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

by Gordon, Rose

  Wes was everything she’d ever imagined in a husband, but she wasn’t truly what he wanted in a wife. Nor what he needed. He needed a woman who could sew and cook. One he didn’t have to protect from the hardships of the frontier life or for whom he had to procure items at every turn just so she could have something to eat and wear. One that made his heart pound in her presence the same way Allison’s pounded when Wes was around.

  ~Chapter Fourteen~

  Wes stared at Allison as she stood there staring blankly at the bed, biting her lower lip, just as heedless to his naked state as he was at the moment.

  What was she thinking about? Was she afraid he’d abandon all of his earlier attitudes and begin pursuing her, thus stealing her away from that perfect prig she was engaged to? If that was her fear, she had much to be worried about. Wes had often been termed persistent and stubborn, qualities that came right along with his Ellis bloodline, and that was exactly what he was. He had no plans to give up so easily. Frankly, if Allison was afraid that her precious Nicholas wouldn’t want her any longer if he suspected she was no longer chaste, that was half the battle. He wouldn’t have to worry about a jealous suitor. All he had to do now was convince Allison he could be all the things her current intended was to her—even if they both knew he couldn’t.

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. If she truly wanted the high society life, he could give her that, too. He might not enjoy it, but he could take her back to Charleston if that’s what it took to have her.

  A knock at the door behind him startled them both, and instinctively he grabbed his revolver from his gun belt that he’d set beside the tub and stood, the gun pointed at the door. Allison’s laughter pulled him from his intense who-dares-to-sneak-up-on-me-I-shall-kill-him instinct that had been ingrained in his mind since his first year at West Point. He dropped the gun, since it was obvious their guest had no intention of making himself an intruder, then grabbed the only other clean towel they owned and wrapped it around his waist.

  “That must be Jack with our dinner,” he said for no real reason at all. He padded to the door and opened it just far enough to receive the plates.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t Jack who’d come bearing food, but Gray.

  “I see I came at the perfect time. You’re both cleaner than the plates your dinner was served on,” Gray said.

  Wes moved a little more in front of the door in an effort to shield Allison better. “I see you also brought a belt with which I shall beat you,” Wes replied with a pointed glance at the belt draped over Gray’s left arm.

  “I didn’t realize you held such eccentric interests,” Gray said easily.

  Wes grimaced. Leave it to Gray to turn everything he said into something sexual. “Just give me the food, please.”

  Gray handed him the plates of food, then draped the belt over Wes’ arm.

  Wes and Gray exchanged nods, and then Wes took a step back and closed the door with his foot.

  “I’ll take those if you’d like to get dressed.”

  Wes handed the plates to Allison and let her take them to the table while he opened the chest and looked for his other pair of trousers, which he immediately pulled on, followed by his socks. He briefly considered not donning his shirt but decided not to be completely uncivilized during dinner. He was trying to woo her, after all.

  As usual, Wes ate his meal, then the majority of hers that she couldn’t choke down. “Perhaps if you asked Mrs. Lewis or Mrs. Ridgely, they might help you learn to cook. Then you wouldn’t have to starve.”

  “I’m not starving,” she protested.

  He chuckled at her blatant lie. “Oh, and have you been sneaking pieces of jerky while I’ve been at work?” Her eyes widened and he chuckled again. “I bought it to be eaten. Go on, then.”

  She bit her lip and her eyes went to the shelf where the jerky was. Then as if she were no longer shy about starving herself half to death or she’d been tapped on the bottom with a hot branding iron, she was off her bottom and over to the shelf.

  Wes pushed their plates to the side of the table and walked over to the tub. He hoisted it up and walked to the window near the table. Pulling back the curtains, he hollered for Privates Smith and Ferguson to move out of the way, then poured the soapy contents of the tub out the window.

  Wes set the tub on the floor and pushed it into the corner, then picked up the hairbrush he’d bought from Charles the other night. He gripped the handle and stared down to where he was idly moving his thumb over the bristles. Taking a deep breath, he said, “If you’d like to sit down by the fire and eat that, I’ll brush your hair for you.”

  Her wide eyes shot to his and he jerked his gaze away. It was bad enough he kept offering to be her maid, did she have to look at him like that?

  “Are you sure you don’t mind? I get these awful tangles sometimes.”

  “No, I don’t mind. I wouldn’t have offered if tangles made me cower in the corner.”

  A smile bent her lips and she walked over to the fire and sat down on the little rug she’d decided needed to go there with her side facing the fire. It was a little warmer over there than he’d like, so he removed his shirt and set it down on the edge of the bed. He put one of his legs on either side of her and pulled her closer to him to nestle between them.

  He reached the brush up and sank it into her thick, mahogany hair, then gently glided it down. It went all of three inches and got stuck.

  “It might work better if you start at the bottom, then work your way up,” she murmured.

  Wes heeded her advice and moved to the bottom of her hair. He’d enjoyed touching it earlier when he’d washed it and was surprised she’d allowed him to brush it but had no reason to complain.

