Marrying the Major

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 feet and returned to help her. In a separate drawstring bag she stowed a black-bound volume he supposed was her Bible, a smaller book bound in cloth and what looked like a doll. She gave the bag to Jon and said something. Looking pleased, he tied the bundle to Grandma’s saddle.

Just as Tristan hoped, the two of them quickly developed an easy rapport. Thirty minutes later, a packhorse was bearing all the women’s possessions.

The time had come to mount up. Tristan leveraged to his feet and offered Bessie his hand. Together they ambled to the horses where Jon and Caroline were standing in front of Grandma. Jon was stroking the horse’s nose, but it was the woman at his side who needed comforting. Looking tentative, she raised her hand to pet the horse.

Surprised, Grandma raised her head. Jon controlled her, but no one was there to control Caroline. She skittered away like a leaf in the wind.

The terror in her eyes reminded Tristan of Dora and how she came to him in tears after Molly’s death. Dora expected people to help her. Caroline clearly had no such hope. She was staring at Grandma as if she were looking at a mountain. He felt sorry for her, but she had to get on the horse.

Jon motioned to Bessie. “Let me help you up first.”

Leaning on Tristan’s arm, Bessie limped to Jon’s side, gripped the horn and put her good foot in the stirrup. With Jon’s help, she landed gracefully in the saddle. Grandma didn’t mind at all.

Jon looked at Caroline. “Are you ready?”

She looked close to tears, but she marched back to the horse like a soldier facing his second battle, the one where experience replaced ignorance and a man discovered his true mettle. Looking at her, Tristan wondered if she’d been thrown before. He could understand her reluctance to try again. He’d felt that way about love after Louisa rejected him.

Molly had mended that hole in his heart. It had threatened to open again with her passing, but she’d been adamant with him.

Don’t you dare leave our children without a mother! I want you to marry again.

He’d made the promise, but he’d done it halfheartedly. He would give his children a mother, but she’d be Jon’s bride, not his. Never his. The malaria had seen to that.

He studied Caroline as she listened to Jon, noting the tilt of her chin and the way she held her shoulders. Her demeanor struck a chord of admiration. So did the way she swung up behind her sister in a flurry of petticoats and courage. When she rewarded Jon with a quiet thank-you, Tristan felt a surge of jealousy. Jon had his health. He had a future, and if the woman’s smile was any indication, he’d have a wife as Tristan hoped and now envied.

Annoyed with himself, he lifted Cairo’s reins from a tree and swung into the saddle as if he were a healthy man and not a feverish weakling. Frowning, he called to Jon. “Let’s go.”

He led the way, keeping the pace slow for the ladies but itching to nudge Cairo into a run. He wanted to leave his weakness behind—the illness, his worries—but he couldn’t. All he could do was ride at a leisurely pace, listening to a pretty woman laugh at Jon’s banter. The pleasantries should have given Tristan comfort. Instead he had to grit his teeth against the urge to one-up Jon with stories of his own.

For two hours he said nothing. When they arrived at the downed bridge, he turned to look at the women. Bessie had a steady way about her, but Caroline went chalk-white at the sight of the trail zigzagging down the canyon wall. Without a word, he led the way on Cairo with Grandma following and Jon at the rear with the second packhorse in tow. He could hear Caroline’s unsteady breathing, but she didn’t utter a word.

When they reached the water’s edge, Tristan turned again to look at the women. Bessie had the stalwart expression of a veteran soldier. He suspected she’d experienced more difficult challenges than crossing a river. Caroline, however, could have been looking at a man-eating grizzly. Tristan followed her gaze to the rushing current. The knee-high water hadn’t gone down since yesterday. Cairo could handle it, but Grandma would be skittish.

He slid out of the saddle. “I’ll ferry the women across.”

It was the first time he’d spoken in two hours. Caroline stared as if she’d forgotten him. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Positive.”

Jon dismounted, then lifted her off Grandma’s back. She landed in front of him with her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Envy poked at Tristan again. Next Jon assisted Bessie, and the four of them stood in a square of sorts. As if the women weren’t present, Tristan addressed Jon. “I’ll take Miss Bradley first. You’ll wait here with Miss Caroline. When I take her across, follow on Grandma with the packhorses.”

