Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (3 page)

He was probably going to say her sister would never have made the wagon trip—or half the train rides. She'd have returned to Richmond long before crossing the Mississippi. He'd be right, of course. But Millie hadn't had the choice of not coming—nor of leaving.

“As a matter of fact, I am hungry,” she said, setting the bag down on one of her trunks.

Once again the thought of Rosemary doing what their mother had done made Millie's insides quiver. The housekeeper, Lola, insisted she mustn't blame herself. Millie tried not to, but when you're responsible, you carry blame. Forever. Papa had always feared the same thing—that Rosemary would do what Mother had done—and Millie had never told him how close Rosemary had come once. She'd never told anyone. Martin knew. He'd been the one who saved Rosemary's life, but he'd thought she'd fallen into the river.

The weight in Millie's chest grew immense. Lola had vowed no such thing would happen while Millie was gone, and if anyone could make Rosemary behave it was their loyal, watchful housekeeper. Remembering that gave her fortitude. If Lola could handle Rosemary, surely Millie could handle Seth. After five years postponing the divorce, an additional three months couldn't be that difficult.

“Shall we go then?”

Dropped back to earth like a peach falling from a tree, Millie paused mentally, gathering her wits. “Yes, lunch,” she mumbled, mainly to herself. Food probably wouldn't help, but not being alone with him would. Her nerves were too jumbled for her to think straight right now.

Millie didn't attempt to concentrate on becoming Rosemary during the short walk across the compound. She was too focused on keeping up with Seth's long strides. Once they entered the building a man as large as a bear, with hair as yellow as corn, met them at the door.

“Mrs. Parker,” he said, dipping his head. “My name's Briggs Ryan. Private Cutter said you like tea, no?”

“Yes, yes, I like tea,” she responded.

“Good. Ja, I have some for you. This way.”

As wonderful as the tea sounded, she couldn't help but pause at the way Seth stiffened at her side. He didn't take a step to follow the man, so she didn't, either.

“I set a table for you and your wife, Major,” the man said, “as usual when we have company.”

There appeared to be some kind of showdown between the two, and Millie had to believe she was the cause of it. “I'm not really company,” she said, hoping to ease the tension.

Neither man spoke, but after another quiet moment, Seth nodded his head slightly. He then took ahold of her elbow and led her across the room, following Briggs Ryan.

The large room was crowded, but almost silent now as they made their way to the table. All men, dressed in their blue uniforms. Some were sitting at the long tables flanked with benches, others standing in line, filling their plates from huge platters set out on a high counter.

Mr. Ryan held a chair and she sat. The table was small and set for two, complete with a tablecloth and napkins.

“I'll have your plates out in a minute and your tea, ma'am,” Mr. Ryan said before walking away. He, too, was wearing a uniform, but it was covered with a long white apron.

“Is Mr. Ryan the cook?”

“Yes,” Seth answered. “Keeping the unit fed is his job.”

The words seemed to hold a double meaning, but it was beyond her to understand exactly what. The man was back within minutes, placing a teapot and two plates of food—stew, not beans—in front of them.

The tea was refreshing, but it didn't help as much as she'd hoped. Perhaps because the room held a thick silence, one that had her wondering if being alone with Seth would be better.

They, too, ate in silence, and though he didn't gobble his food, Seth was done long before she was. At which point he pushed away from the table. “I have work to see to. I assume you can find your way back to the cabin.”

After patting her lips, she laid her napkin on the table. “I'm finished, too. May I walk out with you?”

He eyed her slowly, then gave a slight shrug. “If you want.”

She wanted, all right. The eyes staring their way had burned holes in the back of her dress. It was to be expected, her showing up out of the blue like this, yet she couldn't help but wish things were different. That animosity didn't ooze off of Seth.

Mr. Ryan met them at the door again. “The food was to your liking, no?”

“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “The stew was delicious. And the tea wonderful. Thank you, Mr. Ryan.”

The man grinned, but his smile faded as he glanced toward Seth.

