The Lieutenant's Bargain

by Regina Jennings

  Shame on him for not crediting her with more sense.

  “I was so worried about what you’d think.” He picked up a lamp and motioned her forward. She’d probably want another ceremony. Ladies set store by such romantic moments, and Jack would be happy to oblige.

  She followed him up the stairs, running her hand over the wool coat hung on the banister as they went up.

  “You might want your own room tonight?” He swallowed the knot in his throat. “Yes, definitely you need your own room.” He hoped it wasn’t prudish to admit that even he needed some time to think through the momentous events of the last day. On the other hand, if she insisted on consummating their marriage immediately . . . He had to hold the lamp with both hands to keep it steady.

  He nodded toward the six-paneled door at the head of the stairs. “I’ll be in here if you need me,” he said as they passed. He knew the next room was in horrible disarray, so he continued to the one that Daniel had recently vacated. The lamplight showed a worn dresser covered with boxes, and a bare mattress atop a metal bed frame. He nudged the bed. “I stripped the sheets before I left, but I don’t have any replacements on hand. I wasn’t expecting to bring a guest home. If you give me a minute, I’ll go to the laundress—”

  “It’ll do,” she said. “Just get me a pillow. I can sleep on the mattress, and I already have a blanket. After the stack of buffalo robes, it’ll feel like heaven.”

  “You deserve better than this, Hattie. I’m sorry.”

  What a way to start a marriage! But she was being astoundingly levelheaded, at least compared to how Jack remembered her.

  She hugged the rough army blanket around her shoulders. “You saved my life. That’s enough.”

  Even with her chestnut hair soaking the bulky blanket, her heart-shaped face shone like an angel’s. It was all Jack could do to keep from falling on his knees again and kissing her feet. Instead, he poked around the boxes, just to make sure there weren’t any rodents hiding in the corners, and fetched her a feather pillow.

  Hattie was still wrapped in the blanket, waiting for him to do something, but what? A good-night kiss from her husband? Jack didn’t know what else she could be waiting for. He tossed the pillow on the bed and wiped his hands on his trouser legs. He wished he’d had a bath and a shave, but if Hattie didn’t mind, neither did he.

  His lips were already tingling before he grasped her shoulders. He would have preferred a time when they weren’t both so spent and disheveled, but that didn’t keep his heart from pounding in anticipation. He’d dreamed of this for years. She was gorgeous despite her dripping hair and the tired lines around her eyes—eyes that grew larger as he bent toward her. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

  “Jack!” He felt her lurch backward. “Open your eyes.”

  When had they closed? He blinked a few times to find his focus.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she whispered.

  His hands tightened on her shoulders. Holding her this close without his glasses meant that her face was a little blurry, but he could still see her confused expression.

  “I’m kissing you good night,” he said.

  Her mouth dropped open. “What? Why would you think I’d allow that?”

  “Because . . .” His eyes narrowed as they gauged her shock. “Didn’t Louisa tell you?”

  “Tell me what? That you were going to accost me? No, she didn’t mention it.”

  Jack smoothed the blanket on her shoulders as the implications fell into place. It had been too good to be true. She would have never consented. He was just a fool fooling himself foolishly. Yet what Major Adams had said hadn’t changed. The penalty for walking away from the ceremony would be severe. He had to tell her.

  But not tonight.

  He stepped back and clasped his hands behind him. “A good-night kiss,” he said. “It’s a . . . a fort tradition to wish you sweet dreams.”

  Hattie looked unconvinced. “Nothing will help with my dreams tonight,” she said.

  “Yes, well, don’t suffer alone. If you need me . . .” But she didn’t. His mother had always taught him that a gentleman must know when to end a conversation. He’d already said too much. “Did you leave the hip bath in the kitchen?” he asked.

  Hattie nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know if I should dump it.”

  “No, that’s perfect. I’ll avail myself of it now, so if you’re not going to leave the room . . .”

  Hattie blushed as she understood his warning. “I’ll stay up here. You can have the kitchen to yourself.”

