“You don’t know anything at all,” RuthAnne whispered.
Bowen stepped forward, arm protectively around RuthAnne’s shoulders. He nodded to Reggie. “Just like you, Mrs. Carington, to spoil a surprise. We have another special visitor this evening. Another life to celebrate.”
Reggie vanished and, moments later, reappeared with three people in tow. Father Acuña in his simple brown robes; Mariposa, his exact opposite in a brightly-colored Mexican dress, hair ornately arranged in traditional combs; Mara followed behind, adorned much the same.
Mara found her way into the mix, her dark eyes full of worry. She wore her hair pulled back from her face, spilling loosely around her shoulders. Her eyes searched until they settled on RuthAnne. She breathed a visible sigh of relief, face brightening into a wide smile. Her skin was full of color, her brown eyes dancing. RuthAnne met her in a deep embrace.
With a look of extreme satisfaction, Bowen guided RuthAnne and Mara out of the middle of the dance floor. Father Acuña stepped forward, hands outstretched to the murmuring crowd, which fell to a hush.
“These two sisters were brought to me with nothing. Robbed penniless by El Tejano. Mara was shot. Your own Captain Shepherd rescued them from certain death. RuthAnne was tending her sister back to health at the chapel; she was too proud to sit idle and came here to serve you.” Father Acuña told the story, his voice booming over the crowd. RuthAnne had to admit it was the perfect opportunity to lay all of their cards on the table.
“When she wasn’t with Mara, she was waiting on others here at Fort Lowell. She is a noble and honorable woman. Anyone who thinks different will have to speak to me.”
The crowd answered with hurrahs of agreement. RuthAnne blushed, and Mara all but glowed. Clara turned her attention back to Amanda and Dolly, pointing a rigid finger at them. “That doesn’t excuse my daughter consorting with a prostitute.”
Whit Baker stepped forward between Clara and his fiancée. “Ma’am, this woman has more class in her little finger than you will ever muster.”
“I don’t need you to defend me, Whit Baker,” Dolly protested.
“Get used to it, Dolly.” He kissed her firmly and then waved her off. With chest puffed out and eyes wide and full of indignation, he continued, speaking not just to Clara, but the entire room. “If I ever hear anyone refer to my future wife in that manner again, they’ll be answering to me!” His gaze scanned the crowd, reunited with Dolly’s, and softened along with his smile. “These women did a fine job dressing the ladies using their own ingenuity and the meager supplies I was able to find for them. There’s no reason to tear Miss Jewel or your own daughter down.”
Clara narrowed a venomous glare at her daughter. “You didn’t have my consent for any of this.”
“She had mine.” Megan spoke quickly, taking Marcus in hand and dragging him behind her. He said nothing, his expression a blank poker-face.
“You. You ungrateful children...” Clara gasped, speech slurred and hair falling from its pins.
“Mother, can’t you see—” Amanda said, but Clara held up a hand.
“The only thing I see is disrespect.”
RuthAnne’s heart filled with pity. Clara’s outrage and indignation were only on the surface. Below lay something much deeper, be it heartache or fear of abandonment.
“I wanted to surprise you.” Amanda swallowed. “Don’t you see how much brighter and beautiful things look? Doesn’t it remind you of San Francisco?”
Clara blinked. The crowd stared back at her. The band members held their instruments at the ready, watching the exchange with interest. To RuthAnne, with the flags and banners flicking in the breeze and lantern light glimmering, the place looked like any other backwoods army dance. She wondered what Clara saw in her mind’s eye; the woman’s wide-eyed expression visibly softened. Instead of wearing their normal frocks and housedresses as usual, each woman looked fitted and lovely in her own way.
“You did this for me?” Clara’s voice was small, slurred, as she addressed her daughters. Whispers of gossip rose from a breeze to a gale.
Marcus set his jaw and turned to gesture to the band. The conductor of the small group nodded, took up his trumpet, and struck up a light and airy tune.
A crowd of laundresses flocked to RuthAnne and Dolly, shuttling them deeper into the crowd. The officers and their wives went back to kicking up their heels. The incident passed; the party was ceremonious and gay once more.
