"A press! A printing press! I need it for the Wiltshire Sun!"
"Your uncle's newspaper? But he's--dead, Miss. Stuart."
"The Wiltshire Sun is not dead, Lieutenant, nor do I intend to let it
die.
I will not take a step without that printing press."
A spark of silver touched his eyes as they narrowed upon her.
"Don't threaten me, Miss. Stuart."
"I'm not threatening! I'm telling you what will and will not happen."
He took a step toward her and spoke very quietly.
"Miss. Stuart, you will move when I say so, ma'am, because I'll set you
upon your pretty little--er--rump within the wagon, and one of my men
will drive."
"You wouldn't dare! I'll tell your superiors" -- "You tell them anything
you want. Want to test me?"
She gritted her teeth and stared into his eyes.
"I need that press, Lieutenant."
He stood still, hard, cold, immobile. "Lieutenant, please! I need that
printing press! It would only take your men a few minutes. Please!"
For a moment he continued to stare at her. Then he turned around,
calling to Sergeant Monahan. The men were ordered to move the press into
one of the wagons that could still roll." Private Harper!" Slater
called.
"Hitch your horse to the rear and drive the extra wagon."
"Yes, sir!"
Tess exhaled slowly. Lieutenant Slater east her a hard glare, then
turned around. He strode away, calling for his men to see to the last of
the fires, then mount up. When he had gone, Tess realized that the
handsome Indian with the striking eyes was silently watching her. He
saluted with a smile, as if she had managed very well. Then he, too,
turned away.
Tess was certain it was a long day for the cavalry. The men were
accustomed. to moving quickly--now they were burdened down by the
wagons. The landscape was beautiful-- and monotonous. The land was a
constant pale, dusty brown, the little bit of color against it the dull
green of sage and cactus.
She was determined not to complain, but the dust soon covered her, and
after endless hours of driving the six mules that pulled her wagon, she
was exhausted. Her arms hurt in places where she hadn't realized she had
muscles. She could have said something, she was certain. The majority of
the young cavalry men were kind and solicitous, riding by her whenever
they could, asking her if she needed anything. But each time a man drove
by, she saw Lieutenant Slater in the distance beyond him, and so she
smiled sweetly and said that she was doing very well.
He had to stop. He had to stop sometime.
He finally called a halt when the sun began to fall into the horizon and
the whole world went pink again. He stayed away from her, but she knew
he was watching her. Was he judging her?
Trying to decide if she was crazy or if she was having female whimsies?
She had to keep a tight lid on her temper. No matter what he did or
said, she had to keep quiet. When she reached his fort she would speak
calmly and rationally with the commander, and she would make him
understand.
"Miss. Stuart!" Sergeant Monahah rode over to her, then dismounted from
his horse.
"Let me help me you down, miss. I'll see to your mules and the wagon."
"Thank you, Sergeant. I can really" -- She broke off, nearly falling as
he helped her from the wagon. He held her steady as her feet touched the
ground, and she smiled for him.
"Thank you again. I guess I do need some help."
"At your service."
She felt she was being watched. She looked over Monahan's shoulder and
there was Slater, still mounted on his huge horse, overseeing his men as
they broke their formation to make camp. He tipped his hat to her, and
she felt something run hot and liquid inside her. He was watching her in
Monahan's arms, and very likely acknowledging a feminine ability to draw
others to handle her own responsibilities.
Her temper started to soar.
Monahah stepped back, and his wide baby blue eyes were full of
gentleness and kindness and maybe just a bit of adoration.
He was a wonderful man, just like a great big shaggy bear. The devil to
Lieutenant Slater. If his men wanted to behave like gentlemen, she had
no intention of stopping them.
place. If you go just past that ridge yonder, there's the prettiest
little brook. It's mostly surrounded by dry rock, but the water runs
pure and clean. There's an area up there far from where we'll water the
horses. You can take a walk up there and find all the privacy you might
desire." "Thank you again, Sergeant," Tess said.
"I would dearly love a bath.
I'll take you up on your suggestion." She hurried to the back of the
wagon and found clean clothing, a bar of soap and a towel. When she
emerged again, Sergeant Monahah was unharnessing the mules. He pointed
toward the ridge.
She could see that some of the soldiers were headed in the other
direction.
She smiled again and hurried toward the ridge. She was puffing slightly
when she walked over it, but then she gasped with delight.
The brook was surrounded by boulders and high rocks, but there were
little tufts of grass growing between the rocks, and a few wildflowers
had managed to eke out an existence there. The evening was pink and gold
and very beautiful, and she could hear the sound of the water as it ran.
It looked so cool and delicious after the dry dust of the day.
