by Gordon, Rose
Allison’s cheeks turned pink at the reaction from the men. Wes put his hand on the small of her back and bent his head close to her ear. “Don’t worry about them. They’re just jealous.”
“Come bring that new wife of yours down here,” his friend Jack called from the far end of the second table.
Wes guided Allison down the aisle and held the chair out for her before taking his seat next to her. A moment later a scruffy-looking private plunked two metal plates in front of them, both filled with a scoop of pale yellow, jiggling eggs. Allison scrunched her nose and Wes chuckled.
“Eat up, lady,” he said, handing her fork to her. “This is a good meal.”
“A good meal?” Her eyes were still trained on the eggs in front of her and her tone full of disbelief.
“Yes,” Jack agreed, shoving a giant forkful of the slimy scrambled eggs into his mouth, “one of the best.”
Wes tried not to wince at the truth of Jack’s words. He turned toward Allison. “Eggs are rare. We have to trade with the Indians for them when they come to trade—which isn’t often.”
“I see,” she said, though her expression implied she didn’t see anything at all. She turned her fork over in her hand so the prongs were pointing downward, then with a very uneasy movement, poked at her eggs and lifted a small bite to her lips. She quickly swallowed and immediately brought her napkin to her mouth; whether to wipe away an imaginary crumb or hide her reflexive gag, Wes would never know.
“Good, aren’t they?” McCorkle asked around a mouthful of eggs.
“Of course,” Allison said. She picked up her cup and took a generous swallow of coffee. She grimaced and lowered the cup back to the table with a thud louder than she’d likely intended.
“Ain’t you gonna eat?” McCorkle asked.
Allison shook her head. Wes had a momentary pang of sympathy for her. It had taken him a full year to get used to the meals they served here. Were she his wife in truth, he’d suggest that he buy all the equipment necessary for her to cook their meals over the fire in their room. But she wasn’t his wife, and there was no use in getting accustomed to better cooking, only to have to resort back to this slop after she left. Besides, a highfalutin woman like her probably didn’t even know the first step in how to boil water. His own mother sure didn’t. Why would Allison be any different?
He shook his head. “Eat up,” he said; his voice rough. “It’s a long time until lunch.”
“I think I’ll manage until then.” Her soft voice and the way she so carelessly pushed her plate away irritated him.
“Many men here would give a week’s wages for that plate of food,” he said in a low tone. “I’ll not have it said that my wife wastes her meals when rations are so few and the food supply so low.”
Allison’s brown eyes met his. “Then give it to one of them.”
“No, it’s yours. You need to eat.”
“Sir, I don’t know who you think I am, but I will tell you this: I am not your child to be told what to do and when to eat. I can decide for myself what I do and do not wish to eat.”
Wes’ face grew warm. He didn’t want to eat it. He wanted her to eat it. She may not know it now, but this was likely the best meal she’d eat before returning to her fancy life. Grumbling, he cast an eye to his curious friends, then slid her plate of eggs over and devoured them.
When he was done with his—and her—eggs and had drained the contents of his tin cup, he stood and said, “Shall I take you to where the other officers’ wives spend their day, my lady?”
Allison frowned at him, presumably because she didn’t like the honorary styling he’d given her due to her tendency to act like one of the stuffy, spoiled aristocrats from England he’d heard about. As if realizing her look of disapproval did nothing to cow or shame him, she looked around the room, her eyes narrowing. “I hadn’t even noticed that none of the other officers’ wives joined us for breakfast,” she observed.
“That’s because most of them cook for their husbands,” he muttered under his breath. “Come along, then. We’ll have to stop by and see Charles first, and then I’ll take you to Mrs. Lewis.”
“Must we?”
Wes held the door open for her. “Must we what?”
“Go see your friend Charles?”
“Do you have another dress or two that I don’t know about?” he asked, lifting a brow.
She scowled and shook her head. “Do we have to buy a dress from him?”
