Jeb Hunter's Bride

He had to spread his attention around—there were always adjustments to be made at the beginning and these people had paid equally for his help. But he’d swung back to the Gallivan wagon as often as he could. Young Patrick was refreshingly enthusiastic and observant. He’d even exclaimed over the different clouds of dust tossed up by the mule teams versus the oxen. The older boy had less to say, but there was a determined expression on his handsome face that intrigued Jeb. When he’d tried to engage the young Irishman in conversation, the lad’s answers had been curt and uncommunicative. But somehow Jeb sensed a great vitality behind those vivid blue eyes.

He watched the two brothers as they made their way to the edge of the circle of settlers who had gathered by the big fire Jeb had built a short ways out in the prairie. He had not circled the wagons this first day. That could wait until they were into Indian country.

In the early-spring twilight he could see the faces of his charges. Good folk, generally—steady and determined. He scanned the crowd, but his eyes kept turning back to the striking faces of the two Irish lads.

“Patrick, Kiernan! Come on up front,” he called to them finally. “We never got a chance to introduce you to everyone.”

Patrick looked at his sister, then gave her elbow a comforting squeeze. Kerry closed her eyes briefly. She was exhausted. But she had wanted to get through with introductions. It might as well be now. With her hat tugged down and concentrating on not swaying her hips, she stalked around the circle to the front. “These are the Gallivan brothers,” Jeb was saying, “and I hope all you folks will do your best to make them feel welcome.”

Jeb didn’t dwell on the presentation. There were a lot of issues to cover, and everyone was tired, so he nodded to Kerry and Patrick to take a seat and started in on the meeting.

Kerry sank heavily to the ground. The few minutes of standing in front of the crowd had used up the last bit of strength she had. She had fully expected that any minute someone—a sharp-eyed child, probably—would point to her and cry out, “Why, that’s a girl.” But no one had raised a voice. She was now officially Kiernan, one of the “Gallivan brothers.” And she could sleep a little easier tonight.

After the meeting, Scott Haskell stepped into place beside her as she made her way back up the line to their wagon. Patrick, not yet out of energy, had run ahead of her. The sky had darkened and was slowly becoming spangled with stars. Her father had said that they would have spectacular nights out on the prairie, but the real thing was far beyond his descriptions.

“It looks like our good weather is going to hold,” Haskell observed, matching his pace to hers.

Kerry’s face was hidden by the darkness, so she relaxed as she answered sleepily, “The sky’s unbelievable. I never knew stars could be so bright.”

“We’re lucky. Some trains start out in spring rains that don’t stop for days. They end up eating mud the rest of the trip.”

“My brother and I are prepared to eat anything we have to as long as we get to California.”

Haskell chuckled. “You are two mighty determined lads. How old are you, anyway, Kiernan?”

“Nineteen.”

Haskell nodded. “You’re not too big a fellow, are you?” he asked casually.

“Ah…no. Folks aren’t so tall where I come from.”

“Patrick looks as if he’ll be a strapping gent someday. He’s already almost as tall as you are.” Haskell’s blond hair glinted in the starlight, and he had that same secret smile on his face that had made Kerry uneasy when they’d met earlier in the day.

“I guess he’ll be bigger than I. Our father was a tall man.” She was finding the conversation a little odd. Scott Haskell had barely met them. What did he care about her brother’s height—or hers?

He looked at her steadily in the darkness for a long moment Then he gave a little nod and switched subjects. “I understand you’re headed for the Sonoma valley.”

Kerry shrugged her shoulders to ease out the tension. “Yes. Where are you headed, Mr. Haskell?”

“Scott, please,” he said with a smile.

“Scott.”

“I reckon I’ll look around a bit—see where the veins are running richest. Probably south of San Francisco somewheres.”

Kerry started to reply when suddenly her foot, clumsy in Patrick’s oversize boot, hit a large rock that had been camouflaged by the darkness. She fell off balance directly toward her companion. Scott turned quickly and caught her with strong, sure hands at each shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Kerry faltered, embarrassed. She righted herself, grimacing as her ankle gave a nasty twinge.

“Are you all right?” Scott asked.

“Yes, just…I’m sorry.” She took a step away from his grasp, giving a little gasp as her foot hit the ground. The twinge was turning into a definite throb. “I seem to have twisted an ankle.”

