All or Nothing (12 page)

Dolly huffed out her breath as she pulled her folded cot to the door, her rag-tied hair flopping about her head with her efforts. “Land sakes, girl! You gave me a fright. Here. Help me drag this, will you? Then we’ll get yours.”

“Mine?”

“It’s too bloomin’ hot to sleep indoors. A breeze is coming in from the south. Don’t you hear it rustling in the leaves?”

“I do now. I guess it woke me...” RuthAnne was confused, hearing bustling from all rooms. The children were giggling with the activity. “It’s pitch black out, Dolly. What are we doing?”

“Come on. Help me and I’ll show you.” Dolly heaved one end and RuthAnne the other. Together, they ventured out into the night. Quickly, with whispers and groans they set up their cots a fair distance from the cottonwood grove.

RuthAnne looked to the tall, shady giants and wondered at setting the cots out in the wide open space. “Why not sleep under the trees?”

Dolly pointed to Katie’s cot. “Shh. Katie’s already asleep again.”

The girl sat up with a yawn. “Can’t sleep there. The tent caterpillars’ll float down and land on your face, silly!” Katie made a face at the thought.

“And if they don’t fall on you, the mosquitoes will eat you alive,” Dolly said. “They buzz around the tree trunks. Besides, you don’t want to block that view, do you?”

RuthAnne followed Dolly’s gaze upward and gasped at the plethora of white diamonds gleaming in the night sky. No moon was out to stifle their bright light. If she could reach up high enough, she’d bet her fingers could trail through them like water.

All across the fort, people dragged their beds from their quarters into the open air. From the parade grounds to the officers’ row, it seemed the entire population of Fort Lowell now rested beneath the thick blanket of stars.

“Here. Put these under the cot legs,” Dolly said, unearthing an apron full of scrubbed out tin cans and setting one under each bed leg.

RuthAnne inspected one with a frown. “What are these for?”

“We fill ’em with water, to keep the crawling bugs off us. Ants can’t climb up and into bed with you that way. Here. Fill yours up with this.”

RuthAnne took the canteen Dolly offered and dutifully filled each can.

“We don’t want to rough it quite that much.” Dolly hopped into her bed with a whump, dusting off her feet before sliding under her thin sheet. “Ain’t this livin’?”

RuthAnne frowned, doubtful. She hadn’t camped outside since she was a young girl trying to keep up with her brothers. Then the cool breeze kicked up from the south, tree leaves rustling in chorus. The subtle wind caressed her exposed arms and neck. After her stifling quarters, she realized Dolly had been right after all. RuthAnne even left her toes peeking out of the sheet, just to feel the gentle rush over her bare skin.

Whispers, laughter, and low voices faded away as the fort succumbed to sleep. All else was quiet, save the whistling wind in the cottonwood trees and the faint sound of the creek water as it rushed over stones. An owl hooted; a baby whimpered, and its mother soothed. Dolly snored contentedly, an arm draped protectively over her daughter. RuthAnne couldn’t help but glance toward the stables as she turned on her side.

Across the open court, a lone figure leaned against the stable wall. Though she couldn’t see his face, the weight of his attention stirred her soul. She could almost read his thoughts or imagined she could. Could he see her in the darkness? Or was that just her imagination? He would be gone in the morning. Back to the Chiricahuas. Into enemy territory and toward the danger he seemed drawn to. Captain Bowen Shepherd was a man who feared nothing. And yet she had seen the desperation in his eyes, felt his concern in his strong hands as he gripped her shoulders.

So much about him was a mystery. He seemed to care desperately about what would happen to her, to want to get her to where she was going, so why was he completely unable to speak to her without losing his temper?

Bowen Shepherd and Evan Newcomb couldn’t be more polar opposite. Evan had been a dreamer. This man had seen too much pain and suffering to be anything but real. While Evan schemed and planned for the future, Bowen seemed only to care about the moment. Evan could barely fix his collar without assistance, and Bowen seemed not to need help from anyone. Yet Bowen always seemed to be there, watching her. The weight of his current gaze made her wonder at him all the more; the memory of their last exchange echoed in her mind.

I would like to see you dance someday, Mrs. Newcomb...

His words tickled a familiar, girlish feeling she’d thought long since put to rest.

