see her give it a try.” When his chuckle ended, he lowered his voice. “Those were the best beans I ever ate, and it wasn’t because of a little salt. I’d give a month’s pay to know what she put in them.”
“She loves to cook. She’ll tell you if you ask her nicely.” Emma set the clean dish on the stack beside her and reached for another dirty one.
“Hmm.”
They finished their chore in companionable silence and then headed back for camp. Rebecca and Maummi had already disappeared behind their wagon, where they had set up their sleep pallets. Papa sat by the fire alone, his hat resting on the ground beside him. He looked up when Emma approached, a faint smile inviting her to sit with him.
Emma retrieved her sewing bag from the back of the wagon. She’d decided what to do with Katie Beachy’s gift. She’d considered making something for Katie’s wedding, but yesterday she had changed her mind. The fire was starting to burn low, but there was enough light left to select thread and begin.
Papa watched her silently for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. “Think you, daughter, that you could be happy with Amos Beiler?”
The question so startled her that she almost dropped her needle. “Papa, I—” The words stuck in her throat. Never had the topic of marriage come up between her and Papa. Maummi, yes. Rebecca, all the time. But Papa? He could be counted on to answer questions about anything from Christian beliefs to understanding the signs of the seasons in order to ascertain the best time for planting, but about marriage he had always remained mute. Emma assumed the subject was painful for him because he had loved Mama so dearly.
She made three stitches before answering. “No, Papa. Amos is a fine man, but he is not for me.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the flames. “I thought so.”
Emma waited for him to go on, to offer an explanation for his question. The overheard conversation between him and Maummi replayed itself in her mind. Would he mention Luke’s name to her? And if he did, how would she answer? Could she truthfully assure him that she felt no attraction for the handsome trail boss? Of course not. Her resolve to forget him had gone by the wayside the moment she saw those cows running toward them this morning.
Her fingers stitched almost of their own accord while Emma formed her thoughts into words, waiting to answer Papa’s next question. Would she leave her church in order to chase after an Englisch cowboy? No, but maybe she didn’t have to. Luke was a man of faith. Why could he not become Amish?
Finally, when the idea was about to burst from her mouth, Papa broke the silence with a loud sigh. He climbed to his feet and stooped to pick up his hat.
“Good night, daughter.”
Emma sat beside the fire, her sewing forgotten in her lap as she watched him disappear in the direction of the row of men’s bedrolls.
EIGHTEEN
Luke had managed to fall into a dreamless sleep when Vic nudged him awake with a rough hand on his shoulder.
“You’re up for watch.” Exhaustion dragged at the man’s voice.
Luke stirred and saw that Griff had already roused McCann, who stumbled toward the remuda with an unsteady step.
“I’m up,” he said. “Go to bed.”
“G’night, boss.” Vic stumbled off and collapsed, clothes and all, onto his bedroll.
Luke tried to shake off sleep, and when he failed, walked on unsteady feet toward the campfire. McCann had left a row of clean tin mugs on the grass outside the fire ring, and the coffee pot rested on a flat rock set near enough to keep the contents warm. He poured himself a generous swig and downed it. The heat scalded his throat, and he took in draughts of cool air as he awaited the caffeine jolt.
Night lay quiet over the herd. He scanned the sleeping cattle for any signs of restless movement and found none. They had drawn close together before bedding down for the night, which would make his job easier in the morning. They would rise as one and be ready to hit the trail probably sooner than his tired men wanted.
Men and women. Luke glanced toward the Switzers’ wagon, where the women lay bedded down beyond. Emma had not been far from his thoughts tonight, even in sleep. The sight of her last evening, stumbling on legs numb from hours in the saddle with