The Last Cavalier

by Heather Graham

  He set his hot dog and soda down on the ground and stood with a sudden vehemence that frightened her. Maybe she had been wrong to forget that he might be a madman.

  Maybe she had really been a fool to contradict him so bluntly.

  He walked toward her with his silver eyes glittering. A soft cry escaped her and she started backing away. He reached toward her. Lifted the food from her hands and set it down with purpose.

  “Keep your distance, now,” she demanded. “I’m warning you—”

  He paused for a minute, silver eyes searing as they touched upon hers. “Oh?” he said softly. “Warning me? And just what are you going to do?”

  She clenched her teeth together for a moment, staring him down. “I’m going to eat my damned hot dog, that’s what I’m going to do! I’ll just leave you to wallow in your self-pity, and eat my hot dog, since you’ve managed to starve me rather nicely! Then I’m going home!”

  He took another step toward her. “I’m sorry!” she cried. “I’m sorry for the horrible things that you’re learning. But I can’t change them, and I can’t stop everyone else from telling you the truth. I still can’t even really believe that this can be the truth, but I do believe you and I—I care about you and…stop!”

  But neither warnings nor threats seemed to mean anything to him. He caught her by the shoulders. Wrenched her into his arms. Kissed her. Deeply. With that same passion that had made her forget everything except how much she wanted him. She wanted to protest; she stiffened in his arms at first. But the liquid fire of his kiss was overwhelming, and her hands fell upon his arms when they should have been beating against him.

  Then she found her head leaned against his chest, his hands stroking over her hair. “It is a world gone mad,” he said softly. “A nightmare. Yet you are in it.” And his eyes touched her. “Wild, brash, brave. A touch of magic.” His knuckles moved over her cheek.

  Magic. Yes, that was it. He was magic himself….

  And she was suddenly afraid. Very afraid. Magic could vanish. And she was allowing herself to become so intensely involved. Touched. Loved…

  “We have to go,” she said breathlessly. “My grandfather will be frightfully worried. Please…”

  “Let’s go, then.” He set her drink and her hot dog back in her hands. “Wherever you shall lead, I will follow,” he told her, silver-gray eyes shimmering into hers. “For the moment,” he added softly.

  “For the moment?”

  “Don’t you see, Victoria? I’m lost. I’ve got to find my way back. To John.”

  “Your brother.”

  “Yes, my brother. I promised him that I’d come back to him, Vickie.”

  “But what if there isn’t a way?”

  He shook his head. “There has to be a way. I’ve lost so much, Vickie. John is all I have left. And I promised him.”

  She bit her lip, watching him with a sudden flicker of tears stinging her eyes. She understood that.

  Gramps. He was the someone she had left.

  “There’s a secret locked in the mountain up there,” he persisted. “There’s an archway, between the trees. I know it’s there—I just have to find it again. Max stumbled through it. We stumbled through it. And left it once again.”

  “You don’t know that—”

  “I know it. And you know it. No one involved in one of your reenactments would have been shooting real bullets at us, right? I have to go back. But I am exhausted and starving—and grateful to you.” He hesitated a moment, then stroked her cheek once again. She felt the breeze touch them then, too. Against the heat of the sun, it was cool, light, as soft as that stroke of his flesh. “Grateful, and much, much more!” he murmured, his tone husky, and very low. Then he continued, the soldier, the man, his voice growing deeper. “I want to see you home, and accept your help. Maybe in this world of modern wonders, there is something that I could bring back to save my brother. So, please,” he said very softly, “lead forward.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Vickie decided it was best if she first saw Gramps alone, so Jason waited at the roadside. As she walked up to the house, her heart was pounding with a sudden ferocity. Gramps was so old now, he was all that she had and he was probably worried sick!

  She burst into the house, calling his name. “Gramps? Gramps? Where are you?”

  The door to the taproom stood to her right, and the curving hallway to the bedrooms just upstairs was in front of her. She didn’t know which way to run first.

  “Gramps!”

  The taproom door burst open and he came through, blue eyes wild and anxious.

