by Tinnean
“It’ll be my pleasure, Corporal.” Steve followed him out to the wagon.
Sharps gave a spurt of laughter.
Steve did love to hear his boy laugh, but he wondered what Sharps found so amusing. “Mind telling me what’s so funny?”
Sharps hoisted himself into the box, and although he grinned down at Steve, the expression in his blue eyes was serious. “Come with me.”
Steve climbed up after him and waited to see what Sharps would tell him. Sharps was silent until they were almost at the livery stable.
“It’s sergeant, Captain.”
“Pardon me?”
“I was promoted to sergeant.” He went on to explain some of the work the general had had him doing before the War ended.
“You were behind enemy lines?” Steve felt his hair rise and his gut try to tie itself into knots. “You could have been captured.” Early in the war prisoners on both sides would have been paroled, but the system broke down in ‘63. After that, those taken were sent to prison camps. Things there had been bad, but that last year, before the War ended…The Rebs had barely enough for themselves to survive, let alone prisoners of their detested enemy, and even Sharps’s boyish looks wouldn’t have saved him. In fact…Steve shuddered. There were those who would have had no trouble taking advantage of them. He remembered the Wilson brothers, who would have used the boy until he was broken inside and out.
“I’m here, hale and whole.” Sharps rested a hand on his arm for a moment, interrupting his thoughts. “No need to worry over past events.”
“No. You’re right.” Steve forced a smile, but Sharps was concentrating on driving the team down the main street.
His boy was a sergeant. Sure, Steve was proud of him, but in spite of Sharps mentioning some of the things he’d done, Steve couldn’t help wondering what else earning that promotion had entailed. Why do I have a hunch you aren’t telling me everything?
Sharps turned his head and met Steve’s gaze. The corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile once again, and Steve found himself relaxing.
Then again, I could be wrong.
Chapter 26
“You’re an idiot,” Sharps muttered to himself as he waited with the mules. Steve had gone to find the man who ran the livery stable to make arrangements for stabling the team and possibly finding an owner for them, so it was safe to take himself to task.
He’d been so anxious to impress Steve he’d proudly announced his promotion, but thank God he hadn’t said a word about the more torturous of his missions under Colonel Sebring. That was something he’d never tell a soul.
“Okay, Sharps,” Steve called as he left the dim interior of the stable, the owner in step beside him.
“Just turn them loose in this corral,” the owner said.
Sharps rubbed the lead mule’s ears, then unhitched the team, led them into the corral, and began unharnessing them. They were good mules—whoever had bred them had chosen excellent stock—and Mrs. Fox should get a fair price for them.
“And I understand you need a hackamore. I know of a man who’s handy making tack. Bring your horse around, and he’ll take a look at him.”
“Thanks.”
Steve slipped into the corral, neatly avoiding a freshly deposited pile of manure, and ruffled Sharps’s hair. “Why don’t you fetch Twilight while I get this done? Georgie wants to be on the road, and if we don’t get started soon, we won’t get to Hummingbird Valley before sundown.”
“Yes, sir.” Sharps felt his tension ease. The captain seemed to have set aside Sharps’s revelation for the time being—hopefully for forever. He left Steve to finish unharnessing the mules and went to get the gray stallion. Twilight’s mouth had healed from the brutal bit Ezra Wilson had used on him, but the stallion deserved to have a decent hackamore.
* * * *
Mrs. Hall had spoken of the valley her pa had discovered years before, tucked away in the Black Hills. A series of small waterfalls descended to a stream that ran the length of the valley, splitting it in two and providing fresh water. Deer, elk, and antelope, along with beaver and bobcats, made their home there. A small herd of buffalo grazed at the far end of the valley, while pine, quaking aspen, and bur oak grew within its boundaries.
They listened as she spoke of it, but Sharps knew, possibly better than most, that many times, the mind played tricks, and how a body remembered a thing could be vastly different from how it actually was.
