Phoebe's Valentine

by Duncan, Alice

  Jack’s question stumped her utterly. After a moment or two of reflection, she sighed. “I don’t know.”

  Maybe ten minutes passed while Phoebe stared at the countryside, her thoughts glum. She was surprised when Jack next spoke.

  “I liked pretending best.” He gave her a devilish grin, and her heart executed a crazy swoop.

  “I reckon I did, too,” she admitted softly.

  “Maybe we can pretend again soon, Phoebe.”

  His words amazed her and she stared at him, unable to think of a thing to say. He touched her cheek with a leather-clad finger. “I like pretending with you, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart? Oh, my.

  The wagon apparently annoyed a family of prairie chickens, giving Phoebe a reprieve from speaking when the birds rose from the underbrush with a boisterous flutter of wings, startling the three of them. She felt the little girl on her lap give a jerk of alarm and tightened her embrace.

  Jack laughed gently. “All sorts of exciting and interesting things happen out here on the prairie, don’t they.”

  “My goodness, I should say so.”

  At first Phoebe didn’t recognize the sound she heard as a small child’s giggle. When she did, she stared hard. The little girl smiled and pointed at the prairie chickens as they made their low, clumsy, lumbering way across the landscape.

  “Jack,” she said softly, “Jack, she’s smiling.”

  He looked quickly. “Well, I’ll be damned. She sure is.”

  “Oh, baby,” Phoebe said as she clutched the baby tight. Her eyes burned. “Oh, baby. Yes, you just look at those fat, silly birds. Aren’t they silly birds?”

  “Face lights right up, doesn’t it?”

  “It certainly does. She’s got a smile like sunshine breaking through the clouds.”

  “Good description. Sunshine.”

  “Maybe you’ll be a happy little girl one day. Maybe someday you’ll forget all the awfulness you’ve been through and be a sunny little girl.”

  Jack peered at Phoebe for a moment and then murmured, “Did I just hear the sound of inspiration striking?”

  “Inspir—” Phoebe’s gaze went from him to the child. “Sunny. Sunshine?”

  Jack shrugged. “Just thought it fit is all.”

  Phoebe’s brow crinkled as she thought. “Sunshine. Sunshine Honeycutt. We could call her Sunny.” She looked at Jack again. “Why, that sounds rather nice.”

  “Thanks.” Jack sounded disgruntled, as though he didn’t appreciate all this ponderous cogitation about what he considered a perfectly brilliant suggestion. Inspirational, even.

  Still, Phoebe knew how important names were. She wasn’t about to leap to a hasty decision about this one.

  “Sunshine,” she murmured. “Sunshine to dispel the gloom.” Her smile was perkier when she offered it to Jack again. “Why, I do declare, I think that’s a fine idea, Jack. Sunshine. It sounds sort of—well—Indian, too. Don’t you think?”

  Jack shook his head and chuckled. “I reckon.”

  “Why, Jack Valentine, you just stop laughin’ at me this instant. Names are very important. What you name a child can have a bearing on him his whole life long. Why, just consider the name ‘Jack.’“

  “All right. Let’s consider it.”

  “Well, first you have to tell me whether it’s short for John or Jacob.”

  “It’s John.”

  “Well, then, there. You see? John comes from the Hebrew. It means ‘God is gracious.’“

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Well . . . well, I’m not sure, exactly,” Phoebe admitted, somewhat displeased about having to declare the truth. “But you have to admit your last name is perfect. Valentine means strong; powerful. And you’re strong and powerful. So there.”

  “Why, thank you, Miss Honeycutt,” Jack said in a syrup-sweet voice that made the short hairs on the back of Phoebe’s neck stand up and the rest of her turn to jelly. “I didn’t know that. I always thought of valentines and hearts as going together myself.”

  “Because of Saint Valentine, of course, the patron saint of—of lovers.” Phoebe suddenly found herself breathless. Lord, what this man did to her was a pure crime.

  “Lovers, yes. Mmmm,” Jack murmured, obviously pleased with his name. “What about Phoebe? What does Phoebe mean?”

  Phoebe had to gather her fluttering nerves together before she could answer him. “Phoebe is from the Greek. It means bright; shining.”

