Baby On The Oregon Trail. Lynna Banning

up to Lee.

      “When are you gonna show us about your horse?”

      “After breakfast.”

      “Can I ride him?”

      “Not until I say so.”

      Mary Grace propped her hands on her hips. “You are just plain mean!”

      “I am sensible,” he replied without looking up from the skillet. “People who don’t know what they’re doing around a horse get themselves killed trying to ride before they’re ready.”

      “You sure are hard to please,” she snapped.

      “Maybe.”

      Tess finally descended from the wagon and sent him a black look. Jenna laid out the leftover biscuits on the warm fire-pit rocks, and after a few minutes they gathered to devour them, along with the crisp bacon. Then, while she heated water to wash the tin plates, Lee marched the girls over to his horse and she could hear his low, patient voice giving instructions.

      All at once he appeared at her side. “Now you.”

      “Now me, what?”

      “Horse lesson.”

      Her heart somersaulted into her stomach. “No.”

      “Yes. Jenna, you have to know how to behave around a horse.”

      “Not this horse.”

      “Any horse. How is it you grew up without knowing anything about horses?”

      “I grew up in a town back in Ohio. I walked to school and the mercantile and the dressmaker and my music lessons. I had no need of a horse.”

      “Well, you do now. This isn’t Ohio. Come on.”

      Tess and Mary Grace drifted near and stood watching, waiting to see what she would do. No doubt they relished her discomfort, and the thought made her grit her teeth.

      Carver turned his head toward them. “Mary Grace, would you finish washing up the plates? Maybe Tess could help you.”

      To Jenna’s astonishment, both girls advanced toward the bucket of warm soapy water, and Lee muscled her over to confront the stallion.

      Lord, the animal was huge! It looked at her with a giant black eye that clearly held a message: I hate you. She flinched away.

      Lee caught her arm and pulled her back within touching distance, but Jenna put both hands behind her back. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

      “Can’t what? I haven’t asked you to do anything yet.”

      “If it’s about this horse, I can’t do it.”

      He looked sideways at her. “Jenna, you can do this. You’re not a coward. You have plenty of backbone.”

      “I don’t care about backbone.”

      He gave her arm a little shake. “Are you going to give Tess and Mary Grace more ammunition just because you’re afraid of this horse?”

      “Yes, I guess I am.” She thought that prospect over for a moment. Her relationship with Tess and Mary Grace was bad enough already; she would die before she gave them something else to dislike about her.

      “No,” she blurted out. “I am not!”

      “Good girl. We’ll take it slow.”

      She drew in a careful breath. “I am not a girl, Mr. Carver.”

      “That, Mrs. Borland, is obvious. Now stand here and just talk to the horse. Keep your voice low.”

      Jenna stared into the big black eye and opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

      “Jenna?”

      She tried again. “H-hello, horse.”

      “Devil,” he prompted. “His name is Devil.”

      “That’s ridiculous. Surely he doesn’t recognize his name?”

      “Try it.”

      She stiffened her back and looked straight at the animal. “Um... Hello, Devil. What a d-dreadful name you have. It’s enough to scare anyone who has any sense at all.”

      Carver laughed. “Good,” he said. “Keep going. Tell him who you are.”

      Jenna shut her eyes. If she lived through the next ten minutes she would put hot pepper in Lee Carver’s coffee the first chance she got. She peered again at the big black horse.

      “My name is Jenna West—Jenna Borland.”

      Carver sent her a puzzled glance. Behind him she saw Tess and Mary Grace watching her with avid interest. She squared her shoulders.

      “You’re doing fine, Jenna. You want to pet his nose?”

      “No,” she said quickly. “I do not.”

      He ignored her, took her hand in his and lifted it to the stallion’s shiny nose. She tried to jerk away, but he held her fingers firmly under his. His hand, warm and insistent, pressed hers into the animal’s smooth skin.

      “Let go of me,” she whispered.

      “No. Just relax. He won’t bite you.” He kept her hand pinned under his.

      “Please, Mr. Carver.”

      “My name is Lee.”

      “Lee, please. I am truly afraid. Surely he, I mean Devil, senses that?”

      “He won’t hurt you if you don’t startle him, or yell at him, or hurt him. He’s just like a human being. If you mistreat a man, he will strike out.”

      “Is—is that a warning?”

      “About the horse? Yes. About me? No.”

      “I don’t believe you.”

      He grinned suddenly. “I know you don’t.”

      She could not think of one single thing to say. She just stood there with her hand captured under his and her heart fluttering like a frightened bird.

      And then he bent toward her and whispered in her ear.

       Chapter Six

      Jenna jerked away from Lee so fast he thought something had bitten her. “What? How dare you say something like that to me!”

      The truth was he didn’t know how he dared. First off, she was carrying another man’s child. And second, after his wife died he’d sworn never again to think twice about any woman. But Jenna wasn’t just “any woman.” All he knew was that even after a day under the broiling sun and a night sleeping in all her clothes without even a spit bath, Jenna Borland smelled good, like something flowery.

      So he told her so.

      “You,” she said, her blue-green eyes accusing, “smell like a horse. A smoky, bacon-y horse. A...sweaty horse.”

      He laughed aloud. “That’s because I’ve been working around the oxen and frying bacon over a campfire and haven’t taken a bath in a while.”

      “I must pack up the breakfast things,” she said quickly.

      “Get Tess and Mary Grace to pack up. I want you to watch how I yoke up the oxen.”

      She knew better than to argue, because she walked with him into the center area where the animals were grazing and watched in silence while he drove Sue and Sunflower to the wagon and wrestled the harnesses and the wooden yoke into position.

      “Slide the hoop under the yoke, like this,” he instructed as he worked. “Then attach it to the tongue, here. Next, put a lead rope through the nose ring, see? Be sure not to tangle those lines there.”