Marrying the Major

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 length the way an officer lived apart from enlisted men. That’s how he’d think of Caroline Bradley … as a private in his personal army. Or maybe a sergeant because she’d be raising his children. With that thought in mind, Tristan rode with the pretty governess in resolute silence.

Chapter Five

Caroline couldn’t fault the major’s logic about having her ride with him on Cairo, but she felt like a sack of potatoes, one in danger of sliding to the ground and splitting open. With her arms belted around his waist, she heard every beat of Cairo’s hooves. She distracted herself with questions about the man before her. Why had he come to America instead of returning to England? What had his wife been like? And the malaria … How did he cope with the fevers? And what provisions had he made for his children?

Unable to stand the silence, she decided the children were a safe subject and surrendered to curiosity. “Major Smith?”

“Yes?”

“I’d like to hear about Freddie and Dora.”

He hesitated. “You already know their names and ages.”

“Yes, but I’d like to know about them. What do they like to do?”

“They’re children, Miss Bradley. They entertain themselves.”

Miss Bradley made it clear his earlier kindness was to be forgotten. It annoyed her but not nearly as much as his refusal to talk about his children. He seemed cold again, even austere. Having lost their mother, Freddie and Dora needed their father’s attention, and if his current behavior was any indication, he seemed unwilling to give it. If she’d been blessed with children, she’d have cherished every smile, every new adventure.

She rode with the major in silence, staring straight ahead until they reached the livery stable marking the beginning of Wheeler Springs. A row of buildings included a barber and bathhouse, a dress shop and a mercantile with its doors propped open. The shopkeeper stepped outside with a broom. Seeing their arrival, he waved a greeting.

Major Smith answered with a nod, a gesture that reminded Caroline of a returning soldier in a parade.

Across the street she saw a café with yellow curtains, and she thought of the wonderful food at the café run by Mary Larue, now Mary Quinn. At her wedding, Mary had placed her bouquet firmly in Caroline’s arms, a gesture Caroline knew to be futile. For whatever reason, God had said no to her prayers for a family of her own. Instead He’d brought her to Wheeler Springs to love the Smith children, a cause she intended to embrace.

Halfway through town, the major turned Cairo down a road that led to a three-story house with paned glass windows, a wide porch and a cupola. Square and painted white with green trim, it reminded her of the houses in Charleston.

“Where are we?” she asked the major.

“My town house. We’ll leave for The Barracks in the morning.”

Once broken, the silence between them felt sharper than ever. Where was the man who’d helped her out of the river? The one who gave peppermint to his horse? The closer they rode to the house, the more rigid the major became until she felt as if she were holding on to a lamppost. They were still several paces away when the front door burst open and a little girl came charging across the porch. Dark hair framed her face and accented her rosy cheeks.

“Daddy!” she cried.

The major heaved an impatient sigh. “I gave orders for the children to stay at The Barracks.”

The thought of children being ordered to stay away from their father struck her as heinous. Why would he do such a thing? She wanted to take him to task, but she was in no position to initiate such a conversation … at least not yet. She settled for a calm observation. “Dora is lovely.”

He said nothing.

“You must be very proud of her.”