She glanced over Cole’s shoulder as he helped her down from the wagon and saw four men poring over maps spread out over a thick oak table on the front porch. One of them straightened and frowned. He said a word to the others, then moved toward them. The first thing Devon noticed about the man was his size. He was one of the few men she’d seen who was actually bigger than Cole. He had a dark red beard, a ruddy complexion, and a thick pot belly. Cowboy boots—with spurs, no less—-and a cowboy hat completed his uniform. Against regulations, perhaps, but judging from the size of the man, as well as the number of stars on his collar, she guessed he could probably do pretty much whatever he wanted. A fierce scowl darkened his features as he boomed out, “Cole McRae!”
Devon jumped. Cole froze for an instant, then continued to reach for her bag, dropping it casually at her feet. He turned around slowly and offered a lazy salute. “General Brader.”
“I thought I warned you what would happen if I ever saw your no-good, yellow-bellied, worthless hide around these parts again.”
Devon stared up at Cole, watching as his features turned slowly to granite. He leaned back against the wagon, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Guess I didn’t listen,” he answered.
Silent tension soared. The soldiers surrounding them went completely still. Beneath the brim of his hat, Devon could see the general’s skin turn the same angry red shade as his beard. “You didn’t listen,” he sputtered, his tone steadily growing to a near-roar. “Well, by God, maybe I oughta just make you listen.”
“You can try. That is, if you’ve got enough breath left in that fat belly of yours.”
Devon stifled a gasp. Had Captain McRae completely lost his mind? Not only was he outranked, but he was completely outnumbered and outsized as well. “You son-of-a-bitch!” the general roared and lunged straight at Cole. But instead of knocking him flat, as she expected, he wrapped his beefy arms around Cole in a bear hug, slapping him on the back hard enough to leave bruises. When he pulled back, a big smile showed beneath his beard.
Devon reeled in shock, slowly assimilating the fact that what she’d witnessed had apparently been no more than some sort of absurd ritual between friends. She let out her breath and examined her feelings. Part relief, because it meant Cole hadn’t truly lost his mind, and part irritation, because she’d just lost what might have been a good opportunity for escape.
“How’s that mama and papa of yours?” General Brader demanded.
Cole grinned. “Still trying to recover from your visit two years ago.”
The general’s smile widened. “I reckon they didn’t expect me to bring a travelin’ companion. Still to this day don’t know what your mama objected to most: Miss Lila’s rouge, her colorful vocabulary, or how sweet that gal looked in her low-cut, red satin dress. And when your mama tried to serve her tea and Miss Lila asked for whiskey instead…” He paused and let out a deep guffaw. “Why, I thought your mama was going to faint dead away on the spot. Took to her bed the rest of our stay, complaining of the headache.”
Devon had instinctively stepped behind Cole when the trouble started, and remained there now, content just to watch until she got a firmer grip on this loudmouth, blustery general. It wasn’t long, however, until the general took notice of her.
“Now who’s this here little filly?” he asked.
Devon stepped forward, watching the general’s eyes widen as he took in the sight of her. Putting aside any embarrassment she felt at her current state of dishevelment, she announced with as much dignity as she could muster, “My name is Devon Blake, sir.”
“Whew,” the general replied, waving his hand in front of his face. “Little lady, I’ve stepped in piles of manure left behind by sick cattle and baked beneath a hot Texas sky that still smelled a damned sight better than you do.”
Devon tilted her chin. “How kind of you to point that out. Why let a little thing like manners and civility get in your way when you have an opinion to share?” She tilted her head toward Cole. “Now I understand the basis for the friendship. Two of a kind, I suppose.”
General Brader’s eyes widened in shock, then he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Feisty little thing, ain’t she?” he said.
Cole shrugged. “That’s one word for it.”
Devon glared up at them, feeling both dwarfed and ridiculed by the two men towering above her. But before she could get another word out, a young, lanky boy with carrot-colored hair and dark freckles loped up to join them, “Cole, you remember my son, Emmett,” the general said, pride clear in his tone.
