The Proposition. Kate Bridges

she’d have to devise something different to wear beneath her clothes. Her chemise, perhaps, and an undershirt on top of that to support her as she rode.

      Beyond the bushes, Mr. Merriweather called to Travis above the spitting fire. “For a man who thinks someone’s following us, you don’t seem to be very worried.”

      She heard a rustling of branches, then Travis’s low voice. “There’s no sense getting your long johns twisted in a knot. Overreacting doesn’t solve anything.”

      Jessica slid her night shift over her head and listened to their conversation.

      “You’re not worried at all?” continued the butler.

      “I’m concerned, but they won’t come near us for at least three more days.”

      “How can you be so bloody well sure?”

      “Because that’s what I’d do if I were them. I wouldn’t make a move now because we’re too close to the police fort. Dozens of policemen who don’t take kindly to horse theft. It’ll take us three days to cross the border of Alberta into British Columbia. It’s deserted in the interior. That’s when I’d make my move.”

      The butler gasped. “Why don’t you arrest them tonight?”

      “I can’t arrest anyone unless a crime’s been committed.” He paused. “Tomorrow evening we’ll be passing through the village of Strongness. I know some men there who’ve worked for me before. Good men. I’ll get their help with this.”

      “Good show! But for tonight, shouldn’t we be sleeping in a ring, facing outward, head to toe in our bedrolls with our guns drawn?”

      Travis laughed. “Where’d you read that? An adventure novel?”

      “Well, as a matter of fact, Cherokee Joe—”

      “Cherokee Joe?”

      “He’s a brilliant Indian I read about in a jolly good Western series, written by an Englishman from Hong Kong. My word, Cherokee Joe could smell a trap a mile away. And he could wring a coyote’s neck with his bare fists.”

      Jessica recalled the story and smiled to herself as she folded her daytime clothes to stuff them in her pack.

      “First of all,” said Travis, “there aren’t any Indians in the West named Joe. And Cherokee Indians have never lived in this territory.”

      “But this man was special. His wife was a European princess who happened to meet him on one of the king’s trips—”

      “That’s crazy.” Travis whistled. “Why would he marry a princess? What in the world might they have in common?”

      “Their mutual love for an injured buffalo, of course—”

      “I’ve met several Indians. None of them would want to marry a European princess. They’re smart.”

      “But I haven’t gotten to the part about the Mountie.”

      “Let me guess. It’s a lovers’ tug-of-war between Cherokee Joe and the Mountie for the princess.”

      “No, no,” said Jessica, stepping out backward from behind the bushes, dragging her saddlebag to the large pine tree. She propped it beside the others. “The princess shoots the Mountie because he’s trying to wrongfully imprison Cherokee Joe.”

      She tried to join in the light conversation, hoping to divert attention from what she was wearing, but failed miserably when she turned around and saw Travis.

      Crouched by the fire, he was unrolling blankets. Mr. Merriweather was nowhere in sight. She peered around for him then spotted the movements of his arms behind a far tree as he wiggled out of his clothes.

      Travis had removed his hat, vest and shirt. His powerful set of shoulders gleamed bronze in a white sleeveless undershirt. It struck her that she’d be sleeping within yards of him tonight.

      He hesitated at the sight of her, looked her up and down, clenched his jaw then turned back to his bedroll.

      They were both embarrassed. Although she’d tried to cover her white nightdress with her shawl, the shawl only reached to her waist. The bottom half of her gown, and her high woolen stockings, were visible. It was definitely improper to be seen in her nightclothes by a stranger. The last time she’d been with a man…The consequences of her tryst with Victor burned in her mind.

      Desperately wishing she could sink into the darkness of the night, she tugged the shawl tighter. She’d removed her braids and the wind nipped at her disheveled hair. What else could she do but pretend everything was normal?

      Travis finished with one bedroll. He untied the leather ties for another, stood up and shook it out.

      “So I gather you read the book, too?”

      She nodded. “Mr. Merriweather loaned it to me and my sister years ago. The story is very dramatic.”

      “The Mountie sounds like an incompetent fool.”

      “He was a bit on the slow side.”

      “Written by an Englishman from the colony of Hong Kong.”

      “Um-hmm. I’m sure Mr. Merriweather wouldn’t mind loaning it to you. You might learn from Cherokee Joe’s tracking methods.”

      “Thanks but I’ll pass.”

      He had a way of making her feel inadequate, as if she always said the wrong thing, did the wrong thing.

      She walked closer. “May I claim one of the bedrolls?”

      “Any one you like. I’ll keep the fire burning so we’ll be warm all night.”

      He rose to his feet. The campfire spit and popped beside them. Even though the air was hot, she shivered when she looked at him.

      Flames of fire reflected off his profile—across the darkened jaw, the straight nose, the rigid cheekbones.

      A confusing mix of feelings raced through her. They would sleep together tonight.

      She recalled that for a brief time as an adolescent, she and Caroline had competed for his affections. Caroline had always won every silly rivalry they’d ever set. But Jessica had dreamed of how his kiss might feel. A real kiss, not like the two he had given her—once when he brushed her cheek at a wedding, and once at a Christmas social. Now as his full lips parted and his gaze glossed over her mouth, she wondered still.

      She should have thought before she spoke, but her anger at herself for wondering about his kiss made her want to distance herself. “Why didn’t you think about horse thieves before we left? Surely it’s something you should have considered on a journey with your prize mares.”

      His face darkened. “I was keeping my plans quiet. Just a few of my men and the commander knew the exact day I was leaving and where I was heading. Thanks to you and your stunt of going above my head, the whole town discovered it overnight.”

      She stepped back at his rebuke. “I didn’t realize.”

      Menacing, he stepped forward, bridging the distance she wanted to widen. “If I lose any of my horses, I’m holding you responsible.”

      She’d messed up his plans again. As if she were that same spoiled woman he accused her of being.

      The corner of his mouth twisted. “You and your father finagled a prize stallion out from underneath me years ago. This time, maybe you’ll have to reimburse me for my trouble, and these ones will cost you a lot more.”

      “Travis, I didn’t realize—”

      “Ready for bed, all?” Mr. Merriweather hobbled out from the tree, wearing a long cotton night shift similar to hers.

      Travis shook his head at the friendly man. “Forget the rattlers, forget the horse thieves. I’ll tell you one thing I am worried about. Your feet. Seems to me you can barely walk.”