  “Really?”

  Jack turned to peer at her, those blue eyes as clear as crystals, and Phoebe was afraid for her sanity for a minute. Lord have mercy. “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Maybe there’s something in this naming stuff after all.”

  “You—you think so?” She dared to peek at him now that he was showing her his profile once more. Good heavens, the man was handsome as one of those old Greek gods.

  “Well, I reckon. You’re about the brightest, shiniest thing I’ve ever come across, that’s for certain.”

  “Really?” came out tiny, whispery.

  “Absolutely. And I think it’s fitting that my bright, shining Phoebe should have a daughter named Sunshine.”

  Phoebe could only gulp a couple of times. Oh, my.

  Jack wished they’d get a couple more times to pretend together before they reached their destination. At the moment, that destination was Fort Sumner, where they planned to rest up for their final push to Santa Fe.

  They weren’t given an opportunity to be alone, though. It was kind of hard to carry on a pretend affair with the U.S. Army camped a few yards away, especially with the towering form of Corporal Hosea Honeycutt keeping his eagle eyes on them.

  They followed the Pecos River to Fort Sumner. It took them a day and a half to get there.

  “Mercy sakes, it looks so . . . so rugged,” Phoebe whispered when they first spotted the fort in the distance.

  “Reckon it is. It’s a frontier outpost and it’s about the only defense this part of the territory has against Indian incursions.”

  Phoebe blurted out the first thing that occurred to her before she could stop herself. “What defense do they have against us?”

  Jack gave her a little half-smile and shook his head. “All things considered, the Indians are putting up a pretty good fight, Phoebe. You’re right, though. So’re Pete and Antelope. Ultimately, none of the tribes stand a chance against our weapons and our determination to move west and civilize the wilderness.”

  Phoebe sighed and thought about little Sunshine. The toddler and Sarah were in the back of the wagon at the moment, Sarah trying her best to keep the little girl amused. When Phoebe peeked inside the wagon, it looked as though she was doing a good job. Sunshine seemed fascinated by the book Sarah was showing her.

  “Fort Stanton is where your corporal is stationed. It’s up there in the mountains.”

  Jack pointed west, and Phoebe could see the rugged outline of Capitan in the distance. “Oh, my. This country is so different from what I grew up with. There’s nothing but sky for miles and miles and miles, and then all of a sudden there’s a mountain sticking up. It’s as if God threw a great big rock and it just landed there, smack in the middle of nowhere.”

  With a grin, Jack said, “Good description, my poetic little belle.”

  He sounded mildly possessive, and Phoebe peered at him sharply. His expression didn’t look any different than it ever did. It was faintly amused and altogether devastating. Mercy sakes. This had been a much more eventful trip than she’d anticipated when she’d packed up William and Sarah and trundled them off to Austin. All that seemed like years ago now.

  “There are ladies at the fort, Phoebe. It will be nice for you to see some ladies again, I reckon.”

  “Ladies live out here in this barbaric wilderness?”

  She sounded so much like her old belleish self, so much like the Phoebe she’d been when he first met her, that Jack couldn’t contain his crack of laughter. She sco
wled at him, making him want to hug her. This reaction was so different from the one he used to have to her, he could scarcely believe it.

  “Ladies are sort of like ants, Phoebe,” he said when he caught his breath. “They can live anywhere.”

  Her glare gave way to a reluctant grin. She smacked his arm. “You sound like Antelope. Are ladies like the grains of sand? Like fleas on a dog?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, that’s certainly good to know. One would hate to think of oneself as indispensable.”

  With a fair assumption of nonchalance, Jack said, “Naw. If one of you goes, there’s a million waiting to take her place.” The words tasted like ashes in his mouth. The mere thought of anything happening to Phoebe made his heart wad up into a tight little knot and ache like crazy.

  Somehow or other, he knew he’d have to make this woman listen to reason and travel to San Francisco with him. She’d never survive in Santa Fe. Not the way she planned on going about it. No way in hell. And then she’d be on his conscience for the rest of his life.

  He conveniently stuffed away the sure knowledge that she was going to be in his mind for the rest of his life anyway, because he loved her madly, passionately, forever. The truth was too disconcerting for Jack Valentine, confirmed bachelor and wealthy businessman, to acknowledge.