Clara watched in dismay, but allowed Marcus to guide her off the dance floor and into the waiting care of his father. Edgar Carington stood at the edge of the dance floor, having come late to the event.
“Did your meeting run long in town, Father? Maybe now you’ll finally understand what you’ve put her through. I doubt you even care,” Marcus growled low.
“It’s not your place to tell me, boy.” Edgar straightened his collar. Marcus shook his head and walked away.
“Edgar, don’t be so hard on him. He’s going to be a general someday. Mark my words.” But she was tired and leaned into her husband. She ignored the smear of rouge on her husband’s coat. She also ignored the scent of cheap perfume that permeated his clothes.
“Come along, Clara. I’ll take you home.” He guided her to the door, and they stepped into the darkness.
Chapter 37
Father Acuña smiled as he hugged Mara. “You’ll be better off here with your sister, my dear.”
“I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done, Father.” Gratitude filled her sweet face.
The dance was over. Crowds of partygoers dispersed, either in search of more lively entertainment or back to the comforts of their bunks. The dry desert air was perfect for viewing the Milky Way, brightening the night with its canopy of stars.
Bowen stood beside RuthAnne, his large, rough hand curled around hers. Unabashed at showing her his affections, finally. Mara’s eyebrow shot up in question.
“What have you been up to, Ruthie?” Mara’s laugh was like the tinkling of bells in RuthAnne’s ear.
“Living, Mara. I’ve been getting on with the business of living.”
“Well, hallelujah!” She threw her arms around Bowen’s shoulders. “Can I call you brother yet? Or is it a bit early for that?”
Bowen laughed heartily. “You can call me whatever you like.”
“Well, thank you for saving my life, Brother Bowen.” She hugged him in earnest as Whit and Dolly joined the group.
“With the dance dispersing and all, I thought we might continue this party at the store.” Whit had his arm hooked in Dolly’s. “Seems the future Mrs. Baker here has some ideas on how the post store can better serve our feminine clientele. She wants to share them with you all.”
“The MacEvoys are staying overnight, so you all might as well come along, too.” Dolly looked in seventh heaven. Pleasure for her friend bloomed in RuthAnne’s heart. Dolly had found her match in Whit Baker.
A familiar set of shadows caught her eye, distracting her as they crossed the compound; they hesitated a moment then retreated toward the stables.
“You all go on ahead. I just need to say a quick thank you. The Carington children have done so much for us...It’s hard to have your family’s faults laid out for the world to see. “
“Do you want me to come with you?” Dolly asked, obviously not that interested in going. Her eyes were only for her future husband.
“Not at all. You go on and start the party.” RuthAnne swept them on ahead of her with a light smile and a wave.
Bowen blocked her retreat. “I know that look by now. You’re up to something.”
“I’ll be along directly. Mara, would you please take care of him for me?”
“Better hurry back before I disclose all of your darkest secrets.” Mara hooked her arm into Bowen’s, giving him a huge smile. The small group proceeded to the post store. RuthAnne hitched up her skirts and followed the shadow that now skulked around the corner toward the stable yard.
Light bloo
med through the lattice adobe wall, painting the ground with the glow of the kerosene lanterns beyond. She struggled to adjust to the inky black darkness.
“Hello? Amanda?” she called, certain she had seen the girl walk this way. What was she doing alone at the stables?
“Not Amanda. Her brother.” Marcus’ voice was in her ear.
RuthAnne jumped a mile, then put a hand to her breast, laughing. “You gave me a fright. I thought I saw your sister...”
“We were taking a walk. I just sent her on home to look after Megan. It’s been a long night. For all of us.” Marcus struck a match against the adobe building and lit a cigar. The tip glowed hot and orange. Gray, pungent smoke swirled around his head as he puffed.
“I’m sorry about this evening. People aren’t always what we want them to be,” RuthAnne said gently, and Marcus stiffened visibly.
