooled me. Seems to me there’s more goin’ on in that head of yours than you’re lettin’ on.”
James clenched his jaw, carving a deep groove into the wood.
“Since when did you start reading minds?” he muttered.
Toby leaned back, giving James a sideways glance, his eyes sharp despite his gruff exterior.
“I don’t need to read minds, son. I’ve known you long enough to see when you’re twisted up about somethin’. And from where I’m sittin’, I’d guess it has somethin’ to do with a certain young lady who’s been avoidin’ your gaze all mornin’.”
James’s hand stilled, the knife hovering over the wood. He glanced up sharply, meeting Toby’s knowing eyes.
“Angela?” He scoffed, but it sounded forced even to his own ears. “You’re seeing things, old man.”
Toby chuckled, a low, rumbling sound, and shook his head.
“Maybe so. Or maybe I just know you better than you think.” He leaned closer, his expression softening, the gruffness dropping away for a moment.
“James, you’ve been on this trail a long time.
Long enough to build up walls thick as a fortress.
I get it. I do. But you can’t go through life shut off from everyone, especially not from someone who might be tryin’ to reach out. ”
James clenched his jaw, looking away. “I’m not interested in… reaching out,” he muttered. “And it’s not my job to coddle someone who’s scared of a little thunder.”
Toby’s gaze turned sharp, his usual easygoing manner fading.
“You’re not as cold as you want folks to think, James.
I’ve seen it—heck, I raised you on this trail.
I know what kind of man you really are, under all that stone you keep piled up around your heart.
And if you don’t start showing a little more of that, you’re gonna push away the best thing that’s ever crossed your path. ”
James glared at him, his grip tightening on the knife.
“And what do you know about it, huh? You think I can afford to be soft out here? You think I haven’t seen what happens when you let your guard down?”
Toby held up a hand, a calming gesture.
“I’m not sayin’ you need to be soft. But there’s a difference between being strong and being cruel, James.
That girl’s been through her own problems. She’s here now, isn’t she?
Survived it, same as you. And if you don’t give her even a little room to breathe, you might miss out on somethin’ real good. ”
James looked away, his jaw working as he fought back the wave of frustration and doubt that rose up in him. He glanced down at the piece of wood in his hand, realizing he’d carved it into a rough, unfinished shape—a small bird, its wings half-formed, as if frozen mid-flight.
He let out a long, slow breath, dropping the carving and running a hand through his hair.
“I don’t know how,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to be… anything else.”
Toby’s expression softened, and he reached over, clapping James on the shoulder with a firm, reassuring grip.
“You don’t have to know right now. But you’ve got a good heart, even if you can’t see it. Just try, James. One small step. One bit of kindness. That’s all it takes to start.”
James didn’t reply, just nodded stiffly.
Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Angela walking through the camp.
She was side by side with Elias Parker, who was gesturing animatedly, a boyish grin lighting up his face.
Whatever he was saying seemed to amuse her because she tilted her head back and laughed—a bright, musical sound that seemed to cut through the grayness of the day like a ray of sunshine.
For a heartbeat, James couldn’t look away.
It was the first time he’d seen her smile like that—wide and unguarded, her eyes crinkling at the corners, the worry that usually shadowed her expression nowhere to be found.
The way the sunlight glanced off her hair made her look almost ethereal.
The sight of her like that, so vibrant and full of life, made something twist sharply in his chest.
Without realizing it, he found himself staring, his hand frozen mid-carve, the knife resting uselessly against the wood.
It was an unfamiliar feeling, a strange mix of longing and something close to envy.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen someone laugh like that on the trail.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like laughing at all.
“You lookin’ to carve somethin’ else there, son?” Toby’s voice cut through his thoughts like a blade, low and amused.
James jerked his head up, startled, only to find Toby watching him with a raised eyebrow and a knowing grin.
James’s face hardened, the warmth from moments ago disappearing in an instant. He quickly looked away, focusing intently on the piece of wood in his hand as if it held the secrets of the universe.
“Just keepin’ an eye on the camp,” he muttered, his voice gruff.
Toby chuckled, the sound deep and full of mischief.
“Sure, that’s what you’re doin’,” he drawled. “Can’t say I blame you, though. She’s got a nice laugh, that one.”
“She’s free to laugh with whoever she pleases,” James snapped, sharper than he intended.
Toby raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and they fell silent again.
“Well, I’d best get back to checkin’ the wagons. But you think about what I said, all right?”
James nodded again, staring down at the half-carved bird in his hand.
Toby gave his shoulder one last squeeze, then pushed himself up with a groan, his knees creaking.
As Toby walked away. He turned the small figure over, running his thumb along the rough, unfinished wings. It was just a piece of wood, but in that moment, it felt like something more—a reminder of the man he used to be, before the trail had worn him down.
He squeezed the carving tightly, then slipped it into his pocket, a silent promise he wasn’t ready to voice.