by Regina Scott
He shook his head. “You’ve made your point. Continue with the precautions you stated, and you’ll get no more complaints from me.”
Why did the breeze smell sweeter? “Thank you, Ben. I promise to be sensible.”
“Well, let’s not take things to extremes.”
She smiled, then sobered as she remembered her conversation with Dot. “There is something else you can do for me.”
He stilled, and she wondered what he expected her to say. “Oh?” he asked.
“Talk to Hank. Dot has it in her head he doesn’t love her anymore. That’s why she’s been so grumpy. Advise him to make it up to her.”
He recoiled. “I’ll do no such thing. The relationship between husband and wife is sacred.”
“I agree, but sometimes people need a little help.”
“Not from me.” He stepped back from her. “I lead by example, and I’m no kind of example in love and marriage. You should know that better than anyone.”
His cheeks were turning pink. She could tell even in the dim light. Hers felt warm as well.
“I didn’t turn you down because of you,” she insisted. “You are a fine man, Ben Coleridge. I simply realized I wasn’t ready for marriage. But I don’t like seeing one struggle. If you won’t talk to Hank, I will.”
She turned past him to do just that. Ben caught her arm. “Be careful, Meg. I know many men who wouldn’t appreciate hearing about their failures.”
“And that’s one of the many faults of the breed,” Meg replied. “Now, excuse me. Dot is my friend, and I intend to help her, whether you like it or not.”
She thought Ben might follow, perhaps even argue some more or issue an order she would have to refuse, but she reached Hank’s side where he was checking his cartridge box by his tent, with no further protest from Ben. The cartographer looked up as she approached. Then his smile faded, and he stood.
“What’s wrong, Meg?”
“Do you love your wife?” Meg demanded.
He reared back. “Of course. Why would you even ask?”
“Because Dot’s wondering. She thinks you’re tired of her.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Of all the fool . . .” He pointed at the canyon, shadow on shadow now. “You’ve seen that view. Would you ever grow tired of it?”
“No,” Meg allowed with a frown.
“Why?” he challenged.
“It’s vast and marvelous and it changes every hour of every day,” Meg said.
His hand fell. “And so does my wife. I bore easily, Meg. Life with Dot is never boring.”
“Then I suggest,” Meg said with a smile, “you tell her that.”
“I’ll do one better,” Hank said. “I’ll show her.”
What was she doing? Ben watched as Meg spoke earnestly with Hank near the cartographer’s tent. Hank grimaced and pointed with great animation. She’d complained about Pike’s interference with her photography, then gone on to interfere in something far more important—a marriage.
He blew out a breath. Who was he to say whether it was the right thing to do? His one attempt at courtship had led Meg to kindly refuse his suit, claiming he’d misunderstood.
That her tender smiles had been meant in friendship.
That the kiss they’d shared had been only for fun.
That the time they’d spent together had served to stave off boredom before she headed off on her next adventure.
Now she said she had been serious in their courtship, only to realize when he proposed that she wasn’t ready for marriage. Who was he to counsel anyone on love?
Whatever she said must have had some effect, for Hank clapped her on the shoulder and went to talk to his wife. As if she didn’t see him coming, Dot began storing the plates and supplies.
To give them as much privacy as the camp allowed, Ben called for his men and Pike to join him and confirmed sentry duty for the night before they all turned in.
He and Meadows took the first shift, circling the camp and watching for any other movement. The moon wouldn’t rise until later. They kept the fire going so it would be easy to spot any change in their surroundings.
Unfortunately, it was still too hard to ignore his own thoughts.
What was it about Meg? There was no denying her beauty, but he’d met pretty girls before and after he’d courted her. His sister Diana had made sure of it. Having lived at forts and towns from one side of the country to the other, Diana knew how to make acquaintances. She’d always brought her friends home to meet Ben and their mother. But after Meg and her father had left the area, his sister had made it her mission to match him up.
