Ana Seymour

by Jeb Hunters Bride

  Jeb’s smile dimmed a little. “I’m afraid none of us will have to rub extra dirt on our cheeks over these next few days. We’ll all have plenty naturally.”

  “So it is going to get drier?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Foxy and Daniel say there’s been hardly any rain in the territory since clear last fall.”

  “But there’s enough water along the trail.”

  “As long as we stick by the rivers.”

  She could hear some hesitation in his answer. “Then we’ll stick by the rivers, right? It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  He looked up at the sky and around the camp before his eyes finally swiveled back to her. “Yes, it’s what makes sense.”

  Certain that he was avoiding telling her something, she persisted, “Except for what?”

  He sighed, but this time did not look away. “Except that with a season this dry, it’s the only thing that makes sense for the Indians, too.”

  The slight warmth that had taken over his voice and his expression when they’d been bantering earlier disappeared. Once again his face was stern. Kerry would have liked to ask further details about the Indians, but his cold demeanor seemed to shut off their discussion.

  “Do you expect problems?” she ventured.

  “My only problem will be falling asleep in the saddle tomorrow if I don’t get some sleep,” he said, throwing the remainder of his coffee on the dying fire.

  The comment was again just at the edge of rudeness. Kerry took a step backward with a little trip. “I’ll say good-night, then,” she mumbled. And he answered her only with a nod as she turned to make her way back up the line of wagons.

  Kerry had not told anyone about Jeb’s comment regarding the possibility of an encounter with the unfriendly natives, but somehow word had spread through the train that such a meeting was a possibility, especially when water in the region had grown so scarce, which meant that everyone would be seeking the same limited resources.

  The children had replaced their river games with make-believe plays about settlers and Indians. The adults watched with bemusement and said inner prayers that the childish fantasies would not have any real-life counterparts.

  In spite of the new worry, Kerry was feeling happier than she had since before her father’s death. The morning after her discussion with Jeb at the Todd wagon, he had appeared to collect Patrick for their morning ride as if there had never been any break in the routine.

  Patrick had tried to appear nonchalant about the resumption of his friendship with Jeb, but Kerry knew that secretly he was delighted about it. And Kerry had to admit to herself that the wagon master’s resumed visits to their wagon were also brightening her days. She began to look forward to seeing his tall form riding toward them, straight and proud on Storm’s back. She found herself taking a little more care with her appearance in the morning, tugging with frustration each day on her cropped hair and wishing that the glossy black strands that had been cut off back in St. Louis could somehow magically appear again.

  She’d started wearing her own clothes again. She told herself it was so that she wouldn’t alienate the women on the train who had helped her. It had nothing to do with the way Jeb looked at her in her more shapely attire.

  Scott was still staying away. She’d tried to talk with him one night, and the conversation had embarrassed them both, so she’d decided to give him time to let the hurt of her rejection of his suit heal.

  Which left a clear field for Jeb, and each day he seemed to take a little more advantage of that fact He’d started coming for Patrick both morning and afternoon. Then a couple of afternoons he casually stayed on to help them build their evening fire, at which point she’d felt obliged to invite him to stay to supper. And so the custom had been born. Now it was understood up and down the train that at the supper hour, Captain Hunter could be found at the Gallivan wagon. Secret bets were placed on how long it would take the serious captain to admit that he had fallen for the spirited young Irishwoman.

  Kerry and Jeb were oblivious to the talk, but had developed their own version of gambling as each night brought them closer and closer to a repetition of their first shattering kiss.

  Kerry, in fact, was ready to let it happen. Jeb had made it clear that he was not interested in settling down or taking a wife. So exchanging a few kisses with him in the moonlight would pose no risk to her plans. It would simply be another lesson to add to the many she would have to learn out West, she told herself.