She clambered down the rocks to a broad ledge, dropped her towel and
soap and clothing and sat down, hurriedly untying her shoes. Staring at
the clean, fresh water, she pulled her blouse from her skirt and quickly
shed it, then her skirt and shift and pantalcts and hose. She stepped
down the rock, so entranced by the water that she never once realized
she wasn't alone.
Barefoot and bare-chested, his cavalry trousers rolled above his ankles,
Jamie Slater sat in the shadow of a rock, swearing softly. His own bath
had just gone straight downhill. And he didn't mean to be a voyeur, but
she had stripped so damned quickly, and he'd been so darned surprised
that he had just stayed there.
Watching.
She was like a nymph, an angel cast out from the evils of the heat and
the plain. Her skin was alabaster, her breasts perfect. Her waist was
very trim, her derriere rich and lush and flaring out from that narrow
waist, and her legs were so long and shapely that they suggested the
most decadent dreams, the most sensual imaginings. Angel . vixen . her
hair streamed around her like the sunset, thick and cascading, falling
over her bare shoulders, curling around her breasts, haunting, teasing,
evocative.
He fell back, groaning slightly.
Tess didn't see him. She plunged into the water, amazed that she could
still draw such simple pleasure when the pain of. Joe's loss was still
so strongly with her. But she was still alive, and the water was so cool
and clean after the dust and filth of th
e plains. It came just to her
ankles at first, and there were little rocks and pebbles beneath her
feet, so she had to be careful walking. Then the water became deeper,
and she sank into it, stretching out, soaking her hair, floating,
shivering, delighted. The sun was still warm, the water almost cold, and
together they were marvelous. She swam around in the shallows, careful
not to hit her arms and legs on the pebbles, then found a smooth shelf
to stand on and scrubbed herself thoroughly with the soap, rising to
form rich suds, sinking beneath the surface again to rinse them away.
She scrubbed her hair, fee ring wonderful as she removed the dirt and
grime from her scalp. Finally she rose from the water. She paused,
ringing out her hair, then hut- fled to where she had left her things.
She picked up her towel and studiously rubbed herself dry, then sat upon
the ledge to dry her hair before donning her clean clothing.
She stretched, elosing her eyes and leaning against the rock, which was
still warm from the sun. The last of the dying rays touched her body,
and she elosed her eyes for a moment.
When she opened them, she nearly screamed, Lieutenant Slater was
standing above her. His shirt hung open over his chest, and he was
barefoot and grim.
She opened her mouth to protest. She was stark naked, and he was staring
down at her without the least apology. But when she opened her mouth, he
suddenly drew his gun and fired off several shots.
She'd never seen a gun move so fast or heard anything like the way the
Colt spit and fired in fury.
She didn't gasp; she didn't scream. She thought he had lost his mind,
but when she twisted to grasp her towel, she paused, stunned, staring at
the carcass of the dead moccasin that had been barely a foot away from
her.
She looked up at the lieutenant, unable to speak, unable to move. He had
saved her life, she realized. She had been completely unaware of the
snake that she had so carelessly disturbed.
He didn't say anything, just looked at her, his gray eyes sliding over
her body, and everywhere they touched her, she felt fire coursing
through her.
She felt her nipples harden, and she was horrified that they did so, but
still she didn't manage to say a word.
He slid his Colt into his hip holster and spoke at last. "You need to be
more careful about the rocks you choose, Miss. Stuart," he said.
She heard running footsteps. He quickly reached for her towel and handed
it to her. She clutched it to her breasts as a young private suddenly
appeared.
"Lieutenant! I heard the shots!"
"It's all right, Hardy. It was me. A snake. Nothing that could shoot
back."
The private was ~taring at them, wide-eyed. "That's all, Hardy."
"Yes, sir, Lieutenant."
The private saluted. Slater saluted in return. Then he tipped his hat to
her and turned around. Tess reddened to a dark crimson and watched as he
picked his way upstream. She saw his socks and boots on a flat boulder,
and her breath seemed to catch in her throat. He had been there all the
time.
She leaped to her feet and hurried into her fresh clean clothing with
shaking fingers. She could barely tie her pink ribboned corset, and she
had to do the buttons on her blouse twice.
She pulled on clean hose and her shoes and looked at the rock.
He was waiting. Waiting for her to leave. He sat on the ledge, his toes
in the water.
He looked up as if he felt her watching him.
"It's almost dark, Miss. Stuart, if you don't mind."
"If I don't mind! You--you sat there through my bath, Lieutenant!"
she sputtered.
"Lucky I did," he replied pleasantly.
She was alive. Maybe she was lucky. But that wasn't the point, and he
knew it.
He shrugged, rising, casting off his shirt.
"It really doesn't matter that much to me, Miss. Stuart. You're welcome
to stay. Maybe you'll even want to join me ... ?" She swung around,
furious.
