by Gordon, Rose
He closed his eyes for an extended blink. “No.” A commotion from outside caught his attention. “Has the bugle already sounded?”
She nodded against the pillow. “About ten minutes ago.”
Wes closed his eyes and groaned. “We’d better get up.”
Neither made a move to do so.
He shot her a quick grin. “You have a dress to finish.” He chuckled at the scowl that came over her face.
“Right, and you have men to instruct how to hit a target.”
“Among other things,” he muttered as a memory of just how bad a few of his newest soldiers were at hitting a target the size of a door. He was sure that even Allison could have hit that target, but not some of his men. As for their marching, there was still work to be done there, too.
But those things didn’t seem so important right now as he looked into the wide eyes of the woman lying next to him. What would it take to make her stay with him? And where did that thought come from? She was pleasant enough, and even more pleasant to look at, but what had happened to inspire him to want to make her stay? Was it that he couldn’t imagine the embarrassment or questions from his friends about having to give up the larger room he’d grown accustomed to sharing with her and having to go back to sharing not only a room with three other men but also a bed with Jack? No. He didn’t owe them any explanation, nor would he offer one. He’d just gloat about the time he got to spend away from their absurd company.
Perhaps then, the reason he wanted her to stay was so he could protect her. That seemed logical. The way she’d described her intended made him sound...peculiar, almost too feminine. He might not be completely unable to protect her, of course. He might just not be as masculine as Wes or the men Wes had been in the company of for the last eight years. She’d said he was in investments of some sort. That kind of job required a man to sit on his hind quarters for hours on end each day. He shuddered. He had his share of keeping records and updating logs that kept him at a desk for two hours each day. He couldn’t imagine how painful it would be to have to be there more than that.
He inwardly sighed and continued to stare into Allison’s unblinking eyes. None of that really mattered. Frankly, he couldn’t place exactly why the thought had occurred to him, but now that it was there... He’d already planned to make her life a little easier yesterday at lunch but had been unable to when Colonel Lewis had sent him out to investigate. He forced the memory of what they’d found from his mind and settled for thinking of the surprise he had waiting for Allison over in his office. Today. Barring any other unpleasantness, he’d meet her for lunch today and see if his gift was met with as much excitement as he’d hoped.
“All right, my lady, that’s enough lying around. We must be about our duties,” Wes said.
Allison gave his hair a playful tug and pursed her lips in the worst expression of annoyance he’d seen her try yet. “True ladies don’t have any duties.”
“And you’d know this because you were a true lady in Boston?”
“No. But I met a few who were visiting from England, and they said all they did all day was sew and embroider.”
“Duties,” he said with a nod. “One of which you need to learn and the other you need to hurry up with.” He glanced down at her crushed and dirty gown. “Do you think you’ll be done with your sewing today? I have a surprise for you tonight and I’d hate for you not to have a pretty gown to wear for the occasion.”
“In that case, you’d better know now so you’re not disappointed, but I’ll be wearing this gown tonight.”
And for the rest of your life if he had to hazard a guess based on the progress he’d seen. “At least you look pretty in it,” he said without thinking.
“Thank you.” The blush that stained her cheeks made his own embarrassment at saying such a forward thing worth it. She rolled over and took to her feet.
Wes couldn’t fathom why, but he already missed the closeness of her body and the way she’d touched him all night. Just another reason he had to find a way to convince her to stay. He ran his hands over his face and rolled out of bed. This was going to be a long day.
***
If Allison thought she was frustrated yesterday with her sewing, she discovered she hadn’t seen real frustration until today. Yesterday she’d sewn up the hem along the bottom of her dress so the fabric wouldn’t fray and unravel. At least that was something helpful for the dress. Today she had to somehow cut more fabric to make the upper portion of her dress. Sleeves. Bodice. Back. Shoulder pieces. Cuffs. All she could do was stare at the fabric in front of her and try not to let the other ladies know of her distress.
