Atlanta

by Sara Orwig

  They moved away at a walk, going through the trees, and she wondered how the colonel knew where he was going. He seemed as at home out in the wilds as he was in a hotel room. Claire looked around at the tall trees and vines. The creak of their saddles and their horses moving through the thick underbrush were noisy in the quiet night. How did Fortune O’Brien know so unerringly that he was headed in the right direction?

  He moved slightly ahead of her, his wide shoulders a dark silhouette in the night as he sat straight in the saddle. She rode up closer beside him, feeling as if Harwood could emerge out of the darkness at any moment.

  At the edge of a stand of pines, while they were still in the shadows, the colonel reined in his horse and shook the boy. “Michael, wake up.” He stirred and looked up at the colonel.

  “We need to escape in a hurry,” O’Brien said in a calm voice that sounded as if they were going for a sprint for the sheer pleasure of it. “I’ll put you on your horse, and we’re going to gallop across that field.”

  “Yes, sir,” Michael answered sleepily, and she regretted that he had to be put in danger. And she knew that Colonel O’Brien hated it as much as she did.

  Ahead a grassy expanse was bathed in moonlight, and it would be easy for anyone to see them. The next line of trees was over half a mile away.

  As soon as Michael was seated, O’Brien looked at her and raised his arm. “We’re headed south. We’ll be in the open, and I want you to go as fast as you can. Stay low over your horse, and if there are shots, don’t stop.”

  “If something happens to you, I’m supposed to ride away and leave you? Don’t be ridiculous—”

  “You’d try to save me?” His brows arched, in his expression a fleeting look of curiosity.

  As she gave it thought, she knew she would. In the dark she was uncertain whether she glimpsed a mocking amusement in his expression or not. And then the moment was gone.

  “You get Michael to safety,” he said under his breath. “I’ll take care of myself. Are you ready to ride?”

  “Yes, I’m ready.” Wondering how far behind Harwood was, she glanced back over her shoulder at the darkness.

  Colonel O’Brien moved closer to Michael, touching his shoulder lightly. “Ready to ride fast?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t stop for anything and stay close to your mother.”

  “Yes, sir,” Michael whispered, nodding his head.

  O’Brien looked at her a moment, and then he slapped his horse, urging it forward. They surged into the open, racing across the rolling ground at breakneck speed. She leaned low, holding her horse back to let Michael ride between them. Wind whipped her skirts and her hair, tangling it and blowing locks of hair around her face.

  The horses were lathered when they finally reined in close to a stand of oaks. O’Brien twisted in the saddle to look back. “You two ride ahead.” He dismounted to place the rifle in her hands. “Try to keep going in the same direction. I’ll wait here for a while.”

  Her pulse jumped. She would have Michael to herself. She looked past O’Brien over the open terrain they had just covered. By waiting, the colonel could see if Harwood was coming after them. Her gaze ran across the field to the tall pines beyond it. Was Harwood in the trees, gazing back at her, determined to get Michael?

  “How will you find us?”

  “I’ll find you,” the colonel answered. He sat facing the field, watching for Harwood. With a tug of the reins, she turned her horse and they moved beneath tall trees. In moments she knew they had to be out of Colonel O’Brien’s sight. Yet now that she was away from him, it was as impossible to ride away from him as it had been to pull the trigger of the rifle.

  “Michael, I love you,” she said suddenly, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

  “I love you, Mama,” he answered, as he always had. His voice was filled with trust, and she longed to pull him close and hug him.

  “Michael, whatever happens, I want you to always remember that I love you more than anything else and I have since the first moment I held you in my arms when you were a tiny baby.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Is someone after us now?”

  “Yes, there might be.”

  “We’re safer with Colonel O’Brien, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, we are,” she answered, trying to keep her voice light so Michael wouldn’t realize she was crying.

  “Mama, he’s nice. I hope he stays with us.”

  “He will, Michael.”

  “Does he have any family?”

