The Men of Pride County: The Rebel (4 page)

It was Noble’s turn to go all flinty. “Were I so brilliant, I would not be here, sir.”

Juliet smiled at him, pleased that she’d managed to ruffle his temper. That was enough to force him to wrestle it back under control. He regarded her with his own bland smile and a lift of one brow that conveyed a wry “Touché.”

“Major, it’s that brilliance in command that made me ask for your company,” Crowley said, either oblivious to or ignoring the interplay between his guest and his daughter. “I’ve followed your career with interest. I’ve known men trained at West Point who could use some of your daring and initiative.”

Juliet made another unkind sound. “Please, Father. He hardly needs your praise to feed his vanity. I’m sure he’s quite insufferable already.”

“It’s not empty praise, my dear, as well you know. The major and his men have been a particularly annoying thorn in the Union’s side, which is why I need them at Fort Blair. Now, Major Banning, I believe you were going to tell me where you plan to spend the next year or so, as a guest of our government or in service to it.”

Noble couldn’t make a decision that would force his men back to the oppressive harshness of Point Lookout, not after allowing them to stand as free men again.

And damn him, Crowley knew it.

With all the dignity he could muster, Noble said, “I’ll take that drink now, Colonel.”

Crowley accepted his answer with a satisfied nod. “My dear, would you please pour. The major and I have particulars to discuss.”

What was it about the silky-voiced Southerner that worked her into such a lather? Juliet wondered as she sat quietly watching the two men talk. She knew she’d gone far beyond the latitude of good behavior. She’d been rude and confrontational, and was still bristly as a wild boar where the major was concerned. She told herself it was out of worry for her father—a comforting excuse but not the truth.

The truth had to do with how much better looking Noble Banning was up close, with his freshly shaven face and his black hair clean and trimmed. It had to do with the way her blood pounded in anticipation at the thought
of bandying words with him and the way her palms had grown suddenly damp when he spoke of desiring spirit in his women.
His
women. And she was sure there were many.

She couldn’t think why that would rankle, but it did.

She was a woman given to plain, outspoken opinion and not to flatteries—especially where she herself was concerned. She knew well what she was and was not. She was a well-educated female given unusual liberties. And she was not a beauty.

She had several pleasant features, and was aware that any number of her father’s men would have her for a wife if only she’d give the nod of approval. But women were scarce in the West, and she’d prove a capable helpmate. Their admiration had nothing to do with her intelligence, her good-heartedness, or any of her natural talents. Not one of them would consider her as any more than a convenient servant and available bed warmer. And because those reasons weren’t enough, she’d refused to give that nod.

Noble Banning, with his sophistication and bold claim that he admired a woman’s independence even as he eyed her like a prospective brood mare, doubled the insult.

“Won’t you, my dear?”

Juliet blinked at the intrusion of her father’s voice into her dark musings. “What was that?”

“I told Major Banning that you would make
his men’s wives feel welcome if any of them are able to join us at the railhead.”

Blushing beneath her father’s quelling stare, Juliet murmured, “Yes, of course.” Then her flusters were gone as she looked at the unnervingly handsome Confederate. “But understand, it’s no life of luxury. Few men can afford to keep a wife on what the army pays. We may have nothing more than tents to live in after the most miserable travel imaginable. The food is poor, the boredom is constant, the danger ever-present.”

“Yet you’ve managed, Miz Crowley.”

“I was born to it. Can your soft Southern ladies say the same?”

Noble’s reply was cold enough to match the chill of her demeanor. “I don’t think there are any soft, pampered ladies left in the Confederacy, Miz Crowley. To many, a tent and bad food would be a luxury.”

Unwilling to look chagrined, Juliet said, “If they’re willing, I’ll teach them how to survive. A little female company is always appreciated.”

“Even Southern company?” he challenged.

Her gaze narrowed. “This is not a woman’s war, Major. We choose our causes more carefully.”

He almost smiled.

Then, for some reason she didn’t wish to consider, she asked, “Will your wife be joining you, Major?”

“I’m unmarried, Miz Crowley. I wouldn’t
expect my family to uproot themselves for what I hope to be a short military career. I have plans waiting for me at home.”

“And where is home, sir?”

