All or Nothing

by Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig

  Bowen tried to shake his dark mood by heading to the post store. He needed supply rations before their next outing. Whit Baker sat behind the counter, grinning up a storm as the captain found his way back.

  “So here’s the man I have to thank for bringing the sweetest single girl to the fort in years.” Baker seemed obviously pleased about something, but whatever he aimed at had gotten Bowen’s hackles raised even higher.

  “Careful what you say when you’re speaking of a lady, Whit. It could land someone in a heap of trouble if it falls on the wrong ears.”

  Whit’s smile faltered, but then he found his grin again and laughed. “And a fine lady she is, sir. Drives a hard bargain in the store, don’t you know. Had me giving her almost fifteen percent off supplies that were going to be used for her work! I haven’t had to haggle that much since I first sold something to Dolly Jewel.”

  “Those two are becoming fast friends.”

  The men eased onto stools on opposite sides of the counter. Whit poured tepid lemonade into Mason jar glasses. Bowen swallowed, refreshed from the heat of the afternoon.

  “Hard not to be friends with Miss Jewel. She’s a pistol.” Whit ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. Bowen set his glass down and leaned forward to clap a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “And just when are you planning on telling her you’re in love with her?” Bowen grinned. It would be a good match once the both of them realized they were made for each other.

  Whit looked up, dismayed. “Is it that obvious, then?”

  “You mean to anyone but me, you, and the fence post? No. Your secret is safe.”

  Whit breathed a sigh of relief before going back to unboxing merchandise from a crate marked Perishable.

  He pried open a tin of butter, sighing in annoyance. “Now, for what I have to pay, you expect it to at least be butter-colored. This looks like the desert sky at sunset! I can’t sell this. Well, not to the officers’ wives, anyway.”

  Bowen eyed the open tin and the swirl of clear, red, orange, and blue oils inside it. He caught a whiff and wrinkled his nose as Whit replaced the lid.

  “Oh, forgot to tell you. Wire came in this morning from Prescott,” Whit spoke over his shoulder while examining the rest of the newly delivered stock.

  “Not to your attention, I’m guessing.”

  “From the post commander, sent to Kendrick.” Bowen’s interest piqued, he leaned forward over the counter. Baker straightened before continuing. “Mrs. Carington, it seems, is returning posthaste. They’re on their way up from the Gila already by army ambulance. Might even be this afternoon. Kendrick was ordered to get the commander’s quarters ready for her and for two more.”

  “Two more? The daughters are coming, then.” He hadn’t seen them since they were sent off to finishing school. If the girls were finished in any way like their mother, the entirety of Fort Lowell was in for a heap of trouble.

  “Seems they’ve completed their studies at the finishing academy, and Mrs. Carington didn’t want to leave them unattended.”

  “Kendrick’s going to have his hands full, then.” Bowen attempted to hide a smile. Anything that would keep the major from bothering the troops with trivial duties and meaningless inspections was fine with him.

  “He’s been to the commander’s quarters three times already. He found Charley wandering through and has put him to work.” Whit leaned in closer, though they were alone in the store. “I hear tell that Charley hightailed it out already.”

  Bowen chuckled at the thought. The sight of a nearly seven-foot Yavapai native with braids and a penchant for wearing an army coat over his costume of loin cloth would be quite a sight for two young girls fresh out of finishing school. Needless to say, knowing Charley’s attitude after spending a day with Major Kendrick, he might just disappear into the desert for a month.

  At that moment, the door creaked open, and the heavy boots of Major Anthony Kendrick crossed the plank wood floor to the back of the store.

  Bowen saluted with his hand though his eyes said otherwise.

  “At ease, soldier,” Kendrick huffed. A slight man with a pointed nose like a rat and eyes that sat behind round spectacles, he was red in the face from the heat and full uniform. As Bowen stood up to leave, Kendrick put a hand up to stop him. “Wait just a minute, Shepherd. We need to talk.”

  “Be seein’ you, Whit.” Bowen sighed and followed Kendrick out into the midday sun.

