by Regina Scott
She and Hank finished with the canyon later that afternoon. By then, Hank had noted all his calculations, and she had, in his opinion, adequately described the indescribable view.
“What now?” Meg asked the cartographer, rubbing her neck, stiff from looking up and down all day.
“Now we reposition,” Hank said. “I’d like to see what’s on the other side of that.” He pointed to the westernmost outcropping.
“So would I,” Meg said.
They shared a grin.
“Not like that!” Dot shouted. “Ain’t you never skinned a rabbit before?”
Poor Meadows had been assigned to assist the cook with dinner again. Mr. Pike had brought in something, rabbit by the sound of it. The skinning knife trembled in Meadows’s grip.
Hank sighed. “Best see what I can do.” He nodded toward the outcropping. “There’s still enough time for a photograph.”
Meg laughed. “Indeed there is. Good luck, Hank.”
“You too.”
She didn’t need luck. She just needed the right angle, the best perspective. She went to ready her stereographic camera and a plate.
Adams was standing at the back of the van as she approached.
“Will you be taking a picture?” he asked.
Meg let down the steps. “Mr. Newcomb suggested I try farther along the rim.”
“Well, at least you’re doing your job for once and not mine.”
Foot on the bottom step, Meg paused. His perennially red face had darkened, his eyes narrowed.
“I serve on this expedition, same as you, Corporal,” she informed him. “If my help is needed, wherever, I give it. If you have issue with that approach, I suggest you take it up with Captain Coleridge.”
He wrinkled his sunburned nose. “I very much doubt the captain would take my side over yours. A pretty face can do more than years of loyal toil when it comes to promotion and favor.”
Meg held her ground, gaze even with his. “A pretty face isn’t any good for convincing gentlemen to take a lady seriously. Only being the best at what you do can achieve that goal. Be the best. Make them notice you.”
He frowned as if he hadn’t expected her answer or had never considered the matter before. “That is rather difficult for a man of letters. I wasn’t trained for this sort of wilderness work.”
Meg cocked her head. “Then why join the Army?”
He dropped his gaze. “I had intended to become a solicitor, but the man I apprenticed under was more interested in lining his own pockets than helping his clients. When he was jailed, fingers were pointed in my direction as a potential accomplice. The safest thing was to put myself out of reach.” He glanced around at their rugged site. “Though this wasn’t entirely what I had in mind.”
“It seems you have intelligence, knowledge, and a desire for advancement,” Meg said. “Use them. Talk to Mr. Newcomb. Learn why he prefers my work to yours. And do not,” she added, raising a finger at the sly look that came over his face, “imply that it has anything to do with beauty.”
He stepped back and saluted her. “Yes, ma’am. Do you need any assistance with your photography?”
“No, thank you,” Meg said. “And you have an appointment with Mr. Newcomb.”
With a nod, he hurried off.
Meg shook her head as she went to prepare the collodion. Some days she couldn’t win. Gentlemen in power, who could decide whether to hire her and what to pay her, took her pretty face as a sign she wasn’t competent. Others assumed she’d been hired simply for her looks. The only way to show them the error in their thinking was to be the best at her profession. And that was what she intended to do.
When she stepped out of the van a few minutes later, Ben and Larson were hard at work on the grid, Hank and Adams were in deep discussion, and Meadows was frantically working over the fire while Dot stood nearby, arms crossed over her chest and foot tapping on the dry ground. Pike paced the perimeter, rifle cradled in one arm. There was no reason to bother any of them. Hank knew where she was headed. She caught his eye, and he nodded. Cradling her camera close, she set out.
It was easy going through the trees, with little underbrush. The golden soil crunched beneath her boots. Through the pines on her left, she caught glimpses of the canyon, so she kept her bearing.
A little way along, the trees opened for a fine view. She ventured closer to the edge. The west held an excellent perspective down the canyon, farther than any she’d seen so far. Straight ahead, the gold and red striation of the opposite cliffs showed to advantage. Both possibilities. And to the east . . .
