The Officer and the Bostoner (Historical Western Romance) (Fort Gibson Officers Series, Book 1)

by Gordon, Rose

  Wes set his cup down on the floor beside the bed. “It’s all right. And here I was concerned that the coffee wouldn’t be strong enough because you used only one bean for the whole pot.” He grinned at her. “As we both now see, you proved me wrong on that point, so stop fretting.”

  She buried her face in her hands, but not before he glimpsed a bit of a grin on her lips.

  “Besides,” he continued, “now you can dump that out to make your tea and it won’t be considered wasteful, but rather, a great favor to us both.”

  ~Chapter Eight~

  Allison hoped beyond all measure that Mrs. Lewis would once again invite her to stay for lunch today. As it was, last night’s dinner in the dining hall followed by this morning’s breakfast had been horrible. Of course she’d done her best to choke it down, but not enough to survive on.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Lewis, Sarah,” Allison greeted as she walked into Mrs. Lewis’ home.

  “Allison, come sit,” Sarah said, patting the cushion next to her.

  Allison sat and fought the urge to groan when Mrs. Lewis used her toe to slide Allison her sewing basket, where that awful attempt at a skirt sat folded on the top, mocking her. With a sigh, she leaned down and picked it up. She held onto each corner and lifted it high into the air to look at it, scowling.

  Sighing again, she lowered it to her lap and stared at it. She had no idea what to do with it now. The skirt part was obviously the easier part of the gown, but even it hadn’t come together as nicely as Allison would have liked. Truth be told, it wasn’t really “together” at all. It would seem she hadn’t tied the thread as tightly as she should have when she’d reached the end of each panel. Now the seam was gaping open, mere touches away from completely falling apart.

  Refusing to sigh yet again, she pulled the loose thread from the fabric, too embarrassed to meet the gaze of either of the other women in the room.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Lewis said a moment later. “I’ve done that a time or two, myself.”

  Allison looked up at her and offered a wobbly smile.

  “Once it starts unraveling...you just have to pull it apart.” She shook her head and reached over to pat Allison’s arm. “It’s not as if there is anything else to do during the day.”

  “Indeed,” Allison mumbled, despite the undeniable truth that she’d never finish this blasted skirt, no matter how long she was here.

  She tossed the unneeded thread on the floor and reached for the spool. This time, she pulled off more than she thought was necessary, then took a deep breath and lifted the needle in one hand and the thread in the other. Then tried in vain to the thread the needle.

  A few minutes later, she dropped her hands and rubbed her eyes. She was hopeless.

  The sound of rhythmic stomping pulled her from her thoughts, and she craned her neck to look out the window, where four rows of men were lined up marching. Off to the left was Jack, commanding them.

  He called out orders and his men did what he said: halting, marching in place, marching forward, turning, halting again, saluting, turning left, then right. He called out command after command and his men did exactly as he instructed them to do.

  Just as quickly as they’d marched into her view, they were gone, and she was left to give her attention back to her skirt.

  Just as she dropped her gaze, she heard a shout. It was a familiar voice and her eyes shot up: Wes.

  Now, it was him and his men in front of the window. Shamelessly she watched him, just as she had Jack. But this time it was different. Before, her ears had been listening to Jack’s commands, and her eyes had been on his men. This time, her ears were listening for Wes’ commands, and her eyes were firmly on him and his broad form.

  Of course, she’d noticed his dashing looks and broad form before, but she’d never so brazenly stared. Usually when she saw him, he was trying to take something off. She blushed. Though not what most would find overly erotic or enough to warrant a blush, she’d glimpsed his tan, thick, muscled forearms yesterday when he’d rolled up his sleeves. Of course, had she continued to watch him, she was sure she’d have seen a lot more. But considering he wasn’t even her husband in truth and she should have never seen more of him than his face and hands, it had been quite...quite...intriguing.

  “Admiring your bridegroom,” Mrs. Lewis said with a giggle. “I remember the first few days after I married Colonel Lewis. The day after my wedding wasn’t so exciting, but a few days later, I’m sure I had that same wistful look on my face when I saw him.”

  “One that might suggest you craved a sandwich?” Allison blurted.

