by Cindy Nord
And every night he’d ached for her.
On a curse, he shoved a hand through his long hair and then resettled his hat before draping an arm across his raised knee. She and the man were inseparable. What the hell does she see in this dandy?
Dillon leaned back against the tree. Wasn’t any one but him concerned about her welfare if her fiancé got wind of all this? And surely word would reach him, with so many officers and men hanging around him.
In a futile attempt to squelch the jealousy sliding through his veins, he closed his eyes and took another swig. What did it matter what he thought? Her laughter at whatever that pompous ass had said proved her acceptance of him.
Another expletive spilled past his lips.
He should’ve known better than to believe, even for a moment, that she was interested in him. Hadn’t she proved her fickle behavior with that drunken Bear Dance escapade? “She wants me, my ass,” he mumbled under his breath. High-browed society snobs…cheaters, every damned one of them.
Just like my mother.
The recall of racing into his Texas home and finding her wrapped around a man who wasn’t Pa lay seared in his childhood memories forever. Worse, he well-knew Caleb was the end result of that tryst, but Dillon never told his father. Or his brother.
No, that dirty little secret would die with him.
Dillon buried the dark thought and slowly opened his eyes. His gaze skimmed across the encampment, then farther out across the desert. Good God, he needed something…anything in a life so lonely a coyote would mourn at the emptiness of it, and in his desperation, he’d obviously created a fantasy out of Alma.
But he’d been wrong to think their link was anything more. Horribly, painfully wrong. And the obvious upcoming tryst now unfolding in agonizing detail near the campfire between her and Lieutenant Vaughn, drove a spike of regret through his gut. Sonofabitch, he should’ve just taken what she’d offered him in the teepee.
Remembrance of the soft, supple lushness of her breast had him making a fist. He wished he didn’t know now what he hadn’t known before that night. Another mumbled groan followed, as did another swig of whiskey.
All this worthless ruminating was akin to torture.
He glanced back at Alma and the lieutenant. Except from where he sat, he could see they didn’t look quite so friendly now.
His heart issued an extra thump when she speared the officer with a hot look that scoured him from head to toe. And then, the bastard snagged a tight hold on her forearm.
Dillon straightened, his leg lowering.
He stashed the flask and climbed to his feet, concern shifting to anger. To hell with keepin’ my distance. His gaze peeled off Alma and resettled on Vaughn. Before he could take his first step, however, the lieutenant released his grip, then grabbed up his plumed hat. A second later, he stalked away.
Head high, Alma swept across the clearing, stepped up onto an overturned crate, and disappeared into the back of the now-covered wagon. She was safe, unlike that bastard who’d dared touch her.
Fury pounding each step, Dillon strode down the hill and cut off Vaughn.
Surprise flickered on the lieutenant’s face, and he pulled up short when Dillon blocked his path. “Reed, I-I didn’t see you out here.”
“Need to have a word with you,” he growled.
Smile dimming, the man stiffened. “You’ve been short on words this whole trip.”
Dillon stepped between the campfire’s light and Vaughn, leaving the bastard in his shadow. His lips smirked upward. “But I’ve noticed you haven’t.”
“W-What are you talking about?”
“Your nightly interludes with Miss Talmadge.”
The man gave a nervous chuckle. “Ahh yes…that…Well, I think she’s quite a lovely lady.”
“What you think is irrelevant.” Dillon took a menacing step closer. “She’s Colonel Talmadge’s niece, and she’s been assigned to me. That means I’ve got a vested interest in her welfare.”
Vaughn stepped backward. “Her welfare is being well taken care of now – you needn’t worry.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” he said, his voice ice. “I’m just letting you know your days of sniffing around her like a rutting hound are finished.”
“I-I beg your pardon?”
Even in the firelight Dillon saw his face flush.
“And in case she failed to mention this, I will. She’s to marry an English earl upon our arrival at Fort Lowell, so that puny two of a kind you’ve been dealing out every night for her around the campfire is no match to his royal flush.”
The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “I am merely being sociable and treating her like the lady she is, which is far better than how I’ve seen you treat her.”
