Lynna Banning - Baby On The Oregon Trail

New Year, new family!

Heading West, pregnant widow Jenna Borland’s life surely can’t get any more complicated—until fate throws Lee Carver across her path. She resents his help, but she needs him to drive her wagon over the Great Plains.

Lee can’t fathom why this prickly woman gets under his skin. But as the journey brings these two outsiders together, he wonders if Jenna and her baby could be just what he needs to begin a new life with a brand-new family!

Lee pulled her close, holding her as if she were made of flower petals.

Jenna didn’t want this dance to end. She wanted to keep her eyes closed and keep moving in Lee’s arms.

But of course it had to end. She was acting like a silly addlepated girl, and she would never be that young again. She was wiser now. She knew better than to let herself become involved with a man. It never turned out the way you thought it would.

The musicians began to pack up their instruments and the crowd thinned and then began to disperse.

Lee kept her hand in his and they started back to the wagons. They had not spoken to each other all evening—had not needed to. But there were things that had to be said out loud, and it was going to be tonight.

Author Note

My great-grandparents came to Oregon in a covered wagon along the Oregon Trail from Independence, Missouri, to Oregon City and the Willamette Valley. Great-grandfather Edgar Boessen was an immigrant from Germany; Great-grandmother Maia Bruhn came from Denmark. Their descendants now number in the thousands.

There is an old, very romantic family story about how Edgar and Maia met and fell in love; I’m sure it’s probably little different from hundreds of other treasured family tales. I hope you will find Jenna’s story, told here, is one that touches your heart.

Typical of those intrepid travellers who came west on the Oregon Trail is the following diary entry:

Friday, October 27. Arrived at Oregon City at the falls of the Willamette.

Saturday, October 28. Went to work.

—James W. Nesmith, 1843

Baby on the Oregon Trail

Lynna Banning

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LYNNA BANNINGcombines her lifelong love of history and literature in a satisfying career as a writer. Born in Oregon, she graduated from Scripps College and embarked on a career as an editor and technical writer, and later as a high school English teacher. She enjoys hearing from her readers. You may write to her directly at PO Box 324, Felton, CA 95018, USA, email her at carowoolston@att.netor visit Lynna’s website at lynnabanning.net.

Books by Lynna Banning

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‘Hark the Harried Angels’

The Scout

High Country Hero

Smoke River Bride

Templar Knight, Forbidden Bride

The Lone Sheriff

Wild West Christmas

‘Christmas in Smoke River’

Dreaming of a Western Christmas

‘His Christmas Belle’

Smoke River Family

Western Spring Weddings

‘The City Girl and the Rancher’

Printer in Petticoats

Her Sheriff Bodyguard

Baby on the Oregon Trail

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To those from the many countries that make up America who have had the courage to forge new paths and start new lives.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Oregon Trail, 1867

“Miz Borland?”

Jenna smoothed the threadbare apron over her swelling belly and turned to see Sam Lincoln, the wagon train leader. The big man removed his stained leather hat and stood uncertainly beside the wagon.

“Hello, Sam. Would you join us for supper?”

“No, thanks. I—” His sunburned face looked strained, and suddenly Jenna’s breath jerked inward.

“Sam? What is it?”

He turned the hat brim around and around in his hands. “Don’t rightly know how to say it.”

Oh, God. Something had happened. “Is it about one of the girls? Ruthie?”

The leader took a step closer. “Not the girls, no.”

“Mathias?” she whispered.

“’Fraid so. He’s...well, he’s been shot.”

“Shot!” Jenna closed her eyes. Surely she was dreaming.

Sam stepped forward and laid both his weathered hands on her forearms. “He’s dead, Jenna.”

She felt suddenly cold, as if all the blood in her body was draining away. “What?”

“He was caught stealing a horse. The owner killed him.”

She pulled away from Sam’s steadying grip and abruptly sat down on the bare ground. Dead? It wasn’t possible. And stealing a horse? It made no sense.

“Where is he?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

“In our wagon. My Emma’s, uh, laying him out. I expect you’ll want to see him.”

“Not yet. I have to tell the... His daughters.”

“Ruthie’s over visiting with the Langley girl,” Sam volunteered. “The two older ones are down wading in the creek.”

She nodded. Dead. Mathias was dead. Dear God, what would they do now?

“I’ll tell ’em about their pa if you want, Jenna.”

Jenna fought waves of blackness at the edge of her vision. “No. I’ll tell them, Sam. Just...just give me a minute.”

Ten minutes passed before she could stand and make her way to the Lincolns’ camp. She hesitated before the large canvas-covered wagon and clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached. She couldn’t look at him. Then she resolutely mounted the step, drew back the curtain and stepped inside.

Round-faced Emma Lincoln rose and without a word laid her freckled hand on Jenna’s arm. The older woman tipped her head to indicate the still form stretched out on the bedroll, and Jenna forced herself to look.

She hadn’t remembered Mathias being so tall. Or so pale. In death his features had relaxed from the perpetual scowl he had worn; now he looked almost peaceful. She scanned his body for signs of blood but saw no stains. At her questioning look, Emma took her hand.