“I'll talk to you later, Sergeant,” Seth said.

“Yes, sir, Major, sir.”

Needing fresh air, Millie bolted out the door as soon as Seth opened it. How was she ever going to pull this off? Someone that stern, that commanding, was sure to know a lie when he heard one.

You catch a lot more bees with honey than vinegar
. One of Lola's sayings raced through her mind, and Millie couldn't help but wonder why that one came to her now. Rosemary wasn't known for her kindness. Then again, the saying did produce another thought. “You know, Seth,” she said, forcing her voice not to tremble, “it's been five years. People change.”

“I haven't,” he said.

“I'm sure you have in some ways,” she insisted, while keeping up with his fast strides again. “I know I have.” That much was the truth. Five years ago she'd never have done this: traveled to Indian Territory, taken on her sister's identity, lied. Papa would have been alive and he wouldn't have let her.

Seth stopped and once again studied her thoroughly. “So much that I should believe you're Rosemary and not Millie?”

She sighed heavily, partly because lying made her feel more soiled than her travels had. “I am Rosemary.”

Seth wasn't exactly sure how to respond. In some ways he couldn't think. He hadn't gotten over how a bath had transformed her into a stunningly beautiful woman, and it didn't help that the men—
his men
—were already treating her like royalty. It was how he'd expect them to treat his wife, but she wasn't his wife. Leastwise he didn't want her to be. Never had. She'd already instigated the first-ever clash of power between him and Briggs Ryan. The cook was right. Guests, moreover women, were respected at all times at the fort, and held in the highest esteem. Making her eat at the long tables wouldn't have been right, but Seth was in charge here, and his orders had to be followed.

Not that Briggs had disobeyed any, but he'd come close, and Seth didn't allow any man to challenge his authority.

This time, he'd thank the man for seeing to Millie's comforts. For that's who she was, and what Briggs had done wasn't out of line. Anger had overruled Seth's own manners, but Briggs had to know he was walking a thin line. It had to be that way. If not, the entire regiment wouldn't have lived through the past few years. Now wasn't the time to let their guard down.

Especially not Seth.

As the thoughts conformed in his mind, and settled, his gaze roamed. Men, mingling in the courtyard, were moving closer, hoping for an introduction, no doubt. He'd have to make them, and take her over to headquarters to meet Jasper Ketchum—his second in command—and Jasper's wife, Ilene.

Seth's temper once again flared. He'd have to introduce her as Rosemary. Explaining his marriage had caused enough confusion. Introducing her now as Millie would have the questions deepening, and that couldn't happen. People would wonder if he was capable of commanding a fort when he couldn't handle his own life.

“Seth?”

Her whisper was soft, but the hand she'd laid on his arm bit through his coat and shirtsleeve, hotter than the fangs of a snake. Yet the anxiety filling her big brown eyes had his insides colliding. Whether he wanted her here or not wasn't the issue. She was here and he had to offer his protection.

With that, he reached over and patted her hand. The action had him smothering a curse. He didn't want to care about her, but he did care about his men. They looked at him for leadership, and true leaders did whatever it took. Nodding at the first man in line, he then glanced her way. “Rosemary...” Saying the name had disorder leaping inside him. “This is Quartermaster Josiah Fallon.” Turning toward the man, he said, “Josiah, this is Rosemary Parker, my wife.”

The word tasted bitter, and her fingertips dug deeper into his arm.

“Mrs. Parker,” Josiah exclaimed. “It's a pleasure to meet you. If there is anything you need, you just let me know and I'll find it for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fallon. It's a pleasure to meet you, too,” she responded with sincerity. “Mr. Cutter and Mr. Winston told me about you.” Leaning closer, she said, “Thank you for finding the tea Mr. Briggs served with lunch.”

Fallon was as hairless as a rock, and right now the top of his head was bloodred, while he shuffled feet the size of snowshoes until a dust storm hovered around his ankles.

