by Regina Scott
She watched as he patrolled around the edge of the firelight, his own gaze sweeping the darkness beyond as if he could keep it at bay. Once more confidence cloaked him.
She forced herself to close her eyes, take even breaths. Still sleep refused to come. It felt odd lying here alone after spending the last two nights against Ben, his arm about her, and the steady beat of his heart lulling her to sleep.
You could have that every night if you’d just say yes.
The voice in her head sounded suspiciously like Ben’s.
You don’t understand, she argued. Take a good long look at me—my drive to be the best at my profession, my outspoken nature. Is that really what you want in a wife?
The Ben in her imagination looked forlorn, and she knew what his answer would be.
No.
That was why she’d refused his proposal at West Point. That was why she’d refused his proposal today. He was still the eager young man looking across a crowded room and seeing a pretty girl. He’d been taken in by the glamour of her, not understanding the life that came with it. He couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t fit in his world. He’d see the truth once they reached the fort.
Ben moved around the group, too restless to sleep. Once more the responsibility for their lives sat on his shoulders, heavier than before because the stakes were higher. Their lives were in danger. The life of the woman he loved was in danger.
He glanced to where Meg had curled up on one side, hugging the wretched remains of that riding skirt about her. Firelight turned her pale hair to gold. Now, there was a treasure worth dying for.
He’d asked her twice and been refused twice. Some would have cautioned him to give up. She was firm in her convictions, determined to yield in no way. She reminded him a little of his father.
But he wasn’t his mother. He wasn’t content to watch Meg’s star blaze across the sky. He wanted to be beside her, urging her higher. He wanted her beside him, encouraging, supporting. There had to be something he could say, something he could do, to prove to her that they were better together.
She might still refuse. That was her right. But as long as he had any hope of success, he would keep trying.
27
Eight days later, they reached the fort. The mules knew it before Ben did. Their heads came up, their nostrils twitched, and they broke into a trot as if ready for their pens. The cluster of square adobe buildings on the plateau looked more like home than ever.
The ride had been long and hard, but he’d never been more impressed with those under his command. Each member of the team had served with distinction. Meadows had snared two squirrels and trapped several rabbits using Meg’s miner’s lettuce as bait. Adams had brought down a pronghorn with a single shot. Larson had kept the mules watered and fed. Hank had helped Ben collect samples at Bright Angel Creek to confirm that only isolated flakes populated the stream and plotted the course with unerring accuracy. Dot had figured out how to turn the most plentiful plant in the area—pine—into nourishing and refreshing tea.
Then there was Meg. She’d pointed out plants as he’d asked and gathered more than her share, until her fingers were stained with raspberries. But, more than that, she listened in her forthright, encouraging manner. Her optimism and practicality buoyed them all. And when her warm alto raised the first verse of “Amazing Grace” on the Sunday of their journey, he thought his heart might swell right out of his dusty uniform.
Their forced proximity, however, did not allow for private conversation, and Dot seemed to be taking her chaperone duties even more seriously since their separation after the fire. She stayed within sight of Meg, giving Ben no opportunity to talk further to her about their future. He could only pray things would be different once they reached the fort.
The sentries stared at them as the mules trotted into the parade now, and Ben could understand why. Everyone on his team was riding the mules bareback, after all. He and the other men sported beards of various lengths, from Hank’s grizzled locks to Meadows’s scraggly chin-hugger. Dot and Meg were sunburned, and Meg still wore her breeches, battered skirt draped about her shoulders. They were all thinner and dirtier than when they’d left, but they carried their heads high as they rode into the fort and reined in before post headquarters late in the afternoon.
The commanding officer strode out as they dismounted.
“Captain Coleridge,” he proclaimed, and Ben and his men stood at attention and saluted.
“At ease,” he ordered them as other members of the fort gathered around. A tall, lean fellow with a shock of iron gray hair and sideburns that bristled as much as his mustache, Colonel Yearling looked them over, taking in their disheveled state. “I’m surprised to see you back.”
