Free Glory by Lori Copeland

She gazed wistfully at the wagon below as the girls scrambled into the back. How she wished she could race down that hill and join them—let Jackson Lincoln protect her. The small party had provided the only warmth and security she’d felt since Poppy had died.
    She shook her head and sank back on her heels. She couldn’t drag them into her troubles. Amos was on her trail, maybe lawmen, too. Jackson had enough problems. Besides, when he’d offered to let her join them, she’d flatly refused, told him she could take care of herself—been almost high-handed about it.
    “Well, I’ve done a fine job of taking care of myself so far,” she muttered ruefully to herself as she watched Jacksonclimb onto the wagon seat and gather the reins, ready to leave camp.
    As if he’d remembered something, he handed the reins to Ruth and hopped to the ground, then strode back to the campfire, now just a pile of damp ashes. With his back to the wagon, he took something out of his shirt pocket and set it on a large flat rock. He returned to the wagon and swung onto the seat. Without a word, he took the reins from Ruth and gave them a shake, setting the team on its way.
    Moments later, Glory crept toward the abandoned campsite, keeping an eye on the disappearing wagon. She knew before she touched it what was inside the tightly wrapped item Jackson had left on the rock. The aroma was unmistakable. Bending down and snatching up the small package, she pulled back the corners of the napkin and inhaled the pungent tang of bacon seconds before sinking her teeth into the delectable meat. She sat on her haunches, chewing. Her eyes scanned the area nervously.
    She darted into a shadow behind the trunk of an oak. In a moment, she had devoured the biscuit and was beginning to feel better. She sensed that she was completely alone, other than the scurrying squirrels and the noisy birds.
    Eventually she padded down to the creek and sipped several handfuls of cool water. For a moment, she examined the napkin that had contained the biscuit.
    Why had Jackson left food behind? Did he know she’d been out there, watchful and hungry? Usually she could outwit her prey, moving quietly and undetected throughthe woods, but Jackson was no fool. Somehow, he must have sensed her presence or the presence of someone he thought might need the food.
    She warmed the napkin in her hands, grateful for the wagon master’s kindness. Bending down, she dipped the napkin into the cool water and wiped it across her forehead and over her cheeks and mouth.
    Feeling better now, Glory decided to follow the wagon, keeping out of sight. She could shadow the traveling party all the way to Colorado, remaining far enough behind to keep them from seeing her but close enough to not feel so alone.

    “Looking for something?” Ruth asked as Jackson scanned both sides of the trail.
    “Just enjoying the fine weather.” He winked at her. “The trail is full of surprises—need to keep an eye out.”
    When they’d stopped for a noon meal, he thought maybe he’d spotted Glory in a grove of sycamores. When he’d looked again, no one was there. He’d resisted the urge to leave food behind. If he made it easy, she wouldn’t make herself known. He didn’t need another girl along, another responsibility, but it would be easier for him to have her with the others than to worry about her out there trailing the wagon.
    He berated himself for having left the biscuit that morning. Feeding strays was sure to make them hang around. At the same time, something about the homeless waif brought out his protective side. Could it be pity? he wondered.
    In many ways, she had been very sheltered. She could move through the woods, hunt like a man, and put meat on the table, but she was unprepared for the world and its threats. She’d made him want to shield her . . . until he’d encountered her stubborn pride. That was a nuisance he could live without.
    That night they made camp at Rock Creek. Jackson