  “Thank you. Good night, Hattie. I’m sorry for all the confusion.” But most of all he was sorry that those few minutes of erroneous bliss were all he’d ever know.

  He closed the door and walked downstairs for a cold bath.

  Hattie was confused, she was frustrated, but most of all, she was exhausted.

  Jack had left her the lamp, but even the light didn’t help. As soon as her eyes drifted closed, she heard the wind. Her bones ached, her fingers and toes went numb. The feather mattress turned into a cold wall of clay. She jarred awake, thinking that someone was in the room. The outlaw was hiding behind the boxes. She told herself it wasn’t true, that it wasn’t even possible, but still she couldn’t go back to sleep until she looked. Leaving her blanket, she tiptoed to the boxes, her heart pounding. She lifted the lamp. No one was there. Of course, the room was empty.

  She lay down again, shivering from fright. This time she didn’t put the blanket over her. What if she needed to get away? What if she needed to fight? She didn’t want it holding her down. She huddled on the mattress and watched the flame of the lamp flicker. She wasn’t alone; she was safe. But what if Jack left? The house was too big to be in alone. Just like when the Indians had found her, no one would hear her cries. The light dimmed as she drifted asleep, then with another jerk awoke.

  It was drums—the Indian drums pounding. Without hearing them, she knew the chants they were singing. Again the fear that she’d experienced all alone in their village rolled over her. Sleep was impossible. Hattie sat up and crammed her fist against her chest. Her heart was running away with her. No matter how tired she was, she didn’t want to hurt like this. Maybe it was better to stay awake.

  Crawling off the mattress, she pushed her door open and listened in the hallway. Noises came from downstairs. It was Jack in the kitchen. She released a pent-up sigh. A good-night kiss? No wonder Jack had never had any girlfriends. He had the worst timing in the world. And yet, having him near was better than being alone . . . as long as he didn’t take any liberties. She thought of the sofa by the fireplace. Maybe there she could rest. It was better than being trapped in a room at the end of the hallway.

  With her pillow under her arm, Hattie made it halfway down the staircase before she remembered Jack’s warning. She couldn’t go into the parlor. What if he’d left the door to the kitchen open? She tapped her fingers against the banister. Jack might be a childhood friend, but the man in the kitchen had nothing of childhood left about him.

  She had turned to go back up the stairs when her hand brushed against something warm. It was Jack’s coat. Taking it in both hands, Hattie gathered it to her face. Slowly, her pulse calmed. Her muscles unknotted as the sound of the drums faded. She wasn’t alone. God had sent someone to rescue her. For now, Jack was her protection from the evils of the wild west.

  Hattie sat on the floor in the upstairs hallway. She’d wait here and ask Jack about sleeping on the sofa. He wouldn’t be long. As long as she didn’t have to go back into the creepy room with the shadows behind the boxes. The spot in the hallway across from his room was warm, and with the coat and blanket, she was comfortable. Comfortable enough to doze off.

  The water felt brisk, but Jack made up for it by scrubbing his skin until it was pink and clean. How could he have made this bad of a mistake? Hattie would accuse him of colluding with the chief, and all he could claim in his defense was ignorance.

  Not his fine
st hour.

  The water sloshed as he stood and reached for a towel. It was already damp. He paused before resolving not to think about its previous duty. Another good scrubbing, and he’d be dry and ready for bed, although whether or not he could sleep remained to be seen.

  Jack wrapped the towel around him, then scrounged the last of the meat off the cold chicken leg left on the table before tossing it into the bin. He blew out the light in the kitchen, deciding against carrying a lamp. He should have thought to bring clothes down, but he was used to the bachelor’s life. At least Hattie was asleep in her room.

  The fireplace in the parlor gave him light enough to see the stairs, but at the top it got dark again. With one hand holding his towel around his waist, he couldn’t check on his guest. Everything was quiet, so she must be doing fine.

  And she was, until he stubbed his toe on her.