  “What can I do for you, Anthony?” Bowen intentionally called the man by name rather than referring to him by rank. Smirking, he knew the offense could cost him. Still, it was worth it to see Kendrick puff up like a bantam rooster.

  “You can start by respecting your superior officer.” Kendrick waited a beat before continuing. “I need you to help me find that new lady laundress you brought here. Seems she can’t do nothing but right by the men. It’s all I hear about, instead of the usual griping about how much we take out of their pay. They are asking for her by name. Rebecca? Luann? Whatever she calls herself. I need her.”

  “Commander isn’t due back till the end of the week. She hasn’t been officially enlisted.”

  Kendrick narrowed his eyes at Bowen’s tone. “We’re speeding things along in this case. Mrs. Carington and the twins are arriving on the morning stage. She’s going to get here before Marcus arrives, come hell or high water, and it may just come to that. They’ll need your lady friend as a handmaid for a few days...to get them sorted out.”

  “I thought you assigned Charley that particular pleasure.” Bowen fought the urge to crack a smile at the weasel’s obvious discomfort.

  “Charley? Well, that heathen’s disappeared back out into the hills. I don’t know why the army insists on hiring those savages anyway. You never do know if they are listening to you or just sizing up how to scalp you.”

  Atta boy, Charley, was all he could think as Kendrick rattled on with his gross generalizations about all native people. Bowen had known Charley for years. He was a proud man, an honorable man, and one that had not been broken by men like this one, Bowen was happy to see.

  Still, this wasn’t particularly good news for RuthAnne. Clara Carington was a hard woman. He hoped that charm school had helped her daughters become a kinder, gentler sort than their mama; he highly doubted it. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because you are the one who’s going to tell her.”

  Bowen narrowed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he went and told Kendrick which way was up.

  Kendrick raised his hands in defense. “You know her better than anyone else, Captain. You can ease her into the situation gently.”

  Now it made sense. Kendrick was afraid of looking weak but wanted RuthAnne to know what to expect; the major was obviously more afraid of Clara Carington than he was of her husband.

  “I don’t agree with this, Major, but I’ll pass along the news.” Bowen eyed the man up and down, disgusted. He was a poor excuse for a soldier. They had a history, and it was not one Bowen cared to remember, thinking of the men Kendrick had put in harm’s way to satisfy a whim of the commander or his son, Marcus. Anthony Kendrick had no spine, and now he was passing off orders to save his own skin. Bowen headed off to be the bearer of bad news, leaving the slight man in the dust.

  ****

  “Why, thank you, Private Donnelly. These will really come in handy.” RuthAnne smiled at the lanky young man before her. He stood, hat in hand, sweaty red hair pasted to his head, chin a scruff of beard still trying to grow in. “I’m amazed you remembered!”

  She took the package of dried sage and lavender and inhaled the pleasant aroma.

  The soldier cleared his throat, voice cracking. “I see it growing on the banks of the Rillito. I can show you where, if you like...”

  “That’s mighty kind of you. I’m sure that some of the other ladies would love to know where the wild lavender grows. Especially Moira Stevens. She has a good heart and a strong mind. She’ll keep you on your toes, Privat
e.”

  He hazarded a glance in the young woman’s direction. The daughter of Abigail Stevens, Moira, was elbow deep in a vat of suds and laughing at a comment her mother had made. She eyed the soldier and flicked him a soapy wave. His blush matched the color of his hair.

  RuthAnne handed him his pack, neatly washed, folded, and starched. “I stitched up some pockets for you, so you won’t lose anything else while marching around. Or dancing. Isn’t there a fort dance on Friday?”

  At her question, he gulped, Adam’s apple bouncing up and down. “Why, yes. Yes, ma’am, there is.”

  “Moira will be there. Be sure and save the dress blues for the dance, and shine your shoes up real good.” She clapped him on the shoulder, and he stumbled on his way with a thank you.

  “That was keenly handled.” The baritone voice of Bowen Shepherd made her jump.

  RuthAnne bloomed at his arrival. The sudden urge to throw her arms around his neck startled her. Instead, she opened the packet of herbs to thumb its contents. “He’s a sweet boy, but he needs a girl his own age. Got his work cut out for him, though, seein’ Moira isn’t terribly interested in soldiers.”

