“But you have no proof they are heading there.”
Her knees started shaking. She bit the inside of her lip. “There’s no place else for them to go. According to a couple of rustlers my partner and I caught about six months ago, Valenzuela has been stock-piling weapons. The Comanches need those weapons and ammunition. They are going to trade the horses for guns. If you want those horses back, I think we should head straight there.”
He pushed back his hat and studied the horizon. “How much further?”
She let out a breath, glad he wasn’t staring at her anymore. “Four days, three if we ride hard. But you’ll need more men. Valenzuela has a hundred banditos. I figure that’s why he wants the horses. He thinks he can be El Presidente.” Contempt infused her voice. Valenzuela had boasted he would rule all Mexico. Callie doubted his claim. If a superior force like the French couldn’t hold Mexico, how did Valenzuela think he could?
He frowned. “Valenzuela can be whatever he wants, but he does it without my horses. We’ll use the men we have.” He whirled his horse and headed back toward the patrol.
Callie followed at a slower pace, scanning the landscape. A jackrabbit jumped out startling her horse. He was going to get her killed attacking Valenzuela. Was he loco? Valenzuela’s hideout was well guarded, set in a deep valley with a dozen places perfect for ambushing unwanted visitors. Forget buying the land. She’d be lucky to escape with her life. And she promised to her mama not to get herself killed?
* * *
Callie ran a hand over her horse’s flank, settling the rangy gelding. The animal shifted its weight from side to side as she finished rubbing it down and feeding it the grain the army brought along for food. Callie felt grimy with the day’s dust and had tried to clean herself as best she could.
Once the decision had been made to attack Valenzuela, the Lieutenant had marched the patrol long into the dark. All the men were exhausted. Callie was in better shape because she often only slept a few hours in a night.
Lieutenant Delacroix had ordered them to make camp in a deep canyon which offered protection from the night. A shallow pool beneath a tiny waterfall fed by the runoff from the mountains beyond provided water. The chilly pond was hidden by a thick grove of trees and heavy underbrush. The Lieutenant had commanded her to water their horses, and then help set up camp closer to the mouth of the canyon.
The strong aroma of coffee and cooking food emanated from the direction of the camp. Callie’s mouth watered. Though hungry, she wanted privacy to wash and maybe even change her clothes first for the clean ones she carried in her saddle bags.
Callie waited for the men to settle down with their food, then slipped back to the pond. The moon had risen over the peak of the rocks.
The night sky twinkled with the distant stars. As a child, her mother had taught her she could make a wish on a star and it would come true. She’d grown up enough since then to know that wishes didn’t come from stars, but still as she searched for a place that would shield her from prying eyes, she couldn’t resist a glance upward and utter a short, hopeful wish for the army to honor its promises.
The pond was a contrast of shadows, dark against silver light. Water cascaded over the cliff above, creating a soothing, invitation that made Callie want to lay down next to the edge of the pond and take a nap. Callie knelt and ran a hand through the cold water. She splashed her face and washed the back of her neck.
She tossed her saddlebags down and opened one flap to draw out a clean shirt and trousers. She hunkered down in the concealing darkness of a bush, carefully listening for anyone else around. She heard the rustling of desert mice in the rocks and the twitter of night birds in the scrub oaks, but no other sounds. Satisfied she was alone, she began to unbutton her shirt. Her skin itched beneath the bindings around her chest. She gazed longingly at the pond, wanting a bath, but knowing she probably shouldn’t risk it.
She heard a twig snap. Callie whirled around to see Lieutenant Delacroix, his shirt hanging open, his muscular chest shiny in the starlight.
He watched her with a strange expression on his face. “You’re out here to take a bath, too?”
“Yes, sir.” Callie closed her shirt, irritated at the loss of her privacy, panicked by his presence. She’d almost betrayed her secret.
“Come on.” He reached for her, but she jumped back. “Let’s get this over with. We have to be up and in the saddle before down.”
“I don’t think bathing with you would be proper, sir.”