  “Vickie! Victoria! Where in tarnation have you been, young woman? When your horse came back without you last night, I’d have died with worry if I hadn’t been so afraid!”

  “I’m sorry, Gramps, so very sorry!” She linked her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely, kissing his weathered cheek and then hugging him again. Where had she been? What story was she going to give him?

  And just how was she going to explain Jason Tarkenton?

  “The weather, Gramps,” she said quickly. “There were the strangest storms on the peaks. Arabesque threw me and I’m afraid that I became horribly disoriented walking in the dark last night and—”

  She broke off. Her grandfather’s hold on her had stiffened and he was looking over her shoulder.

  He was looking at Jason. And Max.

  Why hadn’t he waited, as they’d agreed? She had left the front door open when she came in the house and now Jason stood just outside, one foot on the first step, his handsome cavalry mount behind him. Jason had heard every word that she’d said, and now he was coming up the steps.

  “I thought you went to see Yankees, girl?” Gramps asked softly.

  “Yes, well, I did go to see my Yank friends,” she said lightly. “But I ran into a Rebel on my way home.” Oh, dear God, get her through this! she thought. She pulled away from her grandfather, trying to smile broadly. “Gramps, this is an old friend. Jason Tarkenton. He hasn’t been able to find any lodging so I’ve brought him home for the night. It will only take a minute to fix up one of the guest rooms. He’s, umm, he’s been looking after me, it seems, since—lately. I knew you’d be happy to have him here.” Was that close to the truth? Not in the least. And Jason wasn’t going to let it go by.

  Damn him!

  He was now standing in the doorway. “My deepest apologies, sir. That your granddaughter was waylaid was entirely my fault, and I do beg your pardon. I’m deeply sorry for all the anxiety I’ve put you through.”

  Gramps looked from Jason to Vickie, arching a brow slowly. He looked their visitor over with a deliberate curiosity. He cast Vickie a glance of pure suspicion. Then he extended a hand to Jason. “How do you do, sir? An old friend of my granddaughter’s, eh?”

  “Yes,” Vickie said.

  “That’s not exactly true,” Jason told him. “As I said, the fact that she was waylaid was entirely my fault. But I swear to you, sir, that I mean to honor our relationship.”

  Vickie winced. Honor their relationship?

  She wanted to strangle him. But Gramps was still staring at them both with wonder.

  “I swear it, sir,” Jason told Gramps.

  “Mmm—that chili smells delicious!” Vickie cried out. She needed to have a talk with Jason. A long talk. But for now, she’d just have to try and distract Gramps. “Gramps, please tell me that we’ve some chili left. I’m absolutely starving.”

  Gramps was still staring at Jason. “You been eating hardtack, huh?” he said.

  It didn’t sound as if he were teasing.

  “An awful lot of it sir. And I just tried a hot dog, too.”

  “Gramps, will you excuse me for a moment? I need to speak with Jason alone outside for just a minute.”

  “You waylaid her, eh?” Gramps said.

  She shoved against Jason’s chest. He wasn’t moving. “Yes, sir. I needed help. But I swear to you as a gentleman that I mean to protect her honor and—” />
  “Jason, may I please speak with you outside?”

  “There’s been more to this than a walk in the woods,” Gramps said to Jason.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Jason! Gramps, you will excuse me!” She pushed with all her power against Jason’s chest. He still didn’t move. He obviously believed that this discussion was between him and Gramps. He wasn’t budging, and he was muscled like steel. And Gramps wasn’t politely moving away, either.

  She decided to talk anyway. “This is the twentieth century! I’m not one of your long-ago possession-type females. I make my own decisions! I’m not dishonored in any way, shape or form, and you don’t owe me anything. And quite frankly, I’d truly appreciate it if you could manage not to be so damned honorable for a while, here! I resent being owed whatever it is you think that you owe me.”

  “Possession types?” he said, eyes intense, his voice very low, and sounding something like a growl.

