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born a man. Then she could go hunt or stand sentry instead of caring for Micah and cooking and washing laundry inside the circle. She hated feeling roped to the camp, like they had to rope Boaz to the wagon.
    She didn’t like Captain Loewe, hadn’t liked him ever since he refused to stop along the Platte and let Amanda Perkins rest for an extra day after delivering her baby. Amanda had followed her baby boy to the grave, and her husband had returned to his family in Kentucky. Why couldn’t Jack and Papa and the others see that the man wasn’t capable of leading them safely to the Willamette?
    Jack stopped walking, looking down at her in the moonlight. “I know you mean well, but I’m afraid you’re going to get hurt in the process. Your father wasn’t the only one who almost took a shot at you.”
    As she looked into his eyes, her heart softened just a bit. She knew Jack cared for her. She just wasn’t sure if he understood her.
    She stood a little taller. “I’m not going to get hurt.”
    “Samantha.” He sighed. “A bullet would indeed hurt you.”
    She looked away, feeling silly. Why did he have to be right?
    He slowly took the rawhide rope from her fingers and tied Boaz to their wagon. Then he looked down at her again, shifting back and forth on his feet. It was the first time they’d ever been alone, andfor a moment she thought he might kiss her. But her brother might be awake in the tent, listening to them, and Jack seemed to know it. Instead of a kiss, he gave her a gentle pat on her arm and pointed at the canvas flap.
    “Get some sleep,” he whispered, his voice husky.
    She watched him as he walked away, turning one last time as if he was checking to make sure she wouldn’t try to sneak away. With a quick tilt of his hat, he continued on until the shadows swallowed him too.
    Bending down, Samantha untied the rope around Boaz’s neck, and her dog crawled through the flap with her and lay down at her feet. It was crowded, but Samantha wanted Boaz close.
    She leaned back against the dog’s soft gray fur, picking the cockleburs off his coat as she waited for Papa to return. She never knew exactly how to pray, not like Mama did, but as both Micah and then Boaz slept beside her, she asked the Good Lord and His angels to keep Papa, Jack, and their entire company safe tonight—even the miserable Captain Loewe.

Chapter Four
    “On to Oregon!” Captain Loewe shouted early the next morning. A gunshot followed his cry, the blast meant to rally every man, woman, and child from their bed whether or not they were ready to rise.
    Samantha yawned as she opened her eyes to the first golden light of the sunrise. She’d wanted to stay awake long enough to find out what happened last night, but the darkness had wooed her to sleep before Papa returned.
    Boaz stood as she sat up, and when she opened the tent flap, the morning sunlight flooded their small space along with the sweet smell of sage. If only she could walk down to a river to drink the water and wash the dust off her face and hands before she began breakfast.
    She had to stop thinking about water.
    “Micah,” she whispered, nudging her brother’s toes. “Time to get up.”
    He rubbed his eyes, and for a moment, she thought he might get up without a fight, but then he yanked the fur blanket over his head. “Leave me alone,” he groaned.
    She inched the blanket back off him. “I’m serious. We start rolling in an hour.”
    “The oxen can pull me in the wagon.”
    He grabbed for the blanket, but she refused to give it to him. Instead she tickled his feet. “You’ll be hungry.”
    “No, I won’t.”
    She sighed. “Suit yourself.”
    She slipped her soft moccasins over her bare feet and crawled outside the wagon to find Papa preparing their sheet-iron cooking stove, heating it with dried sagebrush and coals from last night’s fire. Around the circle of wagons, the scent of frying meat and wild onions mixed with the dusty morning air as women