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“I’m perfectly capable of finding my way across the parade ground alone in broad daylight, Private,” she cut in hotly, “and you may tell your commander as much. Good day, gentlemen.”
“Whatcha reckon Quiller said to that poor little widder?” Malachi mused as she marched away. “She’s usually got a downright sunny disposition.”
“The ‘poor little widder’ seems to have a temper, too,” Jack said with a chuckle. She had fire behind that cool, proper and— the idea crept up on him—soft exterior. Frowning thoughtfully, he went into the colonel’s office.
“Botheration,” Rebecca mumbled under her breath when she heard a shout behind her. Turning reluctantly, she allowed the adjutant to overtake her. “Good day, Lieutenant.”
“Isn’t it warm to be playing chase, Rebecca?” he grumbled as he crossed the quadrangle toward her. “I’ve been calling since you left headquarters. Didn’t you hear me?”
Handsome and dashing, Francis Porter was everything an adjutant should be, from the toes of his polished boots to his lush, waxed cavalry moustache. But just now that moustache drooped in the heat and his aristocratic face was flushed from exertion.
“I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t listening.”
“I guess you weren’t thinking either, wandering around without an escort,” he sighed, shaking his head indulgently. “Whatever shall I do with you, Becky, except see you home?”
“It’s really not necessary.”
“It’s most necessary.” Taking her hand, he placed it in the crook of his arm. “Don’t you know I want to take care of you?”
“You’ve been very kind to me since Paul’s death, Francis,” she said quickly, hoping to escape the inevitable.
“I could be kinder,” he persisted as they walked to Officers’ Row. “I’ve only just learned of your bill at the trading post.”
She glanced at him sharply, unwilling to ask how he knew.
“Paul, God rest him,” he continued, “had extravagant taste. You shouldn’t have to bear the burden alone. Let me help you.”
He had no idea what he was asking, Rebecca thought, shaking her head firmly. “You are a good friend, but no, thank you.”
“A friend,” he muttered. “You know how I feel about you, Becky. I can hardly believe you think you must seek employment to stay at Fort Chamberlain.”
“You heard about my conversation with the colonel?”
“It sounded more like an argument from where I was, on the other side of the partition.”
They walked in silence, Rebecca’s spirits sinking with every step. No doubt the gossip was already spreading. Everyone at the fort would know about the scene by nightfall. And everyone would be just as disapproving as Francis.
When they reached her house, the young officer turned to her. “I know Paul has been dead a short time, Becky, and I beg your forgiveness if my haste seems indecent. But surely you’ve deduced my intentions by now.”
Imagining she could feel her neighbor’s nosy stare from behind lace curtains, Rebecca tried to stop him, but once the lieutenant had begun, the words poured from him in a rush.
“Marry me and stay in Kansas. I’m sure the Old Man will grant permission, even though your mourning period is not over. As he told you, he wants what’s best for you.”
“Oh, Francis…” She hesitated, framing a tactful refusal. “You are kind, but it is too soon for me to remarry. Thank you, though, for your gallant offer.”
“Will you promise, at least, to consider my suit, Becky?”
“I promise,” she agreed, unwilling to hurt his feelings. How could she explain, when he regarded her so hopefully, that she would not marry again except for love?
“Then I will ask no more for now.” With a possessive smile, he carried her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Good day, Rebecca.”
“Good day.” Reclaiming her hand, she fled to the relative privacy of her quarters.
Chapter Three (#ulink_26767625-5740-5e50-a2d1-eca1b4d00f19)
“Are you ready, Rebecca?” Flora Mackey sailed into the kitchen, her blond curls bouncing. “The Fourth of July only comes once a year and I don’t want to miss a thing.”
“I’m almost finished.” Rebecca smiled as her visitor helped herself to a cup of coffee.
“Wait till you see what we’ve got to eat,” Flora announced, eyeing a platter of apple dumplings warming on the back of the stove. “Brian shot a prairie chicken and I made bean salad and corn muffins. There’s plenty, in case Prissy Porter joins us.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call him that,” Rebecca responded to the familiar gibe. “His name is Francis.”
“And yours is Rebecca,” Flora answered absently, selecting a dumpling. “Why do you let him call you Becky? I know you hate it.”
“I don’t want to hurt his feelings.” The other woman sighed.
“You’re too kind for your own good. Look at you, bringing food for the picnic when I said you shouldn’t.”
“But I want to. I’m still drawing half rations.”
