broad, that his arms and chest were well and tautly muscled, that he was
as lean and sleek and powerful as a puma, agile and quick. His eyes were
a most interesting shade of gray, remote, enigmatic, and yet she felt
their acuteness each time they fell upon her. She realized, in the late
shadows of night, that he was an arresting man. Handsome. but not
because of perfect features or any gentleness about him. His face was
ruggedly hewn, but with clean, strong lines. His jaw was firm and
square, his cheekbones were high, his eyes done, but he hadn't promised
her a lick of help in righting things. He didn't care.
The only people who cared were the citizens of Wiltshire, and there
weren't really all that many left. Even the sheriff was one of von
Hcusen's men, put into office during one of the shadiest elections
imaginable.
It was light, Tess realized. The daylight had come as they had stood
there, staring at one another. Against the pink of the sky, Lieutenant
Slater suddenly seemed a towering menace. A pulse beat at the base of
his throat as he watched her. His jaw seemed cast into a slight twist,
then locked as if it held back his temper. There was a good ten feet
between them, and still she felt his heat, body heat. Her heart was
beating too quickly, and something warm churned deep within her abdomen
while little touches of mercury seemed to dance along her back. She
needed to break away from him.
She despised his attitude; she couldn't help but spise him for the blue
uniform that reminded her so completely of the war.
He wore it well, his dark, plumed hat pulled low over his eyes, his
shoulders broad in the navy blue cavalry shirt, his legs long, his hips
trim. She had to walk past him. She swallowed hard and forced herself to
smile.
"If you'll excuse me, Lieutenant, I'm sure that you're anxious to ride
as quickly as possible." She started to walk. The closer she came to him
the harder her heart beat. She was almost past him.
Then his arm snaked out and he caught her elbow. Her heart slammed
against her chest as she looked into his smok~-gray eyes, s'zzzling into
hers beneath the sun. His eyes were still shadowed by the brim of his
hat.
"I am sorry, Miss. Stuart. I'm very sorry."
She wanted to speak. Her throat was dry. She felt his fingers upon her
as if they burned. She was acutely aware of the warmth and strength of
his body.
She stared at his hand upon her and pulled from his grasp. "Thank you,
Lieutenant," she managed to say, then she forgot her dignity and fled.
In an hour they were ready to start out. Lieutenant Slater ordered the
downed and useless wagons burned. He almost ordered her new printing
press burned, but Tess forgot all about a low-toned and well-modulated
voice and dignified behavior and came bursting from her wagon to demand
that the press be carried into something that was still capable of
rolling.
"What in hell is it?" the lieutenant demanded impatiently.
"A press! A printing press! I need it for the Wiltshire Sun!"
"Your uncle's newspaper? But he's--dead, Miss. Stuart."
"The Wiltshire Sun is not dead, Lieutenant, nor do I intend to let it
die.
I will not take a step without that printing press."
A spark of silver touched his eyes as they narrowed upon her.
"Don't threaten me, Miss. Stuart."
"I'm not threatening! I'm telling you what will and will not happen."
He took a step toward her and spoke very quietly.
"Miss. Stuart, you will move when I say so, ma'am, because I'll set you
upon your pretty little--er--rump within the wagon, and one of my men
will drive."
"You wouldn't dare! I'll tell your superiors" -- "You tell them anything
you want. Want to test me?"
She gritted her teeth and stared into his eyes.
"I need that press, Lieutenant."
He stood still, hard, cold, immobile. "Lieutenant, please! I need that
printing press! It would only take your men a few minutes. Please!"
For a moment he continued to stare at her. Then he turned around,
calling to Sergeant Monahan. The men were ordered to move the press into
one of the wagons that could still roll." Private Harper!" Slater
called.
"Hitch your horse to the rear and drive the extra wagon."
"Yes, sir!"
Tess exhaled slowly. Lieutenant Slater east her a hard glare, then
turned around. He strode away, calling for his men to see to the last of
the fires, then mount up. When he had gone, Tess realized that the
handsome Indian with the striking eyes was silently watching her. He
saluted with a smile, as if she had managed very well. Then he, too,
turned away.
Tess was certain it was a long day for the cavalry. The men were
accustomed. to moving quickly--now they were burdened down by the
wagons. The landscape was beautiful-- and monotonous. The land was a
constant pale, dusty brown, the little bit of color against it the dull
green of sage and cactus.
She was determined not to complain, but the dust soon covered her, and
after endless hours of driving the six mules that pulled her wagon, she
was exhausted. Her arms hurt in places where she hadn't realized she had
muscles. She could have said something, she was certain. The majority of
the young cavalry men were kind and solicitous, riding by her whenever
they could, asking her if she needed anything. But each time a man drove
by, she saw Lieutenant Slater in the distance beyond him, and so she
smiled sweetly and said that she was doing very well.
He had to stop. He had to stop sometime.
He finally called a halt when the sun began to fall into the horizon and
the whole world went pink again. He stayed away from her, but she knew
he was watching her. Was he judging her?
Trying to decide if she was crazy or if she was having female whimsies?
She had to keep a tight lid on her temper. No matter what he did or
said, she had to keep quiet. When she reached his fort she would speak
calmly and rationally with the commander, and she would make him
understand.
"Miss. Stuart!" Sergeant Monahah rode over to her, then dismounted from
his horse.
"Let me help me you down, miss. I'll see to your mules and the wagon."
"Thank you, Sergeant. I can really" -- She broke off, nearly falling as
he helped her from the wagon. He held her steady as her feet touched the
ground, and she smiled for him.
"Thank you again. I guess I do need some help."
"At your service."
She felt she was being watched. She looked over Monahan's shoulder and
there was Slater, still mounted on his huge horse, overseeing his men as
they broke their formation to make camp. He tipped his hat to her, and
she felt something run hot and liquid inside her. He was watching her in
Monahan's arms, and very likely acknowledging a feminine ability to draw
others to handle her own responsibilities.
Her temper started to soar.
Monahah stepped back, and his wide baby blue eyes were full of
gentleness and kindness and maybe just a bit of adoration.
He was a wonderful man, just like a great big shaggy bear. The devil to
Lieutenant Slater. If his men wanted to behave like gentlemen, she had
no intention of stopping them.
"Miss. Stuart, Lieutenant Slater rode this far because we know this
place. If you go just past that ridge yonder, there's the prettiest
little brook. It's mostly surrounded by dry rock, but the water runs
pure and clean. There's an area up there far from where we'll water the
horses. You can take a walk up there and find all the privacy you might