The Lieutenant's Bargain

by Regina Jennings

  Worry lines appeared between Louisa’s eyes. “Marriage is a hard transition,” she said, “even under the best of circumstances. As long as the two of you love each other and are willing to work together, everything will smooth over.”

  There was a commotion at the front of the house. Whatever Jack was saying to his commander, he was saying it loudly.

  “I should go,” Hattie said.

  “Caroline, tell your father that Mrs. Hennessey is here,” Louisa whispered. “Hurry.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt them,” Hattie protested. Especially when they were fighting about her. “You don’t need to tell them I was here.”

  But Louisa looked like her tail feathers were getting ruffled. “Nonsense. Men should know better than to carry on like that. If I was back at the Cat-Eye, I’d have them both thrown in the street.”

  The Cat-Eye? What was Louisa talking about? Hattie started toward the door, but there was no sneaking past the office this time.

  “Mrs. Hennessey?” The major had spotted her and was looking at Jack with a warning in his eyes.

  Jack’s head bowed so low that she could see the crooked part in his hair. He came out of the office looking like a puppy caught chewing his master’s shoes. “Hattie, I didn’t expect you here.”

  “Evidently not.” She’d used this cold look when she was in school and thought someone was mocking her, but it had never hurt this much before.

  Major Adams, all pomp and propriety, stepped forward. “Mrs. Hennessey, may I say how pleased I am to see you again? Jack tells me that you are adjusting to life on the fort.”

  “Is that what he tells you?” she asked.

  The major had the grace to look ashamed. “If there’s anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable . . .”

  Hattie didn’t answer. She was too busy staring at Jack and hoping he’d wither away under her burning gaze. Instead he stepped forward as if to take her arm.

  “Thank you for looking after the matter,” he said to Major Adams. “I think it’s time I take my wife home for the evening.”

  “Look,” Daisy called. She pointed above their heads to the chandelier in the entryway. “Lieutenant Jack and Mrs. Hennessey are standing under the mistletoe. Now they have to kiss.”

  Hattie’s skin prickled. And then Jack had the nerve to look at her—really look at her—with some sort of sickly longing in his eyes. For whose benefit? Did he think the major’s daughters were part of the audience? Hattie had reached her limit of hypocrisy for the day, and seeing that he was leaning forward as if he might actually touch her, she swung her arm to shove him in the chest.

  She hadn’t meant to swing so hard, but she was furious. And she hadn’t meant to aim so high, but at the last minute, he bent as if to kiss her hand. The combined effect resulted in a punch straight to his jaw.

  Everyone in the room gasped. Hattie felt the impact in each knuckle. Jack stepped back and stood with his chin high, refusing to react even as his face turned red.

  “Girls, it’s time for bed,” Louisa said. “Let’s go upstairs and get ready.” Grabbing the arms of her daughters, she herded them up the stairs.

  “It’s getting late,” Major Adams said. “I’ll leave the two of you to find your way out.”

  But Hattie wasn’t waiting to hear any more. Ducking her head, she ran past the stunned men and straight to her bedroom next door.

  Chapter Twenty

  Had she heard him begging for relief? Had she witnessed his anger when told that he had to spend more time with her? If she’d arrived any earlier, then she might have realized that he was pleading on her behalf. The pain in his jaw told him that whatever she’d heard, Hattie hadn’t appreciated it.

  She’d left his front door open a crack, and her coat lay crumpled on the floor in the doorway. Jack picked up the heavy buckskin and hung it on the banister. Hattie was usually the tidy one, but in her hurry to hide from him, she’d abandoned all her habits.

  Hadn’t they talked this through? She wanted freedom, and that was what he was trying to give her. But what was important right now was that Hattie was hurt, and Jack had caused it. He had to make amends, but this time he’d be ready to duck when she swung a fist.

  He paused as he reached the top of the stairs and saw the light spiking out from beneath her bedroom door. He knocked gently. “Hattie, do you want to talk?”

  There was no answer.