“What isn’t proper about a bath?” His eyes narrowed as he studied her She flushed under his scrutiny. “Us in the same pond, at the same time.”
He tilted his head at her, his green eyes curious. “Why?”
“You’re white and I’m black.” Callie couldn’t catch her breath. Her village had many handsome men, but this man looked magnificent.
Something in his eyes shifted and the amusement that had been there a moment ago was gone replaced by something she couldn’t interpret.
Her eyes shifted back and forth, trying to avoid her gaze landing on him. She wanted to examine every aspect of his body, but she didn’t dare. The pulse in her neck beat so hard she was surprised he couldn’t see it.
Fortunately, the Lieutenant didn’t seem to notice her panic. He leaned his tall, lean body against a rock. “Then, help me with my boots.” He sat on the ground and held up one foot.
Callie’s fingers trembled as she re-buttoned her shirt. She grasped the heel of his boot in both hands and pulled hard. Inch by inch, the black leather boot slid off. He wriggled his toes and sighed in relief. Then he held out the other foot. Callie tugged off the second boot and he repeated his toe wriggling. She sat down and watched him, amazed that he could take such pleasure in being barefoot.
“If there is one thing I hate, it’s breaking in a new pair of boots.” He stood and began unbuttoning his trousers.
Callie covered her eyes with her hands. She wouldn’t peep she told herself, though she peeked anyway.
“Son,” he laughed. “we both have the same materiel. You don’t have to be ashamed.”
Heat rose across her skin. She wondered if she touched herself would she burn. “But, sir, I’ve never seen a white man’s ... or any man’s ... you know. My people do not expose themselves.”
“You’re in the Army now, son. Finding privacy is almost impossible. I respect your people’s teachings, but the Army is your family now.”
Callie stared at him. He’d taken off his shirt, his back and shoulders silver against the moonlight. He tossed the shirt at her and she clutched it to her chest, inhaling his scent.
Callie’s thought her heart would stop. She gasped for breath. She’d never before understood how the other women could get all lathered up about the men of the village--until this moment.
Lucian Delacroix was beautiful. His chest gleamed, each muscle clearly defined. He had a line of black hair trailing down his stomach disappearing into his trousers.
“Son, modesty and privacy are two luxuries we soldiers can’t afford.”
Her grip on the shirt tightened as he stripped off his pants. White long johns clung to his powerful thighs and rear-end. His muscles rippled with every step.
Callie was lost. Sheer strength of will kept her from pulling her own shirt off and joining him in the pond. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin. She wanted ... she shook her head not knowing what she wanted, but she scuttled backward away from him, embarrassed.
He pushed through the underbrush, calling back over his shoulder, “You can have the pond when I’m done, Payne. Until then, stay here and protect my virtue.” He shimmied out of his long johns and flung them over a bush.
Callie saw a white flash as he splashed into the pond. She lifted his shirt to her nose to breathe deeply of his aroma, heavy in the folds. A tingle traveled through her, that radiated outward like the ripples on the surface of the pond.
His voice raised in song in another language. Callie listened. She reco
gnized French. A French priest had come to her town a long time ago to set up a school.
How had Lieutenant Delacroix learned French? He had a French name and spoke English plainly enough without an accent. Who was this man? Where had he come from?
Callie peeked through the underbrush, transfixed and terrified. He stood in water to his waist as he ran a bar of soap over his shoulders. His face and hands, dark against the stark whiteness of the rest of his body.
He soaped his chest. The ditty he sang changed, taking on a mocking tone. He washed his hair and then sank beneath the surface. Callie held her breath, waiting for him to surface.
When he didn’t rise, Callie jumped to her feet and raced to the edge of the pond. She stepped into the water to her ankles, staring at the spot where he’d disappeared. Terror grew inside her.
She heard splashing and suddenly, he surfaced right in front of her, bouncing out of the water like a fish.
