Colt (21 page)
Authors: Georgina Gentry
“The sergeant came for my help,” she whispered. “And it's a good thing he did. Now you lay still and let me see what I can do.”
Colt smiled and relaxed. He didn't care how mangled he was. If Hannah was here, everything was going to be all right.
Chapter 14
Hannah surveyed the injured man and shook her head. Men. They were always fighting about something. This time, she knew it was about her. That had been silly of Colt; she didn't have any honor left to protect.
His eyes were closed and he had probably drifted off to sleep. Just as well, she might hurt him cleaning those wounds. She put Travis on the floor to play, cautioned him to be quiet. Then she got a washbowl of warm water and some clean rags, began to wash Colt's body. Most of the injuries were bruises, but that cut over his eye was going to have to be stitched.
He stirred and moaned.
“This is going to hurt some,” she warned him.
“Probably no more than it did when I got it,” he murmured.
“I'll have to stitch it closed and I don't have anything but plain thread and needle.” She bit her lip, not wanting to hurt him.
“Stitch away. I'll pretend I'm a torn shirt.” His green eyes opened and he grinned at her.
She got a needle and thread and used whiskey to disinfect the cut, then gave him a drink from the bottle. “This is no joke,” she scolded. “You'll probably always have a scar there.”
“The captain has some, too.”
“It wasn't worth it,” she said as she bent over him.
“It was to me. I couldn't let him get away with that. If I did, every man on this post would try to grab you.”
She couldn't help but sigh and smile down at him. “You've got an old-fashioned sense of honor.”
“I'm a Texan,” he muttered. “We take care of women.”
“All right, grit your teeth and pretend to be an old shirt.” She had her needle poised.
“I'm ready.” He closed his eyes and winced as she pulled both sides of the wound together and began to stitch.
“I'm so sorry I'm hurting you,” she whispered as she sewed the wound up.
“I've been hurt worse,” he said between gritted teeth.
After a few minutes, she stepped back and took a deep breath. “There, I've finished and I've got most of your wounds bandaged. Would you like something to eat?”
He reached out and caught her hand. “I'm not sure I can handle a fork.”
She pulled away from him, busied herself putting things away. “How about some soup?”
“That'd be nice.”
“I've got a big pot at home and some fresh baked bread to float in it. I'll be back in a minute.”
He didn't answer, his eyes closed.
She thought he looked like a hurt little boy lying there, his face swollen and bruised, his lip cut. Without thinking, she leaned over and brushed her lips across his. He didn't stir. “Come on, Travis. Let's go get some soup.” She picked up her child and went out the door.
It was pitch dark when she returned with the soup and put Travis on the floor to play.
“Colt?” she whispered as she leaned over him. “Wake up, I've got some food.”
His green eyes barely opened and he moved about. “Huh? Oh, I'm stiff and sore.”
“I'll wager the captain is, too. Here, let me prop you up on pillows and feed you some of this. If you're lucky, you can make sick call and take it easy for a few days.”
She sat down on the edge of his bunk and put a pillow behind him. “I've put some of that fresh bread in the soup, should make it easy to eat.” She put a spoonful between his lips.
“Hey, that's good.” He smiled up at her despite his sore mouth. “You're a good cook, Hannah.”
“I've been running a house since my mother died when I was nine.”
“You deserve a better life that you've had,” he said as she put another spoonful in his mouth.
“I'm not complaining,” she answered. “I take life as it comes.”
“You're a fighter,” he said as she fed him. “You're a Texas girl to the core.”
“Here, eat the rest of this and go to sleep,” she commanded and gave him the last of the soup. Then she leaned over him and pulled the pillow out from behind his head.
He felt her long hair brush across him as she leaned close and he smelled the warm, clean scent of her. Had he imagined that she had kissed him before? Maybe he had. “I'm much obliged to you,” he whispered as she fluffed his pillow.
“It's okay, Colt,” she said. “I've got to go; I've got cookies and tea cakes to bake.”
“I like cookiesâcold milk and cookies,” he murmured, smiling as he closed his eyes and sighed. “Mama used to bake me cookies.” Everything seemed to be hurting, but his stomach was full and this woman had looked after him. No one had really looked after him in all these years. His mother had died on the trip out from Indiana. He heard the door close softly and he drifted off to sleep, imagining that Hannah was in his bed, snuggled up close to him, her blond head in the crook of his shoulder so that he could turn and kiss her forehead. His dreams were pleasant that night and he fell into a deep sleep.
A sound brought him straight up in his bed, a loud sound that interrupted his sleep. What theâ?
Then he recognized a brash bugle call even as his body complained about the sudden movement. It was barely dawn in his little room, and for a moment, he blinked, wondering why he hurt and what the hell was going on.
Then he heard the sound of confusion outside, running feet, and the bugle blew even shriller. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and groaned at his pain and stiffness.
Now a loud rap at his door. “Lieutenant, there's a patrol this morning.” Sergeant Mulvaney's Irish accent.
“What?”
The grizzled old man opened the door and saluted. “Texas Ranger just brought word. Big party of Comanches movin' west, sir. We're going to try to intercept them.”
“At ease, Mulvaney. All right. See that Rascal is saddled. Who's in charge of the patrol?”
“Captain Van Smyth, sir.”
“Oh hell,” Colt grumbled. “This will be one helluva day. Go on, Sergeant. I'll be out as soon as I pull my clothes on.”
“Yes, sir.” The sergeant slammed the door and was gone.
Colt stumbled to the window and looked out. Men were running everywhere; horses galloped to the parade ground, rearing and lining up. “Just what I need to start my day off right: a patrol with Captain Snooty chasin' Comanches in the June heat.” He grabbed for his boots.
