Woman of Three Worlds (5 page)

They drew up in front of an adobe building near a corral of horses. The tall wagoner swung down as the station hands hurried out. Stunned and vengefully furious when they heard what had happened, they lifted down the dead and carried them outside.

“We'll bury them at the post cemetery,” said the man in charge. “Reckon that stage can be fixed up enough to make it to Tucson?”

“I'd guess so,” said the blue-eyed driver. “If you can't, I'll take the mail and passengers on while you send an express rider for another coach.”

The stationmaster frowned at the survivors. “How many of you are going on?”

Both the gambler and contractor were. The station-master grunted. “Well, gents, why don't you climb down and have a bite while we go see about the stage? If'n we can't make it go by tomorrow, we'll get you to the next station in the buckboard and just pass you along till you and the mail connect with another coach.”

“Helluva nuisance,” complained the contractor.

The stationmaster's dark eyes hardened. “Mister, those poor fellows inside would sure be tickled to swap places with you! Jem, saddle our horses and halter two more so we can lead 'em.”

As soon as the mail was unloaded and heaped beside the gambler's and contractor's bags, the tall young wagoner said to the stationmaster, “Soon as I take the major and his lady to the post, I'll head back for the ranch. So if you're having trouble with the stage, we can help you do whatever's needed.”

“Appreciate it, Zach,” nodded the older man.

Brittany wanted to say that she wasn't the major's wife, but protesting would be awkward. Only—somehow, she didn't want that man, whose hands had been so hard and strong as he swung her into the wagon, to think that she was married. From the major's stony face, it was impossible to tell if he'd noticed the wagoner's mistake.

He introduced himself to the driver. “Allow me to thank you for your bravery, sir. Another moment and we'd have been overrun.”

“Maybe you can do the same for me sometime,” the driver shrugged. “I'm Zach Tyrell.” He nodded at his companions. “Bill and Pete have a mining claim out near my ranch. Lucky they happened to be along this morning.”

“Indeed it was,” agreed Erskine. “You're a rancher, sir?”

“Sort of. Do some scouting now and then for the army.”

The road crossed several dry washes, or streambeds, then skirted a clear sparkling spring that flowed down the rocky course it had worn among trees grown large from its presence.

“Apache Spring,” explained Zach Tyrell. “Dependable water in the desert means life, but this spring has meant death to a lot of people.”

The wagon ascended a slope that revealed a basin nestled among the mountains. There were some adobe buildings near the spring, but the post was concentrated around a big rectangle where a flag flew. The flat-roofed buildings were adobe and so were the horse and cattle corrals to the northeast.

In spite of her exhaustion and all that had happened, Brittany's heart beat faster as she scanned this place where she would live. A small world cut off from the outside by miles of desert and mountains, a community existing to stop the kind of slaughter she had just witnessed.

Life at this frontier post was bound to be as different from that at Tristesse as this harsh country was from the lush bayous. She had loved her home, would never willingly have left it, but as she'd grown up, she'd sometimes been lonely and restless. Now that she was here, she'd do her best to get along with her cousin. The sudden deaths of her fellow passengers had made her vividly aware of life's value.

“Where shall I take you, Major?” asked Tyrell over his shoulder.

“I'd better report to the adjutant.”

“And your lady?”

Amazingly, Erskine colored to the roots of his silver hair. “You've made an erroneous assumption, sir. This young woman is not my wife.”

He spoke the truth, but his chill manner irritated Brittany. “I've come to stay with my cousin,” she said haughtily. “She's married to Lieutenant Edward Graves.”

Did the driver's broad shoulders tense at her words? He stopped the wagon beside the largest adobe on the post, which sat slightly behind the buildings fronting on the main rectangle.

“Adjutant's the first building on your right,” he told the major. “Would you care to wait at the post trader's, ma'am, while I find your cousin?” His angular, lean-jawed face turned almost handsome when he smiled, chin deeply cleft beneath a long mouth. He pulled off a battered gray hat, revealing dark brown hair glinting with rich auburn. “I'd like to know your name.”

