Allegiance Read online

  "Tyler!” She lurched to her feet, giggling nervously.

  He cleared his throat. “I—I like your hair down. It's beautiful.” He pulled her to him and buried his face in the angle of her neck and shoulder, reveling in the mixed smell of smoke and roses in her hair.

  "Tyler...” She embraced him warmly. “Jeb could be back anytime."

  "Let him come.” Tyler kissed her upturned face, her cheek, temple, mouth.

  She responded with fervor, sagging against him, clinging to his neck. Time crawled to a stop; the world narrowed down to the square yard he stood on. Drugged by her sweet taste, her woman smell, her delicate softness, Tyler's attention focused on one thing—his need. Demanding. Insatiable.

  He swept her up in his arms and swiveled toward the wagon.

  From behind him, Jeb's voice shattered the spell. “What happened? Is Amy all right?"

  Slowly, Tyler set her on her feet and turned, desperately searching his blank mind for a convincing explanation. Heat flared up his neck to inflame his face. Feeling as though his arousal rivaled that of a stud horse, he shielded the front of his trousers behind Amy's full skirt.

  "We were just—” Amy laughed softly. “I turned my ankle, and he was helping me over to the wagon."

  Jeb glanced around the camp. “I saw the soldiers heading west at dawn. Did they make any trouble?"

  "No. They believed our lies.” Tyler drew a ragged breath. “They slept all night next to our cache of muskets and ammunition, then rode out none the wiser."

  Jeb's intent gaze focused on Tyler. “What did you tell ‘em?"

  "Just that we were traveling alone. Amy and I passed ourselves off as Mr. and Mrs. Hall. We didn't mention you."

  "Good thinking.” Jeb visibly relaxed. “What have we got to eat? I'm starved."

  Tyler caught Amy's eye and shared a relieved smile. The corners of her mouth twitched as she turned to limp back to the campfire. Tyler turned away.

  Jeb closed in on his sister. “How bad is your ankle? Think you should soak it in cold water?"

  "It'll be all right if I stay off it today. Can you fetch water for coffee?"

  "I'll get it.” Concentrating on the task at hand, Tyler grabbed the water bucket. “Let's hurry and break camp. If that Mexican caravan is still gathering at Independence for their return trip to Santa Fe, we don't want to miss them."

  Chapter 16

  The rising sun was balanced on the rim of the world like a bead of molten silver when Amy rode out of camp with Tyler for what he called reconnoitering. The jaundiced hue of the dawn sky promised a sultry day. By the time they'd ridden half the distance to the nearby town of Independence, the searing orb had climbed to midheaven, heating the metal buckles and conchos on her saddle enough to scorch flesh. Amy blotted the perspiration from her face and neck with a handkerchief as she followed Tyler down the trail in the direction of the frontier town. The straw hat she wore had the widest-brim of any she owned, one that happened to be piled high with bows and fabricated blossoms. While it might have been a bit formal for the occasion, it cast a generous shadow. “Tyler, may I see that map when you're finished?” He half-turned in his saddle to glance back. “Certainly.” He folded it twice and reined his horse off the trail to wait until she came abreast of him.

  The dark bay gelding he rode, a well-mannered horse her father had owned for years, had bonded long ago with Sugarfoot. The long-legged bay tended to outdistance most other horses, but in this heat, Amy refused to push her smaller mount faster than a steady, mile-eating walk.

  Sugarfoot rolled an eye at the bay and waggled her ears. As the horses fell into step, Amy's knee brushed Tyler's, triggering a sensual reminder of his manliness and their solitude.

  She plucked the map from Tyler's outstretched hand and spread the stiff paper across her saddlebow to study it. “Every road converges in Independence, it appears. With Camp Leavenworth so near, we're sure to see more soldiers.” She glanced up at him. “Wouldn't we be better off circling south and camping tonight at Cave Spring?"

  "No, we need to join up with the Mexican caravan outside of Independence. From here on, it's Indian Territory, and there'll be greater safety in numbers."

  "So? Can't we join it at Council Grove just as well?” She pointed out the site on the map, a watering hole farther west and well into Indian Territory. “That's not too much farther. I'll be nervous until we get across the Missouri border."

