The Officer and the Bostoner (Historical Western Romance) (Fort Gibson Officers Series, Book 1) (5 page)

She nodded her limited understanding and kept pace with him as he walked back toward the barracks. “And what exactly are you?”

“A commissioned officer.”

“
A commissioned officer?” That meant absolutely nothing to her.

“
I am an officer, but I’m commanded—or commissioned—about, I don’t do the commanding.” He flashed her a grin. “At least, not yet. One day, I will, but I haven’t been around long enough to earn that role.”

“
So then you’re told to march and shoot on command?”

He chuckled. “No, I tell my men to do that and expect that they will. But I take my orders from Colonel Lewis and prepare my men to be ready to handle whatever it is that Colonel Lewis needs us to do.”

“Oh, I think I understand now.” She stepped over a slightly raised plank on the boardwalk. “So you still sleep in the barracks but have better living accommodations than the privates?”

“
Yes.”

Relief flooded her. She wasn’t sure if she could manage sharing such small quarters. Of course, she would if she must, but that little room he’d taken her to earlier was hardly what she’d consider suitable for an officer and his wife. Her relief was quickly stolen when a low whistle rent the air, causing Allison’s skin to prickle. Allison looked to her left in the direction of the whistle, and the private who’d been the creator of such a noise had the nerve to grin at her. Instinctively, she drew closer to Wes. He might have the uncanny ability to annoy her with his carefree demeanor, but there was something about his broad and confident stature that spoke of strength and safety, which were both things she suddenly felt in need of.

As if sensing her unease, Wes put one arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. He nodded to each of the soldiers as they walked past.

“
Come in here with me,” he murmured, opening the door to the room he’d taken her to earlier.

She stepped inside and immediately wished she hadn’t. Three other men were in the room, all in various states of undress. One man with coal black hair and eyes so dark brown they nearly matched it, sat on the bunk closest to her with his coat off, wearing only a dingy white undershirt and tan trousers. Another man, who had brown hair and sky blue eyes, was bare-chested, sitting on the other bunk. The third man, with black hair and pale bluish-green eyes, sat on a rickety chair and had his booted feet propped up on the end of the bunk closest to him. He still wore his coat, though it was unbuttoned and gaping open, exposing a thin white shirt that clung tightly to his rippled muscles. She blushed.

“Allison,” Wes said, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close to him. “Allow me to introduce you to a few friends of mine.” He gestured to the man closest to them. “This is Second Lieutenant Jack Walker, but we all just call him Jack as we’re not sure if he’s earned his rank.” Wes put his hands up to deflect a hat that the man hurled at his head. “Anyway, he’s been here at Fort Gibson a little more than a year, and barring anymore stupidity, he’ll stay with us a while longer.”

The men laughed and Jack shook his head, his dark eyes alight with laughter. “Don’t believe everything Wes says.”

Wes directed her attention to the lanky, bare-chested man sitting on the other bunk. “That’s First Lieutenant Brice McCorkle. He came here straight from West Point just last month.”

Lieutenant McCorkle raised a flask in her direction and took a swallow.

“He doesn’t say much,” the officer sitting in the chair said. He stood and straightened his coat. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Captain Grayson Quinn Montgomery, but the pretty ladies call me Gray.”

“
The homely ones, too,” Wes added helpfully.

Allison made her eyes go wide. “And which category are you implying I fall into?”

Wes’ face flushed red and Gray clapped him on the back. “I do believe he has finally met his match.”

“
And just who is his match?” Jack wondered.

“
Allison Pier—Tucker,” she said with a heated blush.

“
Pardon?” all three of the strangers said in unison.

Wes cleared his throat, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he got an inch taller and his chest puffed out more. “Her name is Allison Tucker. She’s my wife.”

“Your what?” two of the three said in unison.

“
My wife,” Wes clarified. “She just arrived today from Boston.”

“
Arrived?” Gray said in a tone that might suggest he was looking for more details.

Apparently Wes didn’t feel the need to share the circumstances of their marriage with his friends and she had no urge to, either.

“So she’s a mail order,” Lieutenant McCorkle suggested.

