The Officer and the Bostoner (Historical Western Romance) (Fort Gibson Officers Series, Book 1) (6 page)

Undeterred, he met her eyes. “Logic,” he said simply. He gestured to the shelf of fabric behind him. “There is nothing in this store as fine as the satins and silks a fine Bostoner such as yourself is accustomed to wearing. So the way I see it, there’s no use in wasting money on a more expensive fabric that you’ll complain about just as much as the cheapest.”

“And you’re in a position to tell me what I will and will not be comfortable wearing, because...”

He snorted. “Because I’ve known women like you. And unless you’re dressed to the height of fashion in all the most expensive fabrics, you’ll find something to complain about.” Not to mention, she’d probably use at least ten yards before making something that would only have to be marginally altered by one of the other officers’ wives.

Allison’s hard eyes bored into his and she looked as if she might have a hot retort to spew at him, but she didn’t. Instead, she broke his gaze and looked over at the bolts of dark fabric on the shelf. “Do you have any other colors?” The hopeful note in her tone was hard even for Wes to miss and a slight pang of remorse for his harsh words came over him.

“
Not that a spendthrift like you would understand this, but those other colors cost money. And money is something most of the men out here don’t have,” Charles blustered with a scowl.

Allison sucked in a sharp breath and Wes’ annoyance with Allison completely evaporated, replaced with the oddest urge to punch the offending man. Alternatively, he turned to Allison and with a calm he didn’t feel said, “Why don’t you go wait outside?”

***

Wait outside?
What was she, a troublesome animal he didn’t wish to contend with?

She opened her mouth to protest, but something about the stony look on Wes’ face kept her words from tumbling out.

With a huff, she spun around and walked out the door.

Irritation bubbled inside of her. What had made Wes transform from the easy, carefree man she’d met yesterday into someone irrational? Certainly it wasn’t because she hadn’t been able to choke down those inedible eggs. Or what about the way he’d looked at her as he commanded her to leave the store? He looked almost murderous. But only ten seconds before that, he looked like he was softening...

She shook her head. He was a mystery, that was becoming clearer and clearer each time they spoke.

Allison dug the toe of her white leather traveling shoe into the dirt. What was taking him so long?

A small group of soldiers drew nearer and she quickly sidestepped out of their way and bumped right into the hard body of her husband, nearly knocking her over as she misstepped and struggled for balance.

Wes’ strong arm reached around to steady her, bringing her body flush against his firm chest. “There you go,” he murmured just above her ear.

Allison tipped her face up to look at him and cast him a weak smile. “Thank you.”

“
Don’t thank me yet,” he said, his voice gruff and thick and his blue eyes growing intense.

“
Wh—what?” she stammered, her heart hammering in her chest. Why was he looking at her thus? Moreover, why did his stare make her feel as if three dozen butterflies had just been let loose in her stomach?

He cleared his throat then shoved a sloppily folded pile of burgundy fabric in her direction. “Don’t waste it,” he barked.

Allison took the fabric and without thinking—or breaking his gaze—brought the soft cotton against her chest. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

“
Good.” He jerked his eyes away from hers and then gestured to the commanding officers’ cabins. “Shall we?”

A slow smile crossed Allison’s lips and she peeked up at this strange man who’d become her husband. His face was relaxed. His eyes intense. His voice soft. All of these a stark contrast to the man she’d seen inside the sutler’s store. Yes, there was no denying it; he was a mystery indeed.

~Chapter Six~

Wes tamped down his unwanted desire for that infuriating woman he now had to call his wife. Never before had he met such an irritating, intriguing, and desirable creature. He shook his head to remove all thoughts of her.

Willing his mind to temporarily forget about her and all the havoc she could potentially wreak on his life, he wrenched open the door to the large office that the commissioned officers shared and stalked across the room to his desk, ignoring the way his face heated as he walked past the other officers, already in their seats.

He sat down, removed his hat and ran a hand through his dark hair, sighing. His eyes aimlessly wandered around the four desks that were pushed together in such a way that two men sat next to each other, and the other two men sat across from them. It was designed this way to save space, and it was because of this arrangement that he’d become friends with Gray, Jack and McCorkle. Had they just bunked together at night, they might have just known each other in passing due to how little time they actually spent in their room. But since they spent all day sitting together or commanding their men together, they’d forged a friendship stronger than iron.

“
Good mornin’ again, Wes,” Gray greeted as he walked in a few moments later.

Wes nodded to the man, taking note of the unusual look on his friend’s face. Was he surprised to see him or something?

Gray walked across the room to where his desk was positioned across from Wes’. He pushed open the curtains to let in enough sunlight so he wouldn’t need to burn the candles, but not enough to flood the room with heat as the sun rose higher in the sky. He plopped down in his chair and then mindlessly shuffled through a tall stack of papers, peeking up at Wes at approximately five-second intervals.

Wes sighed. “Yes?”

