Two for Home

by Tinnean

  Just then, Frank strolled up to Steve. “Got a minute?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Actually, Steve was grateful for the distraction. He didn’t like how mean-spirited his thoughts were becoming. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re running short of fresh meat—”

  “Dammit.” Game had been scarce the past few days, and while they had supplies enough to keep going—hopefully until they reached the next town—it would be nice to have meat to supplement their diet.

  “No, Sharps told Georgie he’ll be heading out to do a little hunting.”

  Why hadn’t Sharps come to tell him? “What about Mrs. Fox’s mules? They need to be watered.”

  “He already has, and he picketed them on a stretch of grass.” Frank tilted his head. “What’s wrong? You should know Sharps always takes care of his animals before he does anything else.”

  Yes, Steve did know that—he’d taught the kid himself. Lately he’d felt…out of sorts, and he didn’t know himself what was wrong. Well, no, he actually did know what was wrong. He just didn’t want to accept it. “I thought he’d want to stay close to Mrs. Fox,” he muttered. “So he’s going hunting.” He checked the sun’s position. “Isn’t it a little late in the day?”

  “It’s his call.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Steve…you should know Sharps probably won’t stay with us once we get to Hummingbird Valley.”

  “What?” Steve suddenly felt panicky. He might not have Sharps, but at least he’d be nearby. If he left…“He can’t do that!”

  “Georgie isn’t happy about it. The kid—” He chuckled and shook his head. “He’s not a kid, you know, for all he doesn’t look more than fourteen.”

  “He’s nineteen.”

  “Yeah? That face of his is deceiving. The thing is, he’s a hard worker, and we wanted him to stay on with us, but…he won’t. Georgie thinks something is bothering him.” He observed Steve thoughtfully. “I think something is bothering him, too.”

  “What? Mrs. Fox doesn’t look like she’ll turn him down if he gets around to asking her to marry him.”

  Frank stared at him for a very long minute, and then he shook his head. “Looks like Georgie was right.”

  “Mind explaining yourself?”

  “He said you were a fool, but I told him you couldn’t help it if you didn’t love Sharps.”

  “Is it wise to switch your pronouns where you can be overheard?”

  “Sharps will have to find out sooner or later.”

  “You trust him?”

  Frank gave Steve a look of pure disgust. “Yes, I trust him.”

  Well, Steve had trusted the boy once himself, enough to lose his heart to him. Now…

  Frank muttered something under his breath Steve was certain was unflattering, then said, “I reckon I’m the one who was wrong.”

  It suddenly occurred to him Frank had said Steve didn’t love Sharps. “What? He’s in love with Mrs. Fox.”

  “You really think that?”

  “I’ve got eyes. I can see the way they look at each other.”

  “Then maybe you need to get your eyes examined. Sharps is so in love with you it’s all over him like French perfume.”

  “What do you know of French perfume?” Steve frowned at him.

  “Georgie told me his papa bought Mrs. Pettigrew a tiny bottle after Noelle was born. After his stepmama passed, Georgie kept what was left of the perfume for his sister. And don’t change the subject.” Frank frowned just as fiercely back at Steve. “So you won’t talk to Sharps because you’re in love with Mrs. Fox yourself.”

  “Me? In love with Mrs. Fox?” Steve stared stupidly at Frank.

  “Look,” Frank said with some impatience. “I don’t know what you think is going on between Sharps and Mrs. Fox, but—”

  “She cries all over him. She clings to him. She—”

  “She’s just lost her husband.”

  “So she needs him to comfort her?” He glared at Frank. “What about you?”

  Frank had opened his mouth to say something, but then shut up and glared at him. “You’re an ass, Steve. For one thing, I’m not in the market for a wife just yet. For another, the lady would have to have a say in the matter.”

  “But why Sharps?” He cringed at the whine in his voice.

  “She needs someone she feels safe with. Someone who isn’t a threat.”

  “What?” Steve stared at him, dumbfounded. “She’s driven with us this entire way, and she thinks she can’t trust us?”

