The Men of Pride County: The Rebel (22 page)

“Miles, would you mind keeping a judicious eye on those two. I would hate to learn that the captain grew churlish, if you know what I mean.”

“I’ll keep a discreet distance, sir.”

With Bartholomew gone and the champagne ebbing dry, the tensions eased within the room and the men turned toward dancing
instead of drinking, waiting for their chances with the vivacious Jane, the modest Pauline, or the pert Colleen.

Content to leave the situation alone, Crowley stepped outside, planning to enjoy a leisurely smoke before seeking out his daughter. Though anxious for a son-in-law, he was a father first and unwilling to give the major too much leeway where his daughter’s virtue was concerned.

Of course, if he came upon them in a compromising circumstance, no amount of objection from Juliet would keep her from standing before a Bible the following day this time. He knew his daughter wasn’t as opposed to the man as she was to the match. Once he got her over the idea of setting up her own house, he didn’t think she’d mind his choice of housemate. No matter how great his haste to have her safely wed and producing grandchildren away from the dangers of the West, he would never force his will upon her. It would be her choice, of course. But he wasn’t above helping her make it.

Banning was a good man. Smart, ambitious, strong-minded, just what his willful daughter needed. She’d never tire of him and regret her choice. Though that might not have mattered to many fathers, it mattered greatly to him. He’d had far too few years with a wonderful woman who’d been a constant delight and challenge. He wanted no less for Juliet.

He lit his cigar and inhaled deeply, letting
the smoke out upon an appreciative sigh. The parade ground was still, no sign of the Bartholomews or Miles. The musicians played a jolly holiday tune inside. Time to go find Juliet.

But as soon as he walked the length of the porch, stepping into the darker shadows, a prickle of warning stirred at the back of his neck. And his first thought was of Juliet’s cautionings. He started to turn.

Pain scissored along his ribs. The shock of it kept him from striking out at the coward who attacked from behind. Instead, he stumbled off the edge of the boardwalk, dropping hard to his hands and knees in a whirl of agony, waiting for his assailant to jump down and finish him. No attack came. A weakening blackness swirled up around him. Seconds or minutes later, he heard a shout of alarm. Then nothing until he opened his eyes to see his daughter’s face above him. Miles Dougherty stood behind her.

“Papa? Oh, thank God.” She kneaded his hand in anguished spasms, unaware of the strength of her grip. “I was so afraid …” The rest trailed off, but her features said it plain. She was terrified and worried—and something more. Something else shadowed her tear-brightened gaze, but he was too weak to analyze it.

He patted her clutching hand with his free one, then tried to pry her fingers loose before
she cut off his circulation. “I’m fine, Jules. Just a scratch. Isn’t that right, Doctor?”

Robert Penny, the post surgeon, failed to concur. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, Colonel. I wouldn’t brush this off so lightly. Plan on staying in this bed for the next few days.” He held up his hand to ward off protest. “Just to be on the safe side. You don’t want your daughter to worry, do you?” He winked at Juliet, and she seemed to relax a bit.

She leaned closer to ask, “Papa, who did this to you? Did you see?”

He shook his head in aggravation. “The sneaking bastard came up behind me—pardon my language, dear.”

“My language will be stronger than that unless we discover who attacked you and soon.”

Strength ebbing, Crowley’s eyes began to sag shut. It was a struggle to focus on what needed to be done. “Banning, he’s in charge. Miles, you support him. And see Juliet safely to our quarters. Don’t argue, girl. You can do me no good here. I’m in fine hands. Take her home, Miles.”

“Yes, sir.” He took Juliet’s elbow and lifted her away from the bedside of the now unconscious man. Juliet didn’t fight him.

Once outside, she paused to draw a breath, trying to control a fresh bout of weeping. Beside her, Miles was a study in outrage. Her heart warmed toward him until he spoke.

“Damn that Banning. Putting him in charge. It was probably his blade that laid the colonel
low. Let’s see if he can account for his whereabouts.”

Juliet stared at him, shocked and dismayed. His anger wasn’t over her father’s injury; it was at having his authority usurped by Noble. Her cold tone reflected her disappointment in him.

