Merline Lovelace (5 page)

Victoria wolfed down the treat, yet still managed to admonish her guest between greedy gulps. “You must be careful with the sugar. Even with the extra rations Major Garrett sent over for you and Suzanne, we have barely enough to get by.”

Julia froze with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “Major Garrett sent over extra rations?”

“Of course. You don’t think William and I could feed you and your daughter from our pitiful store, do you?

“No,” she replied in a suffocated voice, laying her spoon aside with exaggerated care. “Of course not.”

“Does that disturb you? Why should it? Everyone on post knows of your past… How shall I say it? Your past connection to the major. It’s only fitting that your keep come out of his pocket.”

“Is it?”

Dismissing the matter with a lift of her thin shoulders, Victoria eyed Julia’s bowl avidly. “If you’re not going to eat the rest of your custard, may I have it?”

“What?”

“Your custard? May I have it?” The all-too-familiar whine crept back into her voice. “I need to keep up my strength for nursing.”

Wordlessly, Julia shoved the crockery bowl across the wooden tabletop.

She felt mortified beyond belief. And so very, very stupid. How naive of her to think that cooking and cleaning and caring for Victoria McKinney’s baby
would constitute fair exchange for a straw-filled mattress and the little she and Suzanne ate.

The idea of being dependent on Andrew Garrett’s largess shredded the last remnants of her pride. The realization that everyone on the post apparently knew of it only added to the humiliation.

Even Mary Donovan, she discovered when the sergeant major’s wife came by just after the buglers sounded evening assembly. Julia had brought one of the chairs out to the porch, as much to escape Victoria’s petulance as to catch the hot breeze blowing down from the bluffs. Suzanne remained inside, rocking the baby she found as fascinating as her doll.

Mary huffed up the walk, her hair a blaze of orange in the last rays of the sun. A smile creased her face when she caught sight of Julia.

“Good evening to you, missus.”

“Good evening.”

The steps creaked as she joined Julia on the covered porch. “Ye’re lookin’ a bit peaked,” she commented, leaning a hip against the wraparound railing. “Has the lootenant’s leddy been treatin’ you to a bit o’her melancholies?”

Victoria had treated Julia to more than just
a bit
of her melancholies. She was close to driving her mad with all her complaints. Unlike her hostess, however, Julia chose not to burden others with her problems.

“It’s the heat,” she said with a lift of one shoulder. “It’s so draining.”

“And don’t I know it! It’s a relief to get away from those washtubs, that I can tell you.”

Although Julia guessed that Mary had changed before coming to call, sweat still sheened her ruddy face and left damp splotches on her dress. Hesitant to intrude in another’s private affairs, she nevertheless couldn’t help venturing a comment.

“Your husband’s a sergeant major. Surely you don’t have to bend over pots all day?”

“Oh, dearie, I don’t
have
to. I want to. Sean’s me third husband, don’t y’know?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“It’s a rough life out here, and that’s the truth. I lost two husbands in seven years. Before I married Sean, I fought tooth ’n’nail to get me name put on the rolls.”

“What rolls?”

“Army rolls.”

“You’re part of the Army?”

“That I am,” Mary answered proudly. “Each company’s allowed one laundress for every nineteen and a half men. Don’t be askin’ me where the half came from, now!”

Her hearty chuckles drew a smile from Julia.

“The Army pays us well,” the laundress continued. “’Tis a dollar a month we draw for each trooper we wash for, four dollars from each officer. In addition, we get rations and the attentions o’the surgeon when we need him. Our own quarters, too, down t’Suds Row beside the river.”

How odd, Julia thought. And how ironic! Victoria McKinney and most of the other officers’ wives came from backgrounds of wealth and privilege, but held no status except that derived from their husbands. Yet Mary Donovan and her fellow laundresses, uneducated immigrants for the most part, were evidently considered an intrinsic part of the army establishment.

“I earn a bit more at the hospital,” Mary confided, “washin’ the bodies o’the sick and layin’ out the dead. Some o’the girls pick up another dollar or two more maiding for the officers’ leddies, but that’s not my cup o’tea.”

Flicking a look at the open windows behind them, she lowered her voice.

“There’s some of the girls as earn a bit o’cash on their backs. It’s not what I like to see, mind you, but a woman does what she must to survive.”

“Yes, she does.”

The flat reply took Mary aback. Her shrewd blue eyes turned thoughtful.

