by Donna Dalton
Red Wing lifted a hand. “The sacred pipe has been smoked. Let us speak with truthful words, truthful hearts, and a truthful spirit.”
The truth. Good. That’s what he was after. It certainly helped that the chief had a fair grasp of English. Many words got lost in translation. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with us, Chief Red Wing. We appreciate your cooperation in this urgent matter.”
The chieftain nodded. “We help any way we can.”
“As you have no doubt heard, there is a rogue faction of Creek warriors attacking and killing homesteaders.”
Lines cratered the chief’s leathery face. “How you know Creek warriors have done this?”
“We know because arrows with your tribe’s markings were discovered scattered in and around the destroyed homesteads.”
“Anyone could make such arrows and use them to accuse us.”
An astute observation, one he’d considered until Hoggard had corroborated the evidence. “What you say is true. However, there was a survivor who reported he saw Creek warriors attacking his homestead. We have no reason to distrust this man. We need to know who these renegades are and where they are hiding.”
“As I said to Agent Finley, we know nothing about these attackers. They are not of our people.”
Finley snorted. “There. I told you this would be a waste of time.”
Preston shot a glare at the agent. “And I told you to hold your tongue and let me handle this discussion.”
The agent ignored his warning and continued spouting. “I’ve been trying to negotiate with this stubborn mule for months on behalf of the Southern Railroad. He won’t budge. Says he won’t surrender what little land was given to them as part of the treaty agreement.”
“That’s his prerogative, Finley.”
“Bunkum. I’ve tried to explain the benefits, but he refuses to even consider it. Many of his warriors have been openly hostile toward me. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are indeed the renegades and Red Wing is at the helm.”
The crowd behind the chief stirred, their voices rising like bees in a disturbed hive. Preston’s gut tightened. He had to calm the waters, fast. Before things escalated and someone did something that couldn’t be undone.
He caught and held Red Wing’s gaze. “The army is not accusing you or any of your peaceable tribe members of anything. We just want to put an end to the violence.”
The chieftain barked in his native tongue, and the group quieted. Red Wing nodded. “We also want to stop these attacks. They bring much disharmony between our people.”
“Whitewash,” Finley muttered. “We should just move them onto the more secure reservation with the Choctaw and be done with them. That will put a stop to all this nonsense.”
The crowd erupted, some jumping to their feet and jabbing fists in the air, others waving their weapons. To put the Creek and their long-time rivals together would be like tossing gunpowder onto a fire. Instant explosion. Preston cursed inwardly. Finley’s flap-happy tongue was going to get them killed. He needed to diffuse the situation. But how? Meredith had calmed her agitated flock with sweet words and a calm demeanor. He couldn’t manage sweet, but he could do calm.
He pushed to his feet, hands raised. “If you’ll just settle down for one moment,” he said in a loud but composed tone.
Wary eyes lit on him. He held their gazes, hoping they would respect his boldness, if nothing else. “I understand your anger. But believe me; we have no intention of moving any of you to another reservation. All we want is to find the men responsible for the attacks. Please, let us honor the peace promised with the smoking of the pipe.”
The din slowly subsided. Those standing settled back to the ground. Preston let go the breath he’d seized and lowered his hands. One issue dealt with…now for the other.
He leaned over Agent Finley and adopted a forceful tone that usually had his troopers quaking in their boots. “If you open your mouth one more time during this discourse, Finley, I will stuff it with one those burning logs. Two if need be.”
Finley’s eyes went wide as wagon wheels. His mouth sagged as if he wanted to respond, but he snapped his lips shut with a click of teeth. Smart man—for once.
Preston sank back the ground and returned his focus to Chief Red Wing. An appreciative glint lit the Indian’s eyes. He hadn’t put Finley in his place to garner approval, but if it encouraged the chieftain to cooperate, all the better.