  Bowen stepped forward and plucked a sprig of sage from RuthAnne’s fingers, sniffing its thick, hearty aroma. “That’s a rather scrubby-looking bouquet.”

  “Well, that’s because they’re just scents. Herbs, you know, for adding to laundry soap. I thought it might be nice if we could spiff everyone up a bit around here.”

  “You’ve turned this fort on its ear, haven’t you? Scented soaps. Ironing trousers for enlisted men...” He loomed toward her, obviously upset, his voice a decibel too loud. RuthAnne took a quick step back.

  He raked a hand through his hair and shook his head. The green flashed in his hazel eyes. His chiseled face was grim as he towered above her.

  What could I have done to warrant such an interrogation? she wondered with a hammering heart. “There’s nothing wrong with going the extra mile to make someone else feel special.”

  “No, I don’t suppose there is. But you’ve gone and done it now. You’ve gotten yourself noticed.” He sat down heavily on an overturned washbasin, and she noted a hint of concern fill his eyes.

  “Noticed?”

  “Major Kendrick requested your services for the post commander’s wife and daughters. They’re arriving in the next day or so. They’ll keep you plenty busy, trust me on that one.”

  “Well, wherever the army wants me. How much time could a post commander’s wife possibly commandeer?”

  Bowen stood abruptly and kicked over the washtub. Water splashed her skirts and suds flew. RuthAnne gasped as he grabbed her by the shoulders. Warmth radiated from his hands, down her spine. His fingers stopped one step short of digging into her flesh as he implored her to pay attention. She sensed Moira and Abigail’s eyes on them, and her cheeks flushed with more than just the heat of the day.

  “I’m telling you that I can’t protect you from her or her husband. I’ll try my level best, but he’s not the kind of man you’ll want to be alone with. She’s coming back with her daughters to plan a welcoming party for her son, Marcus. The commander will follow shortly thereafter. It’ll be one big happy family,” he scoffed.

  He loosened his grip upon her but did not let her go. She was at his mercy, taking in every imploring word. “Just be careful, Ruth. And if anything happens, you come and find me.”

  His words were hot on her neck as he spoke low and even so only she could hear. He dropped his hands in defeat, taking a measured step back. She was breathless. Her shoulders sizzled, as if fire sparked from his very touch. She had no idea what to say to this man, as every time they were near each other her tongue ceased to function.

  “Captain...I can take care of myself. Don’t you worry yourself on account of me! I’m just biding my time until Mara’s well, and we can be paid for services rendered to this ridiculous army.”

  “The sooner, the better.” He adjusted his hat, pausing at the ramada’s edge. “We’ll be heading out to the Chiricahuas for another meeting with the Apache.”

  “When?”

  “Friday, after ’Reveille.’ I won’t see you at the dance. With a following like you’ve got going at Fort Lowell, your card will be all filled up anyhow.” His half smile was heartfelt and soulful, eyes deep and rich with feeling. “I would like to see you dance someday, Mrs. Newcomb.”

  Fingers to the hollow of her throat, RuthAnne watched him march off toward the stables, amazed at how the man’s words could stir her very soul.

  Chapter 14

  A fine powder of dust kicked under his boots, catching the low light of evening. He walked in the circle of his own footprints finally coming to rest by the wooden trunk he’d wrestled up from the wreck of the stagecoach. El Tejano gave it a solid kick. And then another as his rage swelled. The chest toppled to its side, creaking open. Empty.

  Once again, his greed had gotten the better of him, and once again, he was suffering because of it. The strongbox he’d scouted, followed, and killed for was worthless. So promising with its weight and heavily guarded exterior, it contained nothing but a set of silver keys. No ingots. No ore. No hint as to what the keys opened or where the locks might be.

  He felt them smooth and cool in his fingers. Four long-cylindered silver keys with jagged tips. They jingled slightly as he grabbed them and reared back to throw them into the bowels of the cave. He hesitated at the last minute. They were a clue, and maybe someday he’d figure out what they unlocked. When his blood wasn’t boiling in his ears.

