What the Heart Wants (3 page)

Standing with a group of his fellow officers and their wives or girlfriends, I enjoyed listening to the men swap tales of the battles in which they’d fought. Captain Vincent stood close to me and occasionally let his elbow brush my arm, or he would put his hand on my waist as he lowered his head to whisper some little anecdote about this soldier or that in my ear. I was enjoying his attention and found myself basking in the feeling of belonging to someone. But as I stood there listening to the others talk, I had an unsettling feeling, as though someone was watching me.

“Are you all right?” Captain Vincent asked. And though I said I was, I was still feeling uneasy. However, when he asked me to take a stroll with him outside the gates where we could see the stars, I hesitated for only a moment. What would it hurt? The fort was humming with activity. My friends were inside dancing, and there were dozens of people milling about just outside the gates and easily a hundred more inside. I would be perfectly safe, especially on the arm of one of the US Army’s finest, so I agreed.

I was glad I’d brought my wool shawl along. Winter had not yet released its hold on the land, and there was a nip in the air. I hugged the blue, knitted wool to my breast as we walked, shivering slightly, and before long the inky black of the night had swallowed us, and we stood like too ships on a fathomless sea, with only the stars above to tell us which way was up. I shivered again, but not from the cold. Being alone with a man was not something I was used to, and I was feeling very nervous.

“Are you cold?” he asked when he finally noticed my discomfort. “We could go back,” he said slowly, as though he hoped I wouldn’t ask to do so. And since I didn’t want to admit that I was feeling a bit anxious in his company, I told him I was fine.

“Good,” he said, taking my hand in his. Then he turned and faced me, his other hand gripping my arm just above the elbow. “Because I really want to speak to you privately. I know you’ll be leaving in a couple of days.”

We were, in fact, leaving on the morrow, but I was so nervous that I couldn’t get the words out. Obviously unaware of my trepidation, he continued, “Samantha, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and it shatters my heart to think that I shall not have a chance to get to know you better…
much
better,” he said in a smooth voice. I felt his arm slide around my waist. Then he bent his head toward mine, and I felt trapped. Good heavens, he was going to kiss me!

I was in a quandary; should I let him kiss me or not? Was a kiss the only way to know whether or not he was the right man for me? I was still feeling uncertain as his mouth covered mine. His lips were firm and demanding as he tried to poke his tongue into my mouth. It seemed like a revolting thing to do, and I tried to keep my mouth shut. I was feeling more and more uneasy, and the brush of his thumb along the side of my breast spurred me into action. Putting my hands flat against his chest, I tried to push him away, to no avail. He wasn’t much taller than me, but he was quite strong. With his right hand clamped around the back of my neck, I felt like my head was in a blacksmith’s vise and I was the malleable metal, ready to be pounded into whatever Captain Vincent wanted to make of me. It was a horrifying feeling, and I wanted none of it.

“No!” I managed to shout as I freed my lips from his steely mouth. But he was persistent, his arm around my waist pulling me closer and closer to him until I could feel his taut muscles pressing familiarly into my chest, belly, and thighs. He pivoted his hips while smoothing his free hand down over the crest of my breast, and that’s when I felt it…the firm evidence of his body’s arousal prodding my loins. Though I had taken care of plenty of sick and injured men, I had never seen or felt a man’s private parts in such a state before, and I was horrified. As he moved his hips up and down, rubbing his swollen manhood against my feminine mound, he expelled his breath with a satisfied hum in my ear. He was clearly enjoying himself at my expense while all I felt was revulsion.

His mouth attempted to retake mine, but this time I managed to turn my head to the side just long enough to squeak out another “No!”

The next thing I knew, I was being yanked aside by someone very strong. I landed on my back on the ground. Scrambling quickly to my feet, I peered into the darkness, trying to determine just who my savior was. Two shadowy figures danced around one another, their arms outstretched as they fought over me.
Over me
, I told myself again, truly surprised that anyone, other than my father, would fight to defend my honor.

Just then my rescuer struck Captain Vincent twice, once in the face and once in the belly. The uniformed man bent in half, clutching his middle with one hand while wiping his face with the other. Even in the dim light, I could see that Captain Vincent’s nose was bleeding. “How dare you! I’ll have you arrested for assaulting an officer,” the captain threatened.

