Merline Lovelace (5 page)

“A few,” he answered with complete honesty. “And those only in recent weeks.”

The general nodded. “It goes hard against a soldier’s grain to sit idle while his country gears up for war.”

Ashamed, Sam put a tight rein on his own feelings. The frustration building within him couldn’t begin to match that of his father’s. If and when Congress declared war, the army would have to re
call a good number of senior officers to command the expanded ranks. Rumors were already circulating that Secretary of War Alger would bring back Major General Wheeler, the fire-eating former Confederate cavalry officer whose exploits during the War Between the States had earned him the nickname Fightin’ Joe. Even General Shafter, who weighed more than three hundred pounds and had to be hoisted into the saddle, had petitioned for a command. Yet Andrew Garrett, a much-decorated cavalry officer who’d proved himself time and again in the field, would never again lead troops into battle.

“Neither one of us will be idle if—when war comes,” Sam reminded him with a forced grin. “Jack’s already set his hands to building more corrals for the horses he wants me to help train to army standards. And Colonel Dawson has asked for your assistance in sorting through all the men who want to fill the vacancies in the Eighth Volunteer Infantry.”

“Harrumph!” The general couldn’t quite conceal his grimace. “Volunteers.”

Sam’s grin widened. “You’d better watch out,” he warned, only half joking. “Senator Warren may also ask you to help train the volunteer cavalry regiment he’s trying to push through Congress.”

“No, he intends to ask you.”

“Me?”

“Warren spoke to me about it this afternoon, after the parade. He very much wants you to accept command of one of the companies.”

Carefully, Sam flicked a half-inch ash into the spittoon placed beside the sofa. “He’ll have plenty of other eager volunteers to pick from.”

“He wants you.”

“I’ll help train the recruits in any way I can, but I won’t accept command.”

“Because you promised your mother you’d stay home and take up the slack in the reins I can no longer handle? Or because of Victoria Parker?”

“Victoria? What the devil does she have to do with anything?”

“Your mother, your sister and your niece seem to think she has quite a bit to do with it,” his father drawled. “Or at least with your present distracted frame of mind. In fact, they all feel you haven’t been quite yourself since the night of Elise’s birthday party, when, your niece claims, you spent some time alone with Victoria in the sewing room.”

“The little brat! Has she spread that about?”

“Only among the family.” His father’s gaze was thoughtful above the glowing tip of his stogie. “I know no son of mine would ever play fast and loose with any woman, much less a girl like Victoria.”

“No, of course I wouldn’t. And she’s not a girl. As the minx informed me rather pointedly, she’s a woman grown.”

“That sounds like Victoria.” A smile tugged at his father’s mouth. “What was your response to that pronouncement, if I may inquire?”

“I kissed her.”

Actually, Victoria had kissed
him,
but Sam’s gentlemanly instincts ran too deep to reveal that, even to his father.

“I watched her at the parade this afternoon,” the general commented. “The girl’s— Excuse me, the woman is in love with you.”

“What?”

Startled, Sam almost let his cigar slip through slackened fingers. Through the haze of cigar smoke, the general’s eyes held his.

“That kiss you gave her may not have been more than a pleasant interlude for you, son, but apparently it meant more to Victoria.”

Sam shifted uneasily in his chair. He didn’t need his father to tell him that. He’d felt guilty as all hell when he’d looked down into her dazed face. Her emotions had been right there for any fool to see, readily apparent in her flushed cheeks and wide, confused eyes.

“It was more than a pleasant interlude,” he admitted. “She stirred a few emotions in me, too, the kind a gentleman doesn’t admit to. Which is why I’ve been careful around her these past weeks. I wouldn’t want to hurt her.”

Or raise false expectations. Granted, that kiss had
kicked him square in the midsection, but it was just a kiss.

“Victoria’s a good sort,” he added with a shrug. “She’ll be the making of some lucky man one of these days.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking the same thing.” The general’s gaze lingered on his son’s face for a moment before drifting to a corner of the room. “Fetch those crutches for me, will you? I think I’ll give them another try.”

The sound of a crash brought Julia Garrett hurrying into the back parlor a few moments later. Clucking her tongue, she helped her son lift his grim-faced father from the floor, then calmly righted the table and lamp that had gone over in his fall.

