The Scout's Bride. Kate Kingsley
they turned from the blackened patch, he uttered a strangled curse and lunged at her. Her hoops broke with a splintering crack as he carried her to the ground.
Facedown in the dirt beneath his big body, she gasped for breath. To her horror, she felt him rise to his knees above her and slap at the back of her dress.
“Are you all right?” Rolling her onto her back, he yanked her into a sitting position. “Are you all right? Speak, woman!”
“I think so,” she managed.
“Didn’t I tell you to get away?” His sooty face scowled down at her. “Why didn’t you wait for the fire brigade?”
“Why didn’t you?” She returned his glare. “You probably made your arm bleed again.”
“You let me worry about that,” he snapped.
“Becky, what are you doing here?” Francis frowned down at them.
“I was watching fireworks,” Rebecca replied with as much dignity as she could muster.
“Before she set herself on fire,” Jack griped as he stood up. He turned to offer a hand, but the lieutenant had dropped to one knee beside the woman.
“Are you hurt, my dear?” he was asking solicitously.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. Getting to her feet, she strained to see her damaged skirt over her shoulder. It had taken on an odd shape from the broken hoops beneath it. Even worse, a wide portion of fabric was missing from hem to waist. “Oh, my dress is ruined!”
“Damn your dress,” Jack snarled.
“Is he bothering you?” Francis glared at the scout.
“She’s bothering me,” Jack fumed, disturbed by unaccustomed fear. “This stubborn female scared me out of ten years of my life.”
“That’s enough.” The adjutant swung his short circular cape over her shoulders. “I’ll take you home, Becky.”
“I brought her. I’ll take her home,” Jack contended.
“Neither of you need to bother, thank you. And thank you for your cape, Francis, but it doesn’t hide the hole.” Removing the wrap, she returned it.
“You can’t walk home unescorted,” the officer objected.
“I won’t have to. Lieutenant,” she called to George Davis, “will you be so kind as to take me home?”
“I’d be honored, Mrs. Emerson.” As the band played “Good Night, Ladies,” he offered his arm gallantly.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Rebecca called over her shoulder.
Francis stalked away, muttering under his breath. Jack remained, watching her crinoline flash white in the moonlight with every step. It was just as well Davis was walking her home, he thought, suddenly weary. He didn’t need to bid her goodnight on her dark doorstep. He had already come close to forgetting his promise.
The air was fresh and rain-washed when Jack rode back to Fort Chamberlain. Though his arm ached, he felt better than he had for days. His body was healing and his mind was clear after watching the sun rise.
Fatigue call was sounding as he guided Ol’ Jo through the main gate. The fort was already returning to normal. At the flagstaff, the adjutant received officers’ reports. A work party stripped the blockhouse of its drooping paper lanterns. Only soggy black patches in the grass served as reminders of the night’s misadventure.
Jack was surprised to see the patrol assembling on the other side of the parade ground. Clad in campaign clothing and equipped for several days, they ranged along the road in front of the headquarters building. He rode to join Diego at the head of the column. “Qué pasa? I thought you weren’t leaving till afternoon.”
“First we patrol between the fort and the railhead, then we go,” the Mexican replied with a shrug. “El coronel gave the order after a messenger arrived. He wishes it to be safe for a visit by some dignatarios from the railroad this afternoon. Solemn will show these tenderfoots some buffalo.” Gold flashed as he grinned. “You, I think, will have the honor to dine with them tonight.”
“Damn.” Jack wished he were going. He would be more useful on patrol than at the fort, coddling eastern visitors. Quiller’s decision to make the army’s presence known on the plains was as calculated as a chess move, but it was fraught with risk. A show of power might deter the Sioux from more bloodshed, but it could incite some of the volatile young braves. He was just glad Mackey was in command. The captain had a cool head.
Resting his hand on the stock of the Spencer rifle in his saddle scabbard, Jack looked around. A dozen people clustered on the headquarters steps, bidding their farewells. Rebecca stood a little apart, trying to give the Mackeys some privacy. Though she looked as if she wished she could disappear, she did not seem much the worse for last night’s experience. In fact, she was lovely.
“Don’t start,” the scout muttered under his breath. He had given himself a stern lecture during his morning ride. Curiosity, a weakness of his, had led to what happened last night. He had forgotten the kiss at the hospital, so he had kissed her again. He had wanted to see if she would kiss him back. She had. Now his curiosity had been satisfied. No more moments of weakness, he ordered himself, trying to ignore Diego’s amused gaze.
Unaware of his observation, Rebecca brooded. She should never have come to see the patrol off. She wouldn’t have, if she hadn’t thought Flora might need her. She was uncomfortably aware of Francis’s reproachful stare. She had done nothing wrong by going to the fireworks display, she told herself, but she had hurt his feelings when she made her brief appearance with Injun Jack.
Even more than the adjutant, she dreaded facing the scout. Last night had been folly from the kiss in the kitchen to the ruin of her dress. And she hadn’t even thanked him properly for putting out the fire.
“Good morning, Mrs. Emerson,” a polite voice interrupted her troubled thoughts.
“Good morning.” Glad for the distraction, Rebecca joined George Davis at the foot of the steps. “How are you this morning?”
“Ready to be underway, but I’m glad of an opportunity to speak to you, ma’am… privately.”
“What is it, Lieutenant?” she asked with a puzzled frown.
He hesitated, then said stiffly, “First of all, Mrs. Emerson, you must know that Company B is quite fond of you.”
“You’ve all been very kind.”
“Then I hope you’ll understand,” the young officer went on miserably, “if I caution you not to spend time with Injun Jack.”
“What?” Rebecca stared at him, unable to believe her ears.
“I know he kept you from serious injury when your dress was burning and we all appreciate it. But a lady of your quality…”
“I think I understand,” she murmured when he faltered. Though part of her rebelled at having to defend her actions, she could not summon up any real outrage. George was obviously ill at ease with what he considered his duty toward his captain’s lady.
“I assure you, Lieutenant, Mr. Bellamy’s actions last night were no more than kindness to a widow,” she lied. “I probably will not see him again.” That was the truth. Once she had thanked him, she intended to avoid him completely.
“I hope I haven’t offended you,” George muttered woefully, “but I am concerned for your welfare.”
“I understand.” She sighed.
“What do you