by Sharon Ihle
Dominique stopped in her tracks and spun around. "It's not as if I'm some young schoolgirl, you know. I think I can manage the private all by myself."
"As you did this afternoon in the back of the wagon?"
Dominique pursed her lips. "I told you that was an accident. Why won't you listen to me?"
"Oh, all right. I'll compromise. I'll greet him with you, and then I'll disappear into the drawing room to work on my crocheting. Just be warned—if it gets too quiet out in the parlor, I shall have to return."
Dominique rolled her big brown eyes.
"Take it or leave it, girl," Hazel said firmly.
"I'll take it."
Raising the hem of her skirt, Dominique made her way down the long curving stairway, then carefully strolled into the parlor. "You wish to see me?" she said to her guest as she entered the room.
Jacob nearly dropped the carved ivory elephant he held. Replacing the statue on a small occasional table, he faced the women. "Yes. I came to see if you were well."
"No thanks to you, Private." Hazel advanced on him, but stopped her progress at a scathing glance from Dominique. Backtracking, she excused herself. "I'll just be in the other room. I trust your visit will be brief, Private. Miss DuBois needs her rest."
"I will not stay long." As soon as Hazel was out of sight, Jacob studied Dominique for signs of ill effects. Other than a general appearance of fatigue, she looked as beautiful as ever. With a sheepish grin, he said, "Your friend sounds as if she is quite angry with me."
"Don't worry about it, Jacob. She's none too pleased with me, either."
"Are you well?" he asked softly, concern reflected in his sea-blue eyes.
"As well as can be expected, I suppose. I have a dreadful headache and feel as if I may be sick at any moment. How about you?"
"I have definitely felt better," he said with a quiet laugh. "Perhaps what we need is a shot of Professor Harrington's elixir."
"Oh, Jacob, I don’t think so." Swaying against him, Dominique brought her hand to her mouth in an effort to stifle her laughter. She caught her breath and whispered, "I was afraid you might be mad at me for getting so silly after I drank that awful stuff."
With a quick glance over his shoulder, Jacob satisfied his sense of privacy. Then, in a bold move, he cupped her face between his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes.
"I am to blame for any harm caused to you this afternoon. It is I who begs your forgiveness."
He was so close she could feel the warmth from his breath, catch the faint scent of peppermint it carried. Again she swayed, but it had nothing to do with illness or potions, the miseries or a sense of propriety. It had everything to do with Jacob, the man. "Please don't say that. You've done nothing to forgive. You tried to keep me from taking too much of the potion, and even after it was too late, I know how difficult it must have been for you to handle me."
Her words were almost too much for him. If only she knew how badly he longed to handle her, to touch her. If they were back in his lodge in the camp of his father, it would have been a simple thing. Dominique would have been his by now. She would share his tipi, his life. This he knew, this he believed without a doubt. Thinking not of their uncertain future, but only of the moment, Jacob raised his fingers to her brow and brushed a lock of golden- red hair aside. "You were no problem," he said in a throaty whisper.
But she knew she had been. Ever since her return to the house, vague, disturbing glimpses of her adventures in town had been popping out of the shadows in her mind. She remembered the potion, Jacob's warnings, Jacob's dark blue eyes, the way he smiled down at her with playful desire as he tried to comfort her in the wagon. She'd guessed it was desire because she felt the same thing, wondered if those feelings were there because of, or in spite of, the elixir. She remembered wanting to kiss him, had an idea she might even have asked him if he would do her the honor. Dominique's cheeks grew fiery at the thought. Had she verbalized her desires?
"Oh, Jacob, I'm afraid I said some terrible things to you, asked you to do some things a lady would never—"
"You are wondering if you asked me to kiss you?" He smiled, allowing one hand to fall down from her shoulder to her waist. "Yes, you did. But I also know the medicine made you say the words without your permission. Do not feel ashamed."
Dominique blushed. "I don't feel shame, Jacob. I feel embarrassed because I asked you to do such a thing, because with or without the medicine, my lips had my permission. Because," she added, looking up at him with languid eyes, "it's something I've been wanting to do for a long time. If I feel anything, I feel cheated because it didn't happen."
His breath caught as his heart thundered against his throat. "This is the way you feel now?"
"Now more than ever," she said, leaving her lips moist and slightly parted.
And because he was only a man at that moment, neither Sioux nor soldier, savior nor avenger, Jacob accepted her invitation without another thought. His arm tightened around her waist and he drew her against the length of his body in one swift movement. Then he claimed her mouth with his.
Startled at first by the near violence of his kiss, the force with which he came to her, Dominique went limp and compliant under the onslaught of his kisses. Then passion—honest and heady, a genuine sensation, no longer just a word in a forbidden book—welled up inside her. A new awareness lapped at her senses, roused in her a curiosity and an enormous need, enticed her with a siren's wail from deep within. Her hands moved of their own accord, explored the ridges of his muscular shoulders, followed the hard valley of his spine, and massaged the softer flesh protecting his ribs.
Then suddenly, as abruptly as he'd come to her, Jacob tore his mouth from hers and backed away. "Someone is coming," he said, his voice thick with desire.
