She clambered down the rocks to a broad ledge, dropped her towel and soap and clothing and sat down, hurriedly untying her shoes. Staring at the clean, fresh water, she pulled her blouse from her skirt and quickly shed it, then her skirt and shift and pantalcts and hose. She stepped down the rock, so entranced by the water that she never once realized she wasn’t alone.
Barefoot and bare-chested, his cavalry trousers rolled above his ankles, Jamie Slater sat in the shadow of a rock, swearing softly. His own bath had just gone straight downhill. And he didn’t mean to be a voyeur, but she had stripped so damned quickly, and he’d been so darned surprised that he had just stayed there.
Watching.
She was like a nymph, an angel cast out from the evils of the heat and the plain. Her skin was alabaster, her breasts perfect. Her waist was very trim, her derriere rich and lush and flaring out from that narrow waist, and her legs were so long and shapely that they suggested the most decadent dreams, the most sensual imaginings. Angel . vixen . her hair streamed around her like the sunset, thick and cascading, falling over her bare shoulders, curling around her breasts, haunting, teasing, evocative.
He fell back, groaning slightly.
Tess didn’t see him. She plunged into the water, amazed that she could still draw such simple pleasure when the pain of. Joe’s loss was still so strongly with her. But she was still alive, and the water was so cool and clean after the dust and filth of the plains. It came just to her ankles at first, and there were little rocks and pebbles beneath her feet, so she had to be careful walking. Then the water became deeper, and she sank into it, stretching out, soaking her hair, floating, shivering, delighted. The sun was still warm, the water almost cold, and together they were marvelous. She swam around in the shallows, careful not to hit her arms and legs on the pebbles, then found a smooth shelf to stand on and scrubbed herself thoroughly with the soap, rising to form rich suds, sinking beneath the surface again to rinse them away. She scrubbed her hair, fee ring wonderful as she removed the dirt and grime from her scalp. Finally she rose from the water. She paused, ringing out her hair, then hut- fled to where she had left her things. She picked up her towel and studiously rubbed herself dry, then sat upon the ledge to dry her hair before donning her clean clothing.
She stretched, elosing her eyes and leaning against the rock, which was still warm from the sun. The last of the dying rays touched her body, and she elosed her eyes for a moment.
When she opened them, she nearly screamed, Lieutenant Slater was standing above her. His shirt hung open over his chest, and he was barefoot and grim.
She opened her mouth to protest. She was stark naked, and he was staring down at her without the least apology. But when she opened her mouth, he suddenly drew his gun and fired off several shots.
She’d never seen a gun move so fast or heard anything like the way the Colt spit and fired in fury.
She didn’t gasp; she didn’t scream. She thought he had lost his mind, but when she twisted to grasp her towel, she paused, stunned, staring at the carcass of the dead moccasin that had been barely a foot away from her.
She looked up at the lieutenant, unable to speak, unable to move. He had saved her life, she realized. She had been completely unaware of the snake that she had so carelessly disturbed.
He didn’t say anything, just looked at her, his gray eyes sliding over her body, and everywhere they touched her, she felt fire coursing through her.
She felt her nipples harden, and she was horrified that they did so, but still she didn’t manage to say a word.
He slid his Colt into his hip holster and spoke at last. “You need to be more careful about the rocks you choose, Miss. Stuart,” he said.
She heard running footsteps. He quickly reached for her towel and handed it to her. She clutched it to her breasts as a young private suddenly appeared.
“Lieutenant! I heard the shots!”
“It’s all right, Hardy. It was me. A snake. Nothing that could shoot back.”
The private was ~taring at them, wide-eyed. “That’s all, Hardy.”
“Yes, sir, Lieutenant.”
The private saluted. Slater saluted in return. Then he tipped his hat to her and turned around. Tess reddened to a dark crimson and watched as he picked his way upstream. She saw his socks and boots on a flat boulder, and her breath seemed to catch in her throat. He had been there all the time.