“In that case, I hope you’re bringing those pickles Brian likes.” Flora’s eyes widened when she turned to face her friend. “Deviled eggs!” she breathed. “Wherever did you get eggs?”
“One of the freighters brought them from town. I had more use for eggs than champagne, so I traded one of Paul’s bottles for a dozen.”
“I love deviled eggs. I love food,” the pretty blonde said around a mouthful of pastry. “Maybe that’s why my new dress is tight already. You’re going to stifle, you know, wearing that heavy black thing.”
“It’s unavoidable unless I stay at home,” Rebecca contended, “and that may not be such a bad idea. At least I wouldn’t have to face Colonel Quiller.”
“Oh, don’t take what he said to heart,” Flora advised airily. “I don’t think he’d really load you onto a wagon himself.”
“Does everyone at Fort Chamberlain know about our disagreement?” Rebecca asked in exasperation.
“When you’ve been in the army as long as I have, my girl, you’ll know there are no secrets on a military post, especially a small one in the middle of nowhere.”
“Then everyone knows I made him so angry that he told me I had no rights here?”
Flora shrugged. “Regulations say civilians have no rights at a fort. As soldiers’ wives, we’re ‘camp followers.’ He would banish all of us, if the army would let him. And small wonder. Did you see—”
“The gazebo?” Rebecca cut in mischievously. “As good as any back east.”
“I’d like to see Quiller try to evict Mrs. Major Little,” Flora giggled. “He thinks he has problems with the Cheyenne and the Sioux.”
Shaking her head, Rebecca chuckled. Flora always made her laugh, even now when she had little reason for joy.
When she had arrived at Fort Chamberlain, Mrs. Captain Flora Mackey had taken her under her wing. Born and bred in the army, she had guided the newcomer through the rigid customs of Officers’ Row. She had rounded up household items for the newlyweds and charmed the quartermaster into giving them a coal-burning stove in this place where wood was so scarce. And she had chattered gaily through all of it.
When Paul died, Flora had stayed by her side. Her friendship had helped the widow through difficult times. Just yesterday, when she had heard of Rebecca’s ranking out, she offered her hospitality. “I fear you must sleep in the parlor, but we’ll make the best of it,” she had said. “It’s only temporary, after all.”
“Mesdames,” the Mackeys’ striker yelled excitedly from the porch where he waited, “it is the bugle call for Guard Mount. You do not want to miss it, non.”
“Then bring the basket, Private St. Jean,” his mistress shouted back.
The striker paced while the women packed the picnic basket. Then, scooping it up, he charged out of the door with Flora on his heels.
“Hurry,” her voice drifted back to Rebecca, “and bring a sunshade. You’re going to need it.”
“Nary a breeze,” Malachi complained, “an’ hot enough to scorch the hide off a Gila monster. Reckon we could find a shady tree?”
“Stake your territory,” Injun Jack answered tersely. “You’ve only got two choices.”
“How ‘bout that big cottonwood by Suds Row? Mebbe a sociable laundress can jolly you out of your mood.”
“Don’t start, Mal,” the scout warned.
The mule skinner paid him no mind. “There ain’t nothin’ you can do, you know. If Quiller says you gotta let that arm heal, that’s what you gotta do.”
“I don’t need my arm to translate,” Jack retorted. “Big Bear is ready to talk peace.”
“I know you worked for this,” Mal granted, “but another scout can handle the parley. You bin on the trail too long, gettin’ by on bad food, no sleep and pure cussedness. You gotta rest.”
“Everybody wants to take care of me…you, Quiller, that Emerson woman. Can’t a man have any peace?”
Wisely, Mal kept silent as they skirted the crowd gathering at the flagstaff. Fort Chamberlain’s new flag drooped in the still air, thick with smoke from pits near the mess halls.
Positioning themselves well away from officers and social obligations, the men watched as wagonloads of visitors rolled in. Some of the arrivals were farm families from nearby homesteads. Most were railroad workers and those who profited from them.
“I should’ve gone to Wolf Robe’s camp,” Jack muttered.
“Mighta bin safer,” Malachi allowed. “There’s that newspaper feller agin, and I reckon he’s lookin’ for you.”
Swearing under his breath, Jack moved to put the tree between him and Derward Anderson. “I wish you’d never brought him here.”
“Ain’t my fault if he wants to make a legend of you.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” the scout asked sourly.
“No, sir,” Mal lied, a grin splitting his homely face. “I think it’s a shame the way that greenhorn follows you around. You can come out now. He’s gone.”
Jack showed himself cautiously. “I hear some reporter went all the way to Fort Hays to tag after poor Cody and write about him.”
