Thomas glanced toward the road.
No wagon was approaching.
The platform was almost empty.
"Maybe she is."
"Shouldn't somebody wait with her?"
Thomas lifted the sack into the wagon.
"She may prefer to be alone."
Lily looked back at Anna.
"I don't think she does."
Thomas exhaled.
Four years as a widowed father had taught him that an eight-year-old could ask questions for which no practical answer sounded acceptable.
"Come on," he said. "It's getting late."
Lily did not move.
Thomas climbed onto the wagon seat.
"Lily Reed."
That usually worked.
This time she looked at him and asked, "Where is she going to sleep?"
Thomas paused.
"I don't know."
"Does she have family?"
"I don't know."
"Does she have supper?"
"Lily."
"She looks hungry."
Thomas rubbed one hand over his face.
The Reed ranch lay almost seven miles outside Willow Creek.
They still had nearly an hour's ride, longer if the road near Cottonwood Crossing was muddy from the previous week's rain.
He had livestock to check before full darkness.
A fence on the south pasture needed repair tomorrow.
Two new calves required watching.
He had no time to become involved in a stranger's troubles.
He also knew enough about frontier towns to understand that strangers sometimes carried trouble with them.
Then he looked at his daughter.
Lily was still holding the parcel from the general store against her chest.
Her eyes had not left the lonely woman.
Thomas had seen that expression before.
Margaret had worn it.
His wife had never been able to pass someone in need without finding some small reason to stop.
Thomas had once teased her that if she found a wounded rattlesnake, she would probably bring it into the kitchen and ask what it wanted for breakfast.
Margaret had laughed and told him that was ridiculous.
She would keep the rattlesnake on the porch.
The memory came so suddenly that it hurt.
Thomas looked away.
Lily said quietly, "Mama would've asked."
There it was.
Children did not always know when they had placed a hand directly over an old wound.
Thomas swallowed.
Then he climbed down from the wagon.
"Stay beside me."
Lily brightened immediately.
They crossed the platform.
Anna heard the boots before she looked up.
The man approaching her was tall, broad across the shoulders, perhaps thirty-seven or thirty-eight. He wore a dark wool coat over a faded work shirt. His brown hair was touched by a little gray near the temples, and several days of stubble shadowed his jaw.
His hat looked old but well cared for.
The girl beside him wore a blue coat and carried a brown paper parcel.
Anna quickly folded Clara's letter.
The man stopped several feet away and removed his hat.
"Ma'am."
Anna straightened.
"Sir."
"I don't mean to intrude."
She waited.
Thomas glanced toward the empty tracks.
"Are you expecting another train?"
"No."
"Someone coming for you?"
Anna looked toward the road.
For an instant she considered lying.
Then she saw no reason.
"I was."
Thomas nodded once.
He did not ask who.
That small restraint made Anna more comfortable than any reassurance would have.
Before Thomas could speak again, Lily stepped forward.
"My name is Lily."
Anna looked at her.
The child had bright hazel eyes and several freckles across her nose.
"I'm Anna."
"Anna what?"
"Lily," Thomas warned.
"Anna Miller."
Lily smiled.
"I'm Lily Reed, and that's my father, Thomas."
Thomas gave his daughter a look.
"We generally allow people to introduce themselves."
"You were taking too long."
Despite herself, Anna almost smiled.
Lily noticed.
That seemed to encourage her.
"We're going home for supper."
Thomas's expression changed.
"Lily."
The girl ignored him.
"Would you like to come?"