“Something has you moping,” she’d said when he’d visited their house south of West Point. “I know the cure. We’ll host a party.”
“A party isn’t going to make me feel better,” he’d told her.
“Well,” Diana had said with a toss of her honey-blonde curls, “it might make me feel better.”
She’d trotted out every friend and acquaintance, from local belles to distant cousins in the area for the summer and taking in the spa nearby. None had touched his heart. Friends since then had introduced him to sisters, even mothers, with the same result. It seemed there was only one woman for him, and she didn’t want him.
“All clear,” Meadows murmured as they met to the north of camp.
“All clear,” Ben agreed. If only that included his own path.
The next day, they fared better. Dot still banged the pots, but the sounds were less jarring, as if the force had faltered. She offered Larson and Meadows seconds at breakfast, winning a smile from the shy private. Following worship service, Hank and Adams worked on the expedition notes, freeing Meg to take pictures. Pike insisted on accompanying her, which she allowed with a look to Ben.
After starting Meadows and Larson on the grid, Ben went to check on his cartographer and clerk. Adams was bent over the travel desk, neat hand compiling various observations. Hank was sitting on a boulder near the edge of the canyon, legs splayed and paper spread between them.
“Everything all right?” Ben asked him quietly.
Hank smiled at him. “Fine. I should have the map sketched by the end of the day. How much longer on the grid?”
“Should be done by midday tomorrow. I’ll have Pike scout ahead for the next campsite.”
“Good.” Hank bent back over his work, one large hand holding the paper in place against a rising breeze. When Ben couldn’t make himself move away, the cartographer looked back up. “Something else?”
How to phrase it? He’d argued with himself half the night and finally justified the interference as a way to make sure all his team members were in fighting shape. He had been certain the Colonel would have approved. Now he wasn’t sure what to say.
“Dot seems in a better mood today,” he ventured.
“Better,” Hank acknowledged with a look to his wife. “But I’ll see what else I can do.” He returned his gaze to Ben. “You ever have a sweetheart, Captain?”
Adams glanced up as if just as interested in the answer.
“Once,” Ben admitted cautiously, vowing not to confess more.
Hank nodded. “Then you know you should never take her for granted. Seems I was guilty of that. Dot deserves to know I love her. She should never have to question my devotion.”
Had Meg somehow imparted all that in a few moments? Ben could only shake his head in amazement. “Dot’s fortunate to have you,” he told his friend.
“I’m the fortunate one,” Hank insisted. “I hope your sweetheart feels the same way one day.”
Adams flushed and dropped his gaze. Ben tipped his hat and moved on. His sweetheart had no reason to question his love. She didn’t think it was love at all.
Still, he kept an eye on his cartographer throughout the day. Hank made sure to sit closest to Dot at the midday break and thanked her for the water she served him. He asked her opinion about the weather, what kind of camp they should look for next. As she started workin
g on dinner, he wandered out of camp to return with an armful of wild cabbage and mint. Dot took them from him with an exclamation, set them down carefully, then threw herself into his arms.
Ben looked away with a smile.
Was that his problem? He’d been a cadet with little income of his own, and it wasn’t proper for a gentleman to lavish gifts on a lady in any regard. Should he have brought Meg flowers from the garden his mother tended? As independent as Meg was, she might have laughed at the gesture.
Then again, Dot was pretty independent herself.
The idea refused to leave him as he returned to work that afternoon. He tested the hardness of the mineral samples and thought about how hard it would be to win Meg’s love. They had both grown, in their careers, in their confidence. Would she be any more amenable to marriage now?
He helped Meadows and Larson categorize a few odd plants, one the exact shade of green as Meg’s eyes. He must be mad to think about approaching her in the middle of a survey. Yet surely they could determine their own minds without jeopardizing the work.
Was he willing to risk looking foolish again?
Wouldn’t winning Meg’s heart be worth any effort?
