“Yes, be right there,” said Regina Darlington, remaining where she stood. Then, eyes rising to his, she said softly, “Ah, Mr. Savin, it so happens I’m to give a talk at our next ladies’ luncheon on the law as it applies to the vote for women.” She paused, glanced around, and added, “It would be ever so helpful if I might interview you on the subject.”
Jim smiled down at her and said, “Anytime at all, Mrs. Darlington.” He lowered his voice so only she and Drew could hear. “Room number six eighteen.”
A deep flush started in the V where the woman’s expensive beige suit jacket met at the swell of her full breasts. It spread quickly over the pale apricot flesh of her throat and up to her lovely face. Without a word, she nodded good-day, turned, and walked away.
“I think,” said Drew, after her shimmering beige skirts had disappeared through the heavy glass doors, “that the lovely Mrs. Darlington is interested in more than the vote.”
“You say she’s married to a colonel?” Jim’s half-hooded black eye’s were still on the door.
Drew nodded. “Still a bride. Married less than a year.”
Jim Savin made no reply.
Not an hour later a gentle knock came on his hotel-room door. It was the hottest part of the afternoon; all the shades were lowered against the fierce sun. Just out of his tub, Jim stood pouring himself a bourbon, a white towel knotted atop a hipbone, wrapped around his bare, damp body. Unhurriedly, he took a drink of the whiskey, not bothering even to glance at the door. He knew who was standing on the other side.
Again it came. Soft yet anxious knocking.
Jim slowly drained his glass, then moved barefooted across the dim room. When he swung the door open he was not surprised to see the flame-haired Mrs. Regina Darlington nervously smiling up at him.
“Oh, my … I’ve come at a bad time, Mr. Savin,” she said, her wide eyes quickly moving over his bare, glistening chest.
“Not really, Mrs. Darlington,” said Jim. He took a step back and stood aside, neither inviting her in nor suggesting she return another day. Looking straight into her eyes, he raised long, bare arms and ran his fingers through his thick black hair, still wet from his bath.
Mrs. Darlington hurried inside.
When Jim closed the door after her, Regina Darlington whirled about, pressed her back against it, and said, breathlessly, a hand raised to her tight throat, “I … I came to … to interview you.”
Jim smiled at her and braced a hand on the doorframe by her head. “Ask me anything, Regina.”
Her senses were immediately assailed by his potent male presence. She was vitally aware of the fathomless black eyes, the sensual lips, the long, lightly muscled arm only inches from her shoulder. His bare gleaming chest with a long white scar beginning below his left collarbone and extending down to his ribs, made her feel as though she couldn’t take a deep breath.
“Ah … yes, yes …” she stammered, “would … would you like to … to … get dressed?”
“Would you like me to?” His black piercing eyes held hers, neither accusing nor inviting, inscrutable.
He was not making it easy. Regina drew a shallow, labored breath. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, blushing, feeling as though those hypnotic black eyes could read her guilty thoughts.
“Ah, well, then, suppose I help you decide.” And his free hand moved to the buttons lining the center of Regina Darlington’s stylish beige afternoon suit as he said, “I believe you mentioned a curiosity regarding the law and women’s rights?” His black gaze holding hers, with one hand he deftly flipped all the buttons open while she swallowed convulsively and felt faint and weak, and the feathers on her bonnet quivered.
“Ye—yes, for … for my speech at the ladies’ luncheon.” The suit jacket was entirely unbuttoned. Jim casually pushed it apart, revealing full, high breasts covered only by the slick beige satin of her chemise.
“Perhaps,” said Jim, “instead of my getting dressed, you should get undressed.”
“No. Certainly not,” she managed, trying to sound indignant, and made a halfhearted attempt at pulling the suit jacket back together. But her trembling hands fell to her sides when Jim, hand still braced against the doorjamb, the muscles of his inner arm pulling as he flexed his splayed fingers on the smooth wood, toyed with the lace trim of her filmy satin chemise. Then, curling his long, dark fingers inside the straining fabric, he casually lowered it until the wispy garment was nothing more than a tight lace-trimmed frame for the bare breasts he’d so boldly released.