  “I don’t know exactly what you heard, but I’m trying to do what’s right for you.” He leaned against her doorframe, ruing every inch of space between them.

  “Leave me alone,” she said.

  If there was anything Jack knew, it was how to obey orders. “Yes, ma’am. I’m going back downstairs for a bit, but I won’t leave the house tonight. If you get scared with the nightmares, find me. Don’t suffer alone.” The very least he could do was leave his overcoat within her reach, but with the way she’d responded to the mistletoe, he didn’t want to suggest it.

  He told her good night, then went downstairs. He selected a book from the shelf in the parlor, grabbed his eyeglasses, stretched out on the sofa, and dropped the book unopened on his chest. The sooner she was gone, the sooner he could get his life back to normal. He could journal about the tribes and record new information. He could eat in the mess hall with the troopers. And at the end of the day, he could sit in his half-lit house alone every evening, read his books, and daydream about the girl back home. The girl he’d let get away without once telling her how much he loved her.

  No. When she left, he had to leave all this behind, as well. Nothing would be the same.

  It was funny how dignified the parlor looked with the books arranged like that. Instead of a dusty mess of information, his house looked respectable. So what if he had to go upstairs to find a certain volume? He’d get used to it. Maybe he should let her organize his office, as well.

  Giving up on the book, he extinguished all the lamps downstairs and pulled the shades. She didn’t want to stay, and he’d do his best to give her the freedom to leave. He’d sacrifice everything for her to have her choice. He didn’t want her to ever think he’d chosen this mess. Caused it accidently, perhaps, but not chosen it.

  The strangled cry upstairs tore at his heart. Jack moved silently through the darkened house toward her room, picking up his coat as he passed. After all these nights together, he recognized the sound. She’d woken up again, disoriented and frightened.

  “Hattie, it’s me.” He rested his forehead against the door. “Can I come in?”

  She sobbed but wasn’t awake enough to answer. Jack only hesitated a moment. He would have fought off a regiment of men to rescue her if needed. He wasn’t going to let a door stand in his way. He turned the knob and pushed it open.

  “What are you doing?” Hattie rubbed her eyes as she pulled the blanket up to her nose. “I told you to stay away.”

  “You were having a nightmare. I came to help.”

  “You don’t have to. I can take care of myself.”

  Maybe it was the late hour. Maybe it was the eventfulness of the day. But Jack knew right then that he had to tell her.

  He sat at the foot of her bed and dropped his coat to the side. Hattie pulled her feet up and tucked the blankets beneath her like there was a mouse trying to sneak under the covers.

  “I have some bad news.” He kept his eyes on the window as he gathered his courage. “Major Adams didn’t request my transfer before he left.”

  She sniffed as she wiggled her toes. “And now you’re stuck with me for longer than you thought.”

  “I didn’t know exactly when he’d return, but I expected the paperwork to have been filed and approved by now. You’re running out of time. If you miss your chance at this exhibition because of me, I won’t know how to make it up to you.” What it was costing her—that was what he had to remember. Not how much it was hurting him.

  “How much longer do we have to wait?” she asked.

  “A matter of days,
if it’s approved. If not . . . well, Major Adams will insist that they find me another post.”

  “Why are we doing this, Jack? Why don’t we tell him no? Who cares if the Indians have their feelings hurt? It’s your life. You can’t ruin it because they made a mistake.”

  “I made the mistake.” He turned to face her, and it was nearly his undoing. She looked so fragile, so trusting. And she deserved the truth. “I could’ve put you on a horse and headed back to the fort that day, but I wanted to impress you. I asked them for a ceremony.”

  She sat up straight in the bed. “You asked them to marry us?”

  “No, absolutely not. I asked them to officially hand you, the captive, into my care. Transfer the responsibility, so to speak. They must have misunderstood.”

  “But why didn’t you realize what was happening?” she asked. “You speak their language pretty well.”

  That was the embarrassing part—or at least another embarrassing part. “You were the last person I expected to find in that camp. It’d been so long since I’d seen you that I couldn’t concentrate on what they were saying. I was completely addled.”