Dillon’s jaw tightened. Hell yes, he’d let his own jealousies claim the better of his judgement, but he was knee deep in this shit now. He shifted again, his boot tip bumping against the lieutenant’s fancy footwear. “Here’s my advice,” he said between clenched teeth. “And, if you have half the brains of a jackass, I suggest you take it. Until we reach the fort tomorrow, steer clear of her. Got it?”
Thunder rumbled overhead.
“Now see here. I don’t like your tone….”
Dillon drilled his finger into Vaughn’s chest, pushing him back another step. “Then I’ll make this crystal clear. I don’t need some West Point turkey-cock like you causing her any more grief than she’s already endured on this trip. Understand?”
For a fleeting moment the man puffed up, then as quickly he frowned. “Calm down, Reed. I didn’t realize you’d staked your claim on the woman. I-I’ll back off.”
Staked a claim? Hell’s fire, he’d vaulted clear over the boundary line in defending her honor. He nearly laughed out loud. His thoughts as to what he’d like to do to Alma now ran the glacial opposite of pure. He wanted his hands on her body, wanted his name falling from her lips when she lost her innocence.
Furious she’d driven him to this madness, he poured out his frustrations over the inept half-wit fool enough to still be within easy reach. “Just make sure you do…or the next time, I’ll make sure for you.” With a crunch of his boot heels, Dillon stormed past the man and into the night.
The next morning, Dillon drained the last murky brown drop from his cup, and then handed the mug to the private. “Thanks, Johnson. You make damn good coffee.”
“I’ve had lots of practice,” the grizzled soldier replied as he finished stowing the tinware.
“Your brew keeps me going. That’s what counts.” Dillon pulled on his gloves and settled his gaze on Chuska Peak hugging the horizon. The fort waited on the other side of the pass that sliced through the red-rocked behemoth. He glanced up at the darkening clouds. Streams of sunlight leaked through the billows like slivered strands of gold. They’d probably be chasing rain most of the day. As it was, thunder had kept him awake half the night.
Who am I trying to fool?
On a mumbled curse, he swung into the saddle. Flaxen hair and a perfect body had more to do with his restlessness then the weather.
He rolled his shoulders, then glanced toward the wagon. Though the canvas bonnet had been stowed, Alma’s seat remained empty. Her bustle, on the other hand, lay secured to a side pole, and the snow white layers ruffled like a lopsided bell in the dawn’s warm breeze.
Dillon scanned the soldiers maneuvering their mounts into position, then skimmed along the plateaus and red-rock mesas. Saltbush and sagebrush rustled in the high desert breeze.
Where the hell are you? Her morning ablutions shouldn’t take this long. A movement caught his eye and his breath eased out.
The top of the peach-colored parasol bobbed along between the lines of horsemen.
Seconds later, Alma limped into view and headed straight toward him. He studied her through narrowed eyes, her usual “get-up-and-go” demeanor long gone. She shuffled around to face him, her gloved fingers fidgeting with the ivory handle. “Good morning, Dillon.”
“Morning.” A beguiling scent of roses filled his lungs. There wasn’t a damned hole deep enough for him to crawl in to get away from his want of her. He breathed in sharply, fixing his gaze on the pale, purple mountains hugging the landscape before him. “We’re getting ready to head out. Shouldn’t you be back on your throne?”
“Well, yes. About that…” Warm, rain-scented air ruffled the silky wisps that had escaped her chignon as she stepped closer. Alma rested her hand upon his leg.
With a hard ache, his arousal strained behind his denims.
“You were right regarding my seating arrangements, Dillon,” she continued, ignorant of his less than proper…condition. “I am purely miserable.”
In a pathetic effort to find relief, he shifted in his saddle. “Be thankful, then,” he said, his voice graveled. He glared at the sun streaks jumping the desert buttes. “We’ll be at the fort by dinnertime.”
“I’m so sorry, but I don’t t-think I can stand another moment in that wagon.” He glanced down. The spark in her eyes had dulled, replaced by a sliver of vulnerability. “May I ride with you?” she whispered, more like a plea than a request.