  A few minutes passed in comfortable silence, broken by a stray giggle from Allison.

  Wes stopped mid-stroke. “Do you care to share what you find to be so humorous?”

  She shrugged. “Just something Jack said, nothing very important.”

  “Normally nothing he says is of any importance,” Wes muttered. “But since it made you laugh, I have to wonder what he said.”

  “It’s nothing really,” she said dismissively.

  Wes combed his fingers through the section of hair he’d just finished. “I’m sure compared to anything I say, he did say nothing; but it was clearly something to you or you wouldn’t have remembered it or be laughing about it now.”

  “He said your feet stink,” she blurted.

  Wes froze and blinked at the back of her head. She was certainly beautiful and intelligent, but that’s what she was thinking about at a time like this. He could scarcely believe it. In fact, he didn’t. “Did he say anything else?”

  She shook her head and he resumed brushing her hair. “He just said that you never take your socks off and that they stink like a dead opossum.”

  “And when did you and Jack make time to get together and gossip?”

  “When he and Gray walked me home the other day.”

  Wes tried not to let himself get excited at the way she’d referred to their room as “home” and continued to brush her hair. “I don’t know why you’d pick now to start thinking about some nonsense Jack spouted—”

  “Because your sock-covered foot is right here next to me,” she said, gesturing to where his foot was, right beside her and covered in his thick, black sock.

  “I see. Well, Jack must not pay very good attention—”

  “What about Gray? He agreed with Jack.”

  Wes closed his eyes so he wouldn’t give in to the urge to roll them heavenward. “Did they say anything else?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why do I have a hard time believing that?” he muttered. He sighed and continued to brush her hair. “Not that it matters, since you seem to think Gray and Jack are suitable sources for information about me, but I do change my socks. I just don’t take them off and recline in my bare feet as they’re wont to do on occasion. But I do change them.”

  Allison
patted his thigh. “Wes, I didn’t mean to accuse you of being slovenly. I saw you remove your shirt before you started brushing my hair. When I noticed you were wearing your socks, it reminded me of what Jack said, and I just found it humorous that you’d remove your shirt before your socks.”

  “I know you weren’t trying to accuse me of being a complete hog. You did just see me bathe.” He shot a glance to his left foot. “I never even thought they’d noticed. I don’t know who’d bother to look at another man’s feet.”

  “Jack,” she supplied helpfully.

  “Jack,” he agreed with a chuckle, then added, “And Gray, apparently.” He continued to wordlessly brush her hair.

  “So why is it that you don’t like to take them off?”

  “Because I don’t like to wear my boots without socks.” He gripped her hair just above the little knot he’d discovered and held it—and his breath—as he worked loose the tangle. “In my first year at West Point, I’d earned a spot to go on an outpost by doing a series of tasks that generally only those at the top of their class in their final year could perform. While we were gone, this horrible storm rolled in. It rained so hard I couldn’t see six inches in front of my face, and the river we’d been hiking close to began flooding. At one point we were walking through water that was waist deep. After more than thirty-six hours, and with no sign of the rains stopping, we found a little cave a few hundred feet up the side of a mountain, where we tucked inside and made a fire.

  “As anyone who’d just spent the last thirty-six hours hiking around in wet leather boots and soaked socks might do, I took them off, wrung out my socks and set everything out to dry by the fire. I checked both my socks and boots before bed, and they were still wet. Not so wet they were dripping, mind you, but wet enough that I knew they’d be too cold to wear. So I turned them to help the other side dry and went to sleep. The next morning, when I went to claim my footwear, my socks were missing completely and my boots were three sizes too small. I assume the boots shrunk due to the elements, but my socks didn’t wash away, of that I’m certain.

  “But as every soldier knows, you survive with what you have available—and I didn’t have the socks I’d come with available, nor the ones I’d packed in my knapsack. Of course I had my suspicions about who’d stolen both sets and knew the reason was just to provoke me into making a scene and proving to Colonel Lewis that I didn’t deserve to be there. I refused to make a mockery of myself that way and laced those boots as if they were made to fit my feet. I had to wear them for seven days before returning to the school where I was able to get another pair of socks.”

  “I’m sure you gained their highest respect,” Allison said with a hint of something that sounded almost like wonder or perhaps pride.

  Wes shook off the thought. He had to be imagining that. “Yes, I suppose I did gain their respect, right along with a set of nasty blisters and cuts.”

  “You’re fortunate you didn’t get gangrene or some other infection and lose one or both of your feet.”

  He ran the brush through her smooth hair. “I never said that I didn’t...”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Get an infection,” he murmured, moving over to another section of her hair. “Of course the doctor said it would hurt at first, but in a week, I’d feel better, then picked up this saw that had more teeth than a family of bears—and sharper, too—in his right hand and my foot in the other, and brought the saw toward my toes.”

