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“I don’t mind jealousy,” he went on as if he had not heard her. “It’s indifference that pains me.”
“You’re about to feel some real pain,” she warned ominously.
He yelped when she applied the alcohol to his arm. Kneeling beside him again, she placed a pad on the wound to cushion the bandage. Her fingertips felt soft and cool against his skin as she wound a length of gauze around his arm, tying it expertly. But she never met his eyes.
“I don’t know what to make of you, Rebecca Emerson,” he murmured, reaching out to cup her chin in his big hand.
“Nor I, of you.” She looked at him at last.
“Then we’re starting even,” he whispered, tracing the line of her lips with his thumb before he bent to kiss her.
Tenderly, his mouth moved over hers, the tip of his tongue exploring the crease between her lips, teasing them to open. When they parted under the merest pressure, he entered, reveling in the warmth and the sweetness of her response.
Rebecca was transfixed by sensation, every aspect of the moment stamped in her mind: the hard floor beneath her; the music carried on the breeze; the moth that batted itself against the lamp chimney; but most of all, Jack’s kiss, setting her afire, with feelings she had never felt before.
Pulling away, she stared up at him with a troubled expression. “I don’t think you should have done that.”
“I know I shouldn’t have,” he answered soberly. Rising, he put on his shirt. What possessed him? He hadn’t intended to kiss her again.
What had she done? Rebecca asked herself, watching him fasten his gun belt. Mama had always said, “If you conduct yourself as a lady, others will treat you as one.” If she were truly a proper lady, she would be outraged by his kiss. If she were truly proper, she would not have kissed him back. If she were proper, she would order him to leave.
Squatting beside her, the man seemed to search for the right words. When he spoke, his apology came as a surprise to both of them. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to go?”
Biting her bottom lip, Rebecca wavered. She knew what she should do, but she blurted, “No, don’t go! I mean…if you promise not to kiss me again, Mr. Bellamy, we’ll say no more about it.”
“I’ll behave myself for the rest of the evening, I promise.” As if to demonstrate his good intentions, he stood and extended a hand to her. “Shall we move back to the front porch?”
Rebecca led the way. Halting on the top step, she stared up at the star-studded sky. “Isn’t it glorious?”
“Even more beautiful than the fireworks will be.” Jack stood close behind her.
Sitting down on the step, she increased the distance between them. “Colonel Quiller is so concerned about fire,” she remarked, “it seems odd he would allow fireworks tonight.”
“Quiller knows what he’s doing.” The man moved down to stand in front of her. “By having one big display, there won’t be so many small ones, so there’s less risk of fire. He also ordered a special fire detail to stand by. I wouldn’t worry, though.” Lifting his head, he sniffed the wind. “I smell rain.”
“I don’t see any thunderheads.” Rebecca smiled when a small gray form materialized out of the darkness and trotted toward them. “I do see my cat, however. At least I think he’s my cat. Messmate only shows up around suppertime.”
“The name fits,” Jack chuckled. “He ate quite well at the barbecue.” His amusement faded when Messmate wound around his ankles. Never overly fond of cats, he sought a graceful escape.
“Listen.” He cocked an ear toward the unseen orchestra. “Strauss. It seems a pity to waste it. Do you waltz?”
“I…I shouldn’t. Thank you,” Rebecca answered after a long silence. She loved to dance, but she did not dare… not only because of what others might say if they saw them, but because she did not know what would happen if he took her in his arms.
Out on the parade ground, dark forms milled around the flagstaff, catching the couple’s attention. Suddenly a skyrocket shot upward and exploded overhead, a splendid, multicolored flare against the velvety black sky. Stepping down beside Jack, Rebecca gazed up at the sight.
He stirred restively as the faint fragrance of roses from her hair wafted to him on the rising breeze. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay with her, alone in the moonlight, without kissing her again. “Why don’t we join the party?” he suggested. “It’s dark. No one will even know we’re there.”
“All right,” she agreed, grateful for a distraction from his nearness.
At the back of the crowd, George Davis glanced toward the new arrivals. His brows lifted in surprise, he greeted them quietly, “Mrs. Emerson, Injun Jack, what a surprise.”
Standing beside the lieutenant, Rebecca spied Flora, seated with the other officers’ wives. Brian hovered behind her, bending frequently to comment in her ear. Colonel Quiller paced at the flagstaff with one eye on the sergeant who lit the fireworks, the other alert for fire in the dry grass. Francis stood nearby, his upturned face illuminated by the pyrotechnics.
“Oooh!” A cry rose from the audience when a brilliant rocket burst overhead. Caught by a sudden gust of wind, the fiery array broke apart, sending ash and cinders to earth in a dozen different places. In an instant, five grass fires had ignited on the ground.