  He had finally been able to return to the crash site and scout the area. The rain had washed much of the wreckage down the perilous mountainside. There was no sign of the promised fortune anywhere. That it had even been on the stage. It seemed the good Lord had a sense of humor after all.

  The man who answered to El Tejano—the Texan—sighed heavily and sat on an outcropping of rock. His fire was out, cold. Thin daylight streamed in from a crack in the rocky ceiling above. It brightened the room just enough to see, and the gray hue it cast on everything it touched was perfect for his current mood. This place no longer had his heart. It wasn’t exciting like it had been before. Promise and possibility scattered to the wind like his carefully laid plans.

  He removed the Colt .45 revolver from the leather holster at his side and flipped out the cylinder. The scent of gunpowder filled his nose and blackened the tips of his fingers. It was an aroma he loved; a tang of smoke blended with fear. He frowned as he remembered the last time it was fired. It wasn’t like him to go so long without caring for the tools of his trade. He swept a well-oiled cloth over the cool steel frame and long barrel; he pushed a wad through the empty chambers. His mind turned as he polished it. He snapped the cylinder into place; cocked the hammer; aimed into empty space; and slowly, steadily, dry-fired the weapon.

  Todo o nada. All or nothing...

  His words echoed in his mind with the memory. Rumor had it the stage he’d followed out of La Junta, Colorado was loaded with silver on its way to the bank in Tucson. It was supposed to be a secret, but one that was heavily advertised by the driver. The rockslide had done its job and taken the road out; the doomed stagecoach would be his for the picking as soon as the rain stopped. He had considered himself lucky when the two lovely passengers came to him like castaways in a hurricane.

  He enjoyed watching the knowledge and fear cloud their eyes when they realized there was no escape. They had been completely at his mercy. He tightened his grip on the revolver as he thought of it. But he had gotten cocky. They should have been his, both as ripe for the taking as anything else he had stolen. He had let them slip through his fingers when the cavalry came. He should have killed the girls then, but after all, the ladies were his weakness. He had let the riders pass and returned to find his prisoners gone.

  They had more spirit than he had given them credit for. Especially the older one. They ran from him, and though he followed, they escaped into the bowels of the s
pent silver mine. He lagged behind at an easy distance, knowing they would find the cave beyond the hideout. Its cathedral ceilings of empty black would terrify two young girls. They had fled deeper into the earth, where corridors of rock pressed so close that one almost had to crawl through. He half-expected to find them wrapped in each other’s arms, crying and waiting for their doom. Instead, they had scrambled up and out of the slippery, decomposing granite cave-in, more than likely caused by the explosion he created.

  He absently rotated the slick metal cylinder of his .45 until the empty chamber snapped into position. The hollow click caused him to smile. The older sister had been cool and calculating, but the young dark-haired girl had been terrified. Her fear was palpable. Thrilling. The chase was often far better than the capture. Once she was his, she would be useless to him. He remembered watching her on the run, slipping away. Anticipation turned to fury as he replayed the event over and over in his mind.

  To the west, the sun sank behind the jagged purple peaks of the Tucson Mountains. The air seemed tinged with the burning of the sunset. Clouds were afire in glittering shades of ruby and amethyst, platinum and gold. The sky beyond to the east was deep with twilight and the coming of the moon.

  Where did they go? He scanned the growing darkness to see two shapes headed west. Toward town. Toward safety.

  One sister clung to his shotgun, and he smirked. It would be useless at this distance. He saw the other girl turn, and his heart skipped. The dark-haired girl, eyes silver in the darkness. How dare they run from him! Didn’t they know who he was? What he represented? He aimed his weapon. The long-barreled pistol was hot in his hand as the shot rang out, deafening in the small space of the cave. She fell to the earth. He had kept firing until they both stopped running.

  The memory made his mouth dry, his tongue thick against his teeth. A bitter taste that he couldn’t shake. He raked a hand through his hair, taking a gulp from his canteen. He grimaced from the hot, metallic-tasting water inside. He wondered as he took another slug. What if the women knew where the silver was hidden? The very notion left him cold.