All or Nothing (22 page)

Chapter 33

Clara Carington dried her long fingers on her apron towel. It was infernally hot with the desert sun streaming through the open window. She had forgotten how she hated this place. So far from town, surrounded by soldiers and women who were so far beneath her socially they weren’t even worth having over for tea. Chewing her lip, she thought of the dark brown, glass bottle in the drawer of her trunk. Just a thin line of laudanum remained at the bottom. Not enough to ease her mind. There was never enough. She’d have to venture into town if she wanted a physician to prescribe more. She had sent Amanda over to the post hospital in search, but the medicines were already ransacked and in need of replenishment. Laudanum, it seemed, was a rare commodity in these parts.

Sniffing, she remembered how easy it was to get what she wanted in San Francisco. Even San Diego. The cool ocean breezes were remedy enough, in her mind. She missed the warm wind; the dense fog that drifted in over the shoreline in the evening, shrouding the landscape in its feathery tendrils. The blaze of sunset as it dipped into the vast blue and beyond. It was something her husband had never appreciated. He only wanted recognition, as he had enjoyed during the War Between the States. Something she knew he’d never have again, especially now that his tastes had him frequenting brothels at The Wedge in town; places where wide-eyed young girls would coo and giggle in wonderment of his stories as they expounded on his
virtues.

Girls like that RuthAnne Newcomb. Clara knew a no good, no-account female when she saw one, no matter what Amanda said.
Silly girl with stars and bars in her eyes
. She wanted herself an officer. Married or not. Clara’s glare narrowed as she looked out the window, seeing RuthAnne riding off on a painted horse and looking young and full of energy. She had been that way once. When her Edgar had fallen for her, once upon an age ago. The young Clara had been a dreamer, a hopeful spirit with dreams of conquering the west with her handsome warrior husband at her side. But he had simply dragged her to posts from the frigid north of Wyoming, to as far south as Houston. Heaven only knew where else Edgar had left her while off on his Indian campaigns for the army. More often than not, he’d left her to fend for herself, except when the need for her flesh suited him.

She had borne her son alone, with the help of a Mexican maid, during the howling winds of a hurricane. Edgar had been off somewhere, like always. Such a solitary existence, until her Marcus arrived; with him at her side, she finally had control of her own destiny.

As her eyes followed RuthAnne, she watched a figure step out of the shadow of a ramada. Marcus was also watching the girl ride away with far-from-veiled interest. His eyes were all but glued to the vanishing form of the young woman on horseback.

Clara’s heart quickened in her breast. That wasn’t possible. What would people say?
Poor Clara Carington...husband and son, taken with the same woman while she drowns her sorrows in drugged tea.
Swallowing hard against her thirst, she left the bottle in its drawer and headed to have a word with her son.

****

Marcus frowned as he turned to go back indoors. Where was RuthAnne going? Things were rapidly getting out of hand. He had plans for her that didn’t include her gallivanting off into the desert without him as an escort. It was time to take some action. Just as he reached for the satchel hanging from a peg on his office wall, he heard his mother’s scolding voice.

“You can’t tell me you have designs on that girl.”

He turned to his mother and couldn’t hide his disdain. She looked weary. Worn. Her face, once round and smooth, now streaked with lines from the sun. The crinkle of age had set in around her eyes and mouth, which these days seemed eternally set into a scowl.

“Mother! What in heaven’s name are you doing spying on me?”

“Looking out for your best interests, as always. That girl isn’t it. I know her kind.” Clara reached to brush dust off of his shoulder in a way that made him cringe.

He knew that in her mind’s eye he’d eternally be a seven-year-old boy with a cowlick of hair on his head and skinned up knees. “I don’t need your supervision or your blessings on what I find of interest. I’m quartermaster of Fort Lowell now. That means something.”

“Now, don’t pout. It means you have a father who’s the commander of this fort, and a mother who knows people in high places. It’s our connections that make us who we are, Marcus. That is all that means anything in this godforsaken place.”

“So, you don’t think I could have done this, achieved this of my own accord?” His temper simmered as he listened to her expound on her dealings. How she wheeled and manipulated him into a position where she could keep an eye on him.

“I thought you wanted me to become a newspaper magnate in San Francisco.”

“Well, you love the army. So, plans can change. You need me, Marcus. We need each other. I have high hopes for your career, for your future, and that girl isn’t part of it. She is a strumpet. A ghost with no past and no future, and not a suitable wife for a future general.”