He rode ahead of the wagon Mrs. Hall drove, with Steve beside him, so they were the first to come upon the valley just as the sun started to go down.
“It’s…beautiful.” Sharps had seen so much land that had been seared or blasted by cannonballs—the war’s desolation. This…he felt his eyes begin to burn from the sheer beauty of it.
“You’re right. It’s breathtaking.” Steve sounded awestruck. “Georgie was right.”
The aspens stood out in red, orange, and gold, and the greens of the pine trees made them even more vibrant.
“Georgie said her father had built a soddy. Let’s see what’s survived after all this time.”
They were still looking for it when Mrs. Hall drove the wagon into the valley. In spite of the years since she’d last been there, she went to the place where she remembered the dugout as being.
“So that’s why we couldn’t find it,” Sharps murmured. All that was left was a deep depression in the hillside.
Mrs. Hall stepped down from the wagon and walked toward it.
“I’d hoped…” She rested a hand on the grass of the hill, looking very sad. “Papa didn’t have as much time to work on the sod house as he’d have liked,” she said. “He planned to make it bigger, but then we…we had to leave.”
Bart went to her and slid an arm around her shoulders. “We can clear it out, make it livable. You decide where you want the new house, Georgie, and we’ll pace out the footprint for it.”
“Can we? Winter is just around the corner. It will approach faster than we expect it to.”
“Phipps will let us know the best choices to make,” Bart assured her.
“I happened to notice some empty houses in Woody Draw,” Sharps said. “They go back to when the town was first built from what I could understand and weren’t very big, mostly one or two rooms, but maybe there’d be something that would work for you.”
“You did?” Steve seemed surprised Sharps had been able to garner so much information in such a short span of time, but then he had no idea what Sharps had done these past few years.
“Yeah. Do you reckon we could rent them over the winter?” Sharps glanced up at the sky, but it was too late in the day to tell what the weather might be.
“That’s a good idea.” Bart squeezed his wife’s shoulders. “It’s getting late. We’ll make camp for the night, then decide what to do in the morning.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m being foolish.” Mrs. Hall ran the side of her finger under her eyes, and it was only then Sharps realized she’d been crying. It had been a long journey, and she’d driven the wagon most of the way—an arduous task for a woman, not that it was his place to mention it. “The land is still here, and that’s what’s most important.”
“It is, querido.”
Abruptly Sharps wondered if, in spite of what her husband had told him, Mrs. Hall might be expecting a blessed event. He’d heard of women who had been barren, and then suddenly they became pregnant. She’d been so stalwart the entire time he’d known her, but that could be a valid explanation for her sudden bout of tears. However, this was also something he wouldn’t mention.
“All right,” Steve said. “Let’s get the mules and horses taken care of. Chris, will you and Charlie see if you can rustle up some wood for a fire.” He was still the wagon master.
“I’ll go with them,” Frank said, and Steve nodded.
“What about me?” The littlest Pettigrew brother bounced impatiently.
Sharps grinned down at him. “Want to ride with me, little bit, and see if
we can find something for supper?”
“Oh! Georgie, Georgie, may I?”
His sister blew her nose with the handkerchief her husband had given her and nodded. “Of course you may.”
“Yay!” Thomas scrambled down from the wagon seat, ran to Sharps, and held up his arms.
Sharps leaned down, caught the boy under the arm, and swung him up onto the saddle before him.
“You’d make a great father,” Steve told him.
Sharps hunched a shoulder. He’d always wanted kids, but it didn’t look like that was in the cards for him, so he rarely gave it any thought. Once again he pushed it out of his mind and smiled down at the little boy who sat before him.
“What do you say we go see what we can find?”
“Okay.” He held up a sling shot. “I have this, and if we see any rabbits, I can hit them.”
“You can?” Sharps sent his lover a wink and a final grin and nudged Twilight into an easy-going lope. “You won’t miss?”
“I never miss.”
