The Western Dare (Harlequin Heartwarming) (20 page)

“Don’t be too hard on her when you find her,” Sherry murmured. “According to Brittany, Megan was smarting from Philly’s drubbing. I gather the firecracker incident scared the girls as much as it did the horses.”

“I hope we find her, Sherry. I know Megan talks big and she tries to act tough. But she’s lived in a small town her whole life.” Emily’s voice cracked.

Camp touched Emily’s arm, indicating they needed to go. He heard the splash of the lead team being forced into the swollen stream as they set off down the trail.

Outside the bus depot, near a bank of phones, the two of them sighted their quarry at the same time. Megan’s auburn hair clung wetly to her neck. She was hunched under a dripping overhang, looking cold and slightly dazed.

Camp couldn’t be sure from this distance if that was rain or tears tracking down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. In case it was tears, he put out a hand to caution Emily. “Let’s hear her side of this before we pounce.”

Emily indicated that she understood, but her steps quickened. “Megan, honey...”

The girl covered her face with her hands and began to sob—sad, gulping sobs. She didn’t, however, object when her mother gathered her close.

Camp, never comfortable with women’s tears, stood back feeling powerless. He didn’t know how much time had elapsed before he made sense of Megan’s words through her hiccups.

“I—I thought Mona would c-come for me,” she cried into Emily’s shoulder. “But she has an appointment in St. Louis tomorrow at the spa. She—she said I should find my own way home. Toby’s busy, too. Tomorrow’s his poker night. He said he’d wire me money. That’s their answer to everything.”

Emily could have told Megan that—had tried to in a hundred ways or more. Maybe she’d been wrong not to strip the kids’ blinders off after Dave’s crash. She hated hearing her daughter’s heartbreak.

Camp didn’t want to interrupt, but the rain was falling harder. “Emily, I know you two have a lot to discuss. Can it wait? If we don’t leave now, I’m afraid the river’ll be too high to ford.”

Megan scrubbed at her eyes. “What’s he doing here? Mark thinks he’s so great, but I want him to leave us...leave...
you
alone.” She wailed the last.

A couple walking down the street turned to look, and hesitated as if considering whether or not to intervene.

Camp broke from his frown to give them what he hoped was a reassuring smile. As they seemed inclined to linger, he whipped off his yellow raincoat, threw it over Megan’s shoulders and hustled both women back to the park.

Maizie alone paced the clearing. One wagon remained on this side of the Arkansas. It was Camp’s.

“You three are a sight for sore eyes,” Maizie rasped. “We got no time for palavering. The river’s running fast and she’s running high. Robert had his hands full crossing Emily’s wagon. River carried him downstream to where the bank was almost too slick for the horses to climb out.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” asked Camp. He boosted Emily and Megan into the back of his wagon and motioned for Maizie to join him on the seat.

Camp fought to keep the horses lined up with the
tire tracks emerging on the far side. His jaw and his muscles ached by the time he pulled to a stop next to his sister.

Sherry let out a whoop on seeing Megan huddled between them.

If Camp thought Maizie would let them rest once they cleared the difficult crossing, he’d called it wrong.

“Snap to it,” she said, gritting her teeth as she jumped down into the mud. “I want to see everybody driving his or her own wagon. This ain’t the only river that’ll be over its banks today. I know some of you haven’t slept in twenty-four hours. I can’t promise it won’t be twenty-four more. I never claimed to be able to control the weather. What you see is what you get. Let’s roll ’em.”

Camp wanted a word with Emily. But that wasn’t to be. She handed his slicker back with the barest whisper of thanks and climbed aboard her own wagon. He noticed Megan slunk into her mom’s wagon bed, looking neither right or left.

Next thing Camp knew, Emily had pulled in front of Sherry.

As if the day hadn’t started out rotten enough, the clouds sat down even lower and rain lashed them with fury. Midafternoon, instead of allowing a break, Maizie handed out small bags of dried fruit. There’d be no hot meal, not today.

Rain poured without letup. If they made two miles today, it’d surprise Camp. The flat prairie offered no shelter, and the day turned into one round after another of stuck wagons. He’d never dreamed that a reenactment could be this realistic.

When Maizie finally consented to calling a halt that evening, not even Emily could coax a fire to start. Everyone fell into bed, too tired to even gnaw at the beef jerky Robert Boone said they needed to eat for energy.