This woman spelled danger to every scrap of sanity he had left. Dillon searched his mind for a million reasons to say no. Not a blasted one appeared. Sonofabitch. He tugged his hat’s brim lower, and yet, God help him, the corner of his mouth kicked up. “I’m thinking Lieutenant Vaughn might not be pleased.”
“I don’t give a flying fig what that dolt thinks. I’m just glad he kept his distance this morning.”
That made two of them. If the bastard touched her again, he’d find himself picking his ass up out of the dirt. And if he was lucky, Dillon would stop there.
Brows puckering, she clenched the folds of her skirt between nervous fingers. “Now don’t make me beg, you ruthless troll. Need I remind you it isn’t gentlemanly?”
“Gentlemanly?” He snorted, his heart tripping faster. Another grin twitched his lips. “I’m a stranger to chivalry, and you damn-well know it.”
He caught a flash of her straight, white teeth before she nipped back her smile. She snapped her parasol closed and held up a gloved hand. “Well?”
“You’re a bossy little thing.” Ignoring the subtle throb in his shoulder, Dillon swept her up and settled her into place in front of him.
Several nearby soldiers laughed. “Keep a firm hold on her this time, Reed,” the closest one said. Others nodded in agreement. “She’d be hard to replace out here.”
He nodded. Replace? Dillon swallowed hard, doubtful such a feat could be achieved. He’d met many women in his lifetime, but none had irritated or tangled him up with such expertise. This exasperating woman would set a priest to drinking.
From the front of the column, the command to move out sounded. Dillon slid his arms around Alma’s corseted waist with an all-too-familiar ease. He wove the reins through his gloved fingers.
Horses snorted. Brass bridle rings chinked. A bugle’s sharp trill punctuated the cloud-covered morning. The uniformed riders trekked forward, and Dillon fell into line behind the wagon. On a sigh, Alma laid her folded sunshade across her lap, then burrowed closer against him.
He’d missed her soft, sweet curves. “What took you so damned long?”
“Now don’t be vulgar, Mister Reed.”
He chuckled…and fifteen minutes later his stubborn little debutante fell fast asleep in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Henry wiped his mouth with a napkin, then laid aside the elegant dinner cloth. Even in Tucson, some enjoyed the finer things. A most-redeeming aspect. With his finger tapping the side of his half-filled whiskey glass, he leaned back in the chair.
Beyond the front window of the hotel, the stage from El Paso blocked the street, dust from its arrival settling in the half-dried mud. From atop the coach, the sweat-drenched driver tossed down valises, cases, and portmanteaus. Several additional boxes lay stacked across the boardwalk near the passengers.
Anger thrummed through Henry. Again, his fiancée had failed to show.
Ill-mannered wench.
Four days before when her shipping trunks arrived without Alma Talmadge in tow, his anxiety increased tenfold. Every evening since, he’d waited for his betrothed to step from the daily stage.
And every evening failed to bring him his soon-to-be bride.
He grimaced as each tick of the nearby hall clock further closed his window of opportunity. As the days slipped by, his financial situation deteriorated. In a month, his mountain of gambling debts owed in London would come due.
A shadow fell across him, drawing his attention. His eyes widened and he smothered a gasp. Fury, nonetheless, ignited. He surged to his feet. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
Simon Bell smiled and reached for the glass of whiskey. “Relax, my friend.” He lifted the tumbler. “The job you hired me to do is complete.” He tossed back the liquor, gave a sharp inhale, and then returned the empty glass to the table…upside down. Another smile tipped his lips as he leaned forward. “Talmadge now rests on the bottom of Boston Harbor.”
***
An hour later…
At the creak of his door opening, Colonel Talmadge glanced up from his paperwork. His breath caught. With a smile, he shoved to his feet as his daughter sashayed into the room. “Good God, Pamela, I’d no idea you’d be arriving this afternoon. I could’ve met you at the stage.”
