Messenger by Moonlight (23 page)

He shrugged. “Didn’t think you should have to wait.”

As Frank scanned the letter, he smiled. Rotten Luck hadn’t followed Emmet back to Missouri, after all. “They’re doing all right,” he said, flipping the single piece of paper over; squinting and blinking when the handwriting blurred. Finally, he deciphered the most important part of the letter and looked up at Annie. “They’re
married.
”

“Married? But—I thought they’d wait.”

“What for?”

“For us to be there. To witness it.”

Frank shook his head. “There’s no telling when we could do that. I’m glad they went ahead. They deserve to be happy.”

Annie brushed something out of her eyes. “You’re right.” She offered a weak smile.

Morgan nudged his horse alongside Buck as he said to Hart, “You’ll want to be getting back. I’ll see them home from here.” He smiled at Annie. “Lucille’s not the only hen with chicks now. Three of Henrietta’s had hatched before I left this morning.”

“Lucille?” Confused, Hart looked to Annie for an explanation.

She seemed embarrassed. “I know it’s silly, but I’ve named them.” She looked over at Morgan, surprised he’d listened enough to know which one was which. “And I sure hope they don’t all freeze in this weather.”

“Not likely,” he said. “I brought them into the storeroom before I left. Henrietta, Lucille, Clifford—the whole bunch of them. Billy’s keeping an eye on them.”

Hart spoke to Annie. “Guess I’ll be getting back. Don’t forget, now. You promised me the first two dances at least.” And with that, he rode away.

October 27 dawned crisp and cold. Neither stage nor mail run were expected at Clearwater, and Annie decided to indulge in the nearest thing to a bath she could manage. First, she dragged a copper boiler into her room and slowly filled it with water she’d pumped, hauled in, and heated on the stove. By the time she had enough, her “bath” was barely lukewarm, but it would do.

Barring the door to her room, she disrobed and knelt to wash her hair. That done, she scrubbed herself, reveling in the sensation of being clean before donning the blue calico she’d laundered the day before. Back in the kitchen, she stirred up the fire in the stove and opened the oven door, perching on an upended crate and combing through her waist-length hair as it dried.

Frank sauntered in. “Fort Kearny’s going to think an angel flew down for the cotillion.”

Happy to see her brother wearing his Pony Express shirt and jeans, Annie grinned. “I could say the same to you. You look right fine. Impressive scar and all. You sure you’re ready for a long ride?”

“Not at a dead run I’m not, but I should be all right if we keep an easy pace. I promised Lydia Hart a dance, and I aim to keep that promise.” He tied his yellow bandanna in place as they talked.

It was good to see Frank smile. Good to see him looking forward to something. They chatted about the pile of buffalo robes stacked beneath the stairs to the loft in the main room and how, when they had arrived at Clearwater back in March, neither of them had known a thing about what was involved in running a road ranch. When Annie said she was looking forward to seeing Luther again, Frank grinned.

“Which is it you’re really excited about—seeing Luther or getting that wire so George can build your chicken yard?”

“Both,” Annie said, reaching back to comb through her thick hair with her fingers.

Frank talked about the various station masters he’d met up the line to the west and inevitably touched on the topic of the girl named Pete.

“Will she be at the cotillion? I’d like to meet her.” Annie studied her brother carefully while she waited for the answer.

“I don’t think Pete’s the type to care much for dancing.” He’d been leaning against the doorframe leading into his room while they talked. Now, he looked past Annie toward the main room. “Speaking of folks you wouldn’t expect to dress for a dance—you look vaguely familiar. Have we met?”

Annie spun about. Her jaw dropped. George Morgan had trimmed both his beard and his long hair. Sporting a long black coat over blue denim pants and a white shirt, he looked…
handsome
.

“Billy’s bringing up the horses,” he said to Annie. “We can leave whenever you’re ready.” He raked one hand through his hair and donned a black hat. “If you’re up to it,” he said to Frank, “you could help me roll up a buffalo pelt for each one of us to take along. It’ll be cold when we ride back, and one of these days we’re going to get some snow. Best be prepared.”

While Frank helped George, Annie retreated to her room
and tied up her hair, all the while thinking of the gown and jewels waiting at Lydia’s. Once her hair was done, she gathered extra socks, mittens, and a scarf. Stuffing them into her saddlebags, she grabbed the campaign hat she always wore outside and tied a shawl about her. With a patchwork comforter draped over one arm, she headed for the door.

The day was cool, but the shawl and comforter did their job, and she was only slightly chilled when at last she caught sight of the flag flying over the Fort Kearny parade ground. “I’m supposed to meet up with Lydia,” she called to the men. “We’ll see you at the cotillion.” Without waiting for a reply, she nudged Shadow ahead, turning off the trail to head straight for Lydia’s back door. Sliding to the earth, she hitched Shadow and hurried inside. Lydia was standing in the parlor inspecting herself in the mirror. Tucking an errant curl into place, she turned to greet Annie.

How long had it taken to iron all that ruching? Yards of it formed a scrolling pattern of ruffles across the surface of the wine-colored skirt. More ruching accented the V from Lydia’s shoulders to her waist. Deep red jewels dripped from her necklace. Annie stammered, “Y-You look gorgeous.”

