The Unlikely Wife

by Cassandra Austin

  In a moment the ladies returned. Clark found it difficult to make polite conversation when his eyes kept returning to the beauty in the red dress. Her short curls were even more incongruous with the elegant attire than they were with the men’s trousers. He refused, however, to feel guilty.

  The Kolcheks joined them, and in a few minutes they were seated before a veritable feast. Kolchek pointed out buffalo roast, venison steaks and his own cured ham, as well as early peas and last year’s sweet potatoes.

  Once the women were deep in conversation, Clark asked Kolchek for any news of the uprising.

  “Some raids,” he said softly, obviously not wanting to concern the ladies. “Railroad workers west of Ellsworth, mostly. They seem to know that track means the end of their hunting ground.”

  “They can’t expect to stop the construction of the railroad,” Clark said.

  “They have, at least for now. They don’t look at progress quite the way we do. Besides, they’ve been promised things they never got, and they’re mighty sore.”

  Clark’s eyes went across the table, as they did every few seconds. This time they locked with Miss Huntington’s. The other ladies were discussing recipes, but her attention had shifted.

  She turned from him to their host. “Why won’t the government give them what they want?”

  “They want Kansas, ma’am. And Nebraska, Colorado, the whole of the western plains. It may be theirs by rights, but they’ve already lost it.”

  Clark wondered what she was thinking as she returned her attention to her plate. Next he wondered why he cared. Her only interest would be for her own comfort.

  His suspicion was confirmed a moment later. She raised her head, her sparkling smile back in place. “I noticed some beautiful horses in your corral, Mr. Kolchek. Do they belong to you or the stage line?”

  “Some of both out there, though the best ones are mine.”

  Clark stood, excused himself and promised to send the wagon in half an hour. Getting the ladies’ assurances that they would be ready, he thanked the Kolcheks and left.

  Out in the sunlight again, he wondered why he gave Miss Huntington more than passing notice. Why was he curious about her opinions? She probably didn’t have any beyond what she had been told. Why was he fascinated by the slightest change in her expressive lips?

  He swung into the saddle and turned to gaze for a moment at the station. He had tasted those lips once and wanted to again. His attraction was purely physical. He only pretended there was something more to excuse his reaction.

  Even that realization filled him with some alarm. Since when had physical attraction left him searching for excuses? And this woman had already threatened his career. He should keep an eye on her the same way he was watching a distant storm cloud. And for precisely the same reasons.

  The door opened, and Miss Huntington stepped out. Kolchek was right behind her. Clark turned his horse away, but the flash of red against the gray, drab building stayed in his mind.

  * * *

  Rebecca brushed her hand over the neck of her newly acquired horse. While the others sat on the porch and chatted, she led the gelding around the dusty yard, stroked him, talked to him, everything but rode him. Not in this dress. At least not with this saddle.

  Finally, Brooks drove the ambulance into the yard. While he helped Belle and Alicia into the wagon, Rebecca tied her horse on behind.

  As soon as she was inside, Rebecca enlisted Alicia’s help in getting out of the dress. She was slipping into the pants when the wagon stopped. “Find out what’s going on,” she said.

  Alicia pulled the canvas aside a fraction. “Why are we stopped?” she asked. She turned back to Rebecca. “We’re waiting for the rest to start moving.”

  “How much time does it look like I’ll have?” Rebecca asked, hastily buttoning the uniform blouse.

  “I don’t know.” With a resigned sigh, Alicia returned to the crack in the canvas. “Just a few minutes.”

  “Minutes is fine,” Rebecca said, pulling on her socks. “I was afraid I only had seconds.”

  “I think this is positively disgraceful,” Aunt Belle said. “I for one, intend to continue wearing my dress until evening. I can’t believe you’re not eager to do the same.”

  Rebecca tossed her a quick smile as she hastily tied the boy’s work shoes she had bought at Fort Riley and grabbed her hat. “If you have any problems, let Brooks know. If he has to pull out of line, have him send one of the soldiers to find me.”

