The Major's Daughter

by Regina Jennings

  “You’re trespassing,” she said. She didn’t even bother tugging the hem of her skirt out of her waistband before she crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought about apologizing for my appearance, but you’re the one at fault.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize for your appearance,” Frisco blurted. He tried to swallow, but the knot in his throat seemed lodged. He should leave. He should save her the embarrassment, but Caroline didn’t seem embarrassed. Here in the dirt and water, she seemed more confident than ever. “Were you born here?” he asked.

  Her laugh rang to the leafy branches over them. “What a question. No, we didn’t move here until I’d lost my mother.” She took a wet skirt off the line and wrung it out. “How about you?”

  The ground immediately drank up the puddle from the twisted cloth. “I don’t know. It’s possible. People have speculated that I’m swarthier than a lot of the foundlings.”

  “If you belonged to one of the tribes, they would’ve kept you,” Caroline said. “Where does your story start? Or at least the part you know.”

  Maybe he was still enthralled, and that was why he told her. “I was found on a train.”

  “A Frisco train?”

  “No. I was found in October on Saint Francis’s feast day. The Spanish sister called me Francisco. As you can imagine, it didn’t take long for that to be shortened.”

  She smiled. “I like Frisco better.”

  “On that we agree.” Finally he could breathe again. He squinted into the sun while she pinned the skirt to the line. “I owe you an apology. I needed to meet with those men, and the meeting was best conducted out of view of anyone in town. Naturally I felt safe bringing them here, but I didn’t mean to interrupt you. If you have more washing to do, don’t mind me.”

  He wasn’t offering to leave, exactly. After the disturbing claims the men had made, Frisco wasn’t in a hurry to go back to the lion’s den. If she’d allow him to stay . . .

  She wiggled her toes, then walked to the water, calling over her shoulder, “Sounds like you’re involved in something threatening. Are those men dangerous?”

  He leaned against a tree as she bent to scrub her feet in the water. The front of her skirt dipped, getting wet. “Those men aren’t, but they could drag me into a sticky situation regardless.”

  Her hands glistened in the water. She stepped out onto a grassy spot, then pulled a towel off the line and dried her feet. What was this spell he’d fallen under? He’d always longed for this place, but now he wasn’t sure which drew him more, the land or the lady.

  “Can I trust you?” he asked, but he knew the answer before she replied.

  With a tug she released her skirt so it again covered her legs. “You can trust me, Frisco. I imagine I couldn’t hurt you any worse than I have already.”

  He had once trusted her with his plans, and it had cost him. But here on the land she’d stolen from him, she was the closest thing to a confidante available.

  “Those men want me to represent them in court. They feel certain that the settling of Plainview was done illegally. They’re accusing some of the leaders of cheating at the race.”

  “Not the Premiers of Plainview?” She dropped her jaw in mock surprise. “Do they have any proof?”

  “No more than anyone has in these cases. Just a sense of how long it’d take to reach the site, how established they were by the time anyone else arrived. Those things are hard to prove in court, and by the time a judge hears this case, it’s going to be like ripping the spine out of the town.”

  “I can see why you’d want to meet them here. If you proceed, you could be the most hated man in town.”

  “I won’t proceed until I’m sure that their stories are believable. You don’t start a fight this big without knowing whether you can win it.”

  With her head tilted down, she looked up at him through thick eyelashes. “Is the winning what makes the difference?”

  “They have to convince me that it’s the truth,” he said. “The truth is everything, and if they can convince me, then there’s a good chance we can convince a judge.”

  She hummed a pleased note. “You want to stay for supper?”

  “What of my supplies are you cooking?”

  “Fish. I have a trout line set. They were biting this morning.”

  “Looks like rain. Maybe I should get back to town.” He watched her carefully. If she’d just ask again . . .

  “Are you afraid of the rain, Mr. Smith? I do know how to cook fish. It’ll be better than any sandwich you buy from a wagon.”