  His confession seemed to surprise her. She tugged a lock of hair across her mouth.

  “A tragic mistake,” she murmured. “And we’re both paying for it.”

  “But I can’t let them pay for it. Hattie, I’ve seen what is happening out west. Some people think the Indians are inferior—that they can’t learn like we do, can’t function in society . . . or what we call society. As long as people can pretend that the Cheyenne and Arapaho are intrinsically different, they will justify their exploitation. I want those kids to have a fair shot at life, whether they decide to stay on the reservation or move somewhere else. But that’s not why I’m mad.” She was listening, but did she hear what he was trying to tell her? He turned toward her, the blanket wrinkling beneath him. “Hattie, I’m angry on your account. My fight with Major Adams wasn’t because I’m in a hurry to be rid of you. It’s because I know you, and I know that being stuck here is driving you batty.”

  “But why didn’t Major Adams request the transfer before he left? You told him to, didn’t you?”

  Jack picked at a snag on the army blanket. “Daniel is a friend of mine, the kind who thinks they know you better than you know yourself. He got it in his head that we’d somehow find a way to make the marriage work. He thought that by the time he got back from his honeymoon, we’d . . .” He took a deep breath. Major Adams’s hopes had been Jack’s hopes, as well. He didn’t have to admit that, but the words were still painful. “He thought that we would be in love, and the transfer would be unnecessary.”

  Jack stilled his hands as she took a moment to drink that in. Mercifully, she didn’t laugh. “He doesn’t know about the bargain we made, does he? Or is there a reason he’d think that we’d stay married?”

  Good thing the light was dim. Otherwise she would have seen his stricken expression.

  “Major Adams knows that we grew up together.” One of Jack’s flaws had always been his honesty. Usually his honesty caused other people pain, though. Not himself. “And then, maybe once or twice, I mentioned that I’d had an attachment to you when we were young. He knew that I wrote you on occasion. He probably remembered that and hoped the feeling was mutual.”

  Jack waited, feeling like he’d just set his heart out on a platter and offered it to a pack of wolves. Or one very becoming she-wolf, anyway.

  “I know what a writer you are. You probably corresponded with dozens of ladies.”

  “No, just you.” He picked at the snag again. “And my ma.”

  “What about this sweetheart that everyone tells me about? Didn’t you write her?”

  Had she really not figured it out yet? Keeping his word and delivering her to Denver was the only way he would keep his honor, and he needed his honor, because his pride was taking a beating.

  “I only wrote you,” he said, “because . . . because you’re the only one I . . .”

  Loved. Jack couldn’t say it. It was ridiculous. Only now was he really learning who she was, but everything he learned only increased his regard. He tried to catch her gaze, looking for any sign of interest, but she sank her face farther into the sheets.

  “You’re going to the village tomorrow?” she asked.

  That was it? That was all she had to say? Jack flexed the tension out of his fingers. By pretending she hadn’t heard him, she was allowing him to save his dignity. Maybe that was the kindest response she could make.

  “Yes. I’m talking to Chief Right Hand tomorrow about what’s going on at the school.” He cleared his throat. “Do you want to come?”

  “I’d better stay here. I have some sketching I want to work on.”

  “Oh?” He nodded. “For your exhibition?”

  “I can’t turn in a pencil drawing, so it’s probably futile.”

  “Major Adams’s girls have paints.”

  “They have watercolors. I need oils, and by the time the mercantile gets them, it’ll be too late.”

  Jack turned his face toward the window. “You’ll be in Denver before then. Oil paint will be easy to come by in Denver.” Everything would be easy to come by for her. He would be the one with all the regrets.

  “Is that your coat?” she asked.

  He handed it over to her.

  She took it and drew it against her chest. “I wake with the roosters, or in this case with the bugles, so you’ll get it back first thing,” she said. “If I stay in this room tonight, can you hear me call?”