“You don’t need to be worryin’ yourself into a fret now, do you now? The major will see to yer needs while you’re at Fort Laramie.”

Julia’s mouth clamped shut. Much as she longed to tell Mary and everyone else on this windswept post that she would rather starve than allow the major to “see to her needs,” she must think of Suzanne. Thankfully, a long, piercing bugle call distracted her from her lowering thoughts and drew the women’s
attention to the flagpole at the edge of the parade ground.

“First call for retreat,” Mary commented in delight. “Now you’ll be seein’ something proud. Major Garrett and the boyos from Company C are back from patrol.”

“I didn’t know they were gone.”

“Three days now.”

So that’s why Julia hadn’t seen Andrew about the post. Not that she’d been watching for him among the officers who assembled with the men for guard mount and retreat each day. He’d simply been conspicuous by his absence.

She couldn’t miss him tonight, however. He rode at the head of a column of troops, back erect, seat easy on a massive chestnut charger. The last, slanting rays of the sun glinted on the sword hanging from his saddle and melted the gold piping on his uniform to shimmering gilt. A blue campaign hat shaded his eyes.

She was forced to admit that he and his men made a stirring sight. Bridles jingling, hooves raising puffs of dust on the earthen parade ground, they trotted four abreast until the platoon was centered on the flagpole. At a sharp command, the squad executed a right turn, then sat at attention in their saddles until the bugles rang out again. A few moments later, Colonel Cavanaugh and his officer of the day strode from the headquarters building to the parade ground and a long, stenorous command rolled across the field.

“Pre-sennnt arms!”

The air rang with the hiss of steel on steel as a hundred sabers came free of their scabbards.

The bugles sounded once more, signaling the lowering of the flag. Mary lumbered to her feet. Julia rose more slowly. The war was too recent and the scars still too deep to render courtesies to the Stars and Stripes without an inner wince.

She watched the flag come down, thinking of all the blood that had been spilled during the long years of war and all the lives that had been shattered, her own included. Looking back, she could barely remember the girl who’d danced and flirted and lost her head and her heart to a man who’d betrayed both.

She wanted to hate him. Seeing him tall and square-shouldered in the saddle, she tried to summon the fury that had ripped through her when he’d pinned her to the stairs in Maria Schnell’s house. The hate tasted like ashes in her mouth. The fury wouldn’t flame as hot and fast as it had three days ago.

Enough remained, however, to stiffen her back when the troop dispersed and the major turned his mount in the direction of the McKinney house.

Mary noted his approach, as well. Her gaze shifted to the woman beside her. She hesitated, then spoke her mind with the directness Julia had come to expect from her.

“He’s a good man, don’t y’know? M’husband says he’ll go bail for his troopers, and that’s the highest praise any officer can earn from Sean Donovan.”

Julia folded her lips and said nothing. With another glance her way, Mary took her leave.

Andrew tipped his hat to her, then dismounted. He looped the reins over the hitching post in front of the house and walked up the boards. His uneven gait sent a little stab into Julia’s chest. They’d hurt each other cruelly, she and Andrew.

He stopped a few paces away, his eyes shadowed under the brim of his hat. She couldn’t help comparing him to the man she’d known in New Orleans. This Andrew’s face was so lean, his mouth unsmiling. Despite herself, despite every intention to keep those long-ago days from creeping back into her mind, she remembered his rakish grin, remembered, too, the kisses those lips had pressed on hers. And his hands, his skilled hands…

Heat shot into Julia’s belly, so swift and hot she almost gasped. Shocked by its intensity, she hid her clenched fists in the folds of her skirt. She’d lusted for this man once, with all the passion of a young and headstrong girl. She’d cut out her heart and broil it over an open flame before she let herself feel the slightest tenderness for him again!

Some of her revulsion must have shown in her face. The major greeted her with a curt nod.

“I just came by to tell you the reinforcements we sent to Fort Smith arrived safely. Your letter will go out with the next outfit that comes through heading for Adler’s Gulch.”

Julia tipped her head. “Thank you.”

He hesitated, obviously no more willing than she to prolong the conversation.

“Are you and Mrs. McKinney getting on all right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No.”

Andrew bit back an oath. Her clipped responses irritated him every bit as much as her forbidding expression. Obviously, she still regarded him as something that had slithered out from under a rock.

Why did he care what she thought of him or how she fared, dammit? He owed this woman nothing. The mistaken passion they’d once felt for each other had burned out long ago. And, as she’d so acidly informed him the day of her arrival, their brief marriage had been wiped from the books. She was another man’s wife now. Another man’s responsibility.

