Authors: Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig
Bowen turned toward the small Mexican church. He wasn’t comfortable encroaching on the padre’s land. Not since he began fighting the Indian campaigns for the government. He’d done more than his share of killing. It weighed heavy on his heart, seeing how the natives were treated, but it hadn’t stopped him from following orders. And when the citizens of the town decided stirring up trouble was the best way to get more attention to this
Indian Problem
of theirs out at Camp Grant, he’d had enough.
The pit of his stomach soured as he dropped his rag and oil tin to the rocky ground. He drew up a chunk of white quartz and heaved it into the distance. Watched it clatter off a boulder and startle a small covey of quail. They squawked in displeasure, flying a short distance with beating wings as they relocated themselves. Camp Grant wasn’t a problem. It was a massacre. The bloodiest battle seen in the valley’s recorded history; the whole mess covered up by the army and a group of powerful citizens. And he had been left to pick up the pieces.
The camp lay just up the mountain from where he’d found RuthAnne. The irony of saving someone where so many had died had not evaded him. RuthAnne and Mara made three he’d rescued from that bitter patch of earth. Three lives out of hundreds...
He rubbed his side, where he still bore the scar left by a terrified, grief stricken Mariposa, whose life he had spared against orders. She had attacked him out of fear. Out of grief. How could he blame her? Bowen tore his thoughts away from the grim memory, taking a last swig of cold coffee. With a flick of his wrist, he dumped the dregs out on their fire. A hiss of steam and the scent of burnt grounds filled the air. He did his best to turn his thoughts away from that awful day. Try as he may, they just kept coming back to haunt him.
Tucson, Arizona had been briefly declared the capital of the territory struggling toward statehood. Its citizens proclaimed loudly that with Cochise dead and buried, they were safe from Indians. Geronimo had other ideas about that from his safe haven in the Chiricahua Mountains on the border between the Arizona and New Mexico territories. He fought back by stopping incoming wagon trains, stealing and killing and reminding those good citizens that public safety was still very much an issue.
Let them pretend to be law abiding and civilized, while hiding behind their guns and saloons. Arizona tried its hardest to hide its true colors and become a state. Bowen didn’t anticipate that happening in his lifetime, not that he expected to live much longer anyway. He did his level best to do his job and get out, taking risks and chances that had his fellow soldiers calling him fearless. A hero.
The truth was nowhere near as romantic. He had lost his faith in what they were fighting for and had nothing left to lose. Bowen watched from afar as they sang their hymns on Sunday morning, the hypocrites. But he wouldn’t pay an affront to God by stepping foot in His church. He knew he was no better than those citizens for what he had done. At least the padre respected his wishes and didn’t ask him to services anymore.
Bowen kicked dirt over the smoldering campfire coals as his eyes slid to the chapel compound, his thoughts swirling with the dark gray clouds overhead.
“Hey, Cap! Let’s get a move on. That pretty little girl ain’t coming to see you today.” Reggie winked good-naturedly, leading his dappled gray mount over to his tack. The sturdy, strong cavalry horse gave a snort and flicked her well-combed tail. Bowen watched as Reggie lined up next to Ross, whose lips twitched in good humor.
“You got something to say, too, Sergeant?” Bowen barked without a bite.
Ross angled his head east, absently twisting his mustache. “Not to rush you, but my wife would like to see me at least for a few hours before the commander sends us back to scout the Chiricahuas.”
“Your wife don’t even remember what you look like, MacEvoy.” Reggie held up an arm to deflect Ross’ friendly punch.
“At least I have a woman waiting for me. What’s back at the barracks waiting for you, besides a scorpion or two?”
Reggie seemed about to give another retort, and Bowen rose to his full commanding height, shoulders back, fists clenched around his saddlebags. “That’s it. We’re moving on.”
Bowen settled his saddlebags in place and stowed his rifle in its long leather scabbard. A dark gray cloud billowed in front of the sun, reminding them all that the monsoons were coming. It amazed him how the clouds could spring up from behind any of the mountains that circled the valley. It seemed the storms were set to ambush them again, just as sure as Sunday. Bowen had learned as a young recruit that when the heat and humidity came early, torrential rain was sure to follow, so completely unlike the flatlands of the farm where he grew up. They’d better be beyond the lower Tanque Verde when it hit.
