Ana Seymour (4 page)

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.

B
y 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.”

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.”