“As I said, Chief Red Wing, we have no intention of moving your tribe. All we ask is a little cooperation. You are a wise and perceptive leader. Have you heard or seen anything that might help us locate these renegades? They have been uncommonly elusive.”
Eagle feathers swayed. “I have heard nothing. My son took a scouting party to look for these chitto. We wait for his return.”
“That was a risky thing to do. Your son and his men could be mistaken for the renegades.” The Creek were not allowed to leave the reservation without Major Allen’s permission. Could Finley’s allegations have merit? His gut said no. Something in the chieftain’s eyes and tone of voice resonated with honesty. If anyone was going to be deceitful, his bet would be on Finley.
“Black Hawk will use caution. I will send word to you when he has returned.”
“Thank you, Chief Red Wing. I will let my commander know of your assistance. He will be very grateful for any information you can provide us.”
Red Wing crossed arms over his chest. “Ask this commander about our provisions and cattle. None have been sent since last winter. These things were promised by the paper I marked with your man from Washington.”
What the hell? Preston turned to Finley. As their assigned agent, the Indians were his responsibility. “Why haven’t the allotments been sent to them?”
Finley puffed up like a perturbed hedgehog. “I appropriated for the provisions as required by the treaty. You’ll have to ask the senators in Washington why they are not getting sent.”
“That’s your job, Finley. Not mine.”
“I cannot be held responsible for greedy government contractors who only want to line their pockets.”
Preston itched to knock the teeth out of Finley’s belligerent attitude. The Red Ground tribe may not be part of the current attacks, but if the agent continued on his current path of negligence and intolerance, that peacefulness could turn deadly.
“Make no mistake, Agent Finley…you will be held responsible. As soon as we return to Fort Dent, you will follow up on those allotments, even if it means making a trip to Washington.” He punched steel to his tone. “Or you’ll answer to me.”
The skin around Finley’s jaw twitched as if considering his options. Preston grunted inwardly. Not much to consider. The man either complied, or he’d be eating gruel for the rest of his life.
The agent gave a resigned grunt and shifted his attention to the other side of the fire pit. He lifted a hand, palm outward. “You have my word, Chief Red Wing. I will look into the delay of your provisions.”
Finley’s word was worth about as much as a bucket of tobacco spit. But a boot to the backside would ensure the man followed through on his promise. Preston met the chieftain’s gaze. “I know words will not fill your people’s bellies, but I assure you this oversight will be rectified. Soon.”
Red Wing nodded and rose in a smooth, effortless movement. The meeting was over. There would be no more discussion. Pledges had been made. It was up to each of them to honor those vows or suffer the consequences.
****
Firefly sparks flashed in the encroaching darkness. Clicks and whirrs rode the air. The insects were tuning up for their evening performance. Normally she would stop and listen, absorb the tranquility. Not tonight. Tonight she had a mission, and nothing could distract her, not even her own misgivings.
A tall shadow basted the softly-lit canvas wall. Meredith tightened her grip on the soup bowl. After hours of continuously checking through the jailhouse window, she’d seen Preston arrive at his tent. While she cheere
d his safe return, seeing him, being near him, turned her into someone she didn’t recognize. She couldn’t think around him, could hardly draw breath. All she wanted was more of what his heated gaze promised. Her reactions were senseless and quite unnerving. There could be nothing between them. He was a man of strictness and practicality. He would never accept her for who she was and what she could do.
Yet she had to meet with him. He needed to hear about the incident at the mess hall from her…not from spiteful gossipmongers who might twist the truth into something ugly and heinous.
She stopped outside the tent and gathered herself with a deep breath. She would tell him about the latest developments and leave. Friendly and business-like, nothing more.
“Lieutenant Booth? Do you have a moment?”
Shuffling sounded from inside, and then the tent flap swept open. Preston ducked through the opening, wearing a partially buttoned white shirt tucked into clean trousers. Suspenders dangled at his sides. He must have just finished bathing. His hair was still damp from a recent washing. One lock dangled rakishly over his forehead. She wanted to smooth it back. She lifted the bowl instead.
