Disorder in the House [How the West Was Done 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (5 page)

This shut them up long enough for the army fellow to race around her side of the sideboard, put down his chile mug, and grab Irene’s ladle. “Let me help. I’m a cook.” In a flash, he was serving his former enemies.

“Oh, my!” Liberty was genuinely touched by the assistance. A surge of warmth went through her, convincing her she’d been correct in her first assessment of this man. “You cook for the army?”

He flashed a brief but wide smile at her. “Fort Sanders. Name’s Garrett O’Rourke. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Private O’Rourke. I’m Libby. Then what are you doing here in town?”

“I’m looking for a man named Moses Taggart. Have you heard of him?”

“I’ve heard that he’s a lying, cheating toad. The gal who usually serves with me here told me that a month ago he gave her a black eye and stole a necklace from her. But no one’s seen him since.”

“That sounds about like Moses Taggart. I’m actually looking for an associate of his who took something important from me, too. Would you happen to know where Taggart was last seen?”

Liberty thought as she scraped the bottom of the cast-iron pot with the ladle. She didn’t want to assist anyone in a mission that might have violent results, as low as Taggart might have been. Then again, she liked to think she was a good judge of character, and she was profoundly impressed with Garrett’s demeanor. And Taggart
had
stolen Irene’s necklace. Still, she didn’t know Garrett. Anyone could put on a private’s coat and pretend to have been a cook at the fort. “What did the associate take from you?”

Garrett didn’t miss a beat as he ladled out the remains of the beef stew. He didn’t even slop any over the edges of the men’s chipped mugs. But he looked sideways at Liberty with his expressive, stirring eyes, and she knew this man was incapable of a lie. “He stole my dead wife’s wedding ring from me.”

Garrett continued to level his shivering, sad eyes on her even while scraping ladlefuls of nothing into men’s cups. They probably would have stood there over the empty pot until a hungry tracklayer hit them over the head with it, but Irene came back from the Bucket of Blood then and eased the ladle out of Garrett’s hand.

“Thanks for the break,” Irene chirped. “They’re ten deep at the bar in the Bucket of Blood. Old Roy Farnsworth was trying to get fresh with me, but I told him I had to get back here and…”

Irene continued blathering while Liberty and Garrett pulled away from the sideboard, still staring at each other. Liberty must have made an instant decision, for she found herself wiping her hands on her apron and saying, “Come with me.”

Garrett grinned happily, and Liberty barked at Irene, “We’re going on a mission to find your necklace. Pot’s empty.
Ned! More stew!
”

Tossing aside her apron, Liberty even dared to grab ahold of Garrett’s hand in full view of the crowd. It would have been easy to lose him in the milling, punching, stumbling horde—that was her reasoning. But frankly, it was nice to feel his broad, dry hand in hers, the long, tapered fingers twining around her own. When they bumped into each other in their weaving through the crowd, his firmly muscled body exuded a warm reassurance that gave her a giddy excitement.

Maybe it was part of the new way she’d been acting ever since that run-in with the stranger on the train. Liberty had been constantly surprising herself with actions even a modern suffragist might find shocking. Something about her encounter with that alluring stranger had set into motion a whole new attitude in Liberty. For example, would she ever have dreamed she’d be serving a congregation of roostered railroad men? Mingling with prairie flowers, highwaymen, and gamblers, without the oversight of a chaperone?

That was how things were done in the Far West. How she had wanted to ask Ivy about the stranger on the train! She knew she was in love with him. She could still feel his hands around her waist and his soft lips between her teeth. His handsome, stately face was etched into her brain, and she imagined she’d look up and see him standing next in line for her stew. He couldn’t be a tracklayer, gambler, or shyster—not dressed that way, in a clean greatcoat, clean Stetson, and smelling of hay.

But she couldn’t ask Ivy. Not that it would have been unseemly—the sisters were close and not afraid of sharing secrets. It was just that Liberty could not describe the man to Ivy. She hadn’t gotten his name. And how many men in Laramie City wore greatcoats and Stetsons? The tattoo was probably the only descriptive feature, but Liberty had been too busy licking the tip of his nose to really notice what the tattoo was.

