The Officer and the Bostoner (Historical Western Romance) (Fort Gibson Officers Series, Book 1) (9 page)

“
That won’t happen,” she said automatically.

Gray let out a whistle and grinned. “Yes, you, Mrs. Tucker, are definitely in the honeymoon stage.”

She blushed. She hadn’t meant to imply she loved and was enamored with him so dearly that she’d always think he could do no wrong. She’d been speaking more that she’d be gone soon, therefore, wouldn’t be around to witness Wes’ deplorable habits for the remainder of her life. But they didn’t need to know that. She cleared her throat and looked ahead to the pile of overflowing crates in front of the door to her room. “What’s that?”

“
It looks like Charles made a delivery,” Jack said.

Gray bent down and picked up one of the wooden boxes, and Jack picked up the other. Allison peered inside the one Gray held: two small towels and two larger towels, a new set of sheets, candles, a lamp, a carafe. Odd. She looked over at the one Jack held, which she suspected had more of the same, and shook her head. Why had Wes bought all of this?

“Shall we take it inside for you, or would you rather we continue to hold it while you inspect it?” Jack asked.

Allison nodded numbly and reached down to pick up the rolled-up rug that was leaning against the wall. “Bring it in, please; and I’ll try to find a place for all of it.”

***

“
Finished that dress yet?” Wes asked as he walked into their room.

Allison’s lips stretched in a way that could be taken as a grimace or a smile. “No, but I’m getting closer.”

“I’ll just bet you are,” he said, trying not to laugh at the skirt he’d glimpsed laying on Mrs. Lewis’ sofa earlier today. He discarded his hat and removed his coatee. He loved the way she’d turn red and then pretend to avert her eyes as if it made her uncomfortable to see him remove his clothing in her presence. Just to scandalize her more, he removed his shirt.

Though she didn’t say anything, her skin flushed scarlet. “Would you like some coffee?”

He blinked at her, then glanced around the room, noticing towels where they hadn’t been before, foodstuffs, some of which he doubted they may ever actually eat, on the shelves and other additions. Charles must have made his delivery while Allison was here. His mouth watered: fresh coffee.

“
Yes, I’d love some.”

Allison cast him a wary smile and went about making him some coffee.

Wes studied her as she moved around. Something wasn’t right; but what it was, he didn’t know. “I see that Charles came by,” he said for no other reason than to make idle conversation with her. Perhaps if she was talking, she might let slip what was wrong.

“
He did,” she murmured as she went about her business at the table. “I put everything away, except this—” she picked up a little brown parcel, then tossed it at him— “I have no idea what it is, so I don’t know where it goes.”

Wes knit his brows and opened the paper. Then choked on his own tongue. “That carnal devil.”

“Pardon?” She turned her quizzical eyes on him, then frowned. “What is it? I asked both Gray and Jack, but neither would tell me.”

Wes choked again. “You showed this to Jack and Gray?” he asked, smacking himself on his chest with his open palm.

“Yes, they walked me home and helped me carry everything in.” Her frown deepened. “It would seem that your friend Charles finds it acceptable to leave someone’s purchases out in the open.”

“
Are you sure then that Charles left this, and it didn’t come from Jack or Gray?” he asked.

“
Yes, I’m sure.” Her tone and look were unreadable. “They both watched me pull it out of the box, then started coughing and choking the same way you did.”

“
Gray?”

“
Yes.”

That was surprising. With how much Gray talked about sheaths and the necessity of wearing them, he’d have believed it was Gray who’d slipped this into the goods from Charles.

“What is it anyway?”

Allison’s question drew him from his thoughts and brought him up short. How exactly did he explain it, or did he? He shrugged. It was better he explain it than allow her to embarrass herself by asking someone else. “It’s called a sheath,” he said as evenly as he could despite the warmth creeping up his face. “A man wears it over his penis so he doesn’t contract the pox and so his partner doesn’t contract a spawn.”

Now it was Allison’s turn to choke and have her face flush crimson. “Oh, I see.”

