Jeb Hunter's Bride

His voice had grown unmistakably husky, and Kerry turned toward him in surprise. Their gaze held for a long minute, then Scott reached out a hand and gently pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over her forehead.

His fingers were rough on her smooth skin, but she didn’t mind. They moved a little into her hair, a gentle caress. “I like your hair short,” Scott murmured. For once she was not wearing her big felt hat. She made no effort to resist his touch. The warm contact blended with the peacefulness of the night to make her relaxed and happy. He leaned closer until she could see the stubble of his whiskers. Perhaps he was going to kiss her, she thought in a kind of haze. Darkness had closed around them like a protective cloak. She wouldn’t mind if he did, she decided sleepily, and her eyes drifted closed.

“Good evening!” came a deep voice from just beyond the light of the fire.

Kerry and Scott pulled apart abruptly. Scott scowled into the darkness. “Hunter,” he acknowledged in an uncharacteristically gruff tone.

Kerry’s cheeks were burning, though she didn’t know exactly why. She and Scott had not been doing anything wrong, but she felt like a child caught stealing cookies.

Jeb Hunter moved to the other side of the fire and crouched down. “How’s the foot today, Kiernan?” he asked. There was an edge to his voice.

Kerry straightened up farther and slid her leg away from contact with Scott’s. “It’s fine,” she said with a dry mouth. Her voice came out much too high. Forcing it to a lower register, she repeated, “The ankle’s nearly healed, I think.”

The captain nodded, then looked from her to Scott and back again. He seemed at a loss as to what to say. After a moment the silence became awkward, and Kerry said, “Would you like a cup of coffee, Captain?”

Scott made a slight grimace of annoyance at her invitation, but he recovered quickly. “Your duties must be about done for the day, Hunter.”

Jeb gave a faint smile. “My duties won’t be done until I get you and everyone else on this train to California, Haskell.”

“Done enough for a cup of coffee, at least.” Scott got to his feet and went to fetch a tin mug from the canvas sack that held the Gallivans’ dishes.

Scott Haskell acted as if the wagon belonged to him rather than the two Irish lads, Jeb noticed, and tried to decide why the thought irritated him. He knew that part of the reason was simply that the affable young Haskell had declared his intentions of becoming a prospector. Jeb had left California and taken up his job as trail guide partly because he never again wanted to have anything to do with the gold rush fever. Whenever prospectors joined up with one of his wagon trains, he found himself wanting to shake them until that eager, hopeful look disappeared from their eyes.

Scott returned to the fire, poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Jeb, who was still crouching at the other side of the fire. “Have a seat, Hunter,” Scott urged, now evidently resigned to the wagon master’s interruption of his private moment with Kerry.

Jeb hesitated, then sat back on the ground and reached for the cup. “Much obliged,” he said tersely.

“Are we keeping on schedule, Captain?” Kerry asked, this time remembering to keep her voice low.

Jeb nodded. “We’ve been lucky so far—no rain. The wagons have made good time over this nice dry trail.”

“It’s not too dry, is it? We’ll have plenty of water along the way for the animals?” Scott asked.

Jeb shrugged. “No way to tell. It could be a problem. We usually hit spring rains at this point, but they can turn a nice trail into a muddy nightmare. And an easy river into a raging flood.”

Kerry shivered a little in spite of the warmth of the evening. “Will we be crossing a river soon?” she asked.

Jeb shook his head. “Not for a few days anyway. We’ll keep this side of the Kansas for a ways. We don’t usually cross it this soon.”

“We do cross it, then?”

“Yes, we have to, before we reach the Blue. But if things stay this dry, it’ll be no problem to ford. Still, it’s a good-sized river—that’s one of the reasons I made sure everyone’s load was light enough before we left.”

He watched as the Irish lad cast a guilty look back at his wagon. Jeb suspected that the two Gallivans had not completely followed his orders about how much load they could carry. Well, time would tell. They wouldn’t be the first outfit to have to abandon precious possessions along the way. He wished, though, that they had listened to him. He had an odd, protective feeling about the two newly orphaned lads. He’d like to get closer to them, but so far they had not seemed to welcome his presence or seek his advice. Now it appeared that they had found a different protector in Scott Haskell. “You’ll be in front of the line tomorrow, Haskell,” he told the prospector. “Then the next day you’ll move to the rear.”

