The Officer and the Traveler

by Rose Gordon

  “Are you sure?”

  She was sure. Being carelessly thrown off and left unconscious on the cold ground after hitting her head on a rock, made her more than sure she didn’t wish to get on a horse.

  “Come here,” he commanded gently.

  She took a step backwards.

  The corner of his lips tipped up and he reached for her hand. “Just touch her.”

  She yanked her hand away. “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.” His voice was soft and soothing. He reached for her trembling hand. “Just touch her hair.”

  Michaela curled her fingers in, but couldn’t pull her hand from his firm grasp.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Michaela, and neither is Sundance.” He moved her hand closer to the horse, panic building in her chest. “Just touch her nose.”

  “If I touch her will you take me back?”

  “Take you back where?”

  “To my father’s room?”

  He knit his brows. “Why would you go there?”

  “Aunt Lucille has a terrible stomach ailment and wanted a bit of privacy. Wes and Allison are off together somewhere. Sarah Ridgely and I aren’t speaking much these days, so I didn’t want to go over there. That only left going home or going to see my father. I was on my way to the barracks when I ran into Jack and Ella and they invited me to spend the rest of the morning with them.”

  “And what of me?”

  “What about you? You said you didn’t have time—” She broke off. “If I touch her, will you let me go, please?”

  Wordlessly, Gray brought her ungloved hand closer to the horse.

  Tension knotted every muscle in her body. She knew it wasn’t this particular horse that’d thrown her, but there wasn’t room for logic in her mind right now. Not when her knuckles were inching ever closer to the brute. “Please, Gray.”

  Gray remained quiet as he touched her knuckles to the soft hair on Sundance’s nose. “See, she’s not so bad.”

  Michaela went numb.

  “Touch her with your fingertips,” Gray murmured. When she didn’t move to unfurl her fingers, Gray reached up the hand that held the reins and started to pry her fingers out of the fist she held. “See? She’s a sweet girl.” He moved her hand to where her entire palm was flat against Sundance.

  Michaela opened and closed her mouth, but no words would come out.

  “Rub up between her ears,” he encouraged.

  She let out a barely audible squeak.

  He seemed unaffected and glided her hand first up between Sundance’s ears, then to her mane and along her neck. “Are you ready to put your other hand on her, too?”

  “No,” Michaela croaked.

  “She won’t hurt you,” Gray reminded her. He moved so he was standing between her and Sundance’s legs. “I want you to trust her, that’s all.”

  Reluctantly, she lifted her other hand up to rub Sundance’s side. Jack had put a saddle on her earlier—not that Michaela had any inclination to ride her.

  “How did you fall?”

  “He bucked,” Michaela choked.

  “Were you hurt or just startled?”

  “Both.”

  He guided her hands along Sundance’s side. “Did you steal a horse, Michaela,” he asked with a devilish grin.

  “No. Why would I have done that?”

  “To escape your father.” He laughed at her telling expression. That was exactly what she was doing. She was so upset at Gray leaving her side that night the last thing she wanted to do was be scolded by her father so she’d run from the brothel, grabbed the horse she and Gray and ridden earlier and made for the fort. “I don’t imagine a military horse would have spooked like that,” Gray continued. “They’re around all those guns and cannons and such.”

  “Guns and cannons are no comparison to a sobbing, heartbroken young lady,” she said, forcing a wobbly smile. “I likely gave poor Abbacus the scare of his life.”

  “Or annoyed him,” Gray retorted.

  She choked on a giggle. “That’s likely.”

  Gray finished making her touch every inch of horseflesh on this side of Sundance, then slowly removed her hands. She wondered if he planned to make her do the same on the other side. Surely if he’d meant to continue torturing her, he’d have just had her continue on once she reached the horse’s rump.

  “How about if you try getting on her now?”

  Michaela gaped at him. “How about if you spend the afternoon in a corset and petticoats?”

  “Oh, it can’t be that bad. By your own admission, it’s horses who should be scared of you, not you scared of them.”

  She crossed her arms and glared at him.

  “Come now, you know as well as I do that she’s not scared of you.” He placed his hand on the small of her back, a gesture that nearly dissolved her. “I’ll be right here. Nothing will happen.”

  “You’re right nothing will happen, I’m not getting on Sundance.”

  “Please?”

  “No.”

  He gently massaged her lower back. “What will it take to get you to try? A new gown?”

  “Are you going to sew it?”

  “I could if you wanted me to.”

  She sputtered with laughter. “And would I want you to make it? Other than for the entertainment of watching you do it, that is.”

  “That depends. Can you fashion a tablecloth to fit like a skirt?”

  “No, but I’m sure Allison can.”

  “I’m sure she can, too.” He urged her to take a step forward. “No need to worry though—my skills are better than Allison’s.”

  Michaela wouldn’t be so rude as to voice it aloud, but she had a suspicion that just about anyone’s skills with a needle and thread were superior to Allison’s.

  “And—” he put his hands on her waist— “I’m fairly confident that I can out-sew your sister, too.”