RuthAnne grabbed her pillow and punched at its goose feathers, fluffing it with air, and turned away from the form in the darkness. She was angry with herself for allowing her thoughts to churn so.

Tomorrow she’d be meeting Mrs. Carington. She’d be getting through to the weekend and returning to care for Mara. That soulful captain with hazel-green eyes and the solemn, full mouth that could curve into a blessed smile or startle with its scorn. He could just go have his Indians. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried, unsuccessfully, to shield her mind from his image.

Chapter 16

Bowen watched a shooting star streak the blue-black night sky. He had spent the better part of the night leaning against the stable wall, and dawn now threatened in the east. Sleeping forms of people from all walks across Fort Lowell were tinged with silvery-blue light. A coyote bayed its last mournful call, joined moments later by several of its brothers and sisters. Rabbits rustled in the brush. The day was about to begin.

Ross scratched his sides and yawned. “Morning, Cap.”

“Thought we could make it back by Sunday if we set out early, get you home to Josie before she has my hide.”

Ross smiled under his curling mustache and unearthed his tobacco pouch. “Mighty kind of you, thinking of my family that way.”

Bowen heaved a sigh and stepped into the tack room. The dark leather saddles gleamed in the low lantern light. He collected his tack and saddled up General. The enormous bay horse flicked its black tail and shook its mane out in greeting.

Alex McDole wandered out of his barracks, his ill-fitting long johns loose on his lanky frame. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes as he headed to the blackened tin coffeepot by Bowen’s fire.

“Help yourself,” Bowen said, tying up General to the hitching post.

Alex sniffed the contents and wrinkled his nose. “That yesterday’s coffee you’re serving there, Cap?”

Bowen frowned, returning to the group. “What’s wrong with it?”

Alex shook his head and poured out the thick, black contents. With the efficiency of a camp cook, he added fresh grounds and canteen water and set the coffeepot to brew over freshly stoked coals. “That there’s just tar masquerading as coffee, sir. Takes a good, strong,
fresh
cup to get me goin’.”

Reggie joined them and reached for Ross’ tobacco pouch, inhaling the sweet scent of the leaves.

Ross struck a match for his freshly rolled cigarette; the flame illuminated eyes filled with good humor. “You know, when I started courtin’ Josie...”

“Here we go again, Cap. Another Josie story...”

“Well, nothing is more rare a treat to hear about than the path
to true love
.” Bowen laughed and clapped a hand on the tall, skinny Alex’s back.

Ross looked up, wrinkling his forehead. “Now, I categorically resent that, Bowen. You know I don’t talk about such things much.”

“Only once or twice an hour, I reckon.” Reggie picked at his teeth with a stick. “Awful sorry I can’t be joining you all this fine morning, but duty calls.”

“Duty, plus the pride and the joy of serving in this man’s army. Speaking of joy,” Alex said as he poured tin mugs of steaming coffee and passed them out, “rumor has it Mrs. Carington is arriving today.”

Reggie snorted. “She’ll be a real joy to behold after a week on the Gila.”

“Meaner than a mother scorpion, though not nearly as attractive,” Alex said. “Her daughters will want to sashay their way to the party tonight. I suppose someone will have to dance with them...”

“Perhaps that’s why our esteemed captain’s hightailing it out of here so fast. Wasn’t it Megan who had an eye for you, Bow?” Reggie went on to discuss the finer points of Megan Carington. Bowen shuddered at the thought of the now twenty-year-old girl being anywhere in his immediate vicinity.

Ross twitched his mustache. “She’s plenty attractive to look at. Just ain’t so pretty on the inside. She’s like a Gila monster. You know, brightly colored, but she’d just as soon poison you as look at you. Not all women are that way...”

Bowen turned to see his friend looking east toward his home and wondered at how a woman could possess a man so deeply.

“Here we go again.” Reggie rolled his eyes, though a grin caught the corner of his lips.

Ignoring the three men as they bantered, Bowen slipped the bridle over General’s light brown muzzle and eased the metal bit between the animal’s teeth. The horse clicked it around with his tongue, getting the feel of it.