“Private Cutter told me you were hoping for tea,” the quartermaster replied. “I had a tin left over from when we had some English visitors a while back. I dug it out and hauled it over to the cookhouse as soon as Ben mentioned it.”

“Well, thank you very much. I truly enjoyed it.”

Seth could have sworn there were stars in her eyes, the way they twinkled.

Fallon was the catalyst that led to a list of introductions so long Seth started confusing names. Neither he nor Millie moved; people just kept filing past, to the point he wondered if some weren't coming by a second time, just to get another look at her. A part of him couldn't blame them. She was overly charming, and remarkably, had conversed enough with Cutter and Winston to know a small bit of information about each and every person he introduced her to.

The line finally ended with Jasper and his wife, who invited them to sup at their home tomorrow night.

“That will give you time to settle in, dear,” Ilene Ketchum finished.

Her angular face with sunken cheeks and narrow eyes could never be noted as pretty, but Seth had never known a more benevolent woman, and he respected Ilene's knowledge and support as much as he did her husband's. Lying to her, pretending the woman beside him was Rosemary, had Seth's stomach curdling all over again. It was almost as bad as letting down his own mother.

“Thank you, Mrs. Ketchum, that's very kind of you,” his supposed wife answered, but she glanced his way before accepting the invitation.

“We'll be there,” Seth stated, nodding in turn to both women. He couldn't refuse the invitation, yet he needed to do some serious thinking before the event.

Jasper, a good four inches shorter than Ilene, and twice as round, gave Seth an inquisitive look. His second in command knew about the marriage and the divorce papers—had since the beginning. “I'll take care of things for a day or two,” Jasper said. “You take some time getting to know your wife again.”

“No,” Seth replied, his insides stiffening. “That won't be necessary. But thank you for the offer.” The last thing he wanted was to get to know Rosemary—or Millie. He was starting to question in his own mind who she was. Which was ridiculous. The woman beside him was nothing like the conceited little snit who'd insisted, that morning back in Richmond, that no man could resist her body.

He hadn't touched her then, when she'd claimed he had, and he wasn't about to touch her now, but he wasn't going to put himself at her side, either. She was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about that, and he'd never been one to tempt fate.

“I'll see you over at headquarters shortly, Jasper,” he said.

The Ketchums departed, and with her hand still holding his elbow, the woman beside him sighed deeply. “I never expected this.”

“What?”

“It's so...” A blush covered her cheeks. “Civilized.”

“Civilized?”

A tiny frown had formed over her big brown eyes. “Yes, Rose—uh, roses could grow in that garden over there.” She lifted a hand, pointed toward the flower bed Ilene pampered, but the way she'd stuttered had his spine quivering.

“Rose, huh?”

“Yes, roses. They are my favorite flower.”

The innocence in those doe eyes was choking off his air like a hangman's noose. “Roses for Rosemary,” he said, not quite sure where he'd heard that before.

“That's what my father always said.”

Her face had softened and the words were almost a whisper, lacking joy. She was missing her father, no doubt. He understood that emotion. His own father had died on the battlefield, but hers hadn't. No illness, no war. The general just hadn't woken up one morning in his bed at his Richmond home.

The facts of the death had been forwarded to the fort, as many details as possible. Millicent, the youngest sister, had found their father that morning, and per the report, had been distraught. Seth's insides jittered again—an odd sensation he recognized and listened to regularly. It was what he'd felt earlier. Intuition that held a warning.

In the few hours he'd known her, he'd understood Rosemary to be a hard woman, and he couldn't, or perhaps wouldn't, believe she'd mourn her father after four years. But Millie, though he'd seen her only once that day, sitting in attendance at the wedding, had been softer. She'd actually shed a tear when offering her congratulations after the ceremony. Yes, Millie would still miss her father after four years.

He should offer his condolences, yet he couldn't do that, either. For if this was Millie, she'd changed. Was now lying through her teeth, pretending to be Rosemary.

“So,” he asked, “what kind of flower did your father relate to you, Millie?”