Wes grunted as if he were neither agreeing nor disagreeing with the man’s charge.

“A mail order, eh?” Jack said, nodding his approval and favoring Allison with an intent and slightly lingering glance. “As usual, Wes has all the luck. The only men I’ve ever heard of who ordered brides from back East have ended up with some very unattractive, albeit sturdy, wives. She has to be the prettiest one by far.”

“
You’ll have to excuse Jack here,” Wes said not a bit apologetically. “He’s always wondered what it’d be like to wear a pirate’s eye patch, and if he doesn’t stop leering, he’ll get his chance to find out.”

Jack threw his hands up into the air. “Ain’t nothing wrong with looking, is there?”

“When you’re looking at my wife, there is,” Wes said in a low tone.

A shiver skated up Allison’s spine at his protectiveness. But in a moment, it was gone. She wasn’t really his wife. Well, she was, but only temporarily.

Wes turned toward the bureau in the middle of the room and yanked open the drawer. Allison winced at the sharp, high-pitched squeak it made. Inside the drawer were a variety of items: stockings, gloves, rolled-up trousers, a short comb with no more than five teeth, and half a dozen other trinkets. Holding his left arm against his chest, Wes pulled the objects from his drawer and piled them into the little cradle he’d created.

“
Here,” Allison murmured, going up on her toes. She released the leather chinstrap from his hat, then removed it and turned it over so he could place some of the smaller objects inside.

“
That’s not what it’s made for,” he said, frowning.

“
And here I thought you were a sensible one...” She winked at his friends and tried not to laugh when she discovered that her words had brought grins to Gray’s and Jack’s faces while poor Lieutenant McCorkle couldn’t close his mouth.

Wes shook his head and grinned, placing what looked like miniatures along with a few other valuables inside his hat-turned-bucket. When he was done, he closed the drawer with his hip, then walked over to the head of the bunk closest to her and dropped the items in his arms onto the flattened pillow before lifting the top of the bedpost off and removing whatever he’d stored there.

“So
that’s
where you kept it,” Jack said, with a chuckle.

Wes nodded and shoved whatever he’d pulled from the bedpost into his pocket.

Jack turned toward Allison. “We officers get paid forty-five dollars a month. Wes has been saving his pay for as long as I’ve been here. He ought to have enough by now to buy you some real nice things.”

Allison blushed. Wes wouldn’t be buying her anything, but they didn’t need to know that.

Wes gathered his things again and walked to the door. “’Night, fellas,” he called. “We have a big day tomorrow, so get some sleep.”

“
You, too,” one of his friends called back with a chuckle, while another whistled.

“
Don’t mind them,” Wes murmured. He led her down the boarded sidewalk that went in front of the row of officer’s apartments, then up a wooden staircase. “Married officers sleep upstairs.”

She did not think it was possible for her to be surprised by the sleeping quarters she would find upstairs. But surprised she was, and not in a good way. It was no larger than the one he’d taken her to downstairs. Except in this one, there was only one bed, not two. At the foot of the bed was a narrow chest about as wide as her foot was long, made from pine and covered with scratches. Along the wall across from the bed was a crude fireplace and right next to that was a little table that had the right dimensions to also pass for a desk. And in the corner was a wooden rack with four cracked and slanting shelves, devoid of any items except dust.

Wes opened the chest that apparently had three rusted hinges and retrieved a chamberpot, water basin, pitcher and a few dented tin cups. He set them on the dusty floor and then went about putting his clothes and belongings into the chest. “Do you have anything you’d like me to put in here?”

She looked down at her purse and a wave of emotion washed over her. This was it. Everything she still owned was right here with her. Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them away before Wes could notice. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed now.”

Wes looked out the window at the sun that was still fairly high in the sky and shrugged. Standing, he stripped off his coat and started working on the fastening of his trousers.

Allison cleared her throat.

He continued undressing himself.

She cleared her throat again, louder.

Wes lifted one dark eyebrow. “Yes?”

“
Just because I expressed an interest in going to bed, doesn’t mean you have to, too.”

