It was bewildering, aggravating and damned irritating.
He considered climbing into her window and just as quickly rejected the notion. It wasn't the threat of her father catching him that stopped him, it was the look of fear that he remembered seeing in her eyes after he had killed Chie.
She was afraid of him. Of what he was—a white man, who had lived with the Apaches for so long that he had become like them—savage.
Whatever he felt for Independence Taylor— love or lust—it didn't matter. He was what he was. He couldn't change himself.
He did turn around then, and slowly walked away, damning his body for having a will of its own and making each step pure torture.
Turning the corner to go back down Officers' Row, Jim unexpectedly ran into Prudence Stallard.
"Why, if it isn't Major Garrity. Where are you going in such a hurry?" She stretched her neck to look around behind him. "Or should I say, where are you coming from in such a hurry?"
"Just making sure everything is ready for tomorrow morning." He leaned his weight to the right, hoping to relieve some of the pressure off his groin. "Isn't it a little late for you to be out?" he asked, turning the questions back to her.
"I was just on my way home. Maybe you'd care to walk with me? It's just across the parade ground."
He hesitated, then thought better of it. Maybe a walk was just what he needed to get his mind off Independence Taylor and her damn pillow! "Lead the way."
Prudence slipped her arm around his and crowded up beside him. "Whatever you say, Major."
The laundresses' quarters were similar to the enlisted men's except considerably smaller. They were some twenty feet away from the door when Prudence stopped and turned to him.
"I don't have to go in. It's not as if there's anybody waiting for me." Jim stared down at her, one eyebrow lifted. He was by no means deaf to her implied invitation or blind to her striking beauty. "I know a place close by where we could go and . . . talk."
What the hell! he thought. No one was waiting for him either. He'd be seven kinds of a fool to deny himself this opportunity, with a woman so warm and willing.
"I don't feel much like talking," he said in a low, rusty voice.
It was all the encouragement she needed. She led him to the next set of buildings, which was still partly under construction as was much of Bowie. "They're using this for a storeroom right now," she told him, "but later it will be a cavalry barracks." She opened the door. "The beds and bedding were shipped in last week." She made a sweeping gesture with her hand.
It took a moment for Jim's eyes to adjust to the black interior but once they did he almost laughed. He could count at least twenty iron beds. The mattresses were piled on the floor as were pillows and standard-issue woolen Army blankets. Jim stepped inside while Prudence stayed at the door. He heard the door close behind him.
"Cozy, don't you think?" She came up behind him and slid her arms around his waist. He felt her body's tension, its heat.
"Very cozy," Jim replied nonchalantly. If there was one thing he had learned in his six years with the Apaches, it was never to reveal himself to a stranger. Prudence Stallard, though a very desirable female, was a stranger—a very appealing one to be sure but a stranger nevertheless.
Slowly, carefully, almost as if she were blind, she felt her way around him until she stood before him. At the same time her arms lifted and went around his neck, she pushed the length of her body against his. Jim heard her sharp intake of breath at the moment of contact.
"Well well!" She reared her head back to look up at him. "And I was beginning to think you didn't like me." Boldly, without warning, she moved her hand down between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around the hard source of her surprise.
Instinctively, he arched his head back, closed his eyes, and pushed himself into her hand. This was what he wanted, what he needed. God, how he needed. He started to reach his hand down to show her the movement, but quickly realized she didn't need any instruction; Prudence Stallard knew exactly what to do to please a man.
"I was right, you know," she whispered, straining toward his ear.
"About what?" He could hardly talk.
"I told that stuffy old Independence Taylor that there was something very different about you, something that set you apart from the others." She giggled. "And now I know what it is."
He reached down and grabbed her hand, stopping her motion. "You discussed me with her?" he asked.
She seemed surprised by his question. "You know how women talk, Jim."
His demeanor changed suddenly. He took a deep breath and backed up a step. "No, I don't. Why don't you tell me."
"I thought you said you didn't feel like talking."
"I've changed my mind."
"Well, there really isn't much to say other than she said you terrify her."
"And you? Do I terrify you too?"
"Do I look frightened?" She made a move toward him, but he stopped her with his hands.
"No, but you should be. I might hurt you. I've lived with the Apaches so long that I've forgotten how to act like a civilized man. Good night, Prudence."
Chapter 11
It was the fresh clean smell of a new day that awoke Indy from her restless nightmarish sleep. She opened her eyes slowly. Her bedroom window faced east, affording her an unobstructed view of the slopes of the Chiricahua Mountains, which even in the midst of summer were green with a variety of shrubs and cacti.
Each morning since her arrival, she had awakened in time to watch the sun come up and paint the blue sky with streaks of pink and coral. As long as she lived she would remember the glorious Arizona sunrises.
This morning, however, dark rain-swollen storm clouds hid the sun. They heaved and churned like the bubbles in the slumgullion that the company cook had the audacity to call stew.
It was appropriate that the weather was so gloomy, Indy thought, sighing. It reflected her mood. It wasn't the thought of going home in defeat that saddened her, for she knew now that it could never have been any other way in spite of her efforts. Her father thrived on blaming her and hating her and would never allow anyone to take that away from him even though he may have been wrong.
