The Unlikely Wife (15 page)

“Would you like to?”

Lord, yes! “Like to what?” she croaked.

“Like to go for a swim. I’d guard your privacy.”

Her mind went racing over the possibilities. Alone. At twilight. And she would be naked.

“Yes,” she said.

C
lark regretted his offer almost immediately. The innocent girl was trusting him to protect her, and he was having lustful thoughts before she even removed a stitch of clothing. How was he going to stand by and watch her bathe? By not watching, he decided.

She brought the plates for the fish, and he followed her into the tent with the skillet of cornbread. Maybe if he stalled long enough, it would get dark. It wouldn’t be safe to swim in the dark. Surely her father had a washtub or something she could borrow. She could take her bath tomorrow while he was gone. And too busy to think about it.

No. He would never be that busy.

He glanced at Rebecca as he took his seat at the table. She smiled, pleased with the prospect of a bath. He hated to disappoint her.

Perhaps a discussion on the current Indian troubles would put her in the mood to stay home. “Governor
Crawford’s been authorized to enlist a volunteer cavalry,” he said.

She cut out a chunk of the cornbread and passed it to him. “I thought General Sherman was against it for fear of another Sand Creek.”

Clark nodded. “They won’t be allowed to campaign on their own. They’ll be under the command of the regular army.”

“Does the situation warrant more troops?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said. “I understand Fort Wallace was virtually under siege last week. They got reinforcements from Custer’s troops, which leaves him fewer men. Pond Creek Station has been struck twice now. Captain Barnitz took a company out after them this last time, and the Indians turned and charged squadron style. Seven soldiers were killed.”

“That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

“Extremely. The same Indians attacked a supply train headed for Custer’s camp on the Republican.”

“The volunteers will at least put more men in the field.”

Clark nodded his agreement. It seemed a shame to ruin a nice meal with such grim reports. Somehow he had expected her to be less interested and more frightened. He should have known better.

“Will you be going out again?” she asked.

“That depends on your father. He wants the barracks up by winter, and every soldier on patrol means one less carpenter for the fort.”

She lapsed into silence. He watched her while he ate. She was thoughtful. Had he discouraged her?

“Did you ever find out about the family we found?” she asked after a few minutes.

“Yes.” If she had laid her hand on the table he would have settled his on top of it. “They only had the one child.”

She nodded solemnly. He could guess what she was thinking. There was no little child suffering captivity. There was no hope of a child to return to grandparents who had lost so much.

They had made short work of the meal, and Clark thought Rebecca’s mood was sufficiently melancholy. “Do you still want to go to the creek?” he asked gently.

She looked up, her face slowly brightening. “Yes. You knew just what would cheer me up.”

Clark thought he should be disappointed, but her smile made it impossible. “Get your things together. We’ll want to be back before dark.” When she hesitated, he added, “I’ll clean up here.”

She jumped up and ran to her trunk. He tried not to notice the frilly white garments she was sorting through. He went in search of a cloth to cover the remaining cornbread as a way of turning his back.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she said. “Among all this camp gear, why do you have your mother’s china?”

“I brought it back on the train,” he said, scraping
the fish bones together. “When my mother died, her sister took the china. Now my aunt’s husband is gone, and she’s moving in with her youngest daughter.”

“And the family wanted you to have your mother’s china?”

Clark paused a moment before answering. “My aunt wanted me to have it, more from loyalty to my mother’s memory than any love for me.”

She turned to look at him, and he wondered if he had said more than he should have. “But you also got your uncle’s chess set”

“Yes. But I understand that had been among his last requests. And even then it wasn’t without opposition.” It was amazing to him how his cousins drew up battle lines where he was concerned.

“Families,” Rebecca said, with a touch of the south on the vowels. “Aren’t they just wonderful?”

Clark laughed. She went back to gathering her clothes, and he took the bones out and scraped them into the dying fire. He was grateful to Rebecca for making him laugh. He had few reasons to smile without her in his life.

He carried the plate back to the table to stack it with the others and found Rebecca waiting, a large bundle in her arms. “I can wash the dishes by lamplight when we come back,” she said. “Let’s go.”