  “No, one that might suggest I craved something else,” Mrs. Lewis countered with a wink.

  Ignoring the way her cheeks flooded with heat, Allison shook her head and forced herself to turn her attention back to her sewing. She couldn’t tell Mrs. Lewis that their marriage was an in-name-only marriage. That wasn’t fair to Wes. He’d been benevolent enough to offer her his name and had been nothing but kind to her, besides. When it came time for her to leave, she’d let him tell his friends whatever he wanted.

  She swallowed hard and tried again to thread her needle.

  Mrs. Lewis’ giggle was not helping.

  Allison looked up at the woman. “Yes?”

  “It’s almost lunchtime. Perhaps you’d like to dine with Captain Tucker today instead of with us,” Mrs. Lewis said, winking.

  Allison’s stomach growled. “No, I’d really prefer to eat here.” She forced a smile. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind you eating here; but it doesn’t take an hour to eat,” she said, winking again. Did the woman have something in her eye? “There’ll still be plenty of time to spend with your husband before he has to go back to work.”

  Allison and Sarah exchanged looks. Mrs. Lewis must have taken some medicine that loosened her tongue.

  Mrs. Lewis heaved a sigh that even a deaf man would have a hard time ignoring. “I don’t know how to be any more discreet. I once lived in those cramped officers’ apartments with walls so thin you can hear your neighbor speak. Noonday is the best time to have some time alone, if you take my meaning.”

  Allison took her meaning and her face felt like it was on fire.

  Beside her, Sarah just shrugged. Yesterday, Sarah had mentioned that she’d married General Ridgely two years ago. By then he was already a commanding officer, so she never had to live in the barracks as Allison and Mrs. Lewis had.

  “Thank you,” Allison murmured at last. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

  “Very well,” Mrs. Lewis said, reaching up to push a fallen lock of her gray hair behind her ear. “It’s almost lunchtime now. I’ve got everything laid out in the kitchen. If you two would like to start preparing it, I’ll be back in a moment. I just need to run an errand.”

  Allison didn’t care what Mrs. Lewis’ errand was. She’d set her skirt down as soon as she’d heard the word “lunchtime” and was off her bottom at “prepare”.

  Trying not to seem too forward, she went into the kitchen and started assembling sandwiches.

  Sarah joined her soon.

  Then so did Mrs. Lewis. “Allison dear, won’t you turn around and greet our lunch guest?”

  Cautiously, Allison turned around to meet the laughing blue eyes of Wes. She shot Mrs. Lewis a look, which the cracked woman promptly ignored.

  “Captain Tucker, as our guest of honor, why don’t you have a seat right here?” Mrs. Lewis patted a seat that put him in perfect view of the back of where Allison was working.

  Allison turned back to the sandwiches and nearly gasped when Wes had the nerve to say, “I don’t mind if I do. The view is quite lovely.”

  Had he really said that in front of her friends? Sarah’s chuckle assured her that he had.

  Allison quickly finished making their plates and set them on the table, then sat where Mrs. Lewis directed her: right by Wes. Of course. Although it made sense. He was her husband.

  “You r
eally were craving a sandwich,” Sarah commented when Allison was the first one done.

  She blushed at Sarah’s remark, and then again, when Wes pressed his entire thigh against hers. She gave him a startled look but couldn’t read the look on his face.

  “Now that you’re done, and Wes is almost finished, perhaps you two would like to spend some time outside,” Mrs. Lewis suggested.

  Allison narrowed her eyes on the older woman but was spared having to say anything when Wes spoke up, “Actually, there’s someone I need to see before I meet back with my men.” He brushed the crumbs from his fingers and stood. “Thank you for inviting me for lunch, ladies. I shall have to stop by again sometime.”

  “I wonder what he has to do that’s more important than spending time with his new bride,” Mrs. Lewis said with a sniff.

  Whoever it was he went to see must not have said all they needed to say to him at lunchtime, Allison thought with a frown, as she glanced up at the clock for the fifth time since the bugle had sounded, indicating training was done for the day. Blessedly, so was her torture, she thought, looking down at her tender fingers that were covered with scratches and pricks. She’d only managed to sew one seam of her skirt today. At first, she was frustrated; then, she became annoyed and impatient; and finally, by the time she was nearing the last six inches, she just wanted to put it down and cry. Her hands hurt so badly and she had to be the slowest, sloppiest woman to ever hold a needle.