She leaped to her feet and hurried into her fresh clean clothing with shaking fingers. She could barely tie her pink ribboned corset, and she had to do the buttons on her blouse twice.
She pulled on clean hose and her shoes and looked at the rock.
He was waiting. Waiting for her to leave. He sat on the ledge, his toes in the water.
He looked up as if he felt her watching him.
“It’s almost dark, Miss. Stuart, if you don’t mind.”
“If I don’t mind! You—you sat there through my bath, Lieutenant!” she sputtered.
“Lucky I did,” he replied pleasantly.
She was alive. Maybe she was lucky. But that wasn’t the point, and he knew it.
He shrugged, rising, casting off his shirt.
“It really doesn’t matter that much to me, Miss. Stuart. You’re welcome to stay. Maybe you’ll even want to join me … ?” She swung around, furious.
He was ready to strip down with her standing right there. He’d sat and stared at her while she had been completely naked, assuming she was alone.
She’d given him a whole damned show in the water! Swearing softly, she plodded away, anxious to quit the brook. She hurried to her wagon and sat on the bunk, hugging her arms to her chest.
Damn him. Just remembering his eyes upon her made her breasts swell again and her nipples harden to taut peaks.
When she closed her eyes it didn’t help. She remembered the way that his shirt had hung open over his chest, and the sandy dark hair that grew in rich profusion there, the ripple of tight muscle on his abdomen, the swell of it at his breast and shoulders.
“Miss. Stuart?” It was Sergeant Monahan. “Yes?” She almost shouted the word.
He was at the rear of the wagon, smiling.
“Wasn’t that just the prettiest little brook you’ve ever seen?”
“Absolutely beautiful,” she said evenly. But it didn’t matter—apparently word of the shots had gotten out.
Another one of the men stepped behind Monahan, nodding respectfully to her.
“Monahan! Hardy says she almost got it from a moccasin. Luckily the lieutenant was near and blasted the thing to kingdom come. Ma’am, it is the prettiest little brook around, but you be careful from here on out, you hear?
You’ve become pretty important to all of us.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind,” she murmured, but she knew that she was blushing again. Everyone knew what had happened.
But they didn’t really know. They didn’t know what it had felt like when his eyes had touched her naked flesh. “Rations aren’t much, ma’am, but one of the boys brought in a few trout. May I fix you a plate and bring you some coffee?” Monaban asked her.
“Please,” she agreed.
“That would be very nice.” Monaban brought her a plate of food, the other young man brought her coffee. She thanked them both. Then, as she ate, it seemed that every man in the company came by to see how she was, if she would like anything, if she needed anything, anything at all, for the night.
She thanked them all, and when they left, and the darkness fell, and the camp became silent, she smiled. They were Yanks, but a good group of them. Maybe there was hope. She believed again. There were von Heusens in the world, but there were others, too, good people. She just had to keep fighting. She had to hold on to the ranch and she had to keep the Wiltshire newspaper going.
“Miss. Stuart.”
She started, feeling every nerve within her body come alive. She knew the voice. Knew the deep tone, low and husky and somehow capable of slipping beneath her skin. It w
as a sensual, sexy voice, and it awakened things in her she was certain had died beneath the rifle fire of the last years of the war, She inhaled quickly. If she was silent, he might just walk away. He might believe that she slept and just walk away.
But he wouldn’t. He knew she was awake. She sensed it, and she resented him for his easy knowledge of her.
“Yes?” she asked crisply.
“I just wanted to make sure that you were all right.”
“I’m fine, Lieutenant.”
“Is there anything you need?”
“I want you to believe me, Lieutenant. And you’re not offering me that.”
He was silent. She hoped he would turn away, but she sensed he was smiling.
“You didn’t thank me. For saving your life.”
“Ah, yes. Thank you for saving my life.” She found herself crawling the length of the bunk, then defying him over the rear edge of the wagon.