  The trail narrowed and Sugarfoot fell in behind Tyler's horse again, following closely out of habit. Even if Amy nodded off to sleep in the saddle, she knew she'd wake up where she ought to be, playing follow-the-leader with Tyler.

  "Don't worry.” His voice drifted back. “If anyone else had come after us, they would have caught up by now."

  "But what if the constable sent his men on a steamboat trip up the Missouri to get ahead of us?"

  "We'll keep a sharp look-out.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “How are you holding up? Let me know if you need to rest."

  "I'm fine, but I wish I'd left Jeb's saddle back in camp. I'd rather ride bareback."

  He smiled. “How would you get supplies back to camp without saddle strings to tie them on?"

  "Make an Indian travois?"

  Chuckling, he reined his horse over, allowing Sugarfoot to move up alongside again. “What is it with you and saddles, anyway?"

  Tyler's eyes were bluish-gray in the shadow of his hat brim. Her pulse quickened as his gaze traveled over her. Her leg brushed his.

  She returned his folded map to him. “Papa couldn't afford to buy me a saddle when I was young, so I learned to ride without one. A small band of Chippewas lived down the creek from us, and I rode over to their camp once in awhile. Small children raced their ponies around bareback all the time. They didn't need saddles, and neither did I. That was before old man Whittaker got a mob of neighbors together and drove the Indian families into the next county."

  He frowned thoughtfully. “Missouri wasn't yet a state when you were born, was it? You grew up on the wild frontier. Must have been great."

  She'd never thought of her childhood as being great. Deprivation and poverty was what she remembered. “You grew up in New York, right?"

  "Yeah. My childhood wasn't as free and easy as yours. My father was a strong believer in doing things correctly—which meant doing them his way, of course. He had a lot of plans for me. Somehow, my youth slipped by when I wasn't looking. I was their little man from the time I could walk, I think."

  "Look at you now.” She smiled, picturing him wearing an immaculate little uniform and polished boots. “What would your father say about your disguise?"

  Tyler didn't vaguely resemble the army officer she'd first met. Dust had collected on the brim of his hat, streaked his boots, and added a reddish layer to his hunting shirt. He looked like a rough-and-tumble sort of fellow, but at least his new beard was fairly trim. He grinned, his teeth flashing white against his tan skin. “My father, I don't know, but my mother would have sent me to bed without dinner."

  "Do you miss your childhood? Do you think it's too late to reclaim our youth? To fill in the missing pieces?"

  He shrugged. “If I were a boy again, I'd be thinking of going swimming in the Little Blue River on our way back to camp. I'd strip down and jump in naked as a frog. How about you?"

  Just the thought of swimming naked with Tyler rendered her speechless. She looked away.

  He laughed. “You're a bit more shy by daylight, aren't you?"

  She slapped at a deer fly that buzzed around her horse's head and ignored his question. He was right, and she couldn't begin to explain why. “I—I was just wondering why you asked me to go with you today."

  "I wanted to talk to you. Just talk. It's hard to find a time when Jeb's not around."

  She bit her lip. No time to talk or anything else!

  He smiled in that self-conscious way he had that made his mustache quirk a bit higher on one side. “I've been thinking ... While we're in town, w
e ought to find a preacher and get married."

  "What?” Her heart leaped to her throat.

  "Now would be a good time. Independence is the last settlement we'll see for eight hundred miles."

  Happiness bubbled up like an artesian spring. She realized suddenly that deep inside she'd been fostering the notion of becoming his wife almost since she'd met him. She hadn't dared to hope. In light of all the plans he'd laid out for his future—his career with the Engineers and the survey expedition Jackson and Van Buren had promised him—she wondered how he planned to juggle a marriage as well. “Oh, Tyler ... I didn't expect this."

  "Well, I think after what happened, honor requires me to wed you."

  Honor? She must have jerked the reins unconsciously, because her horse started prancing in place and throwing its head. She used both hands on the reins to bring him under control. “You make it sound like a duty."

  "My conscience won't allow me to trifle with your affections, Amy."