So why had the blasted female crept into his thoughts during the long march these past few days? Why had tantalizing images of her ripe lips, slender waist and high, firm breasts danced on his closed lids when he’d bedded down at night? And why in thunderation did he ache to climb the steps, haul her into his arms and kiss that look of haughty disdain from her face?

Thoroughly disgusted with himself and the aching bulge behind the flap of his trousers, Andrew tipped two fingers to his hat brim and strode back to his mount.

Best to stay away from her, he decided savagely. Keep his distance. As he’d learned to his profound regret, Julia could destroy a man’s peace with one flash of her violet eyes.

A talent, he discovered less than a week later, she’d more than perfected in the years since New Orleans.

“B
ut you must come!”

Victoria McKinney’s plaintiff whine grated on Julia’s nerves like fingernails scraped across a washboard.

“It’s Company A’s annual hop. All the officers’ ladies are expected to attend.”

“I’m not an officers’ lady.”

“But I am. William says I must keep up appearances, and I do
so
need a bit of fun. If you don’t come,” Victoria sniffled, “who will mind the baby while I dance?”

“I’m sure Maria Schnell will be there. Mary Donovan, too. One of them would be happy to mind him.”

The peevish look Julia had come to recognize all too well settled on the younger woman’s face.

“I should think you’d show a little more gratitude. After all, I did open my home to you, despite your peculiar circumstances. I’m sure my mama and papa
would be shocked to know a woman who’s married to two men is living under my roof.”

Thankful that she’d sent Suzanne outside to play, Julia lowered the baby dress she was hemming and counted to ten before answering.

“I’ve told you several times, Victoria, my marriage to Major Garrett was set aside by the church. I have only one husband.”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t care how many you’ve had,” her hostess returned irritably. “But I do think it’s odd that you put one husband aside, only to lose the other.”

“I haven’t lost Philip. He’s in Montana Territory.”

“How do you know?” Spitefully, she preyed on Julia’s own, secret fears. “The last letter you received from him is over a year old. Anything could have happened to him in a year.”

Heartily wishing she’d never shared that particular confidence, Julia tossed the baby dress on the wood crate that served as their table. She had to get out of Victoria McKinney’s house, if only for a few hours, or she would scream.

“All right, I’ll accompany you to…what did you call it? The hop?”

“That’s what the troopers call it,” her hostess said, brightening like an oil lamp just lit. “Probably because they jump around so energetically. You don’t have to dance with all of them, you know. Some are so dreadfully coarse. But one of the privates in Com
pany A used to be a dance master in the court of King Leopold of Belgium, if you can believe it.”

Julia could certainly believe it. In the short time she’d spent on post, she’d discovered that more than half of the troopers had been recruited just weeks or months after stepping off the boat from Europe. They came from all walks of life—hatters, blacksmiths, farmers and dancing instructors. Some had previous military experience and found a familiar home in the Army of their adopted country. Others had been driven to the recruiters by the lack of jobs and severe economic depression that had followed the War Between the States.

“Private Lowenstahl waltzes divinely,” Victoria gushed, happy as a meadowlark now that she’d got her way. “You must let him, at least, have a dance.”

Private Lowenstahl did more than waltz divinely, Julia discovered that evening. He could guide a woman around the pine plank floor in a polka, a german, or a two-step with sublime grace. Tall and slender and tanned by the sun, with blond mustaches that drooped splendidly, he’d joined the regiment only six months ago and was already something of a legend.

Mindful of her appointed duty as baby-tender, Julia hung back. She’d left Suzanne tucked in with the children of the captain who lived next door, but Victoria’s baby would need feeding. He’d been carried in a wicker basket to the long, single-story barracks across
the parade ground from the officers’ quarters and now watched the proceeding with wide eyes.

Company A had done itself proud. The double-tiered wooden bunks had been pushed out of the way to form an empty space in the center of the barracks. A trestle table held lemonade for the ladies. The refreshing drink was chilled by the ice that had been cut from the river in winter and stored in straw in the icehouse for just such occasions as this. Evidently the men had pooled their resources and raided the sutler’s store for tins of oysters, pickled pigs’ feet and jellies.

Volunteer musicians playing the banjo, harmonica and violin augmented the company drummer and bugler. The makeshift orchestra pumped surprisingly melodious tunes into the air. If a distinct odor of earth, old leather and sweat permeated the barracks, no one seemed to take the least heed of it.