To Tristan’s consternation, Caroline took a step back and turned away from them. He followed her gaze to the river and saw a tree branch floating by. Bessie put an arm around her sister’s waist and murmured something. The younger woman murmured back loud enough for Tristan to hear. “I can’t do this,” she said. “It’s just too much.”

Bessie patted her back. “I know, but it’s just a river. You can do it.”

“But I don’t want to!” Her voice rose in volume and pitch. “First we get robbed. Then you sprained your ankle and the wolves kept howling—” She shuddered. “When is it going to stop?”

Tristan ached for her because he felt the same way about his illness. It wasn’t the river that had Miss Bradley in a knot. It was days, weeks, maybe years of frustration.

He stepped up behind her. Wondering if he’d lost his mind, he touched her shoulder. “Caroline?” He deliberately left off the “Miss.”

She startled like a deer, then faced him. “I’m sorry, Major. It’s just—”

“I understand.”

He could have been speaking to Dora, but his daughter wouldn’t have tried to be brave. She’d have reached to be picked up, fully expecting him to protect her. Caroline had no such expectation.

Her doubt challenged him. “The river isn’t deep. I’m confident Cairo can handle it.”

“Who’s Cairo?”

“My horse.”

She turned to look at the stallion. In the shadows of the canyon, his coat glistened black and his muscles were deeply defined. Poised and ready, the horse towered over Grandma.

“He’s huge,” Caroline murmured. “And he looks fast.”

“He’s practically a nag,” Tristan said, joking. “The old boy can barely walk.” He meant the horse, but she looked at him.

Anger flared in her eyes. “You’re making fun of me.”

“No,” he said gently. “I wanted to make you smile. You can be assured that you’ll be safe.”

“I just don’t know.”

“I do,” he said, deadpan. “No one disobeys me. Not even Cairo.”

Jon laughed out loud. “Tell that to Dora.”

“Well, yes,” he acknowledged. “Dora has a mind of her own.”

“So do I.” Caroline squared her shoulders. “But there’s no choice.”

She’d spoken the same words earlier, and it bothered him. He wanted to tell her there was always a choice, but he hadn’t chosen malaria. He hadn’t chosen to lose Molly. Sometimes, there was no choice but to accept the inevitable. Today, though, he had a choice to make. He could be a sympathetic friend or an unfeeling tyrant. Before Caroline could object, he took her hand and tugged her to Cairo. The horse stood with the expectation of royalty. Tristan took a peppermint from his pocket and offered it on his flat palm. Cairo took the treat, bobbing his head as he tasted the mint.

Caroline laughed. “Your horse eats candy.”

“Yes.” Tristan took another piece of peppermint from his pocket and handed it to her. “Hold it flat like I did.”

“I couldn’t—”

“Like this,” he said, unfolding her fingers.

When she didn’t argue, he put the peppermint in her palm and held her hand under Cairo’s nose. The horse took the treat with the gentleness Tristan expected. More amazed than terrified, she turned to him. They were face-to-face, a breath apart. If he’d been a healthy man, he’d have wondered about kissing her. Not now, but later when he knew her better. But malaria had bent his life into a question mark. He could be gone in a week or a month … or he could live a long life. Looking at Caroline, he thought of his promise to Molly to remarry, and he imagined keeping it.

Blushing, Caroline looked away. “Let’s go while I have the courage.”

“Certainly.”

Tristan pulled himself into the saddle, took the reins and guided Cairo to a flat boulder. Understanding his intention, she followed and climbed on the rock. He took his boot out of the stirrup and offered his hand. Nervous but determined, she placed her foot in the stirrup, grasped his fingers and looked into his eyes.

“On the count of three,” he said. “One … two … three.”

He pulled her up and over the horse. She landed with a plop and instinctively wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing as if she’d never let go. For that moment, the malaria didn’t matter. Tristan felt strong and capable. He might not live to see another Christmas, but he could get Caroline safely across the river.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes, Major.”