  She didn't know what to say. How long she'd waited for the moment he would recognize the bond that had formed between them. Although he'd just asked her to marry him, something was missing, something important. “Are you proposing to me out of some notion of chivalry?"

  "I'm trying to be practical."

  Her jaw dropped. “Practical? In what way? Certainly not in respect to the mission."

  "It's just that I can't trust myself with you. After what happened—Amy, I can't promise I won't come to your wagon some dark night and make love to you. Time and again."

  Momentarily, she thrilled at the idea, then the chill of reality returned. Lust drove him, not the deeper feelings she had hoped for.

  "Amy, listen. The last two weeks have been hell for me. I can't go on like this. Just let me do this—I'll find a preacher, and we can be married in town, or I'll drag him back to camp so your brother can stand up for you. However you want."

  She tried to swallow the knob in her throat. “If I'm such a problem, you could send me back to St. Louis on the stage."

  "Oh, sure. Kicking and screaming."

  She glanced away without speaking.

  "You wouldn't go back willingly ... Would you?"

  She might have been tempted to accept his proposal in spite of her reservations if his voice hadn't registered that note of hope when she'd mentioned returning home. He'd rather be rid of her, obviously. “No. I would not go back willingly."

  He drew a deep breath. “So what do you suggest? You've put me in an impossible position."

  Indignation brought moisture to her eyes. “I put you? Let me tell you something: I've no intention of forcing you to do anything you don't want to do."

  "The timing couldn't be worse, I admit."

  For a marriage proposal, Amy thought, it left a lot to be desired. “What if I don't want to get married?"

  Heat, like summer lightning, flickered in his eyes. “You're stubborn like Jeb says. And hard, too."

  "Hard? Why shouldn't I be? I've been jumping around like a cricket on a hot skillet since you met me. The money I inherited went into a gambler's pocket. I'm wanted by the law in connection with robbery and jail break. Every time I turn around, there's another body laying in a pool of blood. The only good thing I can say is that I'm learning to take care of myself. I'm awkward at it, but I'm learning.” Perspiration trickled down her back, gluing the sticky fabric of her dress to her skin. “Why do men always get in a such a bad temper when they can't have everything the way they want?"

  He glared at her. “I'm not in a bad temper! I'm trying to save your good name, and you act like I'm putting your head in a vise."

  "You actually think I've got a good name to save? Where have you been?"

  "All right.” His eyes were as bleak as a three-year drought. “Will you do one thing for me? Will you at least consider my idea?"

  The thought of giving his proposal a final No made her heart ache. “I'll think about it."

  * * * *

  The trail led across Missouri, threading through a few areas populated with farms and villages, yet Jeb chose to detour all habitations. After a grueling month on the road, the color and bustle of Independence stirred Amy's blood. It had the look of a new town with several half-finished buildings and lots of open space showing more promise than results. The primitive log cabin courthouse wasn't as impressive as the enterprise next door: the Aull Brothers had taken in a partner and added to their chain of stores. Apparently, they outfitted traders heading for Mexico, including wagons, draft animals, and all the necessary supplies.

  Around the square loitered Mexicans, Indians, French trappers, mule packers, and pale-faced invalids who might have traveled from the east for their health. More than one pair of eyes traced Amy's passage through the streets, but none wore a tin star or badge that she could see.

  Tyler broke an hour-long silence. “Are you hungry? What do you say we dine at an honest-to-goodness table somewhere?"

  She brushed at the dusty wrinkles on her simple calico dress, smarting from his cool tone. “I wish I'd thought to bring a decent gown with me."

  "From what I see, women are in short supply around here. You'd probably be welcome in a flour sack.” His sardonic tone cut like a knife.

  "That's heartening to know."

  The Merchants’ Hotel was one of the few buildings with whitewashed board-and-bat siding instead of logs. Inside, a woman invited them to sit at the long table in the dining room and brought cups of steaming coffee and platters of food. After weeks of eating salt pork and cornmeal bread or mush, the sight of young beets, chopped and cooked with their greens, sparked a long-suppressed craving for vegetables. The venison pot roast and fresh-baked bread sent up an aroma that made Amy's stomach rumble.