“The major was with me.”

Miles’s jaw unhinged slightly, then snapped shut, his teeth grinding together. Through them he said, “You and … Banning?” Saying nothing more but meaning everything.

“Yes,” she told him with a proud tip of her head that dared him to make something of it. “I don’t need you to show me to my quarters. I know the way. Perhaps you should be helping Major Banning in his attempt to find out the truth instead of making slanderous accusations.”

“Jules—”

But she wasn’t interested in hearing anymore he had to say. She started across the drill ground, not looking toward the mess hall, where the music had stopped and confusion now reigned. It took all her energy just to focus her tear-skewed vision on where she was going.

Then a cry came from the man on watch.

“Riders coming in fast. It looks like the boys from H Troop.”

The soldiers who’d ridden escort for Jane Howell. What would they be returning for?

Dashing the back of her hand across her
eyes, Juliet stood firm as the disorganized group of riders poured into the confines of the fort. It took only a moment to realize the cause of their haste.

The first man she saw was slumped over his mount’s neck, an Apache arrow jutting from his shoulder.

Chapter 16

Juliet had no idea what time of day it was when she wobbled out of the infirmary. Every bed and most of the floor inside was covered with wounded. She and Colleen had been at the doctor’s side for hours, assisting him however they could, bandaging limbs and brows, measuring out doses of morphine, holding basins to receive bloody arrow tips and misshapen bits of lead that the doctor carved out of the injured.

Juliet’s back ached from constant bending to wipe fevered foreheads and dip out water. Fatigue burned her eyes. Her soul was weary from holding in her emotions while men screamed in agony. Finally, when Jane arrived to relieve her, Dr. Penny had steered her to the door with orders not to return until she’d had at least eight hours of sleep.

She lingered just long enough to check on her father’s progress. He was still unconscious, but his color was good and he seemed to be
resting easy. She hoped her own rest would be as undisturbed, but knew that was unlikely.

“Juliet?”

Her system registered the shock of hearing his voice, but she didn’t stop. The last person she wanted to see was Noble Banning. Her heart was too raw, her mind too blunted by exhaustion for a confrontation that would stir up the guilt she held inside. She heard the rattle of his saber as he jogged to catch up.

“How’s your father?”

Instead of answering, she demanded, “Who tried to kill him?”

“I don’t know that yet. But I’ll find out.”

“Good. Talk to me when you know.” She tried to alter course away from him, but tired legs wouldn’t support the sudden movement. She stumbled, and his arm provided an immediate bolster. She attempted to pull free, her emotions rising in a panicky crescendo, but he wouldn’t release her.

“Let go. Please.”

“I’ll see you to your door.”

“No. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Juliet. Let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help. I want you to leave me alone. Just leave me alone.” She swiped at her eyes in angry embarrassment, too upset to recognize that without his guidance, she would have been wandering blindly.

“Juliet, what’s wrong? Is it your father?”

His concern only made things worse. Nearly choking on her grief and guilt, she cried in a
low anguished voice, “It’s your fault, don’t you see? It’s our fault. If we hadn’t been—If I’d been where I belonged instead of with—He could have been killed, Noble. He could have died.”

Understanding dawned with that wretched confession. By that time, they’d reached the shelter of her porch. Noble stopped her outside the door and forced her to look at him. She had no knack for pretense. Everything she felt was etched starkly into her pale features. And Noble didn’t like what he saw—the condemnation, the awful self-blame.

“Juliet, darlin’, you had nothing to do with what happened to your father. Nothing.” He cupped her damp cheek with his palm, brushing away the tears with a gentle rub of his thumb. “And it had nothing at all to do with us. I won’t let you believe that.”

But her tragic eyes said she did and she would go on believing it until he could prove otherwise. That would have to wait. For the moment, she was as fragile as dandelion fluff. The slightest wind would have scattered her in indiscriminate directions. He pushed open the door and angled her inside.

“We can talk about this later. Right now, I’m going to put you to bed.” He saw her wild objection and added firmly, “Alone.”