  “You’ll be in front flirting shamelessly with that officer. Honestly, Rebecca—”

  But Rebecca scrambled out the back of the ambulance before her aunt could finish. “I don’t know what’s to become of you,” she mimicked under her breath. She untied the gelding and led him away from the wagon, wanting to take a little time to get reacquainted before she tried to mount him.

  The ambulance rolled forward just as she sprang into the saddle. The gelding tossed his head and circled once before giving in to her lead. She put him at a canter and soon joined the lieutenant at the front of the column.

  “Afternoon, Miss Huntington,” he said, barely giving her a glance.

  She smiled at him, not revealing her disappointment. She had hoped to surprise him. Of course, he had such a poker face she might not have known it if she had. How could he be so aloof?

  “Afternoon, Miss Huntington,” called the sergeant riding on the other side of Forrester. “You picked a fine horse there.”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Whiting. I think he’ll do nicely.”

  “Kolchek’s known around here for his horses. He’s careful what he buys and likes to do his own training.”

  “He said this one’s a four-year-old he bought as a colt.”

  Rebecca watched Forrester’s profile as she talked to the sergeant She truly loved that jaw. And the straight line of his nose and nearly straight brow were appealing as well. His gray eyes flicked in her direction, and she wondered if he sensed her scrutiny.

  “How did you pay for the horse?” he asked, his eyes on the trail ahead.

  Was the question simply a way to join the conversation, or was something else implied? She kept her voice light as she answered, “My mother left me some money. I closed out the account before we left Chicago, and I took some of it with me to dinner intending to buy a horse if one was available. So it wasn’t quite the impulsive decision it may have appeared. Did you think I charmed the horse away from him, Lieutenant?”

  His head actually turned in her direction then. His eyes shot her a warning, and her grin broadened. You don’t want me to tease you in front of the troops? Then let me get you alone.

  “I know Kolchek pretty well, ma’am,” Sergeant Whiting said. “He loves his horses, and he knows the value of a dollar. I can’t imagine him giving a horse away. Though if anyone could charm him, you could, Miss Huntington.”

  “Why, thank you, Sergeant,” Rebecca said, still grinning at the lieutenant.

  He turned away, leaving her to study his profile again. The only hint of his annoyance was in the compression of his lips. She didn’t really want to make him angry with her, but it was hard to resist teasing someone so stiff, someone so determined to ignore her. She could guess that he regretted even speaking to her. He didn’t again for quite some time.

  She and the sergeant spoke occasionally about the names of the creeks they crossed, and other landmarks in the monotonous plain.

  Rebecca was in heaven. She loved riding, she loved the prairie and had longed for it the past six years. And she liked being near good-looking men even if they pretended to ignore her.

  The last thought made her smile. “Isn’t it a perfect day?”

  “Unless you take that storm into account.” The lieutenant pointed ahead and to the left.

  Rebecca looked at the deep blue settling on the south-western horizon and knew it meant rain, possibly wind and hail as well. She sighed dramatically. “There’s only one cloud in the sky, Lieutenant. Does that d
efine the whole day?”

  “My guess, ma’am, is that it will pretty well define this evening.”

  Rebecca laughed. She couldn’t help it. Forrester worked so hard at being serious. “Right now, the sun is shining. And whether it rains tonight or not, I’ll be closer to home than I was yesterday.”

  “That brings up a question I’ve been meaning to ask you, Miss Huntington.” He didn’t turn toward her for more than a glance from the corner of his eye. “You said you had been gone for six years. How—”

  Rebecca interrupted. “When did I say that, Lieutenant?” On the train. Of course he remembered, too.

  He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed once. “Early in our association.”

  Rebecca grinned. He clearly wanted to forget the incident. She wanted to make it just as clear that she liked remembering it. “Yes,” she murmured. “I did say six years.”

  It was a moment before he returned to his question. “How is it that you’re returning home when Fort Hays didn’t exist six years ago, or even six months ago?”

