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.”