Magic in Her Eyes

by Donna Dalton

  He rode twenty yards ahead of the wagon, turning his head from side to side, ever watchful. He was her guardian. Her savior. A good friend who wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Her body heated with the memory of his arms wrapped around her, comforting her. Yet friend was all he could be. To consider more would put her and everyone at Seaton House at risk of being exposed.

  Private Greene broke off his humming. “There’s a canteen of water under the seat if you’re needing a drink, Miss Talbot.”

  She tucked the handkerchief back under her sleeve. It would take more than a canteen to drown her sorrows. “I’m fine for now. Thank you for offering.”

  He must have heard the ache in her voice. His tone softened. “I’m sorry ’bout what happened to your orphanage. It was a horrible thing to do. Those savages deserve to swing from a rope.”

  The word savages conjured images of painted, hide-wearing Indians she’d seen depicted in the newspapers. While only drawings, they still gave her the shudders. “It’s quite upsetting to think there are people in this world capable of such evil.”

  “Unfortunately, there are far too many of them. And not just Injuns.” He slapped leather to a flagging mule. “Hup there, Mack. I hope they find your handyman alive and well. I’ll be sure to keep him in my prayers.”

  She also prayed for his safe return. Yet considering the viciousness of the attack and the passage of time, the hope of finding Joseph alive hung by a thin thread. She tugged at bonnet laces that had tightened snugger than a noose.

  “I reckon the fire is gonna make things even harder for the children,” the trooper added. “I know some of them weren’t too keen on moving to the fort to begin with. Now they won’t have a home to return to.”

  “It is going to make things more difficult, that’s for certain.”

  “I’m a fair hand at carpentry if you need help with rebuilding.”

  He had big hands, paws almost. Her maid back at Hickory Hills said big hands on a man meant a big heart. He must have one the size of a watermelon. “I appreciate the offer. We will need all the help we can get.”

  “I know there’ll be others willing to help. Before the war, Private Brown was involved with the renovations at the Willard Hotel in Washington City. He has a good head for construction and such. I’m sure he’ll volunteer his services…once we get those renegades caught and jailed, that is.”

  “I hope that happens soon…for all of us.”

  “Me, too. All this burning and killing needs to stop. Been going on way too long.”

  The wagon rolled past a deep gouge in the roadway. It was the spot where their first attempt to make it to Fort Dent had resulted in a broken axle…and where Private Greene had been tossed to the ground. Only a small strip of white bandage peeking from beneath the trooper’s hat brim indicated he’d suffered an injury. On the ride to the orphanage, she’d been too consumed with thoughts of Joseph to consider the driver’s welfare. No time like the present.

  “How is your head, Private Greene? You don’t appear to be suffering from your fall.”

  “Doc Troutman says the gash is healing just fine, thanks to the excellent care I got when it happened. I’m grateful to you and Mrs. Clement.”

  And Maddie, but he didn’t need to know about the special potion that had aided his healing. In her experience, kindness didn’t mean acceptance, especially when it came to the unexplainable.

  “We were only too happy to help.” She inclined her head to the ditch, cleared now of wood shards and shredded clothing. “I see the soldiers retrieved the wagon and our trunks.”

  “Yes’m. Though most of the wood ended up on the kindling pile.”

  The army wagon and trunks might be gone, but the stark memory of finding their severed clothing remained. Shirts, pants, and dresses ripped to shreds. Not by one slice, but many. Over and over. The viciousness of the deed had left her feeling exposed and violated…as did the attack on the orphanage. She slipped a hand into her pocket and fisted the jack rock.

  A flash of color flickered in the nearby woods. She squinted against the sunlight. Blue shimmered among the greens and browns. Something or someone was in there. Her heart leapt. Please let it be Joseph.

  “Stop the wagon, Private Greene. I think there’s someone in the woods.”

  He pulled back on the reins. “Whoa, mules. Where? What did you see?”

  She pointed to the area where she’d seen the movement. “Over by that thick stand of pines. Something blue flashed in the greenery.”

