by Pam Crooks
His gaze slid to her mouth. Their kiss had taught him the softness of her lips. Since then, they’d gotten chapped from the wind. Her skin browned from the sun. Though she kept her hair in a prim braid at her back, wild wisps escaped from beneath her hat. Her fingernails were chipped, her knuckles callused, and dust covered her down to her muddied boots.
A trail drive was no place for a woman, even one as tough as Carina Lockett. She lived her days and nights with men, did a man’s work with them, and Penn couldn’t help wondering if there weren’t times she forgot she was female.
And that just plain wasn’t right.
Because he knew for a fact she was, through and through. She kissed like one, and she felt like one, and for some inexplicable reason, it became important to remind her.
Fort Supply would help him do that.
The herd passed the veterinary surgeon’s inspection. Even though Carina was sure none of her cattle carried the dreaded Texas fever, having the obstacle removed, even if it was an unlikely one, was a relief. She didn’t want anything to delay their arrival in Dodge City.
She rode with Sourdough and McClure to the military post with a lighter mood. Sourdough’s supply list warranted bringing a couple of extra horses along to pack their provisions, and after tethering the mounts in front of the post store, Carina succumbed to a curious look around.
“A busy place,” Sourdough said.
“Takes a lot of military presence to keep the peace around here,” McClure agreed.
“And a lot of supplies to keep folks like us happy,” Sourdough finished. “Speaking of supplies, I’d better get to it.”
“We’ll meet up in a couple of hours,” Carina said. “In front of the store.”
“See you then.”
After he left, Carina scanned the people around her, all of varying races and stations in life. Civilian merchants mingled with soldiers dressed in flat-brimmed hats and dark blue coats. Long-haired, buckskin-clad hunters traded with blanket-wrapped Cherokee. Freight wagons lumbered through the streets; officers’ wives and their children scurried from their path. The aroma of baking bread hovered in the air.
Fort Supply was self-contained, efficient and bustling. A thriving complex of officers’ quarters, soldiers’ barracks, stables, hospital and jailhouse. In addition, rows of frame buildings were used for everything from ordnance stores to icehouses to a butcher shop.
“Something to see, isn’t it?” McClure asked, head tilted back toward the flag waving over it all.
“Yes.” Her moving gaze caught on a Cheyenne squaw with a papoose tied to her back. The black-eyed baby grinned at her, and Carina smiled back.
McClure squinted up at the telegraph lines that made Fort Supply a communications hub, too. Perused the roads crisscrossing on the horizon which connected the garrison with the other forts, reservations and settlements in this part of the country. He shook his head, clearly amazed.
“Impressive what the government has done out here,” he said.
Carina heard the pride in his voice. “It is.”
“There’s the telegraph office.”
Carina tried not to anticipate a message that might not be there, but it’d been so long since she’d heard anything about her daughter, it was impossible not to hope for one. Surely, Sheriff Dunbar had something to report by now.
They headed toward the plain front frame building, a match to the others in its row. McClure reached around her to open the door at the same moment she did. Then, together, they drew back.
“Do you think I can’t open a door by myself?” she asked, expecting him to step back so she could.
He didn’t. He scowled down at her instead.
“It’s time you got off your high horse and let a man show you a courtesy now and again, Carina,” he growled. “That’s what I think.”
“My high horse!” she said, taken aback.
“We’ll try it again,” he said, his voice low. “I’m going to reach over and open the door. You’ll wait politely until I do. Then you’ll go through it like a lady should, and I’ll follow.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “When we leave, it’ll be the same thing all over again. Understand?”
Her fists clenched to keep from smacking him. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Go ahead and think so, but we’re standing right here until you agree.”
What made him decide he could talk to her like this? Had he forgotten she was the boss? She reached for the doorknob, but too quick, he angled the breadth of his body so she couldn’t.
“I mean it, Carina,” he said in warning.
