"Yes, four men! The only reason they caught him was because he was wounded. They court-martialed him and sentenced him to hang, but of course, as you know, he escaped."
"My goodness. I won't be able to get a decent night's sleep as long as that killer is here."
Indy shut out their voices. How could they be so cruel as to talk about him like that as soon as his back was turned? Weren't they two of the women she had seen flashing him smiles only minutes ago?
Desperate to get a breath of fresh air, Indy moved closer to the window. She hated gossip and gossipers. She would never forget what her own so-called well-meaning friends had said about her after her mother's and brother's deaths. Their cruel gossip was one of the reasons she had withdrawn from society.
She leaned her shoulder against the windowsill but found no relief. The outside temperature had yet to significantly cool down and there wasn't a hint of a breeze. Beyond the window, in the shadows of the building, she heard a man's voice.
"I don't know if it was such a good idea bringing him here or not. Even if he was wrongly accused—he's lived with those damn savages all these years, playing Indian. Could be he even has a squaw or two—you know how those Apaches are—just like the Mormons! Hell! You can believe what you want, but I don't trust him. Not for a minute. You watch. I predict that the first chance he gets he'll lead a detail out into the middle of the desert and set Chie or Cochise on them. No, sir. I'm not volunteering. I'll desert before I do that."
"Lemonade?"
Indy jumped at the sound of Jim Garrity's voice. She hadn't seen him coming back through the crowd, but then she hadn't been looking; her gaze had been on a dark silhouette outside the window.
"Yes, thank you." She reached out to take one of the two glasses he was holding and saw that her hand was shaking. "It feels like rain, don't you think?"
He stood in front of the window and looked directly at the man she had overheard speaking. "This is the time of year for it," he said. "The Apaches call this the time of the big harvest."
From that the conversation could go off in a dozen different directions, none of which Indy was inclined to take. "I wanted to ask you," she said suddenly, before she had actually thought the question through, "wherever did you learn to dance the polka like that?" It seemed a harmless question.
"At the Point," was his blunt reply.
Surely she had heard him wrong; there was so much chatter going on all around her. "You don't mean West Point, of course." It was more a statement than a question, but no sooner had she said it than she realized how priggish it sounded and wished she could take it back.
His mouth twisted wryly. "I don't?" He left the question dangling as he lifted his glass to his lips and stared at her over the rim while he downed the contents.
"I'm sorry. That came out all wrong. You do mean West Point, don't you?" She was so embarrassed she could die. In an attempt to turn the conversation, she said, "My father went to West Point. He was in the same class as President Grant. My brother, Justice, went there too. He was number three in his class," she told him with pride.
Still staring at her, brown eyes now darkened to black, he set his glass down on the windowsill, "Why does it surprise you so much that I went to West Point? Don't I look like typical West Point issue?"
She flinched at the sarcasm in his voice. "You know you don't," she said, being honest. And she knew he knew it too. She supposed he was teasing her, trying to embarrass her more than she already was.
"What do I look like, then?" he challenged.
Her eyes widened at the question—an impossible question, because he looked different every time she saw him. Again, she visualized the dark-eyed rider who had daringly halted the runaway team. The tall, broad-chested warrior whom she'd thought bent on raping and killing her. The ruthless Apache leader who had brought his captives to justice. And now, tonight, the buckskinned major-scout. All different, yet all the same. The two constants being his dark good looks and an aura of danger that would always be an inherent part of him no matter what he wore or how he combed his hair.
An utterly impossible question to answer.
"Miss Taylor?" Sergeant Moseley interrupted to Indy's great relief, for she had no idea what she was going to say. "Sorry to intrude, ma'am, but Miss Stallard here begged me to bring her over so she could formally be introduced to our guest of honor."
Indy turned to see Prudence standing behind the sergeant, her expression overtly eager. She felt a sinking feeling within her breast. Next to Prudence Stallard's radiant beauty she was as plain as a mouse. "Yes, of course," she managed, motioning Prudence into the fold. She hurried through the introductions.
"I've heard a great deal about you, Major."
"A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Stallard," Jim replied, his voice low, deeply resonant. "I remember seeing you last week when I was riding out."
Prudence's pert chin lifted and she flashed him a dazzling smile. "Yes, I remember too." Tilting her head she blatantly examined him from head to toe, and unwittingly, Indy found herself doing the same thing, as if Prudence might see something she had missed. "But you look so different than you did that day. I hardly recognized you at first." Clamping her teeth together, Indy turned her head sideways and lifted her gaze heavenward. Who did Prudence think she was fooling? Hardly recognized him indeed! Prudence would have recognized him if he had been tarred and feathered! "My late husband, Major Stallard," Prudence went on in a voice so silky that Indy could hardly bear listening to it, "used to speak very highly of you. He claimed you even saved his life once."
"The major was a good man and a good soldier," Jim told Prudence. "I was sorry to learn of his death."
Prudence bowed her head, the first display of bereavement Indy had seen her make. "I miss him very much." Prudence sighed convincingly, then peeked up at Jim from beneath her long, sooty lashes. "I'm afraid widowhood doesn't suit me very well. I found I enjoyed having someone to pamper and care for."