Perturbed at the tumult that ran through her at the warm glow in his eyes, she gave her name. “I wish, Mr. Tyrell, that there were some way to thank you.”

He laughed softly. “Why, ma'am, that's easy done!”

Before she could guess his intention, strong hands brought her forward. His hard mouth claimed her astonished one. Blood hummed in her ears. She melted for a dizzying moment before the major's shocked voice brought her to her senses.

“Tyrell! I must protest this treatment of a female dependent of a brother officer!”

She broke away, furious with a humiliation that increased past bearing when she saw the scandalized faces of two women who had paused outside the trader's. She had been powerfully attracted to this man, hoped he wasn't married, but now he had willfully shamed her in a way that would spread like wildfire through this small universe.

Drawing back her hand, she slapped him as hard as she could across his smiling mouth before blindly scrambling from the wagon, dragging her valise with her. He sprang down, looming above her. The white prints of her fingers showed on his tanned cheek.

“It's nice to know how grateful you are.” His eyes blazed with scorn as he dragged the valise from her. “Lord forbid you ever want to thank me again!”

“I can locate my cousin!” she hissed. “Give back my bag, Mr. Tyrell, and don't create more gossip than you already have!”

He glanced at the watching women, who hastily averted their faces. “Your cousin happens to be standing right there. Come on, I'll introduce you.”

IV

Brittany couldn't have imagined more wretched circumstances under which to meet her unknown relative. If there'd been any choice, she'd have fled, or at least delayed the encounter, but Zach Tyrell had her bag, and she suspected he'd haul her along if she tried to hang back.

Anyway, Regina had seen. Might as well get through what had to be an excruciatingly awkward meeting.

Tyrell swept off His hat to a prim, graying woman who, even in this heat, was buttoned to her chin, and to the slender one with masses of golden ringlets escaping from beneath a rakishly plumed hat. Her muslin dress was a paler, gentler green than her eyes, which regarded Brittany with dawning horror even before Tyrell spoke.

“Good morning, ladies. Mrs. Graves, your cousin's stage was attacked by Apaches.” Did that respectful tone hold just an edge of mockery? “I'm sure you'll appreciate that relief in escaping disposed her to a somewhat unusual expression of gratitude.”

Regina's cold gaze examined Brittany. “I fail to see—” she began, when the older woman interrupted.

“The stage, Mr. Tyrell! Was anyone hurt?”

“The driver, the guard, and one passenger were killed.”

“Only a week after Clum marched the Chiricahuas off to San Carlos—and we thought our troubles were over!” Regina's tone trilled with distress.

Tyrell shook his head. “Clum escorted three hundred and twenty-five who were willing to listen to Taza and Naiche, Cochise's sons, who've tried to keep their father's peace. I think at least that many are still hiding out in the mountains, here or in Mexico.”

“So we're in for more trouble,” sighed the older woman. She added to Brittany, “You were fortunate that Mr. Tyrell came along.”

“Yes,” said Brittany in grudging justice. “The other four of us would have been killed or captured if Mr. Tyrell and his friends hadn't saved us.”

The prim look on the gray-haired woman's face had softened, and her hazel eyes warmed with sympathy. “You poor child!” she said, touching Brittany's cheek. “Come, Regina, your cousin must be ready to drop! The stage ride itself's enough to make a person demented.” She added in what Brittany thought a strangely emphatic way, “I'm sure you'll need a few days to rest, my dear, but then we must have a little party to welcome you to the post.”

Gratification eased the tightness of Regina's well-shaped but thin lips. “Very gracious of you, ma'am. May I present my cousin, Brittany Laird? Brittany, this is Mrs. Shaw, wife of our post commander.”

Mrs. Shaw clasped Brittany's hand. “We'll try to erase your horrifying introduction to Arizona, Miss Laird.” She turned to Tyrell. “You'll report the attack to Colonel Shaw? I hope you were able to bring the dead in for decent burial.”

“The bodies are at the station.” He nodded toward where Erskine was disappearing around the side of a building. “I'm sure the major will give the adjutant all the details.”