She glared. “I’m well aware of how a woman behaves in polite society, McClure.”
“Are you? Funny. You don’t act like it.”
The barb stung. She ignored it. “This is a damned fort out in the middle of nowhere. There’s no reason—”
“Doesn’t matter where we are. You’re still a woman, and I intend to treat you like one.”
His persistence poked some hidden part of her she’d kept banked for so long she had trouble identifying it. A soft spot too frivolous to contend with when she had more important matters to take care of.
Besides, the shuffle of boot soles on the boardwalk reminded her they weren’t alone and that they blocked the path of anyone strolling past. Even the telegraph operator inside eyed them curiously through the window.
“Fine,” she snapped. “Open the damn door for me.”
“That’s better.” But he didn’t move. “One more thing.”
“What?” she demanded.
Hinges creaked. “Ma’am? Is everything all right out here?”
Carina swiveled toward the telegrapher, a young soldier barely in his twenties, wearing a uniform adorned with chevrons and brass buttons. Concern marred his features.
“Yes,” she said. And strove for patience. “Everything’s fine.”
“If there’s a problem, just say so. I’ll call for an officer, and this gentleman will be escorted from the post promptly.”
“That won’t be necessary.” She arched a brow at McClure. “Will it?”
McClure inclined his head agreeably toward the soldier.
“Just teaching her how to go through the door, is all,” he said. “She’s ignorant of the right way to do it.”
“Ignorant!” she gasped.
Confusion replaced the concern in the soldier’s face. “Sir?”
“We’ll be in directly. But I appreciate you checking on her just the same,” McClure said, his smile disgustingly charming.
The young man turned toward Carina. “Ma’am, if that’s all right with you?”
“It is, I suppose.” She forced the aggravation from her voice to assure him. He wouldn’t leave if she didn’t.
“Well, I’ll be close by if you need me.” The hinges creaked again. “Call if you do.”
“She won’t be. Calling, that is. While you’re in there, check to see if you have any wires for her, will you?” McClure asked. “The name’s Carina Lockett.”
The soldier pondered a moment. “Of the C Bar C?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed.
His glance swept over her, as if seeing her in a new light. And not a particularly favorable one, either. “Have you been trailing cattle, ma’am?”
His surprise carried a vein of censure, and knowing how she looked to him, how she must smell, too, Carina stiffened.
“Yes. No other reason why I’d be here,” she said in a frosty tone.
“Hard job for a woman.” He shook his head, as if he considered it a shame she had to endure it.
“Yes, well, we all have a job to do, don’t we? And I believe yours is to check to see if I have a wire waiting.”
He took the rebuke with a hasty nod. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that.”
The door clattered behind him, and renewed hope swelled through Carina. This far from her ranch, the soldier would have no reason to associate her name with it unless he’d received a telegram for her. Her m
ind raced through possible senders—Sheriff Dunbar, most likely. But maybe Grandpa. Mavis or Rogan?
Or Callie Mae.
Carina all but leaped toward the door, but McClure’s arm shot out, a band of steel, and kept her right there on the boardwalk.
“Whoa,” he said, as if he was trying to slow a high-stepping filly. “Not so fast.”
This time, she did smack him, a good stiff punch on that muscled arm.
Which barely got a flinch out of him.
“Out of my way, McClure,” she ordered.
“I’m not finished laying a few ground rules first,” he said.
“I’ll let you open the damn door for me. Didn’t I say I would?”
“But you’re not going through it until you promise to keep from cussing.”
She blinked at him. “Why?”
“A lady shouldn’t cuss as often as you do.”
Was he serious?
“It’s one thing to talk that way around your men,” he went on. “Another in polite society.”
“This isn’t polite society,” she grated. “It’s a fort with soldiers who can cuss the air blue. And Indians and hunters who could care less about the way I talk, and McClure, damn you, let me by.”