  “I didn’t say that. Would you stop putting words in my mouth?”

  “Then just explain yourself.”

  Frank blew out an irritated breath. “You and me and Bart—we’re grown men. And yes, I know Bart and I are younger than you, so you don’t have to mention that.”

  “Then—”

  “Jesus.” Frank—the son of an Episcopalian priest—never swore, and Steve knew he’d driven him to the end of his patience. “There aren’t a lot of women out here. The last thing Mrs. Fox needs is the worry a man is going to take advantage of her grief to rush her into marriage so he can get into her bed. Sharps doesn’t look much older than her son.” He ran a hand over his face. “Look. Talk to Sharps. If he loves Mrs. Fox—which I strongly doubt—at least you’ll know where you stand. And if he doesn’t…well, you’ll have to decide what you want to do about that.”

  “Are you in love with Georgie?” Steve wondered why the thought had never occurred to him.

  “What? Where did that come from?”

  Steve shrugged. Maybe he just wanted reassurance there wasn’t someone else who wanted Sharps.

  Frank stood there scowling, tapping his foot on the dusty ground. Finally he snapped, “Are you insane?”

  “No. But it’s obvious to me the two of you are very close.”

  “The three of us are close, and we love each other, but that doesn’t mean we’re in love. We’ve been friends for years and called ourselves the three musketeers. But to think I might be in love with the wife of one of my best friends—” He shook his head, his disgust once again obvious. “I’ve gotta help Bart with the mules, but just to be clear, when I marry, it won’t be to another man.” He started to turn away, but paused. “You might give some thought to the fact that Georgie, Bart, and I deal with our mule team altogether, but Sharps handles the Foxes’ team on his own, and he’s never once asked for your help.”

  “Well, yeah, but…”

  When he didn’t continue, Frank glared at him. “If you want to offer Sharps help, for Pete’s sake, offer it.” He strode off, muttering under his breath and leaving Steve to stare after him. He had to admit he was glad he couldn’t make out Frank’s words.

  How had his life gotten so complicated? He’d thought, after looking up and seeing the young man he cared so deeply for, that they could find a measure of happiness together. Then he’d seen the way Sharps acted around Mrs. Fox, and he’d thought…Had he misread the entire situation? Could he be that much of a fool? It was obvious Frank thought so.

  The sound of laughter had him looking up to see Sharps and Bertie emerging from the woods. They held a brace of rabbits, and from the distance, it appeared they’d skinned and gutted their game.

  “Mama! Come see what Sharps helped me catch for dinner!”

  “Snare, Bert,” Sharps said. He exchanged a grin with the boy.

  Mrs. Fox carefully stepped out of the wagon and peered at the carcasses her son held. She moaned, doubled over at the waist, and began to vomit.

  Steve wasn’t good with sick people. With the best will in the world he just wasn’t. As a matter of fact, the sight of Mrs. Fox vomiting made him want to vomit in return. He had no problem dealing with blood and gore, had even handled spilled guts with aplomb, but the contents of someone’s stomach…He wondered if Sharps reacted the same way, because Sharps raised a hand to his mouth, almost hitting himself in the face with a bloody rabbit carcass, and backed away.

  Fort
unately, Georgie hurried over. “Here, Judith. Let me help you.” He slid an arm around her waist, held her hair out of her face, and urged her to the woods’ edge.

  Sharps cleared his throat. “Come on, Bert. Let’s build a fire and get these rabbits roasted.”

  Here was a chance. Steve pasted a smile on his face and went to join them. “Maybe you should build the fire by Mrs. Hall’s wagon.” He half expected Sharps to start in surprise, but Steve was the one surprised when the young man simply glanced at him over his shoulder and nodded.

  “The captain has a good idea. The odor of cooking rabbit might upset you ma’s tummy. It looks like Mr. Hall already has a fire going. Come on.”

  Steve took a step to go with them, but Sharps’s jaw tightened, and the line between his brows became pronounced.

