Moon Racer (21 page)

She shook her head, wanting to let him know that
she did not expect anything more between them. "No.
We can never be together again, Jonah. As I told you
last night, this is my gift to you... and to myself."

He-brought her to him, dipped his head, and
kissed her softly.

She slipped out of his arms and went out the door
and down the hall to her own bedroom.

For a long time after she had gone, Jonah stared
out the window, absorbing what he had done to
Abby. He had always taken pride in his own selfrestraint; he had never visited the prostitutes who
lured other officers to their beds. He had even tried
to keep Abby at a safe distance when he first began
to want her. Yet he had taken Abby's virginity as if
he had a right to it. He had lost control because of
his own selfish need for her.

She had given him the greatest gift a woman
could give a man. He knew the power of her gift
would stay with him for the rest of his life. After
their perfect union, he could not imagine ever
finding the same joy with any other woman.

He braced his arm on the windowsill and leaned his
head against it, troubled. He hadn't felt it at the time,
but now he was disturbed by the way she had told him
good-bye-it was as if she had closed herself off from
him. What if there should be a child?

He quickly scribbled a note to her, and before he
left, pushed it under her bedroom door.

Frances came out the back door and watched Abby
hang sheets on the line with a bemused expression
on her face. "You were certainly up early this
morning, and doing my work, at that. You know
I'da changed the bedding today and done the
washing tomorrow."

Abby picked up the straw basket and walked
toward the back door. "I wanted to keep busy
today."

Frances noticed that Abby's eyes were red from
crying. "You didn't even come out front to tell the
major good-bye."

Abby paused with her hand on the screen door.
She had done the washing so she could remove all
traces of her lovemaking with Jonah. "I said goodbye to him in my own way."

The note Jonah had slid beneath her door had been read and then torn to shreds. It had said simply, Will
you marry me?

Nothing could have made her feel worse.

She hated to think he felt compelled to offer her
marriage after what had happened between them.
Her answer was no now, and it would be the same
if he ever posed the question to her in person.

By afternoon Abby began training the mare. As she
had expected, the horse took easily to the
sidesaddle. With each new phase of training, a
deeper pain touched her heart.

With less than a week's training, Abby concluded
that even the most inexperienced rider would be
able to ride the gentle mare. She would even be a
good mount for a child.

She had just led the mare into a stall and shot the
bolt when Quince came striding toward her.

"Is anyone using the buckboard next Friday?" he
asked.

"Not that I know of. Why?"

"Jonah had asked me before he left if I'd meet his
father and Patricia Van Dere if he hadn't returned
by the time they arrived. From what I hear about the
battles that have been going on with Victorio, he
certainly won't be back in time."

Her heart stopped beating, and she leaned her
back against the stall. "Do you think he'll be all
right?"

"I hope so. We won't know about the casualties
until it's all over."

Abby now knew what it felt like for a woman to
send the man she loved into war. She was terrified
something would happen to Jonah. She paced
toward the front of the barn and back again. There
was nothing she could do-she felt so helpless.

She had to hide her distress from her brother.
"Will General Tremain and Miss Van Dere be
staying at Fort Fannin?"

"Jonah had made arrangements for them at the
hotel in Diablo, but I thought it might be nice if we
offered to let them stay here."

Abby adamantly disliked the thought of facing
the woman Jonah was to marry. "Why would you
think such a thing?"

"The house is large enough to accommodate
them."

"But-"

"Abby, Jonah is my friend."

"I know that."

"I plan to offer them our hospitality. Will you go
with me to meet them?"

"No." She walked toward the house and said to
him over her shoulder, "You want them here, you
bring them."

"Abby, it's not like you to be so snippy. What's
gotten into you lately? Brent has even commented
on your strange moods."

She stopped and turned back to him. It was one
of the few times she had been angry with Quince.
"There's nothing wrong with me. I just want
everyone to leave me alone."

Abby rode out early Friday morning and stayed away
from the house as long as she could. She had ridden to
the cabin to see Brent and visited with Crystal.

Later Curly found her helping Brent brand
several horses and informed her that the stolen
mustangs had been returned. She rode out with
Brent to see them safely pastured near the ranch
house.

It was almost dark when she dismounted at the
stable, and she was sore and tired. She was looking
forward to a warm bath to soothe her aching
muscles.

"Senorita Abby, the patron has been asking for
you to return."

She unsaddled Sassy and tossed the saddle over
the fence. "What did my father want?"

"He did not say to me what he wanted."

"Have the guests arrived?"

"Oh, si. There is this man so grand, and this nice,
pretty senorita who is with him."

Abby slapped her hat against her trousers and
dust flew. "Feed the pinto and give her a good
rubdown for me, will you, Christmas?"

"Si. I will be glad to do these things for you,"
Navidad said. In his voice was sympathy for her
obvious distress.

With a heavy heart Abby walked toward the
house. As she drew near she saw the woman
standing on the porch; there was no way to avoid
her. She would rather have met Patricia Van Dere
after she had bathed, but that was not to be.

Reluctantly she moved up the steps to face the
woman she most dreaded meeting. Patricia Van Dere
was more than Abby had expected. Her blond hair
was swept to the top of her head in a sophisticated
style. The brown traveling gown she wore was elegant
and understated, a look that only the elite of society
could accomplish. And, worse still, she was beautiful.

Patricia smiled and reached out her hand to
Abby. "You must be Quince's sister. I have been
wanting to meet you. Jonah has written me so much
about your family."