Startled, she stepped back and sat down hard on the sandy edge. The Lieutenant jumped out of the water and she saw him from neck to knee in all his glory. Oh God!
He grabbed his shirt from her hands and then hauled her to her feet, his fingers warm on her arms. Fire blazed from the very core of her body and spiraled outward. All she could do was gaze at his man thing. She was fascinated.
“Here.” He handed her his soap, then reached for his underwear and trousers and stepped into them. “Nothing like a bath to put a new slant on a man’s perspective.” He shook his head and crystal droplets flew in all directions.
One of the drops landed on her lip. She swiped her tongue across her mouth. She could almost taste him. The heat inside her grew more intense until she thought she would erupt into flames. The sight of him climbing into his clothes, one leg raised, and the other solid on the ground, showed corded muscles in his thighs. He moved with such raw power and grace, he reminded her of an Apache warrior she’d once seen in Hermosa. He’d had the same power. She remembered being fascinated by him, but her mother had jerked her into a store and she’d lost sight of him.
What was wrong with her? She’d never reacted to any man in her village like this. Not one had roused such strong emotions in her.
Dear God! She lusted after a white man.
One of the girls in her village had run off with one of the French soldiers who had been in the patrol conscripting the men. The scandal had rocked the village to its foundation. How could a good girl like that run away with a white man?
The town still gossiped about the old scandal. No one heard another word from her. Everyone assumed she was dead. Callie didn’t need this problem. Lusting after a white officer would not only get her dismissed from the Army, but her mother would be so disappointed in her. The shame! She shuddered at the thought of being the object of gossip. She’d caused enough scandal already by donning pants and tracking rustlers.
She stared at the Lieutenant. He’d pulled on his pants and had slipped on a clean shirt. His strong fingers fastened each button with care. How would his long elegant fingers feel on her bare skin?
She sniffed the soap. “What is this smell?”
“Bayberry. Good isn’t it?” He grabbed his boots and stamped into them, then turned to Callie. “Enjoy your bath, Payne.” He slapped her on the back. “You did a good job today.”
He disappeared through the underbrush back to the camp. Callie listened to him crash through the bushes. He made too much noise. Typical white man.
When the sound of his passage ended, she undressed quickly, slid into the water and washed herself.
The idea that he had given her his soap sent a chill down her spine. He had used this same soap. Odd that he would give her his soap. Soap was precious. She sniffed it. Bayberry, he’d said. She’d seen bayberry soap at the store in Sonora. She’d wanted it, but the price had been beyond her means. She’d only had money for essentials. For fancy people, the shopkeeper had told her when he’d slapped her hands as she’d reached for it. Now she had some and she inhaled the scent. It was so different from the sharply scented soap her mother made from lye and animal fat.
She ran the soap over her body. The sensual scent covered her skin and left her tingling. The soap, soft and gentle, lathered up in a luxurious manner. She spread the lather over her aching breasts and down to the hidden core of her body. His soap. His smell.
She found she couldn’t end her bath. She wanted to go on forever lathering her body with his soap, smelling like him. She didn’t want to return his soap. She wanted to use it down to the last sliver.
She heard movement in the brush. Swiftly, she slid into the water until it covered her to her chin.
A figure moved through the grove. She narrowed her eyes to filter out the side images. The other white lieutenant, the mean one with the blond hair and icy blue eyes, seemed to be slinking through the grove of trees.
Callie eased back until she stood behind the little waterfall and watched him. He leaned against a tree and she could make out his fingers tugging open a tobacco pouch and pouring a line of tobacco into a piece of paper. He rolled a cigarette. A match flared. After a few moments, the scent of tobacco drifted toward Callie.
She waited until Lieutenant Cooper had finished smoking and left. She pulled herself out of the water and hastily dressed in clean clothes. She cut a square from the end of her soiled breast binding, then sliced a small chunk of the soap from the bar, and wrapped it in the square. Carefully she hid the treasure in her saddle bag.