“Lieutenant?”
“yes?”
“Come closer, please.”
He took a step nearer. Tess let her hand fly across his cheek. He instantly caught her wrist, and she was glad of the surprised and furious fire in his eyes as they caught hers. She kept smiling, even if his fingers did seem to be a vise around her, even if the air seemed charged with electricity. Even if she was just a little bit afraid that he was going to drag her out of the wagon and down beneath him into the dirt.
“I do thank you for saving my life, Lieutenant. But that was for the ungentlemanly way in which you did so.”
She pulled on her hand. He didn’t let go. His eyes glittered silver in the moonlight.
I’ll try to remember, Miss. Stuart, that you are most particular about the way a man goes about saving your life,” he told her.
“You know exactly what I’m saying.”
“I never meant to give you offense.”
“Never?”
“I do swear so, Miss. Stuart. I kept my presence quiet because you were as bare as a baby before I realized it. And then, well, I do admit, I was caught rather speechless.”
“You weren’t speechless on the rock!”
He smiled slowly.
“No.”
“Oh, you … Yank!”
She tugged on her wrist again. He didn’t release her at first, then his fingers slowly unwound. He was smiling, she realized. And his eyes fell over her again, and she felt as if he was burning the sight of her into his memory. A flame shot high within her, and she didn’t know if she was horrified-or fascinated.
“Good night, Miss. Stuart,” he said softly. Then he did walk away. She didn’t move, and after a moment he turned back.
“Miss. Stuart?”
“What?”
He hesitated.
“You’re a very beautiful woman. Very beautiful.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He walked away and disappeared into the night.
Chapter Three
Two days later, they reached the fort.
It was, Tess thought, a typical military fort in Indian country. The walls of the stockade were high, maybe twenty-five feet high, and built of dark sturdy logs. She heard the sound of a bugle while they were still some distance from the fort, then the huge wooden gate swung open to allow their party to enter. Looking up as they went into the compound, Tess saw armed guards in their cavalry blue lined up on all the catwalks and staring down at them.
She was grateful to have reached the fort. She was driving her mules, swearing to them beneath her breath, and wondering if the calluses would ever leave her fingers. She’d gotten them right through Uncle Joe’s heavy leather gloves.
She was sweaty, salty and sticky, and her hair was coming loose from the neat braid she’d twisted at her nape. She had said that she could manage—and Lieutenant Slater had let her do just that.
His men had continued to be very kind, and she had continued to smile and be as gracious as she could in return. He had kept his distance since he had left her that night, but she had felt his eyes on her.
Always. his eyes were on her. When she drove the wagon, she would suddenly feel a warmth, and she would look around to discover that he was no longer at the head of the column, but had ridden back and was watching her. And at night, when. one of the men would bring her coffee or food, he would stare across the distance of the camp fire. And by night she heard footsteps, and she wondered if he wasn’t walking by to determine if she was sleeping. If she was safe.
Or did he walk by to discover if she might still be awake?
He infuriated her, but she was also glad, and she realized that she felt safe. Not because she was surrounded by thirty or so cavalry men, but because he was walking by, because he was near.
But now they had come to the fort. He would turn her over to his commander and disappear from her life.
Someone would be assigned to see her to Wiltshire, and she need never see him again. Never feel his eyes again, the touch of smoke gray and insinuation that warmed everything within her and seemed to caress her as if he saw her again as he had by the brook.
They were in front of the command post. Tess pulled hard on the reins, dropped them and started to leap from the driver’s seat. She smiled, for Jon Red Feather was there to help her.
She had grown to like the man very much: his striking, sturdy appearance, his silence and his carefully chosen words. And she sensed that he believed her when others might not.
He set her upon the ground. She thanked him then looked at all the confusion around her. Wives, children and perhaps lovers had spilled from the various buildings in the compound to greet the returning men. Monahah had called out an order dismissing them all, and the band was quickly breaking up.