  “His wife died a long time ago, and he loved her very much. His mother and father have both died. He has some brothers.”

  “That’s too bad about his wife.” Michael looked at her. “Maybe he’ll marry you,” he said, sounding hopeful.

  “No, Michael. He said he won’t ever marry again.” Fortune had said no such thing, but she had to get the notion out of Michael’s head that Fortune might marry her. The colonel was just biding his time to get rid of her. He wouldn’t even allow her to be his nanny. He couldn’t keep her from living in the same town, though, where she would get a glimpse of Michael. In that moment she decided she would open her millinery shop in Atlanta.

  “I hope he stays with us a long, long time.”

  She rode in silence, wondering if they were going straight, if Colonel O’Brien really would be able to find them. She looked overhead, not familiar enough with cross-country travel to know the stars or how to tell in which direction they were going.

  Dawn finally came, the sky growing lighter. Tiny drops of dew caught the sunlight and sparkled on green oak leaves. They had ridden through the night and she was exhausted. She was also worried about Michael, who was slumped slightly in his saddle. She hadn’t heard gunshots, but there could be a long distance separating her from O’Brien, perhaps too much now for her to hear if he did fire at someone.

  Finally at mid-morning, she stopped beside a meandering, muddy trickle in a wide stream bed. “Michael, let’s wait. We may be hopelessly lost. The horses need to water and be fed. We need to eat.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, climbing down from the saddle.

  She unsaddled the horses and let them drink from the stream while she carried their things beneath the shade of a tall hackberry. She spread a brown blanket and placed a cold repast of biscuits, slices of pink ham, and a jar of thick purple damson jam. She peeled an apple and cut it into thin slices.

  As they ate, Michael looked at her. “Do you think Colonel O’Brien is all right?”

  “Yes, I do. He fought in some terrible battles during the war. He’s fine,” she said, not only to reassure Michael but also because she truly did feel that Fortune O’Brien was a match for Harwood.

  In the coolness beneath the spreading branches, Michael stretched on the blanket and in minutes was asleep. She watched a yellow butterfly swoop over wildflowers, waiting, wondering what they would do if they had lost Fortune O’Brien. Yet soon fatigue overcame her as well. She stretched out on the blanket, gazing at blue sky and green leaves overhead until her eyes started to close.

  She snapped upright at the sound of hoof beats. Quickly she reached for the rifle. She saw a shadowy figure moving through the trees, and then she recognized the familiar wide shoulders. Relieved, she replaced the rifle on the blanket as Fortune O’Brien rode out of the trees and dismounted, leading his horse to water. He glanced at Michael, who was stretched out asleep, his black lashes a dark shadow on his rosy cheeks.

  “Nothing wakes him short of shaking him, does it?”

  “Not easily. What happened?”

  “It’s Harwood. I never did see him, but he’s after us. I thought maybe we could stay far enough ahead of him to lose him, but we haven’t. We’ll get into Pineville tonight if we ride hard.”

  “Do you want to eat?”

  “Yes. You’ve ridden all night,” he said. “Go ahead and sleep for a few minutes.”

  She nodded, feeling safer now that he had joined them. She stretched out,
glancing at him to find him watching her. “What about you?” she asked.

  “I’ll sleep tonight.”

  She closed her eyes, sleep coming at once.

  Fortune stretched out, closing his eyes, wanting just a few minutes’ sleep. He knew Harwood had to be more than an hour behind them, but he couldn’t risk staying in the open during daylight too long. He would have to face Harwood and fight it out. Otherwise they could be slipped up on. His gaze wandered down the length of Claire, and he felt a stirring of desire as he looked at her curves and tiny waist. The blue dress draped over her, outlining her long legs.

  Wiping perspiration off his brow, he settled back, feeling the scratchy wool blanket beneath him as he closed his eyes, going to sleep almost instantly.

  Within the hour they were mounted and heading south again. They rode into Pineville that night, and he checked them into the hotel, taking two rooms that were comfortable with chipped mahogany furniture and a rag rug on the floor.