S
am made a conscious effort to avoid Victoria in the days that followed. He also tried to ignore the way his chest tightened each time he remembered how she’d all but melted in his arms.

It helped that overseeing his parents’ various financial interests kept him occupied enough for two men. With war now all but inevitable, the military faced an exploding demand for lumber for tent poles and wagons. Urgent orders rolled in by wire from Washington and from the quartermaster at Fort Russell. Sam made several trips to the logging camp on the slopes of the distant Rockies to consult with Garrett Enterprises’s head logger on the virgin timber stands to be harvested.

Between these trips, he managed the commercial properties in Cheyenne that Julia and Andrew Garrett had shrewdly invested in during the general’s years in service. Whenever possible, he rode out to
help Jack Sloan and the Double-S hands with the bone-jarring task of breaking the half-wild horses they brought in from the ranges.

Elise caught him right before he climbed into the saddle after one of those long, grueling days and, all unknowingly, sabotaged his determined efforts to put her friend out of his mind.

“Oh, Sam! I almost forgot. Victoria rang me up last night.”

She swiped her forearm across her forehead, leaving behind a smear of sweat and dirt. Like her father, brothers and uncle, Elise had spent hour after hour at the corrals these past days. She was rather smug about the fact that she could break a horse to saddle in half the time it took most of the Double-S hands.

“Victoria found a pattern for a tea gown she thinks would particularly suit me,” she explained. “Would you pick it up and bring it out with you tomorrow?”

“A new tea gown, is it?” Sam tweaked her nose. “You never seemed to care about such matters before that young lieutenant began to come calling.”

“Yes, well, a girl does like to wear something other than smelly chaps once in a while.” She shot him a mischievous look. “Even a girl who can ride circles around her uncle.”

Unaware that something as innocuous as a gown
pattern would completely and irrevocably change his life, Sam laughed and agreed to execute the errand.

He attended to it the next afternoon, after a morning spent poring over the books with the Garrett Enterprises accountant and lunch at home with his parents.

Changing into boots, a pair of Levi Strauss pants, a sturdy blue work shirt with a button-over flap and the leather vest that protected his back whenever he parted company with the mustangs he was helping to break, he sent word to the stables to have his horse saddled. While that was being done, he made the short walk to the Parker mansion.

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” Rose Parker said when he explained the reason for his visit. “Victoria’s down at the
Tribune
office and I have no idea which gown pattern she intended for Elise.”

With a little cluck of disapproval, she shook her head.

“I suspect the dratted girl has forgotten that she, too, has an appointment this afternoon with the seamstress. I tried to ring the office but the operator can never get me through these days. Their line is always busy.”

She turned a hopeful eye on Sam. Graciously, he took the hint. “Shall I deliver the message for you?”

“Yes, please! Or better yet, deliver my daughter
to Miss Henry’s shop at one o’clock sharp. Tell her I’ll meet her there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The moment Sam opened the front door to the
Tribune
’s offices, the clack and clatter of the presses in the back room assaulted his ears. The stench of printer’s ink was worse than the din. It permeated the air, so thick and heavy he felt as though he were breathing in a dark cloud. Hiding a grimace, Sam stepped inside.

None of the folks scurrying about the offices seemed to notice either the stink or the noise. A young man with a pencil stuck behind each ear stepped up to the counter.

“If you’re looking for a copy of yesterday’s paper, we’re all sold out.”

“No, I’m looking for Miss Parker.”

“She’s in her office.”

He jerked a thumb toward a series of cubbyholes partitioned off with frosted glass. Sam caught the gleam of Victoria’s red-gold hair through one opaque pane. More than a bit surprised to learn she had an office of her own, he pushed through the swinging gate in the counter.

“She’s very busy,” the young man warned. “Her father wants her to finish a piece for this evening’s run.”

Sam didn’t bother to advise him that Miss Par
ker’s mother had different intentions regarding her daughter. He figured Victoria could sort through her obligations on her own.

The noise of the presses masked his footsteps. Since she was bent over, writing furiously, Sam leaned a shoulder against the cubicle entrance, crossed his arms and waited patiently for her to finish her lines.

