The Officer and the Bostoner (Historical Western Romance) (Fort Gibson Officers Series, Book 1) (10 page)

He didn’t even have to look to know that someone hadn’t survived this unscathed. The smell of decaying flesh in the hot sun burned his nose. Vultures and other hungry birds flew overhead, not deterred at all by the three men who were clearly still alive.

Wordlessly, the three swung down off their horses and trudged over to the carriage.

Nausea swirled in Wes’ stomach as acidic bile rose in his throat, filling his mouth with the vile substance. He swallowed and grimaced as it burned his throat again on its return to his stomach.

Beside him, Jack wiped the back of his sleeve across his slightly parted lips. On the other side of him, Gray looked unmoved. He wasn’t though. He couldn’t be. Nobody could be here seeing and smelling this and be unmoved—least of all Gray. But he only knew this because he’d seen Gray react this way before. When Gray was troubled or uncertain, he’d put up a facade so strong it was almost believable. Almost.

Not wishing to offer assurance to his friend and make him uncomfortable, Wes continued his quiet walk to the overturned carriage. With each step he took, it felt as though his feet had grown five pounds heavier until it was near impossible to move them.

Finally, he rounded the side and swore under his breath.

Never before had he seen such a massacre. Lifeless, bloodied bodies were sprawled out in front of them, surrounded by rivers of dried blood that had stained the dirt crimson.

There were four of them lying there. Three were women. Two looked to be middle aged or older, and the remaining one couldn’t have been older than Wes. Next to her lay what looked like a little boy about five.

Nausea roiled in his gut and Wes averted his eyes, looking for something nearby to cover their faces with; but nothing had been left. Like other tribes, Cherokees wasted nothing and killed only for purpose—not for fun. Likely they’d bring these ladies’ clothes and other belongings to trade next time they came to barter. The thought made bile surge in Wes’ throat again. This time he was unable to contain it and spit in the high grass.

“Throats,” Jack croaked, drawing attention to the way the throats of all of the passengers had been slit.

“
Scalped, too,” Gray said without a hint of emotion.

Wes took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm his nerves or steady his gait as he walked forward. The only one missing from this scene was the stage driver. He blew out a deep breath. If he’d tried to run, his body wouldn’t be far.

Pausing, Wes squinted his eyes and did a quick survey of the tall grass that skirted the sides of the trail but didn’t see anything. He resumed his steps, then stopped. A hand was reaching out from under the side of the stagecoach that was lying on the ground. He swore. An inch up from the hand appeared to be some fabric, presumably a sleeve.

Wes whistled to catch Jack and Gray’s attention, then beckoned them over with his hand.

Together, the three hefted the carriage up just enough to confirm the body underneath was dead.

“
He must have been dead before they arrived,” Jack commented.

Wes nodded.

“Or shortly afterward,” Gray added, using the toe of his boot to point to a gun nearby.

Wes kicked the dirt in the direction of the dead man’s face. “You no good, yellow-bellied coward,” he mumbled. “If you weren’t already dead, I’d kill you myself for being such a coward and leaving three women and a little boy that way.”

With the lack of grace and reverence due a dead man, the three released their grip on the carriage and let it fall back where it had been.

“
At least this happened after Allison arrived,” Jack said quietly.

Wes’ eyes shot to his friend, but he couldn’t form a coherent thought. It was devastating that this had to happen at all, but he couldn’t explain just why his heart hurt a little more at the mention of his imitation wife’s name. Had she been here— had she made it back to the stagecoach in time—

He couldn’t even finish the thought. She might not actually be his wife, and he might have termed her as nothing more than a passing annoyance with frivolous habits not so long ago; but for a reason he couldn’t begin to explain, the idea that he could have met her this way and not seen her fiery and full of life made his blood turn to ice.

“
Right,” he said, hoping they didn’t notice how gravelly his voice was. “And to think she wanted me to be her sole escort to Santa Fe,” he grumbled under his breath, kicking the stagecoach that was on top of the spineless coach driver for good measure.

Just then, something hit the ground.

Wes bent to look under the stage to see what it was. Nothing really, just a little brown leather bundle. He reached for it and took a peek inside. Folded papers. He plucked one out.