  She didn’t believe that for a second, but all possibility of saying so dissolved when Gray lifted her up and put her on top of Sundance in one quick, fluid motion.

  Terror came over her. Involuntarily, she made a strangled shriek as she bent forward to lower her face as close to the horse’s neck as possible and wiggle down.

  “Be still,” Gray said soothingly. He placed one strong hand on her back and the other rubbing Sundance’s neck. “Stop fidgeting before you fall.”

  “I can’t help it,” she cried. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. Why did he have to be so high handed as to just toss her up onto a horse as if her fears were merely nothing? She gasped for air.

  “I have you,” Gray whispered in her ear, both of his strong arms wrapping around her. When had he joined her on the horse? “Breathe. That’s it take deep breaths. You’re all right. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Remember the last time we rode together? You let down your hair and let the wind blow through it until it was a tangled mess. You were safe then and I’ll keep you safe this time, too. Just breathe.”

  Gray’s soothing words fell over her like a soft caress, calming her frayed nerves. Slowly she sat up, flushing with mortification at the scene she’d just created.

  “Are you ready to ride?”

  Did she have a choice? “Not too fast.”

  “Not too fast,” he agreed. He nudged Sundance to walk forward.

  Michaela held her breath and clenched her hands into fists.

  “You’re all right. I’m still here.” Gray punctuated his words with a gentle squeeze of his arms around her midsection.

  Gray steered Sundance away from the barracks and out into the open field.

  “Please, don’t make her run.” She hated the sound of desperation in her voice.

  Thankfully, he heeded her plea and kept Sundance at a nice, steady, slow pace. He eased her to lean back against him. “See, you’re safe. We’ll just go to the riverbank. It’s not too far away.”

  She prayed it wasn’t. She didn’t think her nerves could take much more.

  Keepin
g his right arm wrapped around her and holding onto the reins in front of her, he brought his left hand up to her shoulder and kneaded her knotted muscle. “So tense.” He rubbed his thumb just above her shoulder blade. “Relax.”

  “I’m going to hold you to making that dress you promised,” she said, lowering her eyelids and giving into his touch.

  “You just pick the color,” he murmured. His lips were so close she could almost feel them against the sensitive skin on the shell of her ear.

  Michaela sagged against her husband’s sturdy body as he massaged her tension away.

  “Open your eyes,” he whispered.

  She obeyed, in part. Opening her right eye just a little. Something bright and sparkling ahead caught her attention and excitement coursed through her. “Is that the river?”

  “Well, it certainly isn’t the ocean.”

  She wiggled against him, careful not to hurt him. “You always did have a penchant for sarcasm.”

  “How you’d know that, I wouldn’t know.”

  “Neither do you want to.” Surely he’d heard about her spying on him at Fort Henry, not that she wanted to remind him of that.

  Gray slowed Sundance to a stop and climbed down before helping Michaela dismount, then led her down to the running water.

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such an oddly-colored river.” It looked an odd mixture of green and gray, but not being fully one or the other.

  “Likely not.” He stepped over a fallen branch. “They call it the Verdigris because of its coloring.”

  “It’s still pretty,” she commented.

  “Would you like to sit for a while, then?”

  “If you don’t mind. I’d hate for you to not complete your errands.”

  His lips thinned. “You’re my only errand today.”

  ***

  Gray prayed that was the right thing to say. He had no idea she’d take it so hard that he wouldn’t be able to spend the day with her. Not that he minded being around her. He just wanted to speak to Jacobs and put his worries to rest.

  “You don’t have to spend the day with me, you know,” she said, sinking to the ground.

  He waited while she straightened her skirts then joined her on the grass. “And miss an opportunity to steal a kiss? Never.” The look she gave him made him wish he could take it back. He had no right to kiss her or encourage her to think he would.

  “What makes you think I’d let you?”

  Was that a challenge? “Don’t play games with a man, Michaela. You might not like the result.”

  She laughed. “You don’t scare me.” As if to prove her point, she kicked off her slippers and leaned her head back.

  “Are those the only shoes you brought on your trip?”

  “I hadn’t intended to stay,” she reminded him.

  “Right.” He’d have to ask Charles to order her a pair of shoes more suitable for life at the fort. “Is there anything else you didn’t bring that you need?”

  “No. I’m versatile.”

  He grinned. “Spoken like a real general’s daughter.” He reached over to her and pulled a piece of grass from her hair. With it, a few strands pulled loose from the side of her bun. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” She reached up to fix it and for the second time that day, his body acted independent of his brain and he covered her hand with his, stopping her.

  “Don’t.”

  She stilled.

  Without explanation to her, or himself, he moved behind her. “I liked it when it was down this morning.”

  “Oh.”

  Her lack of protest or excuse spurred him on and he brought his hands up to her hair, seeking pins. With deliberate slowness he removed one pin, then another, and another. Her perfectly pinned upsweep grew looser with each pin he removed until finally it all tumbled down around his hands. It was odd really, but Gray suddenly was overcome with the same heart-racing panic that had taken hold of Michaela when she’d been around Sundance. His experience with being affectionate with women was not what he’d have the world believe and for as odd as it might seem, he was just as on edge with uncertainty about running his fingers through her hair as he’d been while undressing her on their wedding night.