Wes nearly choked to death on his own tongue. Patting his chest with more force than was necessary, he said, “No. And we won’t be. You’ll be making anything you want to wear around here.”
A shadow crossed Allison’s face. “All right.”
He cocked his head to the side. “You do know how to sew, don’t you?”
“Of course I do!” She cleared her throat. “It is rude for you to even suggest otherwise.”
He would have laughed at her look of outrage were he not skeptical she was lying. He sighed. “Do you truly know how to sew?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. Too quickly.
“Uh huh. So I can buy you material and you won’t waste it?”
“Waste it?”
“Yes. Waste it, just like you wasted your breakfast.”
Her lips thinned. “It did not go to waste. You ate it.”
“Yes, but I won’t be able to wear any poor attempt at a skirt you manage to create with this fabric.”
Her cheeks grew pink. “Have no fear; your money will not be wasted. I am an expert seamstress,” she said before marching in the direction of the sutler’s store.
Wes was not far behind.
“Charles,” Wes called, opening the door to the sutler’s shop for her. “Show me your cheapest fabric, please.”
“Pardon me?” Allison said, halting right in front of him in the doorway.
Wes walked around her and over to where Charles kept the bolts of fabric. “Oh, and my lady will be needin’ some thread, too.”
Charles grabbed a bolt of fabric from the bottom of the rack in the corner. “Will she be needin’ a pattern, too?”
Wes shrugged. “I reckon she might.”
“She is right here,” Allison said, coming to stand by them. Her eyes met the bolt of rough and somewhat see-through fabric in Charles’ hand and her upper lip curled up. “Put that away right now. I’d sooner wear the dress I’m wearing now until it becomes rags than wear a dress made of that.” She reached for the corner of the fabric and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger, her scowl growing deeper. “What is that, burlap?”
“Aye,” Charles agreed heartily, “the same as the sacks of oats in the stable.”
Allison released the fabric and met Wes’ eyes. “I will not be made to dress in rags.”
“And what would you prefer to wear, my lady?” he asked, for no other reason than to appear to be interested.
She pursed her lips and it was all he could do not to grin at her. “I don’t know. I haven’t looked at his selection yet.”
“And you don’t need to.”
“Why not?” she asked, a challenge in those brown eyes of hers.
Undeterred, he met her eyes. “Logic,” he said simply. He gestured to the shelf of fabric behind him. “There is nothing in this store as fine as the satins and silks a fine Bostoner such as yourself is accustomed to wearing. So the way I see it, there’s no use in wasting money on a more expensive fabric that you’ll complain about just as much as the cheapest.”
“And you’re in a position to tell me what I will and will not be comfortable wearing, because...”
He snorted. “Because I’ve known women like you. And unless you’re dressed to the height of fashion in all the most expensive fabrics, you’ll find something to complain about.” Not to mention, she’d probably use at least ten yards before making something that would only have to be marginally altered by one of the other officers’ wives.
Allison’s hard eyes bored into his and she looked
as if she might have a hot retort to spew at him, but she didn’t. Instead, she broke his gaze and looked over at the bolts of dark fabric on the shelf. “Do you have any other colors?” The hopeful note in her tone was hard even for Wes to miss and a slight pang of remorse for his harsh words came over him.
“Not that a spendthrift like you would understand this, but those other colors cost money. And money is something most of the men out here don’t have,” Charles blustered with a scowl.
Allison sucked in a sharp breath and Wes’ annoyance with Allison completely evaporated, replaced with the oddest urge to punch the offending man. Alternatively, he turned to Allison and with a calm he didn’t feel said, “Why don’t you go wait outside?”
***
Wait outside? What was she, a troublesome animal he didn’t wish to contend with?
She opened her mouth to protest, but something about the stony look on Wes’ face kept her words from tumbling out.
With a huff, she spun around and walked out the door.