Meg caught her breath. Another outcropping jutted into the canyon, the rocks gilded by the setting sun. In the center was a massive hole, allowing her to see back down the river to vermillion cliffs. Oh, what a shot!
She set up her camera, checked the angle once, twice. Her fingers trembled on the material as she lifted the hood. This could make her future. She focused on the farther canyon, like a scene through a heavenly window. One more adjustment and . . .
The view went black.
Meg jerked out from under the hood to meet Pike’s amused gaze. The guide was standing directly in front of her camera, blocking any chance for a picture.
“Straying a little far afield, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Attempting to take a picture,” Meg informed him. “Get out of my shot.”
He didn’t budge. “Captain was concerned. He wants you back at camp.”
“Happy to oblige,” Meg said, jaw tight, “as soon as I get the shot.”
He made a face. “It’s a big canyon. One picture ought to be as good as another.”
“If you don’t move, now,” Meg said, “I will shoot you where you stand.”
She’d meant with the camera, but Pike clearly took her words literally. Paling, he stepped out of the frame.
Meg dived back under the hood. The light was fading, the canyon dimming in the distance. It would be a good shot, but not the amazing picture she’d hoped for. She took the shot.
“Done?” Pike asked as she emerged from the hood.
“A few more minutes for exposure,” Meg replied.
He hefted his rifle higher, betraying the damp circles under the arms of his broadcloth shirt. “We’re exposed enough out here. Good wind could knock us both over.”
“You’re welcome to wait in the trees,” Meg said.
His eyes narrowed. “If you can take it, I can take it.”
There was no if. Her father had taught her well. She knew her capabilities. She knew her intentions. She just wasn’t sure of his.
Ben winced as another clang echoed from near the fire. Larson handed him the last mineral sample of the day.
“What’s bothering Mrs. Newcomb?” Larson asked.
Whether from respect or fear, none of his men called Dot by her first name. Ben could only hope it was his own respect for her that made him hesitate to return to the fire now.
“I’ll speak to her later,” he promised.
They finished recording their finds and moved back into camp. Hank was already near the fire, but on their arrival, he excused himself and drew Adams and Meadows off toward the spring.
“I told them to wash,” Dot said before Ben could question her. “Last thing we need is dirt in the food.” She slammed down the lid on the pot she’d been stirring.
Larson backed away. “Best I go wash too.” He scurried off faster than a rabbit.
Ben eyed his cook. Her back was hunched, her face tight, her fingers cramped, as if she were holding on to something tightly. “What’s the problem, Dot?”
Dot tossed her spoon into another bowl. “Problem? One scrawny rabbit to feed seven people. Red dust falling into everything. Strangers disturbing my sleep. It’s enough to give anyone fits.”
Ben crouched near her. “Not an old campaigner like you.”
Dot narrowed her eyes. “Who you calling old?”
Ben kept his smile in place. “Certainly not you. I merely wante
d to point out that you have more experience than most of us. We rely on you for guidance, as an example. When you’re upset, we want to set matters right.”
Her body relaxed, her look softened. “That’s mighty nice of you, Captain. But you can’t fix what’s wrong with me.” She sighed.
“Give me a chance,” Ben said. “I might surprise you.”
Her smile appeared. “You might at that. I can see why Meg favors you.”
Something zinged through him, like a bee making for its hive. He glanced up, suddenly realizing that Meg wasn’t in sight. “Where is Meg? I thought she was helping Hank.”
All sunlight vanished from Dot’s face. “She sure was. You’d be smarter to keep her to yourself.”
Ben’s look came back to her. “I have no hold on Miss Pero.”
She snorted. “Men. Why are you all so blind?” She picked up her spoon and leveled it at him. “She’s pretty and smart and knows her craft. You could do far worse.”
Ben rose. “And Miss Pero could do better. How soon to dinner?”
“Another quarter hour.” She eyed Ben. “Well? Go and wash.”
Bemused, Ben went.