  They gave Michael a bed in one room, and the colonel left her alone while she bathed in a tin tub of warm water. Relishing the chance to wash, she sank back, her long hair swirling in the water around her. With reluctance she finally stepped out to dry and put on the blue calico dress. As she brushed out her hair, she heard a light rap on the door.

  “Michael’s asleep,” Fortune said, entering the room. “We won’t have to worry about Harwood tonight, and we can get some sleep. I won’t touch you, but I want to sleep on a bed.”

  She stared at him as he yanked his shirt over his head. She left, going to Michael’s room to give the colonel privacy.

  In ten minutes the door opened, and he motioned to her. She crossed the room, and as soon as she stepped through the door, he closed it behind her. “I’m finished bathing,” he said, facing her. His wet hair clung to his head, ringlets curling around his face. Water still glistened on his shoulders, and she couldn’t keep her gaze from lowering to look at his broad chest.

  “You could put Michael in here and take the sofa or give me the sofa.”

  “No. This way I’ll know where you are and what you’re doing.”

  “If I had wanted to run away with Michael, I would have today.”

  The colonel studied her, his head tilted to one side. “Why didn’t you? I expected you to.”

  She walked away, running her fingers along the edge of a table, feeling a small chip in the dark wood. “I know Michael needs you.”

  “I hope you’re telling the truth.”

  She glanced around, feeling a flash of annoyance at his reply. “If I hadn’t felt that way, I would have run with him today.”

  “Not if you didn’t know where to go,” he answered with a cynical note. “You were in the wilds. You couldn’t have gotten far without getting lost. You had already started heading west instead of south.”

  She clamped her lips closed and looked at the four-poster bed. She walked around to the far side of it, turning her back to him. Feeling self-conscious, worrying because in minutes he would be only inches away, she lay down.

  The lamp went out, and the bed jiggled and sagged with his weight. She lay as far on her side of the bed as possible, her fingers touching the cool sheet beneath her. It was miserably hot in the room in her dress and underclothing. She inched her skirt higher until it rested just below her knees, certain he was unaware of what she was doing.

  He shifted, jiggling the bed, and she was acutely conscious of him, feeling the warmth radiate from him.

  “Lord, it’s a hot night,” he said in a husky voice.

  “Yes, it is,” she answered stiffly without turning to look at him.

  “Miss Dryden.” Hearing her name spoken in his deep voice stirred a tingle in her. “Tell me about Michael. Anything you remember when he was a baby. I missed all of that. I didn’t see him get his first tooth or take his first step or say his first word.”

  She turned her head, emotions warring in her, feeling anger that he wanted her to share all those moments with him when he was going to take Michael from her forever.

  “He cut his first tooth when he was eight months old, and he began to crawl before that. By the time he was nine months, he could move around by holding onto things. I remember that time. I worked for a milliner in San Antonio, and I would take him to the shop with me. He was into so many things. We made a little corner and placed a desk and a cabinet so it blocked him into a small space. She had five grown children, and she brought some wooden toys for Michael to play with. It was a couple of months after that when he could toddle around without holding on.”

  “Do you remember his first word?” he said. She felt the bed creak again and glanced at him. He leaned off the bed, stretching his long arm out to reach a table to pick up a paper fan. Moonlight played over the muscles in his back and arm, and she drew a deep breath. The gold link bracelet on his wrist held a dull sheen in the moonlight.

  He lay back and she turned to look up at the ceiling while he waved the fan and stirred a welcome breeze over her.

  “That feels better.” She felt him shift again and glanced at him. He lay on his side facing her, his head propped on his elbow while he fanned them.

  “Do you remember any first words?”

  “Yes,” she said, looking at the ceiling, more conscious than ever of the colonel lying next to her. Yet he didn’t seem aware of her. All his curiosity concerned Michael.