  His knee caught him, and fortunately for both of them, he managed to fall on the hard floor instead of the soft pile of blankets. What was she doing out here? Jack doubled his grip on his towel. Then he saw what she was holding. His coat. He sat back on his haunches.

  From what Major Adams had said, Jack had no choice. He was either married to this woman, or he’d have to give up his work with the Arapaho and move to another unit so they could separate without causing a scandal. The Arapaho had been his study, his life’s work for years. He couldn’t imagine going somewhere else, starting from scratch with another tribe. He also couldn’t imagine keeping a woman against her will, especially one as determined as Hattie.

  What he could imagine, what he had imagined many times in the past—and experienced so fleetingly before his bath—was that Hattie Walker would by some miracle fall in love with him and consent to being his wife.

  And now here she was.

  And here he was, an innocent man, trying to decide whether to leave a lady sleeping on the floor or move her to his bed. For an innocent man, he sure found himself in a conundrum.

  She whimpered, fighting terrors he could only imagine, and then her eyes opened.

  “Hattie?” he whispered. “What’s wrong? Why are you out here?”

  “I was afraid. It’s better out here,” she said drowsily. She blinked. “Are you wearing a towel?”

  “Are you hugging my coat?” he responded.

  Hattie groaned and buried her head beneath his cape. “Can I stay here, please?” she asked. “Your room is right here, next to me . . .”

  Those were her last words before fatigue overtook her again.

  Weighing his options, Jack finally settled on straightening her quilt over her, then going into his room to sleep. He’d leave his door open, where he could keep an eye on her from his pillow.

  And until she woke up, found out what had happened, and gave him the dressing down of his life, he could imagine that she’d come to live under his roof by her choice. Relive those brief moments earlier this evening when he’d thought it was true. It was a sweet dream, but one that would die with daybreak.

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning, Jack woke up to the bugle sounding stable call. He rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. Major Adams hadn’t required him to report to assembly, but his sleeping in meant he’d missed breakfast at the mess.

  If he’d missed breakfast, then why did he smell eggs and potatoes frying?

  He had to kick a bit to get his legs free from the sheets. The cold floor against his feet brought him to his senses, as did the empty hallway. Had he dreamed the whole Hattie story? His wardrobe stood open and his clothes hung neatly inside it, but every other horizontal surface was covered in journals, papers, and books. In short, his room looked like it always looked. And he felt disappointed that the sleeping lady hugging his overcoat had disappeared.

  Throwing on his clothes, Jack hurried down the stairs before he even had his suspenders over his shoulders. The delicious aromas led him straight to the kitchen, and he burst through the door without giving a thought to the poor girl on the other side.

  His sudden appearance startled her. The skillet—Jack had never seen it before—rattled against the iron stove.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

  “It’s all right.” She took the skillet off the hot part of the stove. “I’m frustrated with myself for being jumpy of late.” She reached up and opened a cabinet door. Cobwebs ballooned out, then settled back into place.

  He shouldn’t just stand and stare, but have mercy, Hattie Walker was in his kitchen. Her thick brown hair had been twisted into some sort of loaf on the back of her head, displaying her elegant neck. The apron tied around her waist cinched her skirt to show that her days of starvation hadn’t deprived her of all her womanly attributes. And the quizzical look on her face demonstrated that she didn’t have time for his admiration.

  “What are you looking for?” Jack asked.

  “Pepper? I prefer some seasoning on my potatoes. Do you have any?”

  He reached above her head and pulled out a pepper grinder. “I never knew that was up there.” He wiggled the crank. “And there’s peppercorns already in it.”

  She hesitated before stepping closer to take it from him. “Plates?” she asked as she cranked the handle. “Cups?”

  They had a very important discussion ahead, but Jack would rather shut his mouth and get breakfast going.

