Chapter Five
It was the wagon train’s first full day on the trail, and they’d halted by a large rock outcropping that cast shade over a good portion of the wagons.
Although they had stopped, there was much to be done.
Food needed to be cooked and water rations distributed, wheels and wagons repaired, firewood collected for the night while trees were nearby and plentiful, and the horses and oxen needed tending.
Ethan rubbed his arm across his forehead, wiping away a layer of stinging sweat, then rubbed his palms on his trousers, faintly greasy from oiling the axle of his wagon.
Beside him, Derek grinned. “This is wonderful, isn’t it?”
Ethan grimaced. “We need to help Amos check the rest of the family wagons. Start with the Robinsons,” he said, naming the wagon farthest away from them. “And try not to get distracted by gin and Zachariah again.”
“I won’t!” Derek had the gall to answer brightly. He didn’t even sound remotely repentant or even remorseful that people might view him as unreliable. “I promise!”
Ethan grunted and walked to the next wagon.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Derek trot jauntily away.
It seemed that would keep Derek distracted for a little while, at least. Ethan had gotten up that morning determined to avoid his half-brother, but Derek seemed to be just as determined to force Ethan to accept his presence in his life.
The younger man was like a dog, following at Ethan’s heels and completely oblivious to when his presence wasn’t wanted.
Ethan worked steadily, checking all the axles and greasing them where necessary.
It was the kind of work he usually liked, monotonous and predictable.
Amos paused as he passed by, giving Ethan an approving grunt before continuing on his way.
A different group of men then passed by, their arms laden with firewood for the night.
Among them was Grace’s father. The man was carrying a little less than the others, but his face was flushed red.
Ethan didn’t know if the man’s color came from exertion or sunburn.
‘He's almost as out of place as his daughter,’ Ethan thought. ‘What even possessed them to come this far?’
When Derek had asked the night before, Grace had offered some vague platitude about how they wanted a fresh start, which seemed like a foolish reason to take on the Bozeman Trail. Sure, that was the answer many gave, but most of those people were running from something awful.
What could Grace Hawthorne, pretty and rich and na?ve, possibly have to run from?
Ethan stood from his crouch and stretched his arms above his head, the ache in his muscles a welcome distraction from thinking of that woman.
He shouldn’t even be bothering to notice what she looked like.
Ethan wasn’t planning on settling down for a long time, at least not until after Hannah was married.
And given there weren’t any suitors in sight, that wouldn’t be for some time yet.
Still, he wondered what Grace was doing right now. Had she tried to help with the chores, or was she still seated in the comfortable shade of her wagon, lounging around while the rest of them worked?
Ethan scowled and moved on to the next wagon, determined to focus so thoroughly on his work that he would forget about Grace Hawthorne’s pretty green eyes and ridiculous peach-colored silk dress entirely.
He checked several more wagons, and once he saw Derek just a couple of wagons away, Ethan strolled off in search of other work, preferably something so miserable that Derek wouldn’t even attempt it.
That was hard to do, though, because Derek seemed determined to find joy in even the most banal of situations.
Ethan noticed a group of men nearby checking the horses’ shoes.
It wasn’t necessarily dirty, but it might be boring enough to deter Derek.
Ethan joined the men, ensuring that none of the horses had thrown a shoe.
It seemed as if fortune had favored them so far, but a cynical part of Ethan remembered that it was only their first full day of travel.
Disasters never happened close to flourishing towns, but instead deep in the wilderness of the trail, when all help was miles away.
“Oh!” A sharp, feminine cry of frustration sounded close behind him.
Ethan turned and found Grace, her peach skirts covered in water.
In her hands, she held the handle of a heavy-looking bucket.
It seemed as though the stubborn woman had filled the bucket with more water than she could carry, and she was now paying the consequences for her poor decision.
Ethan tried, and failed, to stifle a laugh.
When Hannah was a little girl, she’d made the same mistake—trying to carry a bucket filled with water that was far too heavy for her, which caused her to fall and scrape her knee.
Grace met his gaze when he laughed, and in that instant she looked so startled that it was downright comedic.
Ethan couldn’t help but laugh more. Seeing her face redden with embarrassment somehow made the situation even funnier.
Maybe it was because she seemed so like Hannah in that moment, stubborn to a fault, yet refusing to give in.
“Maybe you shouldn’t fill the bucket so full.” Ethan had intended on sounding light, teasing even. But the moment the words left his mouth and her expression hardened, he knew he hadn’t succeeded.
She scowled and stormed away, a gesture which might’ve had more impact if she wasn’t literally staggering and tripping over her own skirts due to the added weight from the water. Ethan had never seen a woman who looked so out of place, and yet…
She was trying. She had resolve.
Grace Hawthorne had not chosen to spend the day lounging in her shaded wagon without a care in the world.