Camp slept like the dead.

Morning produced a break in the rain, but no slack in the schedule. Maizie whipped them in gear after insisting they eat bread and jam for breakfast.

Noonish, a pale sun came out. Hordes of mosquitoes descended on the spot Maizie referred to as Middle Crossings. There, drivers toiled to ford an engorged Cimarron River.

Under the wet cottonwoods on the opposite bank, the humidity rose even higher. And tempers rose right along with it—as the first wagons to cross had to wait for the others.

Megan Benton, who’d spent the morning riding with Sherry and Brittany, cried over ugly red lumps that itched and marred her pretty face. Camp and Robert took the brunt of the girl’s griping as they strained to dislodge Sherry’s wagon from a sinkhole in the center of a swift-running river. “I want to go home,” she cried.

Brittany and Megan clung to each other. “I hate you, Nolan Campbell,” Brittany sniffled. “If the pioneers did this voluntarily, they were nuts.”

Camp and Robert ignored her comments and put shoulders to the wheels. The minute they got the wagon ashore, Megan ran to Emily. Camp suspected it was because the girl didn’t want anyone to see how the bites had left her face splotched and swollen. At the moment, he had more to worry about than mosquitoes. Several wagons had shipped water during the crossing. Maizie consented to an early stop in order to dry things out. It wasn’t just clothing that’d gotten wet. Doris and Vi lost all their oatmeal. Sherry’s flour was ruined, as was Gina’s sugar.

Philly had insisted on fording the swollen river without help. He nearly capsized his wagon and wasn’t half so belligerent when he caught up to the others.

The heat remained unbearable. Steam rose from everything.

Maizie gathered the disgruntled group for a pep talk, pointing ahead to a desolate, barren plateau. “It’s gonna be hotter than a pig fry tonight. I recommend tearin’ off some cottonwood branches here. They’ll dry fast. You can throw your sleeping bags on top of ’em and sleep under your wagons tonight. Wet canvas blocks the wind—not that there’ll be any. Inside, the wagons’ll be virtual bake ovens.”

“What about critters and creepy crawlies?” Brittany inquired in a small voice. “Jared said he saw coyote tracks along the river.”

Emily put a hand on Brittany’s shoulder. “Animals like coyotes, badgers and racoons are more afraid of humans than we are of them.”

“A lot you know,” sulked Megan.

Camp smiled at Emily to bolster her spirits. She’d come through this rough stage of the trip without one complaint. “Listen to Emily,” Camp urged the girls. “And while you’re at it, take some lessons. She has her fire started and black-bean soup cooking. Smoke drives off mosquitoes, too.” He glanced pointedly at Megan.

“Yippy skippy.” She twirled a finger in the air, stuck out her tongue at Camp, then ran off toward a steamy field of flowering weeds.

Emily exchanged a worried glance with Camp. It was the first time she’d looked directly at him in two days. He took advantage of the crack in her resistance. “Give her time, Em. When she starts to sweat, she’ll see the wisdom of bedding down under the wagon. Mmm. That bean soup smells tasty. I swear I don’t know how mountain men survived on beef jerky.”

“Are you angling for dinner?” she asked, tilting her head like the Emily of old.

“I sure wouldn’t turn it down,” he drawled.

“Stop by with your bowl in about an hour. I’m offering to feed everyone tonight.”

His smile froze. Well, if that didn’t put him in his place, Camp didn’t know what did. Maybe she’d be more amenable if he won Megan over first. He angled toward the field, hoping for a chance to discuss how he felt about Emily.

A few yards into the meadow, Megan ran screaming toward him. Swooping behind her was a black swarm of bees.

Camp grabbed her, zigzagging past the swarm and going in the opposite direction. He set her on her feet a safe distance away. She didn’t even thank him.

“Megan, I wish...” He grappled for words to alleviate the strain between them. But she sailed off, refusing to listen.

At wit’s end, during dinner Camp asked Emily to collect the data sheets. He figured she’d bring them by his wagon and he could convince her to stay for tea or something. No such luck. Emily collected the sheets and sent Mark to deliver them.

“You and my mom have a fight?” Mark asked Camp bluntly.

“No. Mark, I like your mother a lot. A whole lot, for that matter. And you kids, too. When this is over, I’d like for us all to get together more.”

