The Unlikely Wife (14 page)

“Was there something else?” she asked.

“Could ye check ta see the coast is clear?”

Rebecca suppressed a smile. “Of course,” she said. She raised the flap and stepped out, hearing him shuffle into the shadows behind her. “Looks good,” she whispered.

He scooted around her quickly, touching his head
as if to tip a hat, and started away at a ground-eating walk.

Before he was out of sight, Aunt Belle came around the corner of a tent. Both she and Malone were startled to see the other. Malone recovered first, giving her a bow before moving on. Rebecca would have stepped back into the tent, but she was sure her aunt had already seen her. Trying to hide would only make things look worse.

“What did Paddy want?” Belle asked when she joined her.

“Oh, he was just passing by,” Rebecca said.

“He hadn’t been here to see you?”

Rebecca laughed. “Oh my, no. I had just stepped out when he walked by. We exchanged a greeting, that’s all.”

“Well,” Belle said, turning to look in the direction Malone had taken. “You were standing here and he was hurrying away. You can imagine how it looked.”

“Perhaps your imagination is better than mine,” Rebecca said. “Have you come for tea?”

“That would be nice.” She started into the tent then turned. “Why were you just standing here?”

“I was just going out,” Rebecca said, reaching for the kettle. “I understand there’s a farmer not far from the fort who has goats. I thought I might try to make a deal for some milk.”

“Goat’s milk?” Belle looked queasy.

Rebecca decided not to argue. “I thought it might be better than nothing.”

Belle waved the idea away. “I wouldn’t be leaving the fort anyway. From what your father said, those surveyors weren’t camped very far from here. The Indians must be close.”

It was easy to agree not to go. She didn’t need the milk anyway with Clark gone. She had wanted it for his coffee, for his oatmeal, maybe for some custard if she got enough eggs. What did she care about any of those things for herself?

When the kettle was on the rekindled fire, Rebecca followed Belle into the tent. “Why didn’t Alicia come with you?” she asked.

“She’s napping. She doesn’t sleep well. But who does on those awful cots?”

Rebecca was sure her face showed no more than the appropriate concern. “Does she get up and move around at night?”

“You mean like a sleepwalker? Of course not.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I’m only suggesting that a little exercise might help her. And if the cot is truly uncomfortable for her, moving around a little can ease the stiffness. It was just a thought.”

Of course it wasn’t at all what she was thinking. But if Alicia was still sneaking out to meet Brooks, her mother was evidently unaware of it. Rebecca clung to that bit of information and tried to relax.
The first chance she got, she would talk to Alicia alone.

After about fifteen minutes of mindless chatter, Rebecca began to wonder why Belle had come. She knew she wasn’t Belle’s first choice for a companion. The woman didn’t seem to have anything in particular she wanted to tell her or ask of her. Had the unannounced visit been a way of checking up on her?

By the time Belle left nearly half an hour later, Rebecca was sure of it. And since Belle naturally thought the worst, she was probably convinced there was something going on between Rebecca and Malone.

What difference did it make? She slipped back into her seat and stared at the empty teacups. It wasn’t as if a rumor like that was going to break Clark’s heart.

One lonely day slipped into two, then three. Hank came by each morning with more meat, which she took to her father’s tent after the dance lesson. She didn’t have the heart to tell the boy she didn’t want the meat until Clark came home.

Malone hadn’t been back either with eggs or to write another letter. She knew he had other customers for the eggs and suspected she wouldn’t get any more until he got an answer to his letter.

Powers had yet to bring her any mending. She felt guilty but not enough to approach him about it. She
had been by the corral a couple of times and knew her horse was well cared for.

She got up and moved her chair deeper into the shade of the tent. The days had grown hotter and the only relief seemed to be to find a place in the shade that caught the breeze. Tomorrow, she reminded herself, would be the first day of July. It was supposed to be hot

Today was Sunday. The noise around the camp had a more disorganized air. It rose and fell occasionally. Now it seemed to be somewhat on the rise. Rebecca had no interest in investigating the cause. It was too easy to sit and do nothing.

Earlier, the chaplain had led an open-air service. She had attended, of course. It was expected, and there was nothing else to do.

