At dawn, Lily strode into the front yard, wrapping her shawl tighter about her shoulders. All was quiet in the pale morning light except the conversations of the ranch hands waiting on the drive with spare horses and pack mules. Delia clung to Fred as if he marched off to war. Georgie gripped Jackson’s chaps. Mrs. Phipps dabbed her eyes with a hankie. Nobody looked at Lily at all.
She offered Jackson a paper-wrapped bundle. “Fried egg sandwiches. I know Ol’ Bill packed plenty for the rest of the trip, but I thought you might like breakfast.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” It was clear from his hollow tone he still didn’t think much of her quest for “fame and fortune.”
But he did like her fried egg sandwiches. He took the package.
“Go with God.” And be happy. He may not want her, but after a prayerful night, she reckoned she wanted God’s best for him.
His Adam’s apple worked. So he wasn’t unaffected, after all. “Let Delia know where you are. She’ll want to tell you about the wedding.”
She’d see it for herself. But—how could she, if she left? Her throat thickened. “I will.”
He nodded, pressed a kiss on Georgie’s cheek, mounted his gelding, and was gone.
Delia burst into tears.
Lily enfolded her in her arms. “I’m sorry. For everything. I want you to be happy. I should’ve said that yesterday when you told me the news.”
“We shocked you. I’m sorry.” Delia sniffled.
“Dry those tears. Just think, in a few weeks, Fred’ll be back.”
“But you won’t. Lil, how will I go on without you?”
It’d be hard, but Delia would manage fine. She, at least, wouldn’t be alone.
Lily’s trunk yawned open, awaiting her earthly possessions. Tomorrow she’d be on the stagecoach. Alone. “Have you seen my lace sleeves?”
Delia folded unmentionables. “Not since Sunday.”
“I’ll peek in Georgie’s room.” Both the child and Mrs. Phipps napped, providing Lily the opportunity to pack without distraction.
“Wait.” Delia took Lily’s wrist. “Don’t go.”
“I won’t wake her.”
“Not that. Wildrye. Stay for the wedding. Maybe Jackson—”
“He disapproves of me. Or he’s scared of me. Either way, he doesn’t want me here.” They’d discussed it many times in the three days since the men left for Mexico. Lily admitted her feelings for Jackson, along with details of their final, painful argument.
“But you’ll live with me and Fred.”
“You’re making your own family. Just as you should.” Lily hugged Delia and stroked her flaxen hair.
“Maybe it’s best if you go, so you aren’t pained by seeing him, but I want you at my wedding.”
“I can’t be in the house when Jackson comes back from Mexico.” They cried then, comforting one another until a rich smell wafted up from the kitchen. “Bread’s ready. Why don’t you get it before it burns?”
Delia pulled back. Then Lily stood, wiped her eyes, and crept to Georgie’s room to look for the lace sleeves.
Georgie wasn’t there, an unsurprising discovery. The child had a habit of crawling into everyone’s beds. Lily peeked in the third bedchamber, once Fred’s, now Mrs. Phipps’s. The lone creature resting there was Cat. Lily conducted a quick search of the house, upstairs and down, before hurrying to the kitchen. “They’re gone.”
Delia placed a loaf on the cooling rack. “The sleeves? Take mine.”
“No. Georgie and Mrs. Phipps.”
At the shocked look on Delia’s face, Lily hastened to the veranda. Empty. She ran around the house’s perimeter. “Georgie! Mrs. Phipps!”
“I’ll check inside again,” Delia called.
“I’ll be in the barn.” Stifling mounting nausea, Lily climbed to the loft. It was vacant, save for crates the men had used as makeshift nightstands. The sight of them ached her heart for Jackson all over again, but there was no time for those kinds of thoughts. Not with her two charges missing.
On her way down the ladder, hands gripped her waist and set her on her feet. Her heart jumped into her throat, but it wasn’t enough to plug her scream.
“Sorry.” Lard Jones’s hands flew in the air. “Just tryin’ to help. Boss told me to watch over you ladies, and now you’re dashin’ hither and yon like quails. First Mrs. Phipps, now you.”
“You saw Mrs. Phipps?” At his nod, Lily clapped her hands. “Georgie, too?”
