“Neither,” she replied, still breathing erratically. “I doubt anything could bother me right now, not even if a spider or two went traipsing across my chest or strung a web from my nose to my chin. What does one say following such an experience?”
Blane chuckled. “I’m glad to hear that I can distract and satisfy you as much as you do me. Lord, you play havoc with my duty and schedule. But don’t you dare do anything rash to correct my new flaw.”
“Frankly, Mister Stevens, you could use a flaw or two; then I would know you’re human. Sometimes I can’t believe you’re real. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll awaken to find you were only a beautiful dream. I hope not. You’ve become very, very special to me, Blane.”
He was overjoyed by her words and her mood. “The same goes for me. You’re very special, Shannon Greenleaf. But you needn’t worry about me being a fantasy. I’m very real and human. Sometimes I’m too damn human. The problem is, I’ve been too indulgent and sweet lately, so you’ve forgotten what an ass I can be.”
Shannon giggled and punched his arm. “No, I haven’t forgotten, partner. You always find a naughty way of reminding me. But I think we’re learning to accept each other’s flaws, or at least to overlook them on occasion. A year ago—even a few months ago—I would never have envisioned myself in a…situation like this.” She mirthfully accused, “You are a bad influence, Major Stevens. But I’ve never felt happier or more alive than I do with you. Despite my meager nineteen years, I’ve met plenty of men, but none such as you, Blane Stevens. You’re an exceptional man, and a perfect partner. I’m awfully glad I met you and I’m here with you. You’ve taught me so much about myself, about emotions, about life. Thank you, Blane.”
“For what, Shannon?” he asked in an emotion-laden voice.
“For being you,” she stated simply.
“I wonder if you would feel and say that if you really knew me. We’ve been together for months, but we’re still strangers in many ways. Why, I don’t even know your favorite food or color or place, or your nickname,” he teased to lighten the heavy turn the conversation had taken.
Shannon sensed Blane’s skittish nature surfacing again. She would keep her words light and easy for now. Whether this carefree male knew it or not, she was going to snare him forever! She was special to him; that was as clear as a sunny day in June. She smiled mischievously, knowing he couldn’t see her in the dark. “Roasted duck. Red, green, and black. Let me see…Favorite place…That’s a choice between New Orleans and your arms. Sometimes my brothers called me Vixen because my hair is the color of a female fox’s coat and I can be sly and stealthy. What else do you want to know, stranger?”
“Who’s waiting for you back home? Surely a woman with your looks and bloodline must have countless suitors chasing her. If I’m going to run into competition in Savannah, I might take a long time getting you there,” he declared amidst chuckles to hide the gravity of his query.
“Alas, I fear I was much too impetuous and obstinate and arrogant and bratty to capture and hold any exceptional man’s attention. And a Greenleaf can’t marry just anyone. I fear I must be heading for spinsterhood, for I’ve never been betrothed or wed…or in love.”
Blane was relieved that Shannon couldn’t see his reaction to those last few words. He didn’t know how to interpret them. Again, Hawke’s image—alive or dead—loomed between them. Maybe he was mistaken; maybe Hawke hadn’t been special to her. Yet the picture and things she had said in the past indicated otherwise. Although it would have been an incredible coincidence, perhaps Hawke had done the same thing to her that Corry had done to Ellie. Perhaps she wanted to forget the darkeyed individual whose picture stimulated strange stirrings and anger in Blane. Perhaps she didn’t want to admit she had loved him and lost him. Or her denial might be a defensive measure if he no longer lived. But how would she feel and react if he entered her life again?
“What about you?” she hinted to break the oppressive silence, hoping he hadn’t taken her remarks in the wrong way.
“I like blue skies, blue water, blue uniforms, and beautiful blue eyes. I also love green grass and anything red. I’m partial to rare steaks cooked over a campfire out on the range or in the high country, with lots of coffee or a canteen of Irish whiskey. I don’t have a favorite place, unless it’s Texas or most places away from civilization. I like to roam, and I suppose I always will. Pa always said I had trail dust in my boots. I guess they’ve never been emptied.”