  “I had some high-quality cornmeal in that dugout.”

  “And I aim to make good use of it.”

  He swept his hat off his head and let it bounce against his leg. “You talked me into it. I’ll stay. And I’ll even get the fish for you.”

  “Good. Now that you mention it, these clothes would be better off drying inside. I’ll lose them for sure with the wind picking up.”

  And just like that they were splitting chores like a couple bound by law and duty might.

  She might be at odds with him, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy his company. As time passed, Caroline was pleased to find herself capable of so much more than she’d imagined. She could cook, clean, chop wood, tote water, wash, and a host of other household chores that she’d never had to do before. The novelty had yet to wear off, and she rather enjoyed keeping house for herself and being responsible for her own belongings. She was proud of her accomplishments, more hopeful that she could keep the land for herself. And even her father thought her plans for a boardinghouse held merit. The future looked possible.

  If it weren’t for the loneliness . . .

  To the east, the clear sky still glowed with evening light, but the west was growing darker, smothered by the oncoming storm. At the horizon, Caroline could see the sparks of lightning spawning from the black clouds. She tucked a damp skirt beneath her arm as she reached for the blouse. This promised to be a test of her little den. Would any of these clothes dry through the night, or were they all destined to need another washing before morning?

  Caroline had expected the work to be taxing, but what surprised her was how the solitude ate at her self-confidence. She’d never thought herself to be an overly social person. She’d prized her independence, and when frustrated with her family or friends, she’d often reminded herself that she really didn’t need them to survive. She’d been eager to test herself on this homestead, but it was hard to remember that you were building a civilization when you couldn’t see any other buildings besides your own home.

  Once inside her room, Caroline hung the clothes on the primitive footboard of her bed. If the rock walls weren’t so hard, she would’ve cut out a closet by now, but her attempts with a shovel convinced her that it would take dynamite to expand her abode.

  Caroline reached for the lamp but decided instead to stoke up the fire. The cook fire would put out light and save her kerosene for another time. Taking a bowl, she scooped a cup of cornmeal and a cup of flour into it and dashed it with salt and pepper until it tasted decent. Without eggs it wouldn’t coat as well, but by now everyone in the territory was getting used to doing without. Well-seasoned meals from a fully stocked kitchen were a distant memory for Caroline. She wondered if Frisco even had a memory like that.

  Setting the bowl aside, she picked up the poker and rolled the coals around to encourage new flames. As she squatted by the fire, she tried to imagine a little boy adrift in a series of orphanages and foundling houses. Her stepmother’s childhood had been horrific, with a drunkard mother raising her in saloons, but at least she’d had her brother, Bradley, to cling to. Together they hadn’t felt—

  The door opened behind her. Caroline stood upright and extended the poker between her and the man at the door.

  Frisco raised his hands, including the string of gutted fish, and looked at the sharp tip two inches from his chest.

  “I guess I should’ve knocked,” he said. “I had a
habit of walking into this house before you lived here.”

  Hiding her fluster, she took the fish from him and coated them in the mixture. He removed his tailored coat and hat and stowed them on the back of the door. Caroline put the fish in the iron skillet and set it in the fire. Frisco drew back against the wall to watch.

  “Wind is really kicking up,” he said. “We’re in for a doozy.”

  “Are you regretting your decision to stay?” She picked up a potholder to better arrange the skillet over the coals. “You might be better off in Plainview.”

  “Better in a tent than this underground shelter? Are you looking for my demise?”

  Caroline’s mouth curled into a smile. “I don’t want the blame if your things back in town blow away. That’s all.”

  “Well, you will get the blame, because they wouldn’t be in town if it wasn’t for you. But I might as well get a good meal out of you before I resume our conflict.”

  At the word, Caroline’s stomach flopped. She already had too many conflicts. She didn’t need another. A few pings of rain sounded on the exposed parts of the tin roof, then a deluge.