“Move out, gentlemen. And I do use that term
loosely
.” Bowen had finished tightening the girth of his mount and taken a boot to the stirrup when a female voice called from the direction of the chapel. He went stock still, halfway onto his eighteen-hand high horse.
Reggie chuckled but immediately went stone-faced at Bowen’s glare. No matter that they were friends. The captain would have no disrespect when they were in uniform.
“I said, move out.” Bowen’s low, stern voice commanded an instant reaction from his men. He unseated his foot from the stirrup.
He watched RuthAnne pick her way gingerly but quickly up the path. She narrowly avoided the jumping cholla cactus, round and thick with spines that clawed for and threatened her skirts. She strode into the clearing, breathing hard from her trek, her face flushed. Her loose hair curled around her shoulders, bare in the traditional Mexican embroidered blouse. It was hard not to admire the woman who stormed toward him, jaw set, eyes sparkling, looking full of fire and ready for a fight.
****
RuthAnne kept her eye on the tower of a man as her belly churned. Obviously, she’d stumbled into a private conversation. She passed the blonde soldier as he guided his mount down the slope and offered her a tip of his dark blue hat in greeting.
“Ma’am.”
Uphill, standing next to the captain, a dark-haired soldier of lesser rank smiled winningly in her direction. She caught him shooting a sidelong glance at his commanding officer before returning his attention to adjusting the girth of his saddle.
“You finished, there, Private?”
“Not quite.” The private gave a sharp yank and then retied the strap. “Don’t mind me, Cap. You all just pretend like I’m not here.” He blinked innocently.
“Reggie, if you don’t...”
“I’m done. I’m done.” The soldier mounted his horse and rode directly across RuthAnne’s path, pulling his reins short. “Pardon me. PFC Reggie Thompson, at your service, ma’am.”
“Private.” She nodded with a half smile and turned her attention back to the rise of the hill. The captain stood with his eyes closed, face tilted toward the heavens as if praying. She gathered her skirt and made her way directly toward him; he’d soon find out there would be no escaping her.
“Thanks for waiting, Captain Shepherd,” RuthAnne said, catching her breath.
He blinked at her arrival, face stoic and unsmiling. “Good morning to you, Mrs. Newcomb.”
She hesitated. Had she shared with him her last name or mentioned her marital state? Her cheeks flamed with the heat of her blush as she considered her lack of proper dress. The concept of petticoats was lost on Mariposa, and RuthAnne had stopped trying to explain. She had to admit a growing fondness for the breezy clothes and soft leather shoes that Mariposa provided. The light cotton blouse and tiered skirt, sans petticoat, were incredibly comfortable. She hadn’t given much thought to it before, just enjoying the sensation after days in her heavy traveling suit. Now, feeling the weight of the captain’s scrutinizing stare, RuthAnne longed for her own garments, regardless of their state.
He tapped his riding crop agitatedly in his gloved hand, as if he wanted to completely unnerve her. “We’re heading out, back to the fort. What can I do for you?”
“You can take me with you.”
“But...your sister. I understand she can’t be moved,” Bowen stammered. Obviously, her asking to go with him was the last thing he had anticipated.
“The good Father’s been most kind. They offer us everything and ask nothing in return. I’m not injured. I’m a hard worker and can make my own way, if you would guide me in that regard.”
“You want me to find you a job?” Bowen’s mouth twitched at the corners.
RuthAnne set her jaw. Couldn’t he see that she was serious? That even asking him ate her up inside?
“Ma’am, you must be aware that the city of Tucson is ripe with gambling saloons and houses of ill repute. There aren’t many...opportunities for a lady such as yourself.”
Head high, she refused to be chastised by the likes of him, or the private who lingered, obviously eavesdropping, while he secured his hands around his reins.
“I’m a seamstress by trade. I can only assume that you know of someone with needs for a tailor.”
“Does she cook, too?” Reggie said and kicked his horse into action at the look Bowen threw in his direction.