As she reeled in the strange new world of passion, Dominique's lashes fluttered and she wobbled when she tried to make her way to the rocking chair.
Reaching out to steady her, Jacob gripped her arm until he heard the front door open, then slam. He released her and stepped back into the shadows just as Elizabeth Custer passed under the high archway.
"Nikki," she greeted. "How was your trip to town?"
Dominique remained standing, even though she'd reached the rocker, and worked at catching her breath. "Fine, Aunt Libbie. Private Stoltz"—she gestured toward the corner—"was good enough to show me around the city."
Libbie spun on her heel, surprised to learn she and her niece were not alone. "Oh, Private—I didn't realize Nikki had company." She looked back to Dominique, one eyebrow raised, and asked, "Does the private have some special army business here?"
"Not exactly." Dominique picked at a hangnail, struggling to find one of her usually quick retorts, and finally said, "Private Stoltz just stopped by to inquire about my health. I took sick on the ride back home today."
"Oh, Nikki. Why wasn't I informed? I was only two doors down." She rushed to her niece's side and promptly pressed her palm against Dominique's brow. "You do seem a bit warm." Leaning back, she took in her niece's appearance. "Oh, and look at that high color. Why, you're positively flushed, girl. You should be in bed."
Not even trying to control her reaction to Libbie's observations, Dominique exchanged glances with Jacob, then lowered her head to hide her sudden grin. "I'll be all right, Aunt Libbie. I was just in the sun too long."
"Well, whatever the cause, you should be upstairs resting. Now run along."
This time Dominique bit back the impulse to argue, knowing that to push any more tonight would only rouse suspicion. She exhaled loudly and nodded. "I think you're right. Thanks again for the lovely afternoon, Private. Maybe we can do it again some other time."
"I would be honored, Miss DuBois."
Dominique curtsied, whirled around, and took one dramatic step toward the hallway before she stopped. "Oh, Aunt Libbie. There is one other thing. Private Stoltz is the soldier I invited to join us a few days past. It seems his invitation was destroyed before he ever h
ad a chance to read it. Do you suppose it would be all right to extend him the same courtesy, oh, say ... Friday afternoon?"
"Oh, well, Nikki ... I don't know."
"It would be such a wonderful gesture. He was so helpful when I was ill this afternoon and all. I don't see how we can let him go unrewarded."
"Well, in that case ..." Libbie faced the private. "Would you care to join us around four o'clock on Friday afternoon for tea and cakes, Private? We usually sing some songs or play cards."
Jacob's smile was broad, directed not at Libbie, but beyond her to the vision of cunning beauty in the doorway. "I would be honored. Thank you. I wonder if I might ask Lieutenant Woodhouse to come, too. He helped to care for Dominique this afternoon."
"Lieutenant Woodhouse?" Again Libbie looked toward her niece. "Isn't he Hazel's new friend?"
Grinning, she said, "Why, yes, I believe he is." From the other room, Dominique was sure she heard a small gasp. She continued, "Barney Woodhouse is quite some gentleman too. I think you ought to get to know him better, Aunt Libbie. He's a good one to have around."
"Hummm." Libbie turned back to Jacob. "Very well, then. Go ahead and extend the invitation to the lieutenant as well."
"Thank you, ma'am, but I have one more request."
"I'm sorry, Private, but I cannot invite any more strangers into the general's home in his absence."
"It is nothing like that. I would ask that your invitation be in writing. Some of the soldiers play jokes on each other and I do not want Barney to think this is what I am doing to him."
"Oh." Libbie shrugged and crossed over to her small marble-inlaid desk. She pulled a slip of her personal stationery from the drawer, scribbled a few lines on it, then folded the paper and handed it to the private. "There. That should convince him of the authenticity of my invitation. Until Friday afternoon, Private."
"Thanks, ma'am."
Her duty finished as she saw it, Libbie nodded and glided over to Dominique's side. "Now, then, let's get you upstairs."
"Good afternoon," Dominique called to Jacob as she and Libbie passed under the archway.
"Afternoon, ladies," he replied, hat in hand. After the two women left the room, Jacob followed along behind them, turning left in the direction of the front door as they headed right toward the stairs. When he reached the threshold, he stopped when he heard Libbie's excited voice cry out.
"Oh, Nikki. I almost forgot. I have just the thing to perk you up. One of the major's men was in town today, and he bought a few bottles of a brand-new cure-all. Why, I'll bet all you need to feel better is a dose of Professor Harrington's Nature Cure and Worm Syrup."
Chapter Nine
On Friday, once again wearing the white gauze dress with the grass-green satin trimming, Dominique twirled before her full-length looking glass. She leaned forward, tugging at the fabric and encouraging her breasts to swell out over the square-cut neckline, then straightened. After spinning from one side to the other, she gave her reflection a nod of approval and strolled over to her bedroom window.
