Marrying the Major. Victoria Bylin
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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