“Perhaps you’d like to borrow my pattern?” Sarah offered.
Allison grinned. She’d forgotten all about the pattern Wes had bought her. “No. I have one. I was just thinking.”
“Oh, for the modifications you plan to make to the top so it matches the progressive skirt?” Mrs. Lewis asked innocently. Apparently the woman believed Allison to be the expert seamstress she claimed to be who was bent on perfection, thus the reason she took so long. Or Mrs. Lewis knew the truth but was too afraid of hurting her feelings to say anything.
Allison nodded wildly at the suggestion, then dug in the bottom of the blasted sewing basket she’d been using until she found the pattern. She really wasn’t sure the best way to do this. Perhaps if she just laid out all the pieces and pinned the paper on the fabric, it’d be time for lunch. She could cut them out this afternoon... Then, she’d worry about tomorrow when it got here and, in the meantime, pray a miracle transpired.
Suppressing the scream of aggravation she so desperately wanted to let loose, she began about her work.
Just as she shoved the last pin through the paper and fabric, a loud rap, rap, rap came at the door.
Allison jumped up. “I’ll get it.”
Mrs. Lewis and Sarah lifted their brows at her, but she didn’t care. She welcomed any kind of distraction, answering the door notwithstanding.
It was Wes.
“Come in,” she said.
He did just as Mrs. Lewis and Sarah came over to join them.
“I have a gift for you,” he said, handing her a large package from behind his back.
“Why?” Her face flushed. It was rather uncomfortable to be receiving a gift from him in front of her friends, and because of their soft gasps and winks, she’d only made it worse with such a stupid question. He’d mentioned he had a surprise for her, but thought he’d said he’d give it to her tonight.
“I wasn’t aware that I’d do time in the stockade for bringing my wife a gift. But if that’s the consequence—” he reached for the package that was in her hands, turned his head to the side, twisted his lips and closed his eyelids to mere slits, then abruptly let go— “no, I think you should still have it. If I must spend the night there for giving my wife a present, I’m sure it will be worth it when I get out.”
Her eyes widened. Then his did when he realized how the others might have taken his words.
He removed his shako and raked his hand through his dark hair. “Open it.”
Allison set the parcel on the table and reached for the ends of the twine. She’d never been one to refuse gifts; but this one felt strangely like a bundle of folded fabric; and the last thing she wanted was more fabric. He’d made such a fuss about her not wasting the fabric he’d already bought her. If he bought her more, it would be a waste.
Feeling three sets of eyes boring into her, urging her to open his gift, Allison took a deep breath and pulled the string to release the knot. Forcing a weak smile, she reached tentative fingers to the top part of the paper and opened it, and just as expected, her eyes collided with a piece of white fabric.
“What is it?” Sarah asked.
“I—I don’t know,” she said honestly. It was certainly an article of clothing, but it looked strangely like it had a pocket.
“Hold it up,” Wes encouraged.
Allison picked up the garment, wa
tching in amazement as it unfolded in front of her. “A shirt?”
Wes grinned and took it from her. “I know it’s not what a Bostoner like yourself is used to seeing young ladies wear, but I thought perhaps you might be willing to make an exception.”
Allison nodded numbly; still not sure she’d comprehended what he’d meant.
As if reading her mind, Wes said, “Mrs. Lewis, would it be all right if Allison slipped behind your dressing screen and tried on the skirt she’s made with this shirt? I’m not sure I bought her the right size, and if I didn’t, I’ll need to go back to see if I can find another.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Lewis said, beaming.
Allison swallowed past the hard lump that had formed in her throat. The miracle she’d so desperately needed had just happened, and once again, it came in the form of one Captain Wes Tucker.
~Chapter Twelve~
Wes knew buying her a shirt to wear with her skirt was only a temporary solution. She still needed a wardrobe; and it was apparent that while her pride might still refuse to believe it, she was not going to be able to make herself a suitable set of clothing—especially if he could convince her to stay here with him.
