touch himself.
Brianna closed her eyes against the dull throb in her temples. Her mouth felt stuffed with moldy cotton. When she opened her eyes again, Columbus was still there, crouched on one knee beside her bed.
“Did you stay with me . . . all night?”
Nigh shrugged, unwilling to tell her how badly she had scared him. “Somebody needed to keep an eye on you.”
“I’m fine, really. You shouldn’t be here. I dread to thing what people must be imagining.”
Nigh frowned as he rose to his feet. Her words were like cold water doused over him. He picked up a knife and a half-carved chunk of wood from the chair by the window and stepped to the door. “I’ll be down at the restaurant if you feel up to some breakfast.”
Then he was gone.
Brianna sighed as she wiped her eyes. Wood shavings littered the floor beneath the chair he had occupied. Such a curious man, she thought. Hard as stone, crude, and illiterate, yet he could be so gentle. He’d taken better care of her than her husband ever would have.
Would he help her get to Oregon? She would have to ask. She knew not what else to do. Easing Shakespeare aside, she rose and walked to the chair. There she knelt, filled her hands with yellow wood shavings, and sniffed. Apples. They smelled of apple trees—and Columbus Nigh.
Nigh looked up in surprise as Brianna sat down across from him at the small table in the dining room. As usual she wore her somber widow’s weeds, covered by the voluminous black cloak. The restaurant was crowded and smelled of fried ham, bacon, and freshly baked biscuits. Using a slug of hot coffee, he washed down the bite of eggs he had just taken, and asked if she wanted something to eat.
“No.” Her stomach lurched at the sight of the greasy food on his plate. “Only tea, please, cream, no lemon.”
Lifting his hand, Nigh motioned to a pudgy waitress. When the tea was placed before her, Brianna removed her gloves, added a large dollop of cream and silently stirred it in. The sounds of silverware clinking against china, laughter, and cheerful conversation, punctuated with a few curse words, floated around them. Nigh’s mouth quirked as Brianna winced at the loud belches indulged in by the roomful of men. Except for the waitress, only three other women were present. He waited patiently for Brianna to tell him what was on her mind.
“Please, finish your breakfast,” she said.
Taking her at her word, he stuffed a large helping of ham into his mouth, his eyes still on her. She sipped daintily at her tea, her gaze darting uncertainly about the room. Paper in a scroll-like pattern of green and white covered the walls above the wainscoting. Framed etchings of Parisian scenes hung from the molding just below the ceiling. Gre en oilcloth covered each table.
Only after Nigh had taken his last bite did she speak: “Wha t happened to the little girl?”
“Found a couple who’d lost their girl. They seemed real glad to take her.”
She nodded, stirred her tea, and straightened the napkin on her lap. “I must ask for your help one more time, Mr. Nigh.”
Nigh frowned. Back to Mister, was it? That didn’t bode well.
Brianna took a deep breath to fortify herself. “I’ve decided to go on to Oregon, if Mr. Magrudge’s company will take me. I’m hoping you’ll drive me out there today so I can see about arrangements.”
Nigh laid down his knife and fork, leaned back in his chair, and studied her. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to go to Oregon?”
Brianna looked down at her hands, folded primly in her lap. The man’s scrutiny made her feel like a specimen under a botanist’s magnifying glass. She raised her chin and stiffened her back. “I’ve nothing to return to in St. Louis, Mr. Nigh. The idea of traveling to a new country appeals to me.”
He scooted back in his chair, legs sprawled half-under the table, half-out, one arm slung over the back of his chair. “Got any idea how difficult a trip you’re
Brianna closed her eyes against the dull throb in her temples. Her mouth felt stuffed with moldy cotton. When she opened her eyes again, Columbus was still there, crouched on one knee beside her bed.
“Did you stay with me . . . all night?”
Nigh shrugged, unwilling to tell her how badly she had scared him. “Somebody needed to keep an eye on you.”
“I’m fine, really. You shouldn’t be here. I dread to thing what people must be imagining.”
Nigh frowned as he rose to his feet. Her words were like cold water doused over him. He picked up a knife and a half-carved chunk of wood from the chair by the window and stepped to the door. “I’ll be down at the restaurant if you feel up to some breakfast.”
Then he was gone.
Brianna sighed as she wiped her eyes. Wood shavings littered the floor beneath the chair he had occupied. Such a curious man, she thought. Hard as stone, crude, and illiterate, yet he could be so gentle. He’d taken better care of her than her husband ever would have.
Would he help her get to Oregon? She would have to ask. She knew not what else to do. Easing Shakespeare aside, she rose and walked to the chair. There she knelt, filled her hands with yellow wood shavings, and sniffed. Apples. They smelled of apple trees—and Columbus Nigh.
Nigh looked up in surprise as Brianna sat down across from him at the small table in the dining room. As usual she wore her somber widow’s weeds, covered by the voluminous black cloak. The restaurant was crowded and smelled of fried ham, bacon, and freshly baked biscuits. Using a slug of hot coffee, he washed down the bite of eggs he had just taken, and asked if she wanted something to eat.
“No.” Her stomach lurched at the sight of the greasy food on his plate. “Only tea, please, cream, no lemon.”
Lifting his hand, Nigh motioned to a pudgy waitress. When the tea was placed before her, Brianna removed her gloves, added a large dollop of cream and silently stirred it in. The sounds of silverware clinking against china, laughter, and cheerful conversation, punctuated with a few curse words, floated around them. Nigh’s mouth quirked as Brianna winced at the loud belches indulged in by the roomful of men. Except for the waitress, only three other women were present. He waited patiently for Brianna to tell him what was on her mind.
“Please, finish your breakfast,” she said.
Taking her at her word, he stuffed a large helping of ham into his mouth, his eyes still on her. She sipped daintily at her tea, her gaze darting uncertainly about the room. Paper in a scroll-like pattern of green and white covered the walls above the wainscoting. Framed etchings of Parisian scenes hung from the molding just below the ceiling. Gre en oilcloth covered each table.
Only after Nigh had taken his last bite did she speak: “Wha t happened to the little girl?”
“Found a couple who’d lost their girl. They seemed real glad to take her.”
She nodded, stirred her tea, and straightened the napkin on her lap. “I must ask for your help one more time, Mr. Nigh.”
Nigh frowned. Back to Mister, was it? That didn’t bode well.
Brianna took a deep breath to fortify herself. “I’ve decided to go on to Oregon, if Mr. Magrudge’s company will take me. I’m hoping you’ll drive me out there today so I can see about arrangements.”
Nigh laid down his knife and fork, leaned back in his chair, and studied her. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to go to Oregon?”
Brianna looked down at her hands, folded primly in her lap. The man’s scrutiny made her feel like a specimen under a botanist’s magnifying glass. She raised her chin and stiffened her back. “I’ve nothing to return to in St. Louis, Mr. Nigh. The idea of traveling to a new country appeals to me.”
He scooted back in his chair, legs sprawled half-under the table, half-out, one arm slung over the back of his chair. “Got any idea how difficult a trip you’re
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