Oklahoma Bride. Carol Finch
fork and stared the ruggedly handsome half-breed squarely in the eye. “My brother and sister-in-law are very real. They are camped along the river, about five miles from this fort. At the very least I would like to relay the message that I’m alive and well. Of course, I would prefer to omit the part about being under arrest. No need to upset them, after all.”
Micah inclined his head agreeably. “I’ll see what I can do to reassure them, but I’m afraid Rafe has his rules about immediately releasing squatters who jumped the gun before the Land Run. You, my dear lady, have to accept the fact that you will be detained until Rafe decides to release you.”
Karissa’s shoulders slumped in frustration. While she was stuck at the garrison, someone else might sneak into the territory and stake the property that she had fallen in love with the moment she walked over the rolling hill and saw the lush countryside spread out before her. That wild, untamed land had called out to her as nothing else ever had. She could have sworn she heard home whispering in the gentle breeze.
“If I’m to be detained then I need something to occupy my time,” she insisted. “I’ll be climbing these walls if I have nothing to do. Can you arrange for me to become a laundress? Surely with so many soldiers about, I can earn wages by washing and cleaning.”
“I don’t see a problem with that,” Micah replied. “Rafe might, however. He doesn’t trust you not to break and run the first chance you get.”
Karissa glanced up when she noticed a shadow hovering outside the window. Ten feet away, the fort commandant loomed over her, watching her like an eagle-eyed predator. The man obviously trusted her so little that he volunteered to stand watch so she didn’t make a break for it via the window.
Out of pure spite, Karissa emulated the mannerisms of a gushing female by batting her eyes and waving enthusiastically at Rafe. Sure enough, he frowned skeptically at the sudden contradiction of her feisty temperament.
When Rafe disappeared from sight, Micah snickered. “As much as you seem to delight in antagonizing Rafe, that’s no way to gain his favor and respect.”
“I couldn’t care less about gaining his respect. The less contact we have with each other the better.” She glared at the resolute presence beyond the window then turned away to polish off her meal.
When the door swung open a few minutes later, Karissa glanced up to see His Truly towering over her. Instant but unwanted awareness sizzled through her. The mere sight of Rafe Hunter in his dress uniform—which boasted decorative gold braid and dozens of medals—was enough to take a woman’s breath away. Even a hopeless cynic’s like herself.
His dark hair had been recently washed and combed. His eyes gleamed like silver in the flickering lamplight. Standing tall, masculine and distinguished in his polished black boots, he truly was a sight to behold.
It was easy to understand why gently bred ladies from his social circle would consider him a prize catch. Yet, there was something about him that testified to the fact that the army was his life and that he took his duties very seriously. A woman could never compete with that single-minded devotion, she predicted.
However, Karissa thought with wry amusement, this distinguished officer—who practically radiated authority—chose to approach her while Micah was present. Karissa found small consolation in the knowledge that Rafe Hunter wasn’t sure how to handle her and was leery of being alone with her again.
Why was that? she wondered. Didn’t he trust her? Or didn’t he trust himself? Whatever the reason, this man wasn’t going to take her for granted the way she suspected he took other women for granted.
“Miss Baxter,” Rafe said in an overly polite tone, “one of the officers’ wives offered you decent clothing.” Stiffly, he thrust the dresses at her then shifted awkwardly. “As for the…um…feminine paraphernalia that goes beneath it, I won’t be able to provide that until the post trader’s store opens in the morning. As for proper shoes, that might take some time in acquiring. You’ll have to wear your cloddish boots.”
Difficult as it was to be gracious, Karissa rose from her chair to accept the dresses. “Thank you,” she murmured, uncomfortable with accepting charity. “I was just telling Captain Whitfield that I would like to occupy my time and earn wages by becoming a fort laundress.”
Rafe’s thick brows flattened over his narrowed eyes. “I think not. You’ll have to find something to occupy yourself in my room. Perhaps you can sew buttons back on uniforms and darn socks. But you will not be permitted to have the run of this garrison.”
Karissa hitched her chin in the air and defiantly strode over to the cot. She proceeded to jerk off the blanket and sheets. Holding Rafe’s fuming gaze, she dumped the bedding on the floor then made short shrift of transferring his personal belongings from his trunk to the floor.
Beside her, she heard Micah camouflage a chuckle behind a cough. She glanced over her shoulder to see him battling to keep a straight face—and failing miserably.
Rafe glared sabers at her. “Are you finished making your point, Miss Baxter?” he growled.
“Not quite.” Karissa knew she was sliding on the thin edge of his temper, but it was her nature to spit in the face of defeat. She made a beeline for the bookshelf that was lined with military manuals and dumped them, one by one, atop the bedding. “Now I’m finished and I’m bored again.”
Micah bounded from his chair, his eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. “I think I had better leave before the next skirmish starts. Don’t wanna get caught in the crossfire.”
“No, you’ll stay,” Rafe demanded without taking his eyes off Karissa.
“You definitely have to stay, Captain,” Karissa chimed in then flashed Rafe an impudent grin. “The General is afraid to be alone with me. Terrified, in fact.”
She almost cackled when he puffed up with so much indignation he nearly popped the brass buttons off his uniform.
“Given my position of authority here, there are a lot of people who are afraid to cross me.” He stared at her through narrowed eyes. “You should be one of them.”
“Really? I didn’t know you were God’s brother,” she sassed him.
Micah snickered, but he schooled his amused expression when Rafe shot him an irritated glance.
“Might I remind you, Miss Baxter,” Rafe said through clenched teeth, “that your other option here is to be jailed with the male prisoners in the stockade.”
Karissa shrugged carelessly. “I can take care of myself, General. And believe me, I have found myself in more harrowing situations than being thrust into a stockade with male prisoners.” Her green eyes sparkled with challenge. “Of course, if you wish to contend with a full-scale riot that voices objections to being crowded into unsanitary conditions that, no doubt, plague your stockade, then lead me to it.”
“I don’t think she’s spouting an empty threat, Rafe. It wouldn’t take much to incite the imprisoned settlers. Joan of Arc here looks all too eager to champion a rebellion,” Micah interjected. “However, we are short on laundresses at the moment and we could use her offered services. You can always put a guard on her so you can keep track of her constantly.”
Karissa graced Micah with her best smile. “Ah, a man who shows reason and common sense.” She turned back to the stony-faced commander. “I can understand why Captain Whitfield has been chosen as second in command to serve as your advisor, consultant and mentor.”
She waited, wondering if Rafe would relent, especially after she had purposely goaded him. He stood there so stiffly for so long that she almost gave up and resorted to taking the rest of his room apart and leaving it in shambles. Finally he blew out his breath and nodded curtly.
“Very well, Miss Baxter, you can begin your duties as laundress and housekeeper in the officers’ quarters first thing in the morning.” He glared at her again. “And you can start by undoing the damage to my room. I want this place to look