Irritation bubbled inside of her. What had made Wes transform from the easy, carefree man she’d met yesterday into someone irrational? Certainly it wasn’t because she hadn’t been able to choke down those inedible eggs. Or what about the way he’d looked at her as he commanded her to leave the store? He looked almost murderous. But only ten seconds before that, he looked like he was softening...
She shook her head. He was a mystery, that was becoming clearer and clearer each time they spoke.
Allison dug the toe of her white leather traveling shoe into the dirt. What was taking him so long?
A small group of soldiers drew nearer and she quickly sidestepped out of their way and bumped right into the hard body of her husband, nearly knocking her over as she misstepped and struggled for balance.
Wes’ strong arm reached around to steady her, bringing her body flush against his firm chest. “There you go,” he murmured just above her ear.
Allison tipped her face up to look at him and cast him a weak smile. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, his voice gruff and thick and his blue eyes growing intense.
“Wh—what?” she stammered, her heart hammering in her chest. Why was he looking at her thus? Moreover, why did his stare make her feel as if three dozen butterflies had just been let loose in her stomach?
He cleared his throat then shoved a sloppily folded pile of burgundy fabric in her direction. “Don’t waste it,” he barked.
Allison took the fabric and without thinking—or breaking his gaze—brought the soft cotton against her chest. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“Good.” He jerked his eyes away from hers and then gestured to the commanding officers’ cabins. “Shall we?”
A slow smile crossed Allison’s lips and she peeked up at this strange man who’d become her husband. His face was relaxed. His eyes intense. His voice soft. All of these a stark contrast to the man she’d seen inside the sutler’s store. Yes, there was no denying it; he was a mystery indeed.
~Chapter Six~
Wes tamped down his unwanted desire for that infuriating woman he now had to call his wife. Never before had he met such an irritating, intriguing, and desirable creature. He shook his head to remove all thoughts of her.
Willing his mind to temporarily forget about her and all the havoc she could potentially wreak on his life, he wrenched open the door to the large office that the commissioned officers shared and stalked across the room to his desk, ignoring the way his face heated as he walked past the other officers, already in their seats.
He sat down, removed his hat and ran a hand through his dark hair, sighing. His eyes aimlessly wandered around the four desks that were pushed together in such a way that two men sat next to each other, and the other two men sat across from them. It was designed this way to save space, and it was because of this arrangement that he’d become friends with Gray, Jack and McCorkle. Had they just bunked together at night, they might have just known each other in passing due to how little time they actually spent in their room. But since they spent all day sitting together or commanding their men together, they’d forged a friendship stronger than iron.
“Good mornin’ again, Wes,” Gray greeted as he walked in a few moments later.
Wes nodded to the man, taking note of the unusual look on his friend’s face. Was he surprised to see him or something?
Gray walked across the room to where his desk was positioned across from Wes’. He pushed open the curtains to let in enough sunlight so he wouldn’t need to burn the candles, but not enough to flood the room with heat as the sun rose higher in the sky. He plopped down in his chair and then mindlessly shuffled through a tall stack of papers, peeking up at Wes at approximately five-second intervals.
Wes sighed. “Yes?”
“Hmm?” Gray asked, a little too innocently.
Wes almost rolled his eyes at his friend’s horrible attempt to act nonchalant. “What is it you have to say?”
“I don’t have anything to say. I think you do though.”
“And what is that?”
Gray set down the stack of papers he’d been pretending to look through. “Your wife.”
Wes shrugged. “What about her?”
Gray’s green eyes bore into him. “To start with—”
“Why didn’t you tell us you were getting one?” Jack asked.
Wes’ eyes shot to Jack. When had he come in? He cleared his throat. Then again. “I didn’t think it was anyone’s business.” He immediately turned his head to the side and rubbed his fingers across his neck where an itch had suddenly developed.
“Really?” Gray drawled. “You thought it best she just turn up one day without you making any arrangements?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to cause a stir among the men.” At least that part was the truth.