  She tucked away unladylike portions, relishing every morsel, while Tyler made eating look like a methodical exercise: no groans of delight, no sighs of contentment. His moroseness dampened her spirits, and she wondered whether the remainder of the journey would be cursed with his moodiness.

  Well, what had he expected? Legions of women might welcome the chance of becoming Tyler's wife, but Amy cringed at the idea of marrying a reluctant groom. She'd die an old maid before she'd accept any grudging favors.

  She was almost relieved when their meal was finished and they could get on about their business. At Aull Brothers store, Amy let Tyler go inside alone to buy supplies and make inquiries, while she wandered through the outdoor display of camping tents. Privacy was one thing she missed a lot. Wouldn't it be pleasant not to have to dress herself under a blanket every morning?

  Suddenly, someone called her name—a woman's voice—and she whirled, searching the square. How astounding that anyone would recognize her in this remote place!

  A young girl with flowing black hair and large dark eyes waved at her from a Dearborn carriage. “Amy! What are you doing here?"

  Amy squinted her eyes against the afternoon sun. “Felicité? Is that you?” The last time she'd seen Felicité Lorenzo was at the boarding school in St. Louis. She'd been the only person to weep when Amy left.

  Her former classmate beckoned her over, then climbed out of the buggy to give her a hug and greet her in rapid Spanish.

  Amy embraced her friend. “Slow down! I don't understand."

  Felicité giggled. “Sorry. I said I am glad to see you, and how do you happen to be here? I love your hat!"

  "I'm going to Santa Fe."

  "I go there as well!” The girl smiled happily. “My father sent for me to return home. No more school for me."

  Amy had been impressed with the way the Mexican girl had adapted to life in the two years she'd spent in America. Her English, as well as her fashion sense, had improved tremendously in that time. The pink dress she wore today had puffy sleeves in beret form; the bouffant skirt, trimmed with satin ribbons, showed off her tiny waist; and her hat was a matching rose color—very stylish.

  Shunned by the haughty French-American girls, Felicité had been as lonely as Amy. Her eager
ness to be friends had touched Amy's heart, making it difficult to turn down her invitations to meals, overnight visits and other festive occasions at her aunt's house.

  Felicité took Amy's hand and pulled her toward the carriage. “Look, Tía Maruja! Here is my very good friend, Amy. Do you remember her?"

  Inside, an older woman peered through the folds of a lace mantilla draped from the crown of her head. The duenna held herself with a regal air. Many silver necklaces adorned her wrinkled neck, and bracelets clattered on her wrists. She murmured a greeting and gave Amy a stiff little smile, but her black eyes remained watchful. Just like always. Aunt Maruja, taking her guardianship seriously, had at first seemed wary of Amy's free-hearted influence on her niece and had kept herself in constant attendance.

  Amy bobbed her head at the duenna in a gesture of respect. “Buenos días, Señora."

  Felicité gave Amy a playful jab on the shoulder with a small fist. “You remember the Spanish!"

  "Not as fast as you speak it."

  Tyler appeared with bags of flour which he lashed on behind his saddle. Amy took Felicité over for an introduction. “She's part of the caravan heading for New Mexico,” she explained.

  Tyler's eyes sharpened with interest. “We were hoping to join up with a larger company going that way. When is your group leaving?"

  "Very soon. El capitán of the wagons waits for us in the square. Let us ask him if you may travel with us."

  Amy followed the petite Felicité across the street to the open area beyond, leaving Tyler to finish packing the horses. Under a tree on an upturned box lounged a man in his mid-to-late twenties, a native of Mexico, judging by his clothing.

  He stood up, watching her approach. He was taller than Amy by several inches and his lean build set off his tight-fitting garments. The outer edges of his trouser legs had been laced together with cords running through silver eyelets, revealing glimpses of tan flesh from thigh to boot top. Over a fancy ruffled shirt, he wore a short embroidered jacket. The pistol he wore on his hip and the large sheathed knife gave him a menacing appearance. Felicité presented him as Alizar de Agustin y Federico.