Читать книгу Baby On The Oregon Trail - Lynna Banning, Lynna Banning - Страница 13
ОглавлениеLee 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 biscuits left over from supper?” he asked.
“In the wagon. Ruthie can get them.”
Tess yanked open the canvas bonnet, took one look at Mr. Carver and disappeared back inside with a sniff. But Mary Grace climbed out and marched 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.