She wanted to keep him talking to learn more about him, so she asked several questions. “Who were your parents? Where is this new ranch you mentioned? How old are your brothers and sisters?”
“My mother was Lorna Marie Morgan, the prettiest and feistiest female in all of Ohio. Pa, the handsome and devilish Samuel Clayton Stevens of northern Virginia, met her when she moved to Texas with her brother Frank and his wife, Cora Beth. Ma and Pa married in ’29, a month after they met. They settled west of Fort Worth, which turned out to be a bad idea; the Comanches raided that area at least once a year. With five sons and two daughters in eleven years, they did fine with the Rocking S until ’51. Then those renegade Comanches struck like crazed dogs while Jory and I were off getting supplies. Eleanor was eleven at the time. Ma and Pa hid her in the cellar to keep her from enduring a fate worse than a quick death from a tomahawk or an arrow. Some females, no matter their ages, are raped and enslaved; or they’re raped and tortured before they’re killed.”
As Blane talked, Shannon could hear the love and pride lacing his mellow tone. “Ma could shoot as good as Pa and my brothers; in the wilderness, that’s necessary. She insisted on helping defend our ranch during that savage attack. When Jory and I got home, we found Ma, Pa, Kirby, and Daniel slaughtered in the front yard. Kirby was only sixteen and Dan had just turned thirteen. That’s a grim sight you never forget…or forgive, or even understand. Thank God, Lucy was married and gone. Lucy’s a pretty gal. Those savages wouldn’t have treated a lovely twenty-year-old with any mercy. She was lucky to avoid that kind of abuse and degrading slavery. I think I told you she’s living with her husband, Lieutenant Edward Connor, in the Dakota Territory. She and Ed have two sons, or did the last time I heard. Let’s see…fourteen and five if memory serves me tonight.”
She could hear Blane shifting his position. She wished they had a fire so she would have light and warmth. Yet she didn’t want to distract him from his painful revelations by requesting a small one just to locate something for supper. She was hungry, but they could eat later. She listened intently, comprehending his many reasons for loathing Comanches. For certain, she would have to keep Hawke’s existence a secret. Blane might feel contempt for anyone with a half-Comanche brother.
“Clay had managed to roll under the front porch and conceal himself. We found him bleeding like a stuck pig with two arrows in his back. He was twenty-one at the time and had been married to Sue Anne for two years. Clay’s thirty-four, three years older than I. He has four children: three girls…fourteen, eleven, and four, and one son, nine. ’Course those figures could have changed by now. Clay’s like Pa; he likes a big family. During that raid, the Comanches took most of the cattle and horses, but they forgot to burn the house after they set a torch to the barns. The bastards stole everything that wasn’t nailed to the floor or walls and couldn’t be yanked loose.”
He inhaled loudly before continuing with his tragic tale. “We didn’t get Eleanor out of her hiding place until we buried nearly half of my family. Lord, that’s one of the hardest things I’ve done to date. It isn’t something a young girl should see. I guess Fate isn’t totally cruel. If those bastards had burned the house, Ellie and Clay would have died too. Another good thing was that Sue Anne and their first child were visiting her people near Houston that terrible day.
“It took us awhile to get things going again. As soon as it seemed safe for the others, I took off with the idea of killing every Comanche within two hundred miles of the Stevens ranch. I figured the only kind of India
ns who couldn’t massacre more innocent ranchers and settlers were dead ones or those on the run from the white man. By then, we were getting help from the Army and Texas Rangers and other local groups. Things improved steadily, and I started branching out farther and farther from home. There was always the promise of more exciting and challenging adventures over the next hill, so I kept riding and seeking them. Jory met Martha and married her around ’57. They’ve got twin sons who are five and one daughter about three. Including Ellie and her three-year-old son, I got me a big family again.”
