Savage Heat (5 page)

His daughter was going to marry Major Lawrence Berton; he would see to it! That’s why he’d invited her to Colorado for the summer, and why he’d allowed her to visit Fort Collins today. He would, over the next several weeks, implement the strategy called for and gain, he felt certain, the reward he was seeking.

Major Lawrence Berton for a son-in-law.

Soon there would be grandchildren to be shared and enjoyed with that other grandfather, Virginia senator Douglas Berton. And by the time the firstborn was out of short pants, grandfather Berton would no longer be a senator, he’d be the President of the United States of America. And Martay and the children, lonely without their hero husband and father who was often away, bravely protecting his country, might decide they’d be comfortable living on Pennsylvania Avenue. Just move right into the White House with President Douglas Berton!

General Kidd was pleased to see that Martay was at this moment smiling at Major Berton, who was riding just behind him. He didn’t need to turn in the saddle to know the major was smiling back. Since young Berton had first laid eyes on Martay at the Denver train station, it was obvious the senator’s son was smitten. Too obvious. He’d have to speak to the boy about hiding his innermost feelings for a time.

Martay, unfortunately, was not the kind of sweet, demure young lady who was anxious for the total devotion of a fine, upstanding young man. She claimed she had no desire to marry for a long time. She had some tomfool notion in her head that she was supposed to have a life of excitement and adventure, do as she pleased, as though she were a man! God, where had he gone wrong?

“Daddy, why were you frowning at me when you rode in?” Martay asked when the general bent to kiss her cheek. He’d dismissed the tired command, climbed down from the iron-gray, tossed the reins to a waiting private, and strode across the parade ground, returning Colonel Darlington’s crisp military salute.

“Frowning? Why, Angel, I didn’t know that I was.” He smiled warmly then and shook hands with Darlington. “Thanks, Colonel, for looking after my little girl.”

“The pleasure was mine, General,” said Colonel Darlington. “Martay and I have become friends, and, as I was telling her, my wife wants to throw a party for her. I hope you’ll be able to attend, sir.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” said the general. Then, to Martay, “Walk me to my quarters. I’ll clean up and we’ll have lunch in the officers’ mess. Then I’ll show you around.”

“Lead the way, General,” said Martay, taking his arm and nodding to Colonel Darlington.

Lunch was most enjoyable for Martay. Seated at a table with eight attentive officers, she was entirely in her element. Charmed by her wit and beauty, the gentlemen soldiers remained at the long table after the dessert plates had been cleared away and coffee had grown cold in their cups.

And they were disappointed when the general placed his napkin on the table and rose, announcing, “I’m sure you’ll excuse us. I’ve promised to give Martay a tour of the fort.”

The officers rose and not one, but three, rushed to pull out Martay’s chair. And when, after bidding them good day, calling each by name, she swept out of the mess on her father’s arm, the enchanted officers smiled and shook their heads and agreed that the general’s beautiful daughter was all he’d said and more.

Martay and her father stepped back out into the glaring sun and strolled across the parade ground toward the hospital. “I thought, child, we’d spend a few minutes cheering the lads in the infirmary. Get that behind us.”

Before she could respond, and right on cue the way the general had planned it, a skinny young lieutenant rushed across the plain toward them. Apologizing for the interruption, he informed General Kidd that he was needed in his office.

Acting as though he were truly annoyed, the general shook his silver head and said, “Angel, I’m sorry.”

Martay sighed. “I understand, Daddy. Promise you won’t be long.”

“Promise,” he said. Then, looking over her head, he smiled and added, “Why, there’s Major Berton. Perhaps he can keep you company while I’m tied up.”

So it was Major Lawrence Berton who escorted Martay to the hospital, then showed her the bakery, the wood yard, the chapel, and the icehouse as the afternoon wore on and still her father did not return from his important meeting.

Martay didn’t mind too much. She hadn’t seen Major Berton since the evening at the Emersons’ and had been mildly disappointed when he failed to appear for lunch in the officers’ mess. Besides, he was much more patient about answering her many questions than her father would have been.

At midafternoon the pair strolled leisurely along the ramparts, and Martay, having seen everything there was to see, admitted, “Larry, I’m getting a little tired. I was up before the sun this morning. Perhaps I’d better go to my quarters and rest before dinner.”

