Free Walk by Faith by Rosanne Bittner

twenty-four hours. The weather had been better than expected until now, but then, what else could he expect this time of year in these parts? Once farther west, rain would barely be a problem, but they were, after all, not even out of Missouri yet.
    What truly rankled him was suddenly wishing he’d never met Mrs. Clarissa Graham and that little girl of hers. More than that, he wished he’d at least not told her and that couple she was traveling with to look him up when they went to Independence. He could have at least told them he had all the wagons he could handle and not allowed them to join this train. Everything was working out just fine until he opened his big mouth and let those three and their little girls join up.
    Now he found himself upset over the first minor delay. And why? Because down inside he knew the next few months were going to be difficult and he wanted them over with as fast as possible. Clarissa Graham was going to end up needing help, and he was probably the one who’d end up having to help her. That meant having to associate with her and that preacher friend of hers.
    Why did Mrs. Graham upset him? There was no good reason for it. She angered him, interested him, confused him, reminded him how long it had been since he cared one whit about any woman, leastways not a decent one like Mrs. Graham. Saloon women were easy—a man didn’t have to care about them. Clarissa Graham was a respectable woman, the kind he admired for her courage and determination—and she had a shape that made a man want to stare at her.
    He chastised himself for thinking about that. A beautiful, redheaded, hazel-eyed, slender, single woman on a wagon train with a bunch of married men and jealous wives could only mean trouble, the kind he preferred not to deal with.
    He wished he knew the story behind the woman’s “dead” husband, whom he knew wasn’t dead at all. Was she still married to him? Was she running from him? He supposed he had a right to ask, since her situation could be important to the way she fit in on this train; but asking might be misinterpreted as being interested in her in a way that went beyond just being the leader of this wagon train, and he couldn’t afford her thinking that. That could lead to discovering she was no more interested in getting to know him better than a rabbit wanted to get to know a fox.
    He’d had all the disappointments he could handle. Memories from boyhood reminded him he was not worthy of anyone’s love or concern. The one time he’d allowed himself to truly care enough about a woman to marry her, she’d up and died on him, taking their unborn baby with her. Then, of course, there had been Sergeant Bridger, one man he’d dared to consider a friend, only to see him die right in front of him at Shiloh. That had only instilled in his soul the fact that he deserved nothing good in life, that a cruel God would continually punish him until the day he died.
    Why hadn’t that Rebel shot him instead of the young sergeant? No, that would have been too easy. God wanted him to live in constant loneliness and with the constant guilt of being responsible for the death of his parents and the constant pain of realizing he could never be forgiven for his sin.
    Now he’d gone and allowed a preacher to join this wagon train, a preacher and two women who actually bothered praying for him. He ought to have a good talk with them and tell them what a waste of time that was. They could certainly pray for better things than Dawson Clements, a lost soul who all the praying in the world could not help.
    He should have made sure about Clarissa Graham’s true circumstances. He’d probably invited disaster by letting her come, but her skills as a nurse could end up being helpful, as well, he supposed as having a preacher along. Those traveling on this train who thought God and prayer would help them survive might at least keep good hope