  “Yes! As if women are automatically things that you have to take responsibility for—”

  “Let him be responsible!” Gramps chimed in.

  “My females, Victoria, are not possessions!” Jason informed her. “They think, they feel, they weigh matters and they make decisions. But, Jesu, lady, they know how to listen, too, how to be cherished, how to love and cherish in return. And they also respect and honor the men in their lives!”

  Suddenly—and a little bit too late—it seemed that Gramps had heard what she had said before and was anxious that the two of them get something to eat. “Chili’s on!” he announced jovially. “Come on into the taproom, you two, and we’ll see if we can’t cool down your tempers by heating up your appetites. This is an unexpected ripple in the day, by golly!”

  Oh, it was a ripple, all right, Vickie thought. She tried to control both her temper and her nervousness, giving Jason a very stern stare.

  He ignored her, of course.

  They followed him in. Gramps walked around the counter to the kitchen area. “Pour your man an ale, Victoria,” Gramps commanded.

  She gritted her teeth. “He isn’t my man, Gramps. He’s a friend.” She stared at Jason very hard. “And I’m trying very hard to help him!” She dropped her voice for Jason alone. “You’re making it very difficult!” she rasped beneath her breath.

  He returned her stare and spoke softly. “I can try to behave, Victoria, but I can’t change what I am.”

  Gramps, pulling a microwave container out of the refrigerator and slipping it into the microwave, grinned back. “Sounds interesting, anyway. You scared me half to death, young lady. I was ready to call in the FBI.”

  Vickie pulled the tap down for a draft beer for Jason, and then decided to have one herself.

  She needed one.

  She walked around the bar and saw that Jason was staring at what Gramps was doing. She realized then that the microwave and the refrigerator must be absolute wonders to him—not to mention the electric lights.

  She set a beer down before him, and narrowed her eyes at him, trying desperately to warn him that he must be careful.

  “Here we are!” Gramps said.

  Jason’s brows arched. “That fast? Cooked food that fast?”

  She didn’t think that Gramps had heard. “The world has been in an age of invention, almost since the war ended,” she said, speaking incredibly quickly. “That’s a refrigerator and freezer. It runs off electricity and keeps things cold. That’s a microwave oven. I don’t know exactly how microwaves work, but it cooks food very, very fast.”

  Almost as fast as she had been speaking, she thought with a wince. Jason couldn’t have grasped too much of what she had said. But it didn’t matter; she couldn’t repeat anything. Gramps was on his way over with the chili now. Setting it down before them with plates and utensils and napkins. “Thanks, Vickie, I’ll just get my own beer,” Gramps said reproachfully.

  She cast him a hard gaze. “You didn’t say that you wanted one!” she reminded him, and she quickly went to pour a third beer, trying to keep her eye on the two men.

  “You’ve been out for a while,” Gramps said. “Bet you could use a nice hot bath and a change of clothing. After keeping my granddaughter out all that time.”

  “Gramps!”

  “Sir, I’ve told you—”

  “May I see that sword you’ve got there, Mr. Tarkenton?” Gramps asked suddenly.

  “Of course.”

  Jason stood instantly and Vickie bit into her lower lip. He’d lost his plumed hat along the way and was clad only in his cavalry shirt, breeches and boots, but he wore them so exceptionally well. He was as lean and hard as any fighter, striking and agile as he drew his sword from its scabbard. Her heart seemed to catapult and spread as she watched him, fascinated by his movement, by the unruly length of his tawny hair, by the silver fire in his eyes and the hard-set determination in every line and plane of his face.

  He walked his sword around to Gramps, who took it far more reverently than it had been offered.

  Gramps studied the sword and Vickie held her breath. He looked up at Jason at last. “It’s real!” he said in a whisper. “This thing is a real Confederate cavalry officer’s sword, out of Richmond. I’ve never seen such a fine example. And the scabbard. It’s real, too?”

  Jason unbuckled his scabbard and handed it over, too. Gramps looked into his eyes, then to the scabbard. After a moment he said with certain wonder, “My God. This thing is in excellent shape. There’s some slashes in the leather—”

  “That one was Manassas,” Jason said, leaning over.