  “He said mama before he started to crawl. I remember when he first started saying it,” she said, recalling the moments when he was so tiny and his first smiles would give her thrills of joy. “I know he was just babbling and making sounds, but it was marvelous.” She turned on her side to face Fortune, suddenly forgetting her self-consciousness, momentarily lost in memories. “Michael was beautiful. Everywhere I went, ladies would come up to me and tell me what a beautiful baby I had. And he was always so happy. He hardly ever fussed. When he started saying mama, he began to make other noises within days.”

  “How’d you provide for him?”

  “I took some of my father’s gold when I ran away—”

  “I wondered what you did.”

  “And I worked and we lived in small rooms,” she said defensively. “He didn’t know the difference when he was a baby. And he’s always seemed happy wherever we were. The owner of a house where we rented a room in San Francisco had a shaggy mongrel dog. Michael loved that dog, but one afternoon he got my shears and cut its hair. There’s no way to describe the haircut Michael gave him, but the dog didn’t seem to mind and it grew back out.” She laughed, remembering, and then saw Colonel O’Brien smiling as well.

  Suddenly she forgot what she had been saying. His broad shoulders, his strong body, lay only inches from hers, and the awareness disturbed her.

  She rolled over and scooted away from him. “I’m sorry you missed all that.”

  There was a long moment of silence and she lay still, her heart racing while he still fanned her. “Michael reads well for such a young child. You must have taught him.”

  “Yes, but he took to it easily. I wanted him to be educated, and there was no chance to stay in one place long enough to send him to a school,” she said quietly, turning to face the colonel, seeing a faint frown.

  “That will all change, and he’s quick and intelligent. I think you did a fine job teaching him,” Fortune said.

  “Thank you,” she answered, feeling pleased and surprised.

  He rolled onto his back, tossing away the fan. She glanced at him. “Colonel, why do you always wear that bracelet?”

  “Call me Fortune.” He lifted his arm, turning his wrist, dark hairs curling over the bracelet. He didn’t answer, yet he was studying the bracelet, so she knew he had heard her question.

  “It was Marilee’s. I had it made for her and it was something she left behind. I had some more links put in it so it would fit me because until now it was all that I had of her except memories.”

  Feeling another surge of sympathy for all he had lost, s
he turned her head and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t move, and in minutes she glanced at him again to see his chest rising and falling evenly.

  She couldn’t sleep. She had enjoyed talking to him in the intimacy of the darkened room, talking about Michael. With a pang she longed for all she had missed, for a husband and family and for things she would never know—a man’s loving, kisses, her own children, the companionship of long, quiet talks with someone she loved. She heard Fortune’s deep breathing, and she turned to look at him again.

  He was bare-chested, the denim pants low on his hips as he slept. His body looked powerful, male, overwhelming.

  Perspiration beaded her forehead as she remembered all too clearly being held against him while he had kissed her. Just the thought of his kisses started a fire in her. She licked her lips and wondered what he had been like with Marilee. Had this hardened man ever been charming and carefree and loving?

  Trying to stop the unbidden memories and images, Claire turned her back to him. She slept only fitfully, though and woke at dawn.

  They ate early in a nearby roominghouse. Over steaming cups of black coffee and plates of sausage and eggs, Claire looked out through a window at the wide street as it filled with people and wagons and horses. Sunshine and a blue sky made danger seem less threatening, and the presence of so many people was reassuring. She thought about traveling again, the dark shadows in woods hiding attackers. “Wouldn’t it be better to face him in town?”

  “He’d just wait for the right opportunity to strike. We’re better off getting supplies here and moving on.”

  This made sense, and she nodded. She also realized that if they stayed, she’d be sharing the same small hotel room with him night after night.

  “Mama said you don’t want to marry again ever,” Michael said suddenly as he studied Fortune. O’Brien’s gaze swung from Michael to her. His blue eyes bored into her a second and then shifted back to Michael.

  “No, I don’t,” the colonel answered.

  “She said your wife died.”

  “Yes, she did.”