Surprise flashed through Cole’s eyes, then he nodded and shook the boy’s hand. “Good to see you…” He paused and glanced at his sleeve. “Private Brader.”
Emmett smiled sheepishly, blushing to the roots of his hair. “Howdy, Cole,” he said, then turned to his father. “Pa, me and Jimmy Johnston was just wondering—”
“Dammit, son! How many times do I have to tell you? You call me General when I’m in uniform, you hear?”
Emmett nodded and studied the ground near his feet. “Yes, sir.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “General Brader, sir, Private Johnston and me was wondering if we could go into town for a spell. We got our chores all done now.”
“Your duties, Private. When you’re in the army, you’ve got duties, not chores.”
“Yes, sir. Well, sir, our duties are all done now.”
“In that case, you can go. But I want you boys back here by twenty-one hundred.”
Emmett stared up at him, a confused look on his face. “Twenty—?”
General Brader let out an exaggerated breath. “Nine o’clock, boy. And not a minute past.”
“Yes, sir!” Emmett broke into a wide grin as he nodded and spun around. “Thanks, Pa, er, General!” he called over his shoulder. “Thanks a lot!”
The three watched Emmett run across camp, clamoring a spoon against a stew pot, leaping over a pile of hay, yelling for his friend Jimmy, and otherwise raising a ruckus. “The boy’s grown up,” Cole said.
“Could’ve fooled me.” The general snorted.
“I didn’t realize he was old enough to sign on.”
“He’s not. Won’t be eighteen until October. But the young fool was threatening to run away and join the infantry if I didn’t bring him with me. That boy’s just stubborn enough and stupid enough to do it too.” The general sighed and shook his head. “Hell, I figure at least this way I can keep my eye on him. There ain’t much trouble he can get into around here. We got some boys inside that was wounded in a skirmish outside of Fredericksburg, but that’s about it. Looks like the real fightin’s gonna be down near Richmond.”
“Stubborn and stupid, huh?” Cole said into the silence that followed. “Wonder where he gets that from?”
The general grinned. “Go to hell,” he said cheerfully, then, “What’re you doing traipsing through the country on foot, McRae? Last I heard, you were parading off the coast in that fancy boat of yours.”
Devon felt Cole stiffen beside her. He reached down and grabbed her bag. “No. The Islander’s in dry dock, awaiting repairs.”
Devon watched General Brader as he silently studied Cole. In the awkward pause that followed, she saw a flash of wisdom and perception behind his gruff facade. She wondered if he could feel the tension that suddenly coursed through Cole as clearly as she could.
“I see,” the general said simply, then let it go. “Well, what are we doing standing out here gabbing beneath this blasted sun?” he said as he motioned them toward the house. “I’m full up, so I can’t offer you all a bed, but there’s a boardinghouse in town that takes in strays.” He paused before the front door. “Good news is, I’ve got whiskey inside and I can probably rustle up some tea for the little lady.”
“I don’t believe I care for any tea, thank you,” Devon said, knowing instinctively what was coming next. Every time Cole McRae’s damned ship was mentioned, she bore the brunt of his anger. And the last thing she wa
s in the mood for right now was to sit in audience while Cole recited a long litany of all her supposed crimes. “I believe I prefer to just rest for a moment on this lovely little settee.” She lifted her filthy skirts and moved as gracefully as she could across the porch, toward a grouping of rattan furniture.
As she passed one of the soldiers who stood near the thick oak table, she saw his eyes grow wide. He waved his hand in front of his face and abruptly started choking. Anger and embarrassment coursed through Devon in equal measure. It was all Cole’s fault that she looked and smelled the way she did. It was also his fault that she was about to have to defend herself once again against charges of murder and espionage. How would he like it if people believed all sorts of vicious untruths about him? she wondered, and instantly decided to turn the tables. She wasn’t going to simply wait and try to defend herself anymore. This time she was taking the offensive.
Devon turned toward the soldier who’d been choking and clucked her tongue in silent commiseration. “Yes, I’m afraid the scent is rather terrible, isn’t it? Unless I’m mistaken, I believe I’m covered in goose droppings.”