“I saw you had returned, so I brought you some supper. It’s well past mealtime. I thought you might be hungry.”
His fingers grazed hers as he took the bowl. Quivers danced up her arms, and she braced herself against the onslaught. Friendly and business-like. Friendly and business-like. The mantra did little to quell the rebellion building inside her.
“You shouldn’t have troubled yourself with bringing me anything.” He lifted the bowl to his nose. “Smells wonderful, though.”
“It was no trouble at all, and the stew is wonderful. Mrs. Clement made it from a rabbit Gabe and Private Womack trapped in the woods outside the fort.”
His brow mashed into a frown. “Did the mess hall run out of fare? Or is army food so bad that you resorted to cooking your own?”
“Neither. There’s another reason we are cooking for ourselves. It’s why I sought you out.”
The only movement breaking the gloom came from the darting bats seeking their dinner. She and Preston were alone. But that may not last for long. Not if the past few days were any indication.
She inclined her head to the tent. What she needed to tell him required privacy. “May I come inside for a moment?”
Hesitation jack-rabbited across his face. He glanced from her to the jailhouse and back. He clearly wanted no part of being alone with her. Somehow that only added to her unease.
“Please. It’s important.”
His balking expression surrendered, and he stepped back from the opening. “As you wish.”
Heart thumping, she stooped and entered the tent. A narrow cot covered with a wool blanket sat against the far wall. Precisely folded uniforms filled an open trunk at the foot. A chair rested next to small table that held a book and a softly-glowing oil lamp. The living space was neat and orderly—unlike hers. She moved through life like a whirlwind. She and Preston were as different as night and day. She would do well to remember that.
He moved into the tent and motioned to the ladder-back chair. “Please have a seat.”
She settled on the chair and fussed with her skirts, unable to meet his gaze. Her nerves were in tatters. One tender look from him would be her unraveling.
“How was your expedition with Agent Finley?” She fluffed out a rather unruly crinkle. “Productive, I hope.”
“Not as productive as I’d hoped, but we may know more in a few days.”
“That’s good.”
The soup bowl thumping on the table startled her. She looked up and into a scowling stare. Her gown became suddenly too tight, too hot. She wriggled beneath his glare.
“What’s wrong, Meredith? You’re squirming worse than a worm on hot sand.”
Meredith. She would never tire of hearing her name cross his lips. “I’m afraid there was some trouble while you were gone.”
“What kind of trouble?”
The worst sort. “Some of the townsfolk are not happy with me or the children. They want us to leave the fort.”
“Why would they want you to leave? What happened?”
She wished he would sit down. His hovering set her pulse to galloping, and she wasn’t ready or equipped for a ride.
She pushed back against the chair and concentrated on not squirming like a worm. “There was a disagreement a few days ago at the supper meal. The local ladies were unhappy with my decision to associate with someone they felt was beneath me. You many know of her. She’s a German immigrant. Mrs. Valder. Jana Valder. She moved into town last month. Her husband passed away during their trip west, so she had to resort to…um, coarse means in order to survive.”
“Yes, I am aware of who Mrs. Valder is and what she does.”
His mouth tightened, and he scrubbed a hand through his hair. Had he visited with the widow? The thought of him being with another woman sent an arrow zinging into her chest.
She clasped her hands into a tight ball in her lap, holding onto a courage that was fading fast. “There was little eating space available in the mess hall, so I invited Mrs. Valder to join our table. Mrs. Allen and her lady friends were very vocal in their disapproval. Very vocal. I stood up against them and their vicious attack.”
“Was that wise? You had to know doing so would only provoke them.”
“I wasn’t going to let them assail Mrs. Valder. No one deserves to be ill-treated, no matter what they do for a living.” If he didn’t understand or approve of that, how would he ever accept an outlier like her? Her decision to keep him at arm’s length was the right one.