  Ah, was he wondering if she had been lying to him? “That’s easy, Lieutenant.” She swept her arm across the horizon then held her hand to her heart. “The prairie is my home.”

  “Very poetic, but it doesn’t answer my question.” There was the barest sparkle of humor in his eyes when he glanced toward her.

  “I’ve lived in forts all over the West. Wherever my father is, is home. I don’t know why I didn’t explain that at the time, unless I was distracted.”

  He missed her wide-eyed, innocent expression entirely by refusing to look at her. She rode in cheerful silence until they made camp at what Whiting called Spring Creek.

  After Rebecca had fed and watered the gray gelding and picketed him with the cavalry horses, she made her way to the ambulance. Evening was coming on quickly, and there was a definite smell of rain in the air. The campsite was set up but empty. “Aunt Belle,” she called. “Alicia?”

  “They went down to the creek to wash.”

  She spun around to find Victor Brooks standing directly behind her.

  “I was hoping you would turn up before they got back,” he said. “I missed you this afternoon.”

  “That’s sweet of you,” she said. She walked around the camp pretending to study its layout as a way of moving away from him. It didn’t work; he soon intercepted her.

  “I can be sweeter still,” he murmured.

  “Mr. Brooks,” she said, choosing now to stand her ground. “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.”

  “Is that so?” He stopped too close to her. He was taller than she had noticed, broader. The tension in his posture, the sharpness of the softly spoken words, even his smell seemed threatening. Alcohol, she realized.

  “Yes, it’s so,” she said firmly. “I’ve given you no reason to expect…”

  He touched her cheek lightly. She drew back and watched his brows come together in a scowl. “You gave me every reason to expect plenty. All your bright smiles.” His voice lowered as he added, “Your whispers.”

  He leaned in for a kiss, and she stepped away. “No,” she said again, crossing her arms in front of her. “I intended to be friendly. That’s all.”

  “You know that’s not all you intended. We ain’t got time for you to play coy. The others’ll be back any minute.” He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her roughly toward him.

  Rebecca jerked her hands upward, intending to push him away. One curled fist caught him on the chin. He swore and shoved her away. She staggered but caught her balance, eyeing him warily as he tested his tongue for blood.

  “You tease!” he croaked. “Ain’t I good enough no more? Since you got a horse now, you got your eye on a officer like Dixie Boy? Well, don’t worry, lady, I understand completely.”

  He turned on his heel and stalked toward his messmates’ fire. Rebecca let out a deep breath. Had he really interpreted her friendly smiles as flirting? Perhaps he had seen what he wanted to see. She sank into one of the folding chairs. Could flirting have become second nature to her until she did it without realizing it?

  A few minutes later her aunt and cousin returned. They were both in the dresses they had worn at noon. “Don’t say anything,” Aunt Belle said, marching past her. “I will not believe that there are Indians lurking about in this weather.” She climbed into the ambulance and let the canvas drop back into place.

  Alicia came to sit beside Rebecca. “I thought it would be all right,” she said. “I didn’t tell her what you said about the lieutenant’s bluff.”

  “I suppose it would be cruel to insist that she wear the pants,” Rebecca conceded, trying not to smile. “When I hit on the idea, I didn’t realize she would look on them as torture.”

  “Yes, you did,” Alicia said.

  Rebecca tried to look hurt. “I know,” she said, brightening. “I’ll ask the lieutenant if he thinks there are Indians watching us yet. If he says no, we can tell your mother it’s safe to wear dresses for a day or so. Perhaps she would roll up the canvas or even ride with the driver part of the day. That would give you some relief as well.”

  “And what will be your excuse to continue in the pants?”

  “I’ll be riding horseback. Oh, here comes dinner. I’ll get your mother.” She rose quickly and went to the wagon, not wanting to be left alone at the table if Alicia ran the errand. She coaxed her aunt out and walked back to the table with her, grateful that Brooks left a moment after she arrived.

