two. One on the bottom of each foot.”
Travis stalked to his pack and withdrew a roll of cloth. “Tomorrow morning, wrap your feet with this gauze before you shove them back into your boots.”
His eyes narrowed on the two of them standing by the fire. He peered down at her legs, apparently for the first time. His bare, muscled arms tightened. His gaze roved her lower half. “Is that what you’re wearing to bed? Both of you—only nightshirts?”
“What’s wrong with them?” she asked.
“You’re not sleeping in a castle. You’re sleeping in the middle of the wilderness!”
Jessica was too startled by his booming voice to respond. He always seemed to be teetering on the edge of anger, and she always seemed to be pushing him over.
“If we have to jump up in a hurry, Merriweather, because we’re getting mauled by bears, how are you going to protect us naked beneath a nightshirt? And you, Miss Charm School, what about you? If you have to jump onto a horse, are you willing to ride in that thin little thing? For God’s sake,” he said, stomping to the third bedroll and flinging it into the air, “think of how Cherokee Joe would dress!”
“In his clothes!” shouted Mr. Merriweather. “By George, his clothes. That’s why you’re still in your pants and undershirt. That’s what you’re sleeping in, aren’t you?”
“Put some pants on, woman,” Travis grumbled with fury, brushing past her so only she could hear. She withered at his next words. “With your back to the fire, I can see through your whole damn gown.”
From beneath her covers, Jessica watched Travis stir the fire then check the horses. Apparently, he couldn’t sleep, either. She stilled with nervous expectation. She wanted him to return to his bedroll and fall asleep so she could get something from her pack, something she’d forgotten and didn’t want him to see. If he caught her, they’d certainly clash again.
She squirmed on the hard ground, trying to forget about the flat rock lodged beneath her back. Six feet to her left, Mr. Merriweather snored. Draped near her feet, Travis’s bedroll lay empty. He’d tried going to sleep alongside the both of them an hour ago, but had risen only moments earlier.
Her gaze traveled the fifty feet of moonlit space and rested on Travis’s hands. He patted the horses one at a time. His handling stopped short of Independence and Jessica was riveted again by the discomfort in his manner. What was it that he didn’t like about that horse?
Her eyes stung from weariness. The long day had tired her, not so much the physical exertion, but the mental strain of being on her guard with Travis. And discovering Dr. Finch had gone to medical college in Glasgow. She’d thought he was lying about his education. This was the first time she’d heard of Dr. Virginia Bullock having the same professor.
Jessica considered the problem, adamant she was still somehow correct. Could it be Dr. Finch’s discussion with Dr. Virginia Bullock had been framed in front of Travis in such a way that he only appeared to have had the same physiology professor? Why?
Hearing the jingle of spurs approaching the campfire, she closed her eyes quickly and pretended sleep. The heat of the fire warmed her lids and touched her lips.
After waiting two minutes for the sound of rustling blankets, she heard none.
Go to bed, she wanted to scream.
Slowing opening one eye, she found him seated on a log, long legs spanned in front of him, hands propped on solid knees, a stick in his hand as he turned red-hot coals.
She had to admit, he was pleasant on the eyes. Blue-denim pants hugged a flat waistline, molded lower to firm thighs then bunched slightly at the knees before falling above pointed black boots. The muscles of his bronzed arms tensed with his movements, then relaxed, then tensed again. A knot formed in her stomach as she watched him being him.
The strain in his face had lifted. The wrinkles between his eyebrows that appeared whenever he looked at her had faded. His mouth, parted slightly, slackened in the red light. Deep black hair framed his temples, and the rough shadow of a beard reminded her again how much he looked like a dangerous pirate.
He was rude and arrogant and had treated her badly since the minute she’d approached him for help.
But she couldn’t deny how good he was at what he did. He was a master in leading the horses through the foothills, an expert in supplying food and drink and shelter. While she watched the serenity in his face, she was mesmerized by the pleasure he seemed to derive from being the boss and taking charge of everyone and everything.
A horse neighed. Travis turned his head in that direction, as a concerned parent might, then instinctively rose, armed with his Colt revolver. He made his way to investigate. He scoured the ground then seemed satisfied that all was well. Perhaps he’d thought it was a rattler. Because he remained with the horses, she figured it was her chance to jump up to her pack.
Sliding out from her covers, she tugged her boots over her stocking feet. She bunched her nightgown in one hand above the ivory pants she’d decided to sleep in—tomorrow she’d try sleeping in her blouse, too, but for tonight she was already changed—then heaved to her feet. Her pack was still resting beneath the pine tree, ten feet away. She’d be back before he realized she was gone.
Kneeling, she undid the bulging side pouch, rifling through her journal, her pencils, her money, her papers, until her fingers touched soft flannel. With a gentle smile, she pulled it out, held it to her face and inhaled the calming scent of clean fabric. Perhaps it was superstitious of her, but she’d never be able to fall asleep if she left her infant’s nightgown alone in the cold. She would tuck it beneath her pillow.
She worked with speed to retie her side pocket.
There were three things in her pack she had no intention of telling Travis about. Three secrets. He’d already seen this one when he’d helped her pack at the fort, and had tried to make her toss it out.
Pivoting with the soft flannel concealed beneath her own nightgown, she remembered what he’d yelled this morning when he’d seen it. “No gifts!”
She didn’t have many gifts she could offer her son when she found him, but a simple nightshirt from his mother surely wouldn’t intrude on Travis’s time or space.
When she wheeled around, Travis was standing in front of her.
She riveted in alarm. “Why’d you scare me like that?”
“What are you doing?”
Breathless, she was hit by a cold pang of loneliness. Loneliness that she was in dark, unfamiliar territory, that she was a mother without her child, that she had to constantly defend herself to this man.
“I’m a little cold. I got another piece of clothing.”
He crossed his bulging arms over his chest and continued to block her path. When he looked lower to the flannel cloth she was clutching, her grip tightened.
She knew as they neared Devil’s Gorge and Dr. Finch, she’d have to tell Travis something more. Something about her missing child.
So far he hadn’t given her one reason why she should trust him. If she divulged her secrets, he might tell her the accusations against Dr. Finch were preposterous, that her secrets nullified any agreement he had with the commander to escort her. Travis was so harsh toward her he might say he didn’t care about her problems and demand she and her butler return to Calgary. Tomorrow evening they’d be passing through a village—maybe he’d order them to stay behind there.
She couldn’t divulge anything until it was safe to do so, until they were beyond the point of no return.
But glaring at the uncompromising cut of his profile, she realized she was tackling more than she could handle.
“Are you warmer now?”
“Yes, I am.”
Darkness