That wasn’t entirely true. There were things she could be doing, like finding Powers. There was no fatigue duty on Sundays which made it a perfect time to look for him.

She could ride her horse, though the thought of riding in skirts wasn’t appealing. She had been spoiled by the pants.

She could invite Alicia over and try, yet again, to find out what was bothering her. Rebecca frowned. Alicia was keeping something from her. She swore she wasn’t meeting Brooks, but the subject made her nervous. Maybe one more try would bring out the truth.

Yes, she decided. That was what she would do. Soon. She stared into the cloudless sky. How could she concentrate on Alicia when all she thought about was Clark?

She closed her eyes and let her imagination have free rein as she did so often lately. She missed him more than she ever would have imagined. Even his cool distance was better than his absence. At least when he was around she could watch him. And she definitely liked that. She liked to watch him ride, to watch him walk. To watch him shave.

And his voice. That deep, masculine voice with the charming accent. And when he dropped his voice just above a whisper, he could send tremors through her body.

“Rebecca?”

Yes, just like that. Her imagination was better than she thought. She could have sworn she had heard him. She sighed contentedly.

“Rebecca.”

Her eyes flew open. Clark was kneeling beside her chair. She stopped just short of throwing herself into his arms.

“I didn’t know you were back,” she said, unnecessarily.

He smiled. “We made a small commotion, but it appears you were asleep.”

“I guess so. How did everything go?” she asked,
hoping to distract him before he asked why she had been smiling in her sleep.

“The surveyors have been returned to their camp with some soldiers left to guard them. We checked out the reports but never saw any Indians. Just rumors, I guess.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry.”

“I doubt if your father will feel the same way. I need to report. And get cleaned up. We can talk more at supper.”

She watched him rise and walk away, letting herself smile again. He was home. A tiny spark of hope. ignited in her heart. He had come to see her first.

But the smile lasted only a moment. Supper. She sat back and groaned. Well, she had some time to come up with something. She didn’t want to think that giving her time to start supper was the only reason Clark had come to her first. She got up and took the chair with her into the tent.

Opal didn’t allow Hank to hunt on Sundays so there would be no fresh meat. She wanted to fix something better than the salt pork Clark had been eating while he was gone. She looked through her supply of food. Beans needed to soak overnight. She wanted to save the eggs for breakfast.

She didn’t have much choice, she decided. Maybe some cornbread would make up for the salt pork. She had half the ingredients mixed before she realized she would have to use one of the eggs.

“Fine,” she muttered, choosing the smallest of the three. “I won’t have one tomorrow.”

She added the water and beat the batter until it was smooth. She reached for a pan and realized she didn’t know how to bake it over an open fire.

There was probably time to run and ask Opal. She tossed a cloth over her batter and hurried to her friend’s tent. Opal’s instructions were specific and detailed, but it was nearly thirty minutes later before Rebecca returned to her tent.

She had poured the batter into the small deep skillet Opal loaned her when she heard a knock on a tent post.

“Mrs. Forrester?”

“Yes, Hank.” She put the lid on the skillet and went to the tent entrance.

Hank grinned at her. “Catfish.”

“Bless you, Hank!” Rebecca laughed, delighted. They were already cleaned, and he carried them in a bucket for once. “I didn’t expect you today.”

“Fishin’ ain’t huntin’,” he said. “Can we dance? I already washed.”

Rebecca hesitated. How long before Clark came home for dinner? The fish would fry quickly; surely there was time. And if he caught them dancing? Would he be jealous? The urge to find out overruled her common sense.

“Sure, Hank,” she said, smiling. “But I need to get my cornbread baking first.”

“I can help, ma’am,” the boy said.

He did more than help. In a surprisingly short time, he had the skillet resting on hot coals in an impression near the fire with a few more coals on top of the lid.

He stood up, brushing off his hands. “Do you know how to fry the fish?”

“I think I can manage,” Rebecca said.

Hank grinned. “Then let’s dance.”

He helped her move the table aside then shook out his arms as if limbering up for some test of strength. He took her hand and put his other hand gently on her waist—and stepped on her toe.