  Jeb was the one who resisted. After that first discussion when he had admitted that he was attracted to her, his conversation had been totally circumspect. He talked with her in tones no different from those he used for Patrick. Occasionally she thought she could see that look in his eyes, but it was always carefully shuttered by the time she tried to be sure.

  The train was making painfully slow progress along the broad, dry plain of the Platte River. There had been no sign of Indians, though Jeb carefully checked for tracks or evidence of recent campsites. But when the women asked for a break, he’d shake his head. He wanted to get through this territory as quickly as possible.

  “We keep pushing until we reach Independence Rock,” he’d told them at a camp meeting. “Gateway to the Rockies. If we make it there by the Fourth of July, we’ve done it. We’ll be over the mountains to California before the early fall snows.”

  Kerry felt the closeness developing between them almost as powerfully as the physical attraction. She would have liked to know more about his wife, but had been hesitant to bring up the subject. She sensed that it was the one topic that could bring back the aloof Captain Hunter, that would drive Jeb away from their nightly campfires.

  “Jeb’s not coming until later,” Patrick informed her one evening. “He’s riding ahead to scout around the bend of the river and be sure there aren’t any Injuns lurking there ready to scalp us.”

  “Patrick!” Kerry scolded. “I’m sure if there are Indians around, they’re not lurking. The Indians are a very proud people. And I don’t think they’d do any scalping, either, unless we bothered them first.”

  “Jeb says the white folk have bothered them plenty. That they have a right to hate us.”

  “And why are you calling him Jeb? It’s not respectful.”

  Patrick grinned at her. “You call him Jeb. And, besides, he told me I could.”

  “Well, I think it would be more polite if you called him Captain Hunter, at least if there are other children around.”

  Patrick didn’t seem daunted by her scolding. “All right. But I’ll call him Jeb on our rides. We have such swell rides, Kerry. You ought to try it some day.”

  “As you have frequently pointed out, little brother, we don’t have a horse.”

  “But you could ride with Jeb, like I do. Storm can take two people easy.”

  “I’m not sure Captain Hunter would be interested in…”

  She stopped speaking as Jeb rode up and Patrick ran over to his horse. “You could take Kerry on a ride sometime, couldn’t you, Jeb?”

  “On a ride?” Jeb asked, swinging his long leg over the saddle and jumping lightly to the ground.

  “Up behind you on Storm. Like you do with me. I told her how much fun we have.”

  Jeb looked amused. “I don’t think your sister would want to ride bouncing along behind me the way you do, partner. It’s kind of a man thing to do, you know.”

  Kerry gave a little sniff. “Is that right? What makes it a ‘man thing’?”

  Jeb flicked a glance over her serviceable blue cotton dress. “Well, for one thing…the clothes. Though it’s done out here in the West, most women from back East are too embarrassed to ride astride in skirts.”

  “Ah, but that’s an easily solved problem. All the woman has to do is put on a pair of pants.”

  Jeb’s eyes glinted at the tone of challenge in her voice. “Most women wouldn’t want to do that, either.”

  “Well, I’m not most women, then,” Kerry said breezily.r />
  “You’d go for a ride with me?” Jeb asked skeptically.

  It was not what she had intended. But now it seemed that the issue had become a matter of pride. “Certainly. If Patrick can do it, so can I.”

  Jeb chuckled. “All right, if you say so. There’ll still be plenty of light after supper. We’ll go then.”

  Jeb had known the moment he agreed to this evening ride that it was not a wise plan. For days now he’d tried carefully to keep his head clear concerning Kerry. He’d told himself that he regarded both her and Patrick as younger siblings, people he was fond of, nothing more. He’d quickly turn his gaze away whenever he’d discover that his eyes had fixed themselves on the wispy black hair at the back of her neck or the way her slender wrists turned as she prepared the evening meal. He’d been so careful.