“Rule.” Mark’s teeth glistened white in the firelight.

“Tell me, Mark. Is Megan afraid I’m trying to take your dad’s place?”

Mark’s freckles stood out in stark relief. “Mona and Toby have her brainwashed. My dad...”

“Yes?” Camp prompted after a moment of silence.

“He...he was my dad and all—but he wasn’t very nice to Mom.”

Camp put out a hand, then pulled it back and rubbed his forehead. “Son, it’s okay to love someone and not like the way he acts or some of the things he does. I know it sounds weird, but give it time. You’ll understand.”

“O-kay,” Mark said shakily. His head came up as his name was called. “Gina,” he said. “I promised to fix her bed under the wagon. Say, Camp, I heard what Brittany said. Are there varmints around?”

“Would Maizie suggest sleeping out if she thought there were?”

“No. Hey, thanks, Camp. You never treat me like a kid. I hope you and Mom...well, you know.” Blushing, he left.

It was some time before Camp managed to wipe the smile off his face and settle down to read the papers Mark had dropped off. He finished adding his observations, then crawled under his wagon. Only when he lay back on a crackling bed of branches to stare at the black underbelly of the wagon did he try to analyze his feelings for Emily and her kids. Megan as well as Mark. If anything, Megan needed unconditional love more than her brother. She needed someone to care, yet be firm in guiding her. As sleep stole over him, Camp vowed to set things right with Emily before many more days had passed.

Except that bad weather continued to dog them. At Lower Springs they almost didn’t get across Sand Creek. Ugly yellow mud sucked at their boots and stuck to their tires like glue. Maizie ordered teams rotated twice. Camp understood why they’d rented so many extra horses.

Four days later, they faced the swiftest section of the Cimarron, and Maizie expected them to be ecstatic over two giant boulders barely visible to the naked eye. They poked out from the waterlogged grassland still ahead.

“Point of Rocks,” she said proudly. “Pioneers cried over those boulders. Meant they were looking at Colorado and within spitting distance of Oklahoma. Also means we’re still on the Santa Fe Trail.” She chuckled.

“Was there any doubt?” Camp asked, almost too tired to appreciate a joke.

“Navigating by the sun and the stars is tricky, boy. By tomorrow afternoon we’ll cross the Cimarron one final time. If this rain doesn’t slack, she’s gonna be boiling. The ground twixt here and there is like a sponge. I want y’all looking out for one another.”

Camp took her at her word. And the person he planned to look out for was Emily. So instead of bringing up the rear as he’d been doing, he forced his team past Sherry’s wagon. Pulling even with Emily, Camp smiled across the space between them, which dragged a reluctant smile from her. He regaled her with funny stories and soon had her in stitches. For over an hour they were so engrossed in conversation, neither noticed that Sherry’s wagon had fallen behind.

In fact, Camp didn’t discover it until they stopped for the night. “Where’re Sherry and Brittany?” he asked Emily, peering behind them down a stubbornly empty trail.

“I don’t know. Oh, Camp, wouldn’t we have noticed if Sherry’d had trouble?”

“Maybe she’s admiring the sunset. If she doesn’t show by the time we finish unhitching, I’ll saddle Mincemeat and ride back.”

“I’ll go, too. Now, don’t say no,” she admonished, well aware before he said anything that he was going to object. “Four hands are better than two if Sherry needs help. I’m going with you, and that’s final.”

His shoulders fell as if in resignation. “Yes, ma’am,” he grinned. He’d take time alone with Emily any way he could get it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“By 1867 women traveled across the plains in comfort. It was so safe they could serve their men off china plates.”

—Sherry cut this out of a book, taped it to her data sheet, noting that it was a big, fat lie.

S
HERRY
’
S
TEAM
,
A
mix of Percherons and Belgians today, was much harder to handle than her teddy-bear Clydesdales. After the trial at the river, her arms felt like lead weights, and she knew she and Brittany were falling behind.

“Brittany, I can’t see the main body of the train anymore. Won’t you please drive for a while? These brutes are yanking my arms from their sockets.”

“I told you I don’t feel good.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. You haven’t eaten anything to speak of in three days.”

“I hate fruit. And that awful jerky about pulls the caps off my teeth. My folks put a lot of money into them. A fortune, according to my dad.”