Wes closed the brown paper back around the sheath, then tossed it down on the bed next to him. “If you haven’t already noticed, there are no children here. Any of the officers’ wives who become pregnant here don’t stay. With the extreme heat in the summers and the unusual amount of snow that can come some winters, this crudely built fortress is not ideal. Nor is it possible to get the necessary supplies in a timely manner. While we are part of the United States Army, it seems more often than not, they have forgotten about us. Our rations never arrive on schedule, neither does our pay; and if we try to order anything we might need that wouldn’t come on a routine schedule, it takes roughly a year to receive it. Not to mention, the Indians. Charles—or Gray—or whoever included this was only trying to be helpful.”

“I see,” she said, still not looking at him. “But if it was so important, wouldn’t they have assumed you already had one of those?”

“
No. I know this might come as a surprise to you, but the majority of the men here have never been with a woman. At least not since coming here,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “They might like to, but the only women we ever see regularly are the unmarried Indian maidens; and only a fool would try to sleep with one of them without the benefit of marriage.”

“
Not all of the men here have always been here,” she pointed out.

“
No, they haven’t. But the majority of the forts west of the Mississippi River are isolated, and even some just east of the river. Occasionally, there’ll be a group of travelers made up of loose women and one or two men that will come by. If a man has enough money and a strong stomach, he might get his chance then.”

“
And how often do these guests come to town?”

“
Two, sometimes three, times a year. They’d probably come more often if they got more business, but even men who’ve been deprived have some standards.” He shook his head. “Not all, mind you, but most of us.”

“
I take it you don’t think Gray has any standards,” she said, turning to face him, a tin cup in her hand. She handed him the cup.

“
No,” he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “For as much as I respect the man in all other matters, he spends far too much time with the prostitutes when they come to town.”

She blushed but didn’t say anything as she looked for a place to sit. She reached for a chair to pull over, but he moved his legs, opening up a place for her to sit on the bed next to him.

“Thank you.”

“
You’re welcome,” he murmured, blowing on his coffee. He studied her above his coffee cup. She looked tired and perhaps a bit anxious. “Just because the sheath is here doesn’t mean I plan to use it.”

“
I know that.”

“
But they don’t,” Wes surmised. His words confirmed by her slight nod. “It doesn’t really matter what they think, does it? Is it any different than the first night you were here, and I stayed in here with you rather than going out to socialize?”

“
Well, now it’s different.”

“
Different?” he asked, bewildered. “How is it any different? If you knew they already thought we were, then why does it matter if they continue to think so?”

“
Apparently, they didn’t think so.” She gestured to the package. “Now they’ll
know
. Or think they do anyhow,” she muttered.

He stared at her. He might not know her well, but he thought he knew her well enough to know this couldn’t possibly be what’s upsetting her. “If you think they didn’t already think we were being intimate, think again. A sheath is just a more reliable method to prevent what I mentioned earlier. Pregnancy can still be prevented, but it’s not as clean nor as enjoyable, I shouldn’t think, as it is with a sheath. So stop worrying. To their minds, nothing is happening in this room tonight that hasn’t already happened the two nights before.”

Her face flushed a dark red, giving him a momentary pang of guilt for his words. But only temporary.

“
You’re not going to be afraid to see them tomorrow now, are you?”

“
I suppose not,” she said with a shrug.

He nearly sighed. As he’d expected that wasn’t what was really bothering her, but what it was, he couldn’t place. He lifted his coffee to his lips and took his first sip.

He’d consumed an array of unrecognizable and barely edible food over the course of his eight years in the army. There was very little he considered intolerable. But the coffee she’d made him sure came close.

Wes lowered the cup and gulped down the vile liquid in his mouth.

“
Wh-what’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“
Nothing,” he rasped, looking around the room in vain for something to get the disgusting taste out of his mouth.

“
It’s not nothing,” she countered. Her brows furrowed. “What’s wrong? What did I do wrong?”

Wes’ eyes collided with hers. Were her eyes glistening? Confound it all, she was on the verge of tears. Putting the memory of the taste from his mind, he brought that blasted tin cup of the grime she called coffee to his mouth and drank every drop. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said with an exaggerated sigh that he hoped hid his shudder. He used the back of his hand to wipe the moisture from his lips. “Thank you. That was very tasty.”

