Jeb Hunter's Bride

He walked back over to the fire and stood towering over them. “Just so you understand. Sometimes the trail gets too tough—we have to lighten the load, leave things behind. You’ll find the way littered with family heirlooms, tools, furniture, all kinds of ‘essentials’ that somehow just don’t seem that essential anymore a thousand miles out from Westport Landing.”

Kerry wanted to look him directly in the face, but she had to remember that her disguise was more important at this point than her pride. She kept her eyes lowered. “I understand what you’re saying, Captain. I can assure you that my brother and I will do whatever it takes to reach California.”

“Well, I admire your attitude, Kiernan. That’s the kind of spirit we need along the trail.” Jeb lapsed into silence as he once again studied the two Irish boys. He’d been disappointed when he first saw the elder Gallivan brother. The lad was slight, almost sickly thin, and looked not much older than his little brother. But the young Irishman had stood up to Jeb well enough—both brothers had, for that matter. Perhaps they would also stand up to the rigors of the trail. “How well can you boys shoot?” he asked them.

Patrick and Kerry looked at each other. “We’re willing to learn,” Patrick said finally. “There’s a fine new rifle with the supplies Papa bought.”

“You’ve never been hunting, never shot a gun?” Jeb asked, incredulous.

“There are very few buffalo wandering around the streets of Manhattan, Captain,” Kerry retorted, watching him from under her thick eyelashes.

Jeb chuckled, but shifted uneasily. He could swear that the boy raised his hackles in a way that he’d only experienced with women. It was an odd sensation. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the lad was so femininely slender. And then there was that face, so perfect it looked as if it had been chiseled directly off one of the marble statues he’d seen once in a book.

“Well, you’ll have to learn to shoot out here—both of you. Maybe one of the other men will give you some lessons. Have you met your neighbors yet?” When both boys shook their heads he continued. “Up in front of you will be Scott Haskell. He’s an argonaut and is traveling alone.”

“An argonaut?” Patrick asked.

“A prospector. That’s what they’re calling them—after Jason and the Argonauts. You know—the never-ending search for the Golden Fleece.” There was a disdainful note to his voice.

“I thought the Gold Rush was pretty much over,” Kerry said.

“There’ll always be a gold rush somewhere as long as men think that money is the secret to a happy life.” Jeb had learned otherwise a long time ago, but it wasn’t a lesson he shared easily. “Anyway, the outfit behind you belongs to the Burnetts—a young couple from Virginia and their two young’uns. Nice folks.”

Patrick jumped up from his place by the fire, looking as if he was ready to start this instant. “Do we stay in the same order for the whole trip?” he asked their guide.

“We keep the same order usually, unless there’s a reason to switch. But each day the lead wagon goes to the rear.”

“How come?”

Jeb smiled. “It’s so that every outfit gets a chance at one blessed, dust-free day.” When Patrick looked confused, he added, “You’ll understand what I mean after an hour or two on the trail.”

He wished them luck on their first day, then left to begin a last-minute check on the other wagons.

By the time the first licks of dawn began appearing across the prairie, most of the camp was awake, bustling with energy and the same kind of suppressed excitement that Kerry could see in her brother’s face. She herself was wishing she could find a place to get away from everything and sleep for about a week. The long night of loading had taken a toll, as had the past few weeks of grief, strain and worry. Promising herself a good night’s sleep once they were out on the trail, she dabbed some water on her tired eyes, then rubbed more dirt across her cheeks.

Actually, she told herself, she should be feeling great. She’d successfully accomplished what she’d promised to herself as she’d stood watching her father’s body being lowered into the ground in a cheap pine box. This morning they started west. The wagon train captain had accepted them. Once they left Westport, there was no turning back. Even if her disguise was discovered, they’d have to let her continue on with them. The most difficult obstacle had been met and conquered. She should be feeling on top of the world, but as visions of her father’s twinkling blue eyes covered the blur in her own, she couldn’t seem to feel anything but tired.

“Wagons, ho!” She turned around at the sound of a childish shout, then blinked to try to clear her vision. She must be more tired than she realized, because she was suddenly seeing double.

“Forward, ho!” shouted vision number two. Kerry gave a small laugh at her own confusion. The pair were twins, of course.

“Good morning,” she said as the two identically clad youngsters ran up to her, stopping abruptly a safe five feet away. “Who are you two ladies?”