  He rose and let out a whistle. Preston turned, and Private Greene motioned to the spot she’d indicated. Preston unholstered his pistol and nudged his horse over the ditch and into the woods. He quickly disappeared into the heavy brush.

  Minutes passed. Or was it hours? Voices floated from the thicket. There was a shout. And then silence returned.

  A few minutes later, his horse trailing behind him, Preston emerged on foot with his arm slung around a man wearing mud-splattered coveralls and a tattered blue shirt. Joseph. He was alive.

  She scrambled from the wagon and raced toward them. Dried blood caked a gash on the handyman’s forehead. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dirt. One foot dragged the ground. He was alive, but not unscathed.

  She shouldered under his other arm. “There, now, Mr. Hoggard. We have you.”

  “Run, Miss Talbot,” he muttered. “Demons. Fire.”

  Preston shook his head. “He’s keeps rambling on like that. Must have hit his head pretty hard.”

  Not a good sign. “It’s all right, Joseph,” she crooned. “The Indians are long gone.”

  “White demons.”

  “White men?” Preston asked. “You must have been confused, sir. We found Creek arrows in the rubble at the orphanage.”

  “Not Creek. Branded horses.”

  Agent Finley rushed over to them. “Poor man. He’s clearly out of his head. Doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

  Joseph wagged his head. “Saw them…they—”

  His voice and knees buckled, and he started sinking to the ground. Meredith struggled to keep him upright.

  Mr. Finley sidled beside her. “Let me help get him to the wagon for you, Miss Talbot.”

  She stepped aside and let the agent and Preston handle Joseph. She trailed behind them as they carried the handyman the rest of the way to the wagon. Joseph slumped in their grasp, his chin bouncing against his chest. She prayed he had only succumbed to unconsciousness and not to death’s call.

  The two men lifted Joseph onto the wagon bed, and with Preston’s help, she climbed in beside him. His eyes were closed, yet his chest rose and fell evenly. He lived. Thank you, Lord. She dabbed a corner of her skirt at the crusted gash. At least the bleeding had stopped, though considering his ramblings; the worst of the damage was most likely hidden underneath and would require a doctor’s attention.

  “Quickly now, Private Greene,” she urged the driver. “He needs medical care as soon as possible.”

  The trooper whipped up the mules, and the wagon lurched forward. She pulled Joseph’s head onto her lap to cushion him against the jolting. He didn’t need to further aggravate an already severe injury.

  Preston trotted his horse beside the wagon. He unhooked a canteen from his saddle and tossed it beside her on the wagon bed. “There’s some water if he needs it. I’m going to ride back to the orphanage and let the search party know your man has been found.”

  A judder jostled the wagon, and Joseph’s eyes flickered open. He blinked, and blinked again. Muddy blue eyes focused on her. “Miss Talbot?”

  “Yes, it’s me. We’re on our way to Fort Dent. You hit your head. It bled some, but has stopped now.”

  “Running. Fell…”

  She uncapped the canteen and held it to his lips. “Drink some water. Slowly now.”

  He took a sip and then collapsed back to her lap. His fingers clamped around her wrist, cold and quivering. “Seaton House. Couldn’t stop them. Too many…”

&n
bsp; She patted his hand. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

  “Fire. Burning…nothing I could do.”

  “It’s all right. We’ll rebuild once the renegade Indians are captured.”

  “Not Indians… White.”

  He really was befuddled. “Shhh. You just close your eyes and rest. Once we’re back at the fort and you’re feeling better, you can tell Lieutenant Booth all about what happened.”

  Chapter Seven

  Preston batted aside the canvas flap and ducked out of the tent. He swiped sweat from his brow before tucking on his hat. After a night of stifling mugginess and little sleep, a dip in Dancer’s Creek sounded quite appealing. Not that he’d had much luck cooling himself at that particular waterway. Kissing Meredith had heated his blood to near boiling, and it hadn’t abated a degree since. Her lips had been soft and pliable and tasted of honeysuckle. He couldn’t get the sweetness out of his mind. Even now, he hungered for another taste.