Scott reached out and took her slender hands. He pulled them toward him and turned them over slowly studying them in the starlight. Then he looked into her eyes. “Perhaps those heavy boots are too much for what must be delicate little feet…Miss Gallivan.”

Under the smears of dirt on her face, Kerry blanched. “I…what do you mean?”

Scott smiled. “Don’t worry, lass. Your secret is safe with me, though I can’t imagine how anyone on this train can actually believe that you’re a male.”

Kerry pulled her hands away from him. “When did you know?” she asked dully.

“The minute I saw those beautiful blue eyes,” Scott answered cheerfully. “I couldn’t believe that God would be so cruel as to waste them on a man.” As her features became more dejected he added gently, “Your face is well disguised by the dirt and floppy hat, lass, but I saw your hands. Those slender wrists couldn’t belong to a man.”

Kerry moved another step backward, only to be reminded once again of the pain in her leg. “The lawyer in St. Louis told us that they wouldn’t take a lone woman,” she explained, a little breathless with nerves at her sudden discovery and the pain.

“And you wanted to come anyway.”

“Yes. My brother and I have to get to California.”

Scott nodded, suddenly serious. “You’re a brave lass, Kiernan. Is it Kiernan?”

“Kerry.”

“Ah. That’s better. You’re a brave lass, Kerry, and, as I said, I won’t be turning you in. In fact, I hope you’ll consider me a friend.”

His eyes were kind and his hand gentle as he gave her shoulder a little squeeze. “If you will keep my secret, Mr. Haskell, I will definitely consider you a friend.”

“Good.” He cocked his head. “But you’ll have to learn to call me Scott.”

She smiled, then sighed. “I guess I’d better, Scott, because I’m already going to take advantage of your friendship.”

“Just ask.”

Giving her foot a rueful glance, she told him, “I’m afraid I’m going to need some assistance getting back to my wagon.”

Scott frowned. “You are really hurt, then. Damnation, what luck. I wonder if anyone in the group is trained in medicine?”

Kerry put both her hands up in protest. “No, please. I’ll be fine. If you’ll just help me to my wagon, I’m sure by tomorrow this’ll be back to normal.”

Scott hesitated. “You don’t want anyone looking at you too closely. Is that it?”

Kerry tightened her jaw against the pain that was beginning to radiate in rings up her leg. Scott grasped her elbows as she swayed. Her hands clutched at his forearms. “Will you help me? Please?” It was not a plea that came easy to her, but at the moment the pain was overriding her usual sense of independence.

Scott bent his head to see her eyes in the starlight, then without a word scooped her up in his brawny arms.

“You don’t have to carry me,” she protested.

Scott shook his head. “You weigh no more than a feather, lass. I could carry you from here to California without breaking a sweat.”

The ache pulsating upward from her foot obliterated all sense of embarrassment she might have felt at this unexpected intimacy with a man she had barely met. “Thank you,” she murmured. Then added in a tired voice, “Tomorrow I’ll be back on my feet.”

But the next day there was no way Kerry would be able to walk and take a turn away from the dust. Her foot had swollen so that even Patrick’s large boot would not fit over it. Patrick had bound it in rags over which Kerry had painfully pulled on a large wool sock.

Scott appeared at breakfast to ask about her injury. He offered to make a bed for her in the back of his much roomier wagon, but she refused, accepting only his offer of help in climbing up onto her wagon seat.

Kerry told no one else of her mishap, but there seemed to be some mysterious network of communication among the wagons, and before they were a half hour out on the trail, Jeb Hunter rode back to them, his forehead creased with worry.

Without preliminaries he said, “I understand you hurt your leg last night, Kiernan.”

She nodded, keeping her face down under the big hat. After her discovery by Haskell, her confidence in her disguise had disappeared. “Just an ankle twist—nothing serious,” she mumbled.

Jeb shook his head. An injury already—the very first day out. He hoped it wasn’t an omen. “Are you sure it’s not broken? We won’t exactly be running into any doctors between here and Fort Kearney. I guess I’d better have a look at it.”