  Frisco walked the perimeter of the small room with his head tilted back, inspecting his work as she cooked. The fire, the smoke, and the moist heat coming up from the ground raised beads of sweat on her brow. Caroline unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse. If she’d had both hands free, she would have pinned her hair up, but the fish were nearly done.

  “It’s stuffy in here.” Frisco cracked the door and propped it open with a kettle.

  “If you can’t take the heat . . .” She tilted her head to steal a look at him standing in the doorway, his figure outlined by evening light.

  “I’m always jumping into one fire or another. I can’t play it safe,” he said. “Even when I know I’m likely to get burned.”

  “Maybe it’s your propensity for danger that makes you so interesting,” she said. The heavy skillet wavered.

  Frisco stepped forward and wrapped his hand around the handle, covering hers. “Careful. Let’s not drop our dinner.”

  His arm ran alongside hers. Her forearms looked like porcelain compared to the tanned skin emerging from his rolled sleeves. He took a step closer, not shying away from the contact between them. Her side pressed into him.

  The cool breeze from the door chilled her suddenly sensitive skin. He set the skillet on the coals but didn’t leave. Her breathing stilled as he lifted a handful of hair off her shoulders and held it up against the back of her head. The breeze tickled her neck where it touched her damp collar.

  “If I had enough light, I might be able to pin your hair up,” he said. “Then again, why would I want to do that?” With deliberate movements, he lowered her hair back down and smoothed it. “Caroline.” His voice was a caress, a question. “Has there ever been a world created in which I could deserve you?”

  For once her quick answers were of no use. Neither were her reminders that he was playing a game. It didn’t matter what his reasons were. For years she’d longed to hear endearments from his lips. She wouldn’t stop him now. The fire blurred before her eyes as she held her peace and enjoyed his touch.

  “Of all the things I want to tell you,” he said, “the most important is that we’re burning our fish.”

  She jerked the pan away from the fire. Frisco stepped back as she raised the skillet with both hands around the potholder and carried it to the table. Her mind was a jumble, whirling with senses, hopes, and desires. Taking a fork, she pried the blackened fish from the skillet onto the plates. Frisco lifted the table, plates and all, and set it next to the bed, then pulled up the trunk, where he sat, studying her as if he were required to pass some judgment on her. Whatever it was, she was afraid to hear it.

  Before they could eat, she heard a clamoring at the door. Bucky scrambled over the kettle they were using to prop the door open. The dripping goat cried, then hopped onto the bed next to her.

  “Why, Miss Adams, are you raising my kid?” He threw back his head and laughed at his own joke.

  Caroline moved her clean clothes out of the goat’s way. “Yes, and she’s an obnoxious pest,” she said, “much like her father.” But the little thing cuddled up against her side and shivered.

  The rain and thunder had increased, and the trees by the river swayed and bent in the wind. Frisco pinched a chunk of trout, popped it into his mouth, and hummed his approval. As the tin roof above them groaned with the hammering it was taking, they sat wordlessly and watched the pile of food disappear. She’d cooked more than enough for two, and the peppered fish had Frisco going for the bucket of water. He offered her the dipper first. With her finger in her mouth, Caroline shook her head as she licked off the last of the flavor and reached for her cup she’d already poured.

  “How do you suppose your friend next door is doing in this rain?” Frisco asked. “Her house isn’t finished. I’m surprised she hasn’t come seeking shelter already.”

  Caroline’s chin dropped. “If she needs help, she’ll go to the Schneider family that lives on the other side of her.” She took another slow drink so as to hide behind the cup, but it was no use.

  “She wouldn’t come here?” He tilted his head. “I thought the two of you were as thick as thieves. What happened?”

  “You’ve got serious issues to contend with. You don’t need to be bothered by something as paltry—”

  Frisco leaned over the table. “I don’t have any clients more important than you. Go on. Spill the beans.”