“Do you want more?”

Before he could think to school his features, he felt his eyes flare wide.

“You didn’t like it,” she said flatly, her lower lip had a slight quiver that hit him squarely in the heart. “I—I made it just how you told me. I obliterated the bean with a heavy object, then kept it in the paper when I soaked it in the water. What didn’t I do?”

Roast the bean first
. “Nothing, Allison, you did everything just the way I told you to.”

“
Then why does it look as if you’re about to shoot the cat?”

He quirked his eyebrow and was about to assure her that the mistake was his. He hadn’t informed her that any coffee beans that came from Charles wouldn’t be ready for consumption without roasting them first. But before he could speak, he caught sight of the one thing that could make a man weak in the knees and ruin even a paid jester’s good humor: tears.

Just one or two at first, then streams of teardrops started racing down her cheeks as if they were in fear her eyelashes would puncture them.

Without thinking, Wes reached for her and pulled her into his arms. She surprised him when she didn’t protest and buried her face against his chest. She didn’t say anything and silent tears poured from her eyes onto his shirt.

~Chapter Nine~

Not since her parents died, had Allison slept as peacefully as she had that night in Wes’ arms. Perhaps it was weariness from traveling for so long. Or being abandoned in this forsaken place had finally fully sunk in, and so had the understanding that if Nicholas didn’t come back for her, she’d have to stay forever. Or the realization that she was terrible at everything she attempted that Wes and others expected her to be good at.

Whatever it was, a flood of emotions had finally caught up to her and she’d let her guard down, then done the one thing she’d vowed never to do: make a spectacle of herself with tears.

Not that Wes had said anything to her about it, as she half-expected him to. No, he just pulled her close and held her, which, while a very sweet gesture, was just as bad as if he had mocked her. She couldn’t deny he was charming with his easy grin and quick wit. Now it would be even harder not to notice all of his endearing qualities—not that she thought for one moment she’d be able to anyway, considering how much Mrs. Lewis and Sarah liked to chat about him.

A lively bugle call filled the air and Wes jerked slightly.

Allison went to roll off of his large body, hoping that if she did so fast enough, he might forget that she’d lost control of her wits and cried herself to sleep in his arms. But his arms tightened, keeping her there.

“
How do you feel this morning?” he asked, his voice rough and uneven from sleeping.

“
Much better,” she said quickly. She made a move to roll over, but Wes didn’t release her.

He ran one hand down her back in an action similar to how he’d soothed her last night as sobs had racked her body, and he brought the other hand up to run his fingers through her hair. “Good. So then you’re ready to face the world and finish your gown today?”

She nearly groaned but caught herself smiling instead at the giant grin that split his face to accompany his teasing tone. She playfully swatted at his shoulder. “I suppose. Though it will be very nice to not have to wear this one every day.” Not that she thought for one minute that would ever happen. Her progress was like that of a snail in a footrace. It seemed there would be a good chance of Jesus returning sooner than she finished that gown. She sighed and then started when she noticed Wes’ intense gaze.

“
We should probably go down to breakfast. I have a few things to do before I meet my men today. Can I join you at Mrs. Lewis’ for lunch again?”

“
Of course.” Allison stood and smoothed her gown, peeking at Wes from below her lashes as he dressed.

After breakfast, Wes escorted her to Mrs. Lewis’ and left immediately after announcing to the room, “Allison is so excited to finish her gown that she begged to come early.”

Allison was tempted to refute his teasing charge but just shook her head and picked up her skirt. It was a while before Mrs. Lewis and Sarah joined her. Making idle chitchat with them, she finished resewing the left side, this time making sure to make the stitches close enough together that it wouldn’t come apart again.

She did her best to tie the thread off at the end, then lifted it into the air to admire her not-so-handiwork, scowling. It looked awful.

“Ain’t that a pretty skirt,” drawled a deep voice from the other side of her skirt.

She immediately dropped her hands, and her skirt, to her lap and turned her scowl to where Wes had his face pressed to the window screen, grinning at her.

“What do you want?” She blushed. She hadn’t meant for that to come out so sharp.