The soldier’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his head. “Devon…” Cole warned.
She looked up at him, her dirty face shining with innocence, then back at the soldiers. “That’s my captor,” she informed them politely. “I don’t believe Captain McRae meant to knock me into a slimy pond, not really. But he did toss me off a speeding train, that was certainly intentional. As was forcing me atop a horse that I was quite terrified of. And I really can’t blame him for tying my hands so I couldn’t eat. I suppose that left more food for him and his men. But giving me so much brandy that I became ill—”
“That’s enough,” Cole said.
“Though I still object to the way he woke me out of a sound sleep and pulled me on top of him—”
“Dammit, Blake!”
She jumped, her eyes wide and her slim shoulders quaking with fear. “Oh, dear,” she wailed pitifully. “Now I’ve made him mad. Please, please don’t leave me alone with him. I just couldn’t bear it again. Not when he’s angry like this.”
The soldiers had shifted imperceptibly during her tale, to the point where they were now interposed between her and Cole, as they glared at him. Even General Brader wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked deadly serious, and maybe even a little angry. “All right, boy,” he said to Cole. “Looks like it’s time for the two of us to have ourselves a little talk.”
Feeling smugly superior, Devon glanced over the general’s shoulder to see Cole’s reaction. Though his face remained a mask of cool aloofness, she watched as his tawny eyes changed from irritation to… amusement. The man was actually trying not to laugh! The least he could do was to get upset. Frustrated by Cole’s lack of response, she fanned herself with her hand and turned her attention back to her guards. “If you gentlemen don’t mind, may I have just one tiny little sip of water? I promise I won’t be any trouble after that.” The soldiers tripped over themselves in their haste to oblige.
Though it might have been immediately gratifying, her ruse not only failed to rankle Cole, it also proved to be of no use whatsoever as a long-term strategy. When he and the general emerged from their talk an hour later, Cole didn’t so much as glance in her direction. He strode down the front steps, heading for a sorrel that was saddled and waiting for him. General Brader moved out onto the porch, rubbing his belly and smiling like the cat who just ate the canary. He took a Colt from one of the soldiers, spun the chamber to check the ammunition, then pointed it straight at her. Devon shrieked and shrank back against the settee.
“Want me to shoot her if she moves?” he called to Cole.
Cole swung into the saddle then edged the horse back toward the house, hesitating as he saw the gun pointed at her. Cole wouldn’t let anything happen to her, he just wouldn’t. Granted, he might threaten her, he might be furious with her, but he wouldn’t let anybody hurt her. Her instincts had told her that from the very beginning, and her instincts were never wrong.
He scowled at the general, his gaze moving from her to the gun. “You weren’t planning on leaving me with the paperwork, were you?”
Devon gasped, and the general made a choking noise. “No,” he said.
Cole shrugged. “In that case, use your best judgment.”
The general slapped his knee and let out a deep guffaw as he passed the gun back to the soldier. “Use my best judgment,” he chortled.
Devon wasn’t amused. But the stinging retort she’d been ready to toss back died on her lips as she watched Cole rein in his mount, spurring the sorrel into a fast trot across camp. She froze, suddenly icy-cold despite the heat of the day. He was leaving her. Cole McRae was leaving her, and he didn’t even care enough to say good-bye. She’d been nothing but trouble, so now he was turning over the chore of escorting her to Old Capitol to General Brader.
She watched his broad back as he rode away and out of her life. A keen sense of abandonment shot through her, leaving her feeling completely lost and adrift. For some reason, she’d become used to having Cole around. More than that, she’d actually come to depend on him. She’d believed he’d be there for her if she ever needed him. Wrong, she realized, feeling as though she’d just been kicked in the gut. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Well, good riddance, she declared silently. She should be happy to see him go. Should be—but she wasn’t.
Forgetting both her pride and her audience, Devon lurched to her feet, clutching the porch rail in both hands as she screamed, “McRae!” Too late. He kept riding. “McRae!”