  He swallowed and slowly combed his fingers through her hair. “You have beautiful hair.” You have beautiful hair? Was that not the stupidest thing he could have said? He nearly groaned at his own stupidity, but the feel of her silky locks surrounding his fingers made it impossible for him to make any noise.

  His fingers delved deeper into the thick mass of her auburn hair until he reached her scalp. He carefully scratched and massaged her skin as he moved his hands over her scalp, fluffing her hair between his fingers. She made a sigh of contentment that sent a thrill flying through him.

  “You like this?”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  “So much hair, I imagine it feels heavy up on top of your head all day.”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  He inhaled the scent of lilacs that permeated her hair. His fingers brushed a hard bump on the right side of her head close to her hairline.

  “Is that from when you fell off Abbacus?”

  “Yes. I hit my head on a rock.”

  He flinched on her behalf. “I’m sorry.” He lowered his lashes. “I shouldn’t have left you that way. I should have explained to your father where we’d been.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I was too concerned about how badly my mother was injured.”

  “You were only sixteen and had no romantic interest in me,” she pointed out. “It would only stand reason you’d want to go be by your mother’s side.”

  Emotion warred within him. Since when had she become the more logical of the two about that night? Wasn’t it only a few days ago that he was the one who’d used that very reason as an explanation for walking away? How strange neither of them said it the same way as they did before. “She died only an hour later.” He didn’t know why he thought she needed to know that, but it served as a distraction from where his thoughts had been going.

  “I know,” Michaela said, her words barely audible. “She didn’t deserve that.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Gray agreed. The former butcher, turned aspiring physician who’d come to her bedside had recorded her death as natural causes. Of course he would, it wouldn’t do for word to get out that one of Dixon’s girls died from injuries brought on by being brutally attacked. He swallowed down the bile that had just risen in his throat. “We don’t need to talk about this.”

  “It’s all right. I don’t mind.”

  “Thank you for saying so, but we don’t need to.” He gave her scalp a little scratch to get her attention. “I may know more about female ailments than most and even know how to sew due to a childhood spent in the upstairs of a brothel, but I don’t know much else about women, except that they probably don’t enjoy speaking of their deceased mother-in-laws a great deal.”

  “I promise I don’t mind,” she protested.

  “Well,” he said with a sigh, “let me explain it another way. Were the roles reversed, I certainly wouldn’t want to keep discussing your father when there are far better things we could be doing.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like this—” He lifted her hair up to catch her unawares, then moved his face around and pressed his lips to hers.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Michaela’s heart skipped a beat.

  Gray had just kissed her. Willingly.

  “I see,” she forced.

  He grinned, not a hint of apology in his handsome face. “See, wouldn’t you say that was better than talking.”

  “I wouldn’t say better,” she hedged. “Different, perhaps, but not better.”

  He lifted his brows. “Well, if you don’t like kisses, then—”

  “Oh, stop,” she said, shaking her head. She gave him her best attempt at a look of disapproval. “Sometimes it’s good to talk.”

  Gray scowled. “When?”

  �
�Last night comes to mind.”

  “You’ve made your point.” He shifted so she was firmly in the V of his legs with her back pressed against his chest and abdomen then wrapped his arms around her, leaving her no option to scoot away. Not that she minded. “So you do like to talk.”

  She wasn’t sure if his words were a statement or a question. “Of course. We’re married. I think it would be prudent that we talk.”

  “Prudent,” he repeated.

  Well, she couldn’t come out and tell him she enjoyed talking to him, he might get a swollen head. “Prudent might not have been the right word…”

  Silence engulfed them.

  “Is there something we need to talk about?”

  Her eyes dropped to where his hands rested on her abdomen. Was he asking if she suspected anything? Her face burned in a second. It had only been two weeks; he of all people should know it was too early to tell. “No. I—I just like it when we talk,” she admitted.

  “You do?” His hollow tone made her want to scamper away as fast as possible. He tightened his arms, keeping her there. “I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to talk about.”

  His admission took all the starch out of her. “We don’t always have to talk about things that are of the utmost importance. Mundane conversation isn’t really mundane at all.” She heard him smile behind her.

  “All right, be honest. Do you like our curtains?”

  “Our curtains?” What was he talking about?

  “Yes, do you like our curtains?”

  “I suppose so…”

  “Good. I didn’t like the one that was already hung over the back window and I chose those from the extras in store room, but there might be a new set coming soon.”

  “Really?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” He moved his hands to her arms and idly traced mindless patterns on her skin. “Do you prefer beefsteaks or salt pork?”

  “Beefsteak. You?”

  “Doesn’t matter to me as long as you cook it.”

  “So then you’d eat dirt?”

  “If you cook it, I’ll eat it.” He moved his hands up to rest in the crook of her elbow, brushing his thumbs back and forth on the outer part of her upper arm. “Sunrise or sunset?”

  “Rise.”

  “Summer or winter?”

  “Summer.”