“If they put that much into them, the caps should hold if you ate shoe leather. You’re not anorexic, are you?” Sherry asked all of a sudden.

“No! Who can eat food covered in flies and mosquitoes as big as a barn? Who
wants
to eat? Everything smells like horse poop.”

“I get the picture, Brittany. Oh!”

“What’s the matter?” Brittany peered through the opening with frightened eyes.

“Conquistador is limping. I think he picked up a stone.” Sherry yanked the animals to a stop. “Will you find me that thingamajig Maizie gave us to dig them out?”

“I don’t know where it is. Have you done this before?”

“No. But I’ve watched Robert. How hard can it be? If you can’t find the pick, give me your nail file.”

“It’s diamond and it’s new!”

“It can be platinum-covered gold for all I care. We aren’t going another step until that stone comes out.”

Brittany threw the file onto the seat. “You owe me a new one.”

Sherry soon discovered the task was nowhere near as simple as it had appeared. The horse wouldn’t stand still, and the rock was embedded in gunk. Every time she cleared the area around the stone, Conquistador jerked loose or set his foot down. Patience thinning, Sherry hiked the foot onto her knee and started over.

A ghostly fog had moved in by the time she finally removed the rock. Sherry’s jeans were caked with mud, her fingers scraped and frozen.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Brittany griped incessantly.

“If you’re not going to help, be quiet,” Sherry finally snapped.

“It’s eerie here,” Brittany whined. “How soon before we catch up to the others?”

“Do I look like a psychic? Frankly, I thought Nolan would have come by now.”

“Ha! He can’t see beyond Emily.”

Sherry tossed the file on the seat and unwound the reins. “You keep saying that. Em’s had one bad marriage. She’s not about to get tangled up with another man.”

“Are you blind? The only reason they’re not together is that Megan pitched a royal fit. But kids only count for so long.”

“Enough. I know Emily. Wow, it’s turning to pea soup out there. We must be closer to the river than I thought. What time is it? I took my watch off to work on that stone and now my hands are too icky to dig it out of my pocket.”

“Six o’clock.”

“It can’t be! We were supposed to cross the Cimarron by four!”

Brittany shoved her watch under Sherry’s nose. “Six, see! And in case you haven’t noticed, it’s getting dark.”

“You’re right. Hear that?” Sherry led the team a few wagon lengths and cocked an ear. “I can’t see it, but I think the river’s just ahead.”

“All I hear are dogs. Or coyotes! Do you hear that yipping?”

Sherry did, and tried to forget accounts she’d read in that book she’d bought. “We have wood in the wagon. Let’s build a fire. I know someone’ll be back for us soon.”

“They won’t. We’re lost forever. We’re going to die—I know it.”

Gritting her teeth, Sherry looped the reins over a cottonwood branch, electing to keep the team hitched. Brittany’s theatrics grated on her nerves. Sherry grew even more agitated when the wood she’d dumped in her big metal pot refused to catch fire because the heavy mist that blew around had drenched it.

Suddenly, a figure parted the fog. Sherry glanced up eagerly, expecting to see Nolan. A gasp tore from her lungs as she scrambled away from a tall stranger. A giant of a man, bearded and dark. Unkempt, dishwater-blond hair straggled over the collar of a scruffy jacket. His ripped pants were dirtier than his rundown cowboy boots. In the swirling mist, he looked positively frightening.

The stranger ripped off a muddy glove and reached for something in his belt.

Oh, no—a gun.
Sherry fought the fear welling in her throat as Brittany screamed bloody murder, leaped from the wagon seat and slumped against Sherry in a dead faint. “Oh, good grief.” Sherry staggered under Brittany’s full weight.

“I’ll be doggoned. A couple of women out here alone on a night not fit for man or beast.” He stopped, discovering the Conestoga. “Is one of us caught in a time warp?”

He had a deep, slow drawl and teeth that flashed wickedly white from the depths of the beard.

Shaking in her boots, Sherry shoved a piece of kindling she still clutched into her jacket pocket. “Don’t come any closer,” she warned. “I swear I’ll shoot.”

“Now, hold on.” He backed into the thick fog until all that showed were laser-blue eyes and the ragged outline of his bearded jaw.