Scott had resumed his seat next to Kerry, though not quite as close as before. He cocked his head and looked over at her. “You know what, Hunter?” he said. “I’m going to move my wagon behind the Gallivans’. They can have my day at the front and their own, too. Then in two days we’ll both move to the rear.”

Jeb stopped the coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “Now why would you do that, Haskell?” he asked, the irrational irritation surging once again.

Scott turned back to Jeb. “I don’t want to split off from the…ah…boys.” At Jeb’s surprised expression, he added, “Kiernan still might need my help with that bad foot.”

“I thought you said the foot was better.” Jeb’s gaze went to Kerry.

“I…it is,” she stammered. She, too, was surprised that Scott would give up a blessed, dust-free day just so that their wagons wouldn’t be separated.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. We’re not switching the order of the wagons,” Jeb said firmly.

Scott sat up straighter and said calmly, “The move won’t concern any wagons except the Gallivans’ and mine. I don’t see why it should be a problem.”

“It’s not your job to see the problems, Haskell. It’s mine. And I’m telling you we don’t switch the order.”

There was a moment of silence as Scott and Jeb glared at one another across the fire. Once again Kerry had the impression of two rival bulls facing off for leadership of the herd. It made her distinctly uncomfortable. “That’s okay, Scott,” she said quickly. “You should take your day in front like everyone else.”

Scott shook his head. “It’s my wagon. I guess I can put it where I want.”

Jeb set his cup down next to the fire and got to his feet. This time his voice was soft, deceptively silky. “It’s your wagon, Haskell. But it’s my train. And you’ll put your wagon where I tell you to put it or I’ll be asking you to leave.”

Kerry could almost feel Scott bristling at her side. She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Honestly, Scott,” she said in a low voice. “I’ll be fine.”

Jeb’s eyes followed the movement. There seemed to be some kind of unspoken communication between the prospector and the younger man that Jeb found unsettling. He couldn’t put his finger on the reason. His gaze drifted to Kiernan Gallivan. In the dancing firelight, the lad’s features looked almost pretty. He was a bit too delicate for the rigors of the West—that must be why Jeb felt such a need to protect them. Hell, he should be happy that the boys had Haskell to help them out. Jeb had enough to think about along the trail. He considered changing his mind about the order of the wagons, but decided against it. He’d learned from experience that making people understand that his orders were the law could mean the difference between life and death. “So we’re all agreed then?” he asked after a moment.

Scott looked down at Kerry’s hand and seemed to be considering his reply. Finally he said. “All right. We’ll keep the wagons in order.”

Jeb nodded. “Good.” He waited for further comment, but when both Scott and Kerry were silent, he said in a stilted voice, “Thanks for the coffee, then.” And without making a sound he disappeared into the darkness.

“He doesn’t like me,” Scott observed.

“Why do you say that?” Kerry asked. Her hand was still on his arm.

“I don’t know. A man can just tell when another man would rather take a swing at him than shake hands.”

“What possible reason could he have for not liking you?”

Scott shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t like gold prospectors,” he said lightly.

“Well, now, that’s a silly notion,” Kerry said with a little laugh.

She started to move her hand away from his arm but he reached down and captured it with his own. “Maybe so, but he doesn’t like me.”

Kerry wrinkled her nose. “Well, I’m not so sure I like him very much.”

Scott laughed. “He’s not the friendliest fellow, is he?”

“No. And he’s…high-handed.”

He released her hand, holding his own up in a gesture of surrender. “I’ll take note. You don’t like forceful men.”

He said it in a teasing tone, but Kerry did not return his smile. “I don’t know,” she said slowly, considering his words. “I’m not sure I like men much at all. Or rather, I like them okay but I’d just as soon not have to have anything to do with them. Except for Patrick, of course. I plan to do fine on my own.”

Scott looked at her oddly. “If you ask me, that’s one prediction that’s not likely to come true.” Then before she could start to bristle, he added, “Not that you wouldn’t do fine on your own, lass. It’s just that I don’t think the men you encounter will want to let you.”

“Why not?”

