Chapter Two
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