"Maybe you should get a dog," Indy suggested.
Prudence's head swiveled around, her disgust evident in her stricken expression. "A dog!"
Sergeant Moseley pulled a face. "Funny you should mention that," he said earnestly. "My Bess had a litter of nine pups last week and they'll all be needin' homes here before long." To Prudence he said, "I'll bring them by tomorrow evening so you can take a look see."
"I—well—" Prudence faltered. "I really don't know that I want a dog exactly."
"Maybe a cat then?" Indy ventured.
"No—" She cut a sharp glance at Indy, then slowly her expression began to change. "I do need something," she said, turning her gaze on Jim, "but I haven't decided just exactly what yet." The provocative innuendo drew a frown from Indy. "What do you think, Major Garrity? Should I get a dog to keep me company during the day? Or a cat to cuddle up with at night?"
Indy blinked in astonishment. Now, she knew what Opal had meant by Prudence's wanton ways.
Enough is enough, she decided. If Jim Garrity and Sergeant Moseley wanted to stand there listening to Prudence's talk about dogs and cats— which translated to something entirely different—it was fine with her, but she had better things to do.
Chapter 8
Dark clouds hid the stars and the moon and distant thunder rattled across the sky heralding the storm to come. Indy kept herself busy straightening up and removing empty dishes from the long plank table, all the while trying to ignore Prudence and Jim Garrity, who at last glance were still dancing.
Nearly a half hour later she had done everything she could and was looking for something else to occupy her time, when Captain Nolan came up and solved the problem by asking her to dance. Glad for the timely invitation, she stepped up in front of him, placed her left hand on his shoulder, and went quickly into his arms.
A smile spread over his face as he drew her to him, his hand firm against the curve of her waist, guiding her smoothly onto the dance floor. "I've been waiting all evening to dance with you," he told her a
s he moved them into the circle of dancers, "but you've been so busy."
"Yes, well—" she hesitated, looking for a valid excuse but finding none.
"You don't have to explain, Indy. I think I know how important it is to you that the evening go especially well."
He surprised her with his understanding, but it worried her that she was so transparent that he could see right through her.
"By the way, there's something I've been meaning to say to you." His steps slowed and she sensed his nervousness. "During the attack—after I took that arrow—if you hadn't come for me and pulled me down into the wagon ... I owe you my life, Indy. There aren't words to tell you ..."
She shook her head, stopping him from continuing. "It was no more than you would have done for me. But if you don't mind, I would really prefer not to talk about that day. It's still very upsetting to me."
"Of course. I understand."
"There is one thing, though ..." she said on a rising note.
"What's that?"
"After Shatto, I mean Major Garrity, halted the team, why couldn't he have told me he wasn't an Apache or that he didn't intend to kill us?"
His shoulder muscles tightened beneath her hand. "You should probably ask Jim about that, Indy. No one can speak for Jim but Jim. All I can tell you is that he has been wanted by the Army for six years for murder and desertion. There is a very large price on his head. If he had revealed himself to you, he would have put himself in jeopardy, don't you see?"
Yes, she did see, but she was loath to admit it. Considering how badly he had frightened her, it didn't seem quite fair that his actions should be so easily explained away and made to seem logical and just. "I suppose so," she conceded reluctantly, feeling cheated. "However, that doesn't excuse you, Captain!" she said, chiding him more gently than he deserved. "You could have told me who he was on any number of occasions prior to that day you brought him into my parlor. Instead, you—both of you—let me make an absolute fool of myself!" Just the mention of that meeting brought a fiery blush to her cheeks.
The captain stopped dancing and stared down at her, his light blue eyes studying her expression as if to determine whether she was truly angry or just venting her frustration. Either way, he had the good sense to look suitably repentant.
"I admit it, I'm guilty," he confessed. "I have absolutely no defense other than it never even occurred to me to mention it to you." He shook his head. "All I can do now is tell you that I'm sorry and ask that you accept my apology." He ended on a questioning note.
Men! she thought. "Apology accepted, Captain."
He seemed genuinely relieved, although his smile was still a bit uncertain as he picked up the dance steps and led her around the floor.
Among the waltzing couples Indy saw her father, partnered with Opal. Not even in dancing did he relax his stiff military bearing, she realized, watching the way he executed each step, as if it had some strategic purpose. If he was enjoying himself, it was his secret.
Indy was startled out of her thoughts when she heard Jim Garrity's deep baritone nearby. Without looking toward the sound of his voice, she strained to catch a word or two but the music and the chatter of the other dancers made it impossible to make sense of what he was saying, though his low, intimate tone told her it was definitely a private conversation and not one for public address.
When Prudence began to laugh, Indy's thoughts were confirmed. With sudden, inexplicable resentment, she flashed a disapproving glance at Jim and was horrified to find his gaze on her. He must have overheard her question to the captain and was amused that she was still so upset. He arched an eyebrow and slowly lifted the corner of his mouth in a mocking smile.
Indy felt the blood drain out of her face and was glad for the captain's sturdy shoulder. Stiffening with outrage, she returned the look with a mutinous glare to which he had the audacity to laugh.