Wes appeared either not to notice or care. “Ladies, we’re about to have shooting practice out here. You might want to shut this window.”

“Shooting practice,” Allison echoed. “Here?”

“
Well, not actually at the house, no, but my men will stand in a line out here and shoot down there.” He pointed his finger to her right toward some distant place she couldn’t see from where she was sitting. “It could get loud.”

“
And smokey,” Mrs. Lewis added, standing.

“
And vulgar,” Sarah whispered in Allison’s ear as they watched Wes walk away and to his men. “Everyone claims it’s sailors who have filthy mouths, but they clearly have not visited the soldiers here at Fort Gibson.”

“
Surely not Wes?” Allison blurted before she could stop herself. To hide her embarrassment at asking such a forward question, she plucked her needle from her skirt and began sewing the hem at the bottom.

“
No, not Wes,” Sarah agreed with a small burble of laughter and a shake of her head. “He’s one of the only true gentlemen here, but on occasion...” She shrugged. “It’s expected, of course, but not to worry, Wes does not have the same reputation that many of the men have.”

“
Oh.” She accidentally pricked herself with the needle and winced.

“
He’s a good boy,” Mrs. Lewis put in. “Not like those three rapscallions he’s friends with.”

Sarah waved a hand through the air. “Oh, they’re not so bad. They’re just not as mature as Wes.” She turned to Allison. “Really, dear, if you’ll excuse
me
for being vulgar, I must tell you that you have yourself one hell of a husband.”

“
Sarah,” Mrs. Lewis burst out, her lips twitching.

“
You can’t say that it’s not true,” Sarah challenged.

“
No, I can’t,” Mrs. Lewis agreed.

Neither could Allison dispute such claims. He’d been very good to her since she’d come; helping her with this, escorting her around, offering her protection. And then of course, there was the way he’d treated her last night. He’d certainly had several opportunities to take advantage of her, or worse, but he hadn’t. Even when he teased her, it wasn’t in a malicious way that made her feel bad about herself, but lighthearted. He would certainly make someone one hell of a husband, as Sarah put it. She tried to push past the little hint of sadness that it wouldn’t be her. Not that she should be sad about such a thing. She barely knew the man! A few days in his company didn’t staunch all of her old feelings for Nicholas. She was merely drawn to Wes because he was here and he was being polite. Once Nicholas came back for her, she’d forget all about Wes and her feelings for Nicholas would rekindle. She was sure of it.

“I first met Wes when my husband, George, brought him and a few other cadets over to dine at our house after they’d proven they could shoot a gun and hit the center of the target,” Mrs. Lewis gushed.  “Most of the boys who’d passed George’s test and came to dinner were either extremely rough—and to be frank, quite frightening—or they had manners more refined than mine. Wes was different. When I first glimpsed him, I thought he’d be one of the more burly ones who’d make it necessary to order new plates and furniture after he left. However, he wasn’t as careless as the others his size, but neither did he act all stuffy.” She shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. He was just comfortable to be around. Well, you already know that since you married him.”

Allison nodded silently and glanced out the window to where Wes was walking around to each of his men and correcting their form or answering their questions. She’d just never considered it before, but Mrs. Lewis was right. Despite Wes’ tall, broad build, he
did
make people around him comfortable—including her.

“
Say, you never did tell us how the two of you met,” Mrs. Lewis said with a slight frown.

No, she’d been able to avoid the topic the past few days. “He’s protective,” she blurted, hoping that listing one of Wes’ good qualities would make Mrs. Lewis forget her question.

“Especially when it comes to you,” Sarah said with a snort. “John, my husband, told me that yesterday when Billy Fremont dared to ask Wes how he was enjoying your wares, Wes told him if he ever so much as looked at you again, he’d strip him of his rifle, both the one that shoots bullets and the one that shoots his seed.”

“
He didn’t!” Allison burst out, trying not to laugh. Her mother had once explained what would happen after she married and her imagination was conjuring up all sorts of images.

“
He did,” Mrs. Lewis agreed, giggling. “George had to threaten Wes with a week in the stockade if he were to go through with it.”

“
Only a week?” Sarah asked, shaking her head.