Lieutenant Slater was striding up the steps to the broad porch that encircled the command post, saluting the tall, gray-haired man who awaited him. Jon indicated the steps.
“Miss. Stuart, I believe the colonel will want a statement from you as soon as possible. I’ll see to your accommodations for the evening and return shortly.”
He walked her to the porch. Apparently Slater had already explained something about her, for the colonel was quick to offer her a hand and guide her up the steps.
“Miss. Stuart, our most sincere condolences on the loss of your uncle, but may I say that we are heartily glad that you have survived to be here today,” “Thank you,” Tess said. It was strange. It already seemed like the whole thing had happened in the distant past. Days on the plains could do that, she decided. And yet, when the colonel spoke so solicitously of Uncle Joe, all the pain and the loneliness rushed back.
She tried to swallow them down. She needed to impress this man with intelligence and determination, not a fit of tears. She didn’t want to be patted on the back. She wanted to be believed.
“Miss. Stuart, if you would be so good as to join us inside, the colonel would like to speak with you,” Slater said.
There was a startling light in his eyes as they touched her. Not amusement, but something else. Almost a challenge. He wanted to see if she would back down, she thought. Well, she wouldn’t.
She walked past both men and into a large office with file cabinets and a massive desk and a multitude of crude wooden chairs. Slater pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down as regally as she could manage, pulling off her rough leather gloves and letting them fall into her lap. She felt Slater’s eyes, and she looked up then looked quickly away.
He had seen the blisters and calluses on her hands. The colonel took his seat behind the desk. He was an elderly man, whose gentle blue eyes seemed to belie his position as a commander of such a post. His voice, too, was gentle. Tess thought he was genuinely grateful to see her alive, even if he had never met her before.
“Would you like coffee, Miss. Stuart? I’m afraid I’ve no tea to offer you” — “Coffee will be just fine, thank you,” Tess said.
She hadn’t realized that there was another man in the room unt’d a s’dent young corporal stepped forward to bring her a tin m
ug of black coffee. She thanked him and an awkward moment followed. Then the colonel sat forward, folding his hands on the desk.
“Miss. Stuart, Lieutenant Slater informs me that you have claimed that it was not Indians who set upon your band.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Then who?”
“White men. Hired guns for a man named yon Heusen. He is trying to take my uncle’s property and” — “He’d have men attack a whole wagon train to obtain your uncle’s property? Think now, Miss. Stuart, is that logical?”
She gritted her teeth. Slater was watching her politely. She wanted to kick him.
“It wasn’t a large wagon train, Colonel.
We’ve had good relations with the Comanche in our area, and my uncle wasn’t afraid of the Comanche! We were traveling with a very small party, a few hired hands, my uncle-”
” Maybe, Miss. Stuart, the Indians weren’t Comanche.
Maybe they were a stray band of Apache looking for easy prey, or Shoshone down from the mountains, or maybe even an offshoot of the Sioux”—” No Indian attacked that wagon train.”
Tess swung around. Jon Red Feather had come into the room. He helped himself to coffee, then pulled up the chair beside Slater. He grinned at his friend, then addressed the colonel.
“I’m sure that Miss. Stuart does know a Comanche when she sees one, sir. And it wasn’t Apache. Apache usually only scalp Mexicans—in retaliation.” He turned and smiled at Tess.
“And I can promise you that what was done was not done by the Sioux. A Sioux would never have left Miss. Stuart behind.”
A shiver ran down Tess’s spine. She didn’t know if Jon meant that the Sioux would have taken her with them—or that they would have been sure to kill and scalp her, too. The colonel lifted his hands. Even with Jori corroborating her story, he didn’t seem to believe her. Or if he did believe her, he had no intention of helping her.
“Miss. Stuart, I have heard of this von Heusen. He has big money, and big connections, and I understand he owns half the town” — “Literally, Colonel.
He owns the judge and the sheriff and the deputies.”
Apache Summer Page 4