  “I did, didn’t I? And I’ll be here in a heartbeat.”

  Her chest shuddered as she released her breath. Slowly, she lay down, pulling his coat over her. “Would you mind leaving my door open?” she asked. “It helps me feel not so alone.”

  Jack left the cold room, started down the hall, and wondered how two people could feel so alone together.

  The next morning found Jack in the saddle, accompanied by a small unit of six men. While most of the Arapaho and Cheyenne chiefs had come to the table and were willing to work together, the memories of the Sand Creek Massacre and the Battle of Washita River were too fresh in the Cheyenne minds for peaceable relations. And if it wasn’t the Indians aiming for them, there were plenty of ne’er-do-wells who would take their shot. There was a saying around these parts: “No Sunday west of St. Louis, no God west of Fort Smith.” The missionaries were doing their best to bring Sunday to the land, and God had been on these prairies since He’d created them, but there were a good number of men who carried on like He didn’t exist, and he didn’t want to cross them alone.

  Jack also didn’t want Hattie to cross them alone. She wouldn’t leave the fort without him, that had already been established. It was no wonder she felt like a prisoner, but he was responsible for her safety. While they had no reason to think the killer was in the area, Jack wasn’t willing to risk her life on it.

  The wind howled in straight from the north. That second layer of socks Jack had put on that morning would do him good. So would his overcoat, which Hattie had returned. Hopefully a storm wouldn’t blow in before he got back.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and they headed northwest toward the far-off horizon.

  “The wind likes to bite clean through my leg,” Private Morris said. “Hurts like the dickens.”

  “You should have thought of that before you got shot,” Private Willis said, “although I can’t think of a more advantageous location to take a bullet.”

  “If you’re volunteering, we could try a few places and see how you like them,” Sergeant O’Hare said.

  Private Willis turned to Jack. “So is this the first time you’ve gone on patrol since being married? I don’t mind taking out with a married lieutenant, because I figure he’ll do everything in his power to get us back to the fort before nightfall.”

  “No one signs up for the cavalry to sit at the fort,” Jack said.

  “I don’t want to sit,” Willis said. “That’d be
boring. But I don’t admire the cold.”

  “It’s either the cold or the heat,” Morris said. “And if the temperature’s nice, the wind will knock you down. Nothing but misery.”

  “Aren’t y’all a basket of cheer?” Jack said. “Just remember, if you desert with a horse, we’ll hunt you down. If you desert without a horse, then you’ll never make it across the reservation alive. Might as well see out your enlistment.”

  “The cavalry’s the place for me,” Willis said. “All the same, I can’t wait until my next leave. I’m going down to Texas to see Miss Herald again. It’s been too long.”

  “She’s still putting up with your foolishness?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, sir. I’m easier to stomach from a hundred miles away.” Willis grinned. “But you’re the one who needs to spill the beans. I thought I’d lucked out on my last assignment, but you went after some stagecoach robbers and came back hitched. How did you get her to marry you when you’d just met?”

  Their formation tightened as the men rode closer to hear Jack’s answer over the wind.

  “We hadn’t just met. I’ve known Miss Walker for years. We were schoolmates.”

  “You owe me a silver dollar,” Private Morris yelled to Sergeant O’Hare. “I told you this was his sweetheart from back home.”

  “She wasn’t my sweetheart,” Jack said while patting the earring that rode in his breast pocket.

  “She wasn’t?” Morris rubbed his leg. “Then what did your sweetheart say about you getting married?”

  “Whew,” Willis said. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to pen that letter.”

  “As if you write letters,” said Morris, then to Jack, he asked, “If she ain’t your sweetheart, then why did she agree to marry you?”

  It was only a matter of time. Private Willis’s sister, Louisa, undoubtedly already knew about the sham marriage. How long before everyone had reason to mock him?

  “The only information you need to know,” said Jack, “is that I don’t have a sweetheart anywhere. My affections all belong to Mrs. Hennessey. As for the circumstances of our vows, the hand of God is a mysterious thing.”