“You do that. But you will not touch her again, or I
will
kill you,” a deep voice declared, the sound of it astonishing me. I knew that voice; it was Mr. O’Hara, our scout.

Since the fight had gone out of the captain for the moment, and since I wanted to get Mr. O’Hara out of there before attention was drawn to the two combatants, I hastened forward, hoping to separate the two men. “Mister O’Hara, I’d appreciate it if you would escort me to my wagon,” I said calmly, even though I was feeling anything but calm. I had a feeling that, even though he was in the right, Mr. O’Hara would end up in trouble, and for the sake of our wagon train, and for his sake too, I didn’t want that to happen. So, looping my arm around his, I tugged him toward the wagons. I was relieved when he went without an argument.

All the way back to the wagon train, I clung to Mr. O’Hara’s arm, expecting a group of soldiers to come and arrest Mr. O’Hara at any minute. However, I was feeling curiously at ease in his company. True, he had saved me from what could have been my ruin had Captain Vincent been allowed to continue his assault on my virtue, but there was more to my feelings than the gratitude I felt. While many would condemn me for even speaking to John O’Hara, I felt completely safe with him. It was a feeling that confused me. I knew very little about him, so why did I trust him so implicitly?

It had become evident to me that he was merely tolerated by the others because of his ability to see us safely to our destination. My fellow travelers had made it perfectly clear that he was not fit to speak to our women and children. They referred to him as
that half-breed
or worse, and he wasn’t even invited to share a meal at our campfire, although on occasion I had seen him having a smoke with one or two of the men. Of course, due to his job as our trail guide, he usually spent his time scouting ahead and therefore camped alone anyway, but still, the unfairness of his treatment rankled. He was a human being, as good as any man. But I knew my opinion was not shared by the others. I had seen the distrust in their eyes that first day, heard their fear of him in their voices, and yet for some reason for which I could not account, I felt truly safe with him.

Just then something dawned on me.

“You were watching me the whole time I was at the dance, weren’t you?” I asked, stopping to look up into his rugged face. Even in the darkness I could see his dark eyes shining. They gazed down at me, and for a minute, I didn’t think he was going to answer my question.

“Everyone in the wagons is my responsibility,” he said simply, and then he began walking again. Disappointed by his impersonal reply, I hurried to keep up.

“Thank you for saving me,” I said as I trotted along beside him. He was a whole head taller than me and had long legs, and I had a hard time keeping abreast of him. “I don’t believe Captain Vincent had my best interests at heart,” I added for want of something better to say. It was hard to carry on a conversation with someone who was so reticent.

“He is not an honorable man. A man should never force a woman,” he stated as though it was the law.

I nodded, even though I had heard that some men ruled their wives and daughters with iron fists. I read the newspapers my father sent for from the big cities back East, and often there were articles about women who were seeking divorces from their husbands, women who had injured or killed their husbands or themselves in their attempt to escape an unhappy marriage. I knew that women were not always treated equally, and that, in most instances, the law looked the other way when it came to the rights of women. I was, therefore, surprised and pleased to learn that this man seemed more civilized than those who would criticize him for having Indian blood. He might be part
savage
, as some called him, but he was obviously a good and decent man.

Intrigued, I tried to find some way to continue our conversation. Now more than ever I wanted to know more about this man.

“I must admit I’m not very experienced when it comes to men, but he’s an officer. I truly thought him a gentleman.”

“A wolf may wear sheep’s clothing in order to get what he wants, but he is still a wolf,” he pointed out, and I nodded. He was right; I had trusted Captain Vincent simply because of his uniform. What a fool I had been!

Soon we were less than a hundred yards from the camp. I could see the glow from the communal campfire. Several dark shapes were seated around it. A big part of me was disappointed that my time alone with Mr. O’Hara was almost at an end. I slowed my pace, wishing for some way to make our time together last. Suddenly I got my wish, more or less. I stepped in a gopher hole and turned my ankle.

“Ow!” I cried out. O’Hara grabbed my arm and kept me from falling. I clung to his forearm as I gingerly tried to put weight on my injured ankle. But it hurt too much, and I just stood there, holding my foot above the ground.