Scott let out a puff of exasperation. “Lord, Kerry. You may try to cover up in men’s togs and throw dirt on your face, but any male under the age of ninety who sees the real you is going to be attracted.”

It was the blarney again. But somehow Scott Haskell sounded more sincere than the boys back in New York City. Perhaps there was some truth to it after all, she thought with amazement. Growing up without a mother, she’d never had anyone to talk with about the effect a woman can have on a man. And her father had certainly never mentioned that she was pretty or that she might have an allure that could attract masculine attention. She wasn’t at all sure that she liked the idea.

“Well, at least I won’t have to worry about that this trip. No one even knows that I’m a girl.”

“Except me.”

The fire was beginning to die, and Kerry had trouble seeing Scott’s face in the dim light, but his voice held a resonance that was as palpable as his earlier caress on her hair. “Yes, of course. Except you.” She cleared her throat and rubbed her arms briskly. “It’s starting to get chilly out, don’t you think?”

Scott’s smile was understanding. “I’m anything but chilly, lass, but it is getting late. Do you want me to help you with anything more tonight?”

Kerry pushed herself to her feet without putting weight on her bad ankle. “No, I’m just going to curl up and go to sleep.” She pointed over at the wagon where Patrick had earlier thrown their bedrolls.

“I’d feel better if you and your brother slept inside the wagon.”

“There’s no room.”

“One of these nights it’s going to rain, and then you’ll have to find the room somehow.”

Kerry sighed. “Well, it’s not going to rain tonight.” She swept an arm up at the cloudless sky. “So I guess we’ll just cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Scott hesitated, then said. “There’s plenty of space in my wagon, lass.” When her finely arched eyebrows lifted in surprise, he added with a grin, “I just mean…if it should start to rain and you need to take shelter fast.”

Kerry smiled in return. “Thank you for the offer, Scott, but Patrick and I will work out something.

You’ve already gone to too much trouble for us. For me.”

Scott’s voice grew soft again. “Heck, Kerry. That’s

what neighbors are for.” He laid his palm against her

cheek for an instant in a gesture that was anything

but neighborly, then nodded and turned to walk to his

own wagon.

“Captain Hunter?”

Jeb whirled around, startled by the voice. His years on the trail had sharpened his senses and usually made him alert to everything going on around him, but he hadn’t heard the boy approach. “Oh hello, Patrick. How’s your brother’s foot getting along?”

He expected he’d get the same story he’d been told by Kiernan himself last night at the Gallivan campfire, but it seemed the natural question to ask.

“He’s getting around all right now. In fact, my…brother said I could come ride with you for part of the way today if the offer’s still open.”

Jeb felt a spurt of pleasure. Patrick was an earnest young lad, a little too serious for his age. He’d worked hard along the trail without a single complaint. Jeb wondered fleetingly if he and Melanie would have had such a son. The twist in his insides was so familiar by now that it passed almost without notice. Almost.

“I’d be happy to have you ride with me, Patrick. You’ll have to sit at the back of my saddle, you know.”

“I know.”

The boy’s black hair and blue eyes were nearly identical to his brother’s, but whereas on Kiernan they looked almost pretty, Patrick showed the promise of turning into a handsome, virile young man. The contrast between the two brothers was marked.

“If you want I can ride with your brother for a while and you can sit on my horse by yourself. We’d keep it alongside your wagon,” he added, to reassure the boy that he wouldn’t be completely on his own.

Patrick eyed the gray roan stallion with longing, but he said, “No, I’d rather sit behind you.”

Jeb shrugged. “All right. It’s probably better. That way I can keep track of things up and down the train. You’re sure your brother won’t need any help?”

“I’m sure. Anyway, the Burnett twins are going to ride with her today.”

Jeb frowned in confusion. “Ride with who?”

Patrick’s face paled. “Ride with him, I mean. With my brother.”

“Oh.” Jeb nodded. “Well, good. If he needs anything, they can fetch Mrs. Burnett.”

“Yup,” Patrick said, his skin returning to its normal color.

There was something a little odd about the Gallivan brothers, Jeb decided, as he mounted his horse, then reached down a long arm to pull Patrick up behind him. And yet he was drawn to them nevertheless. Perhaps it was because he identified with their recent bereavement. It was still so soon after their father’s death. They needed time to recover. It was the natural way with grief. With most grief.