The mere feel of his heated black eyes on her naked breasts made them quiver with sensation and the hot flames of desire rise within her. And when Jim licked his lean forefinger and languidly drew a wet, teasing circle around each rosy crest, Regina Darlington shuddered involuntarily and, breaking their locked gazes, lowered her eyes to the skilled fingers so expertly tormenting her aching nipples into hard, telltale points of passion.
The dark, dark hand against her pale flesh coupled with the sight of his obvious arousal—that rigid male flesh so provocatively outlined against his white towel—brought a rapid escalation of the torrid heat engulfing her.
Still, when he asked, “My dear, have you decided?” she felt compelled to say, “Yes. Yes, I have. I certainly have no wish to take off—ooooh,” she softly moaned, lost in the pleasure of the moment. She caught herself and hurried on, “Mr. Savin, I didn’t come up here to get undressed.”
Abruptly the talented fingers stilled and the dark hand dropped from her breasts. Jim Savin nodded, turned, and walked away. “Then perhaps we’d better wait until another day to do the interview, Mrs. Darlington. I was just about to take my afternoon nap.” He paused beside the turned-down bed, its spotlessly clean white sheets, cool and inviting in the too-warm room.
Stunned and hurt that he would give up so easily, Mrs. Regina Darlington, her lovely face almost as red as her hair, knew instinctively that if she let this opportunity pass, there would not be another with this strange, cool man.
“Jim!” she gasped, and hurried to him, her wet-nippled bare breasts bouncing with her steps. Not stopping until she stood facing him, all pretense gone, she reached anxiously out, undid the knot atop his hip, and pulled the white towel away, dropping it to the carpet. Her eyes hungrily sliding down the dark, sleek animal body, her lips fell open and she moved even closer—so close, her naked aching breasts brushed Jim’s bare chest. “Jim,” she said again, and brazenly she cupped her hands low around him, thrilling to the feel, the texture, of the crisp black hair of his groin.
“Yes?” said Jim, standing there naked, bare feet apart, arms at his side, his erection complete.
Regina’s shaky fingers slipped inquiringly up the length of pulsing satin power to its tip. A ripple of pleasure raced through her and she said, “I do want to get undressed. I want to be as naked as you.” Stroking eagerly, awed by the size and heat of him, she murmured, “I want you to make love to me.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Darlington,” said Jim Savin, and smiling at her, he removed the feathered beige hat from her copper curls. Letting it fall to the carpet at their feet, he bent his dark head to kiss her.
For the next two hours Jim Savin gave the colonel’s misbehaving wife exactly what she had come for.
4
S
he stood on the west sally port in the morning sunshine, her expectant eyes on the fort’s main gates. The provost marshal, Colonel Thomas Darlington, a tall, lanky man with rich brown hair and a well-trimmed mustache, stood beside her, hands locked behind him.
Martay found it difficult to pay close attention to the colonel’s polite conversation when she was straining eagerly to hear the first sounds of approaching horses. Giving only perfunctory replies to his questions, she waited on the porch of the main compound, her view of the outside world totally obscured by the fort’s high, thick walls. Only glimpses of the towering mountains were visible through the deep embrasures for the heavy guns.
Impatient, she looked around at the only things she could see: the barracks, the casements, the north powder magazine, the deep, circular rifle pits with their huge black guns, the stone revetments, the flagstaff with its colors waving gently in the morning breeze.
Atop the parapets, straight-backed young soldiers, issue-rifles atop their uniformed shoulders, marched back and forth, and Martay found herself wishing she could join them. From up there she could look far out into the distance and catch the first sight of the returning troops.
“… and would be honored to do it,” Colonel Darlington was saying.
Knowing she’d been rude, Martay turned to the man and said, honestly, “Colonel, I’m terribly sorry. I’m afraid I was not really listening.” She gave him a wide, full-lipped smile then and admitted, “I get such a thrill when I see the mounted cavalry come riding in that I …” she laughed then and added, “well, I suppose I’m truly my father’s daughter. Being inside a fort, around proud military men, makes my heart beat faster.”
Her statement caused the colonel’s shoulders to go back a full inch. He smiled warmly at her, his own heart swelling with pride. “Miss Kidd, I find your candor—and your admiration of the men serving our country—absolutely charming.” Posture erect, he added, “I share your enthusiasm. I get a great sense of security when I hear the bugle call tattoo or the gun fired for retreat.”