  On the other side of the field, the jailhouse shimmered in the morning sunlight. Smoke poured from the chimney, and the window glowed with welcoming lamplight. The occupants were awake. Perfect. He had questions that needed answers. His desires would have to be grated and banked.

  The door swung open, and a short squat cockroach of a man stepped onto the stoop. A bit early for Finley to be making social calls. Whatever the agent was up to, it wasn’t good.

  Preston made a beeline for the jailhouse. As he drew closer, Meredith filled the doorway. His pulse bolted as it always did at the sight of her—much to his annoyance. He usually had better control over himself. Around her, he acted like a pimple-faced private fresh off a long patrol.

  “Just let me know if you or the children need anything, Miss Talbot.” The agent’s tone dripped with sugary mash. “I’ll be more than happy to acquire it for you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Finley. It is kind of you to offer.”

  The agent looked like a dog’s dinner his Irish grandmother would have said, with his bright blue jacket, white waistcoat, royal blue ascot, and gray-striped trousers. A colorful getup for a morning visit. Was the man aiming to court Meredith? Not that he had any say in the matter. He didn’t have any hold on her. But her safety was his responsibility, and there was something about the Indian Agent he didn’t trust. Any man who would strip the last coin from a drunkard with twelve mouths to feed didn’t merit well in his book, even if it was at the poker table.

  “Agent Finley.” Preston rested a foot on the stoop. “What brings you out for a visit? Shouldn’t you be preparing for our excursion?”

  The agent looked down his patrician nose like the emperor Caligula dismissing a plebeian. “I made time to come by and check on Mr. Hoggard. After seeing his precarious state yesterday, I was quite concerned about the man.”

  Right. Finley only cared about anything or anyone that could further his ambitions or line his pockets. A poor handyman was neither of those.

  Preston shifted his attention to Meredith. Perspiration dotted the skin at her neckline. Odd how sweat looked like a string of pearls on her. “I assume if you are allowing visitors, Mr. Hoggard is doing better this morning?”

  Her dazzling smile rivaled the sun. “He is greatly improved; I’m pleased to say. His head is much clearer.”

  “Yes, much clearer,” Finley shoved in. “Thanks to the wonderful care he is receiving.”

  Preston stuffed down a gag. Hopefully Meredith could see through the man’s snake-oil slickness. “I’d like to speak with him if I may. Get his account of what happened at the orphanage.”

  “Certainly, Lieutenant.” Meredith stepped back from the doorway. “As long as you keep your visit short.”

  Short he could handle, provided it netted him the information he needed. He tugged off his hat, yet before moving onto the stoop, he speared the agent with a hard glare. “I’ll see you back at the stables, Mr. Finley. Noon. No later.” If the pompous jackass delayed their mission, there’d be hell to pay. He wasn’t going to get his ass chewed out because of Finley’s tardiness.

  He followed Meredith into the jailhouse. The last time he’d been inside, he hadn’t taken much notice of anything except the nymph tempting him with her wet flesh and barely concealed curves. Even now he had trouble putting one foot in front of the other without tripping over the memory.

  The main chamber had been transformed into a crude parlor with curtains at the windows and a rug in front of the pot belly stove. The floors and walls gleamed, and a flowery aroma rode the air. It was a nice change from the stench and filth of a few days ago. Amazing what women could do with a little soap and water.

  In the far corner of the room, several of the children sat around a table. Some read from books, others marked on slates. The two boys sat on the floor, playing with a set of small wooden pins. His neck hairs prickled. What the hell? He stalked across the room and snatched up a pin. It matched the one he’d found at the orphanage the day after the fire.

  He wagged the pin in the air. “I thought you said you didn’t recognize this toy, Miss Talbot.”

  Her pretty chin lifted. “I didn’t at the time. That pin is part of a game called Nine Pins. Mr. Brown at the Sutler’s store recently purchased a whole crate of them. Since many of the local children have a set, he thought the orphans might enjoy playing with one. So he sent a set over yesterday evening. I even saw a group of soldiers playing with them at the mess hall last night.”

