Dara, are you coming?”
At her husband’s call, Dara Wells pulled free of her papa’s lingering embrace and pecked him on the cheek one last time.
“I’ll miss you.”
“Not near as much as I’ll miss you, Dara-girl. I’ll send word as soon as I’ve reached Washington, DC, and I’m already making plans to return for Christmas.”
“You’d better.”
When the train whistle blew, Dara turned, took Gage’s hand, and descended from the train car’s platform before it chugged into motion.
Papa stood on the lowest step and waved until the train rounded a bend in the track just outside town.
Dara turned to face Gage and Becca.
“How you doing, princess?” Gage asked.
She mustered a brave smile. “I’ll be fine.”
Becca’s eyes misted. “I’m not. I was coming to really enjoy Uncle Connor again.”
Gage looped his arm around the girl’s shoulders. “C’mon, squirt, I told you. The work he’ll be doing with the Bureau of Indian Affairs is important.”
“But you’re working with the bureau, and you’re not going to Washington.”
“No, but I’m the territorial agent. I handle things here locally. Your uncle will be setting policies in place that’ll care for the Indian tribes in the whole country.”
Uncle William dashed up, out of breath, and peered down the tracks. “I missed him,” he panted. “I’m sorry. I spent all night tending a patient and couldn’t get away.”
“It’s all right, Uncle William. He knew you wanted to be here.”
He loosed a frustrated sigh.
“Reckon we ought to get home.” Gage started walking toward their horses. “Matilde’s going to have breakfast ready soon. You’re both welcome to join us.”
William looked at Becca. “Don’t mind if we do.”
Arm in arm with Gage, Dara looked around the street at several new buildings being constructed as two supply wagons hauled wood to the work sites along muddy, snow-dusted lanes.
Cheyenne. No paved streets. Primitive stores by Boston’s standards. But it was growing.
It was home.