by Nan Ryan
It wasn’t the first time the old chief had forgotten where he lived. Several times Maggie had had to escort him to his tepee because he couldn’t recall exactly where it was. His was the tepee nearest to the fort and agency buildings, so it was no trouble to walk him home when he was lost.
“Could we impose on you to show us?” Shanaco said in a deep, well-modulated voice.
“Well, I could just tell you where—”
“Show us,” said Shanaco. It was more command than request.
“Go on, go with them,” prompted Katie. “I can hold things down here while you’re gone.”
Maggie was trapped. “All right, then.” To Katie, she said, “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
“Take as long as you need,” Katie replied.
Maggie released Coyote’s hand, ducked under the makeshift counter, rose and took his arm. “We’ll see you home, Coyote.”
The trio walked slowly up the parade ground past the many booths and officers’ quarters. Soon they left the buildings behind. At Maggie’s direction, they turned due west just beyond the fort. Within minutes they reached the eastern border of the Kiowa reservation. Coyote’s tepee was right on the line.
“Here we are,” Maggie said, pointing to the conical, buffalo-hide covered dwelling.
“You sure?” asked Old Coyote. “This where I live?”
“It is. Shall I go inside with you and make sure?”
“Please,” he said. He looked up at Shanaco. “I see you later. Thank you.”
Shanaco nodded and held the tepee’s flap open while Maggie stooped and ducked inside. The old chief followed. Shanaco stayed outside.
“See, this is your home. These are your things,” Maggie said. “Look around. This is home.”
Coyote’s eyes lighted and he nodded when he saw his clay pipe, his fur-covered pallet, his meager personal possessions. “Yes, is my home. I live here.”
“Now that you remember where it is, do you want to stay? Or shall I take you farther out onto the reservation where your People will be having their big feast in a couple of hours?”
“I stay here for now, take nap. Will go to feast later,” he said. “Young men from tribe promise to come get me when feasting starts.”
“Then I’ll leave you to get some rest,” she said.
“Thank you, Miss Maggie,” he said, and clumsily patted her back.
“You’re very welcome, Chief.”
Maggie left him, ducked back outside and was half surprised to find herself standing face-to-face with Shanaco.
“Still here?” she said with a shake of her head, as if annoyed. “No need for you to walk me back to the fort. While I appreciate the gesture, I need no escort. I’m perfectly capable of returning alone.”
Shanaco stared at her, the slightest hint of mischief appearing in his silver eyes. “You, Miss Bankhead, are a touch too presumptuous.”
Maggie frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve no intention of walking you back.”
Without another word he turned and strolled away, leaving Maggie puzzled and put out. The man was truly exasperating. He never behaved as expected.
Sixteen
Weeks prior to the officers’ ball, the ladies began planning what they would wear for the momentous occasion.
Katie Atwood and Maggie were no exception. The ball was an annual event to which everyone looked eagerly forward. Especially the females. Life at the frontier fort was often hard, lonely and monotonous. There were no luxuries. No theaters, no restaurants, no museums. No indulgent families and childhood friends. The officers’ wives were often bored and homesick, eager for any distraction.
A child of privilege, Maggie had several lovely ball gowns that had never been worn. She had realized, shortly after arriving at Fort Sill, that she’d have no need for such finery here.
This year’s officers’ ball would be her first opportunity to wear one of the stylish gowns. A generous person, she insisted that Katie choose one.
“I couldn’t,” Katie weakly protested.
“Of course you can,” Maggie persisted, and Katie had hugged her and eagerly looked through the array of beautiful gowns.
Now, on the evening of the ball, Maggie was alone in her cottage, preparing for the gala. The dress she’d chosen, a lush lilac velvet with high banded collar, tight long sleeves and full skirts, lay spread out on her bed. Next to the dress was a pair of sheer silk stockings and soft kid dancing slippers.
Earlier in the afternoon she had carefully washed her hair, using the last of her scented shampoo. Dusk was falling and she was hurrying to get ready. Sensing her excitement, Pistol anxiously followed her around, barking, wanting to know what was going on.