“While your intentions were honorable, they won’t endear you to the good ladies of Mineral. Is this the trouble you wanted to tell me about?”
“That’s part of it.” Best to tread softly. Preston Booth had a knack for reading between the lines, even if they were blurred. “During the dispute, one of the children cited some personal details about the commander’s wife, details Mrs. Allen claimed no one else knew about.”
“How did the child know these things?”
Homing in on the key aspects—just as he always did. She wouldn’t want to be his adversary on a battlefield. “Nel must have overheard Mrs. Allen mention them at some point. The major’s wife is quite garrulous and enjoys speaking about herself to anyone and everyone.”
She hated lying to him, but she didn’t have a choice. As much as she wanted to divulge the truth of Nel’s knowledge, she had no idea how he would react to the notion of speaking with the dead.
“During the disagreement,” she continued, “someone jostled the table. The lantern tipped over and smashed to the floor. That misfortune, combined with Nel’s remarks, had Mrs. Allen and her lady friends screaming of witchcraft and ordering us to leave the fort.”
His disparaging snort ripped the air. “Witchcraft? What nonsense. Officers’ wives are expected to behave with decorum and discretion. They are supposed to be role models. While I respect Major Allen, he allows his wife too much freedom. She needs to be taken in hand. No wife of mine would bring such taint to me or my career.”
A warning well received. “I’m afraid the confrontation didn’t stop at accusations. Since that night, we have had numerous threats. Rocks thrown at the windows. Intimidating notes tacked to the door. Someone even left a dead rat on the stoop.”
“Did you inform Private Womack of these incidents?”
She shook her head. “Not at first. I thought if we ignored them, the bullies would grow weary and cease their activities.”
“But they haven’t.”
“They’ve gotten worse. This morning, a group of children attacked Robbie and Gabe at the community well. The boys suffered cuts and bruises. It would have been much worse if a stray dog hadn’t jumped in to protect them.” He didn’t need to know that Robbie had summoned the dog for help.
“I hope you went to Private Womack after that.”
“I did. He escorted me to t
he fort headquarters, so I could inform Major Allen of the deeds. But the major was in ill health and couldn’t meet with me. When I saw you had returned, I figured I had best come and relay what had transpired before you heard about it from someone else.”
His fierce expression lightened. “I’m glad you did. Rest assured; I will speak with Major Allen about this tomorrow when I deliver my report. I’m sure he will put a stop to all the nonsense.”
A weight lifted from her shoulders. Preston would see the matter righted. He was a man of honor and principle. It was one of things she admired most about him. It was also the thing that kept them apart.
She rose from the chair. “Thank you. The hostility is frightening the children. They can barely sleep.”
He moved closer, his fresh, soapy scent washing over her like an incoming wave. “What about you? Are you sleeping?”
She wasn’t. Not just because of the spiteful harassment. But because of him. Because of her longing to have what she denied herself—the love of a decent, caring man.
His hand drifted up and cradled her cheek. Warmth from his touch trickled down her neck and spread like an umbrella under her ribs. Breathing became a struggle—speaking near impossible. It took every ounce of control to keep her knees from buckling.
“I missed you, Meredith. Missed your sunny smile. The way your eyes dance when you’re agitated. The way they go soft when you’re kissed.”
“Preston. I’m not…that is, we shouldn’t…”
“Say it again.”
“S-say what?”
“My name. It’s the first I’ve heard it cross your lips. I like the sound. You should say it more often.”
She swallowed her last bit of moisture. He sounded so tender, so loving. Yet that tenderness would surely turn to disgust once he learned the truth about her. He had already declared an officer’s wife should behave with decorum and discretion. He would most definitely consider her affliction a taint to his reputation.
Gray-brown eyes drank in her face. His lips parted and with a ravenous growl, he lowered his head. His kiss was gentle at first, and then more demanding when she didn’t resist. She couldn’t resist. Her bones had turned to mush.
