“It was the most unromantic proposal a girl could have. Which was good. Because until it happened, I thought yours was the most unromantic.”

“I—”

“Hey, Lee, maybe we can pretend we’re brother and sister,” I mock.

“Yes, but—”

“Is it wrong to want to be wanted?”

“No, but—”

“You wanted me to help you escape and go west. Uncle Hiram wanted me—wants me—because of . . . because he’s greedy. Reverend Lowrey wanted to pat himself on the back for rescuing a soul. It’s like I’m not really a person. Just a thing to be tossed around to make men feel good about themselves.”

I hear him breathing softly beside me. Finally, he says, “That’s not why I asked you.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” I say. “You’re sweet on Therese now, even if you can’t talk to her. I don’t blame you one bit. She’s wonderful.”

Jefferson shifts beneath his blanket. Suddenly, his warm fingers slip between my own, and it’s like lightning zipping up my arm.

“I do like Therese,” he admits. “But she’s not you. No one is you, Leah.”

My next words get lost trying to find their way from my head to my mouth.

Jefferson’s thumb makes little circles on the back of my hand. My throat tightens, and all my limbs tingle, like I’ve just struck the purest, brightest vein of gold. Neither of us lets go.

The Major starts snoring in his tent. The dogs trot by, panting, as they return from whatever mischief they’ve been in.

I reach with my other hand for Lucie’s skirt. I finger the fabric, telling myself that the family we find can still be family, even when they’re far away. With one hand in Jefferson’s, the other clinging to Lucie’s skirt, I finally drift to sleep.

In the morning, when the wagon trains split and go their separate ways, I wait alongside the trail, so Lucie can see what I’m wearing.

Chapter Thirty-One

The hot sun beats down on me. It’s at least a hundred degrees. There’s no shade, no cool breeze, no escape. Sweat wicks off my skin faster than it forms, leaving everything caked with salt. My lips are cracked, my tongue swollen and dry. The sun is so bright it bleaches the color out of everything. I’ve never felt this hot, not even standing over Mama’s stove in my winter dress with the fire fully stoked.

All I can think about is that cold day last January when Jefferson stood behind the schoolhouse, surrounded by melting snow, holding a copy of the paper announcing gold in California.