“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.
Chapter Three
By 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.