Marcus’ mouth became a thin line. Yes, he knew all about his mother’s plans for him. He had known about them his whole life as she attempted to dominate him. Cow him into following the path she had so clearly defined for him.
If she only knew what she had created...
He exhaled, hanging his satchel back on its hook.

He would deal with RuthAnne on his own terms later. With a softening look toward his mother, he sighed and walked across to his desk, still covered with ledgers, papers, and messages that were yet to be opened. He opened a file drawer beside his desk, unearthing a brown glass bottle. Gaze flicking to his mother’s, he saw her wet her lips with the need of her addiction.

“Let me walk you home, Mother. You need some rest.”

“Yes. Rest. I am powerful tired. It’s so hot here. So hard to sleep. We really must get back to California.”

He nodded, closing the bottle in her waiting hand. She cradled the laudanum like a child as he turned her and directed her out the door and into the afternoon sun. Arm around her shoulders, he guided her back to her quarters.

Now was not the time. But soon enough, it would be. Very soon.

Chapter 34

Clouds covered the sun, casting a shadow across the landscape, for which RuthAnne was powerfully grateful. She followed the directions to the letter and now neared the MacEvoy ranch.

She could see the white house with the tin roof perched on top of a hill, like a beacon. Smiling, she remembered the stories she had heard of how Ross had built it for his waiting, would-be wife. How she had cajoled and teased him into adding rooms, buying her an enameled cook stove, putting the porch around the entire perimeter so they could see the view from every side. It was exactly as RuthAnne had heard it described: a dream home like none she’d seen out west, built by the hands of a man in love.

Josie stood at the pump, drawing water into a wood bucket. Her black hair had been swept up off of her neck but was falling down loose into her face, sticking with sweat. From the side, her round belly arced out. RuthAnne smiled, thinking Josie had the look of a little girl playing dress-up. As if she’d placed a small pillow under her dress.

RuthAnne slipped from the saddle, walking Broomtail the rest of the way up the hill and quickly tying him to a rail. “Josie! Let me help you with that!”

“RuthAnne! What in the blazes are you doing out this way?” Josie all but sighed with relief as she was unburdened of the sloshing bucket. She put her hands to her lower back and breathed deep. “Come to check on your patient?”

“How is he?” She saw the peace in Josie’s eyes. No sign of the worry that had plagued her days before.

“Ornery as ever. He’s on the mend, praise God. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep him here before he goes trotting off after Bowen again. They’re up to something out there in the mountains, but Ross won’t tell me what. I’m so mad at him today I could spit.”

“Well, I don’t want to intrude...” RuthAnne was flushed with heat. She pushed her straw hat off her head, so it hung down her back, tied around her neck.

“Don’t be silly. We could use someone to talk to besides each other. Before long, this one will be running around and giving us a much needed distraction.” Her hands absently cradled her belly, stroking in wide circles. RuthAnne bit her lip against a pang of envy. What must it be like to know you were about to have a child? What did that do to a woman but give her peace and hope for the future?

“When are you and Bowen going to hitch up, anyhow?” Josie said.

RuthAnne looked up as if she’d had water poured over her head. “Oh, we’re not. I mean, I don’t...I’m not. We haven’t discussed it.”

Josie just laughed and hooked arms with her. “Not yet, maybe, my dear. But soon. I’ve got a sense for this thing. Wait and see. Let’s go find Ross.”

He sat in a wood rocker, scowling at his long-barreled rifle; he wiped it down with an oil cloth, inspecting the hollow tube before running a wad through it with a long stick. He clicked it back together with a snap, holding up the sights. The bandages removed, RuthAnne could see the red line of his injury had scabbed up and bruised. Where it still remained, his freshly washed blonde hair dried in curls over his shoulder. His mouth widened in a toothy smile as the women approached.

“Why, if it isn’t the light of my life and my own personal physician.” He struggled to rise, but both women shouted at him to stay seated. He shooed them away and stood in spite of them. “I’m not an invalid! I’ve got to move around if I’m to get back to work tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” RuthAnne gasped.

Josie just shook her head. “He thinks he’s going back into the mountains with that man of yours. They’re looking for ghosts. Thieves. Or some such things.” Ross began to protest, but she waggled a finger at him. “Don’t lie to me, mister. I know you inside and out. I haven’t cared for your broken head so you could patronize me.”

RuthAnne held up her hands between them. “Now, now, y’all. Let’s just have a look at how he’s healing. I see the doctor took out your stitches. Doesn’t look like it’ll scar much.”

“Barely at all, he said. It’s amazing.” Josie breathed in relief. They both squeezed RuthAnne’s hands, gazes locking over her in an easy truce.

