Marrying the Major. Victoria Bylin

his friend a run for his money for the woman’s attention … and he’d have won.

      Caroline liked Jon, but Major Smith struck her as a pompous, arrogant, pigheaded fool. If he hadn’t been so rude, she’d have told him about the quinine the instant she recognized him. She didn’t expect her new employer to be overly friendly, but she’d hoped for common courtesy. She didn’t like Major Smith at all.

      Watching as he escorted Bessie up the hill, she saw the slowness of his movements and turned to Jon. “How long has Major Smith had malaria?”

      “Four months.” Jon stopped gathering blankets and looked up the hill. “He won’t tell you anything, but you should know what he’s been through. If you have questions, you should bring them to me. I know him as well as anyone. We served together in the West India Regiment. He’s been to Africa, India, all over the world.”

      “And England,” she added.

      “Yes, but not for a long time.” Jon’s expression hardened. “That one is his story to tell. What you need to know is that he lost his wife a year ago. Molly was a peach. We all loved her.”

      “Was it malaria?”

      “Yes. It struck hard and fast. She died within a week. Tristan wanted to leave the West Indies for the sake of the children, but his transfer request wasn’t approved. He had no choice but to stay until he caught the disease himself.”

      Caroline ached for the entire family. “The children must be terribly frightened.”

      “They are,” Jon replied. “Dora cries at the drop of a hat. It’ll break your heart. Freddie doesn’t show his feelings, but they’re deep. He’s like his father in that way.”

      Caroline glanced at the arrogant man struggling to climb a hill. “How sick is he?”

      He hesitated. “I’ve seen Tristan at his best and at his worst. He’s a fighter. If anyone can beat the malaria, he can.”

      He hadn’t answered her question. “Is today his best or his worst?”

      “It’s typical.”

      Later Caroline would ask Bessie about the course of the disease. “How did he come to be in Wyoming?”

      “It’s as far from swamps and England as he could get.”

      Caroline understood his aversion to swamps. His dislike of England baffled her, but she knew Jon wouldn’t explain. She followed his gaze to the top of the ravine where the major had just crested the ridge. Caroline didn’t know why God hadn’t answered her prayers for a family of her own, but she saw a need here. Major Smith didn’t like her, but his children needed someone who wouldn’t leave them.

      She wondered if he’d made arrangements for a guardian in case he succumbed to malaria. She couldn’t bear the thought of growing to love these children and losing them to a distant aunt or uncle. She turned to ask Jon more questions, but he’d finished gathering their things and had tied them in a blanket. “Do you have the quinine?”

      She indicated the bundled nightgown. “I’ll carry it.”

      With the pack of clothing slung over his shoulder, he offered his elbow. “Shall we join them?”

      “Yes, thank you.”

      Holding the quinine in one hand, she took his arm with the other. When the path narrowed, they broke apart and she climbed alone. It seemed a fitting way to end the ordeal in the canyon. Soon she’d be in Wheeler Springs. She’d be able to take a bath and sleep in a bed. She’d meet Major Smith’s children, and she’d have people who needed her. Feeling hopeful, she stepped from the ravine to level ground and saw Bessie and Major Smith at her trunk. In addition to clothing and a few personal treasures, it held her sister’s medical bag. Bessie needed it to give the major a dose of quinine.

      “I’ll get it,” Caroline called.

      She didn’t want Major Smith looking at her things. It struck her as too personal, plus she’d hidden the one photograph she had of her husband. Their marriage had been secret, and she had always used her maiden name. Charles had been a black man and a crusader, a gentle giant and a man of great faith. He’d died at the hands of a mob because he believed in educating all children regardless of color—and because he trusted people too easily.

      Caroline had no idea what Major Smith would think of her choices, and she didn’t care. She would always admire Charles and had no regrets, but it hurt to be an outcast. She didn’t want to fight that battle again, so she hurried to the trunk before the major could look inside. She handed Bessie the quinine bottles, lifted the medical bag and unbuckled it. Jon walked up to them with a canteen in one hand and a tin cup in the other. Major Smith took the cup and looked at Bessie. “The quinine, please.”

      Bessie opened a bottle and poured a dose of crystals into the cup. “Quinine is most effective when mixed with alcohol. I have some in my bag.”

      Caroline opened a tightly corked flask and handed it to the major. He poured a swallow in the cup, returned the bottle to her, then swished the liquid to absorb the crystals. He downed it in one swallow and turned to Bessie. “You’re experienced with malaria.”

      “I’m afraid so,” she answered. “I nursed hundreds of soldiers during the war.”

      Caroline put away the bottle, set the medical bag in the trunk and glanced around for a wagon to take them to Wheeler Springs. Instead of a wagon, she saw four horses. Two were saddled. Two carried supplies.

      “I don’t see a wagon,” she said.

      “There isn’t one,” the major replied. “The bridge over the gorge is out. We’ll use one of the packhorses for your things. Jon can ride the other one, and you and your sister can share the gray.”

      A shiver started at the nape of Caroline’s neck and went to her fingertips. Horses terrified her. She and Bessie had grown up in Charleston where their father had been a doctor. They’d been city girls. What little riding she’d done as a child had been slow and ladylike. She hadn’t enjoyed it, but she hadn’t become terrified of horses until the night she’d seen her husband lynched. As long as she lived, she’d never forget the sudden bolt of a horse she’d believed to be gentle.

      No way could she ride to Wheeler Springs. She had neither the skill nor the confidence to sit on a horse. Neither did she have the courage. How she’d make that clear to Major Smith, she didn’t know, especially when he was looking at her as if he’d just had the best idea of his life. What that idea was, she didn’t know. She only knew this man was accustomed to giving orders, and he expected them to be followed.

       Chapter Three

      Tristan saw a chance to bring Jon and Caroline together and took it. “On second thought, perhaps you’d prefer to ride with Jon? I’ll take your sister, and we’ll use both packhorses to transport your belongings.”

      The eldest Miss Bradley nodded in agreement. “That’s a fine idea, major. Our possessions are modest. Perhaps we can bring everything with us.”

      Caroline didn’t seem to concur. She was gaping at him with wide-eyed horror. Surely she wasn’t so modest she couldn’t see the practicality of his suggestion? Tristan frowned. “Is there a problem?”

      “Well … yes.”

      He waited five seconds for her to explain. Considering he didn’t wait for anyone except Dora, five seconds was a considerable compromise. When the new governess failed to find her tongue, he lowered his chin. “Spit it out.”

      The elder Miss Bradley gave him a critical look. “My sister is afraid of horses.”

      “Afraid of horses!” Tristan couldn’t help but sputter. “I own a cattle ranch. How does she expect to travel?”

      Caroline glared at him. “You hired me to care for your children, not round up cows. I expect to walk or ride in