Magnificent Passage (2 page)

He gritted his teeth, cursing himself again as he headed along the dirt street, carrying the tiny girl against his chest. Several soldiers eyed him curiously as he walked toward the surgeon's quarters, though no one attempted to interfere. He seemed to have a knack for keeping people at arm's length. Both his clothes and the years he spent with the Cheyenne set him apart from most folks. They never quite felt comfortable in his presence.

He glanced down at the girl in his arms. He couldn't see much of her face beneath the bonnet, and her thick chestnut hair covered a goodly portion of what did show. It did little to enhance her looks. He had the feeling she might be pretty if she were dressed in the right clothes, her face uncovered, and her hair worn loose instead of hidden in her bonnet.

The surgeon's door stood open a crack, so Langley pushed it wide with a moccasined foot.

“Oh, dear me!” The short, round-faced doctor dropped his pencil and rose from his desk, scurrying toward the girl like a flustered mouse.

“She's not hurt. She's just fainted. She had the misfortune to see that dead soldier in the back of my wagon. Seems it turned out to be someone she knew.”

“Bring her over here. I'll see that she's taken care of.” The surgeon eyed the man's rugged clothes with a hint of disdain. “She's Captain Ashton's daughter. He'll be mighty
upset when he finds out what she's been up to. He's a real tyrant when it comes to Samantha.”

Travis smiled to himself. He could just imagine how the good captain would take to his daughter being carried around the fort in the arms of a man like him.

“Thank you for your help,” the doctor said, dismissing him curtly.

Travis touched the brim of his wide felt hat. “I'm sure she's in capable hands, but I'll stop by before I leave just to be sure she's all right.” He backed through the door, closing it softly behind him. He felt more than a little guilty. He should have stopped her, and he damn well knew it. But she'd challenged him—something few men ever did—and she was barely more than a child. He regretted his behavior, but there was little he could do about it now.

He walked purposefully back toward the wagon. He'd be glad when Fort Laramie was just a speck in the distance, a landmark over his shoulder. He was eager to be on his way back to California—and home.

The room swirled around her, fading in and out, but her mind lingered in the past. She had been thirteen when she'd last seen Davey. Towheaded, freckle-faced Davey Williams had been her best friend before his family had moved away.

Mandy wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell filling her nostrils. She bolted upright, trying to get her bearings and avoid the loathsome odor.

“Where am I?”

“Just relax, Miss Ashton. I'm afraid you've had a bit of a shock.”

She recognized Doc Milliken's squeaky, high-pitched voice as he capped the ammonia smelling salts. She leaned back against the pillow. The narrow cot felt solid beneath her, and she welcomed its firm support.

“Yes, I . . . I remember now.” She shuddered, closed her eyes, and felt a wave of nausea.

“Try not to think about it, Miss Ashton. It's all over now.”

Large tears rolled down her cheeks. “It was Davey,” she told him. “Davey Williams. You should have seen what the Indians did to him.” She turned her face away and sobbed softly into the pillow.

The sound of the door opening distracted her. With an effort, she sniffed back fresh tears.

The tall, sandy-haired man walked to her bedside. “Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling by the cot, his voice a little husky.

She nodded and wiped at her tears. He handed her a kerchief.

“I'm afraid I owe you an apology, Miss Ashton. I should have stopped you.” His brown eyes filled with concern. “I just didn't think you'd really do it.”

She smiled at him tremulously, surprised he had the courage to admit he was wrong.

“It wasn't your fault, Mr.? . . .”

“Langley. Travis Langley.”

“It wasn't your fault, Mr. Langley. I should have listened to you. I don't know why I didn't. I guess I just wanted to prove something to myself.”

“Did you?”

“Not really. But I guess it doesn't matter.” She looked away.

“Maybe you'll have another chance one day,” he said, drawing himself back up to his full height. His soft bedside manner disappeared, his brown eyes once more inscrutable. She felt a sudden chill as she watched him.

“Maybe,” she agreed weakly. “Did you bring me here?”

He nodded absently, his mind, it seemed, already somewhere else now that he was certain of her safety.

“Thank you, Mr. Langley, for all you've done.”

“You're welcome, Miss Ashton. Good luck with whatever it is you're trying to prove.”

She smiled self-consciously and sat up, adjusting her bonnet, which was slightly askew but still firmly tied beneath her chin.

“Good-bye, Mr. Langley.”

He touched the brim of his hat, backed through the door, and closed it softly behind him. He was a hard man, that one. Maybe even a dangerous one. He seemed to be the kind of man her father often warned her about.

Still, for the next few days she couldn't get him out of her mind. She wondered who he was, where he was from, and where he was going. She thought about him while her father railed at her and forbade her to leave the house for a week. She thought about him as she worked in her garden, trying unsuccessfully to blot the terrible image of Davey Williams from her mind. She thought about him at night before she fell asleep, though for the life of her she couldn't understand why.

Travis Langley, she discovered, was a man not easy to forget.