My Dearest Allison,

The winter is mild, but my heart is most cold without you here with me in Austin—

Wes tore his eyes away and scowled down at the leather pouch in his hand. Why was it the Indians had to take lives and leave unimportant nonsense like this? He would have scoffed at the absurdity had the circumstances been any different. It was clear that even the Indians knew what was of value and what was useless. He’d always heard they only took what they knew they could use. Apparently they didn’t even deem the letters worth the fuel for their fire.

With a grunt he stuffed the letter back into the pouch with all of the others that Allison had thought to save, then walked over to his horse and set the leather pouch on the saddle and grabbed his shovel.

Joining Jack and Gray, the three dug five shallow graves off the side of the road.

Each alone with his own thoughts as they dug and the sun rose all the way to the middle of the sky.

Just as the sun was beginning to drop in the western sky, Wes threw the last scoop of dirt on top of the grave of the little boy, then dug in his pocket for his handkerchief. He swiped it across his sweaty brow before shoving it back into his pocket and mounting his horse.

~Chapter Ten~

Wes was unusually quiet as he came into their room.

Not that she was overly surprised. She hadn’t seen him since Colonel Lewis approached him while his men were conducting shooting practice. He hadn’t come to lunch as he’d promised, and Wes didn’t seem the sort to break his word. Then, when the day had been over, it was Colonel Lewis who walked her home. Not Wes. Not Jack and Gray. Colonel Lewis—a man who would hardly say a word when she asked where Wes was. Though his mouth didn’t speak, his hard eyes and tight jaw said enough: something very bad indeed had happened.

And now seeing Wes, she was certain she was correct.

The man who’d joined her in this room the last three days had been full of energy and quick remarks—no matter what had transpired between them the day or night before.

But not today.

Today he was subdued and looked considerably more tired than he had in days past. His blue eyes, lacked that sparkle and warmth she’d grown to expect, replaced instead with cold indifference or perhaps even worry?

If not for the hard set of his face, she might have tried to break the tension by teasing him about having a rough day filling out paperwork or commanding his men to march, which were the job obligations the other officers’ wives had told her the officers did. But instead, she poured him a cup of the tea that had arrived with the coffee yesterday.

“Thank you,” he said, taking it from her and gulping a hearty swallow.

She frowned. He hated tea. Something
was
wrong. But what? If they knew each other a bit better, she’d prod him for details. She set her pot down and nearly scoffed. When had that ever stopped her from being inquisitive? “Is something wrong, Wes?”

“
It’s not for you to worry about.”

Her frown deepened. “Yes, it is, I’m your—” She cut herself off before she made fools of both of them. “Wes,” she started again, “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but we’ve known each other long enough for me to know that something is clearly bothering you.”

“You’re right. There is,” he admitted. He set the tea she’d given him down on the table, then reached for her hands and pulled her to him. “I’m glad you weren’t a better throw.”

She furrowed her brows. “What?”

He didn’t say anything, just squeezed her hands a fraction tighter, then let her go. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not join the others for dinner tonight.”

Since she didn’t enjoy the meals they were often served, she couldn’t complain; though she desperately wanted to know what had transformed Wes from the glib man who normally greeted her into this shuttered and withdrawn shell of who he usually was. “Did you want me to go get plates from the kitchen?” she wondered aloud.

“No. I don’t feel like eating much; and I know if you brought us each a plate, I’d have to eat yours, too.”

Allison stared at him, uncertain. Was he trying to be insulting or was that just a poorly thought out statement? His next words gave her answer the sought.

“I purchased some dried fruit, nuts and jerky from Charles on my way in tonight. You might not like the jerky, but I’m sure the dried fruit and nuts will be more to your liking than undercooked salt pork.” He pulled three little packages of brown paper wrapped around food from the inside pocket of his coatee and handed them to her.

“
Thank you.” She unfolded the paper that was wrapped around the nuts and gave him a small handful, then picked up a few for herself.

The peanuts were delicious. Positively delicious. They tasted a bit older than they normally did, but she’d become so hungry, they tasted fit for a king. Next, she opened what she assumed was the jerky. There were several large, thin sheets of what appeared to be dried meat. She’d never seen anything like it before and handed him one of the sheets, then did her best to pull the second sheet in half. But it was hard and no matter how firmly she gripped the top with her left hand and tried to jerk her right hand in the opposite direction, it just wouldn’t pull apart.

Wordlessly, Wes reached for her jerky, pulled it right in half as if he were merely ripping apart an unwanted piece of parchment, then he handed it back to her.