Kerry tensed, and Patrick, riding alongside her in the box, gave her a reassuring pat on the knee. “My brother will be fine,” he said. “Honestly. You don’t have to worry about it”

Jeb hesitated. The boys’ independence was admirable, but the health of his band was his responsibility. He’d seen broken legs fester and turn rotten. “I’ll just check it over to be sure,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument. “I’ll come around when we stop for the nooning. In the meantime, Patrick, why don’t you take over the reins and let Kiernan climb in the back to lie down—get that leg propped up.”

“There’s no room back there to lie—” Patrick began, then stopped as he saw the slight shake of his sister’s head. “All right, Captain. We’ll do just as you say.”

“Good lad.” Hunter wheeled his horse and headed back along the train.

“Now what?” Patrick asked after a moment.

Kerry had turned her head and was watching the guide’s retreating form with an indignant expression. She was starting to get a little tired of Captain Hunter’s high-handed ways. Her father had paid good money to hire his services, as had the other people on the train, yet he acted as if he were the one who had the final say in everything.

“I’m not sure I like that man. He thinks he’s the boss.”

“Well, he is the boss in a way,” Patrick said reasonably. “Everyone on the train has to do what he says.”

Kerry turned around on the seat to face her brother. “We’re paying him, remember?”

“But he’s responsible for all of us.”

“Well, he’s not responsible for…” She sputtered a moment, letting her temper build. “For my feet!” she concluded, looking down at her bandaged leg.

Patrick shook his head. “I think he’s going to want to look at your ankle—one way or another.”

Kerry thought for a minute. “As soon as we stop for lunch, I want you to run up and fetch Mr. Haskell—Scott Tell him I need to take him up on his offer.”

Patrick frowned. “What offer?”

“Of help. If my foot’s already been looked at by an expert, Captain Hunter can’t insist on treating it.”

“Mr. Haskell’s an expert?”

Kerry’s chin lifted and her smile held a touch of defiance. “He shoes horses, doesn’t he?”

Scott had agreed to help deflect the attention of the wagon train captain from Kerry’s obviously feminine legs, but only with the condition that she let him really check on the state of her ankle.

“I’m telling you, it’s nothing,” she said, her dirtsmeared face growing red. She’d been without a mother since she was a child and had grown up in a household with two males. She wasn’t used to anyone seeing a portion of her body that should in all decency be covered up.

“Sorry, lass,” Scott answered with a charming grin as he climbed up on the side rail to lift her down from the wagon seat. “If I’m to help out with this little deception of yours, I’ve got to do it with a clean conscience. What if your ankle’s actually broken?”

“It can’t be broken,” Kerry answered firmly. “I can’t afford for it to be.”

Scott chuckled and bobbled her a bit in his arms as he awkwardly stepped backward down to the ground. “It wouldn’t dare,” he clarified.

“That’s right.”

His chuckle turned into a laugh. Against the hard surface of his chest, Kerry felt warm and comforted—the way she felt when she used to crawl up into her father’s broad lap as a child. She put the thought out of her head. She hadn’t needed the comfort of her father’s lap for some years now, and she certainly didn’t need the warmth of a man’s arms. She was just feeling a little weak because of her injury and because the throbbing had kept her awake for yet another sleepless night.

“Well, we’ll just take a quick look, lass. On a strictly professional basis, I assure you.” Now his blue eyes smiled at her. “In my capacity as your…ah…veterinarian.”

Patrick had finished watering the oxen and came up behind them. “Is my brother going to be all right?”

“How about you lift down one of those boxes for your sister to sit on, lad,” Scott answered.

Patrick’s eyes widened and he turned to Kerry. “He knows?”

Kerry nodded. “It seems that my disguise was not convincing to Mr. Haskell. But he has promised to keep our secret.”

“Criminy, Kerry. I told you this wasn’t going to work. It’s not going to work, is it, Mr. Haskell?” Patrick kicked the wagon wheel with his boot.

“It’s Scott,” he said, still holding Kerry lightly in his arms, then added gently, “the box, lad.” Patrick pulled a packing crate from the back of the wagon and positioned it where Scott could easily set Kerry. After she was situated, Scott stepped back and continued, “I can’t answer you for certain, Patrick, but no one else has questioned your sister’s identity. She’s a smart lass. She may be able to pull it off.”