Bowen reached around General’s throat, bridle in hand, keeping a firm hold on the horse’s well-combed dark mane as he fit the leather straps over the animal’s large, velvet ears. He flicked out the forelock from under the strap and gave General’s long neck a rub. The horse shook his withers and nickered. The bond between the two was evident.

“Careful there, Bow. That animal’s like to get jealous next time he’s around RuthAnne.” Ross grinned and had Alex and Reggie laughing into their coffee.

Bowen scoffed. There was nothing to be jealous of. RuthAnne was just a means to an end. A witness to a crime. He paid her no more mind than he would Dolly and had half a mind to say so. Except by saying so, he would give the matter more attention. Instead, he slugged the rest of the scalding coffee from his tin cup and spat out the grounds.

Bowen gave the order to move out, and “Reveille” sounded even as they were riding up the other side of the Rillito. The bugle call echoed from the foothills to the north and the arroyos to the east. Bowen gritted his teeth at the thought of RuthAnne waking in the cool air of morning; he could see her in his mind’s eye, her feet and ankles bare, the curve of her calf, her hair tousled from sleep. He dug his heels in and took the lead. They had a hard ride ahead.

****

The soldiers were already off and running. RuthAnne finished moving her things back inside and returned to give Dolly a hand.

“Is it morning already?” Dolly stretched with a yawn.

“Let’s get you back inside before the day wastes.”

“You’d better go get yourself some breakfast. It’s gonna be a busy day, sweetie. The Carington clan’s a’coming.” Dolly grabbed RuthAnne’s hand and squeezed. “I’m here for you, so you don’t have to be afraid.”

Perhaps it was because she knew she’d be leaving soon or perhaps it was her faith that the good Lord would protect her from evil, but RuthAnne didn’t feel the fear the Carington name seemed to strike in all those around her. “I’ll manage.” She smiled, setting a hand on Dolly’s thin shoulder.

“Be careful. Those girls only have a mind for themselves, and their mother’s no better. Marcus is harmless. He fancies himself a ladies’ man, but he’s about the only one who sees it that way. You should be thankful their papa won’t be here to warm the welcome.”

They shuttled Dolly’s cot back into her room, settling it into place. Dolly plopped down kicking her feet up onto the rail.

RuthAnne hesitated before asking but then jumped right into it. “Dolly, if you don’t mind my prying...what is it about Commander Carington? I get the feeling there’s something you aren’t telling.”

Dolly closed her eyes tightly. “Honey, there aren’t enough hours in the day. Let’s just say I don’t want to prejudice your opinion yet. We’ll talk more after you’ve met the missus.”

Chapter 17

RuthAnne dried her hands on the apron at her waist. Her palms were sweaty from nerves as she stood on the dirt path just outside Clara Carington’s front door. She adjusted the pins keeping her hair out of her face. Mother had always disliked not being able to see her eyes.
It
’
s where you are able to read people
’
s inner selves,
she had always said. With a steadying breath, RuthAnne picked up her skirts and stepped to the front porch.

“And just who might you be?”

The voice from behind made her jump a mile. She turned, heart thundering rapid-fire. “Sorry. You gave me quite a start. I’m RuthAnne Newcomb. I was sent to attend your house...”

“I’m Megan, Post Commander Carington’s daughter...one of them, anyway. Amanda’ll be along shortly.” She smirked. “She’s sending a telegram at the post store. You’ll know her by the sappy
in love
look on her face.”

“I see.”

“And you must be the help that Major Kendrick told us about.” Megan eyed her up and down with disapproval.

RuthAnne knew she must look a sight. Work-worn hands. Hand-me-down clothing. But she sized Megan up as well. She tried her level best to look beyond what this nineteen- or twenty-year-old girl wanted to show to the world.

Megan obviously took appearance into the highest regard. She had corseted herself in and bustled herself out in all of the right places, her natural plumpness forced into the mold she seemed to think most socially alluring. Still, she was overdressed for the hot day; sweat was already caked on her powdered face at the hairline and trickled a river down her neck. “Mama will need help with the unpacking. Mercy! Have you ever felt such heat? San Francisco was a much nicer place to be than this hellhole.”

“The mountains do look lovely at sunset...” RuthAnne said and produced a small fan from her sleeve. She fluidly slipped it from her wrist and flicked it open. “Here. This might help a bit, Megan.”