Dinner was swiftly approaching when he made the decision. Heart thumping as hard as it had when he’d told the Colonel he wanted to be an engineer instead of a cavalryman, he headed out of camp for the field of wildflowers he’d seen riding in. He gathered sunflower-like goldeneye; brushed aside butterflies to collect the tall, spiky purple blooms of lupine; and snapped off feathery goldenrod, until his fist could hold no more. Then he approached the van, where Meg had been working.
He paused a moment at the foot of the steps, willing himself to knock at the door. If she told him she could never think differently about him or marriage, he’d lost nothing but his pride.
And if she approved, oh, what he might win.
Raising his head, he reached up and rapped. No one responded. Deflated, he glanced around the van and counted heads. Most of his team were gathered around the fire. He could see Adams’s balding pate down by the stream. Where was Meg?
He rapped again. He knew enough about photography to understand it was never wise to let in light at the wrong time. Then again, those chemicals and the heat could prove a dangerous combination.
“Meg?” he called, concern tightening his throat.
From inside came a jagged sob.
Flowers falling from his hand, he leaped up the steps and yanked open the door. Sunlight speared through the darkness to show Meg standing beside the counter, cradling one of her plates. She raised her head, and light glittered on the tears streaking the dust on her face.
Ben went to her, plans forgotten. “Meg, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
She held up two jagged pieces of glass.
“Someone broke my plate.”
17
Meg sucked back a sob. Her picture, her glorious picture of the beautiful window in the sky, destroyed. Who could have been so cruel?
“Easy,” Ben said, taking first one then the other piece of broken glass from her fingers to lay them on the counter beside her. “Plates break. You told me how easily back at West Point.”
She could scarcely think. “I was so careful. All the jostling over the rough ground, all the packing and unpacking. We haven’t lost one until now. And I promise you, I was very, very careful with this one.”
He glanced down at the pieces as if trying to match up the broken negative with the terrain around them. “A stereograph?”
She nodded. “Oh, Ben, it was one of my best. I had such high hopes.” Tears were coming again.
He took her in his arms, held her gently. She allowed herself to lean against him, soak up a little of that strength. Just when she’d thought her future was made, it all slipped away again.
“I know the moments you create never come twice,” he murmured. “But you have more plates. You can take another shot at the same location, maybe produce an even better picture.”
He knew just what to say to soothe her wounded heart. Her father had always claimed the best picture illuminated not only the subject but the photographer as well. She felt as if she had laid bare her soul, only to have it trampled. Why would anyone destroy her picture? Was Adams so vindictive? Was this her thanks for trying to help him?
Then another thought struck.
“Pike.” She pulled back to meet Ben’s gaze. “It had to be. He was the only one who knew what I shot that day.”
Ben shook his head. “Even if he thought you’d threatened to shoot him, breaking something behind your back doesn’t sound like Pike. He’d tell you face-to-face, let you know just how angry he was.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Pike certainly wasn’t afraid of confrontation. Adams, on the other hand . . .
No, she could not make herself believe it of him.
“Then who?” she asked Ben.
“I don’t know,” he said. “You’re sure it was intentional?”
Doubt tugged at her. Could the plate have had a crack that had deepened when exposed to the chemicals? Or had it reacted to the changes in temperature from the day to night? It was possible, but none of the others had broken.
“It must have been,” she said. “I finished the negative yesterday and set it aside to show you when we had time today. When I returned to the van before dinner, I found it like that, as if someone had snapped it in two.”
He peered around the van’s crowded interior. “Nothing fell on it?”
“No.” She wrapped one arm about her waist to ward off the chill that was building despite the stuffy space. “It seems to have been deliberately smashed. Why?”
He shook his head as if just as mystified. “I wonder, could our mysterious visitor have returned?”
“Surely we would have noticed,” Meg protested.
Ben retrieved the two pieces of the plate. “We’ve been busy. You were away from the van most of the day. It’s possible someone sneaked in.”
