< previous page page_145 next page >

Page 145
lost Arlen's poor orphaned nephew Jimmy on the way."
He'd humor her to learn her game. "Lost him? Did you use a secret Indian chant and conjure him back the next day?"
Abby drew herself up with dignity. "Poor Jimmy died along the trail."
A tear touched the smooth, flushed skin of her cheek, and Mike, immediately contrite, wanted to wipe it away. Whether she was a lunatic or a damned good actress, he decided to hear her out. "I'm sorry," he said. "Tell me the rest."
As she continued, she met his eyes, earnestness written in the steadfastness of her gaze, the way her body leaned toward him. He wanted to squeeze the slender hand resting on the table to comfort her as she revealed her anguish at her father's illness, her fears for her sister and Arlen and the others.
He might be nuts, too, but he found himself wanting to believe her.
"I have reason to hope that my sister married Arlen; you do not happen to know if his wife's name was Lucy, do you?"
If his great-aunt Myra had ever mentioned the name of Arlen's wife, he couldn't remember. "No, I don't know," he replied, a bit bemused.
Consistent with her incomprehensible comments when he first found her, she claimed that the wagon train was beset by drought upon reaching the desert. "I begged for salvation at the site where you found me," she said. "Our Indian guide had told of the magical quality of such

 
< previous page page_145 next page >