Authors: Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig
“People. Men. Around the fort. You know, the ones I come into contact with every day. Take off your shirt.”
“Why?”
“I need to wash the one you’re wearing. Can’t rightly do that while it’s on your back. Anyway, the ladies and I have been planning a dance tomorrow night in honor of Ross’ recovery. Perhaps you’ll find what you’re looking for there. I’d bet the Wells Fargo payload that
he
’
ll
be there. Watching. Waiting. Maybe even make a move.”
He unfastened his buttons with large fingers, exposing his well-muscled chest. A splotch of red on his skin matched the outline of the coffee stain, and her eyes softened. Her fingers brushed his bare chest. “Does it burn much?”
“A bit. I’ll live.” His mouth turned into a slight smile, stepping toward her, closing the distance between.
She frowned at a scar on his side, rough and jagged. She brushed it with careful fingers, a nearly lethal blow, she judged. “Where’d this one come from?”
Bowen touched his hand over hers, the heat from his fingers striking sparks up her arm. “Our sweet Mariposa. This was our introduction, I’m afraid.”
“She could have killed you...”
“Lotta folks died that day. She was a terrified little thing.” His far-off gaze seemed to fill with the memory.
RuthAnne’s thoughts flicked to Mariposa, her pensive face, and her obvious affection for Bowen. “Isn’t that just like you? To be more concerned for someone else’s feelings, even when you’re leaning on death’s door..”
“That’s all ancient history. Now, who are all of these people who are so interested in what you know about El Tejano?” His eyes caressed her along with his fingertips.
A thrill skittered up her spine. RuthAnne swallowed to strengthen her resolve. “Bowen Shepherd!” she gasped playfully. “Don’t you dare try to seduce me with our friends right outside the door!”
“Darn it, RuthAnne.” He stomped his foot again, this time the force knocking bottles over. He grabbed her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. She couldn’t help but admire his sculpted physique as he breathed deeply; a spattering of hair lay below his neck, but otherwise his chest was bare. His shoulder wound was healing and now unbandaged. The bullet would leave another scar that they would always remember. His broad shoulders evolved into well-muscled arms. There was power in his hands as he held her firmly, but it took far more power for them to part. “I’m not trying to seduce you. I’m...”
“You’re what? Jealous?” She held the shirt out to help him dress. He slid his right shoulder carefully into place, the only hint that it still caused him pain. They were inches apart—he in his ill-fitting, unbuttoned shirt, and she with her loose golden hair that tumbled like a waterfall down her back. For a split second she imagined them a married couple getting ready for bed. Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed the vision away.
“I’m sorry.” He cupped her cheek with tender fingers. She didn’t pull away. “I didn’t expect to find you here. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I saw you here.”
“Likewise, Captain.”
“Can we start again?”
He leaned down to her. His breath warmed her hair, her cheek. His lips carefully brushed hers in the most tender of greetings, saying at last what her heart longed for. “I’ve missed you.”
“That’s better.” Her heart raced as her thoughts tumbled.
“Now, say you’re sorry.” He dragged her closer.
“Why should I be sorry? You’re the one who spilled the coffee,” she teased and then darted around him and through the door. Forgetting the fact that his subordinate soldiers were outside waiting for him, Bowen chased her down to the water pump where he caught her in a bear hug and squeezed her until she howled with laughter and finally did apologize.
****
Still sitting at the table, Reggie stated glumly, “Looks like our captain’s a lost cause.”
Ross smiled. “More like RuthAnne’s been listening to some of Josie’s courting stories. Excepting, of course, with me, Josie dumped a whole tray of beans in my lap.”
“You mean that whole charade was on purpose?” Reggie gaped.
Ross shrugged and folded up their plans and slipped them into his pocket as Josie came out to join them.
Josie planted a firm kiss on Ross’ lips.
Reggie averted his gaze and sighed. “If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never understand women!”
Chapter 35
Dolly was fixing her hair when RuthAnne poked her head around the corner with a smile. “Let me help you with that.”
Dolly gasped and then sank into the chair. “You scared me to pieces! You ain’t supposed to be here, but I’m so glad you are. Katie’s gone to a sleepover with our new friend Bella’s daughter, if you can imagine. An officer’s wife befriending a laundress. And not just any laundress, but one with a questionable past!”