A muscle leaped in his cheek. He didn’t move. “Of course, asking you to call me ‘Penn’ might be too much for you to manage, considering all I’m throwing at you right now, but I’ll mention it anyway.”
Her fists clenched. She debated darting around him like a rabbit around a fence post. If she was quick enough, she’d succeed in getting inside that telegraph office before he could stop her.
But she didn’t. He’d only find a way to best her on it.
She threw up her chin and choked down her impatience. She had her pride. Two could play his game, even if she had to be an unwilling participant.
“It seems there’s a message waiting for me,” she said, striving to keep her tone even. “I’d be much obliged if we went inside to see who it’s from and what it says.”
“Promise me you’ll put a lid on your can of cuss words, and we will.”
Her teeth gritted. The promise was as absurd as his expectations. “Fine.”
He inclined his head with a satisfied nod. “That’s better.”
Carefully, his arm lowered. He reached for the door and pulled it open. She whisked past him with a disparaging sniff which let him know he wasn’t doing anything she couldn’t do herself, and that, against her better judgment, she let him do it anyway.
He followed her in and closed the door. Their footsteps echoed over the wooden floor and sounded loud in the tiny, barren office. An instrument desk occupied the far wall; above it, the switchboard, and not much else.
But next to the set of sending keys were several envelopes. The soldier riffled through them until, triumphant, he held one up. “Here it is. Carina Lockett, C Bar C Ranch, Texas.”
Suddenly, half-afraid of what she’d read inside, she blew out a breath. “Is the news good?”
“Don’t know, ma’am. I didn’t record the information. The night operator did, and it’s been here—” he consulted a small calendar pinned to the wall “—five days now.”
Carina endured a sinking feeling. So much could’ve happened since then.
“All communications are private, if you have a concern,” he said. “We’re bonded, you know, to keep from disclosing information relayed from station to station.” He glanced down at a scribbled notation. “Your wire is from the New Orleans police department.”
Her breath hitched. Where Mavis lived.
Sheriff Dunbar had informed the law officers the old witch might head there after she fled the C Bar C, and their wire could only mean they knew something about Callie Mae. Carina snatched the envelope from the soldier’s grasp, ripped the paper open and scanned the cryptic contents.
“Mavis and Callie Mae arrived in New Orleans by train six days ago.” Her glance lifted, verifying the date on the telegrapher’s calendar. “The police want me to advise them what to do next.”
And with that, except for the telegraph operator’s initials, the transmission ended. Carina flipped the paper over, just to be sure, but there was nothing else.
She’d suspected Mavis would do this. Take Callie Mae to her home, almost two states away.
And so long ago, too. Six days’ worth of long. Were they still there, in Louisiana? Were Rogan and Durant with them?
Or had Mavis taken Callie Mae onto a ship to Europe by now?
The possibility scared her spitless. Both alternatives filled her with cold resolve. And gave her a plan of attack. Her gaze met McClure’s, watching her.
“I want Mavis hunted down and arrested,” she said.
He nodded. “I’m sure you do.”
“I’ll bring charges against her and have her thrown in jail.” The fury built in Carina. Hot and quick and as fresh as the day the old witch kidnapped her little girl. “I’ll wire the police and demand it.”
“And then what happens to Callie Mae?”
The query dragged her thoughts off vengeance. “We bring her back!”
He shook his head. “Think it through, Carina. You put her grandmother in jail, where will she go? Who will take care of her?”
Carina thought fast. And failed to come up with a perfect answer. “I don’t know yet. But I’ll think of something.”
“She’s too young to travel so far alone. She’d have to stay with strangers until you got there. Could take weeks by the time the law caught up with you,” he said. “By then, she could’ve been sent to an asylum or an orphanage somewhere. Or maybe she’d stay with friends of the Webb family.”
Carina bit her lip. Her thinking began to follow his.