Mrs. Lewis shrugged. “I suppose that’s probably because everyone around here would like to divest Private Fremont of his privates.”

Allison laughed at her jest, but when her eyes drifted back to Wes, all of her humor was gone. Colonel Lewis was stalking over to him, his face hard and his posture stiff.

***

Unease settled in Wes’ chest as Colonel Lewis approached.

“
Send these men to march with McCorkle’s and meet me by the southeast tower,” Colonel Lewis said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Wes did as he was commanded, then walked over to where Colonel Lewis wanted him to wait for orders. If his suspicions were correct—and oh how he wished to be proven wrong for once—his day was about to be filled with many unpleasant discoveries.

This unease was compounded when an unusually quiet Jack and grim-faced Gray joined him, followed closely by Colonel Lewis.

Wordlessly, the four men huddled together.

“Boys, I need you to ride the Texas Trail with me this morning.”

“
The Texas Trail?” Jack asked with a swallow.

Wes nodded his understanding, his stomach knotting. The Texas Trail was one of the quickest but most dangerous trails along the frontier. Intended to be a cattle trail for Texas ranchers to get their cattle to Kansas and Missouri faster, the Texas Trail went right through the center of the most populated part of Indian Territory. And anytime they’d had to go investigate along the trail, they always found the same thing: death.

“Has there been an incident?” Gray asked, his voice quiet, almost reverent.

Colonel Lewis pulled a folded square from his pocket and showed it to the men.

The specific markings were unreadable to them, but the images were clear. Another group of settlers or travelers had gone where they shouldn’t and now they were dead.

“
We’ll go investigate,” Wes said, taking their only clue of where to look from Colonel Lewis.

Nodding, Colonel Lewis said, “I’ll be conducting inspections of your men today. That should keep them busy while you’re gone. When you get back, I’ll be waiting in my office for a full report of your findings.”

Without another word, the three walked to the stables and saddled their horses, making sure to grab rifles and shovels, too. In the four years Wes had been there, he’d only been assigned such a task three other times. None of those three times had brought him pleasant memories or peaceful sleep. Instead, they served to remind him just how dangerous it was to live out here.

The first time he’d gone, he’d taken some of his men with him, thinking they could help. They didn’t. Instead, they became furious with what they saw, and he had a hard time keeping them in line. A week later, he had to have them moved to another fort after he and Colonel Lewis overheard two soldiers planning a surprise attack on the Cherokees for what they’d done. They were here to keep peace, not create war. If the Indians were caught in the act of hurting someone, it was the soldier’s duty to do whatever necessary to stop it. But hunting them down afterwards only created more trouble. The best way to handle this type of thing was to take precautions to make sure there wasn’t an opportunity for an attack.

“Which way should we ride?” Jack asked, mounting his horse.

“
South,” Wes said before Gray could offer his suggestion.

“
You seem rather certain,” Gray mused.

“
That’s because I am,” he bit off, wishing to be proven wrong. But he knew in his gut that wouldn’t happen. One look at those hieroglyphics had confirmed Wes’ fears: that stagecoach driver who’d come through town driving the stage Allison had arrived on had been too drunk and belligerent to heed Wes’ advice, claiming it would take him too long to go back to Freedom, the way Wes told him he needed to go. He’d continued to ride south along the Texas Trail and now he, along with anyone else still in the stage, was likely dead or as good as dead. His stomach lurched and he swung up onto his mount, doing his best to look impassive.

In silence, the trio rode south. Just how bad would this be? Were they all in fact dead? Or had some been spared their lives? Once before the Cherokees had taken two travelers prisoners, and the Army had bartered for their freedom. Perhaps, they’d done that again this time.

He tightened his grip on the reins. There was no use in concluding anything until they knew the full details.

An hour passed. Then another. Then finally, they crested the top of a small hill and came to an abrupt stop.

In the middle of the path before them was an overturned carriage, splintered and breaking apart. A door was missing from the side and shards of glass littered the dirt, sparkling like dozens of diamonds as the mid-day sun hit their sharp, jagged edges. From where he sat, mounted on his horse, all that was visible was the destruction of the carriage. But he knew better than to think that was the extent of it. That was only the beginning.