Hooting with laughter, Mal cuffed the scout’s good shoulder. “That’s what Derward Anderson aims to do for you, Injun Jack.”
“Not if he intends to go back to New York City in one piece,” Jack growled, his blue eyes sweeping the crowd, alert for the tenacious newspaperman.
His glower faded when he saw Rebecca crossing the parched parade ground with a comely blonde and a private lugging a huge basket. Clad in black, the widow looked prim and proper, but for one jarring detail. She carried the most ridiculous little pink parasol ever made.
“What’re you grinnin’ at?” Craning his neck, Mal grinned, too, when he saw her. “Don’t she beat all creation?”
“She does indeed,” the scout murmured, watching her join the officers’ wives in an open tent near the flagstaff. Clustered in the shade, they observed their husbands with pride. Guard Mount, the only duty on this holiday, was proceeding with rousing music and great pomp. Jack scarcely noticed.
What was it about Rebecca Emerson? he brooded. She was pretty, but no great beauty. She was prissy and stiff, two traits that did not appeal to him. Why, then, was he intrigued by her? And why was he unsettled by faint, improbable fancies… the feel of her trim body molded against his and the taste of her lips?
The moment the companies were dismissed, Flora nudged her friend and whispered, “Look, that man is staring at us.”
Rebecca could not tell whether she was affronted or flattered. “What man?”
“The big, good-looking one under the cottonwood. Who is he?”
Rebecca stole an inconspicuous peep across the wide stretch of parade ground just as the man turned a broad, familiar back. “Injun Jack,” she muttered, an unwelcome blush staining her cheeks.
“Injun Jack?” Mrs. Little overheard. “Do you know him, Mrs. Captain Emerson?” she demanded.
“I… I just met him at the hospital.”
“What a terrible man,” she said with a shudder. “I hope you were not subjected to the same crude behavior as I.”
“No, ma’am.” Rebecca nearly sighed in relief when the woman turned to speak to someone else. If Mrs. Major Little did not know that Injun Jack had kissed her, then no one did.
“I don’t think he looks crude or terrible,” Flora murmured in Rebecca’s ear. “I think he looks exciting and rather handsome. Brian never mentioned that. Of course, he wasn’t concerned about looks at the railroad camp the other day. He was just glad Injun Jack was his scout. He said—”
“There are the two loveliest ladies at Fort Chamberlain,” Brian’s jovial voice interrupted their conversation.
“The loveliest in Kansas,” Francis amended, beaming.
“Do I hear a ‘loveliest on the frontier’?” Flora fluttered her eyelashes at her husband.
“You are shameless.” Laughing, Brian summoned the striker. “Leave the basket, Private, and go enjoy your first Independence Day in your new country.”
“Merci, mon capitaine.” The Frenchman saluted smartly.
“Doesn’t that fellow speak English?” Francis frowned as St. Jean hurried away.
“Not much and not well,” Flora answered, “but he performs miracles in the kitchen, even with rations.”
“And he pampers madame outrageously,” Brian added affectionately. “Shall we promenade before it gets any hotter?”
Taking the arm Francis offered, Rebecca could not resist a glance at Injun Jack. Clad in light buckskins, his gun belt riding low on slim hips, the scout faced in her direction. One broad shoulder was braced against the tree trunk as he talked to Malachi Middlefield. She could not tell if his eyes, shaded by the brim of his hat, rested on her. She did not know why it should matter.
As the couples strolled, children capered around them in the dry brown grass. They chatted, stopping here and there to visit with friends and greet new faces from town.
It was good to be out among people, Rebecca mused, even if she did look like a crow among songbirds in her widow’s weeds. Though the day was hot, it should be enjoyable if she could keep Francis at arm’s length. And if she could forget Injun Jack’s presence.
Despite her resolution, her gaze was drawn to the big scout. He was alone now, his arms crossed on his chest, his face unreadable. She nodded. He did not acknowledge her gesture though she knew this time he watched. Suddenly she wished she were somewhere else, doing something besides walking arm-inarm with Francis.
Sternly she reminded herself that Jack Bellamy was a rude, insulting rogue. He had kissed her and promptly forgotten it…which was exactly what she must do. Determined to get him out of her mind and keep him out, she was careful not to look his way again when they moved to watch the chess game under the tamarack.
Absorbed in planning his strategy, Doc hardly noticed them. The colonel nodded coolly, but said nothing. Rebecca was not sorry when her friends were ready to go on to the sergeants’ hotly contested horseshoe tournament.