He’d have preferred to be called Tristan, but a barrier had to be maintained. With Caroline clinging to his waist, he nudged Cairo into the current. The horse plowed into the river until the water rose above his knees. Ripples splashed against Tristan’s thigh, and the hem of Caroline’s skirt became sodden. She was trembling against his back, struggling to breathe evenly and holding him like she’d never him go.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” he said.

“We’re halfway, aren’t we?”

“Exactly.”

They were dead center and in the deepest part of the river. Tristan looked up the canyon and saw a tree branch floating in their direction. He held Cairo back to let it pass, but the current aimed the branch straight at them. When Cairo sidestepped, Miss Bradley squeezed the breath out of him.

“We’re fine,” he said gently. “Just hang on.”

He nudged Cairo to take another step. The horse refused to budge. Looking down, Tristan saw a submerged tangle of limbs and leaves. It was caught on the horse’s hoof, and Cairo didn’t like it.

Caroline trembled against his back. “Why aren’t we moving?”

He thought of his boast that no one would dare disobey him. The stallion, it seemed, had decided to prove him wrong. Tristan would win this test of wills, but it would come at a cost. He put his hand over Caroline’s stiff fingers. “Cairo needs a little encouragement. I’m going to dig in my heels. I want you to be ready because he’s going to jump forward.”

“Oh, no,” she whimpered.

She held even tighter to his waist. Just before he nudged Cairo, the horse sidestepped again. The branch came with him and he started to rear. “Hang on,” Tristan called to her.

He needed both hands to control the horse. Cairo whinnied in irritation, then reared up with the intention of stomping the branch. To Tristan’s dismay, Caroline slid off the horse in a tangle of skirts and petticoats. With a splash, she landed in the river.

Chapter Four

The water went over Caroline’s head with a whoosh. She couldn’t see or breathe. She could only feel the sudden cold and the current grabbing at her skirt. The stallion was bucking and stomping. If she didn’t get out of the river, she’d be pulled downstream or trampled. She tried to stand but stumbled because of the weight of her clothing.

“Get back!” the major shouted.

He had his hands full with the unruly horse. She didn’t know why it had bucked, but the medical case was slapping against its side. She had a horrible vision of it coming loose. Major Smith would lose the quinine, and she’d lose her only picture of Charles. Bracing against the sandy bottom, she pushed to her feet. She wanted to run for the shore, but if the case tore loose she’d go after it.

Cairo reared back and whinnied. She half expected Major Smith to land in the river with her, but he moved gracefully with the horse, aligning his body with the stallion’s neck and back. Behind her she heard Jon sloshing toward them on Grandma. Being caught between two horses terrified her more than drowning, so she hoisted her skirts and ran downriver.

She stumbled a dozen steps, tripped on her hem and went down again. Rocks pressed into her knees and she cried out. She kept her head above water, but her skirt was tangled around her legs. Seemingly out of nowhere, male hands gripped her arms and lifted her from the current.

“Caroline.” She heard the major’s voice, the accent thick as he set her on her feet. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

She felt the strength of his arms and the sureness of his stance. As he steadied her, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve and became aware of his body shielding her from the current. She had no business noticing him in a personal way. She was merely an employee, a woman who was afraid of horses and had fallen in the river.

She pulled back from his grasp and staggered away. “I’m all right.”

He splashed closer, reaching for her. “Let me walk you to the shore.”

“No!” She didn’t want to feel his arm around her waist. “Go take care of your horse.”

“Jon has Cairo.”

She looked past him to the shore where Jon and Grandma were leading Cairo up the sandy bank. The black horse had calmed, but he still looked on edge … much like the major. He stepped closer to her, his hand extended as if he were giving her a peppermint. “Come now,” he said with authority. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Oh, yes there is!” She was afraid of him, afraid of her feelings because she couldn’t help but appreciate the nobility of what he had done. With malaria symptoms, he had no business jumping into the river to help her. He should have taken his horse to shore and let Jon come to her rescue. Instead he’d risked getting a chill. Even more revealing was the compassion in his eyes. He looked both sincere and commanding, a man of courage who understood fear. She could imagine soldiers following him into battle, trusting him to lead them to victory.

