* * *
In the flickering firelight, Emma saw Nathan’s hesitation.
He took the plate from her with a nod and turned his back to her, using the nearby wagon to shield him from the others, she supposed. What had happened in his past that made him wary of even a small act of kindness?
He held the plate up close to his face and began shoveling food into his mouth with his fingers.
She’d watched him do the same on another occasion, when he’d refused to eat at their fire. Eating quickly, like an animal might, devouring the food in moments.
Or as if there had been a time in his life that he’d been starved. And now he was afraid he’d lose his chance to eat if he didn’t gobble it down.
She swallowed back the emotion that rose at the thought of such a history and cleared her throat.
He looked over his shoulder at her, clearly in mid-chew.
“Nathan, we’re friends now. I won’t have you going back to hiding in the shadows. Come sit at the fire.”
His eyes widened and she thought he would refuse, so she stepped forward and took him by the elbow as if he were a child and pulled him with her.
Perhaps she’d surprised him into compliance, but he didn’t resist her.
At the fire, she sat down, and since she already had hold of his arm, she tugged him down to sit at her side, and then let go.
He kept his head down, and his inky hair was long enough that it hid most of his face from view. But she still saw him snatch glances up at the group congregated around the fire.
Ben and Abby sat off to one side, a little apart from everyone else, whispering to each other. Which left Emma and Nathan with Rachel and Mr. Bingham for company.
“The Littletons already retired,” she told Nathan. “My sister, Rachel.”
Rachel watched him with unabashed curiosity. “I’m glad you’re feeling somewhat better.”
Nathan looked up and nodded briefly, then back down to his plate.
A wiggling ball of fur approached from behind and stuck his nose right up under Nathan’s elbow.
The moment slowed as Nathan looked down on the dog. The man was at times irascible and the way he’d almost hoarded his food moments ago made her wonder if he would be unkind to the dog. She and Rachel had taken turns feeding it scraps over the past two days that Nathan had been confined in the wagon.
The dog whined and Nathan sighed, then picked up a morsel from his plate and fed it to the dog. The animal licked his fingers.
Emma let go the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding and the dog ducked out of Nathan’s space and turned to her.
“Hello, Scamp,” she said, laughing as the dog propped its small paws on her knee. She scratched it beneath its chin and its lips parted in a great doggie grin, tongue lolling.
“I see he’s moved on and found a new friend,” Nathan said quietly.
The dog stretched up and swiped his tongue across Emma’s chin. “No, never!” she said, still laughing, as she pushed the dog away.
It sat in the small space between Emma and Nathan, looking between them with an expression of joy that only a dog could make, its tail sweeping the ground behind it.
“What is his name?” Emma asked, hoping to draw Nathan into conversation. “I’ve been calling him Scamp, as I didn’t know what you’d called him.”
Rachel looked on curiously. Ben and Abby had their heads bent together, whispering furiously, and Mr. Bingham was nodding off above his plate.
“Didn’t give him one.” Nathan returned to his supper. His plate was almost empty now.
“A dog has to have a name,” she protested.
Nathan shrugged. “It’s just a mutt.”
“Emma has an affinity for abandoned animals,” Rachel put in.
Nathan’s eyes came to rest on her and heat flooded Emma’s cheeks. But he didn’t ask, so she said, “It’s true, I’m afraid. We had a dog when I was very young—”
“And the kittens,” Rachel interrupted. “Not to mention the squirrel, two baby birds and once a rabbit…”
“And now a man,” Nathan murmured.
She didn’t know if he meant her to hear the words. He’d gone after the last few bites of his plate, again with his head down and face hidden behind the curtains of his long, dark hair.
Did he think she pitied him? That wasn’t it at all. She believed he deserved to be treated fairly, that was all. Just like everyone did. No one should have to eat their supper alone in the dark, like an outcast. No one should be accused without evidence, as Nathan had.
And everyone deserved a friend, right?
A moving shadow between the two wagons caught Emma’s eye. She recognized Clara as the disguised woman did her best to blend into the darkness. Clara usually ate with the Morrisons, but if she was here, she might need something.
How could Emma extricate herself from the campfire to check on her friend?
Unfortunately, Nathan’s head came up and his focus went to Clara with the precision of the tracker that he was.
“That’s my friend Clar-ence.” Emma stumbled slightly over the name. She pushed up from her seat, dusting off her skirt and hoping her companions would blame the fire for the brightness in her cheeks. She was uncomfortable covering up the ruse Clara had concocted. “I’ll just see what he wants.”
She felt the intensity of both Nathan’s and Ben’s gazes as she hurried over to her friend. She was careful to stand just so, blocking Clara from their sight.
“Is something the matter?”
“I’ve torn my last shirt,” Clara whispered.
Emma squinted in the shadowed darkness. Sure enough, beneath the slicker Clara wore, she appeared to be wearing a nightshirt with her trousers.
“I can stitch it up, but it’s a pretty bad rip. And I need to borrow something to wear tomorrow…”
Emma’s eyebrows went up as she comprehended her friend’s predicament, but before she could offer a solution, Clara’s hand tightened on her wrist. Emma looked over her shoulder to see Nathan approaching, his empty plate dangling from his fingers.
Was he ready to retire for the night?
She was stuck there between Nathan’s sharp eyes and Clara, who seemed to want to shrink into the shadows, when a voice rang out.
“Hewitt, I need to talk to you.”
Both Nathan and Clara went still.
James Stillwell joined their circle, nodding to Rachel and Bingham, who had roused at his loud greeting. Mr. Stillwell’s glittering gaze swept over Nathan, Emma and Clara and held for a moment too long. Clara panted softly in Emma’s ear, while Nathan stood stiff, shoulders rigid.
Was Nathan right? Did Stillwell have a grudge against him in particular? She’d intended to argue on Stillwell’s behalf until she’d remembered when he’d slapped Nathan across the face when Nathan had collapsed. It had seemed unkind to her.
“You got a minute, Ben?” Stillwell asked, finally turning away from where the three of them stood. “There’s a problem…”
Ben stood, leaving Abby to her father’s care.
“I suppose its time to clean up, anyway,” Rachel said, the words more a complaint than an acknowledgment as she stood.
Emma was afraid Nathan would disappear into