Free Ana Seymour by Jeb Hunters Bride Page A

felt resentment over the assumption that she wouldn’t be able to do the job just because she was a woman. She’d promised her father that they would make his dream come true. And if she had to break her arms holding the team to do it, she would do so. “We’ll manage,” she said, her lips tight.
    By now Scott knew better than to argue. “All right,” he said with a sigh. “But you be sure thatPatrick’s sitting right up there with you to help out if you need it.”
    “I don’t know where else he’d be if he wants to get across. He’s never learned how to swim.” She said the words lightly, but the faint misgiving she’d had when she thought about the weight of their load grew a bit stronger.
    “If you change your mind, you know I’d be happy to help you.” Scott’s expression had changed in the dying firelight. All at once it looked as if he wanted to do some of the “sparking” Patrick had mentioned.
    Kerry took a step back. “I won’t change my mind. Now we’d better get a good night’s sleep, as Captain Hunter suggested.”
    He watched her for another long moment, then reached down and captured her hand. “All right,” he said softly, turning her hand in his and planting a kiss gently on the palm. “Sleep well, lass.”
    Before Kerry could recover her voice, he had faded into the darkness.
    The Kansas River flowed in an even, inexorable path across the prairie like molasses poured from a jug. Broad and tranquil most of the time, it woke up now and then to swirl around a bend, dancing over rocks and fallen tree trunks in a sudden spurt of energy, only to flatten out again on the other side.
    Jeb had picked one of the traditional fording places. The grass on each side was completely worn away from the mulling about of caravan after caravan of wagons. If the spring rains had been normal, the banks would have been treacherously slippery with mud and Jeb might have considered continuing on tofind a less popular crossing farther upriver. But the dry spell was still holding, and the train had made excellent time up to this point. So he’d decided that they might as well get the crossing out of the way.
    It always took a full day out of their trip. He never let more than two wagons cross at the same time, since he wanted to keep watch and be able to come to their aid at the first sign of any trouble. To get fifty across would take hours.
    He was up before dawn, eating a breakfast of biscuits and a cold cup of last night’s coffee. There was no time to waste on a fire today. He’d already warned Frank Todd that he’d like to have him cross over first, test the route. Jeb would ride alongside, feeling his way. He’d crossed here before, but the river was constantly changing.
    He mounted Storm and made his way back, checking to see that the owners of the first few wagons were awake and preparing for the crossing. He had told the ones farther back that they could sleep longer today. Their turn wouldn’t come for hours. The Gallivan wagon and Scott Haskell’s were far back in the line, having each taken their turn at the front only a few days before. But in spite of the early hour, Jeb could see Patrick fetching water for his oxen. He couldn’t resist the impulse to ride back and say goodmorning to the boy.
    “I’ll miss you up here behind me, son,” he called as he approached.
    Patrick grinned up at him and gave a slap to the side of one of the hulking black beasts. “I wish we could trade these in for a horse. Then I could ride with you all the time.”“And let your brother do all the work driving the wagon?” Jeb chided gently.
    The boy’s smile dimmed. “Well, no. I guess not.”
    “You can ride with me again tomorrow, after the crossing.”
    “Are they ready to start?” Now his handsome little face took on an eager expression. “Can I just ride down to the riverbank with you, Captain? I want to watch them go into the water.”
    Jeb smiled. He remembered the first time he’d seen a