She took it and brought it to her nose. It smelled spicy and rugged. Rather like Wes in a way. Pushing that thought from her mind, she put the end of the jerky in her mouth, clamped her teeth down and pulled her head in one direction while pulling the end of the jerky in her hand in the other direction. She severed the piece and Wes let out a small chuckle.

Smiling at her victory, she chewed the piece of jerky, which really wasn’t so bad. She took another bite and debated if she wanted to ask exactly what animal it was she was eating. As the flavor filled her mouth, she decided against it. It was better not to know.

She finished off her piece and opened the next paper with the dried fruit. She picked up a few pieces and extended them toward Wes.

He put his hand up to stop her. “No, thank you. I bought those just for you.”

“
I can share,” she insisted, pushing her hand in his direction.

He gave her a terse nod, then accepted the pieces of dried fruit and ate them.

“Thank you,” she said after she ate her fill and wrapped the remaining food back into their papers. “I hope you’re not angry with me for not eating more of my meals downstairs, it’s just—”

“
There’s nothing to explain. At least not something I don’t already understand. It took me a while to grow accustomed to army food, too.” A shadow crossed his face and he reached down to untie his boots. He kicked them off, then reached for his pillow and fluffed it what little it would fluff.

Allison sat lifeless, unsure what to do as Wes made himself comfortable on the bed. Then, just as she was beginning to wonder if she should join him on the bed or not, he reached out to her again.

She stood and put her hand in his, letting him pull her toward the bed.

Still holding her hand, he moved over to the side and gently guided her to lie down next to him. He rolled on his side to face her, his hand still holding hers. Instinctively, she reached up with her free hand and idly combed her fingers through his hair. The setting sun allowed her to still be able to see him and the distant look in his eyes. A look she’d do just about anything to make go away.

Last night he’d held and comforted her when she needed it; and though she had no idea what was wrong with Wes and doubted he planned to tell her, she’d be damned if she didn’t offer him the same comfort and affection when he needed it.

~Chapter Eleven~

As hard as he tried to fight sleep, Wes’ eyes would grow heavy and shut—only to allow for a gut wrenching image to form in his mind. He jerked awake, taking note of how Allison’s fingers curled into his hair when he did.

She opened her uncertain brown eyes.

He held her gaze, but that’s all he’d do. He couldn’t think of how to tell her what had happened to the stage. He squeezed her hand, resisting the urge to take her in his arms and hold her again as he had last night. She’d trusted him then. Not saying he didn’t think she trusted him now, but it was different. She’d
needed
to be held then. Every fiber in his being might be screaming to take her in his arms and hold her, assuring her everything would be fine; she was safe. But that was him and his own selfishness wanting to do that. She didn’t even know to be upset; and for as much as he might like to hold her again, he wasn’t enough of a cad to purposely upset her just to do it.

She resumed that torment of running her fingers through his hair, twirling it, and scratching his scalp; but no words were spoken.

The sun completely drifted away, leaving them at the mercy of the sliver of moonlight that was shining through their window. Her hand stilled in his hair and her eyelids shut. He didn’t know for how long, but he stared at her sleeping form as best he could see her until exhaustion finally overtook him.

After a time sleeping, he woke and went for his morning ride, something he hadn’t done the day before because he hadn’t wanted to let go of Allison.

He rode Midnight hard and fast across the prairie, trying to put everything from his mind. He pulled Midnight to a stop and took in a deep breath before turning him around to walk back. From the corner of his eye, something flashed. Curious, he walked over to where the flashing had been, his stomach knotting with each step. It was as if there was some sort of gravitational pull to the flashing object. A pull he could not break.

Nearing the object, he saw a stream of blood and torn garments. He looked farther ahead. There was a lifeless woman with dried or drying blood covering her face. Ten feet to the right of her there was another. He turned his horse but froze in place when he saw another. Then another. Everywhere he turned there was a dead woman and blood. Blood was everywhere. He dropped his gaze to the ground and there was even blood under his horse. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, and he urged Midnight to run; but the horse didn’t budge.

He grabbed his revolver from his waistband and cocked it. He’d never shot a person before, but heaven help him, he’d do it.

A twig snapped behind him and he jerked his head around to see who had joined him.

It was Allison. Still dressed to perfection without a drop of blood on her, he took her in momentarily, swallowing convulsively. “Run,” he barked.