“Of course, Martay. I’ll walk you there.”

“No,” she said, “I want to go to Daddy’s office and see what time we’ll be dining.”

Inside the general’s office at that moment, an Indian sat across from General Kidd, drinking his second glass of whiskey while the general questioned him.

“You’re sure? I thought he was up in Canada,” said General Kidd.

The Crow scout scratched at a jagged scar beside his left ear. “I’m telling you, General, Sitting Bull’s got a big band of hostiles, half-breeds, and foreign Indians together. He and Gall are roaming again in the U.S., south of the boundary line.” He swilled the liquor and held out his empty glass for more. “I’ve talked to a number of reliable people who’ve seen their main hostile camp. They tell me there’s five thousand Indians. Two thousand of them are warriors.”

“Goddamnit to hell!” thundered the general. “Where are the bastards getting food and ammunition?”

“They say the half-breeds have been trading with the hostiles and furnishing them with ammo. You know how sneaky half-breeds are.”

General Kidd nodded and said, “I’ll get a wire off this afternoon, see if we can’t have a good man sent up to Fort Keogh with a strong force to break up their camp, separate the doubtful Indians from the hostiles, and force the foreign Indians back north of the boundary.” He slammed his fist down atop his desk as his face grew a fiery red. “Damn Sitting Bull! Damn all those pigheaded, surly, foolhardy Sioux! Don’t they know they cannot fight the United States Cavalry! I’ll not rest until they’re wiped from the face of this earth!”

“Nor will I,” said the Crow, with no emotion.

“All right, Scar, if that’s all you have, go. Get out of here. My daughter’s visiting the fort and I don’t want her to see you.” He smiled then, and rising, came around the desk to put a hand on the Indian’s shoulder. “I’ve taught her that all redskins are alike. She might be frightened if she saw you here.”

The Crow scout gave no reply. He reached over, picked up the half-full bourbon bottle from atop the desk, turned it up to his lips, and took a healthy swallow. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he rose and left the room.

When Martay and Lawrence Berton neared the long, low building that housed the general’s office, the door suddenly opened and a stocky, fierce-looking Indian stepped out onto the porch. Instinctively Martay stopped, wrapped her hand around Lawrence Berton’s elbow, and drew close to him.

“Who is he?” she whispered, her wide, shocked gaze on the ugly, badly scarred copper face with its glittery black eyes and huge nose and fleshy lips.

Patting her hand, Lawrence Berton said reassuringly, “That’s Scar, Chief of our Crow scouts.” He urged her on toward the building. “Scar’s harmless.”

The squat-bodied Crow looked up, noticed them, and stood, unmoving, watching their approach, an evil smile spreading over his uneven features. His eyes went to Martay and stayed. Martay tried not to look at the frightening, repulsive man, yet couldn’t keep from it.

He stood with his moccasined feet wide apart. His dirty buckskins stretched tautly, vulgarly, over bulging muscular thighs and rode low beneath a thick, heavy belly. His shirt, a faded calico, had had the sleeves cut from it at the shoulders, and he was flexing and unflexing his beefy fists, causing the tendons and veins in his huge, powerful arms to stand out in grotesque relief. Those arms, like his ugly face, were badly scarred. Dirty black hair, parted in the middle, hung to his shoulders.

When Martay and Lawrence were but a few short feet from the staring Crow, the door directly behind the Indian again opened and General Kidd marched out.

“Still here, Scar?” he said, and the Crow scout, not bothering to answer, stepped from the shaded porch and walked away, disappearing around the corner of the building.

Only then did Martay’s racing pulse return to normal.

5

“H
ave you noticed,” Martay said to Lettie, her maid, as the big Irishwoman helped her dress for a morning of shopping with their hostess, “that everyone wants to please Betty Jane?”

Lettie nodded. “It’s not hard to see why. Mrs. Betty Jane Emerson is a lady in the truest sense of the word.”

“She is, isn’t she,” Martay said musingly. “Still, it’s hard to understand how a woman so quiet and modest commands so much admiration.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “She gets almost as much attention as I do.”

“No!” exclaimed Lettie in fake horror, clasping her hands to her breasts. “Is there no justice?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like it sounded,” defended Martay. “It’s just that … well, she isn’t exactly pretty, and her conversation is not all that sparkling. And,” she added, with an inflection of mild distaste, “she looks at Dolph Emerson as though he were a god, instead of a fifty-year-old man with thinning gray hair.”