“Kentucky. Pride County.” He said that with a soft longing that made Juliet ache for a place she could call home with such deep fondness. She’d never known one. Then she frowned slightly in confusion.

“I thought Kentucky had cast its lot with the North?”

“Not all of it, ma’am. This conflict tore right through our midsection. Some of my best friends are wearing Union blue.”

His gaze dropped, but not before she witnessed the pain of regret clouding his pale eyes. So his past loyalties were as divided as his future called him to be. It would take a man of strong convictions to survive such tearing upheavals. She took Noble Banning to be a man of convictions.

But were his dangerous convictions?

Could a man of divided loyalties be trusted on the frontier with a gun in his hand and a force of men riding at his command? Would his word be enough to tie him to a hated uniform a world away from where his friends and family were fighting an altogether different war against a country he was now pledged to serve?

She wondered. And she worried. Because in the West, one faced a vicious enemy and
couldn’t afford to fear one’s supposed comrades.

“You’ll be leaving all those friends behind, Major, and
their
causes, as well. If you don’t stand together in the West, you fall separately. And I don’t intend to fall because you don’t keep your word.” Let him think about that.

“You have nothing to fear, Miz Crowley,” Noble assured her tightly. “My word is one of the few points of honor I’ve been allowed to retain, and I will keep it, as an officer and a gentleman. You may hold to it as zealously as you do your own virtue.”

“You can’t imagine my relief, sir,” was her dry retort.

Noble placed his empty glass on the table and turned to Crowley. “Colonel, if there’s nothing else, I’d like to return to my men. They asked if you could find a way to see their letters safely home. Their families deserve to know their whereabouts.”

“I’ll do what I can, Major. See my aide gets them in the morning. Our train leaves at nine. When you get off, it will be in a world unlike any you’ve ever seen. Prepare yourself and your men.”

“We are ready for anything, sir.”

Crowley smiled. “I trust you will be. Or the next letters sent home to their families will be sent by me.”

Chapter 3

Upon leaving the train in the New Mexico Territory, Juliet abandoned all hope of comfort and peace of mind. It wasn’t the lack of personal comfort in the overland miles ahead that alarmed her. It was the thought of sharing those miles with Maisy Bartholomew.

The Southern captain’s wife epitomized all Juliet’s preconceived notions of the plantation belle: pale, helpless, spoiled, and superior. During the long train ride, Juliet added several more qualities to that unpleasant list. The woman was also lazy, stupid, and mean-spirited. The brunt of that temper was borne by Colleen McDonnal, a gentle Irish girl hastily hired in St. Louis to tend to the aristocrat’s every whim.

Maisy Bartholomew made complaining into an art. Nothing suited her. The air was too cold, too humid, too dry. The food too spicy, too salty, too bland. Her maid was too slow, too hurried, too clumsy. And for bringing her
with him, her husband was too insensitive for words.

And after days together in the same rail coach, Juliet was ready to strangle her.

She gave the woman a week, maybe two at most. Perhaps not that long if she surrendered to her overwhelming urge to shove the nasty female from the platform beneath the steel wheels of the train.

But Juliet felt a sudden stab of sympathy for even this loathsome creature, because upon her first view of the Southwest, the woman was clearly terrified.

While on the train, there remained an air of civility. Standing on the sand-bleached platform, looking out over miles of desert, all traces of civilization were stripped away.

“Oh, Lord help us,” Maisy whispered in dismay. Surely she must have thought they were entering the gates of hell.

In a way, she was right.

Panic sent her scurrying to her husband as the troops approached in a ragtag order.

“Donald,” she pleaded frantically. “Donald, you must send me home. This is not what I imagined.”

“Maisy, darlin’, it’s too late for that, I’m afraid. Calm yourself, my dear.”

She wouldn’t be quieted. To his embarrassment, she dragged the captain out of the ranks before his men.

“But Donald, please! You can’t mean to take
me out into that savage country. I won’t go. I’ll wait here for the next train—”

His claim was firm, his reasoning unarguable. “You cannot wait here, Maisy. I’ve no money for the ticket back to the Carolinas. I spent it all to bring you this far. There’s no going back. I’m sorry.”

She stared up at him in horror, her delicate chin quivering. “But Donald, I shall perish.”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he said more forcefully. Then, the matter concluded in his mind, disengaging himself from her clutching hands, he rejoined his men, marching away without looking back to witness her devastation.