It was the thought of Major Jim Garrity that saddened her, the thought that once she left Bowie, she would likely never see him again, yet she knew with certainty that her mind, her heart, and her body would never allow her to forget him, that they would, in fact, find ways to constantly remind her of him. Torturous ways, no doubt.
She squeezed her pillow, burying her face into its feathered softness but found no comfort. She could see herself back in St. Louis, a moderately wealthy spinster living by herself with nothing to do, no one to love, and no one to love her. She would grow old with her memories of the handsome Major Garrity, the dark and dangerous Shatto. One man. One love.
Out in the parlor she heard the front door open and close and guessed her father was on his way to breakfast. In a short while the bugler would call the camp to assembly for roll call. Almost every morning since plans had been announced to train the troops, one less name answered the call.
Drunk with sleep and body-sore, she cautiously left her bed, put on her wrapper, and went into the parlor. From the parlor window she had a clear view of the parade ground. It was a sea of mud.
Beneath the flagpole, beside the cannon, lay Chie and his two braves. Indy pressed trembling lips together. For the rest of her life she would remember the way that brave had looked at her when he was dying, and the surprised expression on Chie's face as Shatto's knife plunged between his ribs. He had thought himself invincible.
"Rider comin' in," Sergeant Moseley called out in a stentorian voice that carried in the thin early morning air.
Indy's breath caught in her throat at the sight of Shatto. He almost looked exactly as he had that first time she had seen him riding up alongside the ambulance: tall, lean, and proud. He wore that same tan breechclout, knee-high leggings, headband, and cartridge b
elt that she remembered. And now, in addition, he wore a brown buckskin vest, open in front.
Her legs went suddenly weak and she quickly pulled out a chair and sat down. It was that same peculiar feeling of being turned inside out that she had experienced last night and it was just as bewildering now as it had been then.
Leaving the mess, Colonel Taylor, followed by the men of G Troop, First Cavalry, and Troop D, Thirty-second Infantry, assembled on the parade ground.
Jim dismounted near the hospital. No sooner had his feet hit the ground than an orderly appeared to take his horse off to the corral.
"Give him some grain," Jim said, stroking the horse's withers. "And rub him down good. We've had a hard morning's ride." Long before sunrise, he had ridden out into the mountains to be alone with his thoughts, all of which directly or indirectly concerned Independence Taylor.
From the first day he'd met her, his life hadn't been the same. It wasn't her fault he couldn't stop thinking about her, he admitted. Until last night, when he had kissed her and she had kissed him back, she had given him no outward sign that she desired him. But he had known—right from the beginning. He had seen it in her eyes. If she had any idea how her eyes translated her thoughts and emotions, she'd hide them beneath a veil.
The short time he had spent with Prudence had been poisoned by thoughts of Indy. Prudence could have alleviated his body's agony had he not gone lame when she mentioned Indy's name. Exactly what that meant, he wasn't sure, but he sure as hell didn't like the implication.
Was he in love with her? He couldn't deny the passion he'd felt—also right from the beginning, and since then, thoughts of making love to her had caused him many a restless night. It impressed him too that he had become troubled by her relationship with her father because of the constant upset it caused her. Then, last evening, he had damn near gone crazy worrying that he'd be killed and wouldn't be able to protect her from Chie. And when it was over, and he had held her in his arms, it had hurt him to know that she feared him.
The depth of his emotions had been something of an unexpected surprise. He had never felt emotionally attached to any woman, not even Tess.
He had yet to resolve anything when he realized the hour and had to race back to make it in time for roll call. Meanwhile, he had decided that the best thing he could do was stay away from Independence Taylor. She would be the better for it and so would he.
Jim handed over the reins and started walking toward the colonel who stood by the flagpole, looking down at the three dead Apaches. He was acutely aware of the curious looks his clothing, or rather the lack of it, was receiving, especially from the colonel, who overtly scowled his disapproval. They'd all damn well better get used to it, he thought, irked. He sure as hell wasn't going to play Indian in a goddamn wool uniform. Not for anybody!
"Are these corpses lying here your idea of a joke, Major? Because if they are, I want you to know that I'm not amused." The colonel raised a gauntleted hand and waved Sergeant Moseley over. "Have these bodies taken away and buried immediately."
Jim had been watching him closely and consequently his reaction was delayed. "No," he said emphatically. "They'll stay where they are until I give the order to remove them." He would have said more in protest, but he needed to evaluate what he was seeing before it got away from him. The problem with the colonel's pose hadn't been his posture, Jim realized now, but from want of common hand gestures when he spoke. Yet, when he wore his gauntlets, as he was now, he made frequent and expressive gestures.
The colonel's head jerked up, his mouth pulled and thinned into a tight, angry line. "You'd do well, Major, to remember that you're an officer in my command and as such you'll take orders from me, not the other way around!" His right hand tightly gripped the hilt of his saber.
"Captain Nolan," Jim called over his shoulder in a voice meant to get all the troopers' attention. Aubrey Nolan came forward and saluted. "At ease, Captain." Jim waived a return salute, "Would you take a moment to refresh the colonel's memory about the bargain we made that you witnessed?"