“The older you get, the less you’d think it would matter. That your father was a cheat, your mother needs drugs to get through the day...” He shook his head, stepping out of the shadows and into the starlight. A slight smile was on his face, but his eyes were cold. Worry stabbed her heart. “But, if you take a step back, you see it’s always been this way. And it explains quite a bit, really. After all, they are the ones who molded me into exactly what I am.”
“And what are you, Marcus?” RuthAnne watched him warily, uncertain where this conversation was going. Her stomach tightened.
He smiled coldly. “An opportunist, I suppose.”
“You’re an officer in the United States Cavalry. That means something, doesn’t it?” She stepped back as he moved closer.
“It means that my father is in a position of power. My mother has her hands into politician’s pockets and has been guiding my career. She wants me to be a general.” He spat out the words with disdain.
“And what do you want?” She backed deeper into the stable compound as he edged toward her, cat-and-mouse.
“Power. Prestige. Money. Love?” His smile turned into a sneer as he backed her into a corner.
One more step, and she found there was nowhere to go. The gritty adobe brick wall met her shoulders. The tack room was to her right, the stable catty-cornered across the open ground.
She could no longer see the lights at the post store across the parade ground. They were completely alone...Unless Alex had returned to the stables instead of going to the bunkhouse after the dance? She looked about, but the tack room doorway was dim. Black shadows reached their greedy fingers, making her remember the cave. The walls that seemed to close in around her. Unease gave way to fear, bordering on panic. RuthAnne found it hard to breathe. Her heart pounded in her ears.
“Those are all noble things, if sought after in a decent way.” She gulped, buying time.
A pitchfork leaned against the corner, just out of reach. She took a side step toward it as he pressed closer to her. Her nose wrinkled with the bitter aroma of whiskey on his breath.
His gaze leveled upon her, brimming over with lust as he unashamedly eyed her open neckline. She fought back as his hands roughly explored the lines of her body. Shuddering with outright revulsion, she pulled away as much as possible. The pitchfork tines gleamed in the low light. RuthAnne took another cautious step closer.
“What about you, RuthAnne? Could you love a man like me?”
Praying for inner strength, she opened her eyes and found words around the lump of fear in her throat. “You’re stronger than I am. You could take whatever you wanted from me, physically. But you’ll never have my soul.” Even though his grip loosened, she knew there was no escape.
“But I do want it all, RuthAnne. All or nothing...”
Marcus’s words reverberated in her ears. She gasped as the recognition struck home. His dark eyes glinted as they had through the horrible mask. The tone of his voice echoed as it had from the shadows. Marcus Carington was El Tejano!
Footsteps crunched on earth as they both turned sharply. Marcus’ eyes were full of warning, his hand a lead weight on her arm as he dragged her deeper into darkness.
“Quiet!” he ordered, muscling her to the wall. Thoughts of reaching a defense weapon faded as he ground her shoulders into the hard bricks.
He leaned heavily into her, breath hot on her neck, his knee pressed painfully to her thigh, forcing her to remain still. RuthAnne stiffened, knowing full well what he was doing. To the idle passerby it would look as if they were wrapped in a lover’s embrace.
Little would anyone know that his fingers dug deep bruises on the flesh of her arms and blood filled her mouth as she bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain. Tears stung her eyes. She had totally underestimated the son of the post commander—El Tejano—who thought he could take whatever he wanted, with no thought to cost or consequence.
A long shadow entered the stable yard. That lumbering gait could only be one person, and who else would come to the stables in the middle of the night but Alex McDole? RuthAnne squeezed her eyes shut, sending a prayer for his safety and well-being, willing him to turn and run.
Alex whistled a merry tune, walking with a spring in his step as he rounded the lattice wall by the tack room. He sang to himself, completely oblivious that he was being watched from the shadows. “Evelyn Jones, sweet Evelyn Jones. Rancher’s daughter gonna marry herself a soldier. They’re gonna have that ranch o’ their own someday...”
Alex went back to whistling a happy tune. RuthAnne had seen him and the prim rancher’s daughter promenade around the dance floor to that very song earlier in the evening. Now, presumably, he’d returned to check the horses for the night.
His whistling stopped short, as if he sensed something was amiss. The horses were not nickering at his arrival. All was quiet.