They might bicker, RuthAnne noticed, but there was so much love between them it washed over her in a wave. She knew she witnessed a very private moment and averted her eyes toward the north. The Rincon Mountain range towered above, its wide half-circle seeming to erupt from the desert floor. She could see it for all of its glory and how the fickle desert at the bottom became scrubby chaparral up its slopes, the peaks peppered with piñon pines and rocky cliffs toward the summit.

“It’s beautiful here. I’ve never seen such a view.”

“Josie told me, ’build me a house here, and I’ll stay with you forever.’” Ross pulled his wife close in front of him, his hand finding the bulge of their baby. Josie rested her head back against his shoulder.

“So far, we’ve done just that.” She sighed. “Don’t go cracking your head open again and miss all of the fun your son’s going to bring us, got it, Sergeant?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

RuthAnne saw a flicker of worry behind his pale eyes, and she turned again to admire the view. Two small clouds of dust on the road heralded visitors.

“Are you expecting company?” She squinted against the sun’s glare. “Riders are coming up the road.”

Ross looked over and sighed. “That’d be the cavalry come to fetch me.”

“You’re going with them?” RuthAnne’s voice trailed off as she saw the way the man on the lead horse sat squarely in the saddle, as if at one with his mount. Bowen. The brim of his hat cast a shadow over his face, but she knew the man who plagued her every waking moment even at such a distance. She blushed, heart racing at the unexpected prospect of seeing him. The other rider, who could only be Reggie, followed at a canter.

“Your doctor said at least two weeks of rest, Ross MacEvoy! I had plans for you...” Josie scolded, but he laughed.

“Plans, including rerunning fence line along the back 80 like I did for you yesterday? If I’m well enough to dig post holes, I’m well enough to do my job.” He winked at RuthAnne, patting his wife on the rump before she stormed into the house. “Oh, I ain’t as injured as I let on. I’m a fast healer. Besides, Bowen wanted folks to think I was worse off than I was, so we might have a bit of surprise on our side.”

“Well, you’ve done surprised everybody,” Josie called through the open bay windows. White muslin curtains blew to the outside in a swirling breeze.

Ross just grinned. RuthAnne sat heavily in the rocking chair on the wide porch and waited for company to arrive. She just hadn’t counted on being completely ignored once they got there.

A few hours later, RuthAnne helped Josie bring out platters of
arroz con pollo,
beans, and fresh corn tortillas. The men hunkered down at the table, seated on pine benches carved by Josie’s father. They spoke low as Josie set down pitchers of freshly-squeezed lemonade, the lemons picked from the four trees by the well.

Across the way, chickens pecked and squabbled in front of the hen house. The horses were stabled for the night, and cows were out lowing in the fields beyond. It was a picture of farm life but for the men in uniform looking ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

RuthAnne stood in Bowen’s line of sight and waited for him to acknowledge her presence, for some hint of recognition or remembrance of their parting. Receiving none, she turned on her heel and marched back into the house to fetch the glasses and plates. Setting the tray down a bit harder than necessary on the chopping block, she loaded it up with the thick Mexican glassware, blue-edged and heavy. They clinked together and threatened to topple to the hardwood kitchen floor as she gathered them up.

“Let me get that for you,” Josie said.

“I’ve got it.” RuthAnne lifted the tray, met her new friend’s eyes, and slammed it down again. Josie covered a bubbling laugh. “Haven’t seen him for four days, and this is the treatment I get?”

“Oh, honey. He’s on the warpath. Doesn’t have time for romancing you. You’ve got a lot to learn about loving a cavalry man.”

“I don’t love him. I can’t stand him.” She kicked a booted foot into the cabinet and hopped on her heel, pain shooting from her toe.

“Right. That’s why you’re slamming around my kitchen. At this rate, you’re going to break all of my dishes, Ruthie. You want my advice?” Josie waited a beat and gave it anyway. “Let them have their little meeting. Then, if you do what I did to my poor Ross there, you’re sure to get his attention. Likely all of it.”

“What do you mean?” Her eyebrows raised with interest as Josie went on, explaining her plan. A hint of a smile found RuthAnne’s lips. “What if he sees through it? He and Ross are all but joined at the hip.”

“Ross likes to talk, but he don’t tell those boys everything. Some things a man’s got to keep to himself. Especially when his pride’s involved.” Josie gave a wink. “You go on out now, act like you’re not bothered by them and their man club. We’ll see who’s boss before the day’s over.”