  Allison stared down at his foot, then turned her head over her shoulder to look at him as if she couldn’t decide if he was telling her the truth or not. He bit the inside of his cheek. She had no idea how right she’d been when she’d claimed him fortunate for not getting an infection and losing one or both of his feet. He’d gotten an infection, but the doctor had been able to clear it without amputation being necessary. Either way, he had no intention of ever wearing boots without socks again.

  She shook her head and closed her delicate fingers just above his ankle, bringing him back to present. “You do know that I don’t have plans to separate you from your socks as you sleep?”

  And what of my heart, do you promise not to separate it from my body by leaving? He blinked to clear the thought from his mind. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to convince her to stay. “And if I somehow manage to lose them after their removal, will you walk across the square and get another pair from Charles?”

  “You only have one pair?”

  “Don’t worry about that, right now. Would you be willing to spare me the pain of having to wear my boots without socks and get me another pair?”

  She turned and repositioned herself so her hip rested right near his groin. “I suppose so, yes. For as long as I’m here anyway.”

  Her words were the equivalent of punch to the gut. As long as I’m here. No matter, he still had time to convince her to stay. “While I thank you for your promise to not steal my socks and the offer to fetch me a new pair if mine go missing, I must inform you that my feet have entrusted me with their virtue; and I’ve made a promise to them that only my wife will be able to see them in all of their handsomely scarred glory.”

  He’d hoped his ridiculous claim would at least elicit a small measure of laughter from her; instead, she shocked him all the way down to the tips of his toes when she pressed a kiss to his cheek and said, “I suppose that’s just another thing I’ll have to add to my list of envies I’ll forever harbor against your wife.”

  ~Chapter Fifteen~

  Had she really just said that and kissed him? His wide blue eyes and slightly slack jaw told her that she had indeed. Trying not to appear too impatient nor wanting to allow him an opportunity to ask her to explain herself, she pushed to her feet and smoothed her chemise.

  “Thank you for brushing my hair. I think I’ll go to bed tonight without braiding it, so it can continue to dry.” Then, without another word, she climbed up into their bed and waited beneath the covers for him to snuff the candles and join her.

  It was only a matter of minutes before his warm body came to rest beside hers.

  She loved how warm he was and how safe she felt lying next to him.

  Earlier, when he’d said those scandalous remarks about wanting to claim her innocence and having her stay with him, she’d dismissed them as just that: scandalous remarks. He couldn’t possibly care that much for her—he hardly ever saw her. Not that it mattered. She was engaged to Nicholas and he’d come for her soon enough.

  But just for now, while darkness engulfed them and the heat of his broad, powerful body kept her warmer than a blanket ever could, she could close her eyes and allow herself to dream that he was the one she’d marry. That his earlier remarks had been true. That he could one day love her. That he’d always be there to help her wash and brush her hair until they were both too old to move.

  She squeezed her eyes tighter. She was promised to Nicholas and that wasn’t a promise easily broken. There was too much involved in her promise... Besides, they suited just fine. Wes would one day find a bride that suited him better than she ever could. It was better this way. It had to be.

  ***

  “Wes?”

  Wes froze. “Yes?”

  Allison sat up in their bed and lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the bright ray of sunlight that was streaming into the room from the break in the curtains. “Where did you go?”

  “I went out to ride Midnight.” Wes walked over to her and sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you ready to get dressed for the day?” A grin split his face. “You’ll get to wear something new.”

  She returned his grin, but probably not for the same reason. While she loved the idea of wearing something new, she loved even more the fact that what she was putting on was a gift—of sorts—from Wes. “I don’t think I’ll even need help.”

  Was it just her or did he look a bit disappointed about that?

  Nonsense. She was imagining things.

  Allison got out of bed and slipped into the sh
irt Wes had bought her. After she buttoned it, she stepped into the skirt. “Actually, I might need some help after all.”

  Wes was over to her side in an instant.

  “Mrs. Lewis put some sort of latch back there, but I don’t know how to fasten it if I can’t see it.”

  Wes shooed her hands away from where she’d been holding the two parts of the fastening and quickly secured her skirt. “It looks very...er...stylish,” he said, his hands still on her waist.

  “Are you referring to the cut?”

  “Yes. It’s very interesting.”

  She nearly snorted. Interesting was one way to put it; an awful reminder of her terrible sewing skills was another. “Yes, well, it’s how the ladies in Boston like to wear their skirts—”

  “Ah, so you’re still a Bostoner, are you?”

  She shook her head at his teasing tone. “Yes, I’m still a Bostonian.”

  Wes gave the worst exaggerated sigh she’d ever witnessed. “Still so proper. I was hoping a few days out here in the wilds might have changed that. I guess not. Perhaps you need more time.”

  A shiver skated up her spine and she forced herself to turn around. This was the problem with Wes. He oozed charm and said all the right things—sadly, only a fraction (if that) of them could possibly mean what she wanted them to mean. “Have no fear, Cap’n Tucker, I imagine by the time I get ready to leave here, I’ll be speaking like the rest of you.”

  “Good, it’ll be an excellent way for you to remember us by.”