She looked different in this setting, he thought. Less like Elise’s charming minx of a friend. More like a telephone operator or a bank teller or any one of the many women moving into the business world these days. A pencil pierced the little knot of hair atop her head, and she’d used black garters to secure the pushed-up sleeves of her high-necked white blouse. She had a blue-black smudge on her cheek, he noted with interest.

Suddenly, her forehead creased. Muttering a phrase he’d never expected to hear from her, she scratched over the words she’d just written. Her pencil slipped between her lips. Nibbling on the nub, she glanced up.

“Sam!” Hastily, she removed the pencil from her mouth. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“Elise charged me with an errand. I’m to pick up a pattern for a tea gown that you promised her.”

“Oh!”

Sternly, Victoria repressed the ridiculous warmth that had invaded her limbs when she’d looked up
and spotted him. Of course, he hadn’t come to see her. She wasn’t stupid. He’d done everything but cross the street to avoid her recently.

“The gown pattern is at home.”

“I guessed as much, but when I stopped by your house, your mother charged me with another task. I’m to remove you from the
Tribune
immediately and escort you to Miss Henry’s. Evidently, you’ve an appointment to be fitted for a new carriage dress.”

“Oh, dear! I forgot all about that!”

A grin tipped his mouth. “So your mother suspected.”

Victoria’s pulse skipped. Instantly, she administered another stern rebuke. She
must
stop fizzing like a phosphate soda at the mere glimpse of Sam’s smile!

“Thank you for the offer of escort, but I’m afraid I can’t leave right at this moment. We’ve just received a wire from Washington.” Excitement crept into her voice. “The Navy Board of Inquiry investigating the
Maine
’s sinking has just released its findings.”

Sam straightened abruptly. “What were they, or can you say?”

“Yes, of course. The board concluded from the twisted angle of the metal that the explosion came from outside rather than inside the ship.”

“Did they indicate what caused the explosion?”

“A mine, apparently, although they couldn’t determine who set it or when. And to muddy the waters more, the Spanish ambassador this morning delivered the report of
their
official inquiry, which states the loss was due to an internal accident.”

“Somehow I suspect no one will put much weight in their findings.”

“If you read the Eastern presses, there’s little doubt who set the mine. In fact, William Hearst’s
Journal
has just published a sensational story in which the reporter claims to have overheard two Spanish officers bragging about how they were going to blow up the
Maine.
”

“Why the devil did this reporter wait so long to come forward?”

“Evidently he was apprehended as a spy for the rebels and tossed into prison. Mr. Hearst only just secured his release.”

“Rather propitious timing on Hearst’s part,” Sam drawled. “The navy board can’t identify the culprit, but he can. I imagine he’ll sell any number of papers with that story.”

The same thought had occurred to Victoria, but she shrugged it aside to share the hottest bit of news.

“President McKinley is preparing a formal demand that Spain grant Cuba its independence and withdraw from the ‘American’ hemisphere,” she confided. “Speculation is that he’ll ask our minister
to the Court of Madrid to deliver the ultimatum as early as tomorrow.”

Sam’s mouth settled into a grim line. “There’s little likelihood they’ll withdraw now after all the blood they’ve spilled trying to subdue the rebels.”

“I’m afraid you’re right. Really, this is quite the most thrilling time! I can’t remember when I’ve kept so busy.” Scrunching her nose, she essayed a wry smile. “I must say I much prefer writing about momentous happenings like these than church socials and Fourth of July picnics.”

“Yes, I can see you do.”

“Which is why I can’t leave right at this very moment. Papa and Mr. Jernigan, our editor, are down at the freight depot, trying to locate a lost shipment of paper. They left me to pull all these bits of information together. You do understand, don’t you?”

He gave her another grin. “
I
do, but I can’t say whether your mother will.”

Victoria hesitated. Despite the conflicting emotions Sam roused in her, the way his smile cut across his handsome face caused the most ridiculous flutter in her stomach.

“I’m almost finished with the piece,” she said, giving in to the traitorous need that curled in her belly. “It shouldn’t take me more than another ten or fifteen minutes. Would you mind waiting?”

Faced with such a charming and direct request, Sam could hardly refuse.