Chapter Three

M
illie pulled her hand off his arm, but instantly wished she hadn't. His solidness had kept her stable during all the introductions, and she found herself needing that support again.

Squaring her shoulders didn't help much, but it was all she had. “I wish you'd stop calling me that.”

The only movement he made was to lift a dark brow, but it said a lot. Digging deep into the dredges of her mind, she found a fraction of truth to embellish upon. “Millie is...” She drew a deep breath, hoping lightning wouldn't manifest out of the blue sky and strike her. “Engaged. Millie is engaged to an army man, too.”

This time Seth frowned.

She held her breath.

He took her elbow and guided her along a well-worn pathway. “Really? An army man?”

“Yes,” she answered, looking everywhere but at him as they walked.

“In Richmond?”

Thank goodness. A subject she could discuss freely. There was no reason to lie about Martin. “He's from Richmond. His family lived only a few blocks away from our house. The three of us grew up together and everyone always said we...that is, the—the two of them would get married. He's in Texas right now. At a fort there, and Millie is preparing to travel there. Their wedding will take place shortly after she arrives.”

“What's his name?”

“M-Martin Clark.” The conversation was making her stomach gurgle. If or when Martin learned of this escapade, he wouldn't be happy. They'd been best friends for years, and he'd been her rock when Papa died, but he wouldn't be happy to know she was saying such things. Especially not as a cover-up for Rosemary.

“Is that a trading post?” She flinched as she said it. The sign painted the length of the building said precisely that, but she was searching desperately for anything she could use to change the subject.

Seth had stopped beside her, was staring at her thoughtfully.

“Oh, I apologise, you have work to do. Forgive me.” She spun, and a stone caught under the ball of her foot, making her recoil at the sting. It also gave her an answer. “I was just wondering if the trading post might have a pair of boots. These slippers are not made for outdoors.”

His dark eyes went to her feet and then to several men still watching them before he said, “I can spare a few minutes.”

“The fort is so large,” she said, as they started walking again. “It's like a complete town inside walls.” Working hard at sounding normal, she added, “Mr. Cutter said there's a hospital and a church here.”

“On the other side of the barracks, along the back wall.”

His answer was clipped, and Millie bit her lips. Rosemary had said they'd be living in tents and cooking over campfires. Though, in the next breath, she'd insisted it was completely safe and that Millie had to go.

Quietly, not wanting to draw his attention, she let the air out of her lungs. Pretending to be Rosemary might not have been the best idea, but after her abruptness, Seth would probably believe she was Rosemary now.

Oh what a tangled web we weave.
Another one of Lola's sayings. It didn't help any better than the first one had.

Seth stepped to the side as they neared the door, allowing her to enter first. Millie showed her appreciation with a nod, not trusting her mouth to open again. Upon entering the dark and crowded store, she wanted to take hold of his arm again. The space was crammed with shelves, barrels, crates and tables full of merchandise, and Indians. Lots of Indians. Her heart started beating erratically.

“This way,” Seth said, walking around several tables stacked high with merchandise.

Very few windows let light into the area, not that sunlight would have helped. She had to get over this. Nothing had happened for her to fear the Indians, yet the way they looked at her had her inching as close to Seth as possible when he stopped to speak to someone.

“Here,” he said, pulling over a stool. “Sit down.”

“I'll have to measure your foot, ma'am.”

Millie gulped, glancing toward a burly man with a straggly gray beard hanging almost to his belly.

“I don't get much call for women's boots,” the bearded man was saying as he knelt down near the stool.

She sat, and inched the hem of her dress just high enough to display her day slippers.

“I'll have to order them. It won't take much more than a month or so.” The man measured the length and width of her foot, and then stood, tucking the flat wooden ruler into his back pocket. “I could try to get them faster, but it'll cost extra.”

“Get them as soon as possible, Jenkins,” Seth said.

“Aye, aye, Major. I'll see what I can do.”

Seth helped her to her feet, then kept one hand on her elbow. “Don't see, Jenkins, make it happen.”

