Allegiance Page 17

  She paused behind her wagon long enough to pull off her bulky petticoats and exchange her dainty slippers for her old prunella shoes. From now on, she's best wear her work dresses on the trail and save her good ones for Santa Fe.

  She found her brother sitting high in an oak tree with Tyler's spyglass to his eye studying the back trail. She shaded her eyes with a hand to see him against the brilliant sky. “What do you see?"

  He shoved the glass into its leather case and started down. Twelve feet or so from the ground, he swung by his hands from a limb and dropped the rest of the way. “I got a feelin’ someone's tailin’ us, but I ain't spotted ‘em yet."

  "How could anyone be after us this soon?"

  "It ain't impossible. You want to take a chance on a posse catching up?"

  "Ah, no.” A chill invaded her body. “I'm ready to go if you are."

  "Good. I'm goin’ to hitch your wagon to mine and put both teams together to pull ‘em. You're slowin’ us down too much."

  "I'm sorry—"

  "Ain't your fault you got puny arms. Go round up the oxen for us, willya?"

  Two horses and a mule had munched the grass down in perfect circles within the radius of their wooden stakes. She untied the gelding Jeb called Sugarfoot and, to save time, decided to ride bareback as she'd done as a girl. Would she remember how? She pulled the hem of her skirt through her legs from back to front and tucked it into the satin ribbon she had tied around her waist. That way, she could sit astride like a boy and, at the same time, protect her legs from the rough hair and galling sweat on the animal's hide. Mounting was awkward without stirrups, but she'd always managed it before. With a jump, she draped herself across the back of the sturdy little horse, squirmed around until she had a leg on each side, and clamped her knees. Using the lead rope as a makeshift rein, she guided the well-broke Sugarfoot around the grassy clearing, circling the three dozen oxen that wandered at large. Happy memories swept Amy back to an earlier time. How she missed that carefree life!

  Tyler's stern gaze followed her as she returned to camp. “Jeb, don't you have a side saddle for her? Riding like that isn't healthy for a woman."

  Her brother shook his head. “A burr couldn't stick to that horse's hide any better than Amy. She's been ridin’ like an Indian since she was a kid. Hey, Amy, I see you had the good sense to get rid of all those petticoats."

  Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Just when Tyler started thinking of her as genteel, she had to slip up and demonstrate her humble origins.

  * * * *

  Tyler squinted one eye to peer through his spyglass with the other. From the top of the bluff, the bird's eye view of the rolling hills and prairies made him dizzy. Boone's Lick Country, swimming in the blue mist of distance, appeared close enough to dive into, a void in which an eagle could tuck his wings and fall like a stone toward an ant-sized rabbit. After several minutes, his outstretched arm began to tremble with fatigue, bouncing the magnified world like a ball. He lowered the glass and released his breath.

  Usually Jeb took the spyglass up on the nearest promontory before setting up camp for the evening, but today, the young trader's sense of danger had grown so acute, he'd asked Tyler to be a lookout on the bluff while he scouted the back trail. Tyler wasn't totally unfamiliar with danger he couldn't see, but on this quiet beautiful day, it was hard to summon much alarm.

  At this distance, the back trail looked like a ragged red scratch the way it followed the contours of the green and gold countryside and disappeared in the direction of the Missouri River. Other than a few smudges of smoke above the distant village and a few scattered farms, there was little sign of life.

  Directly below the cliff, livestock clustered around the camp, small as insects from this distance. Tyler stretched out on his stomach, braced his elbows, and raised the glass to his eye again.

  The sound of a gunshot yanked his attention away from the camp toward the small stream nearby. Amy stood with her carbine to her shoulder taking aim on a prairie chicken she'd flushed from cover. She'd missed her first shot, judging by the way the bird fluttered through the grass. Tyler smiled and adjusted the focus, watching her follow the bird. She was no quitter.

  It had become a part of the daily routine for her to join him on sentry duty for a couple of hours before sunset, bringing her carbine along for target practice. With her good eye and steady hand, he had no doubt at all she would achieve the accuracy and distance she was after.

