Baby On The Oregon Trail. Lynna Banning
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don’t know. Mathias and I never talked at night.”
“Listen, then. You know I mean no harm to your family, or to you.”
No harm! She wanted to scream the words at him. You shot my husband. Your horse could have killed Ruthie.
She watched him spread out his blanket and prop his saddle at his head. He stretched out fully clothed and folded his arms behind his head. His rifle lay between them.
“Is that loaded?”
“Yes, it is. Did your husband not keep a rifle handy?”
“Mathias did not have a rifle.”
“Revolver, then.”
“He had no revolver, either.”
He sat up. “Good God, how did he plan to protect you?”
Jenna swallowed. “He did not think of it. Mathias did not plan ahead.”
She had often thought about it after they joined the emigrant train at Independence. Mathias was the only man other than Reverend Fredericks who went unarmed.
“Your older girls should learn how to fire a weapon, Mrs. Borland.”
“They will be proper, educated young ladies in Oregon. Why should they know about firearms?”
“It’s a long way to Oregon. Their lives might depend on knowing such things.”
She edged her body farther to the right, away from his rifle and away from him. Then she realized with a start that they were facing each other. So much for her head-to-foot plan.
“Tomorrow...” His words halted.
“Tomorrow,” she said in as matter-of-fact a tone as she could manage, “I will make coffee and breakfast and you will yoke up the oxen and we will move on toward Oregon. We need not even speak to each other.”
“Not quite,” he said. He shifted his frame, rolled onto his side and propped himself on one elbow. “You can’t shut me out like that. You don’t have to like me, Jenna, but you do need me.”
She sucked in an angry breath. “I do not need you, Mr. Carver. I will never need you.”
He laughed softly. “Yes, you do. You need me to teach your daughters about horses. About how to protect themselves in case...in case something happens to you. Or to me.”
A dart of fear stabbed into her chest. “What do you mean? What could possibly happen?”
“God! We’ve got over a thousand miles to go with two aging oxen. Rivers to ford. Four wooden wheels that could break or get mired in quicksand. Dust storms. Dried-up water holes and God only knows if there’s enough flour and beans in your wagon to last. Wolves. Indians.”
“I am well aware of the dangers. You need not elaborate unless you are trying to frighten me.”
“Hell, yes, I’m trying to frighten you!”
“Well, it’s working, so please hush up!”
She heard him chuckle, and then he gave a long, drawn-out sigh and settled back on his blanket. After a while his rhythmic breathing told her he was asleep.
She tried to forget his words, but they swarmed and circled in her brain until she wanted to shout them out of her head.
A thousand miles, he’d said. She wanted to weep.
Oh, no she wouldn’t! She might be frightened to death at what was ahead, especially now that she alone was responsible for the Borland girls, but she would not let it show. She would cry when they reached Oregon. By then, she supposed, she would be completely unhinged.
And by then she would be a mother.
Oh, God, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t do any of it. Why, why had she let Mathias talk her into heading across this rough, uninhabited country?
And why, dear God, why had he taken Lee Carver’s horse?
Lee woke before dawn and looked over at the still form that lay next to him. She was curled up on her side like a young girl, her face resting on her folded hands, and a little fluff of white petticoat peeked out beside her drawn-up knees. Her leather shoes sat off to one side, the coarse stockings stuffed inside. He wondered what kept them up after walking all day.
Her eyelids looked shadowed with fatigue and a purpling bruise bloomed on her cheek. Quietly he drew the rumpled quilt up over her sleeping form and crawled out from under the wagon.
Sue and Sunflower grazed peacefully a few yards away. He fed Devil a handful of oats, then tramped down to the creek to wash and shave using his army kit. He hung the mirror on a low branch, but in the half-light he could barely see the dark stubble on his chin.
The air was so still and balmy it reminded him of spring back in Virginia. And it was quiet, a good time for mentally sorting things out. Jenna, for example.
She bothered him. It was more than her sharp words and obvious dislike of him; something about her didn’t make sense. Had she really wanted to come west with three stepchildren? Somehow she didn’t seem ready for a journey this arduous. Maybe she’d let her husband do the planning, and right about now she might be realizing that had been a mistake.
It made him angry. Made him want to take her by the shoulders and shake her. On another level it made him want to put his arms around her and hold her.
He hadn’t held a woman in a long time. Hadn’t wanted to.
Until now. The thought of holding Jenna, maybe kissing her, sent hot prickles all over his body, and he had to laugh. You damn fool, what about your Never Again resolution?
Yeah, what about that? He’d sworn he’d never let any woman touch his heart again. It had worked just fine until he’d shot Jenna’s husband and ended up with her in the middle of a family he hadn’t expected.
He rinsed his straight razor and folded it back into his kit, then filled two buckets of water from the creek and lugged them back to camp. He found the coffeepot, rinsed it out and moved away from the wagon to grind the beans so the noise wouldn’t wake anyone. An iron skillet waited beside the fire pit, but the bacon, if there was any, would be in the wagon. He’d rather brave a Sioux ambush than tangle with Tess.
Ruthie popped out through the bonnet and he pantomimed slicing meat. After a long minute she produced a small hunk of not-too-lean bacon and watched in silence as he sliced some off with his pocketknife and laid it in the skillet.
* * *
Jenna awoke to the smell of coffee. Coffee? The sun was up and her empty stomach was rumbling. She pulled on her shoes and stockings, folded up her bedding and crawled out from under the wagon. The sight that met her eyes made her blink twice.
Lee Carver stood over a skillet of sizzling bacon, but it was Ruthie who was forking over the strips. Steam puffed out the spout of the coffeepot sitting on a flat rock next to the fire. Without a word, Carver sloshed a mug full and presented it to her.
“Thank you,” she managed. It was hot and strong and just what she needed as an antidote to her annoyance with the man. Well, it wasn’t annoyance, really, she admitted. It was fear, plain and simple. Not of him, necessarily, but...
She hadn’t wanted to leave Roseville, where there were streets and board sidewalks and shops. She’d been completely unprepared to find herself with three stepdaughters, two of whom resented her, and a husband who had not cared about her, not really. Mathias had offered marriage simply to gain a mother for his girls. She had not allowed herself time to think too carefully about his offer because she had no choice, really, considering her situation. She had not dared to tell her mother the truth; instead she had unthinkingly agreed to marry Mathias.
“Any