She wanted to trust him, too. It had been so long since she’d had a man in her life that she could rely on. Charles had died seven years ago. After losing him, she’d become a pariah and no man had wanted her. It had been Bessie’s idea to move to Denver. There they’d found Swan’s Nest, a boardinghouse for women in need, and Caroline had found the faith to love again but not a man to love. She’d continually failed to measure up, though her friends had all found husbands.

Adie Clarke had married Joshua Blue, an unlikely but wonderfully happy match between a woman with a secret and a minister with regrets. Pearl Oliver had found a husband in Matt Wiley. A victim of violence, Pearl had married a lawman dedicated to justice and his little girl. And then there was Mary Larue. Two months ago she’d married outlaw J. T. Quinn, a man from her past whom she’d loved for years.

Caroline didn’t begrudge her friends their happiness, but she very much wanted a family of her own. She wanted to belong somewhere, anywhere. That was what she’d hoped to find when she’d answered the major’s advertisement. But now she wondered if she’d made a mistake. If she was still making a mistake, trusting too soon, believing she could rely on the major. In Denver she’d been safe. Since leaving Swan’s Nest, she’d been robbed and nearly drowned. God had let her down, and so had Major Smith when his horse reared. She glared at him. “I thought no one disobeyed you, not even your horse!”

“Cairo startled—”

“He bucked me off!”

“Yes,” the major said gently. “He became tangled in a branch and startled.”

That voice … He could have gentled the wildest of creatures with that tone, the singsong of his accent. Suddenly she wanted to cry. She didn’t blame the major for Cairo getting spooked, but neither would she forget that she’d fallen. She’d trusted him and suffered for it. Not only could she have drowned, but also he might have been harmed trying to save her.

“Accidents happen,” she said bitterly. “I’m well aware of that.”

“Yes,” he said. “I apologize again. If you’ll allow me to walk you to the shore, we’ll rest for a bit while you dry off.”

She didn’t want to rest only to struggle through a long, tiring journey when the rest was over. She wanted to be safe and dry in a home of her own. She wanted an ordinary life in a place where she belonged. But she couldn’t have any of that. She only had herself. Ignoring his offered hand, she met his gaze. “Thank you, Major. But I can manage.”

She gathered her wet skirts and trudged to the shore, walking slightly upriver and feeling the tug of the current. He came up beside her but didn’t speak. After she’d gone twenty paces, each more draining than the last, he looped his arm around her waist. She felt secure. She felt protected. And she was madder than a wet hen that she wanted to be more than a governess, more than an employee and a woman who’d fallen in the river.

As they slogged through the current, Major Smith acknowledged Jon with a reassuring wave. Mounted on Grandma, Jon recrossed the river to fetch Bessie and the packhorses, leaving Caroline and the major to make their way to the shore. When they reached the bank, he stepped away from her. Except for Cairo tied to a willow, they were alone. Caroline shivered with the chill. As soon as Jon brought the packhorses, she’d put on dry clothes.

With his back to her, Major Smith opened the medical bag to check the quinine. She thought of the picture of Charles. He’d see it. Good, she thought. If he had questions, he could ask. If he had prejudices, she wanted to know it.

“Is the quinine safe?” she asked.

“Yes.” He looked deeper in the case. “Your photograph is unharmed, as well.”

Would he ask who was in the picture? Did he expect her to give details that were none of his business? When he turned and looked into her eyes, she felt like a private in the presence of a general, but she refused either to cower or snap to attention.

Major Smith spoke first. “I was an officer in the West India Regiment. Have you heard of it?”

“No, sir.”

“The West India Regiment is part of the regular British Army. It’s led by men like myself, sons of England—” he said England as if it tasted bad “—but the soldiers are locals from the Caribbean Islands. They’re free black men, Miss Bradley. I don’t know who the gentlemen in your photograph is or what he means to you, but I presume he is—or was—someone important to you.”