“You don’t?”
“Nope. I hit one of those men who came after us after Bertie’s papa died and Bart and Frank and Captain Steve got arrested.” Thomas balanced easily in the saddle, not clutching the horn or grabbing at the stallion’s mane.
“Who taught you to ride?”
“Georgie. H-she’s the best rider I know. Papa taught h-her. Ooo! Look! A rabbit.”
“All right, then. Let’s go catch us some dinner.”
Chapter 27
Steve watched as Sharps and Thomas rode off, then dismounted and approached Bart and Georgie. They both gave him tired smiles.
“It feels like we no sooner get two paces ahead when we wind up four paces back,” Georgie said. “I was so certain…”
“It will be all right,” Bart assured him. “We’re all together, and that’s what’s important.”
“I want to have a talk with you two while we’re alone.”
“What is it, Steve? You sound concerned.”
“I am. Bart, when you call George querido—”
Bart scowled at him. “You said it didn’t bother you that George and I are a couple. And since you and Sharps seem to be together now—”
“That isn’t what concerns me.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, if you’re going to call George a Spanish endearment, use the right sex.”
“Huh?”
“Querido refers to a man.”
“And I called him—”
“Querido.” George shook his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t—I could have passed it off as a joke, said you were just repeating me, because that’s what I call you.”
Bart turned pale. “Jesus, I never thought—do you think Sharps picked up on it?” he asked Steve.
“I don’t know. The boy has a poker face, and if he doesn’t want you to know what he’s thinking, you’re not gonna know. The thing is, I trust him, and he’ll keep his mouth shut, but what if someone else heard you?”
“Sweetheart, you have to call me querida.”
“Okay. Querida. Querida. Querida.” Bart nodded. “I won’t forget.”
“Was there anything else we need to watch for, Steve?” George asked him.
“No, but give some thought to telling Sharps what’s going on. He’s not stupid, and he’ll figure it out sooner or later.”
“He won’t think the less of me for dressing as a woman?”
“He never struck me as the sort who’d do that, but it’s your decision. How are you going to explain it when ‘Georgie’ disappears?”
George and Bart glanced at each other. “We were thinking we might keep her around until we head to Kansas next spring. Cattle drives are dangerous, from what I’ve heard. When we get back to Hummingbird Valley, we can just pass it around that the wagon Georgie was riding in was overturned in a stampede.”
“Or something.”
“I’m gonna miss Georgie,” Bart admitted. “The bustle can be annoying, but I enjoy walking with her on my arm and having all the men watching me with envy in their eyes.”
George murmured something in Spanish, and Bart blushed scarlet and pulled him into a kiss.
“You two.” Steve grinned and shook his head. Satisfied he’d done what he could to protect their secret, he said, “I’m gonna unharness the mules.”
* * * *
Sharps and Thomas brought back some nice, plump rabbits, and Georgie put together an excellent stew with some vegetables she’d bought at the general store.
“And tomorrow we’ll have a decent breakfast, with eggs and bacon,” she informed them.
“Mrs. Hall, you’re a wonder.” Bart took her hand and kissed her fingertips.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had eggs,” Sharps said wistfully.
“Bart, would you be able to build me a henhouse?” Steve asked.
“Sure.” Fortunately, Bart didn’t question him further.
Once they had their own spread, Steve reckoned he’d get a flock of chickens so his boy could have eggs whenever he liked, and that henhouse would be a necessity. He mopped up the gravy with a biscuit and pictured how it could be, him and Sharps and their future stretching out ahead of them.
Throughout dinner, the young ones continually yawned.
“All right,” Georgie finally said. “It’s been a long day after an even longer three weeks. Off to bed with you.”
There were no objections, proving how tired they all were, and the three Pettigrew children kissed Georgie’s cheek, hugged Bart and Frank, and nodded sleepy good nights to Steve and Sharps.