  Reluctantly, he shifted the glass away to examine the back trail again. No sign of her brother. Sneaky as a Cheyenne Indian and ornerier than a bull on the prod, Jeb was so different from Amy, it was hard to believe they were related. Jeb never failed to amaze Tyler with his frontier savvy, though. His sense of justice was ironclad, too, and no one had cause to question his courage. As the saying went, “He'll do to ride the river with."

  As he studied the track closer to hand, Tyler's eye registered motion. He overshot the mark, swung back, then centered on three riders galloping in the direction of the camp. In his surprise, he nearly dropped the spyglass. Where had they come from out of nowhere? A curve in the road, a clump of pines, something had kept them hidden until he'd chanced to snare their image and magnify it. He'd been so intrigued by the small parts of the panorama that, until it was too late, he'd overlooked what he was supposed to have been watching for. With his naked eyes, he spotted the dust and judged the riders to be about a mile and a half away. Disgusted at himself, he shoved the spyglass into its case and ran for his horse.

  If his bay gelding had wings, he could have floated Tyler down over the cliff to camp before the horsemen arrived, but the circuitous route down the backside of the bluff more than doubled the distance. Tyler put spurs to the horse's ribs.

  * * * *

  Amy cleaned the grouse on the far side of the creek so the smell of entrails wouldn't lure the prairie wolves into camp during the night. She couldn't wait to surprise Tyler with a change of fare. Bacon, coffee, and cornbread twice a day palled after awhile. She'd gotten her bird after only two tries today. Most times she came back empty-handed. A hunter had to be quick to aim and fire when a prairie chicken exploded from the tall grass underfoot. Wouldn't Tyler be proud of her!

  She scooped handfuls of wet clay out of the bank and slathered it over the bird, feathers and all, until it looked like one of the hard-head boulders in the road. A final layer of grass and leaves made it a cleaner bundle to carry back to the campfire.

  Tyler O'Donnell. His name echoed in her mind like a song on the air. When had his approval of her achievements become so important? Quite often of late, she would catch herself watching him, waiting for a glance or a smile, aching for attention like a little child. Hey, look at me, look at me. See what I can do?

  And when his gaze met hers, her breath would catch as she waited to see whether his harried expression would soften as it rested on her face. In that, she wasn't often disappointed. If his occasional preoccupation stung her pride, she had her vanity to blame. He had much on his mind. Besides, what was she to him? He no doubt had plans to return to New York eventually to marry a woman of culture from his own circles. She would be silly to indulge in false hopes.

  Even more foolish—disgraceful, really—was the way her daydreams kept her wondering what it would be like to nestle in his arms all night, warm, comfortable and safe. No matter if he had the power to make her forget the uncertainty and danger that had become a part of life. He could never be an essential part of her life. He was a man with an iron anvil for a heart, a man whose sense of duty surpassed any desires of the flesh. If she allowed herself to dream, all she could expect would be a broken heart.

  Wishing, pining, yearning ... Was this love?

  How could she have predicted such a place and time to lose her heart? The truth was, she'd never expected to lose it at all. She'd long ago given up the notion that sentiment would have anything at all to do with choosing the man she'd end up with. Necessity would have done that for her;
prudence, thrift or dire straits would have ultimately pushed her into a union, like it or not. Succumbing to love hadn't been a conscious choice. If it had, it wouldn't have been here and now; it wouldn't have been Major Tyler O'Donnell.

  Balancing the mud-wrapped bird in one hand, she picked up her carbine with the other and headed back toward the wagons. Near camp, Sugarfoot stopped cropping grass and threw her head up. Hooves pounding along the hard-packed trail echoed off the bluff. It was still early for Tyler and Jeb to return from scouting. Was something wrong?

  Then she saw the soldiers.

  Her heart froze. Were they in pursuit of Jeb? What would she say if they asked questions about a couple of unsolved murders? What should she do?

  As they reined their mounts to a halt, Amy recovered enough to stride forward with a smile pasted on her face. “Good afternoon, gentlemen."

  Three uniformed men dismounted wearily. They wore short navy tunics with brass buttons and sky-blue trousers with yellow braid down the outer seams. White canvas shoulder straps carried the weight of their sabers. They whipped off their cocked hats.