  Any number of people, including his troopers, could have dropped the pin at the orphanage. Damn. That shot his potential lead all to hell. He’d have to find another clue to the identity of the raiders.

  “If you’re finished interrupting the boys’ game, you can follow me.”

  Prickly as a porcupine. He couldn’t blame her, though. He’d all but accused her of lying. Yet, he couldn’t help himself. Dishonesty riled his gut worse than boiled boot leather.

  He returned the pin to the boys and trailed her to the archway leading into what used to be the jailing section. Curtains draped the iron-barred doors in an attempt at privacy. Cots and pallets filled each cell. They couldn’t be comfortable living in such cramped conditions. Unfortunately, with the orphanage now a pile of ashes, they could only look forward to more discomfort.

  “How are the children taking the news of the fire?”

  “As well as can be expected. They’re worried about what will happen to them once the renegades are caught.”

  “I’m sure the townsfolk will pull together and help you rebuild.”

  She didn’t comment, merely stopped in front of the last cell on the left. “You have another visitor, Mr. Hoggard. It’s Lieutenant Booth. Go on in, Lieutenant.”

  Preston stepped past her and entered the cell. Hoggard reclined on a cot, his head swathed in a thick, white bandage. His skin was still pasty, but his eyes were clear and focused. Good. The first rule of warfare—identify the enemy. As the only living witness to the attackers, the handyman could very well provide the evidence he needed.

  “Are you feeling well enough for some questions, Mr. Hoggard?”

  “My head feels like Lucifer stabbed it with his pitchfork, but I’ll manage.” Hoggard motioned to a chair in the corner. “Please, come in and have a seat.”

  Meredith brushed past him. “I’ll just change that bandage while you talk. That way when you’re done, Mr. Hoggard can rest. Is that all right with you, Lieutenant?”

  Hardness crusted her sweet tone. After his earlier blunder, he’d best agree else he’d find himself tossed out on his ear. He gave her a brief nod and took up a position at the foot of the cot. He wanted a clear field of vision for this interrogation.

  Meredith moved to Hoggard’s head and began unwinding the bandage. He imagined those slender fingers touching him—combing through his hair, sliding over his flesh, enticing him with their siren song.

  “Lieutenant?” Hoggard prodded. “You have some questions?”

  Horse crap. Caught gathering wool. He cleared h
is throat of fluff and forced his focus onto the task at hand. “Now that you’re more lucid, I’d like to hear your account of what took place at the orphanage. Tell me everything you can remember about the attackers. Clothing, horses, conversations. Anything.”

  “My memory is still a bit muddled.”

  “But you remember some of it. Yesterday, you were adamant the attackers were white. You called them demons.”

  Hoggard’s face wilted. “I’m afraid all the panic and confusion made me a bit rattled. The wallop I took when I fell didn’t help matters any.”

  The man went quiet as Meredith removed the last of the bandaging. She dipped a clean cloth in a basin of water and leaned over to dab the crusted wound. More images roused—of her warm breath fanning his face, her breasts grazing his shoulder. He shifted his weight, seeking a more comfortable position against the stirring in his loins. She was definitely a witch. Nothing he did seemed to break her spell over him.

  “You said they were riding branded horses,” he continued. “Were you able to see the brands?”

  Hoggard dropped his hands to his lap and picked at a fingernail. “I remember it being dark as pitch that night. I had gone to the barn to settle Bessy when I heard riders approaching. Figured with all the attacks lately, there might be trouble. So, I doused the lantern and watched through the cracks in the wall slats. The renegades were riding around like devil hounds, yipping and hollering and setting fire to the orphanage. With all the commotion, I just can’t be certain what I saw.”

  “You call them renegades. Were they Indians then?”

  “They were wearing face paint and animal hide clothing, I recall that much.” Hoggard licked his lips. “Miss Talbot said you found Creek arrows in the rubble.”

  Hoggard’s memory was scrambled. He had mentioned yesterday they found some arrows. “That’s right. We discovered a number of arrows with Creek markings at the orphanage.”