  And now, like a blamed fool, he’d let her put on those clinging male trousers and climb up behind him so close that inevitably her firm, small breasts pressed against him every time Storm’s front hooves hit the ground. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d agreed to take her to see a panoramic view of the river valley up on one of the little hills that had lined their route all day. They’d left the wagon train behind, and with it the safety provided by the constant presence of onlookers.

  Her arms were around his waist, holding tightly, though more relaxed now than the first few minutes. “Are you doing all right?” he asked her over his shoulder.

  “As long as I can hold on to you. It’s not a bother?”

  Her hands squeezed into his midsection, just above his belt, just above the area of his groin that had started to ache from the constant contact with her. “No, it’s not a bother,” he lied. And then he distracted himself by starting to count the clumps of sagebrush.

  “Would it be easier if I sat in front of you?” she asked.

  “No,” he said simply.

  They rode in silence for several minutes, then Kerry said, “Patrick loves to be with you. And it’s good for him. I think it makes him miss Papa a little less.”

  “He’s a fine boy. Tough to lose your father so young in life.”

  Here, perhaps, was the opening for her to find out a little more about Jeb Hunter’s own life. “What about your parents, Jeb?” she asked.

  “I lost mine, too, though I was a bit older than Patrick.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Jeb shrugged. “At the time I was already on the verge of going out into the world to make a life for myself. I missed them, but for a long while it seemed as if I’d been the one who’d left them instead of the other way around. By the time it really sank into me that they were dead, I…” he hesitated. “I was ready to start my own family.”

  Kerry’s heart sped up a little. Would he tell her about his wife? she wondered. Did she dare ask him?

  “Your own family?” she asked casually.

  “Mmm.” He spurred the horse up the last piece of hill and pulled back on the reins. “This looks like a good place to stop and see the view, if you’ve a mind.”

  “Certainly,” she answered, though she regretted the interruption in their conversation.

  He dismounted with a jump and then reached his hands up to her. Storm was a big horse and Kerry was happy to have Jeb’s arms to slide into before she hit the ground. The contact was brief, but she felt a wave of warmth at the pressure of his hands on her waist. He let her go almost instantly.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “That was enjoyable.”

  “Are your legs holding up all right?” he asked with a smile.

  She took a couple of steps. “I can still walk.”

  His smile grew broader. “We have all the way back yet to go, you know.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Captain. I’ll ride as far as you want to take me.” She turned around to look behind her at the view of the valley below and gave a little exclamation of pleasure.

  Jeb was following the direction of her gaze. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  The yellowish green grass was crisscrossed with late afternoon shadows where cottonwood trees grew singly or in groups of two or three. At the far end of the valley the wagons formed an uneven circle, looking small and lonely in the vast expanse of land, like a neglected set of children’s toys. Across the meadow, another long ridge of hills, much like the one they were standing on, cut a wavy silhouette across the nearly golden sky. Kerry was enchanted. “It’s almost sunset,” she breathed.

  “Yes, we should have headed back by now. It’ll be dark when we return.”

  “Oh, please. Let’s just watch a little longer.” Without waiting for his answer, she flopped down on the grass, her trousered legs sticking straight out in front of her, and took in a deep breath of air. “It’s a little like what I remember of back home in Ireland. Green hills and lots of land.”

  “Not enough land to feed everyone from the accounts of the immigrants,” Jeb disagreed mildly. He let Storm’s reins trail on the ground and sat beside her.

  Kerry gave a twisted smile. “I know. I imagine my memories of Ireland are all mixed up with my father’s fantasies. Once we got to New York City, it seemed as if that was all he could talk about. ‘Breathing room,’ he called it. Land enough for a body to have breathing room.”

  “And that’s what he wanted to find in California.”

  Kerry nodded. Tears stung her eyes, but she realized that they were the first she’d felt in days. Perhaps time would finally start to work its healing on her as it already had on Patrick.

  They were quiet for several moments, watching the orange orb of the sun sink beyond the far western end of the ridge of hills. The few wispy clouds had turned a pink that was growing darker before their eyes. “This would be a nice moment to freeze,” Kerry said wistfully.