“Nonsense,” she said, laughing. “The walk to the fort wasn’t long a’tall, Papa. Besides, San Francisco was purely delightful. I’m still floating on clouds.” With a well-practiced spin, she asked, “What do you think of one of my new gowns? ‘Tis a wine-colored silk dupioni and feels absolutely luscious.” As Pamela slowly turned, she tapped her gloved-fingers on the ivory-colored trim at her wrist. “There’s even Venice lace. I was beyond thrilled the dressmakers could finish this in time for me to travel.” She gave him a smile, then settled back on the heels of her leather slippers. “And Papa…” She pulled out a small, elongated package from her reticule. “Here.” She lay the paper-wrapped item atop his afternoon work. “I brought you a gift. They call this delicacy Ghirardelli Chocolate.”
“Chocolate?” His eyebrows rose. “I’ve heard about this, but never tasted any.”
“Well now you can. In the city, chocolate is all the rage.” She patted her bulging reticule. “I’ve even brought back a bar for Albert. I do believe my husband will approve.” Another lilting laugh followed as she swept around the desk and laid a kiss atop his balding head.
He chuckled. “Thank you, my dearest. I shall relish every bite.”
“Enjoy it with your evening whiskey, Papa. The chocolatiers say the treat goes best with finer spirits.” Her expression warmed as she peered at him square in the face. “And would you look at this. You’ve got new spectacles.”
“Yes.” Thaddeus readjusted the specs. “Finally broke down and ordered me a pair out of El Paso.”
“Well, they look quite dignified. I’m glad you stopped being stubborn, especially since you were blind as a bat.” She moved to the long window and peered outside. “Speaking of husbands, have you seen Albert? I’d love to let him know I’m home.”
Talmadge shook his head. “His patrol rode out this morning. Chasin’ the damned renegades again.” He leaned back in the chair. “So, you might as well come for dinner tonight. You can share the details of your shopping trip.”
She spun to face him. “I’ll be delighted. I had a wonderful time in San Francisco, but Rosa’s endless chatter all the home has given me a splitting headache. It’s been seven years since I’ve been here, and I still don’t understand my housekeeper’s Mexican gibberish.”
“I’m glad you at least had her as a companion on this trip. By the way,” Thaddeus said, his gaze following his daughter as she eased into the chair opposite his desk. “Your cousin should be here in a couple of weeks to marry her earl.”
“What?” Pamela edged to the rim of the ch
air, her caged underthings rustling beneath her bright dress.
“Oh, that’s right…” Thaddeus dropped the message to the desk. “You’d left for San Francisco before her plans changed.”
“But, I-I thought we were going to Boston this fall for their wedding?”
“That was the original idea, but your uncle has made different arrangements for Alma. Now, she’s to be married in Tucson.”
Her lower lip curled into a pout. “But…why? I was so looking forward to the trip back East.”
“I’m sorry, sweet pea. You know your Uncle Charles. He likes to change things up at the last moment.” Thaddeus tapped the paper he’d received an hour earlier via courier. “Just got this message from up north at Fort Garland, though.” He peered at his daughter over his wire-rimmed glasses. “Dillon says he’s rerouting them–”
“Dillon?” Her eyes widened. “W-Why is Dillon with Alma?”
“Well, since Dillon was back east delivering a legislative packet for the governor, I assigned him the job of escorting her to the fort.”
“I see.” She leaned back and reached for her fan, dropping open the tortoiseshell slats. “I can just imagine the enjoyment they both must be having right about now. He with his cool and distant detachment of life…and Alma, so out of place in those austere surroundings.” Her fanning lifted the wisps of hair around her face. “Well, if nothing else, at least she’s in capable hands.”
“My thoughts, exactly.” He tapped the paper. “His message was dated last week, but Dillon decided to take a longer route home.”
“Longer?” She blinked. “Why?”
“He didn’t say.” Thaddeus tightened his lips. Telling Pamela about the threats to her cousin’s safety would do nothing but cause her to worry. “Whatever his reasons, I’m sure the change was necessary. Regardless, he expects them to arrive near the end of June, give or take a few days.”
“Does Lord Green know of this change in plans?”
Talmadge smiled. “The earl is none-too-keen on Dillon’s involvement to begin with, I’m afraid.” He chuckled. “I’ll let him know in the morning. No harm done ‘til then.”