  His attention was diverted by activity at the fort. “Looks like they’re sending out a welcoming committee.”

  Almost as soon as the words left Jack’s mouth, Hosea and William drew abreast of the wagon. Hosea had allowed William to ride next to him on Lucky Strike all morning long, a consideration that swelled William’s male vanity no small amount.

  “Soldiers approachin’ from the fort, Mr. Valentine, Miss Phoebe. Me’n William will ride up and explain ourselves to ‘em. I’m sure you’ll be welcome to stay a day or two at the fort, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Hosea.”

  Phoebe and Jack watched the corporal and William trot toward the approaching soldiers, and Phoebe sighed. “I don’t know that I want to waste another couple of days at the fort. I want to get to Santa Fe.”

  “Tired of my company, are you?”

  There it was again, the ridiculous devil inside him making him needle her, prodding for a reaction. Only today, for the first time, he realized his devil was trying to make her confess to something deeper than a mere protest. Silly Jack. She was too proud for that. She might want to pretend every now and then, but she’d never in a million years tell him she loved him. Not Phoebe Honeycutt. Not Black Jack Valentine, a damned Yankee devil.

  Phoebe spluttered for a second, then said, “Well, I don’t expect I’m any more tired of your company than you are of mine.”

  Her equivocation sounded suspiciously like a needle of her own. Was Phoebe fishing, too? Jack eyed her contemplatively. She looked nervous. Maybe she was waiting for his own confession. Could he say the words aloud? They’d mean entrapment for life.

  Hell. It was all too complicated for him. He nodded toward the soldiers, who were now clearly distinguishable from their accompanying dust cloud as they neared. “Looks like they sent out the brass.”

  “Brass?” Phoebe peered at the cloud of dust.

  “Yes. The ranking officers.”

  “Oh.”

  He grinned. “Must think you’re special.”

  “Now how can they think I’m special? They’ve never even heard of me before.”

  “Oh, yes they have.”

  Phoebe looked thunderstruck, and he shook his head. She had no more idea about what life was like out here in the territory than little Sunshine had of life in the white man’s world. “Pete Spotted Pony. When he brought the body here. I expect they knew about Basteau following you, too, even before that. Word gets around, Phoebe, even out here. There’s the telegraph and scouts. They even use carrier pigeons.”

  “Oh, my.”

  Jack turned out to be right. Soon, the small army contingent arrived at their wagon, Hosea and William flanking the men from the fort. William looked proud enough to burst out of his dusty jacket. Phoebe wished she’d thought to cut his hair. He looked like a pure ragamuffin.

  “What’s going on, Aunt Phoebe?” Sarah poked her head out of the wagon’s canvas flap.

  “Better hold on tight to Sunshine, Sarah, dear. Some soldiers from the fort are here to greet us. You know how scared she is of soldiers.”

  “All right.” Sarah disappeared immediately to do her duty. Jack peered into the wagon. He was pleased to see how comfortable Phoebe’s niece seemed with her charge as she picked up Sunshine and spoke softly to her.

  “Sarah’s a fine girl, Phoebe. You ought to be proud of her. You’ve done a good job with her.”

  It didn’t surprise him any when Phoebe stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. Nor did it surprise him when she said, “Well, thank you, but I don’t reckon I had much to do with it, Jack. She’s a good girl and my sister Pauline was a wonderful mother.”

  Jack knew he didn’t have time to point out the fact that Sarah’s mother had been dead for more than half of Sarah’s young life, and that it was Phoebe’s influence upon which Sarah now acted. It was Phoebe’s influence which had helped mold her into a little girl at once helpful and kind, two qualities Jack valued highly.

  “Miss Honeycutt?”

  A tall, elegant-looking soldier sporting a major’s insignia and an arrogant, martial air about him, swept off his hat and bowed deeply from his horse. Jack detested the man on sight. The major’s voice, a deep, rich, faintly southern purr, aggravated him, too.

  “I am Miss Honeycutt,” Phoebe said in a small voice, as though cowed by the dashing soldier.