He scoffed. “Yes, I do.”

Panic seized her. “You said this was an in-name only marriage until Nicholas can come for me,” she said unevenly.

“
It is. But I still have a reputation to uphold with my men.”

Her face flamed. By morning, everyone would think she’d been intimate with Wes. She cleared her throat and sent a pointed look to where his hands were still on the fastenings of his trousers. “You’re not...”

Wes exhaled sharply, then turned around. “Please remove whatever you think is necessary, get into bed, and pull the blankets over your eyes since the sight of the human form offends you so.”

Allison swallowed nervously. Right. She had to get into bed, too. Just to be sure he wasn’t able to see her; she turned her back to him, too, and divested herself of her traveling dress, then climbed into the bed. Not so silly as to pull the covers over her eyes, she pulled them to her chin and then turned away from where he’d be undressing.

A moment later, his warm body settled in beside her.

“
Don’t worry,” he whispered, “I won’t touch you.”

She nodded, too nervous to speak. An overwhelming rush of emotions consumed her. Unfortunately, she couldn’t decide if she was more scared, nervous, uncertain, disappointed or just simply sick to her stomach.

~Chapter Five~

Wes was out of bed and dressed before the sun came up, no more rested than when he’d crawled into bed the night before. He turned his head over his shoulder one last time to glimpse his sleeping wife and then quietly slipped from the room. The best part of living in the middle of the vast prairie was the endless skies above. Long ago, he’d made it a habit to go for a morning ride as the sun came up.

He made his way down to the stables; nodding his greeting to the privates he passed. Though there wasn’t a full cavalry division stationed here, the United States Army had seen fit to outfit all the commanding and commissioned officers with horses. He’d always favored a horse appropriately named Midnight due to his coal black coat and eerie ability to sneak up on a man.

Whistling to himself, Wes saddled Midnight, then opened the door and led him out to the courtyard. Though it was already May and the days had a tendency to feel hotter than an oven, this early in the morning wasn’t too hot yet to ride.

“
Good boy,” he crooned, leading Midnight through the narrow passageway between the jail and the southeast blockhouse and into the open fields.

Wes paused just long enough to take in the beauty of the canvas in front of him. Orange, purple, red and even a bit of blue painted the sky. He mounted Midnight in one quick, fluid motion and urged him to go with his heels.

Midnight sprinted forward, running at full speed in the direction of nothing at all. Wes held tightly to the reins and grinned at the way the wind felt against his face, ruffling his hair. While it was imperative to always show his men the best example of being properly attired and ready for anything, his rides in the morning were the one time of the day when all that ceased to matter. All of the present responsibility, the past memories and the future uncertainty were left in his bunk, right alongside his shako.

He pulled the reins a fraction, signaling Midnight to slow his pace. The sky above him was magnificent, and so was the endless land all around him. In every direction he turned, all he could see was the natural landscape. No cabins or tents. No fences, roads or stagecoaches. Nothing but grass and trees. He’d never seen anything so serene and beautiful until he’d joined the Army. Charleston was a growing city with new businesses opening up with each passing year. Horses, wagons and carriages littered the streets and everyone was in such a hurry, never taking a moment to appreciate the simple things.

A little flock of seven birds flew overhead. Wes watched them until they were mere specks against the painted sky. Making a kissing sound with his lips, Wes urged Midnight in the direction of the barracks. It was always fun to ride at a breakneck pace away from the barracks, but going back, he liked to go slow and take his time.

“
Mornin’, Captain,” Chaplain Malone called as Midnight passed the blacksmith’s shop.

Wes nodded to the man and continued on to the stables where he unsaddled Midnight and rubbed him down.

Breakfast would be ready soon. He’d best go wake his sleeping bride. He shook his head at the thought. When he was a boy, his mother and father had made sure to emphasize the importance of a man of his means marrying well. They’d love Allison. It was quite clear she was from a wealthy family and would have no trouble playing the lofty role everyone expected of his wife.

“
Allison, are you awake?” he asked, easing the door to their little room open.