“
Wes?” she questioned, stepping closer to him.

Panic built in his chest. “Run!” he repeated.

“Wes?” Her calm voice only made him panic more. Did she not understand what all the blood was about?

“
Allison, run away. Go as far away as you can and hide,” he commanded.

“
Wes.” She took a step toward him, then another, and then suddenly he began shaking. “Wes,” she said a bit louder. “Wes.” She placed her hands on his leg. “Wes.”

He shook his leg to shake off her hold, but instead of letting go, she clung and started shaking
him
.

“
Wes! Wes!”

“
Allison,” he yelled in return. “Stop shaking me, you insufferable woman, and go away.”

“
I would if you’d wake up,” came her calm voice.

Wes was bewildered, still trying to shake her loose as the fog lifted and the endless prairie and bloodied bodies started to evaporate until there was nothing left but him and Allison.

She was no longer at his feet, but her face was now even with his and her hand was in his hair as it had been last night.

He reached up to confirm he wasn’t imagining it and his hand closed over hers. He blinked his eyes open and met her soft brown ones. “Sorry,” he said unevenly.

“It’s all right,” she said, scratching his scalp once with her nails. “Would you like to talk about it?”

He closed his eyes for an extended blink. “No.” A commotion from outside caught his attention. “Has the bugle already sounded?”

She nodded against the pillow. “About ten minutes ago.”

Wes closed his eyes and groaned. “We’d better get up.”

Neither made a move to do so.

He shot her a quick grin. “You have a dress to finish.” He chuckled at the scowl that came over her face.

“Right, and you have men to instruct how to hit a target.”

“
Among other things,” he muttered as a memory of just how bad a few of his newest soldiers were at hitting a target the size of a door. He was sure that even Allison could have hit that target, but not some of his men. As for their marching, there was still work to be done there, too.

But those things didn’t seem so important right now as he looked into the wide eyes of the woman lying next to him. What would it take to make her stay with him? And where did
that
thought come from? She was pleasant enough, and even more pleasant to look at, but what had happened to inspire him to want to make her stay? Was it that he couldn’t imagine the embarrassment or questions from his friends about having to give up the larger room he’d grown accustomed to sharing with her and having to go back to sharing not only a room with three other men but also a bed with Jack? No. He didn’t owe them any explanation, nor would he offer one. He’d just gloat about the time he got to spend away from their absurd company.

Perhaps then, the reason he wanted her to stay was so he could protect her. That seemed logical. The way she’d described her intended made him sound...peculiar, almost too feminine. He might not be completely unable to protect her, of course. He might just not be as masculine as Wes or the men Wes had been in the company of for the last eight years. She’d said he was in investments of some sort. That kind of job required a man to sit on his hind quarters for hours on end each day. He shuddered. He had his share of keeping records and updating logs that kept him at a desk for two hours each day. He couldn’t imagine how painful it would be to have to be there more than that.

He inwardly sighed and continued to stare into Allison’s unblinking eyes. None of that really mattered. Frankly, he couldn’t place exactly why the thought had occurred to him, but now that it was there... He’d already planned to make her life a little easier yesterday at lunch but had been unable to when Colonel Lewis had sent him out to investigate. He forced the memory of what they’d found from his mind and settled for thinking of the surprise he had waiting for Allison over in his office. Today. Barring any other unpleasantness, he’d meet her for lunch today and see if his gift was met with as much excitement as he’d hoped.

“
All right, my lady, that’s enough lying around. We must be about our duties,” Wes said.

Allison gave his hair a playful tug and pursed her lips in the worst expression of annoyance he’d seen her try yet. “True ladies don’t have any duties.”

“And you’d know this because you were a true lady in Boston?”

“
No. But I met a few who were visiting from England, and they said all they did all day was sew and embroider.”

“
Duties,” he said with a nod. “One of which you need to learn and the other you need to hurry up with.” He glanced down at her crushed and dirty gown. “Do you think you’ll be done with your sewing today? I have a surprise for you tonight and I’d hate for you not to have a pretty gown to wear for the occasion.”

“
In that case, you’d better know now so you’re not disappointed, but I’ll be wearing this gown tonight.”

And for the rest of your life if he had to hazard a guess based on the progress he’d seen.
“At least you look pretty in it,” he said without thinking.