“Oh, our new officer,” murmured Mrs. Shaw. “This
is
a day of arrivals.” She smiled kindly at Brittany. “Please call on me when you're rested. And now I must find the chaplain and tell him he has three more men to bury.”

She moved off briskly. Regina glared in the direction of the vanished major. “So he's here!” she said bitterly. “Come to rank us out of quarters just as I've finally made ours habitable! I declare it's enough to make a person—”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Graves,” cut in Tyrell. “I'll carry your cousin's valise to your quarters before going to see if there's anything I can do for the stationmaster.”

For an instant, green eyes contended with blue. “I seem to recall, sir, that you seldom used to be in such a hurry.” Turning abruptly, Regina moved off with grace unmarred by her annoyance.

Brittany's heart sank at the prospect of living with this woman, who had so clearly taken a dislike to her, but there was no immediate help for it. She kept pace with Regina and managed not once to look back at Zach Tyrell, though her lips still burned when she remembered his kiss.

The walls of the Graveses' home looked freshly whitewashed, and the parlor was comfortably furnished with several chairs and small tables, a settee and desk. A dried flower arrangement and several books brightened the mantel and there were lace curtains at the windows. Next to this was a dining room with plain table and chairs and shelves that held the remains of what was an obviously cherished set of china. The little kitchen had a black iron cookstove, which Regina eyed with sourness. “The number of stoves or fireplaces depends on rank as well as the amount of firewood,” she complained. “As if I don't get as cold as the colonel's wife! And now that that odious major's come he'll outrank everyone but the colonel and can take his pick of quarters, so we're bound to get shunted into the Tattersalls'.”

Brittany frowned. “Where will the Tattersalls go?”

“He's being reassigned.” Regina's face clouded even more at another grievance. “That'll leave Edward the lowest-ranking again! I'm sick to death of it!”

“I suppose someone has to be junior,” said Brittany in attempt to console.

Regina shot her a withering glance. “He should have been promoted years ago. Unfortunately, during the war officers got promoted so quickly that there's no room for others to advance. It's just beastly!”

She flounced across a narrow hall and indicated a closed door. “That's our bedroom. Ned's at the end and we'll have to put another cot in Angela's room for you.”

“Oh, I don't want to crowd her out,” Brittany protested.

“There's not much choice,” said Regina. “Besides, we'll have to move in the next few days. And,” she lamented in a rising voice, “how we'll manage in the Tattersalls', I simply can't guess! They've got only two bedrooms.”

Brittany weaved suddenly with the light-headedness of exhaustion, leaned against the wall to keep from falling. “I'm sorry to be a trouble,” she said faintly. “But if I could just lie down—”

“I hope you're not going to be sickly.” Regina eyed her suspiciously. “You don't have a fever, do you? Something you might give the children?”

Brittany choked with hysterical laughter. “Not unless they've been on a stage for twelve days, the last eight without stopping nights to rest.”

“I suppose you would be tired,” allowed Regina. “Very well, you may rest on Angela's bed, but take off those dusty things first and wash yourself.” Brilliant green eyes narrowed. “Weariness and the shock of the Apache attack are some excuse for your unbelievable display with Zach Tyrell, but let's have it understood from the beginning that you won't disgrace Edward and me with giddy conduct.”

“I—I didn't know what Mr. Tyrell intended till he'd done it!”

Regina sniffed. “Scores of other featherheads have doubtless said the same thing. He has an outrageous reputation. I forbid you to encourage him.”

Forbid? Spent as she was, anger stirred in Brittany. “Is he married?”

Regina's arched brows shot up. “The woman doesn't live who can get that one to the altar!”

“Well, so long as he hasn't been, there's no reason why I shouldn't encourage him, if I feel like it.”

Actually, of course, Brittany was still furious with Tyrell for exposing her to gossip the moment she'd arrived at the post. She was willing to accept some guidance from her cousin, because she herself knew nothing of army ways and little about society, but she sensed she'd wind up as a timorous unpaid servant.

“Are you defying me?” Regina demanded.

“No. I'm just saying you can't control my life. I'll be governess to the children and help in any other way I can, but my private life is none of your concern.”