“Pistol, will you please lie down and leave me alone,” Maggie finally scolded. “I am trying to get ready for the ball.”
The dog’s ears shot forward and he stared at her.
“I want to look my best,” she explained softly. “You see, Shanaco will be there and…and…” Maggie stopped speaking, shook her head, dismayed. She couldn’t believe what she had just said. But it was true. It was foolish she knew, but she was undeniably excited by the prospect of seeing Shanaco tonight. Each time she saw him she felt a thrill unlike any she’d ever experienced.
Maggie laughed abruptly and assured herself she would soon get over this outlandish schoolgirl crush. There was nothing complex or worrisome about the situation. It was easily explained. She was attracted because Shanaco came from a very different world from hers. He was unlike any man she’d ever known, therefore mysterious and compelling.
Maggie shrugged bare shoulders, dismissing Shanaco from her thoughts. He would be gone from the reservation no later than Thanksgiving. Double Jimmy had told her that the half-breed chief was anxious to leave.
Maggie trembled. She had better get dressed.
Wearing a satin chemise and lace-trimmed underwear, she stood before a framed mirror mounted atop the fireplace. Bottom lip caught between her teeth, she painstakingly dressed the clean red tresses atop her head. When finally she was finished with the laborious task, she frowned at herself. She had never quite gotten the hang of fixing her own hair.
Maggie sighed heavily, yanked the decorative pins from her hair, and let it cascade down over her bare shoulders and around her cheeks. She turned around, hurried to the tall bureau and picked up an oyster-shell comb. She smoothed the heavy hair back off her forehead and secured it with the comb. She returned to the mirror and looked at herself. Again, she made a face. She should have accepted Katie’s offer to dress her hair.
Maggie shrugged. Too late now. Dave Finley would be knocking on the door any minute. Maggie rushed to the bed, yanked up the stockings and shoes and crossed to the armless rocker before the fireplace. She sat down and began to hum as she drew on the sheer stockings.
Across the quadrangle, in the private quarters she shared with her father, a totally naked Lois Harkins was in her room. She was also pulling on a pair of sheer silk stockings. She smiled with anticipation as she playfully snapped the saucy satin garter just above her left knee.
Lois sighed, sank lazily back in the easy chair and lifted her flowing blond hair up atop her head. She stretched her stockinged leg out and admired the shapely calf and slender ankle. She would, she felt certain, be the most beautiful woman at the ball.
Lois shivered deliciously.
This was to be the night she would finally get to officially meet the handsome half-breed, Shanaco. Lois laughed gaily as she recalled how easy it had been to convince her father that he simply had to invite the Comanche leader to the ball.
Days after Shanaco’s arrival at the fort, she had, after waiting for just the right moment, teased and flattered her father, and finally said, “Father, as the fort commandant, you must show your respect for Chief Shanaco’s position as leader of his People.”
“Why, I do show my respect and—”
“Invite him to the officers’ ball. Invite him as t
he honored guest.”
“Well, now, I don’t know if he would want to come and—”
“You’ll insist he attend.”
“I will?”
“Yes, as the honored guest.”
“I suppose it would be the polite thing to do.”
“Absolutely,” she’d said, and kissed his cheek.
Now, lounging here naked before the flickering fire, Lois was pleased that her plan had worked so well. On ration day she had stopped Shanaco after the races and told him about the ball. Promised him that he would be invited. She had kept that promise. Her guileless father hardly realized that the idea to invite Shanaco had been hers. He now thought it was his and she made it a point to praise him for being so clever and thoughtful.
The groundwork had been carefully laid. Now she would take over. In less than an hour she would be face-to-face with the chief. She would be formally introduced as the fort commandant’s daughter. That’s all she needed. She would take it from there. She could hardly wait to get her hands on the Comanche chieftain. Tonight was her opportunity to begin the seduction.
The half-breed would easily succumb to her charms. How could he not?