He stooped down and gently pressed his long fingers into my ankle. I flinched. “Can you walk on it?” he asked, his deep voice resonating inside my chest as his dark eyes darted toward the camp. He seemed to be weighing his options; should he carry me, or should he go for help and let someone else ferry me back to camp?

“I don’t think so.” I gasped, a little sob escaping my lips. “It hurts…a lot,” I told him honestly. I hadn’t planned this, but I had wanted him to stay with me so we could talk some more, and now maybe he would.

Without so much as a by-your-leave, he scooped me up in his arms and carried me around the outer perimeter of the nearest wagons. He obviously knew which wagon was ours because he stopped at the rear end and gently set me down on my one good foot.

Knowing that Papa was with the oxen and I could not climb up into the wagon on my own, I did the only thing I could. “Will you please lift me up? I don’t think I can manage by myself,” I said quietly. He did so and quickly disappeared into the dark, leaving me feeling bereft of his company.

Once I had changed into my nightgown and brushed my hair, I stayed awake thinking about the man who had saved my virtue.

How could it be that his hands around my waist had not made me feel trapped, that his thumbs brushing the sides of my breasts as he lifted me into the wagon had not turned my stomach, that his breath on my lips had made my whole body tingle in a good way, and that, when he removed his hands from my body, I had felt an almost unbearable disappointment? How could I have felt so at ease with him, so safe, and yet so exhilarated and excited at the same time? I prayed before I drifted off to sleep that night that I would find the answers to my questions.

The next morning, as everyone prepared to get underway, three soldiers rode into camp. I could see them sitting on their mounts and talking to Captain Baker and Mr. O’Hara at the head of the long line of wagons. The men were too far away for me to hear what was being said, but I got the feeling something was wrong. After a few minutes, Captain Baker and Mr. O’Hara rode off toward the fort with the three men in blue. A few minutes later, Colonel Hudson came to inform us that we would be leaving just as soon as Captain Baker returned from the fort.

“What’s wrong, Bill?” I stood in the shadow of our wagon and listened as Papa spoke to his good friend.

“Apparently Captain Vincent has accused Mister O’Hara of attacking him.”

“Hmmm,” Papa hummed in thought. “Mister O’Hara doesn’t seem like the type of man to do anything without good reason.”

I thought about how Mr. O’Hara had struck Captain Vincent, and my blood ran cold. Our scout was in trouble because of me.

“I agree. I’ll let you know if I hear anymore, Jacob.” Colonel Hudson went on his way, stopping at each wagon to relay the news of our late departure. I hurried over to Papa, who was checking the harnesses on our team of oxen.

“Papa, I know what happened between Mr. O’Hara and Captain Vincent,” I blurted out. Papa turned and looked at me, his forehead wrinkled more with worry than with age.

“What are you talking about, daughter?”

“Captain Vincent was behaving inappropriately, and Mister O’Hara was just defending my honor,” I stated, the words tumbling from my mouth. “I need to tell my story, or it will be Captain Vincent’s word against Mister O’Hara’s,” I continued breathlessly. I feared that Mister O’Hara’s word would not be good enough to keep him out of trouble.

“Surely there must be others who saw what happened?”

“No, I’m afraid there aren’t. We were not on the fort grounds when it happened,” I admitted.

“Samantha, what are you saying?” Papa asked.

I sensed his growing irritation, and I hated to let him down, but I couldn’t allow harm to come to Mr. O’Hara because of my poor judgment. I wished I had never gone walking alone with Captain Vincent, but I had, and now, unless I did something, Mr. O’Hara was going to pay for my indiscretion.

“Papa, it was my fault. I went for a walk with Captain Vincent. He…he kissed me and p-put his hands on me,” I stuttered nervously. I saw the anger in Papa’s gray-blue eyes quickly turn to concern.

“Then you must go and tell your story before we lose our guide. Hurry,” he said, pointing toward the fort. I ran in the direction of the fort and saw a welcome sight. Sarah’s father often rode his horse during the day while Mrs. Cranmer drove the team of oxen pulling the wagon. His chestnut mare was already saddled and tied to the back of the Cranmer’s wagon, and though I hated to waste time asking to borrow it, I knew I could get to the fort a lot faster on a horse than on foot. I ran up to the back of the wagon and stuck my head inside. Sarah and her mother were there, folding up their bedding. They stopped when they saw me.