“And broke one plate?”
“Some tribes refuse to be photographed,” he said with a look to the pieces in his hands. “Perhaps a native thought you had caught his likeness in this.”
She couldn’t make herself believe in his phantom, for all she’d been the one to first sight the fellow. But believing one of her teammates would destroy her work was equally as repugnant.
“This might not be the only act of vandalism,” Ben said. “Come with me. We’ll check each tent.”
Meg nodded, following him out of the van. As she reached the ground, her boot squished against something. Looking down, she saw wildflowers strewn across the golden soil. How had those gotten there? Her unknown nemesis would hardly have brought her flowers in consolation. She hurried to catch up to Ben.
Most of the team members had already gathered around the fire, ready for dinner, when Ben reached them, Meg right behind.
“We have reason to believe our midnight prowler paid us another visit,” he told them, glancing at each in turn. “Check your tents, the supplies, and the animals. Make sure nothing’s missing or harmed. Report back in ten.”
As the men moved away, Dot rose from the fire. “Need me to check our tent, Meg?”
“No,” Meg said with a look to Ben. “I’ll do that while you look through the cooking supplies.”
As if determined to protect her, Ben followed Meg to her tent and waited outside as she searched in the boxes still stacked down the center and the packs holding her and Dot’s clothes and personal items.
“Nothing seems to be missing,” she told him.
“I’ll check my tent,” he said. “See if Dot needs help.”
With a nod, Meg returned to the fire. She sat beside Dot and dug through the various boxes and burlap sacks that held the cooking supplies. Meg wasn’t entirely surprised to find the flour, salt, dried fruit and vegetables, cornmeal, coffee, and tea intact.
“Sugar cone looks thinner,” Dot said, sitting back on her heels. “But that co
uld be Meadows. The boy has a sweet tooth something fierce.”
“And I don’t know anyone who’d make off with hardtack,” Meg concurred.
All the pots and pans, cutlery, and plates were accounted for as well. It was the same story with everyone else when they reported in. All supplies, equipment, horses, and mules were as expected and in good condition.
“So it was just my plate,” Meg said with a frown at Ben.
“All this for a plate?” Pike complained with a curl of his lip. “You’re welcome to mine.”
“Not that kind of plate, and you know it,” Meg threw at him.
When he frowned as well, Ben stepped between them. “That’s enough. The reason I asked you to look over everything is that one of Miss Pero’s photographs was damaged beyond repair. It was part of the official record for this expedition.”
Adams straightened. “As such, there are stiff penalties for misuse.” He glared around at the others as if suspecting each of having a part.
Interesting. Was he agreeing so readily to keep them off his trail, or had she reached him with her suggestion as to how to handle Hank? The two had been working well together lately.
“If anyone has any knowledge as to how this happened,” Ben continued, “speak with me privately. Now, eat dinner and turn in. Those on watch, look lively. I’m still not convinced our visitor won’t return.”
It was a quiet dinner. Everyone kept peering around as if wondering whether a traitor sat among them. Meg didn’t notice anyone approach Ben for a private word, which likely meant no one felt the need to unburden himself. Dot didn’t speak to her until they were in the tent and snuggled in their bedrolls.
“You know I wouldn’t do something like that?” Dot asked.
“I know,” Meg assured her. “Even if you were mad about Hank.”
“Oh, I wasn’t mad at you,” Dot said. “And even if I was, I’d just put too much salt or a handful of pepper in your food.”
Meg laughed. “So long as you didn’t spit in it.”
She thought she might have trouble sleeping that night, what with the broken plate and Ben’s suggestion that their midnight stranger had returned. Instead, Meg fell asleep immediately and didn’t wake until she heard Dot dressing to go out and start breakfast. The air that came through the flap as Dot opened it was crisp, cool, and scented with pine. Meg waited only until the canvas fell back in place before rising as well.
