Free One True Love by Lori Copeland

that happen it will be more like five or six days before we reach the fort. But—and I only mention this niggling little worry because I feel obligated to warn you about the possibility of further delay—there’s the prospect of more holdup if a horse goes lame, or a wheel breaks. Then we’re looking at—”
    â€œAll right! I understand.” Just like Redlin. Delay. Delay. She drew a tolerant breath. “If a horse goes lame or a wagon wheel breaks, couldn’t we just keep going and leave someone behind to help?”
    But of course not. Not Josh Redlin, who had the audacity to stop this very wagon train—with ill and dying people—not two hundred feet outside Thunder Ridge. He’d keep the entire train together and moving forward at all costs.
    He shifted, lifting his hat to smooth his hair. “No ma’am. These Indians are a temperamental sort; no one can predict their behavior. Sort of reminds me of you, in some ways. They like nothing better than to scatter a train or raid a straggler.”
    She propped her crutch beside the wagon and decided to ignore the taunt. The night’s outing had put her in a good mood. The reaction of the men at the stage stop proved they still found her attractive. She wouldn’t bother to rise to this jackanapes’s bait. Soon she’d be rid of the nuisance named Redlin.
    Turning, she tried to pull herself into the wagon bed. She heaved.
    Then grunted. Pain shot up her right leg.
    A masculine arm slipped around her waist and hoisted heraboard. “You’re going to have to be stronger than that if you choose to go it alone, Miss Wilson.”
    She dropped the canvas flap in his face, then turned and hopped to the pallet on her crutches.
    Still, his whisper managed to penetrate the heavy canvas. “You know what your problem is, Miss Wilson?”
    No. Pray tell, Mr. Redlin. What is my problem? She remained silent, knowing full well she was going to find out soon enough.
    He bent closer to the open slit. “You don’t like men.”
    â€œI do so like men.”
    It came out much louder than she had intended. She turned to see both Sadie and Adele sit straight up on their pallets. They stared at her in the dim lantern light.
    â€œSorry,” Copper murmured.
    Adele yawned. “What’s going on?”
    â€œJust talking to myself. Go back to sleep.”
    â€œLands,” Sadie muttered, dropping back to her pillow. “Can you do it in a quieter tone?”

Chapter 9
    T he sun barely topped the rise as the women stood knee-deep in the stream, manning scrub boards. Restless with pain, Copper struggled with resentment. One day each week the wagons rested, always near water so the women could catch up on the laundry while men mended harnesses and did various other repair chores. If this was intended to be a day of rest, it looked to her like a lot of work was going on, and her pain wasn’t getting any better.
    This morning she sat at water’s edge watching the work. The women scrubbed and wrung garments to later hang on lines fashioned between the wagons. Though last night’s harmless excursion with Mike hadn’t been mentioned, Copper knew the subject was uppermost in the women’s minds. At first she wanted to deny that she’d acted improperly, but then she decided she had done nothing wrong and bringing it up would only suggest that she had. Redlin might think she was “cavorting,” but nothing could be further fromthe truth. Yet very few women spoke to her this morning. They called back and forth, apparently enjoying their work, but giving her the silent treatment. Even Sadie had not been her usual cordial self.
    â€œHey, if you’ll hand me some garments I’ll be glad to wring them for you.” She couldn’t get into the water; she should help in some fashion.
    Nodding, the women wordlessly began hurling wet shirts and pants at her. She ducked, surprised by