  “To freeze?”

  She chuckled. “It was a kind of game of my father’s. When he’d tuck us to sleep at night, he’d ask us what had been our favorite moment of the whole day. We’d tell him about it, then he’d make us close our eyes and say, ‘All right, now, freeze it behind those sleepy eyelids.’ And it would mean that we’d dream about that happy moment all night long.”

  Jeb smiled. “What moments did you freeze?”

  Kerry was now thoroughly in the grip of nostalgia, but the memories were more benevolent than any she’d had since her father’s death. They felt warm and pleasant. She lay back on the grass and closed her eyes. “I suppose they weren’t anything so very important. Eating a sweetmeat or maybe having Mrs. McElroy agree to help me with the stalls so I could leave early. Sometimes I froze a scene from a book when I could get my hands on one.”

  Jeb could hardly keep his mind on her words. He was battling his own memories—more recent ones. Memories of the last time he’d sat next to Kerry on a hillside, of how easy it had been to scoop her up into his arms. Of how quickly her lips had softened under his. Of the liquid heat of their kisses.

  She opened her eyes. “I wanted to learn more about you, and here we are talking about me again.”

  “There’s not much to learn about me, I’m afraid. From listening to you and Patrick talk about him, I’d say your relationship with your father was closer than anything I remember from my childhood.”

  From where she lay on the ground, Jeb was silhouetted against the darkening orangish-purple sky. The light gave his brown hair a rusty tinge. It was gently ruffled by the sudden picking up of a late-evening breeze. The strong features of his face were shadowed. A moment to remember, Kerry thought to herself. A moment to freeze. “You must have some special memories,” she said.

  His deep breath was ragged. “The only one that seems to come to mind at the moment doesn’t have anything to do with my childhood.”

  She gazed up at him with a questioning look.

  “What I’m remembering is the taste of those red lips of yours.”

  Chapter Eleven

  He might as well have been touching her. The mere sound of the words had the same effect She drew in a quick breath and waited, her
lips already feeling swollen. And his actions swiftly followed the words. He bent over her, blotting out the sky, and then the world turned to darkness as her eyes closed and his mouth pressed against hers.

  She twisted her head slightly toward him, seeking the warmth, and he acknowledged her acquiescence with a low groan. Barely withdrawing his lips from her, he murmured, “Lord, sweetheart, you make me want you.”

  This time his words burned, down her middle and straight to the place where an incredible, yearning feeling was building. She opened her eyes to find that his were gazing at her with a hooded intensity that made the burn hotter.

  He hadn’t touched her with anything but his lips, but these were thorough and skillful, taking their time in slow, patient, long kisses that focused first on the center of her mouth, then slipped to the corner, then finally along the line of her jaw and up to her eyelids, which had once again drifted closed as she lay on the grass in delicious lethargy.

  It was endless minutes before she felt his weight shift over her, his chest pressed gently on hers. One of his legs moved between hers, hard and warm against the insides of her thighs, which were already sensitive from bouncing along on top of Storm.

  She squirmed a little, not in protest, but just reflexively, trying to find an outlet for the waves of sensation. He pulled his head back and smoothed the hollows of her cheeks with his thumbs. “Look at me, Kerry,” he said in a husky voice.

  When she once again opened her eyes, his expression had changed. The predatory intensity was gone, replaced by a gentle smile. “These lips were meant to be kissed, sweetheart,” he said, lightly doing so.

  Kerry was trying desperately to regain control of her racing senses. They scared her. She didn’t want to think that another person could do this to her, scramble her head this way. She’d already turned down one offer of marriage this trip because she didn’t want to give anyone else power over her life. But somehow it seemed as if Jeb had a power over her that she’d neither given nor anticipated. Her brain told her to roll out from beneath him, but her body would not cooperate. Instead her head rose just enough to make contact once again with his mouth.