“Perhaps in her eyes Colonel Emerson is still the dashing young cadet she fell in love with thirty years ago.”

Martay frowned. “Mmmmmm. I suppose. I asked her if she never tired of deferring to him, and you know what she said? She smiled and told me she always did just as she pleased, so long as it pleased the colonel. Isn’t that tragic, Lettie? The poor woman has subjugated herself to a man for all those years!”

“Child, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Betty Jane Emerson is a very happy woman. While you may have noticed the way she regards the colonel, you’ve failed to see the adoration in his eyes when he looks at her. He thinks Betty is beautiful, and she is.”

“She is?”

“Inside. Mrs. Emerson is so pretty inside, it makes her pretty outside.”

“Hmmmm,” murmured Martay, and mulled it over in her mind. “Maybe I’ll try to be more like Betty Jane.” Lettie exploded with laughter. Frowning, Martay demanded, “What’s so funny about that?”

Shaking her head, Lettie said, “Honey, you’re about as different from Betty Jane Emerson as it is possible to be.”

Hands going to her hips, Martay said, “Well, perhaps I am a bit more self-centered than …”

“A bit?” interrupted Lettie, still smiling. “Child, if you ever had a thought that didn’t focus on yourself, I’m not aware of it.”

Emerald eyes snapping with anger, Martay shot back, “Why, how can you say a thing like that? I most certainly do not … I … never … I …” She faltered and stopped, and a small smile began to spread over her mobile features. And she said, whispering, suddenly afraid they might be overheard, “While Betty Jane Emerson seems to derive great satisfaction from always putting others first, I for one am not quite ready for sainthood.”

Grinning, Lettie answered, “You can say that again.”

“I will, then. I want a great deal more out of life than to be the respected mistress of some man’s home.”

“What more is there?” asked her maid.

“I don’t know,” admitted Martay, “but I intend to find out. Now, get me a pair of clean gloves. Betty Jane’s promised to take me shopping.”

“I’m giving a grand party. You must come.”

“No.”

“But I want you to … to … mmmmmm … darling.…”

“I said no.”

“I wish you would … I … we … ahhhh …”

Dark, tapered fingers swept enticingly over pale trembling flesh, and the woman lying naked atop the cool white bed arched her back as the words died in her throat. Unconsciously straining upward, she sighed, breathed through her mouth, and languidly flung her slender arms up over her head. Savoring the delicious, tantalizing preliminaries to full-blown passion, she tried valiantly to continue the conversation, to pretend that she was not yet ready to surrender totally, that she was not completely aroused.

“But, darling,” she murmured, purposely keeping her voice level, “you must come … come to my …” A foolish little smile touched her lips as that warm, skilled hand cupped a full white breast and a dark, handsome head bent to brush a kiss to its darkening crest.

“I despise parties,” he said, his voice low and emotionless, his lips and tongue toying with a peaking nipple.

Gritting her teeth with pleasure, the woman’s slender fingers went immediately into the thick raven hair of her lover’s head. Almost frantically grasping the silky black locks, she pressed him to her, murmuring, “My … my … parties … are … are … different, darling.”

“They’re all the same,” he said, his words muffled as his warm mouth slid up to her throat. The woman was momentarily stung by his statement. She felt this strange, compelling man who made such hot, devastating love to her was actually speaking, not of parties but of women. Although he’d never been anything but gracious and accommodating, and unfailingly passionate, she felt sure that their heated sessions of afternoon delight meant little or nothing to him. And there were times when he lay above her, his lean, sleek body bringing her to a height of pleasure she’d never before experienced, that the deep black eyes looking into hers were as cold as his lips were hot.

“No. No, that’s not … it isn’t … mmmmmm …” Giving herself up to the burning flames enveloping her, she forgot about the planned gala. Sighing, she writhed and arched and strained while her dark experienced lover drove all logical thought from her head with his burning lips and magical hands and lithe body.

She basked in the sweet torture for as long as she could, glorying in the things he did to her, the erotic methods he knew of arousing her, the shocking love words he elicited from her. And finally, drowning in a scalding ocean of desire, she begged, just as she did each time they were together, for him to give her all he had.