She laughed, and RuthAnne was pleased not to see a brick of Dolly’s protective wall appear. Dolly seemed nervous but happy since she and Whit had worked things out; since she had made her peace with God.
“When will you ever learn that having a questionable past just makes you more interesting at tea parties?” RuthAnne stepped in, squeezing her shoulders. She drew the brush through Dolly’s elegant red-blonde hair and pushed pins and curls into the appropriate places. After a moment, she stepped back to admire her work. “You look stunning!”
Dolly nodded, eyes widening with obvious amazement. She not only looked amazing, she looked like a bride.
“I like it. Remember, if anyone asks, it was you who chose this one for me. I’ve always tried to stay away from white...you sure you don’t think it’s too assuming?” Dolly stood and flounced around the room in the sparkling faille gown, kicking back the small crêpe lisse train. RuthAnne had fixed loops of white satin ribbon diagonally from the empire waist to the floor, serving the dual purpose of hiding a stain caused by its previous owner and enhancing Dolly’s figure. She looked a lady, fit for a ball of magnificent proportions.
“The color? Sure. The style? Absolutely not. It’s terribly modern.”
Dolly squared her shoulders, showing through the bare sleeves of faille; the square bodice held just a hint of heart-shape, nicely accenting her bosom.
“Are you sure you’re brave enough to wear it?” RuthAnne said.
“Why, RuthAnne Newcomb, I believe you’ve got me figured out. Come on. Let’s get you fixed before Whit gets here. I can’t wait to see his face!”
“Whose face?” A deep, rich voice filled the room tickling the back of RuthAnne’s neck.
She turned, still in her riding outfit, to see Bowen standing in the doorway in his dress blues. He seemed a million miles tall as he filled the space with wide shoulders and a wider grin.
He blew a long, slow whistle of approval. “Well, that’s something. Dolly, you’re more than a jewel. You look like a diamond.”
“Bowen Shepherd! You go on.” She glowed with the praise and then remembered herself. “Get out of here, now, so we can get RuthAnne ready.” Dolly turned to her friend, a look of worry crossing her face. “I hope I didn’t sell your dress this afternoon. You should have seen the hustle and bustle around here!”
RuthAnne’s jaw dropped before she realized Dolly was teasing.
Dolly winked at Bowen, then shooed him out the door, calling after him, “Find Whit, and you two keep your distance. We’ll meet you at the dance when we’re good and ready.”
Less than an hour later, RuthAnne and Dolly entered the dance arm in arm. One dressed in white, the other in black. RuthAnne’s satin dress was a modern columnar style, accenting her height and slender figure; the square décolletage enhanced her swanlike neck and was a bit low for her taste, but there was nothing to be done for that now. Fine black lace looped the dress, her hips rounded with a satin and lace pannier rather than a bustle attached at the bodice line.
Bowen stepped forward, hands floating to the tiny hints of satin ribbon and lace at her shoulders. He leaned down to kiss her hand, a glimmer of good humor and approval in his eye.
Dolly had secured RuthAnne’s blonde hair with black ivory combs; it draped elegantly over one shoulder in a cascade of blonde curls. He placed another tender kiss at her exposed neck, no longer hiding his affection, and making her gasp and giggle all at once.
“Bowen Shepherd! There are other people about.”
“I only see you, my dear.” He took the dance card she was affixing to her wrist and eyed it warily. “You can’t expect me to write my name for every time I want to dance with my girl.”
“You’d better start writing.” A smile touched her lips as she offered him a pencil. He sniffed and possessively placed a hand at her waist.
Young soldiers mobbed Dolly. She ordered them back, inspecting their hands for cleanliness before she allowed them to sign her card. Whit stood behind her, looking amused. The soldiers took one look at RuthAnne standing next to their captain and backed away.
“Bowen! You tell those boys they can have a dance. Men outnumber women five to one at this fort.”
“Well, let them dance around with each other, then.” He stifled a laugh and grabbed the nearest soldier by the arm. “Private Jonah Thomas, have you had the privilege of meeting Miss RuthAnne Newcomb?”
“Uh, no, sir. I’ve heard of her though.” Private Thomas swallowed hard, tugging at his collar as he gave a slight bow. “Ma’am.”
“Glad to meet you, Private Thomas.” She shook her head at Bowen with a slight grin as she proffered her card. Before long, it filled up with scrawled names and marks of soldiers of all ranks and reputations, though Bowen still refused to sign his own name.