“Mrs. Lewis, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“Anything for you, Wes.”
Wes hid his grin. Mrs. Lewis had almost been like a second mother to him since he’d joined the army and met her at West Point. “I heard a rumor day before yesterday that a ball is scheduled for the middle of next week. As you know, Allison doesn’t have a suitable gown—”
“Say no more, it would be my pleasure to make her one.”
“Thank you,” Wes said, a measure of relief washing over him. “If you don’t mind, could this be our secret? I’d like to surprise her with it, if possible?”
A smile split Mrs. Lewis’ wrinkled face. “If I were twenty years younger, I’d have married you in an instant. You don’t worry about anything. I’ll have her dressed like a queen. Let me go see what all I have that I can use,” she said as she scurried away toward a large chest at the end of her bed.
“Mrs. Ridgely,” Wes said, favoring the other woman with a smile. He didn’t know her quite as well as Mrs. Lewis. General Ridegly—or General Rigid, as some of them referred to him behind his back due to his rigid stature and strict, formal mannerisms—had only been sent here a year ago and was the other four officers’ commander. He wasn’t overly familiar with General Ridgely’s officers, as he preferred to be stricter with his men than Colonel Lewis was. His wife, however, was a stark contrast to his rigid indifference. What Wes had seen of her, she seemed very sweet and often found ways to make others aware of their mistakes not by condemning someone for them, but rather by taking a more subtle approach. She’d probably already surmised what Wes had about Allison’s sewing skills, so there wasn’t any reason not to be blunt. “Would it be possible for you to make her a gown, too?” he blurted.
She walked over to where she’d been sitting earlier and lifted up what she’d been working on. “I started one for her yesterday. It should be done tomorrow or the day after.”
Wes could hide his grin no longer. “Thank you. I am sure she will appreciate it far more than the shirt I bought for her.”
“Don’t discount yourself, Captain,” Mrs. Ridgely said, laying the gown back in its earlier spot. “I’ve been sewing as fast as I can to finish this gown for her, and now I’ll be able to slow down and make sure I do it right. Besides, I know you haven’t courted too many young ladies, but I’ve never seen one as excited about a gift as she was after you explained what you meant for her to do with it.”
Wes’ heart skipped a beat. He knew she’d looked a bit apprehensive to open it, then confused when she realized it was a shirt. But he’d been a bit uncertain if she was really as excited as she appeared about having it. Mrs. Ridgely’s confirmation was just the encouragement he needed.
He idly scratched his jaw and debated if he should ask her if Allison ever spoke of him or gave any indication that she might like to stay, but Allison emerged before he could decide if that would be prudent to ask or make him seem like a besotted fool.
“Would you look at that?” he drawled.
Allison ran her hands over her abdomen, then down her hips where the top of her skirt hung loosely. “I fear that I’ve lost a bit of weight since I took my measurements.”
“That’s all right,” he argued. “I’ll see if I can find you a belt and perhaps Mrs. Lewis and Mrs. Ridgely can help you put some loops along the top. They’re both experts at attaching and refashioning them, when you consider how many their husbands have busted over the years.”
“He’s right about that,” Mrs. Lewis said, shaking her head ruefully.
Wes took a step toward Allison. “How does that shirt fit?” There really wasn’t a reason to ask that. He could see just as well as everyone else that it hugged her breasts perfectly, but he had the strangest urge to touch her shoulders and run his hands down her arms. He stepped behind her and brushed his hands over her sleeves to straighten out the imaginary wrinkles, then fixed her collar. “It looks like a good fit,” he said hoarsely, coming back to stand in front of her again.
“Thank you,” she said, not meeting his eyes.
He wondered what that was about but didn’t wish to embarrass her by asking in front of her friends, so he settled for just telling her that she was welcome. “I’ll see if I can find a suitable belt.”
Allison bobbed her head in understanding, then went back behind the dressing screen to change.