Once the adults were settled in with a final cup of coffee before going to bed themselves, they chatted about various matters.
“I got to do some exploring while we were in Woody Draw, and I like the town,” Frank said. “I think I’ll hang out a shingle and practice law there. Perhaps I’ll send my folks a letter and invite them for a visit.”
Georgie and Bart both grinned at him. “Whatever is your pleasure, Frank.”
“Maybe if you have some time, you can build me a desk and some cabinets,” he said to Bart.
“Sure, I can do that.”
“And a few chairs? One for me and a couple for my clients.”
“I’m not a furniture maker.”
“But the desk and bookshelves?”
“I’ll just bang together some boards for them. Chairs though…” Bart laughed at Frank’s expression. “Just give me an idea of what you’d like.”
Frank poked him, and this time they all laughed. It was good to see how well the three of them got along.
“So what will you have on the walls?” Georgie asked, and Frank went on to discuss how he’d decorate his office.
“What about your home?”
“I’ll let my wife decide that.”
“You’re getting married?” Bart asked with the utmost innocence, and Frank sent a mischievous grin his way.
“One day.”
“Hmm.”
Steve raised his cup to his lips and turned his gaze to his boy to see how Sharps would react to such playful banter. Steve stiffened.
Sharps had set aside his cup and tipped his hat back, revealing somber eyes.
“I have something I think you should see.” He reached for his saddlebag and took out a piece of paper.
“Is that a telegram?” Steve asked.
“Yeah.” Sharps handed it to him. “I found it at the bottom of Ezra Wilson’s saddlebag.” He looked at Georgie. “I would have brought this up earlier, but…Well, we were kind of busy.”
Steve leaned toward the light of the campfire and ran a cursory glance over the contents of the telegram. Then he studied it more thoroughly. “This makes no sense.”
“Some of it’s in code.” He turned to Georgie again. “Mrs. Hall, do you know someone named Lewis St. Claire?”
Georgie’s mouth tightened. “He’s my stepmama’s brother.”
“Uh-huh. Why would he want your brother?”
; “Thomas? St. Claire never—” Even in the firelight it was easy to see how pale Georgie had become. He—she—Steve wanted to groan. This was so confusing. It would be so much easier when Georgie became George again. She cleared her throat, but only managed to get out, “I mean…I mean—”
Bart slid an arm around Georgie’s shoulder. “It’s all right, querida.” He turned his head to give Sharps a stony glare. “You’re upsetting my wife.”
“Sorry, ma’am. But this telegram from St. Claire instructs the Wilson brothers to kill someone he refers to as P., but before Wilson does that, he’s to tell this man his sisters and brother will belong to St. Claire, and the two younger ones will be sent to a whore house.”
“Oh God. I should have killed him when I had the opportunity.” Georgie’s voice was flat and cold and matched the glance she gave Steve. “You were right. We have to tell Sharps what’s going on.”
“That’s your decision,” Steve said. “But I trust Sharps, and I think it’s safe for you to trust him, too.”
“Thanks, Cap.” The poker face Sharps wore more frequently than Steve liked was replaced by a smile that warmed Steve’s heart, and he reached across the space that separated him from his boy and squeezed his hand.
Georgie watched them for a moment before she nodded and said, “My name is George Pettigrew. I’m really a man.”
Bart twined their fingers together, held tight to George’s hand, and continued to stare stonily at Sharps. Frank moved closer to the two, offering silent support, the three musketeers solidly together.
George began to talk about his mama growing more and more ill after the birth of little Thomas, about how, after her death, his sisters and brother were taken from him and placed in the erstwhile care of their grandfather and uncle, and how George learned the two youngest were abused. “Their uncle attempted to assault me, but I knocked him out. I beat their grandfather over the head with a chunk of firewood. I killed the old man.” There was almost defiance in George’s words. “And then I got my sisters and brother the hell out of town.”
“Along with you two.” Sharps flicked glances toward Bart and Frank.