RuthAnne fumed with embarrassment as the private rode off down the hill. She found herself in foreign territory now, having to ask this man for assistance. Still. It didn’t matter. The Lord had brought her to this low point so that she could scramble her way back to level ground. Pride didn’t keep her from admitting she needed help, regardless of what this Captain Shepherd thought of her for doing so. Who did he think he was, with his stubborn chin and smoky-green eyes all but laughing behind his stoic expression?
“I can drop you off somewhere where they’ll pay for an honest day’s work. T’won’t be an easy one, I can assure you.”
RuthAnne nodded. “That’ll be fine.”
“Three square meals, a roof over your head, and a place to sleep. Not much of a place, at that,” he warned.
“I assure you, Captain, I won’t shirk at hard work. And I need to pay my own way. To do something with my hands until Mara gets better and our shipment arrives for the new quartermaster at Fort Lowell. Father Acuña told me this morning it might not be for another month.”
“That could be overly generous. You see, General Geronimo has other ideas about what he wants the army to bring into the Arizona territory.”
She couldn’t help it; as he spoke, her eyes welled with tears. She bit her lip until blood tinged her tongue.
He continued, seemingly unaware. “In the meantime, I have an idea for you. You’ve met Private Thompson. That there’s Corporal Ross MacEvoy. We’re heading back to Fort Lowell right now. If you’re coming, mount up.”
Bowen stepped easily into the stirrup and, with a move as natural as breathing, settled into the black leather saddle. He reached a hand to her, offering a place behind his saddle on the impossibly enormous animal.
She opened and then closed her mouth. Her mind told her she should go and gather her belongings to take with her, and then her heart broke as she remembered she had nothing to return for.
Very well, then, Lord. If this is what You mean for me to do, let’s have at it. If he’s waiting for me to balk and run back to the safety of this poor chapel and their charity, he has another think coming.
RuthAnne would not take what did not belong to her, not as long as she had hands to work and a mind to think clearly.
She hitched up her skirt. Stepping her moccasin-clad foot a bit too hard on the captain’s boot, she swung herself into place behind the saddle and settled on the striped blanket across the animal’s wide rump.
The feel of her bare legs on the wool blanket made her think of her girlhood on her father’s farm. For a moment, in her mind’s eye, she was riding bareback with her brothers across grassy plains and feeding the horses apples and sugar cane after a long, lazy ride...
And then Bowen called the enormous stallion to action. RuthAnne forgot her daydream of days long since passed and clung to his waist for dear life.
Chapter 8
“The fort’s just over that rise, across the creek,” Bowen said, motioning with the reins as the horse continued its breakneck pace.
RuthAnne gritted her teeth, knowing that he maintained such a speed not to make her profoundly uncomfortable but to beat the building storm. She could feel the thunder’s rumble with each thud of her heart. The sky above now blistered with gray-black clouds; large raindrops spattered the ground, her legs, and the leather of the saddle she attempted to cling to.
Fingers slipping, she adjusted her grip around his waist. He flinched as if her touch scorched like the lightning that flashed all around them. Wordlessly, Bowen grasped her hand and placed it firmly on his wide leather belt, his meaning clear. RuthAnne’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment. How dare he worry about propriety at a time like this!
His horse plunged down a rocky slope and darted across the creek; water splashed beneath the animal’s heavy hooves. Her mind wandered as the thundering horse raced on. What had this soldier planned for her? At times she thought he’d relaxed to her presence, only to have his body go rigid at her touch. If only she could read his thoughts. Perhaps he had no interest in a widow. Still, she had no reason to apologize. She’d been the best wife to Evan she knew how to be, and he’d loved her best as he could. She devoted over a year of her life to remembering him after his passing and never even considered getting married again. With Mara to care for, there wasn’t time to think on herself.
True, she found Bowen Shepherd extraordinarily handsome, in spite of his gruff manner. With his impressive form, chiseled jaw, eyes that reflected his stormy disposition, and rich, dark hair, the girls probably all went weak in his presence. But she was a flesh and blood woman. Having been married, she knew what happened between a man and a woman in the night. There was no denying it filled an empty place in her soul to have her arms wrapped around this mountain of a man, if only for a short while. He was solid. Real. And for a moment, she could imagine she was still a wife.