  “It’s nothing of consequence.” She scratched Bucky’s knobby head. “Bradley has Amber mad at me. She hasn’t been over to talk since he decided I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Does this have anything to do with me?” He took another bite of fish.

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because I’ve talked to Miss Herald.”

  Her eyes widened. “Did you turn my friends against me?”

  “I did nothing of the sort. She volunteered the cause of your spat, and I told her I didn’t want them to shun you on my account. I told her we would settle the issue between us. We didn’t need outside help.” The tin roof rattled over their heads.

  Caroline slowed her breath. She absently petted Bucky, who was now asleep. “But we haven’t settled it, have we? You still have people that you’re beholden to. I still have your land.”

  “Time is running out,” he acknowledged. “I have to have land for my investors in less than two weeks, or I’ll have to return their money and admit I failed. I can’t lose focus, but the closer I come to losing everything, the more I realize how I’d regret losing you.”

  Their gazes locked. Was he fiddling on her heartstrings, trying to elicit a sympathetic response? No, he hated duplicity. And Caroline was no less honest.

  “I feel the same way,” she said at last. “What do we do?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never been in this spot before.”

  Bucky moved against her. Caroline ran her hand down the kid’s spine and felt cold water.

  “The roof,” she said. Red rivulets of water were coursing down the wall. “The blankets are getting soaked. Let’s move the bed away from the side.”

  “Put the goods on the bed too,” Frisco said. “The shelves might catch water next. I don’t think the tin roof is leaking, but water is coming through the ground above us.”

  As Caroline lifted the last bag of flour off the shelf, she caught a glimpse of the outdoors through the slightly open door. It had been raining steadily for some time, but they’d been so distracted by their conversation that she hadn’t looked outside.

  “Um, Frisco? Has the river ever gotten up that high before?” Caroline clasped her hands to her chest as she backed away from the door.

  Frisco spun around. Water gurgled beneath the door, shooting up like a babbling brook. “No, it’s never been . . .” Then he looked at the walls. “I’m just realizing that this little alcove is here because of the river. I was so worried a
bout the roof holding that I forgot to account for the low-lying situation of the house. Get whatever you want to keep, and hurry. There’s no guarantee that the water won’t cover the whole room.”

  He threw on his coat and reached for his hat, although where they’d go for shelter, Caroline couldn’t imagine. If they had to flee the little room built into the ground, what other refuge was available?

  Chapter twenty

  The wind slammed against Caroline, knocking her steps astray. Catching her arm, Frisco braced her as they came up over the bank, where they caught the full force of the gale. Her hat jerked, but the ribbons caught beneath her chin and cut into her throat. She hugged Bucky beneath her coat as she wrestled her hat back onto her head.

  “We can’t make it to the fort. It’s too far,” she said. “Is there anywhere safe in Plainview?”

  Frisco had to lean close to her ear to be heard. “I hope it’ll blow over before we reach town, but if misery loves company, we’ll have lots of miserable company there.”

  Together they jogged north toward Plainview, although the storm kept pushing them off track. The clear sky to the east was quickly disappearing as the broiling blanket of clouds rolled that way. Frisco dragged her along faster and faster, both mindful of the lightning approaching relentlessly from the west.

  Caroline strained her eyes, watching for a sign of the town, which was usually in sight by this time. A white-blue streak jagged across the sky and illuminated the battered tents and tarps of the settlers. No warm campfires in this rain.

  Even Frisco was taken aback. “And that’s just the wind,” he said. “Let’s take cover before something worse blows in.”

  Nearly running, they crossed Bill Matthews’s lot. His tent shook like someone was trying to knock it from its stakes. The wooden framework on the next lot looked secure, but its door slammed back and forth on the hinges. Where were they? Landmarks in the new town changed every day, but now it looked completely foreign to Caroline. From the corner of her eye she saw a flash of movement. That was the only warning she had before she was hit and thrown against Frisco.