She had not turned around and gone back to Lexington after her cooking disaster.
She had persevered, and she was trying to pull her weight.
In Ethan’s mind, that put her leagues ahead of some men on the trail, like Derek and Zachariah.
Having checked on the horses, he joined the other men.
They had found a new task, which was watching Grace.
She had left her bucket somewhere and was instead trying to inspect the canopy of her wagon.
Grace stood on the tips of her toes, trying to see something that Ethan couldn’t make out, far away as he was.
One of the men whistled. Ethan didn’t know his name, but he was easy to pick out of their crowd. He was a mountain of a man, a head taller than even the tallest of them, and almost twice as broad as Ethan. “Look at that,” he said.
“Pretty as a picture, ain’t she?” asked Thomas. He was a Southerner, and it showed in the lilt of his voice.
“Sure is,” the first man said.
“Ain’t you looking for a wife, John?” Thomas asked.
The first man, John, snorted. “Not a wife like that! I need a woman who isn’t afraid of a little dirt. That one looks like she might faint if you ask her to muck a stable.”
“D’you think she woke up one morning and just decided to take the Bozeman Trail?” another asked.
“Doubt it,” John said. “I would bet it was her pa’s idea, though I can’t imagine what he was thinking, bringing a woman like that along.”
“And a child!” Thomas added. “She has her daughter with her.”
“Her sister,” Ethan corrected.
A flicker of irritation shot through him. Even though he thought that Grace Hawthorne had no place on the Bozeman Trail, something about hearing other men talk about her in such a disparaging way awakened a protective instinct within him.
Was she poorly prepared for the journey? Yes. Was she in over her head? Undoubtedly. But she was more than they were willing to see. She was brave and determined, and those were underappreciated qualities in a woman.
“A sister?” Thomas asked. “Are you sure?”
“She said so,” Ethan said. “Are you implying that she lied?”
“Maybe her pa married again,” Thomas said, his Southern drawl as thick as molasses. “Speaking of, I’ve seen him. He ain’t going to last long. Isiah thought the man might swoon just from the effort of gathering firewood.”
Ethan had seen Richard Hawthorne carrying said firewood just now, and the man had looked resolute and tired, not like he was about to swoon.
“I guess,” Thomas said. “Still, the little girl is much younger than that one.”
Grace stood with her hands on her hips, her neck craned backwards, as though she was daring the wagon to defy her. Ethan was sure there was a perfectly logical reason for her to stand that way, but from a distance she looked ridiculous.
“They ought to ban women like that from the trail,” John said.
Ethan’s temper flared. “Why?” he asked. “Plenty of women have finished the trail before.”
“Not women like that, I’d wager,” John argued. “I mean, look at her, Walker! She looks like she ought to be a doctor’s wife or an heiress! What can she possibly know about the world?”
“I’ll bet she doesn’t last another day,” Thomas said.
A knot formed inside Ethan’s chest. He watched Grace as she climbed into the wagon. Her peach skirts caught on a chunk of wood, and she lurched forward before she realized it. A pale hand emerged from the opening of the wagon, tugging the fabric free with some effort.
“I don’t agree,” Ethan said.
“Really now?” John asked.
Ethan had no rational reason for wanting to defend the woman, and he knew that he risked angering these men with his arguing. They might well see his defense of Grace as him choosing sides, picking a pretty, helpless woman over them. He wasn’t.
There was something about her that stirred his heart.
Grace had grit, and these men ought to acknowledge it.
Ethan clenched his jaw, willing himself to bury that feeling deep down inside himself.
If Grace was so strong, she shouldn’t need him to defend her honor.
It wasn’t as if she was his wife, or anything like that.
“I’m surprised she hasn’t gone crying to her pa and turned back already,” Thomas said, laughing. “Aren’t you?”
John chuckled. “I sure am.”
“I’m not!” Ethan snapped.
The men all stared at him like he’d lost his mind. Ethan curled his hands into fists, a strange and foreign fury rising within him. He gradually became aware that all his muscles were taut, as if he was ready to fight.
“What’re you defending her so hard for?” John asked.
Even he didn’t know for certain. Sure, Ethan thought that there was something to her, something more than what the other men could see, but was that really enough to stick up for a woman he barely knew at the risk of alienating the rest of the men he’d be riding with for months?
Ethan cleared his throat as he searched for a valid defense. He refused to admit that there was just something special about Grace that indicated she had hidden depths.
“I just don’t think it’s proper to speak ill off a woman,” he said gruffly. “She’s not prepared, that’s obvious. But it doesn’t look like she’s giving up yet, and that’s more than we could probably expect from a woman like her.”
“If you say so,” said Thomas, clearly not convinced.
Ethan barely heard him over the blood roaring in his ears. He shouldn’t care what people said about Grace Hawthorne, but by gum, he just couldn’t seem to help himself.