Ross and Josie swept through the milling crowd as heads turned and whispers followed in a wave of sound. His head was re-bandaged, as was the plan, and he was in full dress uniform. He moved slowly, theatrically, to the rows of chairs brought in for the weary. Josie, dressed in a light pink frock that accented her olive skin and growing belly, settled him down with a slight smirk. Her thick, black hair was held back with abalone combs, sparkling a rainbow of blues and greens in the lantern light.
Reggie followed them at a fair distance, adjusting his jacket and medals and ribbons aplenty for a man of his lowered rank, as if their presence embarrassed him. His gaze searched the crowd, lighting up at the sight of Bowen and RuthAnne. He stepped quickly to her, unhanding her dance card from a much younger soldier and staring down his complaint with an intense glare. Reggie quickly scrawled his name several times and gave her a peck on the cheek. Shrugging at Bowen’s disapproval, he affixed a smile to his face and moved to write his name on the card of every woman present.
The ladies of the fort glittered like an array of gems in their dresses of gold, platinum, emerald, sapphire, ruby, and every hue in between. It was the best-dressed crowd the fort had ever seen, and faces were lit with excitement.
A banner declaring the First Annual Ross MacEvoy Dance was displayed behind the bandbox in a spatter of red and blue paint on white canvas, prepared by the fort’s army of schoolchildren. Josie pointed and clapped, beaming. Men lined up to shake her husband’s hand, and she glowed with pride.
The band tuned up, sending off notes soaring across the dance floor. Trumpets, horns, and trombones played different melodies in a cacophony of sound before the bandleader stepped up and called his boys to attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen, in honor of our guest, and this fine nation’s Centennial Anniversary, I give you a national treasure.” He nodded and instruments were brought to the ready.
Suddenly, the band burst forth with the patriotic “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” and everyone laughed and applauded before singing along. The flags of their fathers whipped in the growing breeze, a flutter of red, white, and blue, as kerosene lantern flames dipped and bobbed, holding back the growing twilight.
****
Amanda pinned back her hair for a third time, adjusting a curl that insisted on freeing itself from the pile on her head. She watched as Megan alternately held dresses up to her reflection and tossed them aside with increasingly frustrated sighs. Their room looked as if it had been robbed. Dresses of every color and fabric lay discarded on the bed, the trunk, the chair, and the floor.
Megan cocked her head to the silver-framed mirror, eyeing her latest victim, before casting it aside like yesterday’s news. “So they weren’t in the latest styles. Any one of my old cotillion gowns would have been fine, Mandy! Honestly, why I listen to you sometimes is beyond me.” Megan unearthed a final garment from the back of the wardrobe, raising an eyebrow. “What about this one?” She narrowed her attention on the green dress with dark green-jeweled collar and sleeves, holding it to her creamy skin.
“I like it.” Amanda tapped her foot impatiently, already dressed in her empire-waisted gown of azure blue. She adjusted the lace pannier around her midsection, once again uncomfortable without the added weight of a bustle. “You look fine, Megan. Truly. Can we go now? I hear the music starting!”
“Don’t worry, Amanda. You’ll find someone to dance with you. Or is that what’s bothering you?” Megan eyed the dress that RuthAnne had redesigned for Amanda with a carefully arched eyebrow. “That’s the same color as Mother’s old dress. The one she was wearing when she met father?”
“That’s right. She gave it to me. I had it...updated.”
“Updated?” Megan spouted a tittering, unkind laugh. “You look a fool with no bustle. Really, Mandy. Don’t you follow fashion? Someone’s been filling your head with air.”
Marcus stepped into their room, interrupting their fussing.
Megan busily applied more powder and paint to her face. Amanda’s lip trembled, near tears. Thank heavens Marcus intervened.
“You both look fine. Can we go now? I swear, I’ve been waiting on you two since I was twelve.”
“Marcus Carington, you’d better be more patient. If it wasn’t for your sisters, you’d still be doing the box step,” Megan said as she continued to primp and preen in front of the mirror.
“And if it wasn’t for me, the two of you would be staying home tonight rather than going to the dance. Father won’t have his daughters running anywhere unescorted, you know that.”
Megan squeaked as he grabbed her by the forearm and hauled her to the door.
“Just a second, children. I’m coming with you.” Their mother’s voice came from the back room, a tad slurred. The three held each others’ gazes and their collective breaths as Clara joined them.