“Hmm?” Gray asked, a little too innocently.

Wes almost rolled his eyes at his friend’s horrible attempt to act nonchalant. “What is it you have to say?”

“
I
don’t have anything to say. I think you do though.”

“
And what is that?”

Gray set down the stack of papers he’d been pretending to look through. “Your wife.”

Wes shrugged. “What about her?”

Gray’s green eyes bore into him. “To start with—”

“Why didn’t you tell us you were getting one?” Jack asked.

Wes’ eyes shot to Jack. When had he come in? He cleared his throat. Then again. “I didn’t think it was anyone’s business.” He immediately turned his head to the side and rubbed his fingers across his neck where an itch had suddenly developed.

“Really?” Gray drawled. “You thought it best she just turn up one day without you making any arrangements?”

“
Yes. I didn’t want to cause a stir among the men.” At least that part was the truth.

Gray leaned back in his chair and eyed him skeptically. “Something’s not right about all of this.”

“Well, once you sniff it out, let the rest of us know, would you?” McCorkle said, taking his seat at the desk adjacent to Wes’.

Wes shook his head. Strong, brave, and for the most part, honorable, McCorkle was an excellent addition to the United States Army, making any man proud to serve beside him. His one flaw, however, was that he never was one who liked to give anything a lot of thought. He preferred to take orders rather than ponder what they should do next. And on a few occasions, when he hadn’t waited for orders or nobody was around to give them, he’d acted solely on impulse and never on intellect. Many times Wes wondered just why McCorkle wanted to be an officer as opposed to a private, where his muscle-to-mind ratio would have been better served.

“Well, don’t think about it too hard,” Wes said, turning his gaze back to Gray. “It’d be a shame if you hurt yourself over something as trivial as this.”

Behind Wes, one of the other officers sniggered and Gray pulled a face. “You just wait. I know you’re up to something.”

“Prove it,” Wes said flippantly, inwardly praying Gray wouldn’t. While he trusted Gray and Jack with his life—and Allison’s—he wasn’t sure if the others could be trusted were they to know she wasn’t really his wife. At least with the pretense that they were married, she was safe. But if someone were to find out that she was just pretending to be his wife until her intended came to claim her, she’d be vulnerable and his protection would do her no good. His heart squeezed slightly at the thought. Then, just as fast as the worry and pain came, Wes shoved it away. Nobody was going to find out. Nor should he care so much if they did. Truly, he needed to put her out of his mind and treat her as nothing more than a passing annoyance!

“
Captain Tucker!” Colonel Lewis shouted.

Wes’ head snapped in the direction of the doorway where his superior officer stood, a grim look on his face. “Sir?”

“Captain Tucker, I suggest you get a tight rein on your thoughts and rid them of your pretty new wife for a moment. We have a serious situation on our hands.”

Paying no mind to the smug looks on both Jack’s and Gray’s faces, Wes stood at attention and saluted. “Ready for orders, sir.”

“At ease, soldier,” Colonel Lewis said in his usual soft voice. “I need you and Officers Walker, Montgomery, and McCorkle to do some investigative work for me.”

“
Yes, sir,” Wes said, saluting.

“
Very good.” Colonel Lewis handed Wes a stack of papers, then scratched his jaw while Wes read them first and then handed them to Jack and Gray.

“
You cannot be serious,” Jack burst out, piercing their commanding officer with his stare.

“
I am,” Colonel Lewis said, his lips twitching.

“
What?” McCorkle asked, reaching for the papers Gray held in his loose grasp. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the sloppily written lines of their orders.

“
Are you sure this is a task that requires officers present?” Gray asked, his typical cool reserve well in place.

Colonel Lewis nodded once. “Certain.”

Wes suppressed a groan that was identical to the one that escaped Jack.

McCorkle, who’d just finished reading their orders, handed them back to Gray and adjusted his hat. “What are you waiting for, boys? Let’s go. Orders are orders.”

“That they are,” Colonel Lewis agreed as a traitorous grin spread across his lips. “You boys had better be off. The sun’s getting higher in the sky, and you don’t want to still be out there in the hot sun, overseeing dinner being slaughtered, at noonday.”

***

Allison took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

Was it her imagination or was the cabin on fire?

She threw a glance over her left shoulder. The graying Mrs. Lewis and thin, pale Sarah Ridgely, General Ridgely’s wife, were both sitting in rocking chairs, their needles zipping in and out of the fabric in their hands. Behind them, a small, but contained, fire lit up the fireplace. She peered at the kitchen area. No smoke in there, either.

Releasing another breath, she turned her attention back to the fabric laid out in front of her.

Breathe. Just cut a straight line. That’s it. You can do this.
She clenched her eyes closed.
No, I can’t!
she wanted to scream.

“
Do you need any help, Allison?” Mrs. Lewis asked, breaking into Allison’s thoughts.

