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Michael stared down at her with wide eyes.
Her husband wasn’t smiling, and he looked like he’d just swallowed a giant cricket. Her joy evaporated.
She took a step back and dipped her head sideways, wondering if she’d done something wrong or if he was disappointed in her looks. Maybe she shouldn’t have grabbed him and hugged him like she had. After all, that was a mighty bold thing to do, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d waited five long months for this day.
Still, maybe her boldness had upset him. She reckoned she’d better apologize. “I’m sorry, Michael. I oughta not tossed my arms about you like that. Forgive me iffen that was outta line.”
He continued to stare, saying nothing.
“Bear got your tongue or somethin’?”
“You—you can’t be Selina.”
Whoa. She wasn’t expecting that. “What do ya mean I can’t be Selina? Of course I’m Selina.”
He tugged his gray cowboy hat off his head and ran the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead, then settled the hat back into place. “You can’t be. The Selina who wrote me was…” His eyelids lowered to the wood planks under his feet, but Selina still caught sight of the hurt in his eyes.
Quicksand plopped into her belly. “Michael.” She waited until he looked at her. His expression was blank. “You said the Selina who wrote you was… Was what, Michael?”
“She was…”
She was what?
The longer he stood there not saying anything the more skittish her insides got. “Tell me, Michael. She was… I mean, I was what?”
“Well, will you look at her? That’s repulsive.” Disgust oozed from a woman’s voice as she passed by them.
Selina swung her attention to two young women standing about five yards away with their fancy dresses and matching hats with long feathers sticking out of them.
“Are you sure it’s a she? Looks more like a man to me.”
Selina caught sight of their faces.
They looked her up and down with a snarl on their faces. Jumpin’ crickets. Did those women have their corsets in a twist or what?
“I can’t believe she would be seen in public like that.”
Selina had dealt with their type all her life. People who thought they were better than her just because they had money and could afford fancy clothes.
Selina narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips and gave them her meanest stare while patting her rifle.
Their eyes widened. They linked arms and scurried off like a herd of scared mice stuck in a shack filled with cats. Worked every time.
Selina turned back to Michael.
His eyes followed the women until they disappeared around the train depot building. She wondered what was going through his mind. “Michael, would you mind iffen we found someplace over yonder so we can talk? I need you to tell me what was in them letters.”
“What do you mean you need me to tell you what was in the letters? You wrote them.” A frown pulled at his face. “What’s going on here, Selina?” His voice was harsh and loud enough that people stopped what they were doing to stare at them.
“Whoa.” She held up her hand to ward off the roughness of his words. “Just back up your horses, cowboy, and I’ll explain everything. But not here. Come on.” She tugged on his shirt sleeve. He balked like a stubborn mule, and she had to practically drag him all the way to the edge of the trees out of the earshot of others.
She sat down on a log and hoped Michael would do the same, but he just stood there, towering over her.
“Won’t you please sit a spell? I’ll have a crick in my neck iffen I have to keep lookin’ up at you like this.”
He lowered his backside onto the log but as far to the other end as possible.
He removed his hat and worked the brim of it into a curl.
Such a waste of a mighty fine hat.
Why, Pa would skin her and her brothers alive if one of them ever treated a hat like that. But she wasn’t here to talk about that. “Michael, I don’t know what the problem is, but I want you to know that I told Aimee to tell you that I had no book learnin’ and that I couldn’t read nor write because I had to help my pa raise the youngins after my ma took sick and died.”
“What do you mean you can’t read or write?” His shocked face made her want to find a rock to crawl under. She dropped her head in shame. “And who’s Aimee?” he asked.
“You don’t know?”
“No. Why should I?”
“Aimee’s my friend who wrote them letters for me.”
“I’m confused.”
“I can see that. I’m a mite confused myself because Aimee was supposed to tell you that she was writin’ for me. Must have slipped her mind.” At least Selina hoped that was why Aimee hadn’t told him.