  Allison bit her lip to take her mind off that blasted skirt and how tired she was from all the sewing she’d attempted. She contemplated walking back to their room alone, but with all the men wandering around, she’d rather wait for Wes. While she’d probably be just fine, she felt better at his side.

  Fortunately, she was spared from having to ask Mrs. Lewis if she could be a permanent guest in her home when a knock came at the door.

  “Captain Montgomery, Lieutenant Walker,” Mrs. Lewis greeted, opening the door wide enough for them to come inside.

  Both men entered and removed their hats.

  “Allison,” Jack greeted. “One of Wes’ men was involved in an altercation a bit ago that resulted in him needing a bit of medical attention before some legal attention, and Wes—”

  “Has asked that we escort you to your home,” Gray cut in, casting his friend a strange look.

  “He sent you both?”

  Jack nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am,” at the same time Gray flashed her a wolfish grin and said, “Perhaps he was afraid if you spent some time alone with just me, you might throw him over for me.”

  “Or perhaps he thinks it requires both of you to offer the same amount of protection he alone can,” Allison teased.

  “I think he just wanted to protect your reputation,” Colonel Lewis said quietly, walking into the room. “If just one was seen escorting you to your room, there might be suspicions, but with both...” He shrugged. “Had I known Wes needed to stay late, I could have walked you home—seeing as I’m an old man now and nobody would give seeing the two of us alone together a second thought. But since these two are here, I think you’re perfectly safe to allow them to escort you home.”

  “Of course.” Allison scooped up her shawl and put it around her shoulders, then cast a scowl at the miserable skirt that she wanted nothing more than to throw into the fire. She then made her way to the two men, who each held an arm out for her, and stood between them, placing her hands respectively on each of their extended elbows.

  “How are you enjoying Wes?” Jack asked, as soon as they were out of the Lewis’ house.

  “I believe what this dimwit means is how are you enjoying being married to Wes?” Gray said before she could answer.

  She blushed, then cleared her throat. “Actually, he’s been very nice and attentive.”

  Gray chuckled. “He has, has he?”

  “Give him time, he does have his faults,” Jack informed her.

  “And so do you,” Gray retorted.

  “That’s fair enough,” Jack agreed. Then he dropped his voice to a stage whisper, “But no one has as many as Gray.”

  Allison shook her head. “And what are Wes’ faults?”

  She half-expected them to say that he smoked, or snuffed, or drank—of course he’d have to have engaged in all of those habits on the quiet since she had yet to witness him doing anything of the sort—so she was rather surprised when the words, “His feet stink worse than a dead opossum,” came out of Jack’s mouth.

  She sputtered with laughter. “I’m sorry, but I imagine yours do, too. What with wearing those leather boots all day in the hot sun and all.”

  Gray shook his head. “While that’s true, Wes’ real problem isn’t so much that his feet are surrounded by a bad odor but that he refuses to take his socks off. I’ve been bunking with him for six years—four here and the last two at West Point—and I think, other than when having a bath every other week, I’ve only seen him remove them once. And that was only because he got bit by something on his ankle and wanted to investigate it.”

  Allison shook her head. “Perhaps he’s afraid of misplacing them?”

  “Perhaps,” Jack agreed. “But if he’d get past that fear, your room might smell a bit better.”

  “I haven’t noticed anything.” And that was the truth.

  “Ah, that’s because you’re still in the honeymoon stage,” Gray informed her helpfully. “Give it enough time that you’re not so enamored with him, you’ll see his faults.”

  “That won’t happen,” she said automatically.

  Gray let out a whistle and grinned. “Yes, you, Mrs. Tucker, are definitely in the honeymoon stage.”

  She blushed. She hadn’t meant to imply she loved and was enamored with him so dearly that she’d always think he could do no wrong. She’d been speaking more that she’d be gone soon, therefore, wouldn’t be around to witness Wes’ deplorable habits for the remainder of her life. But they didn’t need to know that. She cleared her throat and looked ahead to the pile of overflowing crates in front of the door to her room. “What’s that?”