  * * *

  Clark finished the dinner his striker had brought and moved the dishes to the corner of his field desk. As he opened the box that held his journal, he heard the first smattering of raindrops on the roof of the tent. The flap was propped up with poles forming an awning over the open doorway and letting in the fresh scent of rain.

  Under the journal was the leather-bound case his cousin had given him. His fingers caressed it for a second, then he set the journal aside and lifted the case from the box. At his desk, he opened it.

  The hand-carved chess set had belonged to his uncle. He hadn’t seen it for years. “You were the only one who ever beat him,” his cousin had said. “He wanted you to have it.”

  So he had taken the set and thanked his cousin. With the funeral, the train, and now the Indian uprising, he had nearly forgotten he had it.

  The striker appeared at his door, shaking rain from his hat.

  “Come in, Powers.” Clark nodded toward the dishes. “These could have waited until morning.”

  “I wanted to see if you needed anything else, sir. Besides, I’ve been hot and dry so long I hardly mind the rain.”

  At that moment, the sprinkle turned into a downpour, sending torrents of rain against the roof and back wall of the tent “That’s good,” Clark said, “because it sounds like you’re going to get wet”

  “May I come in?” a female voice called above the roar.

  Clark turned toward the doorway. Miss Huntington had obviously been caught in the deluge. She was soaked from head to foot, her hat drooping with the weight of the rain. Her face, when she removed the hat, bore its usual sunny smile.

  Clark stood. “Mr. Powers, fetch a blanket from my cot,” he said with a glance at the man. “You should be in your wagon, Miss Huntington.”

  “It’s a little late now.” She shook out the hat and set it on the ground just inside the tent As Powers brought the blanket she shook her head, sending tiny drops of water flying off the tips of her curls. “I’ll get your blanket wet”

  “I have another,” he said. “Did you need something, Miss Huntington?”

  She let Powers wrap the blanket around her shoulders, offering him a soft, “Thank you,” and a smile. “As a matter of fact, I have a question.” She moved toward him. “Do you play chess?”

  “You risked drowning to ask me that?”

  She laughed. “Of course not What a lovely set” She lifted a knight from the case on his desk. “My question has to do with Aunt Belle and Indians. Do you p
lay?”

  “Yes. Aunt Belle and Indians?” Clark was aware of Powers’ curiosity. He was also aware of the danger of being alone with this woman. News of that would travel as quickly and do more damage than any gossip Powers might spread about their conversation.

  “Aunt Belle wants to know if you think there are Indians watching us.” She put the knight back and picked up a bishop. “Aren’t these hand carved?”

  “Yes. No.” He shook his head. This woman could confuse him like no other. “No Indians are watching us, and yes, they’re hand carved.”

  “Shall we play a game while I wait for the rain to let up?”

  Clark opened his mouth to mention that the rain might not let up before morning. He was afraid that wouldn’t deter her. “All right.”

  Powers stepped forward with another folding chair for Miss Huntington, and in a moment she was seated across the desk from Clark. Powers reached for the dishes. “If there’s nothing else…”

  “Have you had your own dinner, Mr. Powers?” Clark asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then have a seat.”

  “Sir?”

  “Until the rain lets up, then you can see Miss Huntington back to her wagon.”

  “Yes, sir.” The striker was clearly bewildered, but he did as he was instructed.

  Miss Huntington knew exactly what he was doing. She gave him a mischievous grin as she pulled the four pieces of the game board from under the chessmen and fitted them together.

  “So,” she asked, “who carved these pieces?”

  “My uncle.” Clark sank into the chair. The devil’s own temptation was sitting across from him, mixing her own image and scent with his older memories of his uncle’s chess set. He should have refused. As he watched her put the pieces on their proper squares he wondered how he thought he could have.

  He reminded himself that she wasn’t the perfection she appeared. She was spoiled and manipulative. She would watch his honor, his career, his life go up in smoke if it suited her purposes. Just as he thought he had that clear in his mind, she looked up and smiled her captivating smile.