That’s when Noble Banning stepped in.

While Juliet watched, unable to move away because of the small size of the platform, he approached the near-hysterical woman and gently took her hand.

“Mrs. Bartholomew—Miz Maisy—don’t fret. It’s just the strangeness that has you so upset. You’re made of sterner stuff than you realize.”

The frightened female clung to his soothing words as desperately as she clutched at his hand. “Do you think so, Major?”

“I’m certain, ma’am. You know how much your husband depends on you to be strong for him.”

A tremulous smile. “Yes, yes, he does at that.”

“Why, coming home from a hard march to
your lovely face is all the medicine a man needs to cure his ills.”

A blush accompanied the small smile.

“I can understand a fine woman like yourself being flustered under the circumstances,” he continued in the same silky tone, flattering and calming the nervous female like a high-strung horse. “But you’ll be all right, ma’am. You have my word on that. Miz Crowley here can take care of you and put your mind at ease.”

Caught by his unexpected claim and the sudden pinning shift of his stare, Juliet managed a stiff smile. She made herself come over to put a consoling arm about the trembling Southerner’s shoulders.

“Now, Mrs. Bartholomew,” she began with a coaxing authority, “I want you to look over at your husband right now and give him your sunniest smile and wave. You can’t expect him to do his duty if he’s worried about you. Do it now.”

Maisy lifted a soft hand and conjured a wan smile to earn a grin of relief from the captain before he directed his unit around the side of the station and out of sight.

“I’ll leave you in good hands, Miz Maisy,” Noble crooned. As he placed a light kiss on the woman’s knuckles, his gaze slipped to Juliet to convey his thanks. She pursed her lips in wry acknowledgment.

If only he know she’d considered tightening those good hands about the lady’s neck …

The minute the handsome officer was out of sight, Maisy Bartholomew flung off Juliet’s arm.

“I’ll thank you to mind your own business,” she snapped. All traces of vulnerability had disappeared. “I do not need you to tell me how to handle my husband.”

Juliet washed her hands of the situation with a dry, “No, I’m sure you don’t.”

She was relieved from further discourse by the arrival of her father. He was swaggering about, happily in his element.

“Jules, we’ll be a few hours getting the men outfitted for the journey to Fort Blair. Do you think you can manage your own baggage and that of Mrs. Bartholomew? I can’t spare anyone at the moment.”

“Of course, Papa.” Didn’t she always?

“Very good. I’ll have your conveyance brought ‘round as soon as possible and someone to help with the loading.”

With a nod and a sigh, Juliet cheerfully abandoned Maisy Bartholomew to see to the unloading of her worldly goods.

After a dusty forty-five-minute wait, their transportation arrived. The mule-drawn army ambulance commonly used to carry wives overland was without a doubt the most uncomfortable means ever created for that purpose. Fitted like a cowboy’s chuck wagon, it had an outside seat for the driver and two seats facing each other inside. Canvas sides and ends could be rolled up to allow the hot
wind to blow through or lowered for stifling privacy. Water kegs hung underneath for both passengers and beasts, and a chain-supported platform was suspended in the rear for storing luggage.

“Can I give you a hand, Miz Crowley?”

She turned from the mountain of bags to the Confederate major, suppressing her desire to sweep him from top to toe with an appreciative gaze. He grinned, as if aware of her dilemma. “Surely you’ve more important things to do than serve as baggage handler.”

“Not at the moment. I thought I’d check on Mrs. Bartholomew.”

Juliet sniffed. “She’s fine. She’s busy haranguing her poor maid, so you needn’t worry that the troops’ morale will suffer from any more of her outbursts.”

“I appreciate you stepping in as you did.” His sudden earnestness shocked her from her indignation but left a wry aftertaste.

“I wasn’t given much choice, Major.”

His smile acknowledged her lack of volunteer spirit, and Juliet was beset with a sudden breathlessness. My, but he was an eyeful up close in his dapper blue uniform with the hot western breeze ruffling through his black hair. A steady diet on the trip west had filled in the deeper hollows of his face while leaving the dramatic angles to sculpt a lean perfection. And his eyes were so searingly blue they dazzled like the cloudless New Mexico sky. The cool, intelligent eyes of her enemy.