“Have you said anything to her?” Scully asked, presently, out of the side of his mouth. The wagon was making a good bit of noise by then, creaking and jolting. Harnesses jingled and the horses nickered, their hooves clomping and occasionally sticking in the lingering mud.

Evangeline bristled with indignation, though she shouldn’t have done so. After all, Abigail was her responsibility, not Scully’s. “About what?” she asked, just to harry him. She knew, of course, that he was referring to the fact that he’d be leaving soon. Abigail, adoring him as she did, would be devastated, and he had to know that—not that there was any real solution.

“You know what,” he answered, through his teeth. “After this, I’ll be coming back to the ranch for my horses, but that’s all. Once I’ve done my business with Big John—”

“I can’t,” Evangeline said.

“What do you mean, ‘you can’t’?” Scully sounded downright impatient now. “It’s got to be said, Eve. You know that. Before it happens.”

“Then you say it,” Evangeline told him. “It isn’t my decision, it’s yours.”

“You know damn—darn well I don’t have a choice.”

How could she answer that? She couldn’t deny that it was true. They were both trapped, by their own principles, their own consciences. “After,” she threw out, in desperation.

“After what?” Scully persisted.

“After Big John gets here. Maybe she’ll take to him right off.”

“She will,” Scully said, with certainty. “He’s fond of kids, John is. But he isn’t me.”

No, Evangeline had to admit, at least to herself, he surely wasn’t. After that, they didn’t talk much.

It was a long day, and they reached the Springwater station just in time for Scully to borrow one of Jacob’s horses—the Appaloosa was too tired—and ride back to the ranch for the night. Evangeline stood at one of the station windows, watching him go, while Abigail chatted cheerfully to Miss June-bug about the wolf and the Indian and all the hair ribbons St. Nicholas had brought. By magic, she said, he’d made a tree appear right in the middle of the cabin, all glittery and bright.

There was no sign, just yet, of Big John, nor had there been word of him, Jacob told Evangeline, after Scully had disappeared from sight and she had reluctantly left the window. It would be simpler, and kinder, she supposed, if they never saw each other again, but life was not so merciful as that. Scully wanted to speak with his old friend before he left; he would be there for the wedding, and the dancing . . .

Evangeline did not allow her thoughts to go any further. She almost wished, in those moments, that she’d chosen to be a nun, instead of a wife. If she had, of course, she wouldn’t have had Abigail, and she couldn’t imagine that. Besides, she wasn’t Catholic.

“You look as though you’ve wintered right well,” June-bug observed, when Jacob had gone out to look down the road for an expected stagecoach, but her blue eyes were worried and watchful. No fool, June-bug McCaffrey. She’d probably discerned right away that Evangeline and Scully still cared for each other, even after Jacob had made the long trip out to the ranch just to make sure they were clear on the matter and sticking to the straight-and-narrow.