The man looked disconcerted. He rubbed a hand along a whiskery chin. “Ah…I know that. I’m sorry. We’ve been in touch with your lawyer, of course. But I was addressing you, sir. I’d be happy to call you by your first name, if you prefer, but I don’t know what it is. I’m Jeb Hunter,” he added.

Kerry sat back on her haunches and willed herself to stay calm. Of course, she was Mr. Gallivan now. And she’d have to do a better job of keeping her wits about her if she wanted her ruse to succeed.

Her brother calmly reached a hand toward the newcomer. “Pleased to meet you, Captain. I’m Patrick, and that’s Kerry. Skipping the ‘mister’ part would be fine with my…ah…brother.”

“Kerry?” the captain asked, still trying to see into the dim interior.

“Ah…Ker…ah…Kiernan.” Patrick corrected firmly.

Captain Hunter cocked his head. “Irish name, right? Well, are you two gentlemen finding everything to be satisfactory?”

Patrick looked at his sister to reply.

Kerry took a deep breath and spoke carefully in the deep voice she’d been practicing. “We seem to have a few more supplies than we can fit, Captain Hunter.”

Jeb grinned. “Old Albert Boone knows how to pack them in, that’s for sure. But I think you’ll find that they’ve given you just enough to cover your needs. The wagon may look crowded now, but you’ll get used to it.”

Kerry risked leaning a little into the sunlight. In spite of her resolution to stay away from Captain Hunter, he would have to see her face sometime, and it might as well be now. “The problem, Captain, is that we’ve brought a few items along with us from New York that have to go in our wagon.”

She noticed that he started a little when he saw her, and she quickly pointed behind him, hoping to distract his attention. Jeb gave her one more hard glance, then turned back toward the rented wagon. With a low whistle he swung a long leg over his horse and jumped to the ground. “What in the name of Jupiter is all that?”

He didn’t sound pleased. Kerry swallowed. “There’s some farm equipment, and the two boxes are my father’s tools.” The defensive tone made her voice creep higher.

Jeb stalked over to the freight wagon and looked at the jumbled contents with disbelief.

Once again Patrick took charge. “My brother and I are going to start our own ranch in California. My father brought those things with him when he came from Ireland.”

Jeb turned around and looked from Patrick back over to Kerry, who had once again retreated into the shadows. He shook his head. “There’s no way you’ll be able to take all this with you. Your father should have understood that it would be impossible. I’m sorry, lads.” He lowered his head and once again tried to peer inside the dark recesses of the wagon. “Listen, I know your father’s death must have been a terrible shock to you two. If you want to head on back to New York, I’ll be sure you get your money back from the association and from Boone’s, too.”

Kerry’s cheeks flushed hot. She had been told one time too often over the past few days that she ought to consider giving up. Vaulting over the lip of the wagon she landed hard on the ground and turned to face Jeb Hunter with her hands on her hips. “Captain Hunter, my brother and I are going to California, and we have a contract that says you have to take us.”

He took a couple steps toward her. His eyes were an odd hazel color, the corners crinkled from years of riding outdoors in the prairie sun. He had a strong face that matched the raw strength of his tall body. Her anger died as swiftly as it had arisen. “We won’t give you any trouble,” she added softly. “I promise.”

Jeb looked at her curiously, then over at Patrick, and back once again to the loaded freight wagon. “That stuff came all the way from Ireland?” Jeb snatched his hat off and ran a hand back through his unruly, light brown hair.

“All the way from Ireland,” Kerry said firmly. “And now it’s going all the way to California.”

Jeb looked uncertain. The expression didn’t sit naturally on his face. He stretched his neck to look around toward the front of the wagon where the team of four oxen grazed placidly. “The more weight your oxen pull, the more water they’ll need.” Jeb put on his hat and pushed it to the back of his head. “Water can get mighty precious along the trail.”

Kerry had begun to relax. Though he had given her some strange glances, it appeared Captain Hunter was not going to question her identity as the son of Sean Gallivan. “I’ve noticed that many of the families are bringing along a milk cow. Will their cows need water, Captain?”

He gave a reluctant smile. “I reckon they will.”

Kerry nodded. “Then you can just consider the extra equipment to be our milk cow.”

Jeb pulled himself back on his horse in an easy, natural motion that did something queer to Kerry’s insides. “I’ll make a bargain with you. Cut this stuff in half.” He gestured to the freight wagon. “Leave the plow, one of those toolboxes, whatever else you can. There’ll be a representative from Boone’s out later on this afternoon to take back any leftover supplies. He’ll probably give you some money for whatever you have to leave behind.”

“Captain Hunter, my brother and I have already had to leave the body of our father behind in St Louis. I intend to take whatever else I can of him to California.” Kerry realized that her voice had trembled slightly. Furiously she bit painfully into her lower lip. But her emotion had apparently not affected Jeb Hunter.

“I’m sorry. At least half that pile stays here…or you and your entire wagon stay. Take your choice. We leave at dawn, boys. I’ll leave you alone to make your decision.”

When Kerry made no reply, Patrick said, “Thank you, Captain. We’ll be ready to go at dawn.”

Jeb took a last look over at the freight wagon. “Just remember we’ve got two sets of mountains to cross before you get to the California. My best advice to you is to travel as light as possible.”

Then he wheeled his horse and rode off, sending up a cloud of dust that stung Kerry’s eyes.

“Maybe he’s right, Kerry,” Patrick said after a moment. “We don’t really need all those things. I can get new tools when we get out there, and then I’ll make whatever else we need.”

Kerry had a sudden vision of her brother as a small boy sitting at their father’s side, earnestly copying each move of Sean Gallivan’s sure, swift hands. She blinked hard and let the tears well up to wash away the dust. “We’re going to build Papa’s ranch in California, Patrick. It’s going to be every bit as rich and beautiful as he dreamed. And,” she added fiercely, “we’re going to do it with his grandfather’s tools.”

They had worked through the night. The settlers’ representative, Frank Todd, had ridden up at dusk to invite them to a campfire and farewell party, but they had politely declined and continued shifting and shoving and unloading and reloading until the inside of their wagon was more intricately arranged than a Chinese puzzle. It had been almost dawn before Kerry had been satisfied that everything was packed. The two big toolboxes were covered with supplies, impossible to see from any angle. Everything was on board except for a box from the Boone store labeled Meat Cakes.

“I think I’d have trouble getting one of these things down anyway,” she’d told her brother.

“They’re not so bad,” he’d replied, munching on one. “At least they’re not fish.”

When their father had become fanatical about his plans for the journey to California, they’d saved money by eating the broken and sometimes half-spoiled pieces of fish Patrick had been able to bring home each day from the docks. Now just a fishy odor was enough to make them both queasy.

The man from Boone’s outfitters had come and gone the previous evening, so the box of meat cakes sat in the grass alongside the wagon. “We have an hour or so until dawn,” Kerry said finally. “We could probably sleep.”