  “Excuse us, Captain.”

  It grieved Steve that Sharps no longer called him by his name. Still, what else could he expect? He’d been pushing the kid away for the past ten days. He watched as Sharps and Bertie walked to the other wagon, then couldn’t resist drifting close enough to overhear their conversation.

  Bart greeted them as he plucked the feathers from what looked like a quail.

  “Mind if we borrow your fire?” Sharps asked. His gaze slid past Steve to look in the direction Georgie had led Mrs. Fox. “Mrs. Fox isn’t well.”

  “I heard her. How is she?”

  “Mrs. Hall is looking after her.”

  “Georgie always was good with things like that. H-she took care of the little ones while their ma was ill. Sure. You’re welcome to whatever you need.”

  “It won’t upset your wife?”

  Bart paused in plucking the bird. “Why would you think it would bother Georgie?”

  “It just occurred to me she might…um…possibly be expecting a blessed event herself?”

  Bart stared at him for a second, then burst into laughter. Steve had to chuckle himself, and only partly at Sharps’s confused expression.

  “No,” Bart said. “Georgie isn’t pregnant. It’s not likely she’ll ever become pregnant.”

  “But you share a blanket—” Sharps’ face reddened. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. But if you knew Georgie, you’d understand why I found it funny.”

  “I’m sorry you won’t have any children. You and Mrs. Hall would have made good parents.”

  Bart smiled, but it was wistful. “So am I.” Then he continued briskly, “But one day her brothers will have children, and we’ll have them to love.” He gestured to the fire. “Anyway, go ahead.”

  “Thanks.” The color in Sharps’ cheeks was finally receding. “Bert, why don’t you see if you can find more fuel for the fire?”

  “Okay.” Bert handed Sharps his rabbit and scampered off to gather some twigs and leaves and dried grasses. Meanwhile, Sharps skewered a rabbit and placed it above the fire that was already burning.

  Steve took a breath. No time like the present. He joined them. “Anything I can do to help?”

  The kid’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t look up. “No, we have everything under control.”

  It was obvious Steve wasn’t welcome just then. It looks like I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life. “Well…uh…In that case, I’ll just…uh…”

  Frank walked over. His gaze went from Sharps to Steve, and he shook his head.

  Steve permitted himself a final glance, hoping Sharps would look at him one last time, but the kid was having an intense conversation with Frank, so Steve just strode away. Jesus Christ, did everyone fall in love with one Zachary Taylor Browne? Steve steadfastly ignored Frank’s insistence that he’d marry a woman when he married. That didn’t mean he couldn’t dally with Sharps. The kid was sweet-tempered and very pleasing to the eye.

  Steve ground his teeth. Well, he did have things to do. The surrounding area needed to be patrolled, and he’d do that before coming back to have his share of the rabbit that was part of that night’s supper.

  He caught up Bella’s reins, swung into the saddle, and rode out.

  Chapter 22

  “Excuse us, Captain.” Sharps had given Steve a cold, flat look, and Steve had turned pale, as if he’d suddenly become bereft. As if he’d lost someone he considered his friend?

  It should have made Sharps feel good, feel some sense of satisfaction at the hurt that flashed through Steve’s eyes. The man had kept him at arm’s length for the past ten days for no reason he could see, and when Steve spoke to Sharps, the words had cut like a knife. Sharps had had such hopes when he’d seen his captain at the livery stable. He’d been positive their friendship would take up where they’d left off five years before, perhaps even move forward to something more.

  How could he ever have suspected the man who meant so much to him—whose memory had been almost like a touchstone, getting him through those years after the War, especially that last year—would suddenly turn his back on him?

  But Sharps didn’t feel good, didn’t feel any satisfaction. To avoid the captain’s shuttered expression, Sharps strode across the camp to the Halls’ wagon with Bert trotting at his heels, chatting enthusiastically about the success of their “hunt.”

  “Mind if we borrow your fire?” he asked Bart. “We’ve got some rabbits.” He held them up. “Mrs. Fox—”

  “I heard her. How is she?”

