Dakota Dream (25 page)

Tomorrow the Seventh Cavalry would pull out. Jacob and the troops would head for the hills of Montana. There they would spend the entire summer in pursuit of some naughty Indians while she withered away at the deserted post. By the time Uncle Armstrong and the men returned to Fort Lincoln in the fall, she would be
back
home with her papa in Michigan. She would never see Jacob again. It just wasn't fair.

"Pooh. And bloody hell double pooh." Dominique kicked a spindle-backed chair across the room,
then
collapsed in a heap as a scorching pain shot from her big
toe to her knee. "Ow," she cried, cradling the injured foot in her hands.

"Nikki?" Libbie rushed into the room and knelt by her side. "What's happened? I heard a crash and then your cry. How did you get hurt?"

"It's nothing," she fibbed, biting her bottom lip. "I stumbled against the chair, that's all."

"Let me see." Libbie pushed Dominque's hand away. "Oh, my, honey, you're bleeding. I think you've torn your nail." Libbie got to her feet. "Stay put. I'll get a bandage and, oh, how about some of the professor's tonic for the pain?"

"No. I mean, no, thanks, Aunt Libbie. It doesn't hurt anymore. I don't even think I need a bandage."

Libbie cocked her head. "Are you sure, dear? It's no trouble."

"I'm positive."

"Well, all right." Libbie clasped her hands together and swung them like a pendulum. "I think I may have some news to turn that frown of yours into a great big grin."

"It will have to be awfully wonderful news. I'm afraid I'm not in a very good mood today."

"This should cheer you up. Autie says the men have done a splendid job of preparing for the campaign. He's giving the entire post the day off to do as they please." She lowered her voice,
then
went on. "Hazel and I had a long talk this morning—she's taken with Lieutenant Woodhouse, you know—and she thought a picnic would be great fun. Would you like to go along with them?"

Dominique wrinkled her nose.
"Just me?"

"No, dear.
That's where the good news comes in. Don't think I haven't noticed your interest in Private Stoltz."

Dominique swallowed a gasp.

Libbie
paused,
clucking her tongue, then went on. "Since the odds of you seeing him again after tomorrow are nil, I don't see the harm in inviting him to go along for the ride. The buggy seats four. Now what do you think about the picnic?"

Dominique jumped to her feet, unfazed by the jolt of pain in her toe. "I think it sound wonderful. Thank you Aunt Libbie." She gave the older woman a hug,
then
glimpsed her riding boots out of the corner of her eye. "Do I have to go in the buggy? I do so love riding Peaches, but I'm not good enough to try her on my own after the troops leave. This will probably be my last chance to go horseback riding."

"Oh, you'll have other chances, Nikki. All the men aren't leaving, but if you'd rather ride, I don't mind." She started for the doorway, adding, "I'll run downstairs and have Mary prepare a basket of food, then send Annie with a message to Barney and Private Stoltz. They'll probably be at the door by the time you get dressed."

Jacob tugged on the lead, coaxing Peaches up alongside the big sorrel he was riding. A sense of foreboding swept over him, but unlike his earlier feelings of doom, this had nothing to do with the bad blood between the cavalry and the Lakota. It had everything to do with the crazy one. He'd worked hard over the past two weeks, alerting his people to the upcoming confrontation, gathering information about the types of weapons the soldiers planned to use against his people, and studying the most likely routes the soldiers would take in their quest.

During that time, he had avoided Dominique as much as possible, and had managed to keep their meetings to a minimum. Now this picnic threatened to ruin what was left of his sanity. This "day of fun" could be his undoing. How would he be able to endure an entire afternoon of looking into those lively brown eyes, of hearing her infectious laughter—of wanting her?

Jacob jerked on the line and instantly regretted the excessive force he'd used. "Sorry, Peaches."

"What's that you say, Stoltz?" Barney called from the buggy.

"Nothing, Lieutenant.
I am talking to the horse."

Barney laughed,
then
said, "I'm telling you, Stoltz, you should have taken my advice and run down to the Dew Drop Inn last night. Gonna be a long time fore you see another woman. You might fall in love with that horse and think of doing more than just talking to her fore this campaign is over. You still got tonight. Better run along while you're still thinking clear, son."

Jacob chuckled under his breath. "I have not noticed you taking your own advice. Do you plan to visit this hog ranch tonight?"

Barney puckered his mouth, forcing his mustache up under his nose like a small piece of black string. "Shucks, Jacob. You know how I feel about the widow Swenson. I don't have any interest in other women."

Neither do I, Jacob thought, nearly vocalizing his feelings, but he said, "Maybe tonight I will make that trip for us both."

"There you go. Now you got the right idea."

They'd reached the house. Jacob remained seated on the gelding while Barney went to collect the women. When the trio returned burdened with baskets and blankets, his sense of gloom increased as Dominique dropped her bundle in the back of the buggy and walked over to Peaches.

