June stood trembling but sound. Rachel ran both hands along the mare's legs. No swelling. No heat.
No bad angle. She exhaled. Matthew came closer.
"Your hand."
Rachel looked down. Blood had soaked through her right glove. She must have torn the palm when June struck her against the wagon rail.
"It's nothing."
"It doesn't look like nothing."
He pulled a clean handkerchief from inside his coat and held it out. Rachel stared at it. White linen. Initials stitched in one corner.
M.H.
"That's too good for creek mud."
"I've got others."
She took it. "Thank you." She wrapped her palm tightly. Matthew watched without trying to help.
That registered. Most men, once they decided a woman was injured, began grabbing at things. Her hand. Her arm.
The problem. Matthew simply stood there.
"You need stitches?" he asked.
"No."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
He looked at June. "She's close to foaling."
"Six weeks. Maybe five."
"Good mare."
"Very."
"Yours?"
Rachel hesitated. "My father's."
Matthew nodded. Something in the answer seemed to interest him, though she couldn't tell why. The sleet had weakened to a cold drizzle.
Rachel bent to check the damaged trace. Matthew crouched on the other side. "You'll need another strap before you move her."
"I know."
"I've got spare leather in my saddle roll."
Rachel looked up. "You travel with harness leather?"
"I run cattle. Something's always breaking."
That sounded reasonable. He fetched the leather. Rachel expected him to take over. Instead, he handed it to her.
She threaded it through the buckle herself. Matthew held the loose end steady when she needed both hands. No advice. No correction.
When the makeshift repair was finished, Rachel tested it twice. "That'll get me home."
"Road's getting worse."
"I noticed."
"I could ride behind you."
She looked at him. "Why?"
"In case the wheel shifts again."
There was no flirtation in the way he said it. That almost made the offer harder to dismiss. Rachel glanced toward the road, then at the darkening sky. "If you want."
He nodded once. They started south. Rachel walked June rather than tying her behind the wagon again. The team moved slowly.
Matthew rode a few yards back. For nearly a mile, neither spoke. Then he said, "Rachel Hart."