  “Mrs. Hall is looking after her.”

  “Georgie always was good with things like that. H-she took care of the little ones while their ma was ill. Sure.” He gestured to the fire ring he’d made with some rocks. “You’re welcome to whatever you need. I’ve got to get this quail ready to roast as well.” There was a brace of the birds at his feet, and Bart resumed plucking the feathers from the one in his lap.

  “It won’t upset your wife?”

  Bart paused in his task. “Why would you think it would bother Georgie?”

  “It just occurred to me she might…um…possibly be expecting a blessed event?”

  “No.” Bart laughed and shook his head, and Sharps could feel his face redden. “Georgie isn’t pregnant. It’s not likely she’ll ever become pregnant.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.” And it was a stupid assumption on his part. Just because one of the women in camp was having a baby didn’t mean the other one was as well.

  “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. But if you knew Georgie, you’d understand why I found it funny. Anyway, go ahead.” He gestured again toward the fire.

  “Thanks. Bert, why don’t you see if you can find more fuel for the fire?”

  “Okay.”

  Sharps took the rabbit Bert had held and watched as the boy ran to the woods’ edge to gather what he could find. Sharps skewered the rabbit and set it in place above the fire. Then he took one of the birds and began plucking its feathers. From the corner of his eye he could see the captain approach, and his damned heart flipped over. My God, was he still so stupid he’d be willing to accept any crumbs the cap was willing to toss him?

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “No.” He was so angry with himself. “We have everything under control.”

  Just then Frank joined them, and wasn’t that swell? Frank, who was a good enough man—just not the man Sharps wanted—showed up, and the captain left. Dammit. Sharps continued yanking out feathers, this time with more violence than was actually necessary.

  “Where did the quail come from?” he asked Bart.

  “Charlie shot them.”

  “The boy is a good shot.” Each bird had its head neatly shot off. “What?” Sharps wondered what he’d said that caused Frank to stifle a snort of laughter, but the man just shook his head.

  Bert trotted up to him with an armful of fuel for the fire. He looked over the clutch of birds. “Should I get more wood?”

  “Sounds like a good idea.” He watched as Bert bustled off, an air of importance about him as he hurried to gather more twig
s and whatever else he could find.

  “Can I talk to you a minute while Bert’s busy?” Frank asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Bart, do you have to do something in the wagon?”

  “No—oh, yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. ‘Scuse me a minute, Sharps. I’ve got to make sure Thomas isn’t getting into any mischief.” Bart set aside his quail, rose easily, and strode to the wagon.

  Sharps watched as he climbed into the wagon. What was that about?

  Frank sat down beside him.

  “Mr. Hall didn’t have to do anything in the wagon, did he?”

  “No, but I wanted to talk to you in private.”

  “Okay.”

  “How do you feel about Steve?” Frank asked abruptly.

  The question caught Sharps by surprise, and he was uncertain as to how to answer it. He swallowed and carefully set aside the quail he’d been working on. “Steve Marriott is…was…my captain during the War. He kept me safe whenever the need arose.” Sharps thought of the incident with the Wilson brothers after Bull Run.

  “But how do you feel about him?”

  Sharps knew he’d have to answer this cautiously. Frank struck him as a decent man, but he didn’t know just how decent. If Frank were to learn Sharps loved the captain, not just as a friend but as someone he’d welcome to his bed, it could result with him dead at the worst or badly beaten at the least. “I…I care for him. As I mentioned, we went through some tough times together during the War.” He held his breath, waiting to see how Frank would respond to that.

  “Hmm. Did you know Steve thinks you’re in love with Mrs. Fox?”

  “What?” Not only had Mrs. Hall suggested that, but now Frank did as well? What was the world coming to? The widow was pretty enough, but she wept a good deal, and while Sharps could understand, he’d come across many women during the War who’d lost their husbands, their sons, some even more, and they hadn’t wept. “I’m sorry, Frank. I don’t understand how he can think that.”