  Vickie tried to kick him unobtrusively. She managed to get his shin. He stared at her hard, brows knitting into a frown.

  “Gramps,” she admonished, still staring at Jason, “quit being such a historian, huh? Let the poor man eat his chili.”

  “Right. Go ahead, young man. Dig in. It’s just that I’m a collector, you know. And an armchair historian. Well, I used to reenact, too, but the old bones are getting a little sore for sleeping out in tents and such. This is one of the finest pieces I’ve ever seen, including any I’ve seen in the top museums!”

  “Er…thank you,” Jason murmured.

  “Eat your chili, son.”

  Jason did. Vickie realized that he must have been starving by then—really starving—because he tried to start slowly, but in a matter of minutes, he was eating as fast as his hand could carry his spoon from the plate to his mouth. And of course, she was starving herself. She ate quickly, too. And Gramps was silent until their spoons clinked against their bowls.

  “That was excellent,” Jason said quietly. “Thank you very much. It was truly the best meal I’ve had in—” He broke off. “Ages,” he finished limply, watching Vickie.

  Gramps grunted, still studying him. “It was a bowl of chili. Good recipe, but just chili. You haven’t been eating very well lately, have you, Mr. Tarkenton?”

  Vickie felt a twinge of real unease. Gramps just didn’t intend to let her get away with this. She wished she could just tell him the truth.

  Or what she thought she believed to be the truth!

  “Gramps, really! My guest’s eating habits—”

  “Are darned curious, darned curious,” Gramps finished. “So, let’s see now, did you and Victoria go to school together, too?”

  “Yes,” Vickie lied.

  “No,” Jason said simultaneously.

  “No!” Vickie said quickly, but Jason was in the process of changing his response to an emphatic, “Yes, sir!”

  “Right,” Gramps said, nodding gravely. “Where do you come from, Mr. Tarkenton?”

  Vickie opened her mouth to answer quickly for him.

  Gramps was quicker.

  “Now, Victoria, I asked Mr. Tarkenton.”

  Jason grinned. He liked Gramps a lot, she could see that. Gramps was going to get right to any point.

  “I come from a little town just west of Staunton.”

  “And your folks have been from around there for a long time, I ta
ke it?”

  “That’s right, sir. Late 1700s.”

  “Which is it? You did or didn’t go to school with Vickie?”

  “Didn’t, sir.”

  “You attended college?”

  “West Point.”

  “Gramps, can we please play Twenty Questions later?” Vickie said. “Jason needs a bath and some sleep—”

  “Why?” Gramps asked her, wide-eyed.

  “We were up all night,” she said. “Trying to get back.”

  “Oh, yeah, right,” Gramps said. “Where are your things, Mr. Tarkenton? You didn’t ride your horse all the way up here from the Staunton area, did you?”

  “Of course he didn’t!” Vickie exclaimed quickly.

  “What, did you trailer him on in for the reenactment?”

  “Yes,” Vickie answered.

  “Let Mr. Tarkenton answer himself. That is, if you don’t mind, Mr. Tarkenton,” Gramps said.

  But Jason, it seemed, did mind something. His eyes were steady on Gramps, his jaw was set. “I’ll answer whatever you like. But let’s get this settled. It’s either Jason, sir, or Colonel Tarkenton. Colonel Tarkenton.”

  Gramps’s brows shot up. Vickie would have kicked Jason beneath the table again—really hard—except that he stood then, not allowing her to do so.

  Then Gramps was on his feet himself. “All right, Colonel Tarkenton, just where do you really come from?”

  “The Staunton area!” Jason said.

  “Then just why is everything about you so damned different? And why is it that you’ve been staring at the lights and the refrigerator and microwave as if you just walked off a spaceship?”

  “A spaceship?” Jason said. He looked at Vickie, frowning. “A spaceship?”

  She smiled suddenly. She’d always known that Gramps was sharp as nails, but she’d never imagined that things could get this difficult.