As Julia had discovered, a strict caste system regulated social life on army posts, just as it did civilian society. The officers and their ladies congregated at one end of the room. The enlisted men and their wives, the single laundresses and maids kept to the other. Given the paucity of women on the frontier, however, the lines blurred whenever the band struck up. Single troopers didn’t hesitate to ask the officers’ permission to partner their ladies in a dance.

Private Lowenstahl singled Julia out soon after her arrival. She declined his invitation to dance at first, but Maria Schnell took the baby’s basket from her hands and shooed her out onto the floor with instruc
tions to enjoy herself. Self-consciously, Julia placed her hand on the private’s arm and let him lead her to the center of the room. They waited with several other couples for the first strains of the waltz. She hadn’t danced in years, couldn’t remember the last time Philip had taken her in his arms for a whirl about the floor. She’d so enjoyed it as a girl….

Her throat closing, she let her gaze drift to the officer standing beside the sergeant major of Company A. Both men wore their dress uniforms, the collars high and tight around their necks and the front facings piped with gold.

For a moment, the mud-chinked wooden walls and oil lamps hanging from the rafters faded from Julia’s view. She could almost see the brilliance of crystal chandeliers, jewel-toned silks, pots of lush flowers. Could see, too, Andrew Garrett’s lazy smile as he caught her eye across the ballroom floor.

He hadn’t worn a uniform that night, Julia remembered. His shoulders had strained the seams of a cut-away frock coat. A snowy white cravat had circled his throat. She’d snapped open her fan and hidden her smile behind its lace and ivory ribs. Her girlish confidence had told her the handsome stranger would make his way to her side before the evening was out.

And he had, damn him.

He showed no such inclination to dance with her tonight. He met Julia’s glance for the space of a heartbeat, then deliberately looked away. The slight stung. Quickly, she shrugged the little prickle of hurt aside.
She didn’t want his attention any more than he wanted hers.

If the smile she subsequently turned on Private Lowenstahl was overly brilliant, she wasn’t aware of it. He certainly was, however. Murmuring polite, effusive compliments, he swept her into the waltz.

It wasn’t long before others in the room took note of the trooper’s fascination with his partner. Slowly, the rest of the dancers cleared the floor. The entire room watched as Lowenstahl dipped and swirled Julia around the room with an artistry they’d never seen before.

“Just look at that!” a petulant voice behind Andrew complained. “I told her she should give him a waltz, but I didn’t think she would make a spectacle of herself. The woman’s as bold and brassy as you please.”

Andrew didn’t have to turn around to identify the source of the spite. Why William McKinney, who had all the makings of a fine officer, had married such a shrew baffled most of the men on post, his company commander included. Then again, Andrew thought grimly, Julia could tempt a saint to spiteful jealousy.

Or sin.

His own stomach had knotted the moment she’d walked through the barracks’ door, and he certainly made no claims to sainthood.

Just look at her. Didn’t the woman have enough sense not to deck herself in lavender silk trimmed with black lace? Or wear a gown with a bodice cut
low enough to show the curves of her breasts? Half the troopers in the room were staring avidly at that swell of creamy flesh, the other half at the bustle that swayed so provocatively with each swirl.

Disgust, anger and desire all stirred in Andrew’s chest. He didn’t want to want her, dammit. Had tried to put her out of his thoughts. But by the time the music finally ended and Private Lowenstahl led a flushed, laughing Julia off the floor, Andrew’s body had hardened and his collar felt so tight it threatened to choke him.

After that, officers and troopers lined up ten deep to dance with her. To give her credit, she tried to refuse gracefully after the third or fourth romp. The men’s eager enthusiasm overcame her objections. Unfortunately, it also led to a near brawl.

No strong spirits were allowed at these company hops, but so many soldiers slipped outside for a nip of the coffin varnish that passed for whiskey in these parts that the stuffy air inside soon took on a flavor of its own. Usually, Andrew and the seasoned noncommissioned officers in attendance could judge to a nicety when to call a halt to the festivities and escort the ladies home. Tonight, matters reached flash point far sooner than Andrew could have anticipated. He should have expected Julia would provide the spark that set it off.

Laughing and begging for a rest, she retreated to the sidelines to fan herself after a lively reel with Private Rafferty. Her solicitous partner tried to help
by snatching off his neckerchief and waving it energetically. In the process, he thumped the trooper waiting to claim the next dance square in the chest.