Gray leaned back in his chair and eyed him skeptically. “Something’s not right about all of this.”
“Well, once you sniff it out, let the rest of us know, would you?” McCorkle said, taking his seat at the desk adjacent to Wes’.
Wes shook his head. Strong, brave, and for the most part, honorable, McCorkle was an excellent addition to the United States Army, making any man proud to serve beside him. His one flaw, however, was that he never was one who liked to give anything a lot of thought. He preferred to take orders rather than ponder what they should do next. And on a few occasions, when he hadn’t waited for orders or nobody was around to give them, he’d acted solely on impulse and never on intellect. Many times Wes wondered just why McCorkle wanted to be an officer as opposed to a private, where his muscle-to-mind ratio would have been better served.
“Well, don’t think about it too hard,” Wes said, turning his gaze back to Gray. “It’d be a shame if you hurt yourself over something as trivial as this.”
Behind Wes, one of the other officers sniggered and Gray pulled a face. “You just wait. I know you’re up to something.”
“Prove it,” Wes said flippantly, inwardly praying Gray wouldn’t. While he trusted Gray and Jack with his life—and Allison’s—he wasn’t sure if the others could be trusted were they to know she wasn’t really his wife. At least with the pretense that they were married, she was safe. But if someone were to find out that she was just pretending to be his wife until her intended came to claim her, she’d be vulnerable and his protection would do her no good. His heart squeezed slightly at the thought. Then, just as fast as the worry and pain came, Wes shoved it away. Nobody was going to find out. Nor should he care so much if they did. Truly, he needed to put her out of his mind and treat her as nothing more than a passing annoyance!
“Captain Tucker!” Colonel Lewis shouted.
Wes’ head snapped in the direction of the doorway where his superior officer stood, a grim look on his face. “Sir?”
“Captain Tucker, I suggest you get a tight rein on your thoughts and rid them of your pretty new wife for a moment. We have a serious situation on our ha
nds.”
Paying no mind to the smug looks on both Jack’s and Gray’s faces, Wes stood at attention and saluted. “Ready for orders, sir.”
“At ease, soldier,” Colonel Lewis said in his usual soft voice. “I need you and Officers Walker, Montgomery, and McCorkle to do some investigative work for me.”
“Yes, sir,” Wes said, saluting.
“Very good.” Colonel Lewis handed Wes a stack of papers, then scratched his jaw while Wes read them first and then handed them to Jack and Gray.
“You cannot be serious,” Jack burst out, piercing their commanding officer with his stare.
“I am,” Colonel Lewis said, his lips twitching.
“What?” McCorkle asked, reaching for the papers Gray held in his loose grasp. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the sloppily written lines of their orders.
“Are you sure this is a task that requires officers present?” Gray asked, his typical cool reserve well in place.
Colonel Lewis nodded once. “Certain.”
Wes suppressed a groan that was identical to the one that escaped Jack.
McCorkle, who’d just finished reading their orders, handed them back to Gray and adjusted his hat. “What are you waiting for, boys? Let’s go. Orders are orders.”
“That they are,” Colonel Lewis agreed as a traitorous grin spread across his lips. “You boys had better be off. The sun’s getting higher in the sky, and you don’t want to still be out there in the hot sun, overseeing dinner being slaughtered, at noonday.”
***
Allison took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
Was it her imagination or was the cabin on fire?
She threw a glance over her left shoulder. The graying Mrs. Lewis and thin, pale Sarah Ridgely, General Ridgely’s wife, were both sitting in rocking chairs, their needles zipping in and out of the fabric in their hands. Behind them, a small, but contained, fire lit up the fireplace. She peered at the kitchen area. No smoke in there, either.
Releasing another breath, she turned her attention back to the fabric laid out in front of her.
Breathe. Just cut a straight line. That’s it. You can do this. She clenched her eyes closed. No, I can’t! she wanted to scream.