“Not at all. I’ll sit in the outer office.”

By forcing a fierce concentration, Victoria fashioned all the fascinating bits of information into what she hoped was a coherent whole. Dashing into Ed Jernigan’s office, she placed the scribbled sheets square in the center of his desk where he would see them the moment he returned.

That done, she hurried back to her own. A quick scrub with her handkerchief cleaned most of the ink from her hands. Impatiently, she rolled down the sleeves of her high-necked white blouse, tucked it more neatly inside the leather belt that cinched her waist and slapped on her wide-brimmed hat. Shrugging into her coat, she pushed through the swinging gate into the reception area.

When she spotted Sam, her pulse took another foolish skip. Really, no man should look so dashing in scuffed boots, plain denim and a worn leather vest! Unfolding his long frame, he settled a much-creased gray felt hat on his forehead and opened the door for her. Victoria tucked her hand in his arm and stepped outside.

Bright spring sunshine instantly enveloped them, along with the hustle and bustle of the streets. Always jammed with railroad workers, wranglers bringing cattle to the stockyards and miners down
from the mountains, the city now brimmed with hundreds of young stalwarts who’d poured into town to volunteer for military service. Since the sinking of the
Maine,
patriotic fervor had reached an almost hysterical pitch.

Victoria had no idea that such patriotism possessed an ugly underbelly until she and Sam were mere steps from the Frontier Hotel. Suddenly, its front doors burst open. The raucous notes of “There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight” spilled out along with the cowboy who came hurtling through. He landed on his face in the street, not ten yards away. A jeering crowd followed him.

“We’ll be having no lily-livered coward drinking alongside of us,” a heavily muscled railroad worker declared in a thick brogue.

Judging from the soot that rimmed his eyes and dusted his shock of carroty-red hair, Victoria guessed he was one of the coalers who refueled the engines. He was also, she noted, as big as he was grimy.

Sauntering to the edge of the board walkway, the Irishman planted fists the size of coal buckets on his hips. “I’m thinking you’d best be takin’ yerself back to yer bunkhouse, boyo.”

The object of his scorn scrambled to his feet and bunched his fists. “Jest ’cause I can’t see no sense in takin’ a bullet fer a bunch of Cubans don’t mean I’m a coward.”

“The hell it don’t!” came a shout from the rear of the crowd.

“If you were any kind of a man at all,” the coaler sneered, “you’d be marching down to the armory to jine up like the rest of us.”

“Bein’ stupid don’t make you a man,” the angry wrangler shot back.

“Let’s send him back to his bunkhouse wearing a few feathers,” another agitator suggested. “Like the chickenhearted coward that he is.”

“I saw a bucket of tar out back,” someone volunteered. “I’ll get it.”

“Well, now! That sounds like a foine idea t’me.” Grinning, the Irishman surged forward. “Grab him, boys, and we’ll keep holt of him until they get a fire goin’ under that tar. Sean, my man, go upstairs ’n’ fetch a couple of goose-down pillows.”

Hooting and hollering, the rowdies surged forward. Their intended victim gamely stood his ground until the sheer volume of his opponents took him down with arms and legs flailing.

By this time, the ruckus had attracted a considerable throng of bystanders. Pedestrians jammed the board walkway. Traffic stopped as carriages and riders formed a loose ring in the street. Pressed against the hotel’s brick facade, Victoria could see only the crowns of their hats. Some were neat beaver top hats, while turkey feathers and rattlesnake skins adorned others.

Of all the watchers among this motley crowd, Sam was the only one to intervene. “I’d better break this up before it turns ugly,” he muttered.

To Victoria’s inexperienced eyes, the situation had already reached the ugly point.

“Be careful!”

Despite her anxious warning, Sam didn’t demonstrate any apparent concern for his personal safety as he waded into the fray.

“All right, boys. You’ve had your fun. Let him up.”

A few of the agitators fell back, but a good number remained piled on the hapless wrangler.

“Let him up, I said. Now!”

The whiplike command snapped heads around and peeled away several more combatants, until only the most belligerent remained. Leaving three of his friends to keep the cowboy pinned to the dirt, the redheaded railroader disengaged and swaggered up to Sam.