The little girls giggled and the one on the right said, “I’m Polly, she’s Molly.”

Kerry masked a wince at the thought of a mother who would name her daughters like two rhyming parrots. “Pleased to meet you. I’m…Kerr…Kiernan. Kiernan Gallivan.” She’d entirely forgotten to lower her voice, but the girls didn’t appear to question her masculinity.

“We’re Burnetts,” Polly added. “We’re gonna be your neighbors, Ma says, and we have to be nice to you, ‘cause you and your brother lost your pa.”

After too much false sympathy from strangers, Kerry found the girl’s directness disarming. Once again the unshed tears stung her throat. “Yes, we did,” she said softly. “How old are you two?”

“I’m older.” Polly continued to be the spokesperson for the duo. “Five minutes. But we’re both ten.”

Kerry turned her eyes to Molly, whose smile was just a little more tentative than her sister’s. “Well now, ten’s a wonderful age, isn’t it, just starting to be grown-up.”

Molly looked down at her scuffed shoes. “Pa says we get to drive the wagon,” she contributed in a voice Kerry could hardly hear.

“That sounds about right. My brother’s thirteen and he’s been driving for at least three years.” “But he’s a boy,” Polly pointed out. “That’s different.”

“Not always. It doesn’t have to be different.”

“You talk kind of funny.”

Kerry didn’t know if the girl was referring to her high pitch or her slight accent, but decided to stay with the safer topic. “That’s because I grew up in another country. Have you ever heard of Ireland?”

Both girls nodded and Polly said, “In school. On the train we won’t have any school and maybe not for a long time, but my Ma will teach us.”

“That’s good, Polly. Learning’s important.”

“That’s what Ma says.”

“It sounds as if your mother’s a smart lady,” Kerry replied with a smile.

“I told you girls not to bother the neighbors till we all get started.” A pretty blonde who didn’t look old enough to be anyone’s mother was walking toward them from the next wagon. The smile on her face diluted the reproachful tone of her words.

“She talked to us first, Ma.”

“They’re not a bother, ma’am.” Now Kerry made an effort to keep her voice low.

The woman came up behind her daughters and draped an arm lightly around each. “I’m Dorothy Burnett. And you must be one of the Gallivan boys.”

“I’m Kiernan, ma’am. Pleased to meet you.” Kerry took a step back toward her own wagon, hoping the woman would not offer a hand to shake. Her slender hands were the one part of her that was impossible to disguise.

“And I see you’ve already met Polly and Molly.” With a little laugh and the air of someone who’d made the explanation many times in the past, she continued, “Their real names are Priscilla Jo and Margaret Mary, but their father put the nicknames on when they were just babes and somehow they’ve stuck.”

Kerry grinned. “Polly and Molly it is, then. You girls will have to help me out on which is which for a while.”

“They’ve been known to trick people in the past,” Dorothy said, laughing, “so be careful.”

Kerry was drawn to the woman’s warmth. It was nice to have another young woman along as a companion, and for a moment she felt a pang knowing that, thanks to her masquerade, she and Dorothy would not be able to become confidantes. It would be comforting to confide her secret to someone. “That’s all right, girls,” she said a touch wistfully, smiling down at the twins. “I’ve been known to trick people myself on occasion.”

Chapter Two (#ulink_9d038193-76ad-5edb-88bd-9ad30c5383e3)

Jeb Hunter had been right about the dust. It didn’t take even the hour or two he had predicted for Kerry and Patrick to realize that moving along in the middle of a train of nearly fifty wagons was a grimy business. The first part of the trail out from Westport was level, easy going—the “sea of grass” her father had told them about during those long evenings of planning back in New York. But the endless procession of wagons had worn the actual trail down to bare ground, and each wagon churned up its own little dirt cyclone as they rolled along. Following the example of some of the more experienced travelers, Kerry and Patrick tied bandannas over their faces to keep out the worst of it.

“I guess I won’t have to rub dirt on my cheeks any more,” Kerry joked to her brother as they sat side by side on the wagon seat. “There’s enough natural accumulation of the stuff to disguise the President of the United States.”

“I wish papa had bought us horses instead of these stupid beasts,” her brother grumbled. “Then I could ride out into the fresh air like Captain Hunter.”