Lydia curtseyed. “Thank you. I had help, of course. Annabelle Greeley really is a dear.” She reached for Annie’s saddlebags and set them aside. “Let’s get you dressed. We’ve only a short while before the band starts to play. I can’t wait to see the look on Wade’s face when he arrives. We ladies have outdone ourselves, even if I do say so myself.”

Annie had dreamed of candlelight and music, of gallant men and laughter, of beautiful women and trembling fans, but even her most outlandish dreams of the cotillion itself
paled by comparison to seeing Lieutenant Hart’s expression when Lydia opened the door to admit him to the apartment. For the longest moment, he simply stared at Annie—until, finally, Lydia cleared her throat and brandished a blank dance card and a pencil.

“As I recall, you wanted the first dance with our guest.”

The lieutenant didn’t look away from Annie as he held out his hand and accepted both card and pencil. “I’d rather command the first two—if you’ll still allow it?”

Annie felt her cheeks warm beneath his gaze. She nodded. “Of course. If you’re certain.”

As the lieutenant scribbled his name on the first two lines, he murmured, “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

While Annie tucked the dance card into the silk bag at her wrist, Lydia reached for the two shawls draped across the back of a nearby chair. Taking one for herself, she handed the other to Annie and together they stepped out onto the porch. The lieutenant offered each lady an arm and together they descended the stairs and set out for the mess hall. The interior of the hall glowed in the light of at least two dozen lamps and what seemed to be hundreds of candles. Nearby tables groaned with ham and turkey, pumpkin and sweet potato pie, pickles and jams, cakes and punch.

The band was just taking its place when Frank stepped up. Making a show of inspecting Annie from head to toe, he said, “You remind me of my sister.”

Annie leaned close and muttered, “She’s still in here. Feeling like a weed pushing its way into a flower bed.”

Frank whispered back. “You’re no weed, Ann E. You’re the prize-winning rose. Try to enjoy it.” He turned to Lydia. “I hope you meant it when you promised me the first dance.”

“Dear boy,” Lydia said, and reached out to adjust the
bandanna knotted about Frank’s neck. “I always mean what I say and say what I mean.” She handed Frank her own dance card. As soon as he’d signed it, she looped her arm through his. “I hope you don’t mind, but I promised to introduce you. The ladies all want to meet the intrepid Pony Express rider they’ve read so much about.”

“I thought that article was for the back-East news,” Frank said.

Lydia made a show of tucking a dark curl behind her ear with a gloved forefinger. “I might have left a copy or twelve lying about at this quilting bee or that afternoon tea.” She batted her eyes at Wade. “Will you be all right without Frank and me for a few moments?”

“We’ll manage,” the lieutenant said. He asked Annie to produce her dance card. “Do you mind if I monopolize you?”

“I can’t say. Are there rules?”

“None that rank can’t overcome.”

Annie stayed his hand. “I’d like to dance with my brother a time or two.”

“Of course.” He wrote his name on several more lines before handing back the card.

Annie glanced down. He’d left the bottom line blank. One dance for Frank, and that was all. She caught sight of George, standing with a group of other ranchers gathered just inside the door. He was staring at her as if she’d grown an extra head.

Frank was standing at the refreshment table sipping punch and waiting for his head to stop spinning when Annie put her hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”

“Don’t I look all right?”

“You look very handsome.”

“Don’t I always? And stop worrying. I just got a little dizzy. I’ll be fine. Although I fear I may have to disappoint a few of the ladies this evening. Hate to admit it, but I’m plum tuckered out.” He nodded toward the dance floor. “Happily, George can take up where I’ve left off.” He grimaced. “
There’s
something I never expected to say. Not that I’ve been keeping track, mind you, but I think he’s danced with every woman in the room. Even the uppity one who’s spent most of the night staring daggers at you.”

“That’s Cinda Collinsgworth,” Annie said. “And I don’t know why, but she doesn’t like me.”

“You really don’t know?” He sounded doubtful.

“Not for certain. I suppose it might have something to do with Lieutenant Hart.”

Frank raised his glass. “How observant of you. Hart only has eyes for you, and she only has eyes for him.” He looked about the room. “Speaking of the golden-haired wonder, where is he?”

“Why don’t you like Wade?”

She was calling him Wade, now?
Blast it.
“Tonight? Because he’s rude and selfish. Monopolizing your dance card. Shutting all the other men who’d like to dance with you out. Just because he can.”

“It’s one night out of an entire year of socials,” Annie said. “They’ll soon forget all about me. The clock will strike midnight soon, all this finery will go back into Lydia’s trunk, and I’ll go back to being the calico-clad cook at Clearwater road ranch.”

Frank chuckled. “Say that three times if you can. And if I’m not mistaken, that particular fairy tale had a very nice ending.”

Annie reached for his cup of punch and drank it down. “Dance with me.”

“What will your lieutenant say?”

“He’s not
my
lieutenant, and he won’t say anything. You’re my brother. He wouldn’t dare try to pull rank on you.”