“Are you cooking something?”
“Haa’he.”
“Did you bring something with you to cook, then?”
He chuckled at that, but still he didn’t look at her. “I have been hunting.”
“You have? In this weather? Are you crazy?” She had scooted down far enough now to take a seat beside him on his right.
“No, not crazy. The rain is not falling as heavily now, and I was hungry.”
“Ah, hungry. It reminds me that I would be very hungry right now if you had not found me—and had I survived the storm. I don’t know how to justify what I did, leaving the caravan like that. It’s only that I was so concerned over Julian that I quite forgot to bring anything with me. I fear that I am once again indebted to you.”
Again she noted that he stiffened. But that wasn’t all. Even though they were carrying on a conversation, his gaze seemed to center anywhere but on her.
At some length, he voiced his thoughts. “You are not in my debt, Miss Angel. Had I not sent your brother on this errandalone, you would not have placed yourself in danger. The fault is mine, not yours.”
Angelia sighed. “No, you are wrong, but I thank you for attempting to make the responsibility yours. I am afraid that my brother sometimes thinks with his heart, and not with his head, as did I today.”
“I am uncertain whether your brother thinks with his heart or with misguided impressions.”
“Hmmm. That’s an interesting concept. What are misguided impressions?”
“Your brother senses, sometimes he sees, things that are not there, and he misses things that are. It is a hard lesson for a scout to learn, for with his mind, he must perceive what is there to perceive, and nothing else.”
“Ah, now I understand…I think.” She dropped into silence, although after a slight pause, she said, “Do you think Julian is safe?”
“Haa’he, I do. It is my belief that he is lost. When this rain ceases, I will ride out to find his trail and discover what has happened to him.”
“His trail? But it’s raining. Won’t that wash it away?”
“I will find it.”
“He’ll be hungry now too.”
“He has his gun with him. He knows how to use it, and he knows how to build a fire. He is probably having a good adventure.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are right.” She fell silent for interminable minutes. “I’m sorry I have caused you so much trouble.”
He shrugged, and again he stared away from her, looking, it seemed, at most anything but her.
After a slight hesitation, she asked, “Mr. Hawk, is there anything wrong? I mean, I know that our last words to each other were hardly amicable, but…”
“There is nothing wrong.”
“I don’t believe you. Why, since I have sat down here, you have hardly looked at me. I realize I must appear a sight, what with my hair in disarray and such, but?—”
“You are beautiful.”
Those words, and the passion behind them, caused her to pause and to send him a speculative glance. “Thank you. But it does seem to me as if you are acting strangely. Usually you at least glance at me when we speak.”
“Perhaps that is because when we typically talk to one another you are dressed.”
“Oh.” Her eyes grew wide, even while a cascade of warmth swept over her nerve endings.
She didn’t know what else to say, and so she dropped the subject entirely. “What is it you are cooking?”
“Prairie chicken. I looked for a buffalo, for I would have welcomed skinning one. But I could find none. There are two prairie chickens here. One for each of us.”
