Chapter Twenty- One
James walked away from Angela, his boots crunching against the dirt as he tried to steady his breathing. His heart was still pounding, his pulse a steady thrum in his ears that refused to quiet. His hands trembled slightly, and he clenched them into fists, willing them to stop.
What had he done?
He hadn’t planned it—kissing her. But in that moment, when her eyes had blazed with anger and defiance, her face still pale and trembling from the ordeal, he couldn’t stop himself.
It was as though everything he’d been holding back—the fear, the relief, the unbearable ache of nearly losing her—had spilled over, breaking through the walls he’d so carefully built around himself.
James let out a sharp breath as he reached the line of horses tethered near the wagons. He grabbed a bucket and filled it from the water barrel, pouring it into the trough.
The horses shifted nervously, their tails flicking as he moved among them, but he barely noticed. His mind was a mess, tangled with emotions he didn’t want to face.
He thought about the kiss, the way it had lingered, intense and raw. The memory of it was burned into his mind—the warmth of her lips, the way she’d gasped softly against him, the sheer weight of the moment.
It shook him to his core.
He hadn’t expected to feel anything for Angela—not like this. She was stubborn, reckless, and far too willing to throw herself into danger, but she was also brave and kind, with a strength that had taken him by surprise from the very start.
And somehow, somewhere along the trail, she had wormed her way past his defenses.
James gripped the edge of the trough tightly, his knuckles white. Nearly losing her in the river had affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit. The image of her going under, her body limp and motionless in the water, was seared into his memory, a stark reminder of how fleeting life could be.
Why did it matter so much? he wondered bitterly, though he already knew the answer. He cared for her. More than he should.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
He straightened, rubbing a hand over his face as guilt crept in, sharp and unrelenting. How could he feel this way about Angela—about any woman—when Clara’s memory still hung over him like a shadow?
Clara.
Her name was heavy in his mind, like a stone sinking to the bottom of a river. She’d been his first love, his only love. Losing her had shattered something inside him, something he hadn’t thought could ever be repaired.
He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t let anyone in again, and wouldn't risk feeling that kind of pain a second time.
And yet… Angela.
James shook his head, his jaw tightening. He’d never expected to feel anything for another woman. Never thought he would kiss someone again, let alone feel the pull of something so fierce, so consuming.
The guilt twisted in his chest, but it wasn’t enough to erase the truth: Angela had gotten under his skin.
He busied himself with watering the horses, the familiar routine calming his nerves even as his thoughts continued to churn.
The trail demanded his focus. The group relied on him to lead them safely, to make the hard decisions.
He couldn’t afford to let his feelings—whatever they were—cloud his judgment.
But he couldn’t deny that nearly losing her had shaken him to his core.
James exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting toward the distant line of wagons where Angela rested. The image of her lying on the riverbank, pale and trembling, her voice hoarse as she asked about Rachel, flashed in his mind again.
He hadn’t thought he’d ever feel this way about someone. Not after Clara. Not after everything.
But as much as it scared him, as much as he tried to push it away, one truth remained.
Angela Hayes mattered to him.
More than he wanted to admit.
Just then, the crunch of boots approaching pulled him from his tangled web of thoughts. He looked up to see Toby striding toward him, his expression grim and his hat pushed low against the evening light.
“James,” Toby said, his tone curt. “We’ve got a problem.”
Not another one, James thought.
He straightened, his focus snapping back into place.
“What is it?” James asked, his voice steady despite the unease creeping into his chest.
“It’s Elias,” Toby replied, jerking his head toward the cluster of wagons on the other side of the camp. “He’s in it with Silas—heated words, shouting loud enough to bring folks out of their tents. Looks like it’s about to boil over.”
James grumbled under his breath, dropping the bucket and following Toby toward the commotion. His boots crunched over the dirt as he moved quickly, his pulse quickening.
As they neared the wagons, raised voices carried through the air, sharp and angry. A small crowd had gathered, their murmurs growing louder as they pressed closer to the scene. James pushed through them, his presence enough to part the group and bring a hush to some of the whispers.
Elias stood by his wagon, his face flushed with anger as he gestured toward Silas, who leaned casually against a tree, his arms crossed and his expression smug. The tension between them was palpable, like the air before a storm.
“What’s going on here?” James demanded, his voice cutting through the noise.
Elias turned to him, his eyes blazing. “I caught him,” he said, his voice tight with barely restrained fury. “Red-handed. In my wagon.”
James’s gaze snapped to Silas, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“In your wagon?” James repeated, his tone sharp.
“Yes,” Elias growled, pointing an accusatory finger at Silas. “He was going through my things. I came back from checking the horses and found him rummaging through my supplies like a darn rat!”
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd. James could feel the weight of their eyes on him, their fear and distrust bubbling to the surface.
James turned his full attention to Silas, his expression hard as steel. “Is that true?”
Silas shrugged, his lips curling into a crooked smile. “Depends on who you ask. I was just looking around, seeing if there was anything out of place after the storm.”
Elias took a step forward, his fists clenched. “Don’t you dare try to twist this, you lying—”
“Enough,” James snapped, stepping between them. He turned to Silas, his jaw tightening. “You’ve been accused of stealing. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Just then, a movement out of the corner of his eyes caught his attention, and he glanced over to see Angela. She had her shawl wrapped tightly around her, a frown on her pale brow.
“Well?” James said, turning his attention back to Silas
Silas said nothing as James rested his hand near his pistol, ready to act if the man tried anything. The camp was tense, the air thick with the kind of silence that didn’t feel natural. The only sound was the restless shuffling of boots and the faint crackle of the fire.
They stood in a loose half-circle, their faces pale and drawn, whispering among themselves. Some avoided Silas’s gaze altogether, their heads bowed, while others openly stared, their unease evident in their furrowed brows and clenched hands.
He couldn’t blame them. No one wanted to see what could happen next—not out here in the wilderness, where every hand and every wagon mattered.