He was ready to strip down with her standing right there. He'd sat and
stared at her while she had been completely naked, assuming she was
alone.
She'd given him a whole damned show in the water! Swearing softly, she
plodded away, anxious to quit the brook. She hurried to her wagon and
sat on the bunk, hugging her arms to her chest.
Damn him. Just remembering his eyes upon her made her breasts swell
again and her nipples harden to taut peaks.
When she closed her eyes it didn't help. She remembered the way that his
shirt had hung open over his chest, and the sandy dark hair that grew in
rich profusion there, the ripple of tight muscle on his abdomen, the
swell of it at his breast and shoulders.
"Miss. Stuart?" It was Sergeant Monahan. "Yes?" She almost shouted the
word.
He was at the rear of the wagon, smiling.
"Wasn't that just the prettiest little brook you've ever seen?"
"Absolutely beautiful," she said evenly. But it didn't
matter--apparently word of the shots had gotten out.
Another one of the men stepped behind Monahan, nodding respectfully to
her.
"Monahan! Hardy says she almost got it from a moccasin. Luckily the
lieutenant was near and blasted the thing to kingdom come. Ma'am, it is
the prettiest little brook around, but you be careful from here on out,
you hear?
You've become pretty important to all of us."
"Thank you, that's very kind," she murmured, but she knew that she was
blushing again. Everyone knew what had happened.
But they didn't really know. They didn't know what it had felt like when
his eyes had touched her naked flesh. "Rations aren't much, ma'am, but
one of the boys brought in a few trout. May I fix you a plate and bring
you some coffee?" Monaban asked her.
"Please," she agreed.
"That would be very nice." Monaban brought her a plate of food, the
other young man brought her coffee. She thanked them both. Then, as she
ate, it seemed that every man in the company came by to see how she was,
if she would like anything, if she needed anything, anything at all, for
the night.
She thanked them all, and when they left, and the darkness fell, and the
camp became silent, she smiled. They were Yanks, but a good group of
them. Maybe there was hope. She believed again. There were von Heusens
in the world, but there were others, too, good people. She just had to
keep fighting. She had to hold on to the ranch and she had to keep the
Wiltshire newspaper going.
"Miss. Stuart."
She started, feeling every nerve within her body come alive. She knew
the voice. Knew the deep tone, low and husky and somehow capable of
slipping beneath her skin. It was a sensual, sexy voice, and it awakened
things in her she was certain had died beneath the rifle fire of the
last years of the war, She inhaled quickly. If she was silent, he might
just walk away. He might believe that she slept and just walk away.
But he wouldn't. He knew she was awake. She sensed it, a
nd she resented
him for his easy knowledge of her.
"Yes?" she asked crisply.
"I just wanted to make sure that you were all right."
"I'm fine, Lieutenant."
"Is there anything you need?"
"I want you to believe me, Lieutenant. And you're not offering me that."
He was silent. She hoped he would turn away, but she sensed he was
smiling.
"You didn't thank me. For saving your life."
"Ah, yes. Thank you for saving my life." She found herself crawling the
length of the bunk, then defying him over the rear edge of the wagon.
"Lieutenant?"
"yes?"
"Come closer, please."
He took a step nearer. Tess let her hand fly across his cheek. He
instantly caught her wrist, and she was glad of the surprised and
furious fire in his eyes as they caught hers. She kept smiling, even if
his fingers did seem to be a vise around her, even if the air seemed
charged with electricity. Even if she was just a little bit afraid that
he was going to drag her out of the wagon and down beneath him into the
dirt.
"I do thank you for saving my life, Lieutenant. But that was for the
ungentlemanly way in which you did so."
She pulled on her hand. He didn't let go. His eyes glittered silver in
the moonlight.
I'll try to remember, Miss. Stuart, that you are most particular about
the way a man goes about saving your life," he told her.
"You know exactly what I'm saying."
"I never meant to give you offense."
"Never?"
"I do swear so, Miss. Stuart. I kept my presence quiet because you were
as bare as a baby before I realized it. And then, well, I do admit, I
was caught rather speechless."
"You weren't speechless on the rock!"
He smiled slowly.
"No."
"Oh, you ... Yank!"
She tugged on her wrist again. He didn't release her at first, then his
fingers slowly unwound. He was smiling, she realized. And his eyes fell
over her again, and she felt as if he was burning the sight of her into
his memory. A flame shot high within her, and she didn't know if she was
horrified-or fascinated.
"Good night, Miss. Stuart," he said softly. Then he did walk away. She
didn't move, and after a moment he turned back.
"Miss. Stuart?"
"What?"
He hesitated.
"You're a very beautiful woman. Very beautiful."
He didn't wait for an answer. He walked away and disappeared into the