“Lois, dear, are you dressed?” Her father’s voice came through the closed door. “It’s time we go.”
Lois stayed where she was. “Almost ready, Father.”
She smiled wickedly as she lifted a hand to her pale right breast. She plucked at the nipple, coaxing it into a pebble-hard point. She repeated the exercise on her left nipple. As she worked at it, she frowned with frustration.
She wished she had some ice. Back East when she was going out for the evening, she always brought a glass of ice to her room and rubbed the ice on her nipples just before dressing. She liked the way the cold made her nipples rigid, made them stand out visibly against her tight bodice. Men liked it too. She’d seen them gaze at her bosom with barely disguised hunger.
She wanted the handsome Shanaco to look at her like that. Damn this backward frontier settlement where a lady couldn’t get her hands on a bucket of ice.
Continuing to urge her nipples into firm points, Lois rose from the chair. She stepped over to the bed and reluctantly picked up her lacy underwear. She’d much prefer wearing nothing at all under the ball gown, but it was rather chilly outdoors. She stepped into the underwear and then drew the blue satin ball gown over her head and let it fall down her warm body. She positioned the low-cut bodice down as far as she could and smoothed the shimmering fabric snug against her full breasts. “Ah, yes,” she said aloud as she looked down and saw that her nipples were pressing provocatively against the shimmering blue satin. She would, if need be, once she was at the ball, excuse herself, duck into a cloakroom or somewhere, and tease the nipples back into titillating tips no man could miss. Especially not Shanaco.
“Father,” she called, “could you give me a hand, please?”
“Aren’t you ready yet, child? Come on out here.”
Lois swept out of the room, hurriedly turned her back and ordered, “Fasten those hooks down my dress, Father.”
The colonel frowned. “Your back’s bare. Where’s your chemise, Lois?”
“Couldn’t wear one under this gown, Father. Hurry, please. We don’t want to be late.”
Colonel Harkins shook his head with resignation and hastily fastened the dress. “Now, Lois, you behave yourself this evening, you hear me?”
“Why, Father, don’t I always?”
Seventeen
A hush fell over the crowd as everyone turned to stare.
Shanaco walked through the door and paused just inside the entrance.
The Comanche chieftain was dressed like a white man in dark, well-cut evening clothes, snowy white shirt and black silk cravat. His black leather shoes were neatly polished and his long raven hair was tied back off his cleanly shaven face. He was well groomed and as handsomely dressed as any cultured, aristocratic gentleman. A patrician prince of the Plains. Handsome, aloof and noble.
Yet as he stood there unmoving, allowing the curious crowd to examine him, there was about him a definite wildness, a barely leashed intensity that made men nervous and frightened ladies. An appearance of cold hostility. He was young, vigorous and brutally masculine. Hard, lean and ruthless. A murderous Comanche warrior underneath the white man’s clothes.
Shanaco was unbothered by the crowd’s curiosity. He was used to making people uneasy. When he walked through the fort or down the sidewalks of the civilian village, people watched him as he passed. He could feel them watching him. He took perverse pleasure from making the whites jittery.
Still, this dance was the last place on earth he wanted to be. He would stay only long enough to pay his respects to the fort commandant, then he’d duck out and head to Jake’s card parlor.
Devoid of expression, Shanaco looked around the room. But when he spotted Maggie Bankhead’s flaming hair, he felt a quick surge of unexpected pleasure. His first impulse was to go to her, smile at her, talk to her. He took a step forward, then stopped himself.
“Chief,” said the approaching fort commandant, his hand extended, “welcome. Welcome to the officers’ ball. So glad you could make it this evening.”
“Thank you, sir.” Shanaco shook the offered hand.
Colonel Harkins slapped him on the back. “Come, I want to introduce you to my daughter.”
The grand ballroom was actually a fort warehouse that had been emptied and then carefully decorated for the occasion. The floor had been waxed and polished to a high sheen. Low burning gaslights cast a soft illumination over the spacious hall. Boughs of freshly cut cedar tied with bright ribbons sweetened the air.
