The Officer and the Bostoner (Historical Western Romance) (Fort Gibson Officers Series, Book 1) (2 page)

Breathing heavily, Allison stared with wide eyes as the rock flew through the air. With every second that passed, the rock got farther from Allison and closer to the stagecoach. And then... And then... Then, it hit...the ground.

Allison sank to the dusty, rocky ground, defeated. Tears she’d somehow managed to suppress until now filled her eyes as silent sobs wracked her body.

“Don’t be so glum. That was an excellent throw,” a stranger drawled from the direction of the commissary. “Keep practicing and I’m sure you’ll be good enough to join the first official rounders team when we start one here at Fort Gibson. We’ll be able to beat the boys at Fort Supply in short order with you on the team.”

His casual tone and glib remarks were enough to spark her anger. Taking to her feet and steeling herself to look every bit the Boston lady her mother had raised her to be, Allison inclined her chin and said, “You may find this laughable, but I do not.”

His easy grin didn’t fade a bit. “I’m sure that if you were me, you’d find it quite humorous, indeed.”

She pursed her lips at the way he mimicked her accent and speech. She shook her head. He was a southerner, likely one who could not be confused for a gentleman. To him, she was nothing but someone to make sport of. Not that she cared overmuch. He could have his fun at her expense now. That was fine. She’d be gone from this abominable little town soon enough. She just needed to get her fare from the shopkeep and book a seat on the next stage.

“I’m not the most educated man in town, but I don’t think you’re going to catch them by walking in the wrong direction,” the insufferable man said, falling into stride beside her.

It was moments like this Allison wished she had her parasol. This infuriating man might benefit from a tap on the head.

“Sir,” she called to the shopkeeper as she stepped inside his little shop.

The swindler closed his cigar box and looked at her companion. “Mornin’, Wes.”

The handsome, brown-haired, blue-eyed man next to her tipped his wide-brimmed hat and the swindler bit the end off his cigar, then spit the tip on the floor with a disgusting
pffft
. Then, without a single word, he wet his lips and brought his cigar to his mouth.

“
Sir, I demand you book my passage on the next stage,” Allison said, as the older man struck a match and lit his cigar.

A puff of smoke filled the air in front of her. “And just how do you expect me to do that?”

Allison closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the words of her mother repeating in her head:
Don’t get angry in the presence of a gentleman; it’s not proper. If he or anyone else provokes you, smile and rephrase your request. Remember to keep your voice quiet, calm and even.
And if that doesn’t work, use big words to trick him into doing what you want him to do, she would always silently add to herself, recalling how her Aunt Thelma had manipulated Uncle Liam.

“
Sir, please retrieve your stagecoach log book and pen my name, Allison Pierson, on the register for the next departing stage; thank you.”

The old man pursed his lips together, held up one finger, then bent down to reach for something under the counter. Straightening, he dropped a large, chapped leather book onto the counter, causing a small cloud of dust to fill the air in front of her.

The store owner then flipped the book open and licked his fingers. Using his damp thumb and forefinger, the man casually flipped through the pages, humming as he went. About halfway through the book, he stopped and retrieved the broken quill lying in the middle of his counter. Licking the end of his quill first, for whatever reason, he then began scratching out what appeared to be the sloppiest version of her name she’d ever seen.

“
Very good,” she said, beaming. “And just when can I expect the stage to be here?”

He shrugged. “I don’t rightly know, but when it arrives, you’ll be the first one on it.”

Beside her, the man the store owner had referred to as Wes guffawed.

Allison pursed her lips at him. He
would
find that statement humorous. At the sound of the store owner clearing his throat, Allison turned her attention back to him and his outstretched hand. “Yes?”

“
That’ll be ten dollars, miss.”

“
For what?”

“
Your fare.”

~Chapter Two~

Captain Wes Tucker tried to contain his laughter as the brazen beauty next to him argued with Charles about his role in her missing her stagecoach and why
he
should be the one paying her inflated fare. The longer the two argued, the more fired up she got. Soon, her face would be as red as a branding iron.

He let his eyes do a thorough sweep of her. She was a pretty thing, she was. Auburn curls, brown eyes that sparkled more and more, the more excited she got, and porcelain skin that made her ruby lips stand out. The men around here would likely trip all over themselves when they glimpsed her.

His gut knotted.

