Marrying the Major. Victoria Bylin

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СКАЧАТЬ She’d meet Major Smith’s children, and she’d have people who needed her. Feeling hopeful, she stepped from the ravine to level ground and saw Bessie and Major Smith at her trunk. In addition to clothing and a few personal treasures, it held her sister’s medical bag. Bessie needed it to give the major a dose of quinine.

      “I’ll get it,” Caroline called.

      She didn’t want Major Smith looking at her things. It struck her as too personal, plus she’d hidden the one photograph she had of her husband. Their marriage had been secret, and she had always used her maiden name. Charles had been a black man and a crusader, a gentle giant and a man of great faith. He’d died at the hands of a mob because he believed in educating all children regardless of color—and because he trusted people too easily.

      Caroline had no idea what Major Smith would think of her choices, and she didn’t care. She would always admire Charles and had no regrets, but it hurt to be an outcast. She didn’t want to fight that battle again, so she hurried to the trunk before the major could look inside. She handed Bessie the quinine bottles, lifted the medical bag and unbuckled it. Jon walked up to them with a canteen in one hand and a tin cup in the other. Major Smith took the cup and looked at Bessie. “The quinine, please.”

      Bessie opened a bottle and poured a dose of crystals into the cup. “Quinine is most effective when mixed with alcohol. I have some in my bag.”

      Caroline opened a tightly corked flask and handed it to the major. He poured a swallow in the cup, returned the bottle to her, then swished the liquid to absorb the crystals. He downed it in one swallow and turned to Bessie. “You’re experienced with malaria.”

      “I’m afraid so,” she answered. “I nursed hundreds of soldiers during the war.”

      Caroline put away the bottle, set the medical bag in the trunk and glanced around for a wagon to take them to Wheeler Springs. Instead of a wagon, she saw four horses. Two were saddled. Two carried supplies.

      “I don’t see a wagon,” she said.

      “There isn’t one,” the major replied. “The bridge over the gorge is out. We’ll use one of the packhorses for your things. Jon can ride the other one, and you and your sister can share the gray.”

      A shiver started at the nape of Caroline’s neck and went to her fingertips. Horses terrified her. She and Bessie had grown up in Charleston where their father had been a doctor. They’d been city girls. What little riding she’d done as a child had been slow and ladylike. She hadn’t enjoyed it, but she hadn’t become terrified of horses until the night she’d seen her husband lynched. As long as she lived, she’d never forget the sudden bolt of a horse she’d believed to be gentle.

      No way could she ride to Wheeler Springs. She had neither the skill nor the confidence to sit on a horse. Neither did she have the courage. How she’d make that clear to Major Smith, she didn’t know, especially when he was looking at her as if he’d just had the best idea of his life. What that idea was, she didn’t know. She only knew this man was accustomed to giving orders, and he expected them to be followed.

       Chapter Three

      Tristan saw a chance to bring Jon and Caroline together and took it. “On second thought, perhaps you’d prefer to ride with Jon? I’ll take your sister, and we’ll use both packhorses to transport your belongings.”

      The eldest Miss Bradley nodded in agreement. “That’s a fine idea, major. Our possessions are modest. Perhaps we can bring everything with us.”

      Caroline didn’t seem to concur. She was gaping at him with wide-eyed horror. Surely she wasn’t so modest she couldn’t see the practicality of his suggestion? Tristan frowned. “Is there a problem?”

      “Well … yes.”

      He waited five seconds for her to explain. Considering he didn’t wait for anyone except Dora, five seconds was a considerable compromise. When the new governess failed to find her tongue, he lowered his chin. “Spit it out.”

      The elder Miss Bradley gave him a critical look. “My sister is afraid of horses.”

      “Afraid of horses!” Tristan couldn’t help but sputter. “I own a cattle ranch. How does she expect to travel?”

      Caroline glared at him. “You hired me to care for your children, not round up cows. I expect to walk or ride in a carriage or wagon.”

      Tristan looked at Jon. “How far is it to Wheeler Springs?” He knew quite well, but he wanted her to hear the answer from Jon, who she seemed to like.

      Jon’s brow wrinkled in sympathy. “It’s a good thirty miles.”

      She turned ashen. Tristan almost felt sorry for her. He’d been afraid many times in his life, ironically less often on the battlefield than in his own home. He’d been afraid of his father when he was boy, and he’d been afraid when Molly had fallen ill. Now he was afraid of the malaria. He tried to offer consolation. “You’re obviously a resolute woman. You’ll be fine with Jon. He’s an excellent horseman.”

      “I’m sure he is. It’s just that …” She shuddered. “There’s no choice, is there?”

      He shrugged. “You could walk.”

      Bessie touched her sister’s shoulder. They exchanged a few quiet words, then the nurse turned to him. “I think it would be best if my sister and I shared the gray as you first suggested.”

      Tristan preferred his second idea, but he was tired of arguing. “Very well. Let’s get moving.”

      When Caroline hesitated, Jon gave her the reassuring look he often gave Dora. “The horse’s name is Grandma. She couldn’t be gentler.”

      She managed a smile. It was tentative and sweet and so full of courage Tristan wanted to give her a medal. But they really didn’t have time to dawdle if they wanted to get home before dark. “We need to go.”

      She glared at him. “I need to finish emptying the trunk.”

      Without waiting to be dismissed, she took her sister’s medical bag out of the trunk and set it close to her feet. Tristan had to admire her priorities. Except for Molly, the women he’d known would have reached for their jewelry before the medicine. Bessie reached into the trunk to help, but Caroline shooed her away. “Rest your ankle,” she murmured. “We have a long ride.”

      So did Tristan and he already felt done in. He wanted to encourage the camaraderie between Jon and Caroline, so he offered Bessie his arm. “Come with me.”

      He escorted her to a flat boulder where they sat and watched the packing. Almost clandestinely, Caroline lifted a framed picture from the folds of her gowns. She put it with the precious quinine, then handed the bag to Jon. “This requires special attention.”

      “Of course,” he answered.

      Tristan called to his friend. “Bring it here. I’ll carry it.” He trusted Jon, but he didn’t trust the packhorse to cross the river without balking. Tristan wanted the medicine in his care alone.

      Caroline shot him a look. He figured the photograph was of her parents, though he wondered if it told other tales. Seated on the rock, he watched her expression as Jon set the bag at his СКАЧАТЬ