At one end of the dance floor was a long table covered in white linen. On that table were dishes of tempting foods and bottles of brandy and wine and champagne that were being chilled in buckets of cold water.
At the opposite end of the room a small hired orchestra played. The six-piece ensemble consisted of two fiddles, a coronet, a piano, a bass and a violin. Dressed in evening garb, the talented group had come over from Lawton to play for the dance.
Shortly after eight o’clock the room had begun to fill with smartly uniformed officers and their well-turned-out wives. Greetings were exchanged and gossip was shared. Most of the whispers concerned the arrival of the ball’s guest of honor.
Shanaco.
By half past eight the dance floor was filled with dancers and laughter rang out as couples spun about in a waltz. On the sidelines Maggie stood beside Dave Finley, making conversation, observing the dancers. She smiled when she saw Katie and Blakely Atwood coming toward them.
Katie and Maggie hugged while Blake Atwood and Dave shook hands. The women nodded yes when Blake asked if they’d like champagne.
“Stay here, I’ll get you ladies a glass,” Blake said.
“I’ll go with you,” Dave said.
Once the men walked away, Katie whispered to Maggie, “Can you believe Shanaco actually showed up? I mean, why would he want to come to the officers’ ball?”
“I doubt he wanted to come, but Dave said Colonel Harkins insisted. Said the colonel told Shanaco he was to be tonight’s honored guest and that he should at least put in a brief appearance.”
“All the same, I’m surprised and…and…” Katie paused, grabbed Maggie’s arm. “Maggie, Shanaco’s looking straight at you!”
“Don’t be absurd,” Maggie replied, then smiled at Dave Finley as he and Blake Atwood returned.
Shanaco cast one last appreciative glance in Maggie’s direction. She looked particularly pretty in a high-necked lilac velvet dress. Her glorious hair was spilling down around her shoulders and Shanaco imagined those silky tresses falling across his bare chest.
She turned to accept a glass of champagne from her escort. She was smiling up at the officer. Shanaco turned away, allowed his host to guide him through the crowd. They were heading directly toward the bold blonde who had intercepted him at the horse track on ration day.
She was now flanked by two officers. One was the elderly, distinguished Major Miles Courteen, whom Shanaco had met at the meeting with Harkins and Double Jimmy. The other, a young sandy-haired man of medium height and build, was scowling.
“Chief Shanaco, I’d like you to meet my only daughter, Lois.”
Dimpling while she looked directly into his cold silver eyes, Lois did not mention that they had met before. She lifted her hand to be kissed. Shanaco shook it instead, then quickly released it.
He bowed slightly, “Miss Harkins.”
“Chief Shanaco, I’m very pleased to meet you,” said Lois sweetly. “I do hope you’ll save at least one dance for me.”
Shanaco gave no reply. He could tell by the way she was looking at him that she wanted more than a dance.
“You remember Major Miles Courteen,” said Colonel Harkins.
“Yes, of course. Nice to see you again, sir,” Shanaco said, and shook Major Courteen’s hand.
“Happy you could make it this evening,” Courteen replied with a friendly smile.
“The major has spent the past couple of days in the regimental hospital,” Colonel Harkins commented. “Just released yesterday.”
“Sorry to hear that, Major,” said Shanaco. “I hope you’re feeling better.”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Major Courteen assured him, but he looked wan and drawn.
“And this young man is my trusted aide-de-camp, Captain Daniel Wilde,” the colonel said, directing Shanaco’s attention to the sandy-haired officer at Lois’s side.
“Captain Wilde,” Shanaco acknowledged.
Daniel Wilde nodded but said nothing, and his eyes flashed with hatred.
“Excuse me, Miss Harkins,” Shanaco said as her father led him away for more introductions.
Her brows knitted, Lois looked after Shanaco, puzzled and angry. He had not responded to her as she had expected. Was the Comanche blind? Hadn’t he noticed that she was beautiful? He would notice before the evening was over, she’d see to that!