Brittany roused enough to stand on her own. Babbling hysterically, she threw up her hands and ran behind the wagon.

“Come back here, you coward,” Sherry muttered out of the side of her mouth, afraid to take her eyes off the man, who’d begun to speak in that lazy voice again.

“You ladies are a long way from civilization. Suppose you tell me what y’all are doing out here alone in that contraption.”

In a flash of genius, Sherry made up a lie. “We’re part of a huge wagon train. The others crossed the river. Our husbands will be back for us any second.” She waved her free hand to indicate herself and the now-absent Brittany.

“A wagon train, you say?” He crouched next to the black pot in which Sherry had sheltered a pile of twigs. Snapping open a cigarette lighter, he started the fire that’d only sizzled damply for Sherry. “I’ll just keep you company until your menfolk show up.” He rose, cool gaze affixed to Sherry’s ringless left hand.

Behind the wagon, Brittany began to wail and carry on. “We’ll all be killed—I told you so. He’ll leave our bodies out here to be picked clean by buzzards. I’m too young to die!”

Edging carefully backward, Sherry reached out and yanked Brittany up on the balls of her feet. “Hush,” she hissed. “Don’t give him any ideas.”

Brittany only blubbered harder.

Sherry wrapped a hand in the front of the girl’s jacket and shook her hard. “Listen. I told him the men have already crossed the river and they’ll be right back for us. Quit bawling and act like it’s true.”

The stranger poked his head around the wagon, straight brows pulled together in a fierce frown. Both women screamed and clung together.

“Whoa.” He held up grimy hands. “I’m just an ordinary guy from down in Huntsville, Texas. Been up river-panning for gold.”

His lopsided grin was far from reassuring to Sherry. The one and only thing she knew about Huntsville, Texas, was that it housed the state’s maximum security prison. What if this man was an escapee? He wouldn’t let people who could identify him just wander off! In a blind panic, she snatched a bigger chunk of wood from her supply and whacked him upside the head. He toppled like a rock. She heard a splash and knew how close they were to the Cimarron.

“Hurry, Brittany. Climb aboard! Let’s make tracks. Duck if you hear shots.” Boosting the younger woman into the seat, Sherry felt her legs almost give out. Nevertheless, she untied the reins, scrambled up herself and forced the horses into the murky water. She wasn’t sure, but she thought the man had begun to move. Whipping the team into a frenzy, she never looked back, only hunched against expected gunfire.

As they bounced and jolted through the river, spraying water every which way, Sherry gasped out her fears to Brittany.

“You mean he’s an outlaw?” shivered Brittany.

“Or a low-down murderer.” Sherry gripped the leather straps more tightly and shuddered. “Let’s hope he’s on foot and doesn’t have a horse to follow us.”

As if on cue, above the thud of the team’s big hooves, they heard a sharper, lighter clippity-clop through the fog. Sherry urged the already blowing horses faster. Brittany mewled louder.

The dark shape of a saddle horse appeared so quickly in front of them that it took all of Sherry’s limited power to swing the team to the right and avoid a disaster.

“It’s him,” Brittany shrieked as the phantom horse swerved and gave chase. When the darkly silhouetted rider leaned out of his saddle, grabbed the harness of the lead horse and fought to bring the team to a halt, Brittany’s wild screech drowned out their captor’s voice. “We’re dead meat! Dead!”

“Whoa. Sherry, pull up. Stop! Are you two hurt?” Camp threw his weight against the bit. “What in thunderation is wrong with her?” He squinted at the cowering Brittany.

Sherry couldn’t say how or when she recognized her brother’s voice. By then she was shaking so hard she had almost no muscle left to do as he asked. But in that last mad race, they’d driven out of the mist. The moon and stars winked in an inky sky as finally Camp and Sherry brought the huge beasts to a standstill.

Emily cantered up on the opposite side of the wagon. “Runaway team?” she asked Sherry.

Camp vaulted from the saddle, uncaring that he landed in a mud hole as he swung up to see why Sherry wasn’t talking. He barely caught her when, with a strangled cry, she launched herself at him from the high seat.

“It’s okay,” he breathed, hugging her and patting her awkwardly. “You’re safe. What happened? I didn’t realize you’d fallen so far behind until Maizie signaled to stop for the night.”

“We met an escaped convict with a gun,” Brittany cried. “A murderer.”