“
No, ma’am. I just wanted to make sure...” She trailed off and bit her lip.
Just cut
. Tightening her grip on the shears, Allison began to cut.

Slow at first. Short, concise clips.

“It’ll be straighter, if you hold the fabric up at an angle and just glide the shears across,” Sarah said helpfully, as she tucked a ringlet of her dark blonde hair behind her ear.

Tentatively, Allison lifted the fabric, and with a prayer, pressed the V of the shears against the fabric and started to glide. She went slow at first, getting the feel for it, then sped up as she got more comfortable with it.

“Oh, Allison,” Mrs. Lewis began, “did you forget to—” Her words died on her tongue as the loud sound of fabric splitting rent the air.

Allison’s eyes flared wide. She somehow had turned the heavy fabric and now she was cutting at a sharp diagonal. Too scared of what might happen if she were to stop, Allison guided those cutting shears all the way down to the edge of the fabric.

Tears pricked her eyes. What had she done wrong?

“
Allison? Would you like some help?” Mrs. Lewis asked, concern filling her voice.

Yes!
“No,” Allison said, shaking her head. She couldn’t accept help from Mrs. Lewis because then Wes would know she’d lied about being able to sew. She closed her eyes. Why had she lied about such a silly thing as knowing how to sew? She wasn’t his wife. She didn’t have to impress him with her womanly skills.

Yes she did. Why, she’d never know. Perhaps it was pride or a longing to show him that he had underestimated her in the worst way. But no matter what it was, she’d wanted to prove to him she was far more capable than he gave her credit for.

Allison stared down at the fabric. It was too late for this piece now. It was already cut, but perhaps her dress could still be salvaged, thereby proving to her husband that she wasn’t one who wasted things. An idea sprang into her head.

Forcing a smile, she stood and discarded the scraps. “Looks lovely, doesn’t it?” she asked of no one in particular.

Neither Mrs. Lewis nor Sarah spoke, they just stared at the fabric she’d termed lovely with their mouths slightly agape.

Allison waved her hand through the air. “Don’t worry. I meant to do that. Wearing skirts that form points in the front and back has become all the rage back in Boston.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Lewis said as a wistful look came over her face. “I didn’t know that.” She sighed. “It’s been so long since I’ve been home, I have no idea what’s fashionable anymore.” She sighed again. “And probably by the time I make it back, they won’t be in style any longer.”

“
You’re likely right,” Allison murmured. Seeing as how such a ridiculous cut wasn’t in style
now
, it wouldn’t be whenever it was that Mrs. Lewis left here. Sighing, she knelt down to do the only thing she could do now: cut the other side of the skirt panel to match. Thankfully, she’d made it a good three-fourths of the way down the skirt before losing control of her shears. She shook her head.

“
Here,” Sarah whispered, “you might need these.”

Allison looked up and nearly groaned in frustration when she saw what Sarah held: a little ball with hundreds of sparkling straight pins poking out. “Thank you.”

Sarah winked at her then went back to sewing.

Thirty minutes later, Allison had made all the appropriate cuts to form a skirt with the most unusual and idiotic design. She sighed and laid the fabric down with one panel on top of the other; next, using the ball of spikes Sarah had handed her earlier, she did her best to pin the two pieces together as straight as possible.

Then she stared at it.

But it didn’t magically sew itself together as she’d hoped. It was waiting for her. Waiting for her to do something, to be more precise.

With a hard swallow, she picked up the spool of thread and unwound a few feet. Satisfied, she snipped the thread, then grabbed the package of needles that was on the table nearby, and prepared herself to thread the needle.

In her left hand, she held the needle straight up and down, with the eye pointing toward the sky. Then with her trembling right hand, she tried to push the end of the thread through the hole. She missed. It bent. She missed again. The end looked as though it was now fraying and sweat formed on her brow. How difficult could it be to thread a needle? Just push the thread through the hole!

She bit her lip and tried again, but her unsteady hand moved either the thread or the needle or both just in time to miss it.

Her palms grew clammy and she tried again.

“Mrs. Lewis,” Sarah asked from behind Allison, “might you go get some of those cookies you were talking about earlier? I bet Allison would love to try them. It might be a nice reminder of home for her.”

“
Oh, I bet you’re right,” Mrs. Lewis said. She set her sewing down and all but leapt off her chair.

No less than a second later, Sarah’s slender fingers were taking the needle and thread from Allison’s hands.

Without any slowness or hesitation, Sarah threaded the needle for her. She then fiddled with the thread for a minute and handed the needle back to Allison. “You’re at the easy part now.”

She took the threaded needle and stared down at it, her cheeks burning. “Thank you. I’ve never sewn before.”

“I know.”

Allison flushed hotter. “It’s not like that. I just never learned. See, back home, my mother always took our things to a seamstress.”

“There’s no need to explain anything,” Sarah said, resuming her seat. “We can’t all be good at everything.”