  "Afternoon, ma'am.” The stocky man advanced to meet her with an air of authority. He introduced himself as Sergeant Wilson and the others as Privates Owen and Timberlake.

  "I'm Amy.” She thought fast. “Amy ... Hall."

  "Where you headin'?"

  "Independence. Are you patrolling the trail or...?"

  The sergeant flicked his eyes over her figure as though he didn't think she'd notice a quick detour out of place. He had dark curly hair and small eyes in a corpulent face. “General army business, ma'am. Where are your menfolk? You here all alone?"

  "I expect my ... my husband any moment.” Unable to hide her nervousness, she turned her back on him and walked to the dying fire to set her burden down in the ashes. With a piece of a board, she heaped embers over the clay ball, then began resurrecting the fire around it, using the wood she'd collected earlier.

  He trailed after her. “Three wagons ... You have more than one family in the party?"

  "No. We're freighting merchandise. There's just ... me and my husband.” She prayed Jeb wouldn't appear and make her a liar.

  "How do you drive three wagons between you?"

  "We hitch two together."

  "Drivin’ a wagon's hard work for a woman.” The way he kept looking around, his eyes didn't miss much. “Hall, you say? I'm not familiar with the name. Must be your first trip out this way?"

  "Yes. Could you tell me how much farther it is to Independence?"

  "Couple of weeks or so, at the rate you're going. You see any other parties coming through here, maybe on horseback, traveling fast?"

  She shook her head. “Are you looking for someone?"

  "I'll be direct. Some killers headed this way. Murdered two men in St. Louis, then high-tailed it toward Indian Territory. Thought we had their trail, but we lost it.” He gazed at her intently. “Sure you haven't seen ‘em?"

  "No one. We've seen no one."

  The sergeant grunted and wandered over to the wagon to look inside with unabashed curiosity. “Mind if we camp with you folks tonight? I'd hate for you to be shorthanded if there's trouble."

  "We'll be fine. My husband stands guard at night."

  "Miz Hall, you don't know how hard and mean these men we're looking for can be. I must insist on staying one night, at least. Maybe they'll pass on by without stopping, but if they don't—Anyway, I'd like to meet your husband. Is this him?"

  The bay horse skidded to a stop, spraying dirt, and Tyler swung out of the saddle. His wary movements after touching ground seemed too casual after such a breakneck arrival. His sharp military eye swept over the men in their uniforms. “Howdy."

  Sergeant Wilson stepped forward to shake his hand. “Mr. Hall, I presume? Your wife tells me you're hauling goods to Independence."

  Tyler raised startled eyebrows and glanced at Amy. She gave him a quick smile. “This is Sergeant Wilson, dear. He says he followed the trail of some killers this far and thinks we may be in danger since there's just you and me to defend the wagons. He's offered to camp with us tonight."

  Tyler nodded and gave the sergeant a belated smile. Without knowing him any better, the soldiers might have thought her “husband's” reticence was natural to him.

  The sergeant offered to bring out his cornmeal and jerky to share for supper, but Amy declined, having plenty of her own. Along with the mundane fare, everyone got a few mouthfuls of roast grouse, which she'd broken out of the hardened shell. All the feathers had caught in the clay and peeled off, leaving the succulent, tender flesh exposed. For the occasion, she also brought out a bowl of raisins for dessert.

  When Jeb didn't appear, Amy assumed he'd recognized the danger and was holed up in a gully somewhere waiting them out.

  Afterwards, Private Timberlake lingered near the campfire complimenting Amy on the meal she'd served. “Not a bad way to celebrate Independence Day."

  She stopped scrubbing her kettle to glance up in surprise. “What day?"

  "Tomorrow's the fourth of July. Didn't you know?"

  "No. I ... forgot to keep track."

  "If I had my harmonica, I'd play for you.” He shook his head sadly. “I lost it somewhere in St. Louis, I don't know where."

  Private Owen brought out a bottle of brandy and offered it to Amy. “Take a swig of this and you won't need no music. Dance all night long."