"Good morning!" she said with a bright smile. Shading her eyes with the back of her hand, she looked up at Jacob, and her grin widened. "Beautiful day for a picnic, isn't it?"

Helpless when she was near, he smiled back in spite of his qualms. "Perfect. May I help you mount?"

"No, don't bother," she said, taking the reins from his hand. "So far, this is the only thing I've been able to master by myself." Slipping the toe of her new black riding boot into the stirrup, Dominique gracefully lifted herself onto the saddle. "There, now," she said, gently patting the mare's neck, "that wasn't so bad. We'll do just fine today."

"Maybe you will," Jacob said, proud of her progress.

"Why don't we get a move on?" Barney shouted.
"Time's
awasting
."
He clucked at the pair of bay geldings hitched to the buggy and slapped the reins across their backs, calling out his orders to Jacob as the rig pulled away from the house. "You and Miss DuBois ride on a ways ahead of us. Keep a lookout for any stragglers or renegades, and make sure you don't get out of sight of the blockhouse."

Jacob nodded as he wheeled the sorrel onto the path. "Where do you want us to stop?"

"A ways past the juniper trees and just this side of the river you'll find a meadow. You two pick
a nice shady spot
somewheres
along in there."

"Yes, sir."
Glancing at Dominique, Jacob asked, "Are you ready?"

"Let's go." She bumped Peaches in the flank with the heel of her boot, intending to wake her up, but the startled mare reared, nearly unseating her instead.

"Easy, girl," Jacob said to the animal, his tone deceptively cool. "All is well." He calmed the mare,
then
took her reins in hand. "I think it would be best if I lead her out of the garrison."

Her teeth chattering with fear, Dominique nodded and allowed him to lead Peaches down the road past the officers' quarters and post storehouses. Once in the open, Jacob returned the reins to her and issued a warning: "Be careful not to make any quick movements this time."

"Don't worry about that. I intend to sit as still as a mouse all the way to the meadow.''

Jacob's only reply was to nudge the sorrel a few steps ahead of Peaches, making certain Dominique was no longer in his peripheral vision. He would have to find a way to maintain control of his mind, concentrate on the mission and the new demands it would make of him at dawn. He would have to forget the beautiful woman riding beside him. Maybe if he couldn't see her, he thought, knowing he was asking the impossible of himself, he wouldn't think of her.

They rode like that, silent and brooding, for nearly a mile. Finally unable to stand it any longer, Dominique clucked softly and carefully urged Peaches to catch up to the gelding.
"Good morning again, Jacob.
Why aren't you talking to me?"

"No reason. I am scouting."

"Oh," she said, lifting her chin. "I see." But she didn't. And she didn't like it one bit. She nudged Peaches sideways until her knee brushed Jacob's thigh. "When tomorrow comes, you'll be gone. I shall miss you Jacob. Will you miss me?"

He waited a long time before answering, and when he did, he kept his gaze on the box elder trees ahead. "I will think of you often."

"You'll write me often, too, won't you?"

"Write you?" he said, finally turned to face her.

"Yes. Friends usually keep in touch."

And because he couldn't see the harm in adding one more lie to their already tainted relationship, he said, "Sure. I will write you every day."

"Really?"
She beamed.

He looked into her expressive sable eyes, saw the hope and genuine affection, and expelled a heavy sigh. How could he add to the hurt he had already caused her? How could he live with his conscience? Unable to bear the thought of the pain she would feel when the expected letters never arrived, Jacob altered his story.
"No, Dominique, not really.
I am sorry, but I will be very busy over the next few weeks. I will not have time to write to anybody."

"But of course you will. Aunt Libbie says the general writes to her just about every day when he's away, no matter where he's gone."

"I believe we are going into battle. I do not think that will be possible, even for the general."

"Yes, it will,” she insisted. "She says Uncle Armstrong even writes her from the field of battle, so now you don't have any excuse. I shall expect a letter at least every other day."

"Do not expect anything from me. I will not be writing to you. Please understand that."

"But, I thought we were friends."

"We are, but I simply cannot write to you. Please don't ask me to do so again."

Reckless anger gripped her. Controlled by a sudden rage, unable to recognize its source, Dominique felt her temper flare. "Don't worry about that or about me, Jacob. I won't be asking a damn thing of you ever again." Then she drove a furious boot into
Peaches's
flank and jerked on the reins.

Unused to such treatment, the mare squealed and bolted, nearly tossing her rider to the ground before she broke into a dead run. The sudden movement tore Dominique's foot from the stirrup. With one knee hooked around the saddle horn and her hands wound into the horse's mane, she clung to Peaches, alternately cursing and begging the animal to stop.

"Whoa,
Peaches,
oh please stop," she screamed into the wind as the mare gathered speed. Her new bonnet was torn from her head as Peaches
swerved,
changing directions, and again, Dominique nearly fell to the ground. Instinct drove her to press her bosom against the animal's body and throw her arms around the thick neck. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed, no longer able to scream or speak.