box to go on that wagon, and I’ll need some help lifting it.”
“There’s not much room, Rose.”
“It’s not big, just a wee bit heavy.”
McCain started toward the house, then paused when he reached Katie. “Help Sarah Jane into the wagon.”
If Katie weren’t so eager to get the child away from the brothel and this town, she’d remind him that she didn’t take orders, and that a “please” and a little respect would go a long way. But she let it go this time and helped Sarah Jane settle into the back of the wagon, next to where Erin lay.
Once the child was seated, Katie leaned against the side of the buckboard, reached into the bed and placed her hand on the prostitute’s arm. “Mr. McCain told me that your name is Erin, which is what I’ll be calling you from now on.”
Erin, her eyes a bit dazed, merely nodded.
“I’m sorry things aren’t working out the way either of us intended,” Katie added, “but don’t worry. Once you’re feeling better, we’ll leave for Wyoming.”
Erin merely closed her eyes and sighed.
Boot steps sounded on the porch, and Katie looked over her shoulder to see McCain approach the wagon carrying a small wooden crate. After he placed it under the wagon seat, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold watch.
He lifted the lid and glanced at the time. Then he circled the wagon and approached Katie. “I’ll help you up.”
“You don’t need to,” she told him. “I’m not as helpless or as troublesome as you think. I can do it myself.”
In spite of what she’d told him, he slipped behind her and offered his assistance, gripping her elbow and reaching for her waist.
His hands were strong, his touch warm, his movements deft. Yet it was the scent of him, a manly combination of leather and soap that caused her breath to catch.
Hoping he hadn’t noticed, she climbed up, settled onto the seat and adjusted her skirts.
She was just about to reach for the reins when McCain tied his horse to the back of the wagon, beside hers.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “I can drive a buckboard.”
“We’re all going to ride in the wagon. From a distance, maybe we’ll look like a family.”
Katie nearly snorted at the thought of her and McCain as husband and wife, but she kept her reaction to herself.
It was all part of the masquerade, part of the plan to get Sarah Jane to safety.
Yet as McCain climbed into the seat beside her, like a husband would do, her heart gave a funny little flutter.
“Everybody ready?” he asked the passengers in back.
“Are you sure we have everything we need?” Katie asked, hoping he’d thought of the things she might have included had he given her enough time to plan.
“It doesn’t matter. We’re going to make do with what we have. We’re burning daylight as it is.”
She wanted to object, but she had to admit that McCain was right.
The sooner they left Pleasant Valley, the better.
* * *
Traveling with two women and a child wasn’t going to be easy, and Tom doubted he’d get much sleep over the next few days. If he’d had the luxury of waiting until tomorrow morning, he would have planned to set out before daylight.
The fewer people who saw them leaving, the less chance there was that the attacker would catch wind of it and follow them. Hopefully, the man had fled to parts unknown, but Tom wasn’t taking any chances. According to Sheriff Droeger, they hadn’t uncovered a motive for the assault—no robbery, at least, not that anyone knew. So was it personal? Had the man gone after Erin for some other reason? If so, that would give him reason to come back and finish the job.
Tom had purchased the wagon at the livery, and, fortunately, the old man who ran the place had been more interested in pocketing the cash than in asking questions.
So now here they were, about twenty miles outside of Pleasant Valley. Tom would have pushed harder so they could have traveled farther, but Dr. Hennessy had warned him not to jostle Erin too much. Of course, the doctor had also given her something to make her sleep, so she’d rested easily all afternoon.
They’d finally reached a good place to set up camp. Tom remembered this spot when he and Trapper had ridden through a few days earlier. With a creek nearby, its water clear and fresh, and the scattering of trees to hide them from the road, it was a good place to spend the night.
But he still wanted to scout the area and assure himself that the women and the child would be safe, even though he planned to watch over them while they slept.
So, after unhitching the horses, leading them to water and waiting for them to drink, he returned to the campsite and tethered them to a tree.
“I’m going to have a look around,” he told Miss O’Malley. “Do you think you can handle things here?”
“Yes, of course. Should Sarah Jane and I gather some dried twigs for a fire?”
“Wait until I come back.” He didn’t want them to wander too far or build a fire until he was sure they weren’t being followed.
Fifteen minutes later, after taking care to hide their wagon tracks, he’d circled back to the campsite. All the while, he’d watched and listened for any sign that they weren’t alone while keeping his right hand close to his holster.
When he’d convinced himself that they were safe, he headed back to camp. Not far from where they’d left the horses and wagon, while he was still near the stream, twigs snapped and skirts rustled.
Tom turned to the sound and spotted Miss O’Malley and Sarah Jane heading back to camp. They each carried a canteen, so he figured they’d been getting water. The woman also held a black valise.
He glanced at the setting sun. It would be dark soon. He was just about to call out, letting them know that he was nearby, but he stopped short when he saw Miss O’Malley drop to her knees and tend Sarah Jane with gentle hands and a soft voice.
Fascinated, he watched the attractive redhead gently run a silver-handled comb through the child’s tangled locks.
“You have the prettiest hair,” she told the girl. “Just like captured sunbeams.”
Sarah Jane raised her eyebrows with a look of such obvious hope that Tom’s heart melted. The poor kid had been through far more than was fair—the recent death of her mother, the assault of the woman who’d been caring for her.
Miss O’Malley reached for a white ribbon and handed it to Sarah Jane. “Hold this, honey.” Deftly forming a long braid, she took the satin strip and tied a bow to hold her work together. “There you go.”
Then the woman removed a small bottle from her