“As long as Jeb Hunter doesn’t insist on seeing my ankle,” Kerry added grimly, stretching her leg out in front of her. Her foot, bandaged with strips of cloth she had torn from a petticoat last night, stuck awkwardly out the end of her too short, borrowed trousers.

“Maybe he won’t even come around,” Patrick suggested hopefully, but before he had even finished the words, all three lifted their heads at the sound of a horse riding toward them. The wagon master was approaching their wagon, his eyes on Kerry.

Scott pushed back the brim of his hat, then stood awaiting Jeb Hunter’s arrival with crossed arms. “Afternoon, Captain,” he said in a loud voice, drawing the trail guide’s gaze.

Kerry twirled around on the box so that her bad leg was partially out of view.

“Afternoon,” Jeb answered gruffly, pulling his horse to a stop a few feet away. “I came to see the lad’s bad ankle.”

He dismounted and walked toward them, but Scott took a step closer, cutting off his approach. “He says it’s fine.”

Kerry watched as the two men came to a stop opposite each other. Something in their demeanor made their positions look more like a confrontation than a conversation.

“I know,” Hunter said, with just a brush of irritation in his voice. “But I’m going to check it out just to be sure.”

He started to take a step around Scott, who reached out and put a hand on his arm. “I’ve looked at it myself,” he said. “There’s no need for you to bother.”

“Scott’s an expert,” Patrick chimed in.

Jeb Hunter looked down at Scott’s restraining hand. “An expert?”

Scott removed his hand and spoke in conciliatory tones. “I’ve worked with this kind of injury before,” Scott said. “Ankle sprains and the like. I think Kiernan’s going to be just fine if he keeps off it for three or four days.”

For the first time since her injury, Kerry was oblivious to the pain as she watched the exchange between the two men. They were not destined to be friends, that was clear. And it looked as if it would take little to set off a spark of animosity between them. “I wish everyone would stop talking about me and my blasted foot,” she said, making her voice as forceful as she could in its low range. “Mr. Haskell says it’s fine, and it’s practically stopped hurting. So I’d like to just forget the whole incident.”

Jeb Hunter looked over at her and frowned. “Did you get it properly bandaged?”

“Yes. As we said, Mr. Haskell is something of an expert.”

He took a step backward and turned his glance back to Scott. “The lad seems to take your word for it, Haskell, and it was nice of you to help out. But in the future I’d appreciate it if you remembered that I’m the one responsible for the health of the people on this train.”

Scott gave a bland smile. “Sure, Captain. We all know that you’re the boss man.”

Hunter seemed to hesitate for a moment, trying to decide if Scott’s comment had carried hidden sarcasm, but he evidently decided not to press the issue. “Fine. We’ll be getting started again here in about twenty minutes.” He nodded to Patrick, then turned with a last caution to Kerry. “Stay off that foot, then, Kiernan.”

When he mounted up and rode away Kerry discovered that she’d been holding in a deep breath. She let it out slowly. “Well, that’s one crisis past.”

Scott dropped to one knee beside her. “But I’m still going to look at your foot, lass.”

She winced in pain and embarrassment as he deftly pushed the trousers up her slender leg and began to unwind the cloth strips. Her ankle was puffy and grayish blue. Scott gave a low whistle, then looked up at her with a wink. “Now I’ve heard of a nicely turned ankle before…”

Kerry laughed and found herself relaxing in spite of herself under the influence of Scott Haskell’s charm. By the time he had gingerly felt along each side of her ankle, declared that there appeared to be no broken bones and rebandaged it, she had lost all her self-consciousness and was enjoying his banter. Though his detection of her secret had undermined her confidence in her disguise, it felt good to know that she had at least one ally on the train besides Patrick. She was determined to get to California on her own and wasn’t looking for help from any quarter. But it didn’t hurt to know that once in a while she could let down her guard and be assured of a friendly face.

Chapter Three

By four days later she’d begun looking forward to Scott Haskell’s friendly face. The morning after he had first bandaged her ankle, he had shown up just after dawn with a load of firewood, his own coffeepot already full of water and a can of coffee. Kerry had awakened from another restless night to decide that it wasn’t worth the effort to prepare anything warm to combat the chill of the spring morning. But she was happy to sit peacefully, leaning against the back of the wagon wheel, while Scott bustled around their small camp and prepared a nice breakfast of fried bacon and strong coffee.