“Not the little’un. Just the lady. ’Bout a half hour past, walkin’ toward the crick. Want me to go get her?”
Fear heated Lily’s skin. If Mrs. Phipps wandered to the creek, was that where Georgie had gone, too? The creek wasn’t deep, but a child could drown in an inch of water. Not to mention the dangers between here and there. Holes, stones, cactus. Snakes.
Her nod for Lard was curt. “I’ll go. If you could check the pasture in case Georgie’s not with Mrs. Phipps, I’d be obliged.”
Delia scoured the yard and animal pens. Lard and some hands divvied up the pasture. Lily rushed to the creek, hand shielding her eyes from the scorching sun.
Lord, please protect them. I don’t care if Jackson never forgives me. “Georgie!”
“Miss Lily?” The little voice carried through the oaks. Darling, naughty girl.
Lily caught her in her arms. “What are you doing here?”
“Playing with sticks.” Drawing letters of the alphabet in the muddy bank. Mrs. Phipps would be proud of that G. Then Georgie pushed away from Lily. “You’re going away.”
A hot tear slid down Lily’s cheek. Relief? Grief? Every emotion she’d fought since Ma died seemed to well behind her eyes, pushing to get out. “I’m sorry. But I will m–miss you.”
“No you won’t. If you did, you’d be my mama.” Georgie plopped on her rump in the mud.
“It’s not as easy as all that.” The words came out choked.
“I want birds and a mama and a baby brother.” Georgie kicked her legs, splattering mud everywhere. The child was confused and missing her Pa. And her nap.
It would be so easy to drop to her knees and join the girl in crying, but Lily had made her choice, and so had Jackson. Lily scooped the bawling, muddy bundle into her arms.
“It will be well. I don’t know how, but God will care for us. But right now, shh.” She comforted both Georgie and herself. “Right now, we must find Aunt Martha. Where is she?”
Georgie’s wet face soaked Lily’s bodice, but at least her cries subsided. She shrugged.
“You don’t know, or you’re not telling?” Lily rubbed her damp eyes on her sleeve.
Georgie’s face pressed into Lily’s neck. “Don’t be mad, Miss Lily, but I did something bad.”
“Easy, Jack,” Fred hollered. “We can’t keep pace with ya.”
Jackson pulled up Crockett, his dun gelding, and turned around. Fred spoke true. The party was big and cattle could only move so fast. “Sorry. I was distracted.”
“When ain’t you been these past few weeks?” Fred trotted closer, kicking up dust. This section of the trail home was dry and inhospitable, with nothing but sunbaked earth to cushion his bedroll at night. Made a man yearn for his bed of straw in the hayloft at home.
Except he’d be back in the house once Delia married Fred. Then everything would be as he wanted: Aunt Martha here, Georgie cared for, and him free to focus on his ranch. The only things missing were Georgie’s pet songbirds. So why wasn’t he happy?
The answer repeated itself in rhythm with his jangling spurs, over and over, across the miles to Mexico and back.
Lily.
“You’re gonna have to get over it.” Fred shook his head. “The stagecoach left days ago. Lily could be anywhere by now.”
Jackson could deny he’d been thinking of her, but it wasn’t in him to lie. “I know.”
He’d known more than that when he left for Mexico. Knew it when he’d spoken in anger. He knew it before he taught her to lasso. He’d just been too afraid to believe it.
He loved her. Hadn’t expected to, hadn’t wanted to. He’d judged her as a saloon gal, but she had taught him about God and love and home in ways he hadn’t imagined.
Now it was too late. She’d wanted to follow her dream, and he wouldn’t have stopped her. But if given the chance, he’d have admitted his feelings and tried to figure out a way to make things work. “Maybe someday she’ll come visit Delia.”
Fred shrugged. “Unless you go find her first.”
Jackson had never fallen from a broken horse, but he almost did now. “What?”
“Find out where she went, and go. We’ve got Georgie.”
“I couldn’t.”
But he could. At this pace, the wagon train would make it to Wildrye tomorrow. But on his own…
“Yellow-bellied coward.” Fred grinned.
“Not for long.” Jackson grinned back. He flicked Crockett’s reins. “Giyyup!”