In the short time Ben had been at Fort Wilverton before setting out on the survey, he’d come to realize that Yearling did everything according to regulations. He wouldn’t take surprises well.
“I’m prepared to give a full report, sir,” Ben said. “But, in short, we fell afoul of a wildfire and barely escaped with our lives.”
“That’s exactly why I’m surprised,” Yearling said, hands braced on his hips. “We were told you all perished.”
Meg gasped. Hank and the others stared at the commanding officer as if he’d gone mad.
Ben took a step forward. “Who told you that?”
“Rudy Pike,” Yearling answered, “right before he collected his pay and headed south for the pleasures of civilization in Prescott.”
Anger surged through him. So, it hadn’t been Pike’s body Hank and the others had buried. It must have been McCoy’s. Had he or Pike started the fire, or just made use of it to cover their dark deeds?
“As you can see,” Ben said, struggling to keep his voice civil, “we survived. Pike’s story is one more reason for me to suspect he is a liar, a cheat, and a would-be murderer.”
Murmurs ran through the assembled crowd.
“Is that so?” Colonel Yearling looked more thoughtful than shocked. “I’d like to hear your full report before I make any decisions. At the moment, however, I know two others who will want to welcome you back.”
Still fuming about Pike’s betrayal, Ben frowned. Before he could ask, an unmistakable squeal sounded behind him. Whirling, he saw Diana running toward him from the officers’ quarters.
“Ben! Oh, Ben, you’re alive!”
She hugged him so tightly he couldn’t catch his breath. Over her shoulder, another woman came out of the adobe building. Slow and calm as ever, she made her way to his side, amber-colored silk skirts brushing the dust of the parade aside.
“My prayers have been answered,” she said, laying a hand on his and his sister’s shoulders.
“Mother,” he managed. “Diana. What are you doing here?”
Watching the reunion made Meg warm and cold at the same time. Mrs. Colonel Coleridge’s mouth trembled, and her daughter’s face was stained with tears. It must seem miraculous to them—to have thought Ben lost and here he was found.
They had changed in the last five years. With her honey-colored curls and warm smile, Diana Coleridge had blossomed into a lovely young lady, and more than one officer was watching her now as if wondering how he could make her notice him. Mrs. Colonel Coleridge looked grayer, thinner, as if worrying about her husband had worn her away.
“We came here to see you,” Ben’s sister was explaining. “Mother was certain you would find a way to locate Father and bring him home.”
The ground beneath Meg dipped. How Ben would hurt to tell them the truth. He’d located his father, but the Colonel would never be coming home.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Ben told them, looking from one to the other. “And I’ll explain everything soon. Right now, I need to report to Colonel Yearling and clean up.” He pulled away from them.
The commanding officer nodded. “Mrs. Coleridge and Miss Coleridge are staying in my quarters for the moment. I’d be delighted to host the three of you for dinner tonight.” He looked
to Meg, gray eyes keen. “And you too, Miss Pero. You didn’t receive a proper welcome, I understand, when you were here last.”
Ben’s mother turned as if to see who the colonel had invited to share a table with her. Her eyes widened as her gaze moved from the worn boots to Meg’s torn and filthy breeches to her dry face. If Meg had had any thought of convincing Ben’s mother to accept her, it would have evaporated now.
Meg turned to the colonel, feeling as if her sunburn had suddenly intensified. “Thank you, but after our ordeal, I should rest.”
Only Ben looked disappointed. She tried to console herself with the idea that his disappointment would soon be tempered by relief that she hadn’t agreed to his proposal.
The commanding officer accepted her refusal more graciously, inclining his head. “Of course. Mrs. Newcomb, can you make room for Miss Pero in your quarters?”
Either the officers’ quarters had no more room or Colonel Yearling had decided she didn’t really belong in them. Meg couldn’t mind. She’d have far rather stayed with her friend.