Through the large gabled window frame, her gaze swept the commanding view of Fort Abraham Lincoln and its Missouri River backdrop. Beyond the cottonwood trees lining the banks lay the wild, untamed Dakota Territory and the Indians fighting so mightily to keep this land as their own. Her thoughts, as they seemed to do more and more, reverted to the night she had spent in the Lakota camp—to the savage Dominique had come to think of as Jacob's brother—the man whose kisses had fueled the fire Jacob had ignited so well in the parlor.
Tonight she would inform him of his mother's fate. She would make it her duty to let him know of the existence of the man who carried his blood in his veins. Again Dominique thought of that man, of the savage whose naked body had warmed, then returned life, to her frozen limbs. His voice, the husky laugh that was so like Jacob's, stirred her memory, her heart. She couldn't let another day go by, allow another shared intimacy to pass, without telling Jacob about the man called Redfoot.
Dominique glanced over at the barracks. Friday afternoons left the fort looking deserted, as the common soldiers cleaned the facilities in preparation for their weekly Sunday inspections. Not a soldier stirred outside the barracks—with the exception of Private Stoltz and Lieutenant Woodhouse. This privileged duo, she noticed with delight, sauntered along the path of Officers' Row on their way to the grand centerpiece, the Custer house.
Ducking out of sight, Dominique gave her cheeks a final pinch before bolting from her room and down the stairs. Once in the hallway, she lifted her chin and modified her manners. Strolling quietly into the parlor, she found a member of her family over by the sideboard.
"Good afternoon, Uncle Tom. I didn't know you were coming by."
Thomas Custer jumped a foot, spilling the ill-gotten brandy down the front of his dress shirt. "Oh, ah, Nikki. I didn't hear you come in."
Unaware of his distress, she approached him. "Sorry if I startled you. Is Uncle Bos coming, too?"
"I don't know, sweetheart." Working with his back to her, Tom managed to hide the small glass behind Libbie's collection of fine silver before he faced her. "You know Bos," he said with a forced laugh. "He's a civilian and thinks he can march to his own drummer. I don't know where he is today."
"Tom, Dominique," Libbie greeted as she hurried into the room. Dressed in a plain brown wrapper the color of her chestnut hair, she looked unusually drab and stern. "Did I hear you mention Boston? Is something wrong?"
"No, dear." Tom reached for her hands. "I was just explaining to Nikki how hard he is to locate since he really doesn't have to answer to anyone."
"He has to answer to the general, Tom."
"Yes, of course, but more as a brother than as a soldier. After all, Libbie, a civilian guide is hardly bound by the rules of the United States Calvary."
"Tom?" Libbie blurted out. Sniffing, she stepped closer. "My stars. You reek of brandy. Oh, Thomas, you promised the general, you promised us all you wouldn't take another drink."
"Shussh, Libbie, please?" Tom inclined his head toward Dominique. "I hardly think this needs to be discussed in front of an audience. After all, it was just one little shot of brandy. You're carrying on as if I'd gone out and gotten all liquored up."
Libbie glared up at him, biting her tongue, checking her temper. She'd promised Autie and Grandpa Custer she would keep a close watch on Tom and help to ensure his sobriety whenever temptation reached out to him. And so she had. Or at least, she thought she had. How many times had he broken his pledge behind her back? Had he been fooling her all along? The sound of voices filled the entryway, making it impossible for her to ask him any questions until some more private time.
Libbie leaned toward him, whispering, "You and I are going to discuss this later, Tom, but discuss it we will. Now, if you please, I'd like you to help me greet our guests." Then she took his outstretched arm and walked to the archway as the first of the ladies stepped into the parlor.
Dominique, forgotten and left standing by the sideboard, contented herself by staying in the corner. She had no more interest in her uncle's drinking problem than she had in the officers or their high-and-mighty wives. Her only concern this night was for Jacob and his opinion of her now that she'd allowed him to see the wild, undisciplined side of her nature. Would he think her common and cheap, try to take further liberties whether she encouraged them or not? Or would he ignore her altogether, think her less than worthy of him or of any decent man?
Suddenly more nervous than excited, Dominique bit her bottom lip and began to worry the split at the side of her thumbnail. Then Barney strode into the room. Jacob was one step behind him. After shaking the hand of hostess and saluting his host, the private made straight for her.
"Good afternoon, Miss DuBois," he said in a loud, clear voice. Then, making sure they weren't overheard, he added in a lower tone, "I hope you have had time to recover from your sickness caused by Professor Harrington's cure-all. Or did your aunt force you to drink another bottle of
this famous medicine?"
Dominique laughed as she said, "You heard her?" When he nodded, she went on, still chuckling. "I spent the better part of the night convincing her I had suddenly become well. She was determined to test the effects of that horrible stuff on me. Ugh."
Jacob chuckled as she mimicked an exaggerated shudder, then said, "I do hope you are well at last."
"I am." She looked up at him and smiled. His return gaze, the caress in his deep blue eyes, turned her insides to mush, her mind to soup. What was it she wanted to talk to him about?
"Do you intend to continue your riding lessons, Miss DuBois? Peaches misses you."
"Huh? Oh, yes, I do wish to go on with the lessons. Tomorrow, in fact." Dominique glanced around, looking for the most private seating, then took his hand. "Come and join me on Aunt Libbie's new sofa."
