He felt a satisfaction entirely out of proportion to the size of the thing.
Eleanor was sitting near the Whitaker fire when he returned. Her sisters had gone to bed, though Caroline's silhouette was visible beneath the wagon canvas. Nathaniel suspected the woman was awake and listening.
He sat beside Eleanor and opened his hand.
She gasped. “You found it.”
“It was caught in the reeds.”
Her fingers trembled as she picked it up. “I thought it was gone.”
“The clasp is bent.”
“That does not matter.”
“It will when you lose it again.”
Nathaniel took a length of fine wire from the small repair kit in his coat. He straightened the clasp, wrapped the damaged place, and tested it twice.
Eleanor watched him. “Do all wagon masters repair jewelry?”
“Former quartermasters repair anything people cannot replace.”
Her eyes met his.
Nathaniel held out the earring. She reached for it, but he did not release it immediately.
“May I?” he asked.
She went still, then turned her head.
Nathaniel fastened the earring beneath her left ear. His fingers brushed the soft skin of her neck. Eleanor drew in a breath.
He should have moved away. He did not. Instead, he bent close and brushed a quick kiss against her temple, so light it was almost a question.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“You are welcome.”
The garnet glowed in the firelight between them.
Nathaniel had repaired many things in his life.
He had the uneasy feeling that Eleanor Whitaker might be the one thing he could not touch without feeling the need to fix himself.
*****
THE HALF-DAY HALT GAVE the sisters enough time to wash clothes, which Eleanor discovered was not the same thing as having enough time to dry them.
Stockings stretched between the wagons. Shirts and petticoats hung from every rope not currently holding something essential together.
Nathaniel approached, stopped, and regarded the forest of white linen.
“You may wish to go around,” Eleanor said.
“I was looking for the rear wheel.”
“It is still attached.”