Dot must have felt the same way, for she took a step closer to Meg. “Miss Pero is a hero. We wouldn’t have made it back without her. Anyone would be honored to host her.”
The dear woman overstated, but the men crowding around wouldn’t know that. They offered her admiring glances. Ben’s mother turned away as if dismissing them both.
“That’s settled, then,” Colonel Yearling said. “Corporal, see to your men and take your mounts to the corral, then turn in. The three of you are off duty for the next two days.”
Adams saluted, and Meadows grinned.
“Captain,” the colonel continued, “join me.”
“You too, Hank,” Ben put in as the commanding officer turned for the door.
“In a moment,” Hank promised.
Ben gave Meg one last look before joining his family and the colonel. The world felt smaller.
As Hank accepted the theodolite from Adams, Dot put an arm around Meg’s waist. “Come on. I could use a hot bath, and so could you.”
All at once, the weariness hit her, and she nearly collapsed where she stood. She made herself go with Dot and Hank to the small house at one side of the parade ground.
Dot’s home was neat as a pin, with plank floors and a colorful weaving separating the bedchamber from the main room. Darker patches on the sand-colored walls over the hearth spoke of good meals cooked with love.
“It isn’t much,” Dot said, “but it’s a lot better than a cot or a bedroll on the ground.”
“Yes, it is,” Hank said, following them inside and setting the theodolite on the table that graced the center of the room. “If you’re all right, I need to report.”
Dot swatted him on the shoulder. “Get along, ya big galoot.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He pecked his wife on the cheek, smiled at Meg, and left.
Dot went to pull out a massive pot from a cupboard near the hearth. “Water’s right out the door. Fill this, and I’ll come help you carry it back in.”
Thank goodness for Dot’s pushy nature. Meg couldn’t seem to muster thought. Now she just did as she was told—taking the pot to the pump, cranking up and down on the iron handle until cool water splashed out to fill the vessel nearly to the brim, helping Dot carry it back inside. Dot scooped up a smaller kettle and set it on the fire she’d started in the hearth.
Meg didn’t think about the past or the future, just the present, until she sat in the battered tin bathing tub Dot dragged onto the braided bedroom rug. Knees drawn up, she ducked her head and washed her hair with the lavender soap Dot had given her. The warm water relaxed overtaxed muscles. The steam removed the last scent of the fire from her body.
The water in the tub was muddy by the time she finished washing, and she stood and rinsed off with the smaller pail of water Dot had left, leaving her shivering in the warm air. The thought of putting on her soiled camisole and corset made her stomach knot, but there was nothing for it. They were all she owned now.
Her shivering grew worse as the loss pressed down on her shoulders. She’d come with such high hopes, and she was leaving with nothing—her cameras destroyed, her plates lost, her bedroll and clothing gone.
Oh, heavenly Father, what am I to do?
Once more tears were falling. She brushed them away with her fingers. All she needed was a stuffy nose. She didn’t even own a handkerchief!
She had filled the tub a second time for Dot and left the cook to her ablutions when someone tapped hesitantly at the door.
“It’s safe to come in, Hank,” she called, using her fingers to comb out her wet hair where she sat on a bench, back to the fire and face to the table.
The door cracked open, and Ben’s sister peered inside. The proper manners couldn’t mask the family twinkle in her blue-gray eyes. In the rustic cabin, the fine material of her dress was even more apparent. The blue and white creation boasted row after row of pleats down the front. Meg found herself wondering how she would ever manage to ride astride a mule, then had to stop herself from laughing when she remembered Miss Coleridge would never find herself in such a position.
Ben’s sister offered a hopeful smile as she came into the house, material bundled in her arms. “Miss Pero? I don’t know if you remember me. We met at West Point.”
“Of course I remember you, Miss Coleridge,” Meg said, pulling her fingers out of her tangled hair. “But I’m afraid I’m not in much shape to entertain visitors.”
“I understand,” she assured her. “Ben’s still talking to Colonel Yearling, but Corporal Adams told us a little about what you all went through. I can’t imagine.”