What arrogance! What nerve! she thought. Oh, but to have the opportunity to relive that moment when she had dropped the coffeepot. She pictured it falling near the edge of the table, and the coffee—steaming, scalding, and black— spilling into the center of his lap!
Putting a stop to her imaginings, Indy turned her attention elsewhere—to the expectant couple standing by the punch, his arm lovingly around her shoulders. Ava and her lieutenant husband seemed very much in love.
"Everyone seems to be having a good time, don't you think, Captain?" Indy asked, surprising them both with the abruptness of her question.
He glanced around at the dancing couples and nodded. "It's especially good to see Jim enjoying himself again." His pointed gaze rested on Jim and Prudence. "I was beginning to worry that he'd forgotten what it was to enjoy himself. There was a time, believe it or not, when he thought of little else."
"Well, I'm sure if anyone can get Major Garrity to enjoy himself again it's Prudence Stallard," Indy said without thinking.
If Captain Nolan noticed her small indiscretion, he didn't let on. "Actually, Mrs. Stallard looks an awful lot like Tess." He stared across at Prudence, his eyes squinting in the yellow light.
Indy recalled the captain's mention of Tess as an added incentive to strike the bargain with her father. She had thought at the time that whoever Tess was she must be someone special, but in light of the rest of the conversation that day, she had all but forgotten the name.
"Tess?" she queried now, cautious not to sound overly interested.
"Jim's former fiancée. Coincidentally or maybe ironically, their wedding date was the same date the court sentenced him to hang. I didn't know it the other day, when I brought up Tess's name, that she had refused his request to see him the night before the sentence was to be carried out."
"She refused? But they were to be married! How could she have been so unfeeling? What kind of woman would—?" She stopped abruptly having heard the fiery passion in her own voice.
"I guess you would have to know Tess," he said, as if that explained it. "Now, of course, Jim has decided it was a good thing that she refused him. If she hadn't, he wouldn't have gone into a rage and he wouldn't have found a way to escape. And now, with your father's help, he might be able to prove his innocence. He is innocent, Indy," he added with strong emphasis.
"You obviously know him very well?"
"We grew up together. We were like brothers. I trust him implicitly."
Indy danced a second time with Captain Nolan, then with one partner after another until, much to her surprise, her father claimed her.
He was not an easy partner to follow; his movements were quick and sharp, like the way he barked orders to his men.
"Captain Nolan is taking care of the men's punch, I take it?"
Indy nodded. "You haven't said whether or not everything is to your satisfaction. There wasn't much to work with as far as food, drink, and music, but we all did the best we could."
"As you say—considering what there was to work with, I suppose it was the best that could be done," he said in a tight voice.
'Yes, it was," she replied sadly, bending her head to hide her hurt. Again she had hoped for a kind word and again was hurt and disappointed.
"Where's Major Garrity?" the colonel asked.
She looked up and glanced around but didn't see either the major or Prudence. "I have no idea. He was here, dancing with Mrs. Stallard a short while ago."
The music ended and he abruptly dropped his hands to his sides. "When you see him, tell him I said he should begin the selection of the trainees right after breakfast call."
"Surely you could tell him. I'm certain he's here somewhere."
"No, I could not. I'm retiring for the evening. I want to sit down and read Justice's letters." He started to turn away but Indy caught hold of his sleeve.
"But, Father, you can't leave. Not yet. It wouldn't be right. What will people say? Besides, you've read those old letters a hundred times before. I don't understand . . ."
His nostrils flared in sudden anger and the look he turned on her was as sharp as t
he cutting edge of his sword. "No, of course you wouldn't understand," he seethed between his teeth. "Your mother didn't understand either—the bond between Justice and me. But at least your mother— God rest her soul—had sense enough to know her place and not try to come between us. But not you. You looked for every way you could to break us apart. And you finally found a way, didn't you?"
Unconsciously, she raised her arms and steepled her hands in front of her face. "I didn't know it was smallpox. All I knew was that they were children, Father," she reminded him with a fervent plea for compassion and understanding—as she had so many times before. "They were orphans. No one wanted to help take care of them. I couldn't refuse. You know that. They needed—" Her voice broke preventing her from finishing.
His mouth was set in a thin line. "If they needed you so much, why didn't you stay there with them! Your mother and Justice would be alive today if you hadn't come home. You killed them just as surely as if you had stabbed them to death. And you dare wonder why I read and reread Justice's letters? Those old letters are all you left me of my boy—my life. They give me comfort, as nothing else does." He stood glowering at her, his gray eyes stone-cold and narrowed with hate, then turned on his heel, and marched off.
Too stunned to move, Indy held her breath as she watched him leave. After a moment she became aware of people staring at her, and gathering what was left of her pride, she slowly turned to meet their curious stares. "Excuse me," she mumbled to no one and everyone as she threaded her way between couples to the door, where she escaped into the dark of the night.
You killed them just as surely as if you had stabbed them to death. You killed them— Killed them— Killed! Killed!
She walked aimlessly, blindly, with no idea where she was going. She had barely reached the end of the building when someone stepped out in front of her and clutched her upper arms.
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