She didn’t let go of Garrett’s hand until they were around the corner onto Grand Avenue. There, away from the crowd, she was forced to release him and stroll casually. She was aroused by his long-legged, loping gait. His long arms swung easily at his thighs, and he cast her many devilish, playful glances. From his beautifully rich drawl she reckoned he was from the South.

Liberty said, “I’ll show you where Taggart was last known to live. Irene pointed out the house to me. Perhaps he left behind some indication of where he went.”

“I thank you very kindly,” Garrett said in his beautiful, resonant voice. “It’s suddenly become a very important undertaking for me, to find either one of these gents.”

“I’m very sorry about your wife,” Liberty said experimentally. Some people didn’t want to discuss dead spouses. Yet others looked for the chance to pour out their hearts.

Garrett said, “Yes, she was a good woman. She died during the recent War Between the States. So you can see why I’m very anxious to get her wedding ring back from that shit—I mean, that bad egg.”

Liberty laughed and wished she could take his hand again. She was becoming so fast, so loose! It had all started with the tattooed man, and she had been glad every night that she had brought her woman’s toy with her from Hyde Park. Every night she had been lost in such a whirlwind of lust for that man, she had plunged the long, fat implement into her pussy, imagining it was her secret lover’s penis. She writhed on her back on her mattress, imagining she was splayed out for his eyes only, trying to muffle her sighs from the household’s ears. She licked her fingers and pinched her nipples, pretending her lover nibbled and bit them.

That explained it. That was why she was now having carnal ideas about Garrett. Her female hysteria had been leading her down dark avenues. She had been playing with her toy too much. Its use had only toned her muscles and increased the blood flow to her vagina. As a result, she now craved more. She must remember to put that gadget back into its box and slide it far under her bed. Otherwise, she might get so carried away and finally reach that “hysterical paroxysm” she’d heard about. Women had discussed it openly at the Women’s Rights Convention in New York, but none had seemed to have ever actually
obtained
that feared paroxysm. It seemed to involve a complete mental annihilation of a woman’s soul—that, or something so ecstatic one might die.

One would have to be a tomfool blockhead not to notice that this elegant man who loped so easily next to her was not a thoroughbred of the highest order. He may have been a half-breed, one could tell a mile away from his lovely café au lait skin, but his exquisite bones were put together beautifully, like a sculpture of a Nubian god.

“Don’t feel bad about cussing,” Liberty said now. “I’d cuss, too, in your shoes. Here’s the house.”

It was just a small affair, a two-room hastily built house. Someone had gone to the effort to add a covered porch that wrapped around three outer walls, and there looked to be a well connected to the new city water system, but it was nothing fancy.

“Should we bother knocking?” Garrett wondered. “Someone might be squatting in there.”

Garrett knocked, but as expected, no rustling came from inside. He opened the unlocked door.

The house was almost completely empty. There was never much garbage in the Far West—settlers found a use for everything. A table contained nothing but some steer bones, an empty bottle of pepper sauce, and a few scattered corncobs. The next room boasted an empty wardrobe and a bedstead with no mattress.

“At least the windows have glass,” Liberty noted.

Disappointed, they went onto the back porch and stared at the well. A shovel stood propped against the well, and Garrett had the idea to look into the well, but he saw nothing but water.

He grinned at Liberty in that mischievous way. “Was hoping to find Taggart’s body in there.”

Liberty perched on the edge of the well. “Can’t say as I blame you, Garrett.” She had already stopped calling him “Private O’Rourke.”

He put his hands on his lean hips, and Liberty saw he was equipped with a pair of Colt Army revolvers. “They’re bad men, Miss Libby. Taggart’s associate, Shady Barnhart, was the Indian agent out at the fort. I used to help him, because I’m familiar with the Lakota language and he never bothered learning.”

