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it, very gingerly, on Christy’s wrist. He looked at her arm studiously, and Christy thought she saw a faint flush creeping up his neck.
    “I been thinkin’. It weren’t all your fault. I should have realized you would be scared and nervous on your first day here. I should have been more understanding. I'm sorry for yelling at you.”
    Christy stared down at her broken case. “I just feel so helpless, that’s all. And I feel like I’ve let both Meredith and my Ma down. If they could see me right now they’d be awful ashamed of my childish behavior, I just know it.”
    Brent gazed at Christy, his hand still placed gently on her wrist. Her skin warmed and tingled under his touch, and she watched his lips as he spoke, wondering again how they would feel against her skin.
    "I’m sure they wouldn’t be ashamed, Christy,” Brent said softly. “You’re doing your best and you’ve been awful brave so far. It just takes time to adjust, is all.”
    Brent turned his head to look at the sun, high over his shoulder. “I’m wondering if we’ll make it back before sun down.”
    Christy stared up at the sky as well, though she had no idea how to read the sky nor the distance they had left to travel.
    "I don’t want to keep you here against your will. I will take you back to the station the day after tomorrow, if that is what you truly want. But for now, we have to get moving, it's getting late.”
    Christy looked down at Brent’s hand, still lying on her arm. His touch was warmer than she might have imagined. And though his hands looked calloused to the eye, on her skin they felt soft.
    I know that this isn’t where I belong, even if his touch makes me feel alive inside for the first time in a long time. A simple touch can’t change the fact that I don’t fit here. I was only fooling myself, to think that this scheme could ever work out.
    Christy pulled her hand away from his grasp. “Perhaps that would be for the best.”
    ***
    “There’s the wagon,” Christy cried.
    She and Brent were walking side by side along the track. Brent looked up, his hands full of suitcases and clothing. He sighed, as if relieved, nodding as he saw the horse standing by the side of the road, grazing on the long, green grass. The long reins dragging along the ground behind him.
    “Tired himself out and stopped for some food by the looks of it.”
    Brent and Christy were tired as well. They walked slowly towards the horse and wagon, then Brent patted the horse and checked to see if he was well while Christy straightened up in the back of the wagon. They’d only been able to salvage a few of her items and Christy could see that the wagon was bare and that few of her clothes had survived the bolt.
    Brent guided the horse over to the wagon, and backed it into the shafts.
    “Looks like his collar is fine, and the traces don’t appear to be broken, only torn here where the buckle was attached. I think I can fix it by using a different buckle hole,” Brent squatted down to work on the traces. “There, that should get us home,” he said. “You can get back up now and ride in the wagon,” Brent said to Christy. “Your legs must be tired from the walk.”
    Christy looked at the horse. She reached up and patted him gently on the back of his neck. “So must the legs of this poor creature. Come on Brent, let’s walk the rest of the way. Take some of the load off of him. I’m sure if we keep a steady pace we will still make it back before sun down.”
    Brent smiled at her. “If you’re sure.”
    Christy returned the smile. “I’m sure.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Christy
    “Here it is,” Brent said, stretching his arms to show Christy his farmhouse. “It’s not much I suppose, but it’s what I call home.”
    The homestead lay in front of them, a beautiful hewn timber structure with a solid roof made of thatching and a wide verandah flowing around the outside of the building. The structure had faded in color under the sun, and had a soft