She thought of yelling at him again, but she doubted he’d noticed the first lecture she’d tried to give him. His eyes had been so focused his ears hadn’t seemed to be working. Plus, if she showed her anger, strangers would notice, maybe even ask questions or try to smooth over the disagreement.

This was between her and Trapper. What he saw. What she’d shown.

She slipped her hand around his arm and tried to act like a lady and not a crazy woman running around in her underwear. She didn’t risk saying a word, but Trapper kept the conversation going as he patted her fingers on his arm.

The Millers were farmers driving two wagons west to land they’d bought sight unseen near Dallas. They had two boys in their teens and two girls about the ages of Four and Five. Four was shy, but Five seemed excited to meet someone her age. Beneath the overhang, the Millers had built a fire and invited Trapper and his girls to a potato soup supper.

The girls grabbed their blankets and rushed to find a place near the campfire. Emery walked a few feet, then remembered she could add biscuits to the meal. As she hurried back to the wagon, she heard Trapper say, “Go along and get them out of the rain. We’ll be right behind you.”

He caught up with her just before she reached the wagon. Without a word, he lifted her into the back.

When she had the basket of biscuits in hand, she stood at the opening. “I can get down myself.”

“I know you can, but I like lifting you down, Emery.”

His hands gently circled her waist once more and slowly lowered her to the ground. “You’re so light, one might think you were a kid, but I know different.”

His words reached her like a thought he hadn’t realized he’d said out loud.

“What happened in the storm never happened, Trapper. Whatever you think you saw was simply shadows.”

He was so close she could feel the warmth of him. “I can’t unsee what I saw, Emery, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”

“Stop acting like you’ve never seen a woman in her underwear.”

“It’s no act. I never have. Not like that, with so little covering your skin you might have been bare. I saw the tips of your . . .”

“Forget that. If you were a gentleman, you’d forget.”

“I’m not sure if I died I could forget. The sight of you will probably follow me into heaven. I mean no disrespect, but you’re a hundred times prettier than a painting I saw in a saloon in New Orleans.”

Emery fought down a laugh. “The way you talk. You’d think you’ve never seen a nude woman in your life.”