She crept into the camp. The fire had burned down to dim embers. Most of the men slept. Delacroix sat in front his open tent, reading by the light of a small lantern. He cradled the book in his hands as though it were more precious than gold.
All her life Callie had wanted book learning. A spurt of envy rose in her as she approached. “Here’s your soap, sir.” She handed him the block. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She sat down next to him to peer over his shoulder. “What are you reading, sir?”
“The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas.”
His gentle voice held the cadence of Southern gentility. Silas said the Lieutenant fought for the Union. Why had he done that, when his voice reflected the deep South? When she’d been a child, just after the war ended, a wagon train of southern officers rolled through town, staring at Callie and her people with hatred. How could the Lieutenant be so different? He treated the black soldiers like equals.
Callie touched the outer edge of the book. “I’ve always wanted to read.”
“Didn’t you have a school in the village?”
“I didn’t have time for school. I had to support my mama.” Though her brother had been sent for a couple years. He’d learned to read and write,and Callie had always felt a little touch of envy for him.
An odd look crossed the Lieutenant’s face. “Would you like to learn to read? I can teach you.”
She couldn’t accept. She’d be too close to him. That would be too unsettling. He did things to her heart she didn’t understand. “No, thank you, sir.” She slipped away into the darkness, trying to put distance between them.
* * *
Luc watched Cal disappear into the darkness. Something about that boy bothered him, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. He was as skittish as a newborn foal and as sensitive as a girl. Luc closed his book and put the bar of soap back in its waterproof oilskin bag.
His patrol was spread out about him, feet pointed toward the dead fire. Reggie slept apart, his tent pitched behind Luc’s as though not wanting to be associated with the Buffalo Soldiers. He’d chided Luc for being too lax with his men, but Luc know these were men who could fight and whose loyalty had been hard-won. Then he doused the fire with the last of the coffee, entered his tent, lay down on his cot and rolled into his blankets to sleep. He tossed about for awhile, thinking of Cal. He’d seen the eagerness on the boy’s face when he’d offered to teach him to read, but Cal had withdrawn. If Cal wanted to learn to read, why not allo
w Luc to teach him?
He fell asleep and dreamed about Cal Payne. In his dream, Cal came to him and offered his body, a body heavy with breasts and long hair that spilled about his shoulders framing his elfin face.
Luc sat straight up in the bedroll, wide-awake, cold sweat pouring down his face, his heart racing and hands shaking. No, he couldn’t be that way, craving the company of men. It was a sin. It was not natural. He could lose everything he’d sacrificed for. These thoughts had to stop. He must control himself. He wasn’t sure how, he just knew that he must.
The dream slipped away from him and he lay back down, but sleep was a long time coming.
Chapter Four
In the morning, as the first light brightened the sky, Luc and his soldiers stole through the foothills of the mountains. The peaks were brown and desolate, yet Cal had insisted a fruitful canyon was hidden just behind the rocks.
At mid-morning, Cal rode back from his scouting expedition with new information. Cal refused to meet Luc’s eyes. He continued to act skittish and distant. Luc remembered the part of his dream when he’d was kissed Cal. His lips were soft and sweet, like a woman’s. Luc shook his head to clear himself of the erotic vision.
“I found the bandit camp,” Cal said as his horse fell into step with Luc’s.
“How far?”
“About two miles back in the foothills.” Cal wiped his face with a worn kerchief. “I counted twenty-two banditos.”
Reggie spurred his horse forward. “I don’t like this.”
Luc twisted in the saddle to look at Reggie. “Don’t like what?”
“Attacking them,” Reggie said. “We’re outnumbered. Twenty-two to thirteen is not good odds.”
Luc laughed. He glanced back at the men following him. With the exception of Cal Payne, and his newest private, all of the men with him had been in his command for almost two years. Men he trusted. His sergeant-major, Abraham Parker, had fought with him in the Civil War. His men were the best, hand-picked for their courage, ferocity, and fighting skill. Luc would rather have these Buffalo Soldiers at his back than any other men.
After The Lies Page 5