LaceysWay

by Madeline Baker

  Damn! If only he dared take her in his arms and make love to her again. If only she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Rising, he walked around their camp, his eyes constantly straying toward Lacey’s inert form. He was about to head for his own blankets when her gaze met his. For a long moment, their eyes met and held across the dying embers of the fire, and Matt felt all his senses come screaming to life as the current between them crackled like lightning in a summer storm.

  As though hypnotized, he walked toward her, drawn by the veiled hunger in her luminous brown eyes. Kneeling, he threw back the blankets and drew Lacey into his arms. She came without protest, her head falling back over his arm, her lips slightly parted, her eyes naked with desire.

  And still he hesitated, not wanting to bruise her tender feelings toward him.

  “Lacey?” The wanting, the hunger he felt for her, was there in his voice.

  She nodded, hoping Matt would know what she wanted even though she could not say the words.

  “Oh, Lacey,” he breathed, and his mouth slanted over hers. He kissed her with all the longing in his heart, his blood turning to fire as she returned his kiss with a fervor that surprised and pleased him.

  “Am I awful, Matt?” she whispered tremulously. “Awful to want you so?”

  “No.”

  “I can’t help the way I feel. I…” She turned away, unable to tell him how her body cried out for his touch.

  “I can wait, Lacey,” Matt said in a ragged voice. “We’ll be at Verde in a couple of days. The chaplain can marry us then.” He let out a shaky breath. “I can wait,” he repeated wryly. “It won’t be easy, but I can wait.”

  “I don’t want to wait, Matt,” she admitted, her words softer than the gentle breeze soughing through the trees.

  “I love you, Lacey,” Matt murmured hoarsely. “Lord, but I love you.”

  And as he kissed her once more, she had no reason to doubt it.

  Chapter Six

  They reached Camp Verde on a dismal Saturday afternoon. The post, established in 1864, was located on the west bank of the Rio Verde some thirty-five miles east of Prescott, Arizona. The camp had been built to provide protection for the Prescott mining district.

  On this day, a handful of new recruits were drilling on the parade ground while, some distance away, a Negro sergeant was riding a wildly bucking mustang in a small corral. The rider was being cheered on by a half-dozen soldiers in sweat-stained Army blue.

  A tall, lanky man wearing the gold bars of a lieutenant approached Matt and Lacey as they dismounted.

  “May I help you?” the soldier asked.

  He eyed Matt somewhat warily, Lacey thought, and wondered why.

  “We’re looking for a place to spend the night,” Matt replied, slapping the dust from his hat. He smiled fondly at Lacey. “And we’re looking for a preacher.”

  Lieutenant Wilson Charles McKay’s glance shifted from Matt to Lacey, and he felt his breath catch in his throat as he took a good look at the young woman standing beside the stranger. She was a decidedly pretty woman, McKay realized, and he had not seen a pretty woman in a long time. Not a decent one, anyway.

  The lieutenant’s gaze moved back to Matt. The man was dangerous, McKay thought. There was a hint of wildness in the deep blue eyes, a wariness in his stance that belied his easy manner.

  “I expect the post chaplain will be able to oblige you,” the lieutenant said. “You’ll have to check with Captain Slater about spending the night.” McKay gestured toward a building on his left. “The captain’s office is in there, first door on the left. You can’t miss it.” Saluting, the lieutenant pivoted on his heel and walked away.

  Taking Lacey by the hand, Matt set out for the captain’s office.

  Captain Tom Slater was sitting at his desk, idly thumbing through a worn copy of the Police Gazette. It was a lazy kind of day, he mused, and wondered absently what Margaret had prepared for dinner, and if Sergeant Carlisle had returned from Prescott. He grinned as a rousing cheer went up from the corral, signaling that Sergeant Leroy had topped another broomtail.

  Slater laid the magazine aside as a young man and woman entered his office.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. His deep-set gray eyes took in every detail of the couple standing before him. The man was tall and dark. The fact that he was part Indian did not go unnoticed by the captain, who had spent fifteen years in Apache country. The girl was fair and easy on the eyes. Both looked as though they’d been traveling a hard road for a long time.