“I’m awful sorry, Mrs. Forrester,” he moaned.

“Hank, the reason you step on a girl’s toes is because she can’t guess where you’re going.”

“Well, how could she guess that when I don’t even know?”

“You need to know, Hank,” she said. “You need to decide on a reasonable pattern and stick to it. I wouldn’t try anything fancy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He started again. Rebecca hummed a slow tune, designed as much to make Hank relax as to serve as rhythm for dancing. After a few minutes he seemed to get the hang of it. She could predict that he would take two steps forward then turn to the side and managed to keep her toes out from under his.

After several minutes she ended the tune and stepped away from him. “Very good, Hank.”

“It was good, wasn’t it? I was starting to think I wouldn’t never learn.”

Rebecca had been sure of it. “Of course, you’ll learn, Hank.”

“I really appreciate the dancin’ and all,” he said, backing toward the tent entrance. “I’ll see you tomorrow, ma’am.” He nodded to her and backed directly into Clark.

“Sorry, sir,” he said, spinning around. “Excuse me. Ah, night, ma’am. Sir.” He practically turned and fled.

Clark came into the tent, one eyebrow raised. “Let me guess. Your mighty hunter?”

“Major Raymond’s son, Hank.” Two minutes sooner and he could have seen his wife in the mighty hunter’s arms. Sort of. Would she have gotten more than a raised eyebrow then?

She dismissed the thought, disgusted with herself. What kind of wife tried to make her husband jealous? Still she couldn’t help thinking it would indicate some degree of interest, which he didn’t seem to display otherwise.

She realized she was still standing in the middle of the tent. Clark was eyeing the table that had been moved out of the way.
Ask me why it’s there.
But he didn’t.

“Here, let’s move that back,” she said, stepping
to his side. He smelled of soap and reminded her suddenly of the evening after the burned homestead. He had been so sweet to her that evening. She remembered how he had touched her cheek—and how he hadn’t kissed her. She should have been paying more attention. He had been trying to tell her even then that he had no desire for her.

“Rebecca?”

She looked up sharply. Clark had lifted the table, and she was standing in his way. “Sorry,” she said, moving aside. “I’ll put the fish on.”

“Fish? From the Raymond boy?”

Rebecca busied herself with preparing the skillet. “He brought them by just now.”

There he had it. If there had been any uncertainty she had just eased his mind. There was nothing to be jealous about. In fact, he could apologize for harboring such thoughts. She glanced in his direction. He was positioning the chairs beside the table.

Without another word she took the skillet out to the fire. How hard did she have to be hit over the head? He wasn’t jealous. He hadn’t caught them dancing, but even if he had, he wouldn’t have cared. Hank was, after all, just a boy. It wasn’t a good test of Clark’s feelings.

And she shouldn’t be testing them anyway. Though what she should be doing, she had no idea.

She heard Clark come up behind her. “Can I help?” he asked.

“If you’ll watch the fish, I’ll check the cornbread.” The sizzling fish gave her an excuse not to look at him.

“All right,” he said, crouching close beside her.

She inhaled his scent along with the wood smoke. The temptation to turn into his arms was too great, and she moved away.

The cornbread looked done on top but she worried about the center. She replaced the lid and hoped it would continue cooking a little even without the coals on top. With nothing else to do while the fish cooked, she sat back on her heels and watched Clark.

He had fried fish before. With a combination of shaking and prodding, he kept the fish from sticking to the pan. He watched them intently, keeping them in just the right amount of heat, oblivious to her presence.

His profile gave her a perfect view of his jaw. Her fingers itched to trace the long, lean line. He hadn’t shaved since his return, though she could guess he had shaved that morning. The firelight cast the dark hairs in relief, tempting her fingers even more.

“Did you bathe in the creek?” Rebecca bit her lip. How could thoughts slip out of her mouth without asking permission?

“Yes,” he said without turning. “I think I traded prairie dust for creek mud, but it was refreshing.”

This subject overstimulated her imagination. And it was purely imagination, though she had seen him
without his shirt a couple of times. She should ask something else, change the subject. The trouble was, her imagination wouldn’t allow her to think about anything else.