No, she couldn’t, and Meg was glad of that. “I’m just thankful to be back.”
“The corporal said you lost everything.” She took another step forward, fingers worrying at the material in her grip. “There are only a few women at the fort, and the sutlers don’t carry ready-made. I checked. Then I realized I was the closest to you in size. I hope I won’t offend you, but I thought you might find use for these.” She held out the bundle.
Meg rose and closed the distance to take it from her. Wrapped carefully together were a dainty white chemise tied with satin ribbons, a ruffled petticoat edged with lace, an underskirt of blue flowers on white, with panels alternating between horizontal swags and vertical bouquets, an overskirt to match, and a blue-and-white striped bodice with lace trimming. So lovely, so fine. Another shiver went through her.
“You are very kind, Miss Coleridge,” she said. “But I wouldn’t want to put you out. You can’t have brought too many clothes with you all this way.”
That twinkle was back. “You might be surprised. But any minor inconvenience is nothing compared to what you endured. Why, we might not have Ben back without your help.”
Meg thought it was the other way around. She might have died in the canyon but for Ben. She ought to refuse, but some part of her begged her to accept the gift. Clean clothes, pretty clothes. It seemed like forever since she’d had either. Meg nodded, pulling the bundle close.
“Thank you,” she said. “You cannot know how much this is appreciated.”
Diana Coleridge cocked her head, the thick coils of her honey-blonde hair swinging to one side. “You could do me a favor in return. Join us for dinner. I’d love to renew our acquaintance.”
A shame Meg could not believe her mother would say the same. Even the most fashionable dress in Arizona, made from the finest fabric, wouldn’t make her fit for the Coleridge family.
“I’m very tired,” Meg demurred.
Ben’s sister straightened. “Of course. How thoughtless of me. You will want to rest. Perhaps we could have tea in a day or so.”
Tea. Society. Propriety. Normally she avoided such ordeals. But Ben’s sister had been kind. For her sake, she’d try.
“That would be lovely,” Meg said.
Diana Coleridge beamed.
As soon as she was out the door, Meg scrambled to s
hed herself of what remained of her battered clothing.
When Dot came out a short time later, also in clean clothes, a cotton skirt and striped bodice, she stopped and looked Meg up and down. “Where’d that come from?”
Meg spread the skirts of the blue and white dress. “Miss Coleridge brought it. It’s a little short and a little tight in places, but I’m beyond grateful.”
“And now you can go to dinner,” Dot said.
Meg shook her head, but before she could explain, another knock sounded at the door.
“Come on in, Hank,” Dot called. “We’re decent.”
But instead of her husband, Private Meadows stood on the stoop. He must have been to the infirmary, for salve was shining on his burned face and his hand was wrapped in a proper bandage. Someone must have loaned him a spare uniform as well, for he looked newly scrubbed from head to toe.
He nodded respectfully to Dot before looking to Meg.
“This was in a saddlebag.” He held out a framed plate with his unbandaged hand. “Thought you might want it.”
Meg’s feet moved her forward before conscious thought intruded. She took the negative from him, held it to the light streaming through the open door.
Her heavenly window glowed brightly, offering hope, a glimpse of the divine.
Oh, Father, thank you!
As tears streamed down her face, the private slumped. “Didn’t mean to make you cry. Did I hurt it?”
“No,” Meg managed. “It’s perfect. Oh, Private, thank you. You gave me back my life.”
28
“So that’s why I believe Mr. Pike to be a criminal,” Ben concluded.
Colonel Yearling had granted him and Hank the right to sit in his office. After days on the trail, the spindle-backed chair felt surprisingly confining. Or maybe it was his desire for justice that had him longing to get up and ride off after the treacherous guide.
Yearling shook his head as he leaned back in his chair behind the simple wood desk with its neatly stacked papers and precisely aligned pens. “Pike and his partner found gold, and they were willing to kill anyone to keep it a secret.”