Her captor slowed, bringing his mount up short as he turned around. “Cole!” she screamed. He dug his heels in the sorrel’s flanks and spurred back toward her. Devon lifted her skirts and flew down the steps to meet him. Almost at once, she was at his side. Or rather, beside his boot and stirrup, staring up at him as he sat in the saddle. Her breath came hard and fast, as though she’d been running a great length. The sorrel tossed its head and neighed, stepping back.
Cole controlled the horse with gentle pressure from his thighs. He searched her face, frowning as he looked down at her. “Devon, General Brader isn’t really going to—”
“You’re leaving me?” she asked, in a voice she didn’t like at all. She’d wanted to sound cold and contemptuous, to let him know he was a snake for abandoning her. Instead her voice came out frightened and trembling, betraying everything she was struggling so hard to keep inside.
She watched something flash though his eyes, but the emotion was gone too quickly for her to read, “Yes,” he answered.
Devon nodded and swallowed hard, not trusting herself to speak.
“For about an hour,” he continued. “Just long enough to see about finding us a room for the night, some food, and clean clothes. A bath wouldn’t be out of line either.”
Relief coursed through her, stunning her in its intensity. It must have shown on her face, for Cole looked inordinately pleased and altogether smug. Devon caught her breath in giddy anticipation, waiting for him to speak. She felt certain that something had just shifted between them, and that nothing would ever be the same again. He smiled his heart-stopping grin and leaned slowly toward her, soft sentimental words forming on his lips. “You may not have noticed it,” he whispered, “but you’re starting to attract flies.”
Devon jerked back, slapping his leg as hard as she could. “I hate you, McRae.”
He reached down and grabbed her chin before she could spin away. He tipped her face up to his, intently searching her eyes. “Do you, Blake?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. I hate you, I loathe you, I despise you. You’re crude, rude, vulgar—”
Cole scooped her up in his arms, holding her in front of him in the saddle as he nudged the sorrel back to the porch, then dumped her on the other side of the railing beside General Brader. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said to his friend. “Don’t shoot her.”
The general looked disappointed.
“What do you want me to do with her, then?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Just see if you can keep her out of trouble for about an hour.”
“I reckon that shouldn’t be too difficult.”
Cole let out a heartfelt sigh and shook his head, once again spurring his mount around. “You obviously don’t know the lady.”
CHAPTER 8
Devon glanced around the boardinghouse room, looking for something to distract her from the wet, splashing sounds coming from the other side of the thin screen partition. Of course, Cole had insisted on bathing first, claiming that the water would be so filthy once she finished that there’d be nothing to do but throw it out. True enough, she admitted, but it was still horribly rude of him to make such a remark.
She’d already wasted a good twenty minutes searching for a means of escape. But the door was locked from the inside, and Cole had the key. The glass that had once been a window was gone, probably shattered by the reverberation of cannon fire from a recent battle. Like all the other windows she’d observed in this small town, it was boarded up, allowing only traces of light and air to seep in through the thick slats. Consequently the tiny room was both muggy and dark, despite the fact that both lamps were lit and burning brightly.
She heard another splashing sound, and her eyes were automatically drawn back to the partition. She had to get away from Captain McRae. Now. Tonight. She’d find Uncle Monty and go back into business. Lift a few gold watches, a few wallets, run a con or two. As a matter of fact, she still had Cole’s watch, and that had to be worth something. She’d sell it and move on. Forget she’d ever dreamed of having more. Forget that she’d staked everything she had, only to have her past catch up with her and ruin it all.
The sound of Cole’s voice calling for his towel interrupted her thoughts. Devon glanced at the washstand and saw two threadbare linen towels stacked above it. She frowned in irritation. What did he think she was, his personal valet? She grabbed a towel, bunched it into a tight ball, and sent it flying over the top of the partition. Two seconds later, she heard a splash, followed immediately by a dark oath. “Devon,” Cole called, his voice strained with patience, “I seem to have dropped your towel in the water. Would you care to bring me mine, or shall I come get it?”
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