“Hello?” he called to the shadows.
RuthAnne’s breath hitched as Alex focused his gaze on where they stood in the shadows. What must he be thinking?
“Hey, now. This ain’t a meeting spot, you all. There’s plenty of those to be had in town. Go on, now. Get out of here.” Alex’s voice shook, his flint-hard eyes sparked with anger.
RuthAnne’s captor kept her pulled close. She clenched his arm, digging into Marcus’ skin with her nails, satisfaction welling in her breast until he squeezed her wrist to breaking. She knew she was no match for him.
“Miss Newcomb?” Alex’s tone relayed obvious confusion.
Marcus drew his long-barreled Colt .45 pistol from his side holster.
“Alex! Get away!” RuthAnne lunged forward, but Marcus shoved her down. A wave of pain rocked through her as her head cracked hard against the ground. She dimly watched as Marcus knocked the butt of the weapon against the side of Alex’s skull. The stable master never had a chance, crumbling into a heap on the ground.
“No!” RuthAnne tried to scream. Her protest died in her throat as Marcus grabbed her by the hair and dragged her toward the stable.
“I should have taken care of you and your sister that first moment. Live and learn, so they say.”
He manhandled her into the back of the waiting buckboard. The dappled gray draft horse was already hitched up and pawing the ground anxiously.
Taking a length of rope, he bound her at the wrists and feet. “They’ll be coming for you. Somehow, you’ve managed to worm your way into the hearts of everyone here. Let’s make sure they waste time looking for you inside.” His mouth curled into a wicked smile. “Maybe Bowen will even be trapped inside, looking for you. That loose hay in the loft’ll go off like a powder keg. Once it ignites, the roof timbers won’t stay up long. He’ll die searching for you. Be burned and buried alive...all for love.”
Ruth let out a sob in protest as he roughly tore the black ivory combs from her hair. He tossed them just inside the stable doors. Marcus surveyed the scene with a grin of satisfaction as he unhooked the kerosene lantern from the wall.
She watched as he let the glass and metal lantern fly to the opposite end of the stable. It smashed against the neatly stacked hay bales and exploded in a bu
rst of liquid flame. Firelight filled the room as the horses stomped their hooves heavily. RuthAnne could hear the fear in their almost human screams.
“What about Alex? What of the horses?”
“Oh, I’m sure your precious captain will save the day...or die trying. In any case, we’ll be long gone.”
He pushed her back down and cracked the reins. They were off, out of the fort and into the darkness along a road RuthAnne couldn’t see, headed into oblivion.
Chapter 38
Where was RuthAnne? Bowen paced, his boots echoing on the plank floor while the growing crowd sang “Blest Be the Tie That Binds.” Afterwards, Father Acuña clapped his hands with enthusiasm. He launched into a prayer of gratitude. Bowen extracted himself, working his way to the entrance.
Dolly edged her way to him, tilting her head. “Bow, I’ve never seen you so distracted.”
“She should’ve been back by now.” He opened the door and stared out into the darkness. Lights had been snuffed out in the officers’ quarters. The bunkhouse was quiet. The entire fort had gone shadowy and still. All save the stables where a glimmer caught his eye. “Something’s wrong.”
“What could possibly go wrong?” Dolly blinked then narrowed her eyes. “Y’all set something up, didn’t you?”
He cringed at her anger. “There was an opportunity. We took it. But...”
“You’ve been egging that bandit on, and now you’re worried Ruthie’s caught up in the middle.”
He met her unveiled worry and found it impossible to hide the truth any longer.
Behind them, Father Acuña’s voice lifted to the heavens, speaking words of love and friendship in his prayer. “Quoting our teacher, Paul, ’Love is not boastful or proud. It serves not for its own end...’”
Dolly simply nodded and closed her eyes in a wordless prayer. “Then what are you waiting for? Go get her, Captain.”
The moonless sky seemed too bright to the east. Bowen strained his eyes and ears. Something wasn’t right. There. A sound, like breaking glass. A crackling. Now, the licking of bright orange and yellow firelight casting shadows. A tang of wood smoke. The whinnies of nervous horses.
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