  A muscle twitched in Matt’s jaw as he met the officer’s inquiring gaze. “We need a place to spend the night.”

  Slater’s eyes narrowed. There was no ring on the girl’s hand. “You married?”

  “Not yet,” Matt replied easily. “We were hoping the post chaplain could help us out.”

  Slater nodded thoughtfully, wondering if the girl had run away from home to marry a man her parents didn’t approve of. And with good reason. Slater had come to respect the Apache, but he didn’t trust half-breeds, and he hated to see a girl as pretty and young as this one get mixed up with a man who would only cause her unhappiness. But it wasn’t his problem.

  The captain smiled. “Good excuse for a party,” he said congenially. “I don’t believe I caught your name?”

  “Dunbar,” Matt said, extending his hand. “Matthew Dunbar. And this is Lacey Montana.”

  Slater shook Matt’s hand, but his eyes were on Lacey. He had not missed the look of confusion on her face when Dunbar introduced himself.

  “I imagine you’d like to freshen up, Miss Montana,” the captain remarked. “Why don’t you go along to my quarters? Last house past the infirmary. You can’t miss it. It’s the only house with flowers in the yard. My missus would be pleased to have your company.”

  Lacey glanced at Matt, her expression apprehensive.

  “Go along, Lacey,” Matt said, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’ll be along soon.”

  “All right. Thank you, Captain,” Lacey said politely. She gave Matt’s hand a squeeze and left the room.

  Outside, she walked slowly toward the captain’s house, feeling rather like a lost lamb as she made her way down the dusty road. Several men turned to stare at her as she passed by. One whistled under his breath. Another saluted her. They all smiled.

  The last house was small, white, and bordered with a variety of carefully tended flowers and shrubs. Somewhat hesitantly, Lacey approached the house and knocked on the door. Whatever was she going to say?

  Lacey’s knock was answered by a slim woman in her mid-forties. She had dark blonde hair worn in a tight knot at the nape of her neck, clear blue eyes, and skin that was tanned a deep brown from years of living under the Arizona sun.

  “Yes?” the woman said in a well-modulated voice. “Can I help you?”

  “I… Captain Slater said I should come here to freshen up.”

  Margaret Slater nodded as though strangers appeared at her door every day. “Of course, my dear. Won’t you come in?” She stepped back so Lacey could enter the house. “I’m Margaret Slater,” she said, holding out a well-manicured hand.

  “Lacey Montana,” Lacey replied, taking the woman’s hand.

  “Well, from the look of you, I’d say you’d like to bathe first and get acquainted later,” Margaret Slater remarked with an amiable smile. “As it happens, I was just warming some water for myself.”

  “I can wait,” Lacey said quickly.

  “No need. The tub’s in the kitchen, and the water should be hot by now.”

  “No, really,” Lacey said. “I don’t want to put you out.”

  Margaret Slater laughed softly. “No offense, child,” she said kindly, “but I think you need a bath worse than I do.”

  Lacey laughed self-consciously. She did need a bath, and, in truth, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted more.

  “The kitchen is that way,” Margaret Slater said, pointing toward a closed do
or. “Towels are on the table. You go on in and have a nice soak. I have a robe that should fit you when you’re done if you’d like to wash out your clothes as well.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Slater. That’s very kind.”

  The water was indeed hot, and Lacey poured it carefully into the zinc tub, undressed, and stepped in. The hot water felt wonderful, and she sank down in the tub and closed her eyes, letting the heat penetrate her body, soothing saddle-weary muscles. After several minutes, she began to wash, first herself, then her hair, and then her dusty trail garb.

  A half-hour later she was seated in the Slaters’ parlor, wrapped in a blue terrycloth robe, sipping tea from a delicate china cup.

  “I can’t imagine what could be keeping Matt,” Lacey said.

  Margaret Slater laughed softly. “I imagine Tom is pumping him for information,” she said with a slight shake of her head. “Tom likes to know everything that’s going on in his territory. Have you come far?”

  “Yes.”

  “What brings you to Camp Verde? We don’t get many visitors.”

  “We’re looking for a preacher,” Lacey answered, blushing prettily.