It took him only a moment to dress, every bone and muscle in his body aching and complaining. He was hungry as hell and what he wanted was biscuits, bacon, and eggs, but he'd be lucky to get a cup of coffee.
The only thing that cheered him was the fact that the captain would be as pained and hurting this morning as Colt was. And the two of them faced a long, hot dusty day chasing after Comanches.
He strode outside and found the grizzled sergeant holding Rascal's reins. “By Saint Patrick's bones, you look like death warmed over, lad.”
“Thanks, Mulvaney. Good mornin' to you, too.”
“Here, I got you a canteen of coffee, sir.”
Colt nodded his appreciation and took a big swig. It was hot and had a good slug of whiskey in it. That seemed to revive him and he looked around. Captain Van Smyth was already mounted, and his face, all swollen and discolored, looked worse than Colt felt. Around them, horses whinnied and reared as troopers mounted and lined into formation. Word about the patrol must have gotten around the post fast because a lot of people were outside to watch the Cavalry ride out. He spotted Hannah in the crowd, holding her sleepy little boy, and he nodded to her. She nodded back, looking anxious.
The major strode out of his office just then, Olivia by his side. The captain saluted him and then the major turned toward Colt and Colt saluted. The crowd quieted.
The major looked over the two officers and frowned. “It seems some men are so eager for a fight, they can't wait for the Comanches.”
Neither officer said anything. Colt knew they both looked like they had been stomped on by a runaway horse.
“By Saint Mary's blood, you'll get your fill of fighting today,” the major shouted. “A Texas Ranger has brought news of a big war party moving west from here, gentlemen. If we can surprise them, maybe we can save a few ranches from being pillaged and burned.”
Colt shifted uneasily in his saddle, avoiding Olivia's curious gaze. He could only imagine what she had heard about the fight.
The captain snapped the major a salute. “Your orders, sir?”
“You are to intercept the enemy and do as much damage as you can. That's why the Second Cav was sent to Texas.”
“Yes, sir.” The captain snapped another salute and the little army band struck up an old army marching tune.
Olivia ran to Colt's side and reached up a perfumed hankie to him, her eyes full of tears. “What happened to your face?”
He looked over at the captain. “Uh, I fell gettin' into bed.”
“Me, too, Miss Olivia,” Van Smyth said.
She looked baffled, but turned back to Colt as he took the hankie. “For luck, my brave soldier!” And she blew him kisses.
Colt felt very conspicuous as he tucked her lace hankie in his shirt pocket and nodded to her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannah and knew she had seen the whole thing. How could he ever convince her he and Olivia were through when Olivia insisted on melodramatic scenes like this?
Captain Van Smyth gave the order and the troops mounted and swung into line, the fine horses stepping smartly to the music as they rode out of the fort with the crowd behind them waving and shouting encouragement.
Colt turned in his saddle and looked back. Olivia was still blowing kisses, but Hannah only stood there holding her child, staring after him.
It was going to be a long, hot day, he thought, riding up beside the captain. It was dusty and they were headed west where water was scarce and the forage for horses thin. His mustang would eat almost any grass, no matter how dry and tasteless it was, but they'd had to bring along a supply wagon to haul grain for the fancy thoroughbreds.
Worse yet, every bone in his body ached as his horse moved, and Captain Van Smyth looked like he felt as bad as he appeared, his face all purple and bruised. This wasn't good, Colt thought, out on a patrol with a superior officer he had no confidence in, a man from back East who didn't know the Texas terrain.
He glanced back at the grizzled old sergeant and saw the set, grim face. Mulvaney didn't have any confidence in the fancy West Point officer either and with two officers who hated each other, the day would probably not go well.
They reached a point in another hour where the unshod pony tracks gradually disappeared on the rocky terrain. The captain looked confused. “Lieutenant, see what you make of it.”
“Yes, sir.” Colt dismounted and studied the ground. “They're tryin' to lose us all right. Permission to ride up ahead and see if I can pick up the trail, sir?”
“Permission granted. Take the sergeant with you.”
Colt and Mulvaney rode up a quarter of a mile and dismounted, studied the ground. It was hotter than hell with the lid off, Colt thought as he took off his hat and wiped his face. There wasn't a breath of air stirring and his horse was lathered. Sweat ran down his tanned face and he winced when it hit a raw cut and stung. His blue shirt was plastered to his body and his mouth tasted like dry straw.
“God, if we don't find some water soon, our horses will begin to suffer.”
“You see anything, Lieutenant?”
Colt blinked against the blinding sun and knelt down. He saw a broken wisp of grass where something had passed by. He took three more steps and saw just the slightest imprint of an unshod horse. All the army horses were shod. “They came this way, all right. I'll bet they've got scouts out that already know we're on their trail.”
“The red devils may try to ambush us,” the older man muttered.
“If they knew how green our captain was, I reckon they might,” Colt agreed. “And that supply wagon loaded with food, corn, and ammunition will draw Indians like flies to a honey tree.” He swung up into the saddle, and he and the sergeant rode back to the captain, saluted. “Sir, they passed this way, all right.”
“Good, we'll just keep hot on their heels.” The captain nodded.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Mulvaney said, “our mounts need to be cooled out a little. We've been riding hard now for a couple of hours.”
The captain glared at him. “I didn't give you permission to speak, Sergeant.”
Colt sighed. “Sir, he's right.”
“Nonsense, we're not going to let them get away,” the captain barked. “I'd like to have a medal out of this patrol.”
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