She’d been expecting rejection, prejudice. Instead she’d found another reason to like Major Smith. Wondering if the day could get any worse, she looked into his eyes and saw a loyalty that stole her breath, leading her to open her heart. “Charles was my husband. He died seven years ago.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“He was lynched,” she said before she could stop herself. “It was ugly and violent, and I saw it happen. That’s why I’m afraid of horses. The men who did it put him on a broken-down nag. Someone told me later they didn’t intend to kill Charles. They just wanted to scare him.” Her voice dropped to a hush. “They wanted to scare me, too. But the horse went wild. It bucked and Charles … died.”

Major Smith held her gaze. “I’ve seen men die. It changes a person.”

“Yes.”

“And I’ve lost my wife,” he added. “That changes a man, as well.”

Caroline nodded because she truly understood. “I’m sorry for your loss, Major Smith.”

“Likewise, Caroline.”

He’d left off the “Miss,” a fitting acknowledgment of the new accord between them. He also pronounced her name Caro-line. Most people called her Caro-lyn. It made her feel different from the woman she’d always been.

They looked at each other a long time, then both turned away to remember or think. Caroline was surprised at the sudden sense of kinship she felt with this man who had seemed at first to be so brusque and domineering. There was a kindness to him she hadn’t expected. It was enough to make her hope that this journey hadn’t been a mistake. Perhaps she truly had found a place where she could belong.

Still, she wouldn’t get her hopes up yet. She knew too well how badly it would hurt if they were dashed once more.

To her relief, Jon arrived with Bessie and the packhorses. Her sister slid off the mare, ran to Caroline and hugged her. “You could have drowned.”

“Or been trampled,” she added.

“Let’s get you in dry clothes,” Bessie said firmly. “Then you can put the scare out of your mind.”

Caroline agreed about needing dry clothes, but she doubted today’s ordeal would ever leave her thoughts. Somewhere between one side of the river and the other, she’d seen a new side of a man with whom she had believed she had nothing in common, a man from another class and another continent … a man who might finally be able to give her a home. It was a heady and frightening thought. Shivering, she went with Bessie to find a private spot to change. It was a long way to Wheeler Springs. She dreaded getting back on a horse, but she’d be fine with Bessie and Grandma. As for Major Smith and Cairo, the horse scared her and so did the man.

When the women were out of sight, Tristan thought of his own wet clothes. He was soaked to his thighs, but the sun and constant wind would dry the fabric. Feverish or not, he was more concerned about getting Caroline to Wheeler Springs without another incident. She’d most likely want to ride with her sister on Grandma, but Tristan had experience with both fear and horses. Fear had to be faced, and horses had to be controlled. Caroline had to get back on Cairo or her fear would fester. It had nothing to do with any wish on his part to keep the lady close, of course. No, he was convinced it was simply the logical response any employer might have toward a phobia on the part of a brave, stubborn, lovely employee. Turning to Jon, he saw his friend retying the bundle of clothing. “Caroline’s badly shaken,” he said. “But she needs to ride with me, at least for a time.”

“I suppose so,” Jon agreed.

“Of all the fool things,” Tristan muttered. “Cairo’s good in water. That branch came out of nowhere.”

“We almost had two women in the river.” Jon’s brows lifted with admiration. “I had to stop her sister from going in after her.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“I did.” Jon’s lips tipped into a smile. “You’re a good judge of character, Tristan. The Bradleys are exceptional women. I expected the nurse to be a dour sort, but she’s quite pleasant.”

Tristan thought about his plan to match his friend with Caroline. Jon and Bessie were closer in age and possibly in temperament. The nurse would make a fine substitute mother, but he wanted his children to have someone young and spirited, someone more like Molly … someone with the courage to buck convention. Molly had done it when she’d defied her family and joined him in the West Indies. Caroline had done it when she’d married a black man.

Normally reticent, Tristan wouldn’t have mentioned the photograph but he’d been surprised. He’d also been impressed by the defiant tilt of her chin. She was exactly the kind of mother he wanted for his children. If not for the malaria, he’d have been looking forward to riding with her on Cairo. Instead he found himself glaring at Jon.