Hank, Adams, Meadows, and Larson were all standing beside the spring talking. Ben’s shoulders felt lighter when he saw that Meg and Pike had joined them. Her color was high, but he wasn’t sure whether that was from exposure to the sun or some emotion.
“Dinner in a quarter hour,” he reported. “I suggest you don’t want to be late.”
Hank scratched his neck. “That’s sure enough.”
“I also suggest Mr. Pike return first,” Ben said.
His guide frowned. “Why?”
Hank grinned. “Dot’s the least angry at you. You brought her meat.”
“Not enough meat, according to Dot,” Ben warned. “But I did take that into consideration.”
Pike shook his head. “You’re all afraid of her.”
“Yes, sir,” Meadows said with a shudder.
“I’ll go back,” Meg said, hitching her camera closer. “I’m not afraid of Dot. I’d like to know what’s troubling her.” She started through the trees. Ben was about to go after her when Pike stepped in front of him.
“Captain, a moment.”
Ben shifted to give him his full attention.
Pike tipped his chin in the direction Meg had gone. “I noticed her leaving camp by herself, so I followed. She was clear out on a ledge, taking some fool picture. She could have fallen, met a cougar or bear or a pack of coyotes. I thought you wanted everyone to go in pairs.”
“That was my order,” Ben said, frustration building. “Thank you for reporting to me. I’ll speak to her.”
Pike nodded and headed for camp.
“Mouth runner,” Larson muttered.
Ben turned on him. “You have something to say, Private?”
Hank shook his head, Adams’s eyes widened, and Meadows shrank in on himself as if expecting Ben to reprimand their comrade.
Larson raised his scruffy chin. “Yes, sir. I don’t much like the way Mr. Pike talked about Miss Meg. If he was so all-fired worried, he could have just checked on her. No need to report her to her commanding officer.”
Ben hid his smile. “I appreciate your insight and candor, Private. Finish up and return to camp.”
“Sir.”
As the three cavalrymen ambled off with Hank, Ben bent to rinse his hands in the cool spring water. What was it about Meg that inspired loyalty, support? Pike had gone to her rescue, Larson had defied authority to champion her.
And he was about to court disaster to warn her.
16
Meg stored her camera and set the plate into its solution, then went to the fire. Dot busied herself with the stew she’d made, the savory scents hanging in the air.
“The rest of them are washing,” Meg told her. “They’re a little afraid to return. You certainly have a way with the gentlemen.”
Dot slammed down the lid. “No, I don’t.”
So forceful. How could she get through to her friend? Meg propped her chin on her hand. “I don’t know. They do what you ask, even Mr. Pike.”
Dot dropped her gaze to the fire. “They’re afraid I’ll spit in their food.”
Meg shuddered. “Well, I certainly hope they’re wrong.”
“Maybe.” Dot glanced up with a shadow of a smile. “They’re wrong. I wouldn’t do that. But they don’t take to me like they do to you. Even Hank likes you better.”
Her sigh could have felled one of the pines.
Meg dropped her hand and straightened. “Now, you listen to me, Dot Newcomb. Hank is your husband, committed to you heart, mind, and body. And if you think I would stand between a husband and a wife, you don’t know me.”
Dot restacked the plates, the tin rattling in her grip. “I never said you’d do anything wrong. But Hank would have to be blind not to notice you. Who wants an old dull moth when a pretty butterfly flutters near?”
“First off, you’re no dull moth,” Meg started, thinking of the drawing Hank had made that showed the beauty inside Dot.
Dot held up her hand. “I am. I always have been. I never thought to find a husband as handsome and clever as Hank. From time to time, I’ve wondered whether he regretted choosing me. But I never questioned his loyalty. Then that old Rudy Pike had to go and mention how much Hank admired you, and I couldn’t get it out of my mind.”
Meg glanced to where the men were coming out of the trees. “I don’t much like Mr. Pike at the moment. Perhaps he means well, but the relationship between you and your husband is none of his affair. Nor mine. If you’re worried about Hank, talk to him.”