Abby had not expected the woman to be nervous,
but she felt her hand trembling. "I have heard about
you as well, Miss Van Dere."

"My name is Patricia, and I hope you will allow
me to call you Abby. I feel like I already know you."

"Of course, if you like."

"This," she said, spreading her arms wide to
indicate the countryside, "is a bit overpowering and
frightening for me."

"You'll have to get used to it, since you are going
to be an officer's wife."

Even now, standing before the woman Jonah
was to marry, Abby longed for his touch. The
nights were the worst, because she had too much
time to think about him. Then she would
imagine him being wounded or killed, and it was
torment of the worst kind.

Patricia was suddenly staring at her in an odd
way, as if she were shocked. Abby realized it was
her apparel that had caught Patricia's attention. She
had expected nothing less.

"I have never seen a woman wearing trousers
before."

"Hmm," Abby said crisply. "I would've of bet
my life on that."

Patricia walked around Abby, looking her over
carefully. "We are very near the same size. I would
like to try on a pair of your trousers."

Now it was Abby's turn to be shocked. "I don't
think the major would like it," she said.

Patricia's face fell, and she agreed with a nod.
"You are probably right."

Abby frowned, wanting to hate the woman, but
finding it difficult. There was something sweet and
unassuming about her.

"Your life must seem so useful here. But the
country is so vast. I have always been a little
intimidated at the thought of the West. We hear
such horror stories about gunmen and robbers."

"Well, Miss Van Dere, you heard right. We are a
bit uncivilized out here. It will probably take years
before we catch up with you in the North."

The Philadelphian seemed upset. "I only meant
that..." She lowered her lashes. "I have failed
miserably with you, haven't I? And I so wanted you
to like me."

Abby was taken aback because Patricia seemed
genuinely upset. She would have felt better if the
woman were spoiled and selfish; then she could
hate her without guilt.

"If you will excuse me, I'm dusty. I will see you
at supper."

"Yes, of course."

Abby turned to Patricia with the screen door
halfway open. "Which room have they put you in?"

"I'm told by your housekeeper that I am using
your brother Quince's room."

Abby was relieved. She would not have wanted
Patricia to stay in the room where Jonah had made
love to her.

When she entered the house, Abby stopped at the
door of the parlor, where cigar smoke wove its way
to her. She heard her father's voice, warm and
friendly. "General, if you are of a mind to, I'll give
you a tour of the ranch tomorrow."

"I'd like that, Mr. Hunter," came a clipped
Northern voice.

Jack caught a glimpse of his daughter and took
her hand, leading her into the room. "General, this
is my only daughter. Abby, meet General Daniel
Tremain."

Abby nodded at Jonah's father and said politely,
"Sir, it's a pleasure."

GeneralTremain had a scowl of disapproval on
his face when he looked at her trousers. But his
attitude did not bother Abby-she had seen that
look before in his son's eyes.

"Miss Hunter, I was just telling your father that
Patricia and I are grateful for your hospitality." His
frown deepened. "However, I had expected my son
to meet us."

If Abby had drawn a picture in her mind of Jonah's
father, this man wasn't far from what she would have
imagined. He was trim in appearance and had an autocratic air about him. His eyes were much the
color of Jonah's, but there the resemblance ended.
Jonah was several inches taller than his father. Since
he was a retired general, he no longer wore a uniform
but a charcoal-gray suit. General Tremain might
seem to be friendly with her father, but he had not
earned the rank of general without knowing how to
fit in with other people. There was an astuteness in
those observing eyes, and he would definitely be
more at home in a lavish sitting room in Philadelphia
than in the small parlor of a ranch house in Texas.

"If you will both excuse me, I need to wash
before supper," she told them, happy to make her
escape.

How would she get through the days ahead when
she would be thrown into the company of that pair?

Jonah had ordered a cold camp, since the Apache
could spot a campfire from miles away. He lay on his
bedroll listening to the sounds of night all around him.
A coyote howled in the distance, and an owl made its
presence known by hooting in a nearby mesquite tree
while locusts chirped their age-old night song.

He was bone-weary, but his mind was clear and
focused. It was thoughts of Abby that robbed him of
sleep rather than worry about another skirmish with
Victorio, which was sure to come in the days ahead.

He watched the night sky as a cloud moved over
the moon and cast the countryside into darkness. He
closed his eyes, remembering the passion that had
filled him when Abby had surrendered to him. He
ached inside, wanting to recapture and hold on to that feeling. Without her, he would spend the rest of
his life in desolation, empty inside, a man without
his heart.

He heard the restless stirring of the horses. He
had ordered each trooper to keep his own mount
close at hand. An Apache was capable of sneaking
into a camp and driving off a herd without
disturbing anyone until it was too late. He thought
briefly about the battle they had already fought, and
the one that lay ahead of them.

His troop had joined Col. Ben Grierson's Tenth
Cavalry and Company C and Company G in a
skirmish with the Mescalero Apache at Tinaja de
las Palmas. They had suffered only a few casualties
and had managed to drive Victorio back across the
border into Mexico.

Jonah hadn't expected Victorio to remain on the
Mexican side of the border, so his troops had been
patrolling the area for a week. Today they had
received word from the Mexican government that
the Apache chief was heading back to Texas. All
the water holes and springs near the border were
now fortified with troops-all except one:
Rattlesnake Springs.