She still had on the golden dress, but it was clear she’d never be able to wear it again. The delicate lace was splattered with blood, the silk darkly stained with medicines and perspiration.
Noble turned her and worked down the fastenings. The ruined gown followed her collapsed hoops to the floor. She stepped out of them and started for her bedroom without a backward glance. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked up her clothes and followed.

She’d curled up on her narrow bed like a vulnerable child and was squinting against the bright glare of the sinking sun that flooded in through her window. Noble drew the curtains to seal the room in a more sedate dimness, then looked back to her. A mistake. The sight tore through him with a ruthless savagery, daring him to deny he felt nothing for this brave and extraordinary woman.

He hesitated to act, uncertain of what he could do to make her rest any better. Did she still blame their passion for her father’s present situation? If she did, what else could he say to dissuade her? That he was sorry? He wasn’t. That it wouldn’t happen again? He hoped it would. He knew it would unless she used this awful event to create a wall between them. The best thing, he decided, the only thing he could do for her now was to find out who’d done the deed. He knew about guilt and he understood blame, and he wouldn’t allow Juliet to carry the crushing responsibility for what had happened tonight.

He was readying to leave when she called out to him softly.

“Don’t go.”

She didn’t name a reason, but he could read
it in her expressive face. She was frightened and lost and couldn’t bear to be alone with her worries. That he could handle.

Slowly, he unbuckled his saber and sidearm and laid them across her chair. His uniform jacket covered them. He stretched out on her maiden’s bed, and the moment he put out his arm, she was snuggled close, despite the heat. And on the weight of a single sigh, she was asleep.

Taps had already sounded, and there was no place Noble needed to be. Shifting Juliet into a more comfortable position, he purposely blocked all thoughts of passion from his mind to concentrate on her father.

He mulled over what various revelers had told him during questioning, using the pieces like a puzzle to make a whole picture of what had immediately preceded and followed the attack. The only people everyone could agree were missing from the room at that time, himself and Juliet excepted, were Miles Dougherty and Donald Bartholomew.

Donald was an arrogant troublemaker, but was he a killer? How could Crowley’s death advance his schemes?

And Miles, what would be his reasoning? Unless he’d thought to frame his rival in order to return to the colonel’s—and Juliet’s—good graces. But that idea was so far-fetched.

Was he missing someone with a grudge and a dagger?

The heavy heat of the early evening made it
difficult to focus. Soon he was dozing in a contented lethargy with Juliet’s arm curled about his neck and her knee nudged across his thigh. A pleasant way to seek out a temporary slumber. A perfect way.

He knew exactly when she awoke. Her palm stiffened against his shoulder and her breath caught. He kept his eyes shut, his breathing regular, and waited to see what she would do.

Slowly, she exhaled, her slender body relaxing along the long line of his own. Her palm pushed in a circular pattern over his bared shin, then moved upward so that her fingertips could brush along his neck. There was no point in pretending to be asleep after that.

“Feeling better?”

She gave a slight start, then nodded. Her voice was low and rough with sleep. The sound sent an odd quiver through him. “Thank you for staying.”

“My pleasure.”

He touched her hair and felt a ripple of warming desire flow through him. Her head tilted back so that she could look into his eyes. Hers were softened by an artlessly exposed yearning. She waited for him to say something tender, something that would ease the sting of guilt from what had begun between them. What had he expected? She wasn’t a clever debutante who used her body and charms to win what she wanted. What had happened between them earlier that evening had been an honest offering, her first. She needed him to
tell her she’d done nothing wrong, that he thought no less of her and that she should think no less of herself.

But considering her earlier words, perhaps now wasn’t the best time to invite emotion into play. She was still so vulnerable, so confused by sorrow.

“I’d better go.”

She was silent for a long moment, contemplating his offer, then said, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” A pause, then a more fragile, “Do you want to?”

“No.”

He heard her swallow. She still hadn’t looked away from him. Her fingers were making maddening little forays around his ear and down his stubbled jawline. She was thinking about what she’d say next, so he stayed silent and waited.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier—that you were to blame. I was upset. I know that’s not true now.”