Dot nodded, then began ladling stew onto plates as the men seated themselves around. Meg went to rinse the photographic plate and set it to dry before joining them. Ben and Hank both looked up with a smile of welcome.
Meg sat and accepted her plate, with a sidelong look to Hank. Could Dot have reason for concern? Surely he wouldn’t form an attachment to Meg. Then again, Ben hadn’t been the only cadet to approach her at West Point, and there had been several men since who’d attempted closer acquaintance. She’d let them all know she wasn’t interested. She certainly would never have taken up with a married man! She’d thought Hank’s attentions no more than a compliment to her abilities. He’d even encouraged her to consider Ben.
She watched him as they ate. He grabbed an extra biscuit and tossed it to Meadows, warning him that growing boys needed to eat. He praised Larson for how well the mules were behaving. He assured Adams he’d be glad for the man’s help the next day. He joked with Pike about the lack of hunting opportunities. And he swapped stories with Ben about another expedition they’d been on. In short, he treated the other members of the group no differently than he treated her.
Dot was worrying about nothing. She might not have noticed that Hank was treating Meg kindly if it hadn’t been for the poison Mr. Pike had dripped in her ear.
That Dot wasn’t the only one he’d attempted to influence was evident as soon as dinner ended. Ben rose and nodded to Meg.
“Miss Pero, we need to talk.”
The other men exchanged glances. Adams eyed her speculatively, as if he couldn’t decide whether this request denoted favor or discipline. Larson and Meadows hastily excused themselves as if they suspected she was in for a scold. Pike smirked at her across the fire as if he knew it.
Meg handed Dot her plate with a word of thanks, then stood to follow Ben toward the canyon edge. Twilight crept up all around them. As if the canyon too were headed for sleep, its colors darkened, dimmed. Quiet wrapped around her. It did not bring peace with it.
“What’s wrong?” Meg asked.
“I understand you disobeyed orders,” Ben said, gaze out over the canyon.
“I did no such thing,” Meg informed him. “Hank suggested I see about pictures to the west. He knew where I was going.”
“But he wasn’t with you in case you needed help,” Ben pointed out.
&
nbsp; “So you sent Mr. Pike.” Meg shook her head with a tsk.
“Apparently he spotted you leaving camp,” Ben said.
“And followed,” Meg confirmed. “I might have known he’d bring you the tale. He couldn’t be content with interfering with my photograph.”
Ben turned his gaze to hers, smile tilting up. “He interfered with the shot? I knew the man was fearless, but I didn’t think he was suicidal.”
“Did he tell you I threatened to shoot him?” Meg demanded. “I meant take his picture, but I’m fairly sure he understood it another way.”
Ben laughed. “Very likely, and I suspect you knew he would. Why are you fighting us, Meg? We just want to keep you safe.”
Her fists balled at her sides. “You sound like my aunt after Papa died. ‘You’re just a woman, Meg. You shouldn’t be traipsing about at the back of beyond. You should settle down, have children.’ Maybe I don’t want to settle down.”
“That,” he said, “you made abundantly clear.”
She hadn’t meant to remind him of their past, but she found herself ready to meet it head-on. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, Ben. I thought maybe I could settle down with you, but I’m not suited to be an officer’s wife. I have a profession, one I love and am reasonably good at. Besides, I’ve lived through an expedition before. You don’t have to protect me.”
Her hair must have come partly undone because he reached out to stroke a lock back behind her ear. “Even if I want to?” he murmured.
Those blue-gray eyes were warm enough to melt the tensions clinging to her. How easy to cling to him instead, allow him to protect her. But that protection came at a price, and the price was too dear. She raised her head, and his hand fell.
“You’re the leader of this expedition,” she told him. “It’s your responsibility to take care of all the members of your team. I understand that. But you let Pike go off scouting alone, send Meadows for water, leave Hank with the theodolite, Larson with the grid, and Dot at the fire. I only ask for the same professional courtesy. I took appropriate precautions. Hank would have raised the hue and cry if I hadn’t returned in a reasonable time. And you know my scream can carry.”