He took a minute to slide everything off his utility
belt except the gun holster and strapped it on. “Can I help you carry anything?”

“I can’t share this load without dropping something,” she said. “Just lead me to the creek.”

With one arm hovering near her back ready to steady her if she stumbled on the uneven ground, he walked slowly toward Big Creek. In the heat of the day the trees along the bank had been inviting. Now, with this woman at his side, he thought of snakes and concealed predators of the four- and two-legged varieties. Bringing Rebecca here seemed like a bad idea.

He reminded himself of how good the cool water had felt on his parched skin, but picturing Rebecca having the same pleasure made his body hotter than it had been in the heat of the day.

At the creek he led her through the trees to the spot he had found. The bottom of the stream was a slab of rock, making it possible to wash without standing ankle-deep in mud. Rebecca placed her bundle far enough from the water to stay dry and sat down on a log. She hiked her skirts up to her knees and bent to remove her shoes.

Clark looked away. “I’ll scout around a little and make sure nobody else is nearby.”

He congratulated himself on his quick thinking. He could probably make this last a good ten minutes. Within five minutes, he found himself hurrying back
to Rebecca. There was no sign of anyone else in the area, but he felt uncomfortable leaving her alone.

He found her standing in water up to her thighs. She had taken off every stitch of clothing. Somehow he had expected her to leave something on. That was foolish, he realized, if she planned to wash. Still, he thought she’d be more inhibited.

And she probably would be if she turned and caught him staring at her. But he couldn’t help it. The pants she had worn had given away the sweet curve of her hips but hadn’t completely prepared him for how her soft bottom looked clad only in creamy skin and soap bubbles. It made him long to know what her breasts looked like.

One careful step to his right revealed a hint of curve when she raised her arm. He tried to control his breathing which was getting dangerously close to panting, but his racing heart made it difficult. It was a wonder she didn’t hear him.

She bent over and lifted handfuls of water to rinse the soap from her legs, and he saw her breast in perfect profile. Water dripped from the puckered nipple. The tension in his gut tightened another notch.

She splashed water over the rest of her body, and he realized he was getting a better view of her round breasts and flat stomach. Had he been moving without knowing it? He tore his eyes away from the vision that was his wife and studied the rest of his surroundings. No. He was sure he was standing
where the sight of her had stopped him. Except for that one calculated step, of course.

She
had turned. Was still turning. He could glimpse the dark nest between her legs. Was she turning to avoid some breeze that chilled her wet skin? He would welcome a hint of the same breeze! When she turned one step too far and saw him staring at her, would she scream?

He should step back. He should turn away. And he would. In just a second.

“Clark?”

Her voice brought his head up. At least she hadn’t screamed. He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. He didn’t even try to speak.

“Could you bring me the towel?”

He watched her walk to the edge of the stream and stop, her tiny feet balancing on a rock on the bank. He must have stared at her for a full minute. The towel. He could bring it to her. His body seemed unable to respond except in lust.

He willed himself to move. He wasn’t an animal. He didn’t need to give in to every urge. He was, or used to be, a gentleman.

However, he was not, as she seemed to think, made of stone. He brought her the towel, nearly tossed it to her, and turned away. Or tried to.

“Clark?”

He turned back, trying desperately to keep his eyes on her face. Why didn’t she use the towel to cover
herself? All she seemed interested in drying was her hair.

“Could you carry me up the bank? I’m afraid I’ll slip in the mud and be dirtier than when I started.”

It made a kind of sense. If you discounted the lustful thoughts brewing in his head.

He took a step closer, mindful of his own footing. He started to reach around her and changed his mind. He pulled the towel out of her hands. She gave it up with some surprise. He wrapped the small piece of cloth around her, then scooped her into his arms.

The towel hadn’t been as helpful as he had hoped. Both hands managed to encounter bare skin, and the towel dropped to the ground when he set her on her feet. It took her forever to pick it up. But it took him even longer to turn away.

