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Chapter Twelve

Shortly after dawn Suzannah felt something hard poke her derriere. She ignored it, and a moment later it poked again.

“Wake up,” Brand ordered.

She groaned and snuggled deeper under her blanket.

Something metallic clanked beside her and she inhaled the pungent smell of frying meat. Opening one eyelid, she saw a tin plate loaded with slices of steaming-hot jerky and two fat, fluffy biscuits. Beside it sat a brimming mug of hot coffee.

She propped up on one elbow and leaned over to sniff the meat.

“It’s fried,” Brand explained from the other side of the fire. “Maybe not as good as bacon, but we don’t have any bacon.”

She reached for a slice, gobbled it along with one of the biscuits and washed it all down with a swallow of coffee. Despite all his maddening male know-it-all faults, she had to admit Brand made excellent coffee, now that she’d come to like it.

“Get up,” he ordered. “Got to get goin’ before the sun’s up.”

Had she ever known a more annoying man? He was all nag-nag-nag and push-push-push, and she was heartily sick of it.

“Let me alone,” she protested.

“Can’t. You want to get to Fort Klamath, and I want to—”

He broke off, but she knew what he’d been about to say. He wanted to be rid of her. The feeling was most certainly mutual.

“Suzannah...”

“Oh, very well,” she said. “Do stop badgering me, Brand. You’re worse than Mama at her most officious moments.”

His dark eyebrows went up. “Your momma bossed you around?”

“Well, she tried to. I don’t guess I ‘bossed’ very well.”

His laugh surprised her. Brand might be an overbearing bully, but at least he had a nice laugh—rich and rumbly.

She dragged herself upright, stuffed her feet into her boots and noticed that her blisters no longer hurt. Then she slipped three more slices of fried jerky past her lips and devoured another biscuit. Besides coffee, Brand made very fine biscuits.

She supposed that, being an army wife, she must learn to cook, but somehow the prospect was daunting. She hadn’t thought to pack one of Hattie’s receipt books, but frying slices of jerky couldn’t be too difficult, could it?

Brand appeared to be in a real fizz to be on their way. He packed up both bedrolls, fed the horses and hovered at her elbow while she finished the last of her biscuits. Before she swallowed the remains of her coffee, he tramped off to the creek to wash the tin plates, then packed them into his saddlebag.

She had to scramble to fit in her necessary morning stop and splash cold water on her face before Brand herded her over to the mare.

“Want a boost up?” he asked.

“No, I do not. Why are you in such an all-fired hurry this morning?”

“No reason.” He wouldn’t look at her, so she knew he was lying. Something was wrong. Her heart skipped some beats.

She pulled herself up into her saddle and shot him a look. “We are not being followed, are we?”