“
Thank you.” The blush that stained her cheeks made his own embarrassment at saying such a forward thing worth it. She rolled over and took to her feet.

Wes couldn’t fathom why, but he already missed the closeness of her body and the way she’d touched him all night. Just another reason he had to find a way to convince her to stay. He ran his hands over his face and rolled out of bed. This was going to be a long day.

***

If Allison thought she was frustrated yesterday with her sewing, she discovered she hadn’t seen real frustration until today. Yesterday she’d sewn up the hem along the bottom of her dress so the fabric wouldn’t fray and unravel. At least that was something helpful for the dress. Today she had to somehow cut more fabric to make the upper portion of her dress. Sleeves. Bodice. Back. Shoulder pieces. Cuffs. All she could do was stare at the fabric in front of her and try not to let the other ladies know of her distress.

“Perhaps you’d like to borrow my pattern?” Sarah offered.

Allison grinned. She’d forgotten all about the pattern Wes had bought her. “No. I have one. I was just thinking.”

“Oh, for the modifications you plan to make to the top so it matches the progressive skirt?” Mrs. Lewis asked innocently. Apparently the woman believed Allison to be the expert seamstress she claimed to be who was bent on perfection, thus the reason she took so long. Or Mrs. Lewis knew the truth but was too afraid of hurting her feelings to say anything.

Allison nodded wildly at the suggestion, then dug in the bottom of the blasted sewing basket she’d been using until she found the pattern. She really wasn’t sure the best way to do this. Perhaps if she just laid out all the pieces and pinned the paper on the fabric, it’d be time for lunch. She could cut them out this afternoon... Then, she’d worry about tomorrow when it got here and, in the meantime, pray a miracle transpired.

Suppressing the scream of aggravation she so desperately wanted to let loose, she began about her work.

Just as she shoved the last pin through the paper and fabric, a loud
rap, rap, rap
came at the door.

Allison jumped up. “I’ll get it.”

Mrs. Lewis and Sarah lifted their brows at her, but she didn’t care. She welcomed any kind of distraction, answering the door notwithstanding.

It was Wes.

“Come in,” she said.

He did just as Mrs. Lewis and Sarah came over to join them.

“I have a gift for you,” he said, handing her a large package from behind his back.

“
Why?” Her face flushed. It was rather uncomfortable to be receiving a gift from him in front of her friends, and because of their soft gasps and winks, she’d only made it worse with such a stupid question. He’d mentioned he had a surprise for her, but thought he’d said he’d give it to her tonight.

“
I wasn’t aware that I’d do time in the stockade for bringing my wife a gift. But if that’s the consequence—” he reached for the package that was in her hands, turned his head to the side, twisted his lips and closed his eyelids to mere slits, then abruptly let go— “no, I think you should still have it. If I must spend the night there for giving my wife a present, I’m sure it will be worth it when I get out.”

Her eyes widened. Then his did when he realized how the others might have taken his words.

He removed his shako and raked his hand through his dark hair. “Open it.”

Allison set the parcel on the table and reached for the ends of the twine. She’d never been one to refuse gifts; but this one felt strangely like a bundle of folded fabric; and the last thing she wanted was more fabric. He’d made such a fuss about her not wasting the fabric he’d already bought her.  If he bought her more, it
would
be a waste.

Feeling three sets of eyes boring into her, urging her to open his gift, Allison took a deep breath and pulled the string to release the knot. Forcing a weak smile, she reached tentative fingers to the top part of the paper and opened it, and just as expected, her eyes collided with a piece of white fabric.

“What is it?” Sarah asked.

“
I—I don’t know,” she said honestly. It was certainly an article of clothing, but it looked strangely like it had a pocket.

“
Hold it up,” Wes encouraged.

Allison picked up the garment, watching in amazement as it unfolded in front of her. “A shirt?”

Wes grinned and took it from her. “I know it’s not what a Bostoner like yourself is used to seeing young ladies wear, but I thought perhaps you might be willing to make an exception.”

Allison nodded numbly; still not sure she’d comprehended what he’d meant.

As if reading her mind, Wes said, “Mrs. Lewis, would it be all right if Allison slipped behind your dressing screen and tried on the skirt she’s made with this shirt? I’m not sure I bought her the right size, and if I didn’t, I’ll need to go back to see if I can find another.”

“
Of course,” Mrs. Lewis said, beaming.