Martay said, “Now you’re sounding like my father.”
The colonel laughed and replied, “And you, my dear, remind me a great deal of my lovely wife, though she’s a few years older. Your lively spirit and appreciation of the military is much like my Regina’s. In fact, I’m sure she would enjoy knowing you.”
“I’d be pleased to meet your wife, Colonel Darlington,” said Martay, fighting the urge to let her gaze drift back toward the gates.
“I’ll ask Regina to call on you at the Emersons’ one day soon.” A fleeting darkness passed over his features, was gone as quickly as it had come, and he smiled once more. “I’m afraid she has too much idle time on her hands with me at the fort most all the time. We’ve been married less than seven months, and Colorado is not Regina’s home. I encourage her to make lady friends to ease her loneliness.”
Martay sympathized. “I think I understand something of how your wife must feel. My father has been in the military since before I was born; he’s gone months at a time and it’s hard. I miss him terribly.”
He nodded. “You know, I’ll bet Regina would like to have a party for you. We just completed our home up in the Denver foothills and she’s been anxious to entertain and show it off.”
“That would be very nice,” said Martay, for want of a better reply.
“Good. Then it’s settled,” said Colonel Darlington, quietly surmising that a splendid party at his new west Denver mansion for the visiting daughter of his commanding general could be highly beneficial to his military career. And planning the fête would give his beautiful, cherished wife something to occupy her time—for at least a few days.
“You’re too kind, Colonel,” said Martay, “it’s really not necessary to … to …” She fell silent and quickly turned her head, listening. Then her lovely face broke into a wide grin when the definite echo of horses’ hooves striking hard-packed earth announced the return of the garrison. “It’s them,” she said excitedly, “they’re back!”
At that moment, two trim young officers hurried to the tall front gates and threw the heavy bolt, opening the protective fort to its conquering heroes.
Into the dusty quadrangle rode the command, guidons fluttering in the breeze, horses whinnying and snorting, weary soldiers smiling broadly, glad to be back after four days in the saddle.
Martay, feeling her heart drum pleasantly, saw him at once, the most flamboyant cavalryman on the Great Plains. Her father.
He rode at the head of the command. He was dressed in his blues, a double row of brass buttons going down his tunic to its tight waist. The yellow piping of a commissioned officer decorated the trousers, and his shoulder boards bore the single silver star of Brigadier General, United States Cavalry.
His black felt campaign hat was jauntily tacked up on the left side, the drawstring pulled tightly beneath his firm chin. Suede-gloved hands held the bridle of his prancing iron-gray stallion and the toes of his tall black boots, spit-polished to a mirror brightness, were thrust deep into silver-trimmed stirrups. His saber glinted in the bright Colorado sunshine.
Like a great Shakespearean actor on opening night, Brigadier General William J. Kidd played his real-life role with intense concentration and dramatic flourish; this fort was his stage, the troop his audience.
They, and his lovely young daughter, who he knew, though he looked neither to the left nor the right, was watching his grand performance. It was moments like these that were best. The thought of one day giving all of it up was painful to him, and yet he knew he must.
In a few short years he would be too old to play the lead, to ride a magnificent steed into a remote army outpost at the head of his command. Too old to lead brave young warriors into battle against the barbaric redskins. Too old to sleep on the cold ground in some pitched camp in the wilderness. Too old to cut a dashing figure on the dance floor when he visited Washington City.
Suddenly the general felt a twinge of melancholy in the middle of triumph. If not this life he loved, then what?
A post in the President’s cabinet, by God, that’s what! Wield some power in the nation’s capital, take his satisfaction—and his applause—from the decision making enjoyed by only a handful of men. Respected men. Lauded men. Powerful men.
At last the general looked toward the sally port, where his daughter was to be waiting.
And there she stood. A lovely willowy girl with gleaming golden hair. A true vision in a cobalt-blue dress, smiling prettily, a slender arm raised, waving to him. A beautiful girl any young man would be proud to call his wife.
And if General Kidd had his way, he’d choose the young man who one day would call her his wife. He hadn’t excelled in tactics at the academy without learning a great deal about silent maneuvering and surprise attacks and gaining confidence of the unsuspecting.