As Jack and George raced to stamp out the fires near them, the crowd scattered in all directions and the bucket brigade sprang to action. Out on the quadrangle, a boy who had lolled in the grass watching the display tossed his quilt to Jack.
Bunching it in his hand, the man beat at the fire, rapidly containing the flames. But, while Rebecca watched, the blaze leapt over itself and set another small patch afire. Hauling her skirt up around her knees, she ran to stamp it out before it spread.
“What are you doing?” Jack roared, suddenly beside her.
“Trying to help.”
“Get back.” He shoved her behind him, but she would not stay. They worked side by side until the blaze was extinguished.
When they turned from the blackened patch, he uttered a strangled curse and lunged at her. Her hoops broke with a splintering crack as he carried her to the ground.
Facedown in the dirt beneath his big body, she gasped for breath. To her horror, she felt him rise to his knees above her and slap at the back of her dress.
“Are you all right?” Rolling her onto her back, he yanked her into a sitting position. “Are you all right? Speak, woman!”
“I think so,” she managed.
“Didn’t I tell you to get away?” His sooty face scowled down at her. “Why didn’t you wait for the fire brigade?”
“Why didn’t you?” She returned his glare. “You probably made your arm bleed again.”
“You let me worry about that,” he snapped.
“Becky, what are you doing here?” Francis frowned down at them.
“I was watching fireworks,” Rebecca replied with as much dignity as she could muster.
“Before she set herself on fire,” Jack griped as he stood up. He turned to offer a hand, but the lieutenant had dropped to one knee beside the woman.
“Are you hurt, my dear?” he was asking solicitously.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. Getting to her feet, she strained to see her damaged skirt over her shoulder. It had taken on an odd shape from the broken hoops beneath it. Even worse, a wide portion of fabric was missing from hem to waist. “Oh, my dress is ruined!”
“Damn your dress,” Jack snarled.
“Is he bothering you?” Francis glared at the scout.
“She’s bothering me,” Jack fumed, disturbed by unaccustomed fear. “This stubborn female scared me out of ten years of my life.”
“That’s enough.” The adjutant swung his short circular cape over her shoulders. “I’ll take you home, Becky.”
“I brought her. I’ll take her home,” Jack contended.
“Neither of you need to bother, thank you. And thank you for your cape, Francis, but it doesn’t hide the hole.” Removing the wrap, she returned it.
“You can’t walk home unescorted,” the officer objected.
“I won’t have to. Lieutenant,” she called to George Davis, “will you be so kind as to take me home?”
“I’d be honored, Mrs. Emerson.” As the band played “Good Night, Ladies,” he offered his arm gallantly.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Rebecca called over her shoulder.
Francis stalked away, muttering under his breath. Jack remained, watching her crinoline flash white in the moonlight with every step. It was just as well Davis was walking her home, he thought, suddenly weary. He didn’t need to bid her goodnight on her dark doorstep. He had already come close to forgetting his promise.
Chapter Five (#ulink_cc0e4024-b385-5bad-ab85-122c7c2fb3b5)
The air was fresh and rain-washed when Jack rode back to Fort Chamberlain. Though his arm ached, he felt better than he had for days. His body was healing and his mind was clear after watching the sun rise.
Fatigue call was sounding as he guided Ol’ Jo through the main gate. The fort was already returning to normal. At the flagstaff, the adjutant received officers’ reports. A work party stripped the blockhouse of its drooping paper lanterns. Only soggy black patches in the grass served as reminders of the night’s misadventure.
Jack was surprised to see the patrol assembling on the other side of the parade ground. Clad in campaign clothing and equipped for several days, they ranged along the road in front of the headquarters building. He rode to join Diego at the head of the column. “Qué pasa? I thought you weren’t leaving till afternoon.”
“First we patrol between the fort and the railhead, then we go,” the Mexican replied with a shrug. “El coronel gave the order after a messenger arrived. He wishes it to be safe for a visit by some dignatarios from the railroad this afternoon. Solemn will show these tenderfoots some buffalo.” Gold flashed as he grinned. “You, I think, will have the honor to dine with them tonight.”
“Damn.” Jack wished he were going. He would be more useful on patrol than at the fort, coddling eastern visitors. Quiller’s decision to make the army’s presence known on the plains was as calculated as a chess move, but it was fraught with risk. A show of power might deter the Sioux from more bloodshed, but it could incite some of the volatile young braves. He was just glad Mackey was in command. The captain had a cool head.
Resting his hand on the stock of the Spencer rifle in his saddle scabbard, Jack looked around. A dozen people clustered on the headquarters steps, bidding their farewells. Rebecca stood a little apart, trying to give the Mackeys some privacy. Though she looked as if she wished she could disappear, she did not seem much the worse for last night’s experience. In fact, she was lovely.