Camp pried Sherry away from his chest. “Murder...” Seeing his sister’s white face, he stared at the mist boiling behind them. “Escaped convict? How do you know? You wouldn’t be putting me on?” Camp frowned, meeting Emily’s eyes over Sherry’s head.

Sherry pressed a hand to her throat. “He didn’t have on black and white stripes, or the orange coveralls you see on TV. But he said he was from Huntsville—and he had the...the
look
of an escapee. Oh, Nolan, let’s leave, please.”

“Sherry smacked the guy with a piece of firewood. He fell in the river. I hope he drowned,” Brittany announced without a shred of compassion.

“You what?” Camp again glanced at Emily as if for verification.

“He...he looked disreputable. All right?” Sherry tossed an uneasy gaze over one shoulder. “In the fog, everything was creepy. I...he said he was panning for gold. I mean...really, in this weather? Can we just go?”

Camp returned Sherry to the seat. “Emily, lead them to Cold Springs. I’ll take Mincemeat and have a look around.”

“No,” all three women exclaimed at once.

“Camp...” Emily rode around and blocked his leaving. “Why would anyone be in this desolate area all alone?”

He caught her restraining hand and kissed her fingers. “Probably some innocent old prospector. If Sherry injured him or worse,” he said, “somebody’ll have to ride into Ulysses and report it to the police.”

Sherry blanched. “I never thought. Nolan, I didn’t mean to hit him so hard. And he wasn’t, you know, old, the way I picture a prospector. That was
p-part of the problem. I’m sure he was armed. Oh, I wish you wouldn’t go.”

“Careful, sis, or I’ll get the idea you care.” Turning to Emily one last time, Camp murmured, “I’ll be fine. You take it easy, too.”

“I will, Camp. You can count on me.”

He waited long enough to see them move out, before breaching the wall of fog. The idea of an armed prospector sounded ludicrous. But again, they were forty miles from civilization. Something
had
happened. He’d never seen Sherry so rattled.
She hit him,
he mused. Exactly how a pioneer woman would have handled things. That was certainly going into his paper. Too bad he wasn’t writing a book.

Grinning, he flipped on the powerful construction flashlight he’d borrowed from Robert before he and Emily left. Sherry’s wagon tracks stood out clearly on the muddy ground. The river tumbled and eddied in front of him, shrouded in fog.

He found where the wagon had left the water, but the beam refused to penetrate the cottony mist. Step by wary step his horse moved into the river. Camp thought about what awaited him on the other side. A dead man, or a furious one.

Camp touched his heels to Mincemeat’s sides to speed their progress. On the far bank he discovered Sherry’s large cast-iron pot lying on its side. He smelled recent smoke, but saw no fire. Another whorl of mist obliterated the scene. Dismounting, he combed the river’s edge on foot. Thankfully he didn’t stumble across any dead body. To the right of Sherry’s tire tracks he saw signs that something heavy had crawled a short distance through the mud. A tracker he wasn’t, but Camp bent and followed the snaky trail.

Finally,
footprints.

The ice melted from the solid wad in Camp’s chest, and he stopped expecting to find a dead man slumped behind every pile of rocks.

Pushed on by the horse’s hot breath on his neck, Camp literally tripped over a heap of wet clothing that in all probability belonged to the person he sought. His light beam swept up and over a shivering naked man. A guy about his own age who hopped on one foot, trying to stuff his wet legs into a dry pair of jeans. Beads of water caught in the man’s too-long blond hair. Blue eyes blinked rapidly in the bright light a moment before the figure lunged for an army knife Camp saw lying open on the hood of a bright-red Jeep.

“Hold on there, buddy,” Camp growled. “You’ve got no call to fear me.”

Relaxing, the man dropped the blade, leaned against the vehicle and finished pulling up his trousers. “For a minute I was afraid you were that crazy lady who tried to brain me.” The man’s last words were muffled as he shrugged into an out-of-shape sweatshirt with a college logo on the front. “If you’re her man,” he muttered, yanking on socks and a battered pair of sneakers, “you have my condolences. Last I saw of those two wild women, they were driving a team across the river like a herd of stampeding buffalo. I would have followed to see they didn’t break their fool necks, but the dark-haired one decked me.” He touched a spot above his left ear and grimaced.