A ray of bright sunshine poured into the room and hit his sleeping bride right in the face. She sure was a pretty one, he’d give her that. Her mahogany hair was beautiful all pinned up during the day, but seeing it now, unpinned and fanned across her pillow— He jerked his gaze away. She was the absolute last woman he needed to be having such thoughts about.

He cleared his throat. “Allison.”

Allison sighed something in her sleep.

“Allison,” Wes called a little louder, taking a step in her direction.

Her eyelids fluttered open and then she blinked at him. Clutching the blanket they’d shared last night to her chest, she swallowed visibly. “Yes?”

“Breakfast will be served in about ten minutes.”

She nodded and then stared at him.

He returned her stare. Wasn’t she going to get up and get dressed?

She cleared her throat.

“Yes?”

“
Don’t you plan to leave while I get dressed?”

A low heat touched his face. “Of course, I’ll just be right out here,” he said, jerking his thumb back behind him. Then without wishing to let on to his unease, he gave her a slight nod, picked up his shako and strolled outside to wait.

Twenty minutes later, Allison still hadn’t emerged. Truly, there was no reason for it to take so long to get dressed. All she had to do was pull on the dress she’d worn yesterday. It wasn’t as if she had a wardrobe full of gowns to choose from and a jewelry collection to search for something to match.

But despite his slight annoyance, he’d used his self-control and hadn’t barged in there and demanded she hurry or he’d help her get dressed—yet.

He pursed his lips. Sharp sounds of forks scraping against metal plates as the men ate downstairs floated to his ears and his stomach growled. “Hurry up in there,” he barked, rapping on the door with his knuckles. “If we wait much longer, all the warm food will be gone.”

“
I’m coming,” she said, swinging the door open.

Wes swallowed. Even wearing the same dirty and wrinkled dress as she’d worn yesterday, she was beautiful. “This way,” he said, gesturing to the staircase in front of them.

Downstairs, he led her to the dining hall, where all the men stopped eating and whistled, grinned, nodded, waggled their eyebrows or did some other annoying gesture to taunt the newlyweds.

Allison’s cheeks turned pink at the reaction from the men. Wes put his hand on the small of her back and bent his head close to her ear. “Don’t worry about them. They’re just jealous.”

“Come bring that new wife of yours down here,” his friend Jack called from the far end of the second table.

Wes guided Allison down the aisle and held the chair out for her before taking his seat next to her. A moment later a scruffy-looking private plunked two metal plates in front of them, both filled with a scoop of pale yellow, jiggling eggs. Allison scrunched her nose and Wes chuckled.

“Eat up, lady,” he said, handing her fork to her. “This is a good meal.”

“
A good meal?” Her eyes were still trained on the eggs in front of her and her tone full of disbelief.

“
Yes,” Jack agreed, shoving a giant forkful of the slimy scrambled eggs into his mouth, “one of the best.”

Wes tried not to wince at the truth of Jack’s words. He turned toward Allison. “Eggs are rare. We have to trade with the Indians for them when they come to trade—which isn’t often.”

“I see,” she said, though her expression implied she didn’t see anything at all. She turned her fork over in her hand so the prongs were pointing downward, then with a very uneasy movement, poked at her eggs and lifted a small bite to her lips. She quickly swallowed and immediately brought her napkin to her mouth; whether to wipe away an imaginary crumb or hide her reflexive gag, Wes would never know.

“
Good, aren’t they?” McCorkle asked around a mouthful of eggs.

“
Of course,” Allison said. She picked up her cup and took a generous swallow of coffee. She grimaced and lowered the cup back to the table with a thud louder than she’d likely intended.

“
Ain’t you gonna eat?” McCorkle asked.

Allison shook her head. Wes had a momentary pang of sympathy for her. It had taken him a full year to get used to the meals they served here. Were she his wife in truth, he’d suggest that he buy all the equipment necessary for her to cook their meals over the fire in their room. But she wasn’t his wife, and there was no use in getting accustomed to better cooking, only to have to resort back to this slop after she left. Besides, a highfalutin woman like her probably didn’t even know the first step in how to boil water. His own mother sure didn’t. Why would Allison be any different?