Aubrey Nolan eyed Jim narrowly, obviously not convinced that humiliating the colonel in front of his entire command was the wisest tact to take. Nevertheless, he complied, as Jim knew he would, practically reciting word for word the terms of the agreement, which did indeed give Jim complete authority. Jim found a perverse pleasure in seeing the vein in the colonel's forehead swell with indignation.
"That will do, Captain Nolan," the colonel said acidly. "Your memory for details is commendable."
"Thank you, sir." The captain executed a smart salute and did an about-face and walked away.
Jim resisted a smile. "On that note, sir, I would like to begin looking over the men and making my selections."
The colonel looked ruffled but maintained his uncompromising authority. "You have my permission to begin, Major."
To Sergeant Moseley, who stood only a few feet away, Jim said, "Call the troops to attention, Sergeant."
Moseley marched to the center of the parade ground. "Attention!"
Like puppets on a string, nearly a hundred troopers fell into formation, standing side by side around the perimeter of the parade ground. They butted their feet together, positioned their arms straight down and close to their sides, and focused unwavering attention on some theoretical object. Their uniforms were of standard-issue blue-black wool, with roll collar blouses, light blue trousers, and dark blue wool kepis for their heads. From Aubrey, Jim had learned that the colonel had flatly refused any individuality in dress, or, even when summer came upon them, to substitute the blue undress blouse for the lighter weight blue flannel shirt.
That would all change for the men he chose for training, Jim thought.
Jim began to walk in front of the men, glancing briefly at each face before going on to the next. Some he recognized as having seen from afar through his field glasses, others from that day Chie had attacked the ambulance, and still others from his visits to Bowie.
Captain Nolan joined him after Jim had made his first inspection. "So what do you think?" he asked in a low voice.
Jim nodded soberly. "I think I've got a lot of work to do," he confided.
"Then you'd better get started."
"I have," Jim said, challengingly. "The first man I'm going to choose is you. You've got all the qualifications that I'll be looking for in them." He slanted his head toward the men on the south side of the parade ground. Then in earnest added, "I want you with me on this, Aubrey. The men look up to you, respect you. It isn't going to be easy getting them to do the things I'm going to ask them to do. The Apaches didn't learn to become skilled warriors overnight; they were taught from childhood. We've only got a few weeks."
Aubrey's mouth tightened into a grimace. "Are you going to make me run around half-naked like you?"
"If necessary," Jim quipped. If he had thought for a moment Aubrey didn't want to be included, he wouldn't have asked him, but they had been friends too long, been through too much together, for him not to be sure of Aubrey's response.
Aubrey lifted his eyes and looked away. "What the hell! I'm with you, but only because I wouldn't want you to have all the fun!" he said, his index finger shooting out at Jim.
A smile appeared on Jim's lips but never actually reached his eyes. "I assume you've told the men all about me. I don't want my past rearing its ugly head and causing problems. They'll need to trust me, Aubrey. Their lives will depend on it."
"They know. I've told them everything. I don't think anyone here doesn't know what you were up against and why you chose to escape and desert. The only problem I foresee is a question of your relationship with the Apaches. I'd suggest you explain it to them as you did to me. They're not stupid, Jim. They'll understand. Many of them already do. Fact is, quite a few of them were instrumental in helping me formulate the plan that brought you here. I'll point them out to you as you make your selections. We have a lot of good, honest men here. Men who want to make Arizona a prosperous territory where
people can start businesses and raise families. Most of them advocated the training. The ones that didn't— Well, you'll be able to pick them out," he said with confidence.
"Let's hope so," Jim said dryly as he strode toward the center of the parade ground. It had been a long time since he'd had his own command—since the war. His last order was the one that had ended him up in jail, accused of killing four Yankee soldiers. Only they weren't Yanks. They were Johnny Rebs, disguised in Yankee blues.
Hands on hips, legs spread slightly apart, he stood alone before them. If he was in their boots, he too would be wondering what kind of man would call the Apaches his friends, then teach their sworn enemies to fight them. He could see that a question of loyalty would arise. It had risen within himself and he had struggled with it.
Thanks to Toriano, he had overcome his misgivings about leaving behind his Apache friends and training the troopers. For all that he and Toriano were nearly the same age, there was in Toriano an age old wisdom that allowed him to see things differently than most men. He never said if a thing was good or bad, or tried to persuade Jim to think as he thought, only to help him to look at a thing from all sides so that he could make his own judgment and decision.
Toriano had long known that the day was coming when the Apaches would no longer be free to go where they wanted to go or do what they wanted to do. He told Jim he saw the size of his world grow smaller with each new white man who came into the territory and claimed a piece of the land for his own. Apaches didn't understand why the white man needed to own land, why he couldn't just live on it and make use of it, but because they had this need, they would take and take until there was nothing left.
Jim had discussed the peace plans of the white eyes' new nantan in Washington and the concepts of the reservation system with Toriano, and both had agreed that it was inevitable that the Apaches would have to come to a decision, surrender or face extinction.
The Peacemaker Page 15