He felt the boy’s arms clasp around his waist and put his big hand over Patrick’s smaller one for a moment of reassurance. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.” The childish, eager voice made Jeb smile in spite of his dark thoughts as he signalled his horse to move. Patrick was young. It wouldn’t take long for time to work its healing power on the boy’s grief. Unlike Jeb’s own. He had refused to let his loss grow any less vivid with the passing years. He didn’t intend to ever allow time to numb the wound. He didn’t deserve to heal.

Kerry was thoroughly enjoying herself for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Once Polly and Molly had become completely comfortable in her company, their conversation had become delightfully unreserved. It appeared that the shyer twin, Molly, had developed a crush on Patrick, and her irrepressible older sister had already learned to use the fact as a weapon.

“Molly has a boyfriend,” she told Kerry, her little mouth making a round expression of excitement.

“I don’t either,” Molly argued with a scowl.

“Do, too.”

“Do not!”

“Do, too!”

Kerry sat up on the high wagon seat with a sister on each side. She laid the reins in her lap for a minute and put her arms around each. “Here, now. Let’s not have a fight. It’s not polite to tease about boys, Polly,” she chided gently.

Polly was undaunted. “It’s your brother,” she told Kerry in dramatic tones, sending a glance of defiance at her sister, who gave a wail.

Kerry hid a smile. “That’s all right, Molly. There’s nothing wrong with feeling a fondness for a boy. Most girls do at some point or another.”

Molly looked up into Kerry’s face, blinking hard. “You won’t tell him?” she asked in a painful whisper.

Kerry shook her head. “Not a word. I promise. And don’t you go telling either, Polly,” she cautioned. The wagon lurched over a rut in the trail and she picked up the reins again. “Now, were you girls going to teach me that ballad your mother was singing at the campfire last night?”

All at once the quarrel and Patrick were forgotten as the girls vied to teach their new friend a favorite family song. Kerry leaned against the backboard of the seat and enjoyed their antics, trying to remember when she herself had been ten. Had she ever been as carefree as the Burnett twins? Her mother had died giving birth to Patrick when Kerry was six. It had broken Sean Gallivan’s heart, and most of Kerry’s memories concerned her attempts to try to make up to him for his loss. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried, it had never been enough. She could never make up for her mother’s absence.

The sisters had lapsed into an argument again about the order of the verses, but there was less vehemence than when the dispute had involved a matter of the heart. “How would it be if we sang it once each way? That way I’ll be sure to learn the whole thing.” Kerry’s suggestion was all it took to settle the matter. The two little girls squabbled, as was natural for two siblings so close in age, but they were good-natured children, and Kerry found it relaxing to be with them. She had not given a thought to her disguise all morning.

But her relaxed state came to an abrupt end as she saw Jeb Hunter riding toward them with Patrick bouncing along behind. At her side, she could feel Molly straighten up on the seat, and Kerry found herself doing the same. She pulled reflexively on the brim of her hat.

“You have helpers along today, Kiernan, I see,” Jeb called out to her. His voice was much lighter than it had been around the campfire last night. The tone made him sound younger. His face looked younger, too, as he gave her one of his rare smiles. Kerry caught her breath at the difference in his expression.

“I certainly do,” she answered carefully, keeping her voice extra low. She hoped Polly and Molly wouldn’t pay attention to her sudden change in register. “And you have a helper of your own.”

Jeb turned around in the saddle to give Patrick a fond look. “He’d make a good guide himself one of these days.”

Kerry’s smile dropped as she said quickly, “Not likely. We’re going to be ranchers, remember? And Patrick’s going to do carpentry like our father.”

Jeb didn’t appear to notice the vehemence of her remark. “He’s got sharp eyes. He’s been pointing out things along the trail that I missed myself.”

Patrick was beaming at the praise. “It’s been great, Ker…Kiernan,” he exclaimed. “I wish I could ride every day.”

“You don’t want to be a bother to Captain Hunter, Patrick,” Kerry said softly.

“He’s no bother. I’ve enjoyed the company.” Jeb pulled his horse around and matched its stride to the slow plodding of the oxen. “I just brought him back because we’re stopping for lunch and I thought you might need his help. In fact, I thought I’d join you for the meal myself.”