“Don’t start,” the scout muttered under his breath. He had given himself a stern lecture during his morning ride. Curiosity, a weakness of his, had led to what happened last night. He had forgotten the kiss at the hospital, so he had kissed her again. He had wanted to see if she would kiss him back. She had. Now his curiosity had been satisfied. No more moments of weakness, he ordered himself, trying to ignore Diego’s amused gaze.
Unaware of his observation, Rebecca brooded. She should never have come to see the patrol off. She wouldn’t have, if she hadn’t thought Flora might need her. She was uncomfortably aware of Francis’s reproachful stare. She had done nothing wrong by going to the fireworks display, she told herself, but she had hurt his feelings when she made her brief appearance with Injun Jack.
Even more than the adjutant, she dreaded facing the scout. Last night had been folly from the kiss in the kitchen to the ruin of her dress. And she hadn’t even thanked him properly for putting out the fire.
“Good morning, Mrs. Emerson,” a polite voice interrupted her troubled thoughts.
“Good morning.” Glad for the distraction, Rebecca joined George Davis at the foot of the steps. “How are you this morning?”
“Ready to be underway, but I’m glad of an opportunity to speak to you, ma’am… privately.”
“What is it, Lieutenant?” she asked with a puzzled frown.
He hesitated, then said stiffly, “First of all, Mrs. Emerson, you must know that Company B is quite fond of you.”
“You’ve all been very kind.”
“Then I hope you’ll understand,” the young officer went on miserably, “if I caution you not to spend time with Injun Jack.”
“What?” Rebecca stared at him, unable to believe her ears.
“I know he kept you from serious injury when your dress was burning and we all appreciate it. But a lady of your quality…”
“I think I understand,” she murmured when he faltered. Though part of her rebelled at having to defend her actions, she could not summon up any real outrage. George was obviously ill at ease with what he considered his duty toward his captain’s lady.
“I assure you, Lieutenant, Mr. Bellamy’s actions last night were no more than kindness to a widow,” she lied. “I probably will not see him again.” That was the truth. Once she had thanked him, she intended to avoid him completely.
“I hope I haven’t offended you,” George muttered woefully, “but I am concerned for your welfare.”
“I understand.” She sighed.
“What do you understand?” The pair turned to see Francis behind them, his jealous green eyes resting upon them.
“That the entire company worries for the captain’s lady,” George blurted defensively.
Regarding Rebecca with a proprietary air, the adjutant murmured, “You never have to worry as long as I’m around.”
“Then you’ll look in on her while we’re away?” The other man’s relief was apparent.
“I can take care of myself,” Rebecca protested, glaring back and forth between them.
“But you don’t have to,” George assured her. “If you need anything, you have only to ask Lieutenant Porter.”
“Your most willing servant.” Sweeping his hat from his head, the adjutant bowed gallantly.
She was spared having to answer when Brian gave the order to mount up. Kissing his wife’s cheek, he grinned at Rebecca. “Make Flora behave while I’m away.”
“If I can.” Returning his teasing smile, she moved to stand beside her friend.
“God be with you, Brian,” Flora called. “God be with you all.”
“Aren’t they handsome?” Amy Little gushed. Joining the women, she watched as the two long columns of men lurched forward, their equipment rattling. “It is disappointing that they don’t wear their dress uniforms on campaign. They don’t even wear insignia, so you can tell the officers from the regular soldiers.”
“Insignia catch the light and make them targets,” Flora answered tersely.
“Then it’s just as well. They’re still the cavaliers of the plains,” the young woman maintained romantically.
At the head of the column, Brian’s company saluted the colonel and began to sing “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”
Through the dust, Rebecca glimpsed Injun Jack across the road on the parade ground, frowning as he watched the cavalry’s departure. His frown deepened into a scowl when Derward Anderson approached him. Wheeling his horse, the scout headed for the stable, nearly trampling the newspaperman as he passed. He never glimpsed Rebecca’s disapproving face.
The women watched the patrol ride west until they were specks against the horizon, and their song and clatter had long faded. Then Rebecca said gently, “Come, Flora. I’ll walk you home.”
The fort was quiet as the two women cut across the parade ground to Officers’ Row. Few voices could be heard and those were subdued. A haunting spiritual and the click of curry combs came from the stables where the Buffalo Soldiers tended their horses.
“Good morning, young ladies,” Doc greeted them on his way to deliver the sick call report. “I see the boys got off with your husband in the lead, Mrs. Mackey. He’s a fine officer.”
“Thank you.” The captain’s wife smiled in wan appreciation.
“I suppose you’re wondering about your patient, Rebecca.”
“How is Private Greeley this morning?”
