Ollie Severson rushed into the light then. He held up his large hands. “She came to the prayer ’ along with most of the wagon train. Weren’t no hanky-panky there.”
“He’s ’ out my girl. her the best part of the deer, he did.” Arnie growled the words. His accusations had Glory’s face flushing. From the burn, she knew her cheeks glowed red. As much as she wanted to glance at Lee, shame kept her eyes downward.
“Let ‘ marry.”
Glory didn’t recognize the voice, so she lifted her gaze toward the speaker. The older man resembled Lee. He stood slightly behind the scout, rubbing a hand over his jaw in a thoughtful manner. “Best thing for both of ‘ is to marry. Stop the temptation.”
Her gaze flitted briefly to Lee. His face seemed closed, hiding away every emotion except cold determination. “Marry her to me or vow never to harm her again.”
Severson’s voice carried regret. “He’s drunk, son. No promise a drunk be kept when he’s sober.”
Arnie Simms shook the bottle at the trespassers who interrupted his drinking. “Can’t a man have a little peace? Go away!”
Glory knew he’d already forgotten his earlier threat. “I’m fine. I’ll climb up into the wagon and get ready to sleep.”
Lee protested. She ignored him to move past the men. Hating to do it in front of them, she hiked her skirt up to her calves and started to climb over the tailgate. Strong arms suddenly circled her waist and lifted her into the wagon.
Turning to thank the man, her face hovered close to Lee’s. “I, uh, thank you.”
“I meant it, you know. Tonight, tomorrow, or next month, I’ve got the ’ we’re be married.”
I rarely wrote as a child growing up on a farm in Wisconsin. I gambled through the woods and created adventures in my mind that I acted out. I played house endlessly with my dolls. Until I was a teen, I rarely even read. I simply could not finish a book unless it was read out loud.
During my teen years, I forced my mind to focus and learn how to finish the romance novels which I’d discovered. I spent hours laying across my bed reading after that. Still, reading novels in school continued to be nothing more than drudgery.
Imagine this—I became an English teacher and reading specialist! I wanted to help others discover joy through reading, a thing that came so hard for me.
It wasn’t until I became disabled that I turned to writing. As an adult, I wanted to rediscover the joy of pretending and creating imaginary scenes like I’d so often done as a child.
Now, thirty-six books later, I can say that writing has given me a new connection with the world through the many readers I meet through Facebook. Thankfully, they enjoy my imaginary worlds as much as I do.