Liberty smiled. “He sounds like a regular shit.”

Garrett grinned warmly. “Well, a few days ago the new agent came to the fort and found out that Shady made off with all of the Indians’ supplies. So this new agent is my partner now in tracking down these shit sacks.”

Liberty stood, jamming her hands onto her hips, too. “This Shady bastard stole all the Indians’ supplies? No wonder there are so many damned little Indian nippers wandering around town literally sobbing with starvation! I’ve heard stories, too, about settlers just up and taking land that was supposed to be for Indians.”

Garrett’s Nubian face took on the appropriate look of empathy. “That’s part of why we’re after Shady, miss. Seems he’s also sold off all the land he was supposed to give the Sioux.”

Liberty walked in little circles fuming, she was so angry at these bastards. She instantly saw why Garrett felt compassion for the Indians. He had obviously once been a downtrodden slave, too, loathed by upstanding white society, and his lot had not much improved since the War and coming West. “How I detest people like that, Garrett! Part of what I wanted to do by coming to the Dakota Territory was to help, to organize. Son of a gun, I know that soon women will have the vote! And then we’ll see what’s what—women would never vote for anyone who would condone such outright thievery!”

“Bully for you, miss!” Garrett’s waving fist urged her in her tirade.

“Do you know that I bought a pair of men’s trousers yesterday at Freund and Brothers? By God, I’m going to wear them, too! I don’t care what all these stuck-up Mrs. Grundys think. That’s one of the reasons I came West—I knew there’d be more freedom, more liberties, things would be more relaxed. There would be more ground to pioneer!”

Liberty knew she was making a scene like all possessed, but it felt good, and Garrett was encouraging her. “I know I’m not going to make a difference by serving chile at the Cactus Club, so I had an idea to start a school. A school, Garrett! Laramie City’s first school. With all these people coming to town, there are enough children to start a school.”

“That’s a bully idea, miss! This new agent friend of mine could even help—would you be accepting Indian children in the school?”

“I hadn’t thought about that yet,” Liberty admitted. “Maybe just the ones who already know English, at first.”

“Wait!”

Liberty was stunned when Garrett grabbed her upper arms, his beautifully fringed eyes aglow with excitement. He turned her around so that she faced the meager building, his face heavy with importance.

It took her a few seconds to understand what he was getting at. When she did, she slowly lifted a hand to cover her open mouth.

Taggart’s old house
. Her new school!

She grabbed ahold of Garrett’s upper arms, too, and they jumped around in circles. “Garrett! You’re a genius! I’ll figure out who owns the house—I’m sure we can buy it for thirty dollars—and then I’ll just have to find furniture and school supplies. Books, and—”

Garrett tried to still her. “I can help. I’ve built many a table and chair in my time. We’ll just need to find lumber.”

Liberty carried on. “Someone to paint it—oh, how about a nice red? I can’t have an unpainted school.”

She was so abuzz with excitement she didn’t notice that it was Garrett’s turn to open his mouth, dumbfounded. He released her, stood erect, and took slow steps toward her new school.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Someone told me to check the roof,” it sounded as though he mumbled.

Liberty asked, “I thought you didn’t know where this place was?”

Ignoring her, Garrett circled two sides of the building, scanning the roof. Liberty followed, more interested in the remodeling that would be required to bring the building up to par. Her father could supply the lumber for the desks and chairs Garrett offered to build. What a dear, offering to help her, when they’d only just met!

She turned to go back inside the back door and visualize the new school afresh. But Garrett caught her by the arm. He was pointing at the roof.

“There,” he said in a new, mystical voice. “See that thing sticking out from underneath the overhang?”

“Yes,” Liberty said vaguely. It seemed important to Garrett, though, so she looked again. An implement that resembled a fireplace poker had been jammed into a gap, and now her curiosity was piqued. “How do we get it down?” It was about two feet too high for Garrett to reach even on his tiptoes, and there were no chairs in the house. “We could go drag that table out here, and—”