“I ain't got the pull you do, Major, but I'll get them.” With a tip of his head, which was hairless compared to his face, the man shuffled toward the long plank laid atop two barrels, with several people crowded along it.

“Is there anything else you need?” Seth asked.

Millie shook her head, barely able to keep her eyes from going to the Indians again.

A little shudder rippled through her. “Are they friendly?”

His gaze went to the Indians for a moment. “Friendly?”

She nodded.

He led her out the door, and she sighed at both the bright sunshine and the fresh air. The smell of coffee had been overpowering in the store, yet she hadn't noticed it until they'd stepped outside.

“For the most part,” he answered, glancing toward a group exiting the building behind them. “When they want to be.”

She shivered again. None of them appeared threatening, but their stares were acute and left her chilled. “Isn't that why you're out here? To fight them?”

“No.”

“But you would if they attacked, wouldn't you?”

He shrugged. “Guess that would depend on why they attacked.”

Even her throat was quivering. “What do you mean, why?”

“They only attack when they want to steal women. Not too many women around here. We'd be better off just turning them over, rather than losing men in a battle.”

Completely ignoring the stones beneath the soft soles of her slippers, she hurried to remain at his side when he started walking again. “The women? You'd just give—?”

“I have work to see to,” he said. “I assume you can make it to the barracks on your own.”

The cabins were only a few yards ahead, and she had no doubt how fast she could make it there and shut the door. Matter of fact, there was probably a rooster tail of dust behind her, but she didn't care. Her focus was on whether the cabin door had a lock or not.

It didn't, and Millie was dragging, pushing and shoving one of her trunks to barricade the door when a knock sounded.

“Ma'am?” Ben Cutter said, poking his head in the doorway.

“Y-yes?” she stuttered, breathing hard, mainly because her heart was still in her throat.

“Briggs wanted me to deliver this pot of tea to you. He thought you might like a bit more than you had for lunch.”

“Oh, thank you.” Stepping aside so he could squeeze in the small opening—the trunk was almost in place—she waited until he set the pot and a delicate china cup and saucer on the table. “Mr. Cutter, how many women are here at the fort?”

“Well, let's see, there's Mrs. Ketchum, and...”

By the time Ben Cutter was done explaining exactly who the other four women at the fort were, Millie was full of additional questions, which he readily answered.

She listened carefully as he explained that the fort had been built ten years ago, when General Sheridan was campaigning to stop Indian raids on white settlers in Kansas and Texas. He also explained Grant's peace policy. How it promised tribes provisions if they moved onto reservation land, and how special Indian agents had been assigned to oversee the activities.

Cutter went on to tell her how when General Sherman arrived at Fort Sill several years ago, he'd found several chiefs boasting about the raids they'd initiated on wagon trains and when he'd ordered their arrests, the general had almost been assassinated.

Some tribes accepted the agreement, but others didn't, and considered the reservations safe havens. A place where no one could retaliate against them.

Millie was fascinated by all this. General Sherman and her father had been close acquaintances. During one of his visits to their Richmond home, he'd appointed her father to oversee the men assigned to this fort.

Years ago she'd learned that Seth was a West Point graduate, and had been in Richmond, the day he'd married Rosemary, to deliver a report to their father about the raids and how rations weren't being delivered.

Millie asked a few more questions, mainly about the Indians, and Cutter answered them, praising the major for his bravery and leadership in dealing with various tribes. The man made it sound as if everyone at the fort was alive because of Seth's valor.

Having plenty to think about, Millie thanked Mr. Cutter for all his information, and allowed him to move her trunks into her room before he took his leave.

Papa had rarely spoke about such things with her, but Lola did. The housekeeper insisted Indians were as misunderstood as Negros, and that white folks shouldn't talk about things they didn't understand.

Mr. Cutter had just explained that the army was the only law in Indian Territory. He'd also said their duties included protecting the Indians and civilians, while teaching the former how to farm in order to feed their families. More importantly, he'd told her Indians didn't steal women.