RuthAnne mulled Josie’s words as she took out glasses and dishes. Rather than silently demand Bowen look at her, she averted her gaze, kept quiet, and backed away from the table. She even pretended not to hear him call her name as she disappeared back into the house.

“Now, what the devil was that all about?” Bowen grumbled, pouring himself a glass of refreshing lemonade.

Reggie looked up, catching Ross’ eye. “We need to finish our plans, Cap. Keep your head in the game here.”

The sun had arced across the sky and perched just over the Tucson Mountains to the west, setting the high thin clouds ablaze with color. To the east, the fingers of twilight were spreading greedily. There was no time for anyone to head out now. They would all be staying at the MacEvoy ranch until morning.

Reggie piled his plate full of the steaming chicken and rice. He sopped up the refried beans into a tortilla, alternately talking and taking large bites of the savory meal.

Bowen picked at his plate, his attention focused on the house. He watched the two women mill around, hearing their lilting voices, a titter of laughter as they went from room to room lighting candles and lanterns against the growing darkness. RuthAnne helped open more windows to let in the cool evening breeze. One woman short in stature and heavy with child; the other tall and lean as a young mare and just as likely to kick out as canter away. Both women were beautiful to him in different ways.

RuthAnne stood with her back to him, hands on her hips as she told a story. He couldn’t make out the words, but caught her meaning as she gestured to her shoulder. She was talking about him! After a moment, he realized she was making fun of him. His tortilla went dry in his throat as he stood up, hitting the table with his knee. Ross reached out to catch a glass before it toppled to the ground.

“Bowen? You all right?” His men watched him warily.

“Fine. I’m fine.” He sat down heavily, nearly knocking over the lemonade pitcher. “Go on. Let’s finish this so we can get the horses fed before dark.”

Reggie and Ross leaned over the drawing he was sketching on the brown paper spread out between them, neither saying a word about the obvious object of Bowen’s distraction.

After a moment, RuthAnne breezed out with a coffeepot and ceramic mugs. “You all must need some stimulation. All that plotting and planning can be draining.” Her smile was winsome as she poured and set cups for Ross and Reggie.

“Much obliged, ma’am.” Reggie took the mug and inhaled the rich aroma, long and deep.

“Captain?” She stood beside him, her dress barely brushing his arm. He looked up, frowning sharply, and nodded. RuthAnne raised an eyebrow and poured for him. As he reached for his mug, she turned slightly, causing his hand to tip it over and onto his shirt. Hot coffee splattered and stained. He yelped at the heat, falling prostrate into the dirt. Everyone laughed, save for RuthAnne, who knelt over him with a hand towel.

“Good heavens! You’re the clumsy one, aren’t you?” She attempted to mop him up, but he simply grabbed the towel away and began scrubbing his white cotton shirt with abandon.

“Bowen Shepherd. That’s coffee, not water. You’re just spreading the stain around. I’m the laundress. Remember? Come on inside. I’m sure Ross has a shirt that’ll fit you. Might be a tad bit big, but...”

“Big? I’m twice his size!” Bowen barked.

“Hmm. Come on with me before you cause a scene.” RuthAnne marched away, up the stairs and inside the house. Bowen stood, speechless, towel in hand.

“Well, go on. Follow her!” Ross ordered his commanding officer.

Muttering and cursing under his breath, Bowen did as he was told.

Inside, RuthAnne stood sorting through Ross’s wardrobe, searching for a suitable replacement. Bowen darkened the doorway, not setting foot inside Ross and Josie’s bedroom. He watched her delicate hands flutter like butterfly wings over the carefully hung garments. He could hear Josie singing in the kitchen, just down the hall. He stepped in with cautious feet.

“We’ll have to soak that shirt before the stain sets.” Her back was still to him; her hand hesitated.

He caught her eye for a split second as she watched him through the mirror on the dresser.

She sucked in her breath and quickly went back to sorting through garments. “You know, for all of your scheming to find that bandit, you should ask others their opinion from time to time. Maybe a different point of view would serve you well.”

“When I want your point of view, I’ll ask for it.” He stomped his boot hard enough to make perfume bottles rattle together on the vanity, but she refused to turn around.

“Well, here’s something you might not know. Seems a lot of people at the fort are asking me about El Tejano lately. What I know. What I remember. Perhaps what you are looking for isn’t out in the mountains but right under your very nose. Ah! Here’s a good one. It’s a little worn around the edges, but I don’t think he’ll mind the loan.” She held up the flannel collarless shirt, turning to where Bowen stood.

“What people?” He took a step forward, possessively reaching to grab her wrist but thinking better of it. Instead, he clenched his hands into enormous fists at his side.