That was the last thing she needed. The men who lived here were not the sort she’d do well to know. Stationed here by the United States Army to help keep the peace between the Indian tribes and the occasional traveler, many of the men stationed here hadn’t laid eyes on a beautiful woman in a long time. Sure, there were officers’ wives, but none were as pretty—or vulnerable—as the one standing next to him. Nor were any of the young “ladies” who passed through a few times a year offering companionship.

A loud clap yanked Wes from his musings.  He blinked at where Charles
had
been standing, then followed Miss Pierson’s gaze to the closed door at the back of Charles’ store.

Wes chuckled. “Seems Charles has decided he’s heard enough of your griping.”

She turned those sparkling brown eyes on him, her lips pressed into a fine line.

“
Don’t let him bother you too much. He’s abruptly closed up shop on me before, too.”

“
Is that what you call it?”

He nodded. “Charles is real temperamental.”

“I’d say.”

“
Come with me. I know a place where we can get something to eat.”

“
I don’t want to eat, I want—”

“
To get on a stagecoach,” he supplied for her.

“
Just so.”

He forced himself to look away so she wouldn’t see the humor he was certain was shining in his eyes. Not once in the more than eight years since he’d left Charleston had he heard anyone speak the way she did. He placed his hand on her arm just above her elbow and steered her in the direction of the commanding officers’ cabins. “I hate to be the one to tell you this—although I’m fairly certain Charles already told you and you didn’t believe him—but you’re not going to be gettin’ on a stagecoach anytime soon.”

“And why is that?”

“
Because there won’t be another one headed to where you want to go for at least a month.”

“
A month?” she squeaked.

“
A month,” he confirmed. “And if you found that shocking, I’ll wait until you’re seated to frighten you with the rest of my news.”

She wrenched her arm from his hold. “I’ll have you know I am not some simpering Southern Miss who has to carry smelling salts because she’s prone to swooning. I am a sophisticated young lady from Boston. So if there is something you need to tell me, Mister...”

“Tucker.”

“
Mr. Tucker, then get on with it so I can be about my business.”

Wes crossed his arms. “And just where is that business going to take you?”

“As far away from you, that blasted general store, and this unsightly town as possible.”

“
And just how do you mean to flee?”

She inclined her head an inch. “However I can.”

Wes poked out his lower lip and nodded his head. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this plan of yours, haven’t you?”

She swung her purse at him. “Do you get great enjoyment out of mocking others?”

“No. Only you.”

A sound of vexation emerged from her throat. “Would you go away, please?”

He frowned at her. “Now why would you want me to leave?”

“
Because you’re annoying me.”

“
Am I now?”

“
Yes, and you were before, too.”

A sharp bark of laughter passed his lips. “We shall rub along nicely, indeed.”

She scowled at him. “Stop that.”

“
Stop what?” he asked, lifting his hands in the air the way Mr. Meyer in Charleston always did when being escorted from the saloon by the marshal.

“
You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“
Oh, you mean imitating your Yankee talk?”

“
Yes, that.”

“
If I promise not to do it again—”
today—
“then will you have lunch with me?”

She sighed. “I see no other choice.”

“That’s the right attitude,” he said. He led her down the street until he came to Colonel Lewis’ quarters. Wes had known the Lewises ever since he’d joined the Army at eighteen. Colonel Lewis had been his first commanding officer at West Point. It was on his recommendation that Wes was sent to Fort Gibson along with the Lewises upon his graduation four years ago.

“
Good morning, Wes,” Mrs. Lewis greeted, wrapping him in a hug.

As it was a habit engrained in him from growing up in South Carolina, he returned the older woman’s hug. “Is Mrs. Ridgely not here, too?”

Mrs. Lewis waved him off. “She had to step out for a moment to retrieve more fabric.”

Wes nodded. No matter, he could let Mrs. Lewis introduce Miss Pierson to her later. “Mrs. Lewis, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He turned his eyes to the brown-eyed beauty he’d brought with him and ignored the slow heat crawling up his face.

“Miss Pierson,” she said with a curtsey before he could introduce her.

He lowered his head to hide his grin at the way she curtsied to her as if they were making some great introduction at a fancy dinner and not in the middle of a secluded military fort that was surrounded by—and infiltrated with—savages.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Mrs. Lewis said, casting Wes a quizzical look. “And to what do we owe this honor to?”

“
She was on that stagecoach that rolled into town earlier.”

Mrs. Lewis’ eyes went wide. “And why wasn’t you on it when it rolled out of town?”

“Because I was being robbed.”

Wes jerked to attention. “Robbed? Where?” He thought it had been her bargaining with Charles that had delayed her.