  “It looks like Charles made a delivery,” Jack said.

  Gray bent down and picked up one of the wooden boxes, and Jack picked up the other. Allison peered inside the one Gray held: two small towels and two larger towels, a new set of sheets, candles, a lamp, a carafe. Odd. She looked over at the one Jack held, which she suspected had more of the same, and shook her head. Why had Wes bought all of this?

  “Shall we take it inside for you, or would you rather we continue to hold it while you inspect it?” Jack asked.

  Allison nodded numbly and reached down to pick up the rolled-up rug that was leaning against the wall. “Bring it in, please; and I’ll try to find a place for all of it.”

  ***

  “Finished that dress yet?” Wes asked as he walked into their room.

  Allison’s lips stretched in a way that could be taken as a grimace or a smile. “No, but I’m getting closer.”

  “I’ll just bet you are,” he said, trying not to laugh at the skirt he’d glimpsed laying on Mrs. Lewis’ sofa earlier today. He discarded his hat and removed his coatee. He loved the way she’d turn red and then pretend to avert her eyes as if it made her uncomfortable to see him remove his clothing in her presence. Just to scandalize her more, he removed his shirt.

  Though she didn’t say anything, her skin flushed scarlet. “Would you like some coffee?”

  He blinked at her, then glanced around the room, noticing towels where they hadn’t been before, foodstuffs, some of which he doubted they may ever actually eat, on the shelves and other additions. Charles must have made his delivery while Allison was here. His mouth watered: fresh coffee.

  “Yes, I’d love some.”

  Allison cast him a wary smile and went about making him some coffee.

  Wes studied her as she moved around. Something wasn’t right; but what it was, he didn’t know. “I see that Charles came by,” he said for no other reason than to make id
le conversation with her. Perhaps if she was talking, she might let slip what was wrong.

  “He did,” she murmured as she went about her business at the table. “I put everything away, except this—” she picked up a little brown parcel, then tossed it at him— “I have no idea what it is, so I don’t know where it goes.”

  Wes knit his brows and opened the paper. Then choked on his own tongue. “That carnal devil.”

  “Pardon?” She turned her quizzical eyes on him, then frowned. “What is it? I asked both Gray and Jack, but neither would tell me.”

  Wes choked again. “You showed this to Jack and Gray?” he asked, smacking himself on his chest with his open palm.

  “Yes, they walked me home and helped me carry everything in.” Her frown deepened. “It would seem that your friend Charles finds it acceptable to leave someone’s purchases out in the open.”

  “Are you sure then that Charles left this, and it didn’t come from Jack or Gray?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Her tone and look were unreadable. “They both watched me pull it out of the box, then started coughing and choking the same way you did.”

  “Gray?”

  “Yes.”

  That was surprising. With how much Gray talked about sheaths and the necessity of wearing them, he’d have believed it was Gray who’d slipped this into the goods from Charles.

  “What is it anyway?”

  Allison’s question drew him from his thoughts and brought him up short. How exactly did he explain it, or did he? He shrugged. It was better he explain it than allow her to embarrass herself by asking someone else. “It’s called a sheath,” he said as evenly as he could despite the warmth creeping up his face. “A man wears it over his penis so he doesn’t contract the pox and so his partner doesn’t contract a spawn.”

  Now it was Allison’s turn to choke and have her face flush crimson. “Oh, I see.”

  Wes closed the brown paper back around the sheath, then tossed it down on the bed next to him. “If you haven’t already noticed, there are no children here. Any of the officers’ wives who become pregnant here don’t stay. With the extreme heat in the summers and the unusual amount of snow that can come some winters, this crudely built fortress is not ideal. Nor is it possible to get the necessary supplies in a timely manner. While we are part of the United States Army, it seems more often than not, they have forgotten about us. Our rations never arrive on schedule, neither does our pay; and if we try to order anything we might need that wouldn’t come on a routine schedule, it takes roughly a year to receive it. Not to mention, the Indians. Charles—or Gray—or whoever included this was only trying to be helpful.”