Blane hurriedly moved the conversation away from his younger sister. “If you like romantic tales, Blue Eyes, Clayton and Sue Anne’s story sure is one. I doubt Clay could have survived if he had lost Sue Anne. He still claims she’s the air he breathes every day. Ma took Clay with her in the summer of ’49 to visit her brother Frank and his wife, Cora Beth. They hadn’t seen each other in years. Clay had a pleasing surprise waiting for him there; Uncle Frank and Aunt Cora Beth had adopted this beautiful girl named Sue Anne, with hair the color of a chestnut mare and eyes as green as spring grass. Sue Anne had a smile on her face that will melt snow. Her folks had been killed and she had no other family. Clay and Sue Anne took to each other from the moment they met. When Ma returned to the ranch, Clay had a new bride with him. I’ve never seen two people any happier than Clay and Sue Anne. They’re still acting like they’ve only been married a week or so.”
Blane chuckled as he recalled that swift romance and the way his older brother had behaved. Of course, love had not been appealing to a strapling sixteen-year-old boy.
“Things were getting pretty bad on the ranch by the early part of ’60. Clay and Jory lost cattle and horses to rustlers and disease. That summer was a scorcher, and most of the crops were singed in the fields. Most of the wild game had taken off for cooler parts. They were looking toward a bad winter when good luck arrived—if you can call somebody’s bad luck your good fortune. Seems Fate has this way of being kind to everyone at least once.”
He explained slowly, “There was a buckboard accident on Uncle Frank’s ranch. Aunt Cora Beth was killed and Uncle Frank got a busted leg that never healed properly. He asked my brothers to sell the Stevens ranch and to move their families in with him. He asked them to take over the running and ownership of the Box M Ranch. Uncle Frank had a beautiful spread on the Brazos River, a massive ranch where he raised cattle and grew cotton and corn. It’s near Richmond, not too far from Houston. When I got home for a visit at the end of September of ’60, they were packing up to move. I hung around for a couple of months to lend a hand with the moving and to give them protection on the trail. Ellie was showing by then, six months pregnant by that low-down snake,” he sneered bitterly.
Blane sat up and wrapped his arms around his raised knees. “It took me a lot of time and effort to drag the story out of her. For some crazy reason, I was the brother she chose as her favorite. She used to pester me like mad, dogging my every step and jabbering constantly. Clay and Jory told me they couldn’t get anywhere with the man who duped her. I promised them and Ellie I would handle him; either he was going to do right by her and the baby, or he was going to die. A weasel like that doesn’t deserve a good woman or to live, but Ellie still loves him and wants him. The move came at a perfect time. It seemed like a good thing for Ellie to make a fresh start where no one knew about her trouble. I took off in early December to join the Union. Before I reached Washington, I had seen enough to know the South was going mad with wild dreams. Before mid-February, they had captured over ten forts and arsenals from Texas to the Carolinas. Secession had started before I was in Louisiana. When I passed through Alabama, they were celebrating Davis’s presidential appointment.”
Silence filled the black area for a time as both Shannon and Blane sank into pensive thought.
The man who had been steadily and persistently tracking Shannon since she had run away from Boston in August sat before a cheery fire in his hotel room and sipped brandy. Simon Travers was leaning back in the plush chair with his legs stretched out toward the dancing flames that reminded him of Shannon’s tumbling curls. He was grinning and thinking. He knew he was so close to Shannon that he could taste victory, and soon he would be tasting her sweet flesh and helpless surrender. He had leisurely bathed as he waited for his men to return with her. What did he care if that Rebel soldier was seeking her? He had known more than Pike; he had known exactly where those two would go!
Along his journey from Washington to Wilmington, he had met with Confederate officers to pass along names of Union sympathizers, names that had allegedly been obtained by the beautiful and clever Rebel Flame. He had cunningly created two traps for the unsuspecting woman by spreading stories about both a Rebel Flame and a Union Flame. One identity would protect her until she was within his hands and the other would be used to coerce her into following his orders. Traveling with a group of hired men who owed fealty only to him and his fat purse, he had posed either as a Rebel agent working for Davis and the Confederate War Department or as a Union agent working for Lincoln, whichever the situation demanded.