She turned her cold eyes to him. “At your friend Charles’. He was trying to swindle me into paying fifty cents for five peppermints.”

Wes waved her off. “That’s just what he does. Next time you need something from him, I’ll show you how to barter. It’s quite a game, you see.”

“No, I don’t see, nor do I wish to see him ever again.”

“
Ah, but you will,” Wes drawled. “Mrs. Lewis, do you think you can give us a minute or two to talk privately?”

The graying woman looked back and forth between Wes and Miss Pierson. “All right,” she said uneasily. “But I’ll be just outside should you need me.”

Wes opened the door for Mrs. Lewis and then pulled out a chair for Miss Pierson. She may like to think herself sophisticated; and she may be considered such in her circles; but the news he was about to give her might scare the wits out of her, sophisticated or not. And if it did, then she wasn’t quite as sophisticated as she’d have him believe.

“
I thought we came here to have lunch,” Miss Pierson said, sitting down in the chair he’d pulled out for her.

Was it just him or had there been a slight hitch in her voice? He sat down in the wooden chair opposite her. “We’ll have lunch, don’t you worry about that. But for now, I need you to listen carefully.”

“All right.”

Wes ran a hand over the stubble that covered his chin, racking his brain for just how to put this so she’d understand the situation, but not panic. He blew out a breath. “Miss Pierson, I do believe you’ll make a beautiful bride.”

She jumped out of her chair. “Mr. Tucker, has the heat gotten to you?”

“
No. But if you don’t do as I say, something will be getting to
you
—and it won’t be as kind as a bit too much sun.”

“
I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, moving toward the door.

Wes took to his feet and reached for her arm to stay her. “I know. But that doesn’t make it any less true.” He raked a hand through his brown hair. “Miss Pierson, the way I see it, there are three ways out of here.”

She cocked her head to the side. “I’m listening.”

“
The first one is the stagecoach.”

Miss Pierson heaved a sigh. “Well, it’s quite apparent I’ve already missed that option.”

“I know, I just wanted to remind you it was an option.”

“
Why?”

“
I’ll tell you in a moment.” He flashed her a quick grin. “The second option is not advisable.”

She glared at him.

“You could steal a horse and ride away.”

She pursed her lips and stared at him as if he were addled for suggesting such a thing.

“But I wouldn’t recommend that method, either. People ‘round here take horse thievery seriously. It’s a hanging offense, wouldn’t you know? Just last summer—”

“
And what is my third option, Mr. Tucker?”

“
You could walk.” He dropped his gaze down to her shoes. They weren’t heeled or bejeweled as he half-expected them to be, but being white leather half boots that couldn’t possibly have more than a quarter-of-an-inch thick sole, they were still unsuitable. “You’ll either wear a hole in the bottom of those or have a nasty blister before you reach the Indians.”

She started. “Indians?”

“Indians,” he confirmed with a quick nod. “I don’t know what that drunkard who was driving your stagecoach told you, but you’re in Indian Territory.”

Her eyes doubled in size. “Indian Territory as in where the government has moved hundreds of thousands of Indians?”

“Very good. You must enjoy reading the newspaper with your morning meal.”

She frowned. “How did we get here? I thought we were in Kansas.”

Wes shook his head. “Your stagecoach driver took a wrong turn somewhere around Freedom, Missouri, and got off of the Santa Fe Trail and onto the Texas Trail. Huge difference.”

“
Freedom?” She cast him a dubious expression. “We were in Freedom three days ago. How did he not know he’d taken a wrong turn until now?”

“
Don’t ask me, I wasn’t the one driving.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sir, do you have a serious bone in your body?”

“Don’t rightly know. But what I do know is, unless you want to be captured by the Indians, you’re staying right here in Fort Gibson until the next armed stagecoach comes through.”

“
Stay in this outlandish place a month? Absolutely not.”

“
Oh? Do you think you’ll take your chances against a tribe of Indians, then?”

“
No.
We’ll
take our chances against a tribe of Indians,” she said with a dazzling smile.

“
Pardon? Who exactly are you including in this ‘we’?”

“
You and me,” she said easily. She adjusted her frilly, pink shawl, still smiling in a way he was certain turned many heads in Boston. But they weren’t in Boston.

“
And why should I do that?”

“
Because I need to get to Santa Fe.”

“
Then you can wait for the stagecoach to take you.”

“
What am I supposed to do until then?”

“
Marry me.”