  The major’s smile seemed both approving and self-important. His gaze swept Phoebe as though he were looking over a tasty dessert. Jack wanted to bust him one. Damned pretentious bastard.

  “Major Dan Graves, Miss Honeycutt. Here to escort you to our humble fort. We got word you were headed this way.”

  “Didn’t bother to see to her protection, though, did you, Major Graves?” Jack smiled at the major. It was a smile calculated to put the usurping man in his place, but Jack underestimated the major’s conceit.

  Major Graves gave Jack an appraising glance and apparently decided to ignore the slight Jack’s words implied. “We have a depleted force at the moment, Miss Honeycutt. When we heard you were in the capable hands of Corporal Honeycutt and his Tenth, we knew you would be well cared for.”

  Jack swore under his breath, irked because he’d allowed his jealousy to show. More, though, he was fabulously angry with himself for being jealous in the first place. He’d never been jealous before in his life. Love ‘em and leave ‘em, Jack. What did he care about women? If one went away, there were a million waiting to take her place. What did he care about one, single, aggravating southern belle?

  A lot, damn it.

  The truth rankled all the way to the fort. He couldn’t deny it, though. Not when Major Dan Graves rode beside the wagon and engaged Phoebe in polite, flirtatious conversation all the way. He even kept it up as they rode through the enormous double gates and into the packed dirt of the yard. Even his name sounded strong. Major Dan Graves.

  Pompous ass.

  And the line the major fed Phoebe annoyed the hell out of Jack. A more practiced, trite, inane, idiotic stream of foolishness he’d never heard in his life. Phoebe seemed to be eating it up, too, a fact that galled Jack to distraction. Couldn’t she tell this man was an accomplished seducer? Couldn’t she tell he was just buttering her up for the pounce?

  Jack eyed Phoebe critically, his eyes narrowing with the effort. No. She couldn’t tell. Her magnificent eyes were round, her succulent lips slightly parted, her delicate cheeks a luscious pink, and her perfect bosom heaved in an agitated rhythm.

  Damn.

  “Let me introduce you to your hostess, Miss Honeycutt,” Major Graves said smoothly when Jack pulled the team to a stop. “Captain Davidson’s wife, Mary Jane Davidson,
will see you to your quarters.”

  Jack noticed a woman standing close by, kneading her hands in anticipation, her face bedecked with a big smile. Must be Mary Davidson, he thought glumly. He wanted the chance to lecture Phoebe; to tell her not to pay any attention to the handsome major who was paying her so much regard; to let her know that men of the major’s ilk used women like playthings and his intentions were obviously anything but honorable.

  Since Jack himself had always been just such a man, he knew their type intimately. The truth did not sit any better than did the knowledge he cared whether or not Phoebe succumbed to the damned major’s practiced advances.

  “I’ll help you down, Phoebe,” he told her, wincing at the callow jealousy ringing in his voice.

  “Don’t bother, Mr. Valentine,” the charming major said, a deprecating smile on his gallant lips. “I reserve the honor to assist Miss Honeycutt for myself.”

  Ignoring the daggers Jack glared at him, Major Graves grabbed a startled Phoebe around the waist and lifted her to the ground, depositing her with the utmost delicacy.

  Jack hopped down himself and stomped to Phoebe’s side. He was furious to note that the major stood every bit as tall as he himself did, and that Phoebe looked as fragile and beautiful as a porcelain rose next to him. Him with his damned blue uniform and stupid drawl.

  “Oh!” Phoebe cried softly. “Thank you, Major Graves. But . . . but I have to see to the children.”

  “Ah, yes, the children.” Graves gave her a mellow chuckle designed, Jack knew, to turn her to putty. It made Jack want to run him through with the knife in his boot holster.

  Major Graves strode to the back of the wagon and thrust the canvas back. Then he lost his suave composure for a second and stepped back, startled.

  “Be careful, mister,” came Sarah’s shrill warning. “Sunshine don’t take to soldiers.”

  Phoebe, who had been standing as if struck from stone for several seconds, was galvanized into action by Sarah’s words. “Oh, dear. Poor Sunshine!”

  Jack followed her, wishing he could think of something to do besides glower at the major.

  “What is that Indian child doing in your wagon, Miss Honeycutt?”