Page 81 of Eleanor’s Earrings

“That will also look suspicious.”

He considered. “This courtship is complicated.”

“There is no courtship.”

From across camp, Mrs. Bell called, “That is becoming less convincing every time you say it.”

Eleanor stared at her.

Nathaniel rubbed his mouth to hide a smile. “She has excellent hearing.”

“She has a walking stick. I am more concerned about her reach.”

Mrs. Bell raised it in salute.

Nathaniel surrendered and laughed.

Eleanor tried not to. She failed.

For days every choice had seemed connected to survival—food, wheels, injuries, crossings, money. It was easy to forget that life also contained ridiculous sisters, interfering widows, and a wagon master who looked unexpectedly young when he laughed.

Nathaniel watched her. “You do that more now.”

“What?”

“Laugh.”

“My sisters have become more ridiculous.”

“They have always been ridiculous.”

“You have known them less than two weeks.”

“It is sufficient time to understand them.”

Eleanor took another drink. “I dislike how reasonable you are becoming.”

“I have been practicing.”

“Stop. It does not suit you.”

His smile widened. “That sounded almost affectionate.”

“Do not become greedy.”

Nathaniel’s new habit of explaining his decisions created an unexpected problem.

Eleanor liked it.

She liked it enough that she began looking for reasons to disagree.

That evening, once they’d stopped for the day, he said, “We should keep the rear wagons closer through the next stretch.”

Eleanor studied the road.

“Yes.”

Nathaniel waited.