Kerry’s gaze went to the wagon in front of them. She knew that the minute the wagons rolled to a halt, Scott would be back to get the noon meal for her as he had since her accident. But she couldn’t very well turn down the captain’s request for an invitation.

“Certainly, Captain Hunter,” she said trying to mask her misgivings. “You’re welcome to stay.”

Chapter Four

They rode along for another few minutes before the wagons in front started drawing to a halt one by one. “The head wagon must have reached Silver Creek,” Jeb explained. “I told them we’d stop there.”

Almost instantly the twins’ mother appeared to collect her girls. Kerry noticed that the polite smile Captain Hunter turned on Dorothy Burnett was not any different than the one he used with Frank Todd or the motherly Eulalie Todd or anyone else on the train. Scott, on the other hand, who joined them immediately, as Kerry had predicted, flashed the pretty blonde a charming grin and cocked his head in a greeting that showed appreciation of her as a young, attractive woman. Jeb Hunter didn’t seem to like women all that much, Kerry decided. Or perhaps he saw himself in such a lofty position on the train that he felt above flirting with a pretty girl. Of course, either way, it was a matter of indifference to her.

“I’ve brought lunch,” Scott said, hoisting a heavy iron kettle. “Boone’s finest molasses baked beans. A whole tin of them,” he added, looking from Kerry up on the wagon seat down to Dorothy and Jeb and Patrick, who had dismounted from Jeb’s horse. “Plenty to go around.”

His tone held no indication that he was annoyed by Jeb’s presence, but Kerry already knew him well enough to sense a certain tenseness in him that was not natural to the easygoing Scott. She didn’t analyze why she felt it was her job to be sure that he and Jeb Hunter would not antagonize each other. She had been responsible for taking care of the males in her own family for so many years, it just seemed to come as second nature. “Captain Hunter is going to stay for lunch,” she said, sending Scott a bright smile and silent thank-you for his forbearance. Her gesture was rewarded by an immediate warming of Scott’s expression.

Jeb watched the interplay between Kiernan and the affable prospector with renewed confusion. There was definitely a communication between the two young men that went a step beyond neighborly. If he hadn’t seen the unmistakable look in Scott’s eyes when he’d been greeting Dorothy Burnett, he’d be almost worried that Haskell had unnatural designs on the young Irishman. A silly notion, he decided. After all, he’d felt some kind of pull himself toward both boys—a protective, paternal instinct.

Nevertheless, he felt a bit awkward and out of place as the prospector assumed control of things as if he were part of the family. “Will you and the girls eat with us, Mrs. Burnett?” Scott asked Dorothy with another charming smile.

“Can we, Mama?” Polly asked as she scrambled down from the wagon.

“I suspect your papa will want us to eat back with him, honey. He missed not having his kittens with him this morning.”

The girls were obviously disappointed at the refusal, but neither one pouted or asked again to have their way. With good-natured smiles they waved goodbye to Kerry and followed their mother back to their own wagon.

Scott had set the kettle on the ground and was building a small fire to heat the beans. “You can light it now, Patrick,” he said, straightening up and brushing off his hands. Then he turned to the wagon where Kerry was still perched up on the seat. He put his foot up on the sideboard. “Let me help you down,” he said to her.

Kerry looked over at Jeb. “I can manage myself, now, Scott.”

Ignoring her protest, he hoisted himself toward her and lifted her off the seat. In a minute they were on the ground, but not before Scott had said in a low voice in her ear, “But I like helping you, sweetheart.”

No one else could possibly have heard him, but Kerry’s face flamed. It was the first time he had used such an endearment, and it occurred to her that he’d decided to use it to somehow stake a claim on her right in Jeb Hunter’s presence. The thought irritated her. She pushed away from him the minute he set her on the ground and limped over to the fire. “I’ll do that,” she snapped at Patrick, taking the box of matches from him and crouching down by the fire.

Her brother looked at her in surprise. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, concentrating on lighting the curling edges of the branches Scott had placed under the logs for tinder. She kept her head down, still feeling the heat in her cheeks. “You go fetch some water,” she told Patrick. “It’ll be time to move before we know it and we’ll still be sitting here hungry.”