  “A wedding!” Margaret said in delight. “How splendid.”

  Lacey nodded, liking the woman more and more.

  “Would you do me a favor?” Margaret asked, leaning forward. “Would you wear my wedding dress?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” Lacey protested, overwhelmed by the offer.

  “It’s a beautiful gown, all lace and antique satin. I had hoped my own daughter might wear it someday, but Tom and I never had any children.”

  “I’d be proud to wear it,” Lacey said, touched by the older woman’s generosity. “Thank you.”

  “Good. When’s the wedding to take place?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Would this evening be too soon? It’s been so long since we had a party.”

  “I’ll have to ask Matt,” Lacey said uncertainly.

  “Of course. Oh, here they come now.”

  The Slaters made Matt and Lacey feel very much at home. Margaret Slater served them a dinner fit for a king, and the four of them chatted like old friends. Matt agreed that the wedding should take place that evening, and the captain sent his striker to take care of the details.

  Two hours later, Lacey was standing beside Captain Slater at the rear of the post chapel clad in Margaret Slater’s wedding gown. It was indeed a beautiful dress. The neck was round and trimmed with yards and yards of delicate ivory lace. The sleeves were long, tapering to a point at Lacey’s wrists. The bodice fit Lacey as though it had been made for her. The skirt, long and full, fell in graceful folds to the floor.

  Standing at the altar beside the chaplain, Matt gazed at Lacey in awe, certain he had never seen anyone or anything more beautiful than the woman who was about to become his wife.

  At a signal from the chaplain, the organist began to play the Wedding March, and Lacey came down the narrow aisle on Captain Slater’s arm.

  Lacey could not take her eyes from Matt’s face as the chaplain spoke the solemn words that made them man and wife. Matt was wearing a pair of black trousers and a dark blue shirt he had borrowed from one of the soldiers, and she thought, dreamily, that he was surely the most handsome man she had ever known. The dark blue shirt complemented his swarthy skin and black hair, and made his eyes glow a brilliant blue.

  And then Matt was lifting her veil, taking her in his arms to bestow his first husbandly kiss. Lacey closed her eyes as his mouth closed over hers. His kiss, soft and gentle as a butterfly dancing on a rose petal, filled her with a warm inner glow.

  Later there was a party in the officers’ mess to celebrate. The Army cook had baked a small cake, and there was champagne and sandwiches for anyone who cared to drop by and wish the newlyweds well.

  Lacey was surprised to discover that her new husband was a wonderful dancer. He twirled her around the dance floor until she was breathless. He was light on his feet for a man so big, and he knew the steps to every number the post band played.

  “Wherever did you learn to dance so well?” Lacey asked curiously.

  “Back home,” Matt answered, smiling down at her. “Before the war.”

  Lacey pouted prettily. “I forgot you were from the South. I heard they were always having fancy balls and cotillions. I suppose you danced with every belle in the county.”

  “At least once,” Matt said gravely. “And the old maids, as well.”

  “Cad.”

  “Angel.”

  Lacey laughed softly, her heart bubbling with happiness.

  They were in the midst of a waltz when Matt saw the captain’s orderly enter the room and take the captain aside. The two men spoke for several minutes, with the captain occasionally glancing in Matt’s direction, and then the orderly left the room, his face grave.

  A warning bell rang in Matt’s mind, and he was about to lead Lacey off the dance floor when Captain Slater tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Mind if I cut in?” the captain asked.

  Matt hesitated only a moment. “Of course not,” he said. He nodded to Lacey and headed for the refreshment table. Immediately two armed troopers fell into step beside him.

  “The captain would like to see you in his office,” the trooper on Matt’s left said.

  “Right now,” added the trooper on Matt’s right. He jabbed his service revolver into Matt’s ribs. “Understand?”

  “Perfectly,” Matt answered. He offered no resistance as the two men escorted him out of the building and into the captain’s office.

  Moments later Tom Slater entered the room and closed the door behind him.

  “Where’s Lacey?” Matt asked curtly.

  “Margaret took her home. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”

  Matt nodded warily, his eyes never leaving the captain’s face.