He shook his head. “Eat up,” he said; his voice rough. “It’s a long time until lunch.”

“
I think I’ll manage until then.” Her soft voice and the way she so carelessly pushed her plate away irritated him.

“
Many men here would give a week’s wages for that plate of food,” he said in a low tone. “I’ll not have it said that my wife wastes her meals when rations are so few and the food supply so low.”

Allison’s brown eyes met his. “Then give it to one of them.”

“No, it’s yours. You need to eat.”

“
Sir, I don’t know who you think I am, but I will tell you this: I am not your child to be told what to do and when to eat. I can decide for myself what I do and do not wish to eat.”

Wes’ face grew warm. He didn’t want to eat it. He wanted her to eat it. She may not know it now, but this was likely the best meal she’d eat before returning to her fancy life. Grumbling, he cast an eye to his curious friends, then slid her plate of eggs over and devoured them.

When he was done with his—and her—eggs and had drained the contents of his tin cup, he stood and said, “Shall I take you to where the other officers’ wives spend their day, my lady?”

Allison frowned at him, presumably because she didn’t like the honorary styling he’d given her due to her tendency to act like one of the stuffy, spoiled aristocrats from England he’d heard about. As if realizing her look of disapproval did nothing to cow or shame him, she looked around the room, her eyes narrowing. “I hadn’t even noticed that none of the other officers’ wives joined us for breakfast,” she observed.

“That’s because most of them cook for their husbands,” he muttered under his breath. “Come along, then. We’ll have to stop by and see Charles first, and then I’ll take you to Mrs. Lewis.”

“
Must we?”

Wes held the door open for her. “Must we what?”

“Go see your friend Charles?”

“
Do you have another dress or two that I don’t know about?” he asked, lifting a brow.

She scowled and shook her head. “Do we have to buy a dress from him?”

Wes nearly choked to death on his own tongue. Patting his chest with more force than was necessary, he said, “No. And we won’t be. You’ll be making anything you want to wear around here.”

A shadow crossed Allison’s face. “All right.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You do know how to sew, don’t you?”

“
Of course I do!” She cleared her throat. “It is rude for you to even suggest otherwise.”

He would have laughed at her look of outrage were he not skeptical she was lying. He sighed. “Do you truly know how to sew?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

“
Uh huh. So I can buy you material and you won’t waste it?”

“
Waste it?”

“
Yes. Waste it, just like you wasted your breakfast.”

Her lips thinned. “It did not go to waste. You ate it.”

“Yes, but I won’t be able to wear any poor attempt at a skirt you manage to create with this fabric.”

Her cheeks grew pink. “Have no fear; your money will not be wasted. I am an expert seamstress,” she said before marching in the direction of the sutler’s store.

Wes was not far behind.

“
Charles,” Wes called, opening the door to the sutler’s shop for her. “Show me your cheapest fabric, please.”

“
Pardon me?” Allison said, halting right in front of him in the doorway.

Wes walked around her and over to where Charles kept the bolts of fabric. “Oh, and my lady will be needin’ some thread, too.”

Charles grabbed a bolt of fabric from the bottom of the rack in the corner. “Will she be needin’ a pattern, too?”

Wes shrugged. “I reckon she might.”

“
She
is right here,” Allison said, coming to stand by them. Her eyes met the bolt of rough and somewhat see-through fabric in Charles’ hand and her upper lip curled up. “Put
that
away right now. I’d sooner wear the dress I’m wearing now until it becomes rags than wear a dress made of that.” She reached for the corner of the fabric and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger, her scowl growing deeper. “What is that, burlap?”

“
Aye,” Charles agreed heartily, “the same as the sacks of oats in the stable.”

Allison released the fabric and met Wes’ eyes. “I will not be made to dress in rags.”

“And what would you prefer to wear, my lady?” he asked, for no other reason than to appear to be interested.

She pursed her lips and it was all he could do not to grin at her. “I don’t know. I haven’t looked at his selection yet.”

“And you don’t need to.”

“
Why not?” she asked, a challenge in those brown eyes of hers.