When she finished, they had a quick lunch. Then it was time for Wes to go back to work.
“You wouldn’t happen to have an extra belt in the store room, would you, Jack?” Wes asked as he dropped into his chair.
Jack lowered the paper he’d been reading and narrowed his eyes. “First a shirt two sizes smaller than normal and now a belt? Have you contracted some sort of disease?”
“No, you dimwit,” Gray said, joining them. “It’s quite clear he’s not the one wearing them. What I’d like to know is if his wife knows he’s trying to outfit her like a soldier.”
“You ain’t really thinking to dress her up like one of us and disguise her as one of your men, are you?” McCorkle asked, his blue eyes wide, presumably because of all the rules—both spoken and implied—such a thing would break.
“Why the hell would he do that?” Gray asked with his usual bluntness as he dug into one of the deep drawers he and Wes shared.
“I don’t know. Ask Tucker. He’s the one who is outfitting his wife like a soldier,” McCorkle said.
Wes, Gray and Jack exchanged looks. This was the harm in joining conversations late—and being a bit of a simpleton at times.
“As it would happen, all of the Boston ladies are currently wearing shirts tucked into their skirts rather than full gowns. I just thought that since she was separated from her luggage, I could help her out by obtaining the shirt so all she had to make was her skirt.” At least that last part was partially true, so he wasn’t completely fibbing.
“Speaking of her luggage,” Gray said, tossing on the table that blasted leather case Wes had found the day they’d found the overturned stage.
Wes refused to let his face burn as he cleared his throat, forced a scowl and snapped it up. The truth was, he’d rather die a slow and painful death than to admit he was holding onto a bundle of letters full of love and admiration meant for Allison—written by another man. Ignoring, Gray’s imploring stare, complete with a lifted eyebrow and curious eyes, Wes tucked the offending parcel under his arm and chastised himself for not hiding it better. He’d been sharing a desk with Gray for more than two years now and had never once seen the man open up their drawer. Now, he’d just have to find a better hiding spot for it for the time being. In truth, he should bring it up to Allison and give it to her. It was rightfully hers to have and the letters were meant for her, but for a reason he couldn’t quite put words to, he wasn’t ready yet to
give it back.
“It won’t be so fancy, but I’m sure I can find something,” Jack said. He leaned back in his chair, taking the front two legs a good six inches off the floor, and folded his hands over his abdomen. “Say, Allison doesn’t happen to have any sisters who might come visiting anytime soon, does she?”
Wes hoped not. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“I was just thinking I could use a wife, that’s all.”
Gray snorted. “With a statement as flattering as that one, I’m sure you’ll have one in no time.”
Jack frowned and brought his chair back to the floor with a thud. “What? It’s no secret that being a married man has some advantages. For one, I no longer have to share a bed with Wes. If I got married, you two—” he pointed to Gray and McCorkle— “wouldn’t have to share a bed any longer, either.”
“And while that sounds like a blessing and a double boon, since you won’t be in the room any longer, either, that is not a reason to get married.”
“Well, that’s not the only reason,” Jack argued. “There are other advantages that Wes gets to enjoy.”
No, at present Wes wasn’t enjoying the other advantages of marriage that Jack was alluding to, either. Not that he’d ever admit that to them.
“Then find some private time and take care of those needs yourself,” Gray said flippantly.
For as much time as Gray spent with the prostitutes when they came to town, one would think Gray would understand Jack’s motives in that regard.
“Jack, I don’t know if anyone in Allison’s family plans to come visit her—” mainly because he didn’t know just who her family was or what relations she might have, but these three didn’t need to know that— “but now isn’t the best time to be thinking about a wife. Allison has had a very hard time adjusting to the lack of creature comforts. You might have better luck sending off for a bride when you get moved to another fort that’s not so isolated.”
“There’s plenty for a lady here,” Jack argued. “It’s just your lack of imagination and protectiveness that has kept Allison from enjoying her time here.”