“Hey, watch yer bony elbows, man!”

“Watch ’em yerself, Hansen.”

With a hearty shove, the second trooper tried to oust Rafferty from his position. Julia’s kerchief-waving gallant refused to budge.

“Mind yer manners,” the Schnell’s brawny striker growled. “Can’t you see the leddy’s too hot and tired to dance with the likes of you?”

“She let you stomp all over her feet. A jackass would’a done less damage to her toes.”

The private’s jaw squared. The look of the Irish blazed in his eyes. “I told you t’mind yer manners, you rubber-jawed whiskey soak. Or are you wantin’ me to pound some into you with me fists?”

“Gentlemen, please.” With a placating smile, Julia intervened. “It’s too hot to dance
or
exchange words like this. Would one of you be so kind as to fetch me a cup of lemonade?”

“I’ll get it,” the newcomer said, aiming a belligerent glare at his rival. “We’ll take our turn about the floor after you’ve had a sip or two, ma’am.”

Rafferty bristled. “The hell you will.”

“Please,” Julia pleaded, “I—”

“I’m ranking you both, gentlemen.”

The deep voice behind her stilled the argument instantly.

“The next dance is mine…if the lady permits.”

“Yes, sir!” the two men chorused, retreating.

Willing the smile not to slide right off her face, Julia made a slow turn. Every eye in the room was on them, she saw, from Victoria McKinney’s pouting frown to Mary Donovan’s keen glance. She pulled her gaze from the fascinated audience to Andrew standing square-shouldered in front of her. She could not—
would not
—walk into his arms. Not again.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice as even as she could manage given the fact that she was the center of so many speculative gazes. “But I find I’m quite fatigued. I don’t care to dance any more tonight.”

“Then I’ll escort you home.”

Andrew held out his arm. Julia kept hers at her sides.

“Take my arm,” he ordered softly. “You’re leaving. I won’t have you causing a brawl.”

The unfairness of his remark raised a sting of heat in her cheeks. She came within a hair of turning on her heel and walking away. The cool, hard look in his eyes warned her not to embarrass either him or herself by such blatant rudeness.

Hiding her anger, she laid her fingers on his sleeve. Beneath the cloth, his muscles felt as hard as steel and every bit as unyielding. Head high, she allowed him to escort her out into the night.

As soon as they were outside, Julia snatched her fingers away. “You embarrass me and abuse your authority with such heavy-handed tactics, major.”

“You brought the embarrassment upon yourself.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “By dancing?”

He reined in his own temper with a visible effort. “I suggest we discuss the matter at your quarters instead of in the middle of the parade ground.”

Picking up her skirts, Julia stalked off. A full moon illuminated the way across the post to Officers’ Row. The sentries’ call as they marched their watch formed a counterpoint to the music floating on the night air.

Andrew matched his stride to hers. With every step, his charged mix of anger, disgust and desire multiplied. Just the sight of the damp tendrils that curled on the back of her neck stirred a lust that irritated him intensely. When his gaze shifted to the breasts rising and falling beneath the black lace, his muscles knotted even more. Swearing under his breath, he fought the memories that pulled at him like hot pincers.

Despite his determined effort, the vivid images filled his head. Julia laughing up at him from behind her fan. Julia whirling around a ballroom in his arms. Julia damp and flushed and panting the night they’d consummated their hurried, secret marriage.

His groin tightened as the memories of that night rose up to taunt him. He tried not to think of how she’d sprawled across the bed at his hotel. How he’d peeled away her underclothing slowly, feasting his eyes on the luscious flesh beneath. How she’d soon overcome her initial shyness and writhed slick and hot on the tangled sheets.

He’d forced himself to hold back, to prime her with his mouth and hands and a hard, rocking knee until
she gushed wet and ready. Only then had Andrew parted her thighs and penetrated her virgin’s shield with a single thrust.

She’d cried out in surprise, he remembered, sweating now beneath his uniform jacket. She’d tried to wiggle away. But he’d held her and kissed her and slipped into the rhythm that, far sooner than either of them expected, ripped another cry from her throat.

Andrew had never bedded a woman like Julia, before or since. The thought of another man, another husband, plunging into her hot, silken depths had him reaching up to hook a finger in his collar. Viciously, he tugged at the blasted thing. He couldn’t breathe without drawing in her musky scent. Couldn’t see for the image of her sleek, slick body under his.