“Those friends might even take Callie Mae into hiding until Mavis posted bail,” he went on. “No telling what would happen then. But you can be sure as hell the woman won’t sit idle in her parlor and wait for the scandal of a trial if you press charges against her.”
Carina’s need for vengeance withered. Mavis detested scandal. She’d escape to Europe for sure to evade putting herself through it. And she’d take Callie Mae with her.
“Know what I think?” he asked.
She swallowed hard. Her brain had gone numb. “No.”
“We need to keep on doing what we’re doing, Carina.” He reached out and knuckled her chin, saying without words that she had to buck up and be strong. “Callie Mae is in good hands with her grandmother. As long as they’re together, nothing will happen to her. You have to believe that.”
“Maybe.” She released an uncertain sigh. Mavis loved Callie Mae. Had always loved her.
“We have to concentrate on getting to Dodge City.” McClure’s voice was low, firm. As methodical as his thinking. “Rogan will be there, waiting for us. We can be all but sure he’s keeping in touch with his mother. As long as he knows we’re cooperating, he won’t let anything happen to Callie Mae.” His mouth hardened. “He wants your money too much.”
“Yes.” His daughter’s heritage, damn him.
“And you know what else?”
She peered at him. “What?”
“That puts you in control.”
Carina turned and strode to the window. She stared through the panes, off into the distance, toward her herd corralled beyond the boundaries of Fort Supply.
Carina didn’t want control.
She wanted Callie Mae.
But, unfortunately, McClure was right. They could do nothing to jeopardize getting her back.
As much as it pained her, Carina couldn’t send a wire to the New Orleans police, pressing the charges that would get Mavis arrested. She didn’t dare.
A couple more weeks, she told herself. They’d be in Dodge City. Then, she’d turn the money over to Rogan.
But afterward, she’d find a way to make him—and his conniving mother—pay for what they’d done.
Chapter 9
Penn could tell the telegraph operator, Private Bekins, put two a
nd two together and came up with trouble for Carina. His sympathy was genuine for what she was going through, and he’d been quick to offer help, any way he could.
Penn took him up on it by asking for a place where Carina could enjoy a relaxing bath. She’d been startled at his request, tried to refuse for its foolishness, but he countered that Sourdough wouldn’t be ready to leave Fort Supply for a while yet. What else did she have to do?
Private Bekins joined in the argument, insistent she have one, as well. Penn suspected the soldier’s sympathy had been compounded by the fact she was trailing cattle, which he was clearly of the opinion she had no business doing. He’d gone out of his way to enlist his wife’s help in making sure Carina received a little female pampering and generously gave her the use of their bathhouse, located behind the Married Men’s Quarters.
Now, after making a quick stop at the dry goods store, Penn found himself waiting for her to come out. He hunkered in the grass and indulged in a leisurely smoke while his thoughts stayed busy wrapping themselves around her.
Which is where they seemed to be lately. On her. On what she’d endured. What lay ahead. And how important it’d become to get her through it.
After it was all said and done at the telegraph station, she’d wired the New Orleans police with a firm request that they keep Mavis under discreet surveillance to the best of their ability and to notify Carina immediately if the woman attempted to leave the city with Callie Mae.
It was a long shot, Penn knew. She didn’t even know if Mavis was still in New Orleans since the news of her arrival there was six days old. The woman could’ve moved on, and no telling when if she did.
Besides, once the C Bar C outfit hit the Western Trail again in a few hours, they’d be miles from a telegraph station. Any attempt to contact Carina would be delayed until they reached the town of Ashland, in Kansas. A week from now at best.
But it was something, that wire. Carina seemed to feel better after sending it.
Some of the starch came back in her, if only for a little while. He preferred her hate for Rogan and Mavis over the haunting despair she’d been wearing since the ordeal started. Having a child kidnapped would scare any parent into an early graying, but Carina Lockett was too much of a fighter to lie down and play doormat for long. The fact that she was fired up and ready to file charges against them was a good sign she still had some spunk left.