At nearly every stop that Shannon and her handsome Texan had made, Simon Travers had stopped also, usually just behind them. Once there, he had destroyed any evidence, including people, that did not suit his purposes and he had created false clues to point in the directions he desired. He did not care which side won or was present when he caught up with Shannon. She would be at his mercy because he could be able to unmask her as either a Union or a Rebel spy.
Simon smiled coldly, congratulating himself on his cunning and daring. Shannon wouldn’t have a chance of escaping his traps. He would blackmail her into marriage before this year ended, then he would have the Greenleaf holdings and Shannon. By the time he finished with his ruses, even Major Blane Stevens wouldn’t trust her or help her for any price! She would have nowhere to run and no one to defend her. First he would punish her, then he would marry her.
Simon chuckled wickedly as he recalled his dealings with certain people during his pursuit of his delectable property. The soldier who had escorted Shannon out of Washington had been easy to deceive and bribe. Having lost his selfish widow because of his time with Shannon, the soldier had betrayed her the moment he had learned of Simon’s pursuit and reward. Naturally Simon had slain him for his loose tongue.
The Union camp near Alexandria had posed no problems or dangers for him, not with forged Union papers in his possession. And people along the trail had been eager to share information for a few coins or a hearty meal. Who could forget such a beauty with flaming hair and enormous blue eyes? But he had wasted time searching Alexandria, Fredericksburg, and Richmond before uncovering vital clues. Richmond had been so simple to enter and bleed for facts—once Simon learned where to look—that he wondered why the Union couldn’t conquer it.
Another evil smile tugged at his lips as he remembered how much fun he had had duping Miss Van Lew, who believed herself a matchless Union spy. He wondered how long it would take her to discover that his factevoking gift wasn’t from Lincoln in gratitude for her courage and cunning! She was the one to let Shannon’s code name slip, just as she was the one to reveal names and places where “Lincoln’s agent” could catch up with them for crucial news and a new assignment.
He had rushed to Danville to intercept Shannon and Blane, but they hadn’t appeared. Deciding that Elizabeth had been mistaken or clever, he had headed back to Richmond less than two days before Shannon’s solitary arrival in Danville! That second trip hadn’t been a waste, for he had met and hooked up with Major Clifford’s scout.
As for Major Clifford and that bumbling oaf, Thornton, he had dealt lethally with them for their treachery and deceit. If not for their stupidity and lust, he would now be home in Boston with Shannon! He had hoped his increasing the charges against Blane and Shannon would discourage them from using their secret identities and make them easier to track, for they always managed to elude him by a few days or a few
hours. Either they hadn’t discovered that someone was framing them or it didn’t matter to that infuriating Union officer who was keeping her company.
At first he had plotted to get Blane and Shannon arrested as Union spies so he could waltz in and take command of her, but he had changed his mind. After hearing of the fiasco at Moore’s camp, he realized she could be injured or slain by error if arrested. After all, he had supplied her with a large and dangerous role as the Flame. Thanks to Catherine Delany’s revelation of Blane’s lies to her, he had started disseminating hints that Shannon was a Rebel spy who was posing as the Flame to capture Union agents.
Simon was amazed by his enormous successes. Some of them had been most entertaining. He thought about the woman near Raleigh. That cheap whore had tried to sell him information for a thousand dollars in gold and the promise that Blane wouldn’t be harmed. She had made it clear she didn’t care what they did to Shannon. By the time he and his men had finished with her, she had been pleading to spill her guts. As Simon couldn’t have her exposing or selling information about Shannon, he had his men toss her body into the well before they left her burned home. Since he wasn’t totally unpatriotic, he had forced names and locations of Rebel safe houses from her and had turned them over to Federal authorities, compliments of the Union Flame…
Simon had dealt differently with the names and locations of Union safe houses. He had turned them over to Confederate officers, compliments of the Rebel Flame…He was digging her pit cleverly and steadily, and it would be one from which only he could withdraw her. She would be only too happy to return with him to Boston! He didn’t even feel badly about torturing facts from that old couple near Fayetteville before he burned their house and barns. He made sure that Colonel Childs at the armory there gave Flame the credit for exposing the Thomases.
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