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?”