  The soldiers crowded close, as if challenging one another for her attention. Caught in the crossfire, she wondered how a gracious hostess could escape her guests without offending them.

  Tyler, sitting at the edge of the firelight talking with the sergeant, glowered at her. “Mrs. Hall! Fetch me a cup of water, if you please.” His voice was stern.

  She ducked out of the huddle and went to dip a tin cup in the bucket of drinking water

  "We'd best retire early.” Tyler gave her a narrowed-eyed look as he accepted the cup from her hand. “We have a long day tomorrow."

  He drank half the water and tossed the remainder out, then got to his feet and went to the back of the wagon to dig out the bedrolls.

  Amy followed him and spoke in a low voice for his ears alone. “I hope you don't get in the habit of speaking to me in that tone of voice, Mr. Hall."

  He grinned. “You expect me to let strange men flirt with a wife of mine?"

  "They meant no harm."

  His smile vanished. “Dragoons are the worst kind.” He took her blankets and threw them down alongside his under one of the wagons.

  "What are you doing with those?"

  "I think you'd better sleep next to your husband tonight.” He stalked away without looking back.

  Chapter 15

  Hours after Amy had spread her blankets under the wagon and retired for the night, the men remained near the fire talking. The rise and fall of male voices, punctuated with sporadic guffaws from Sergeant Wilson, kept jerking Amy back from the threshold of sleep.

  The sergeant had assigned one of his men to guard duty so he could entertain Tyler with crude barracks humor. Or was it the other way around? At any rate, Tyler seemed little inclined to seek his bed early, which suited Amy. Since her feelings about him were in turmoil, she preferred that he keep his distance. As long as he persisted in treating her like his little sister, he could stay away forever.

  She'd tried to keep that in mind even as she'd spread his bedding out beside her own. Now his scent wafted from the folds of his woolen blankets, awakening images of him disrobing and wrapping himself in them. Clapping her hands over her ears to shut out suggestive little voices only managed to trap them inside her skull. If she didn't curtail her imagination, she'd go mad. In spite of her efforts to halt them, improper thoughts of what men and women did together under the cloak of darkness crept unbidden to her mind. She groaned aloud, wondering how she would ever get through the night lying next to him.

  Sleep was her only hope. A deep dreamless slumber.

  She'd al
ready tried to block out the distractions outside by hanging blankets from a rope tied between the axles of the wagon. Even though she was down to one thin cover for herself, it was worth it if she could forget everything, relax and drift into unconsciousness.

  What was the use? Every nerve in her body hummed, alert and restless. All she could think about was Tyler coming to sleep next to her ... lying within arm's reach ... filling her nostrils with his closeness...

  Through the gap above the makeshift drapery, the reddish light of the fire danced across the boards over Amy's head, twining with smoke shadows. Her eyes burned with fatigue. To drive him from her mind, she forced herself to think of other matters, pressing matters. What if the soldiers discovered whose camp this really was? They would arrest her for breaking Jeb out of jail as well as for smuggling arms, haul her to the nearest garrison and hang her.

  She grimaced. Now wasn't that a soothing lullaby!

  One of the soldiers replaced the other on sentry duty before Tyler finally threw the last log on the flames. Amy peeked out as the column of sparks rose crackling into the air. Brilliant light bathed half his figure. His shadow leaped across the canvas-topped wagons beyond.

  He headed toward Amy's wagon, then paused to turn back. “You're welcome to ride with us tomorrow if you want, Sergeant."

  "Thanks, Hall, but we're already overdue at Camp Leavenworth.” The sergeant, fully clothed except for his boots, rolled himself up in his blanket near the campfire. “We'll be riding out at dawn."

  "Very well. Good night, then."

  Amy feigned sleep when Tyler crawled under the wagon. He grunted, pulling off his boots. She peeked through her lashes as he removed his shirt, hat, and belt. Blankets rustled as he stretched out with a sigh. He lay so near, she could have reached out and touched him, but she kept her hands folded under her chin and lay very still. She should have felt completely safe lying by his side, but the situation bred an unexpected sense of vulnerability. She trembled to think of the possibilities. Scandalous possibilities...