  “Let me help.” He started to the cabinet but nearly shinned himself on the bathtub. Why hadn’t he dumped it out last night? Here she’d been cooking around his cold bathwater and his dirty uniform wadded up on the floor. He gathered his clothes and tossed them out the back door. After being worn for his trip out to the Arapaho camp and back, they’d be fine outside until he could get them delivered to the laundress. Next to go was the heavy tub. He strained to get his arms around it. Full of water, it was heavier than it looked. The water sloshed up on his shirt as he dumped it outside.

  He brushed at the water on his shirt, then thought to ask about her clothing.

  “Mrs. Adams loaned me these,” Hattie answered. “She also brought the food, which was nice, but she acted strangely.”

  “Mrs. Adams is one of the kindest—what did she do that was strange?”

  “Instead of inviting me to breakfast, she expected me to stay and cook for you. It doesn’t seem very hospitable—or proper, seeing how you’re a single man.” Using her faded black skirt as a hot pad, Hattie picked up the skillet and carried it to the table. “Even if we used to be friends.”

  Friends? Jack had always felt more like an overeager puppy that danced around her ankles. And the fact that he wasn’t a single man needed to be addressed.

  “She’s busy getting used to being married, I’d imagine,” he said.

  He slid a plate in front of Hattie. It might be the heat from the stove, but he’d bet it was windburn that pinked her cheeks and made her brown eyes shine. And the news he had to tell her was going to make her blood boil. He scooped a spoonful of potatoes onto his plate, then added two eggs. No reason to wait any longer.

  “Hattie, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  He rarely thought about strategy, preferring to deliver the unmuddled truth straight and clear. But in this case, that approach might leave him with an unconscious woman on his hands if Hattie was the fainting type. It might leave him with a black eye if she wasn’t.

  “There’s been a mistake.” He arranged the plate directly in front of him. His nose twitched as she continued grinding the peppercorns. “There’s a reason everyone is acting so strangely. The chief meant well. He thought he was solving a problem for me, but I didn’t ask him to do it that way. I would’ve never participated in that ceremony if I had any idea.”

  The grinder caught on a stubborn shell. Hattie grunted with effort as she broke it loose. “You got me free, didn’t you? That’s all I care about.”

  “When learning the ways of a foreign people, even the most experienced ethnographers make mistakes. You look for s
imilarities between them and their sister tribes, but then a difference comes along that is unexpected and you end up looking like a fool.” Jack was warming to this topic. He’d much rather talk about his work than something personal. “Just last month, Chief Right Hand gave me a gift—”

  “Jack,” she interrupted, “what’s this have to do with me?” She slid the drawer of fresh pepper open and sprinkled it on her potatoes.

  Jack stabbed the eggs with his fork. His stomach turned at the sight, but he recognized nerves when they afflicted him. Best just to say what needed to be said and go from there. “That ceremony at the village . . .” He forced down a mouthful of food before continuing. “That ceremony was a wedding. According to the laws and customs of the Arapaho, we’re married. To each other. Ain’t that something?”

  He lifted his fork but couldn’t force another bite. Instead, he left it suspended in the air as she sat stunned, the pepper tumbling out of the drawer and onto her plate like a tiny avalanche.

  “That banquet was a wedding?” she asked. Her lips pursed tight. Some tendons in her neck bulged. “The exchange of gifts, the prayers, the feast—all of that was a wedding?”

  Jack couldn’t bear the look she was giving him. He dropped his fork, then, and seeing some mugs, decided it was a good time to get them a drink. “I was as surprised as you are,” he said. He filled the mugs and set one in front of her.

  Her eyes had to be burning, because she hadn’t blinked yet. “Nobody else knows, do they?”

  Jack fiddled with the handle of the mug. “Chief Right Hand,” he said, “Coyote, and the whole tribe. And Major Adams and his family.”

  “They all know? That’s why they had that banner—Lieutenant and Mrs. Hennessey. And then last night in my bedroom . . .” Her fist fell against the table. “Jack? The good-night kiss? You thought I already knew, didn’t you? Of all the far-fetched—”

  “It’s not that far-fetched,” Jack protested. “We’ve known each other for years.”