With his back to her the fog in his brain started to lift, even though the ache remained. He tried to think of sobering events, his uncle’s funeral, his aunt’s scorn, the burned-out homestead, older memories of carnage. His brain dismissed them as unimportant. Instead it pictured Rebecca, rubbing the towel over her pink skin, drying the dark nipples. She seemed intent on encouraging his imagination. She hummed as she dressed.

He didn’t trust his guess of how much time had passed when she stepped up beside him. She touched his arm. “Thanks,” she said.

He couldn’t bring himself to answer beyond a
grunt of acknowledgement. He started toward the fort, unwilling to risk touching her. He shouldn’t blame her. Though he had trouble believing she was so innocent she didn’t know better than to undress in front of a man.

Or perhaps she had stood naked in front of so many men it didn’t even bother her. She hadn’t seemed the least self-conscious. And her behavior since he’d met her had bordered on brazen.

“Clark, you’re making me run.”

With a steadying sigh, he slowed his steps. But he didn’t dare look at her. He would be too tempted to shake some sense into her. Or better yet, kiss her senseless.

What kind of game was she playing? Was she testing him? He’d love to believe she was deliberately tempting him, but he had seen her flirtatious smiles, knew she wouldn’t hesitate to make the first move if she wanted a kiss.

No, this had been something different. Extreme innocence. Or deliberate torture. Knowing what he did about Rebecca, he would put his money on torture. Though if that was the case, she had made quite a gamble. Unless she didn’t realize how hard it was for a man to resist such accessible temptation.

“Clark!” This time she grabbed his arm and he stopped. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“It’s been a long day,” he said, barely looking at her. They were on the edge of the camp, and he considered
going on without her. Instead, he took her arm and urged her forward, trying to keep his own pace reasonably slow. At the tent entrance he dropped her arm.

“I have a few things I need to check on.” He left her before she had a chance to respond. He would walk it off. Or take another dunk in the creek. And make sure he didn’t come back until she was sound asleep.

Rebecca debated whether she should go to bed or spend the whole night sitting in a chair feeling sorry for herself. Probably the latter. Clark had seen everything she had to offer and had rejected her. He hadn’t even come home.

One lantern burned low on the table and she stared at it. She was ashamed of her behavior. Perhaps he was as well. In fact she was sure of it. No well-bred woman would have done what she did. Clearly, he had been angry with her on their return.

But she had wanted him to find her attractive, perhaps even irresistible. All she had done was prove her father right when he accused her of being manipulative.

She thought again about going to bed. She didn’t really want to face Clark when he came in. Yet sitting up seemed a kind of penance for what she had done. She didn’t deserve the luxury of the soft bed since she had driven her husband from it.

Her husband. He wasn’t truly that, was he? The marriage could easily be dissolved until it was consummated. A sudden revelation made her breath catch in her throat. Perhaps that was why he wouldn’t touch her. When he was transferred away from her father, he could divorce her.

With a stab of sorrow she decided it would be for the best. She couldn’t spend her life longing for him and never feeling his touch. How unfair that she should love a man who didn’t love her!

She was trying to decide what images to punish herself with next, when she heard something outside. Her first thought was Clark had finally returned, but an instant later she knew it wasn’t him. She turned up the flame on the lantern and carried it to the front of the tent. Lifting the flap cautiously, she peered out The light fell on a pile of dirty cloth and a mass of pale blond hair.

“Alicia!” Rebecca nearly dropped the lantern as she ran to her cousin’s side. Alicia raised her head. Blood caked one side of her face and hair and oozed from a corner of her mouth. She was shaking and gasping for breath as if she had been crying hysterically.

“Alicia, what happened?”

Alicia dropped her face back into the dirt

“Come on, sweetheart.” Rebecca urged Alicia to her feet With one arm wrapped around her and the
other holding the lantern, she led her into the tent. “Sit down, I’ll get the doctor.”

“No!” Alicia clutched Rebecca’s hand. “Don’t leave me.”

Alicia’s legs were shaking. Rebecca led her past the chair and settled her onto the bed. She tried to loosen Alicia’s grip on her hand. “Let me get some water to wash your face.”