  “Search him,” Slater ordered, and one of the troopers quickly ran his hands over Matt’s back and down his legs.

  “He’s clean,” the young man said confidently.

  Slater nodded. He regarded Matt for a long time, his deep gray eyes thoughtful. “Drago, right?” he mused aloud. “We got a flyer on you two, three days ago. Seems the boys over at the Yuma Pen have been searching high and low for you.”

  Matt nodded. Outwardly he appeared calm, unconcerned, but inwardly he was cussing himself for being seven kinds of a fool. He should have known the law would have posters out on him, but he wasn’t used to thinking like a criminal. Dammit, he wasn’t a criminal.

  “I thought your face looked familiar,” Slater went on cheerfully, “so I had my orderly check the wanteds, and sure enough, you were there.”

  Matt nodded again. The captain sounded mighty pleased with himself.

  “Nothing to say for yourself?” Slater remarked.

  “You might have waited until tomorrow morning to arrest me,” Matt said dryly.

  “Sorry about that,” Slater said sarcastically. “I guess your honeymoon will just have to wait.”

  “Yeah, indefinitely,” Matt muttered. “Shit.”

  Tom Slater felt a brief moment of regret. It was a shame the kid had to miss out on his honeymoon. Almost, he was tempted to let the newlyweds spend the night together. But then he squared his shoulders. The man was a criminal, convicted of murder. He didn’t deserve a honeymoon, or anything else but a rope. He was damn lucky they didn’t hang him here and now.

  Slater’s gaze lifted to the two troopers standing behind Matt. “Kellog, escort Mr. Drago to the guardhouse. Stewart, you go tell Polaski to wire Yuma. Tell them we’ve got their missing con, and they can pick him up at their convenience.”

  “Polaski’s in bed, sir,” Stewart said.

  “Wake him up.”

  “Yessir!”

  At a prod from Kellog’s weapon, Matt stepped outside and walked across the dusty ground toward the guardhouse. It was a small brick building between the infirmary and the laundry. A burly corporal stood guard.
r />   Kellog opened a cell door and gestured for Matt to step inside. The soldier grinned impudently. It was easy to see that his prisoner had done time before. It showed in the rueful expression on his face, and in the wary hesitation of his stance.

  With an exaggerated sigh of resignation, Matt took a step forward as if to enter the cell. Abruptly he pivoted on his heel and slammed his fist into Kellog’s face. The private, caught completely off guard, crumpled to the floor without a sound.

  Cussing softly, Matt scooped up the trooper’s rifle and casually stepped outside, shutting the door behind him.

  Corporal Amos Canary did a double take as Matt Drago stepped out of the guardhouse. Belatedly he reached for his sidearm.

  “I wouldn’t,” Matt warned, the rifle aimed at the corporal’s midsection.

  Canary froze. A fine sheen of sweat beaded across his brow as he waited for the prisoner to squeeze the trigger.

  “Smart boy,” Matt said quietly. “Give me your kerchief and turn around.”

  “Are you gonna kill me?” the corporal asked, his voice quivering with fear.

  “That’s up to you,” Matt snapped, and as the frightened young soldier turned around, Matt tapped him lightly on the back of the head with the butt of the rifle. Amos Canary slumped to the ground with a dull thud, and Matt quickly tied the boy’s hands behind his back with the kerchief, checked his pulse, and then drifted into the shadows.

  He had to find Lacey, and they had to get the hell out of Camp Verde. Fast. On silent feet, he padded toward the captain’s quarters.

  Lacey sat on the edge of the bed in the Slaters’ spare bedroom, sobbing uncontrollably. What had been the happiest night of her life had quickly become the worst. She smoothed a wrinkle from the skirt of her bridal gown, then let out a long, shuddering sigh as a fresh flood of tears spilled down her cheeks. It was so awful! Only a short time ago she had been so happy, and now Matt was locked in the guardhouse, waiting for someone from Yuma to arrive and escort him to prison. She would never find her father now, never live with Matt as his wife. Never bear his children. A wave of self-pity washed over her as she railed at the cruel hand of fate that had given her a glimpse of happiness and then snatched it from her grasp.