Pacing the floor of the dreary cabin, Millie imagined just how irritated Rosemary would be by all this. Her sister wouldn't just be frustrated with the surroundings, she'd be furious at the way Seth had purposely frightened her.

A hint of a grin formed. Maybe being Rosemary could be fun, after all.

* * *

The report Jasper was reading aloud—about how the declining cattle drives would leave more tribes without food for the winter—wasn't holding Seth's attention. It wasn't anything he didn't already know. At one time the cattle drives had run directly through Indian Territory, and the ranchers had been more than happy to exchange a few head of cattle for safe travels, but the growing rail lines were replacing the drives. They'd had only half as many this year as last.

The window was what held Seth's interest. More so, the activity happening across the courtyard. His so-called wife had beckoned to Ben Cutter a short time ago, and shortly afterward the man had led two of Briggs's maidens to the cabin. Since then Seth had barely been able to keep up with the comings and goings. Clean linens were carried in—he'd noticed them in one of the bundles—but for the number of trips the women made there would have to have been a dozen beds instead of one. Well, two if you count his, but he highly doubted she'd have his bedding changed.

Intuition was gnawing at him again. If this was Millie, as he still believed, why was she here, if she was engaged to Martin Clark? Or was Rosemary engaged to the man? Then why hadn't she just signed his divorce papers? Or was this Rosemary, and now that Millie was engaged...

His mind was churning faster than the crank on a Gatling gun as he watched the door of his cabin. Over the years, remembering only his wife's personality, he'd forgotten her looks. Every man in the fort had noticed her beauty. That had been overly apparent during the introductions.

What he did clearly remember was that the woman he'd married was too full of herself to be concerned about anyone else. Yet the one he'd introduced to his men had taken the time to learn about the people living at the fort.

Frustrated, Seth ran a hand through his hair. Had he been out here so long, gotten so used to deciphering the cause behind every action, he could no longer accept actions—or people—without overanalyzing them?

A sour sensation curdled in his stomach. Martin Clark. She'd smiled when she'd said the name. Briefly, but enough that it had displayed her white, even teeth, and showed she cared about the man.

The name could be familiar, but Seth had met many soldiers over the years. For all he knew, Clark could have been one of the soldiers from Texas escorting the drives that came through this spring.

Seth scanned the area out the window once more, and frowned when he spotted the quartermaster carrying a large crate across the courtyard, toward the cabin. His teeth clamped down. He'd lied to her about the Indians, but there were dangers here. Plenty of them. The Oklahoma Indian Territory was the roughest place in the nation. Besides the very real possibility of an Indian uprising at any time, there were whiskey peddlers, Mexican traders, desperados, horse thieves, cattle rustlers, prostitutes and men just bent on killing. It was no place for women, and no matter which sister it was, he should send her back as fast as possible.

Yet he didn't want to. Instead, he wanted to know why she'd traveled weeks to get here. Her telegram had confused and irritated him, but now she had him out of sorts. She was the exact opposite of what he'd expected. What he remembered.

“You know, Seth, sometimes what we claim not to want is the exact thing we need.” Jasper had moved, and now stood staring out the window on his right.

Seth gestured toward the activity happening around his cabin with a nod. “That is nothing but trouble, and I don't need any more troubles.”

“Maybe she won't be trouble,” Jasper said. “Maybe the changes she brings are what the men need.”

Seth took pride in commanding a well-run fort, but knew the counsel he received from his second in command was a driving force behind all his actions. Still pondering what Jasper could be referring to, he glanced toward the other man when he shifted, pointed out the window.

“Things have changed out here the past few years, Seth, and they're good changes. Towns are popping up, settlers moving in, the population is growing. Including women. And I'm not referring to the soiled doves that have made the rounds for years. The army sees it, too. More and more wives are living with their husbands at the forts rather than staying back East. The men here want that, too. Most men, whether they're soldiers or not, don't want to remain alone forever.”