 

S
amantha Ashton tucked a stray tendril of chestnut hair into the prim bun at the back of her head and wished fervently there were something she could say to console her younger cousin.

It was the tenth day of frying temperatures, though a few puffs of clouds over the mountains hinted at relief. She'd left the window open to capture fortune's breeze, but the stifling heat left her perspiring beneath her high-necked brown muslin dress. She fanned herself futilely with an embroidered hankie and leaned against her straight-backed chair.

She and her cousin, Julia, were discussing Julia's future—for the tenth time that day—and Mandy was having trouble concentrating on her cousin's heated words. Unconsciously, her glance strayed out the window.

As always this time of year, the bustling dirt streets were crowded with myriad people: emigrant families, complete with wagons, oxen, horses, children, and dogs; soldiers in dusty blue uniforms; and traders, some with squaws in tow.

In the fields beyond, the tall grass waving in the too-gentle breeze had long ago turned golden. A few deep gulleys that held the last precious drops of a recent summer shower were all that remained green. Three buff-colored antelope grazed peacefully. Only their black horns and white rumps against the golden hills betrayed their location.

Sighing wistfully and wishing she were outside somewhere instead of confined in her room, Mandy returned her attention to her cousin. Julia Ashton was petite and fullbusted with wide green eyes and a teasing, ruby-lipped smile. Raised with wealth and position, she was spoiled and selfish but good-hearted, and she'd always valued Mandy's friendship.

Though she lived with her father in California, Julia had spent the year in Boston. She'd left her finishing school and come on the train to visit Mandy for the summer. They'd shared the small room that had been spartan before Julia's arrival and now was filled to overflowing with lacy underwear, bottles of perfume, dresses, hats, traveling suits, even a riding habit. Julia never traveled light. There was almost no space left between the rough-hewn walls of the cabin and Mandy's narrow, slatted bed with its trundle beneath, but Julia made use of every inch. She paced the room like a caged cat.

“Father's been trying to run my life for years,” Julia said hotly, her slim arms akimbo. “But he's never succeeded, and he's not going to this time.”

If Julia hadn't been so distraught, Mandy might have smiled.
She's every bit the governor's daughter,
Mandy thought. It was the way she always pictured her cousin—haughty and arrogant, wild, reckless, and passionately headstrong when
convinced she was right. Storming about the room, Julia alternated between biting her bottom lip uncertainly and pressing both together in a determined line.

“I know how you must feel, Julia,” Mandy said, getting caught up in Julia's indignation. “I know how much you love Jason. I wish there were something we could do.”

“You can't know how I feel! You've never been in love. You've never even had a beau!”

The words stung like a slap. Mandy glanced away. More than a year older than her cousin, Mandy had never done more than dance with some of the local boys, and that had been at best a tolerable experience. A few young men, mostly soldiers, had attempted to court her, but her father always discouraged them. Of course that would all change one day, she told herself. She'd leave Fort Laramie and experience life, be her own person again—the way-she used to be, before her mother died and her father became so strict and forbidding.

Julia stopped pacing and turned, her expression softer. “I'm sorry, Mandy. That was a rotten thing to say. I guess I'm just a little upset.”

Mandy thought “upset” was a bit of an understatement.

Julia lifted a ruffled petticoat strewn across the bed and fingered the lace absently. “I wish I'd never written that letter to my father.”

“Your father would have found out about Jason sooner or later. And when you didn't return to Boston, he'd have been worried sick. He'd probably have called out the cavalry and then you'd really have been in trouble.”

Julia flashed a quick, uncertain smile. “I guess you're right,” she said. She walked to Mandy's chair, sighing.
“Someday, when you fall in love, you'll understand why I can't let Jason go. He's the most wonderful man I've ever met. He isn't like the others—and believe me, I ought to know! Jason's kind and considerate. He's charming—and handsome. He loves me and I love him!” She clenched her small fists and whirled away. “Damn it, Mandy, I won't go to California and leave him behind!”

Mandy wished things could be different. Uncle William had always been a good man, but an ambitious one. He'd had no time for his daughter, yet he'd always tried to do what was best for her. But Julia was stubborn and wild, her reputation notorious. Her escapades had made headlines all over the country. She was considered “a woman of legendary beauty,” and men everywhere fell at her feet. Jason Michaels hadn't. Maybe that was why Julia had fallen in love with him.

“What about the way you're used to living?” Mandy asked, broaching a problem she was sure Uncle William had considered. “You've always had everything you want. How are you going to handle being an Army wife?”

“In a year I'll have my own money. Mama left me part of Grampa Whittington's estate. It's mine when I turn eighteen. Jason and I will want for nothing. And he's already put in for a transfer to the East. With his record, sooner or later he'll get it. Once Father accepts our marriage, he might even help Jason's career.”

Julia threw back her shoulders and resumed her pacing. Her petticoats swirled widely with every turn. The floorboards creaked beneath her tiny feet as she marched impatiently back and forth.

“Why won't Father be reasonable? He and Mother were already married at my age.”