The noon stop had been brief, and the travelers had eaten a cold lunch, but that night, Scott had appeared once again to work with Patrick on fixing supper.

By the next day, Kerry could hobble around on her own, but Scott had adamantly refused to let her move, taking over the cooking chores, directing Patrick with good-natured teasing, as naturally as if he had been an older brother. But his occasional unguarded glances at Kerry were not always brotherly, much to her amazement She recognized the male admiration in his gaze, and found it incredible that he could find anything attractive in her, dressed as she was in her odd male attire and already grimy from the trail.

Everyone else on the train seemed to take her male status for granted. The well-meaning neighbors who had stopped by after hearing about her injury treated her with that breezy indifference often extended to an inconsequential young man who had yet to make his mark in life. There was no deference, nor anything in their manner to suggest the stilted courtesy prescribed by society for a single young woman. She found it liberating.

It was only with Scott that she felt back in her feminine role. He was looking at her that way now from the other side of the campfire. The two were alone. Patrick had joined some of the other youngsters at another wagon. “I’ve appreciated your help these past few days, Scott,” Kerry said finally, when the silence had stretched out long enough to be awkward.

Scott grinned. “I’m a born romantic, Kerry. Always ready to help a damsel in distress.”

Kerry chuckled and held out her arms to flop the sleeves of her father’s jacket. “Damsel is a bit too elegant to describe me, I’m afraid.”

Scott’s face grew serious. “I’d have trouble finding the right words to describe you, Kerry. I look at your beautiful face and into those big blue eyes and it makes my heart stop cold.”

Kerry flushed and leaned back a little, moving her face out of the circle of firelight. “I thought only Irishmen knew how to talk blarney.”

Scott stayed serious another moment, then smiled. “I’m sorry. It must sound like that. I’ve spoken too soon. Forgive me, lass.”

Kerry shook her head in confusion. “No, I didn’t mean…There’s nothing to forgive. You’re…you’ve been so nice to us.”

Scott waggled his eyebrows mockingly. “And as with all beautiful females, you’re wondering if my motives are pure.”

Kerry giggled. She’d never met a man who could put her so at ease. She had a feeling that Scott’s easy charm would be appealing under any circumstances. It was in marked contrast to the taciturn manner of the wagon master, who had been by to ask about her foot several times, but had never stayed more than the time it took to get an answer on the subject. While she was relieved that he didn’t again ask to look at the injury and that she would not have to undergo a close scrutiny that might risk revealing her secret, she found herself a little annoyed by Jeb Hunter’s brusque manner.

“I’m not too concerned about your motives, Scott,” she answered her new friend. “Patrick and I are both grateful to have you around.”

“He’s a fine boy. You can be proud of him.”

“I am. We’ll make a good team in California.”

“That’s a tall order, Kerry—starting up a ranch with just the two of you.”

Kerry’s chin came up. “Not too tall, though. We’ll make it work. I can do anything a man can do.” She gave a rueful glance down at her foot. “When I have two good legs, that is.”

Scott narrowed his eyes to see her face in the dim light. “Perhaps you won’t be alone by then. I’ve heard that young women don’t stay unmarried for long in the West.”

Kerry grinned. “But I’m not a young woman, remember? And I’m not interested in having a man in my life telling me what to do.”

Scott barked out a laugh. “I guess that states it plain enough.”

A shower of sparks rose from the fire as a log broke in two and slid off the top of the pile toward Kerry. Scott was on his feet in an instant, moving to her side and shoving the log back with his boot. Kerry had started to push herself backward, but he reached down and stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to move, lass. I’ll just rebuild this.”

He knelt beside her, his leg touching hers, and, using a smaller, unlit log, maneuvered the burning ones into a more stable pyramid. “That ought to do it,” he said, pushing himself backward to sit beside her. Their legs still touched, and neither one pulled away.

Kerry drew in a deep breath of warm air that smelled of dry meadow and smoke. “It’s a perfect night,” she said dreamily, looking up at the black velvet sky.

Scott leaned back on his hands and looked upward, then turned his head to study her. “Yes, it is,” he answered finally. “When I set out on this journey, I had no idea just how perfect it was going to turn out to be.”