Marrying the Major. Victoria Bylin

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.

      His friend shot him a concerned glance. “You’re looking rather dour, yourself. Are you feeling ill?”

      “I’m fine.”

      “You’re always fine,” Jon said, mocking him. “If you’re not up to ferrying a frightened woman, I’m sure the Bradleys would do well on Grandma.”

      Common sense told Tristan to agree. Male pride made him frown at Jon. “If the day comes that I can’t handle a horse, I’ll be ready for the grave.”

      “I didn’t mean the horse,” Jon said rather cheekily. “I meant the woman.”

      Tristan glared at him.

      “You seem to be getting along quite well,” Jon said too casually. “She’s quite pretty, though of course you didn’t notice.”

      Of course Tristan had noticed, but a man in poor health had no business courting a woman’s affections. He was about to suggest Jon take Caroline on Grandma when the women approached from the bushes. Caroline had fashioned her hair into a braid and looped it around her head in a crown of sorts. The sun glinted off the dampness, giving it a sparkle. She’d put on an old calico, a gown he guessed to be comfortable and a favorite. She looked none the worse for wear. In fact, she looked lovely with flushed cheeks and a determined lift of her chin.

      When the women reached the horses, she addressed him directly. “We’re ready, Major.”

      “Yes, I see.”

      She turned to Grandma, where Jon was waiting to help Bessie into the saddle. His friend lifted a brow at Tristan, questioning him about the riding arrangements.

      Tristan cleared his throat. “You’ll be riding with me.”

      She faced him, her mouth slightly agape. “I don’t think—”

      “I do. We all know the adage about getting back up on a horse.”

      “And I will,” she replied. “I’ll ride Grandma with my sister.”

      Tristan put his hands behind his back, a pose he assumed to intimidate new privates. “May I be blunt?”

      “Of course.”

      “Not only do I think it’s wise for you to overcome your fear, I’m afraid I have a point to prove … to Cairo.”

      She wrinkled her brow. “Your horse’s behavior isn’t my concern. My safety is.”

      “Which leads to my second point.” His tone stayed firm. “I’d like a chance to prove that Cairo isn’t as dangerous as you’ve assumed. It’s rather important, really. If you’re to be living on a ranch, you need to be comfortable around animals.”

      “I don’t mind animals,” she replied. “But your horse—”

      “He reacted to a fright,” Tristan answered. “Surely you can understand. He’d like a chance to redeem himself.” Tristan didn’t want to admit it, but he had the same need. He glanced at Jon for help and saw a bemused look on his friend’s face and then a twinkle in his eyes. Looking roguish, Jon addressed Caroline. “I can attest to the major’s abilities as a horseman.”

      She glanced at her sister. Bessie gave a little shrug. “It’s up to you.”

      Pale, Caroline turned back to him. “I don’t think—”

      “I do,” he said gently. “The river is tricky for a horse. The road to town isn’t.”

      She looked at him for several seconds. What she was gauging, he didn’t know. Was it his ability, or her own courage? In the end, she walked in his direction. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll go with you on Cairo.”

      “Very good.” Why he was so pleased, Tristan couldn’t say. Neither did he know why he shot Jon a triumphant look, the kind they’d shared before he’d settled down with Molly, when they’d been young lieutenants and full of themselves.

      As Caroline approached Cairo, Jon helped Bessie climb on Grandma, then mounted the packhorse. Tristan mounted Cairo, took his boot out of the stirrup and held out his hand. Without a rock to stand on, she had to leap and stretch, which is just what she did. She held his waist like before, but without the cinchlike grip. In silence he turned Cairo and headed down the road at a walk.

       Clop. Clop. Clop.

      She sighed.

       Clop. Clop. Clop.

      Tristan looked over his shoulder. “How are you doing?”

      “Fine.”

      She sighed again. He said nothing. After a mile, she spoke over his shoulder. “Major Smith?”

      “Yes?”

      “How long will it take us to get to Wheeler Springs?”

      “At this pace, about three days.” When she laughed, he thought of lively piano music and the celebrations after battle. It felt good to know he’d restored her humor. Encouraged, he spoke over his shoulder. “Do you think you can handle going a little faster?”

      She hesitated. “I suppose so. I’m eager to get to town.”

      “So am I,” he replied. “I’m going to give Cairo a nudge. If you feel at all uncomfortable, just say so.”

      “Set the pace, Major.”

      When he urged Cairo into a slow jog, Caroline tightened her grip on his waist to keep from bouncing. He was tempted to ask if she wanted to go faster, but if she agreed then he knew she’d hold on tighter. He needed to keep her at arm’s