Colt

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Authors: Georgina Gentry

BOOK: Colt
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Previous Books by Georgina Gentry
Cheyenne Captive
Cheyenne Princess
Comanche Cowboy
Bandit's Embrace
Nevada Nights
Quicksilver Passion
Cheyenne Caress
Apache Caress
Christmas Rendezvous
(anthology)
Sioux Slave
Half-Breed's Bride
Nevada Dawn
Cheyenne Splendor
Song of the Warrior
Timeless Warrior
Warrior's Prize
Cheyenne Song
Eternal Outlaw
Apache Tears
Warrior's Honor
Warrior's Heart
To Tame a Savage
To Tame a Texan
To Tame a Rebel
To Tempt a Texan
To Tease a Texan
My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys
(anthology)
To Love a Texan
To Wed a Texan
To Seduce a Texan
Diablo: The Texans
Rio: The Texans
 
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
COLT
The Texans
G
EORGINA
G
ENTRY
ZEBRA BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
This book is dedicated to Meredith Bernstein,
the world's best literary agent, who has handled
my business for over twenty-two years without a contract,
just a handshake deal. I have never regretted this
partnership because besides being beautiful,
she's a tough negotiator for her clients.
 
 
As our local cowboys would say,
“I'm much obliged, Meredith.”
Prologue
Summer 1852
The Texas plains
 
Abruptly Hannah felt something was wrong. She paused in dropping a sand plum in her basket and wiped at a drop of sweat that ran down her breasts under her faded blue gingham dress.
No one else seemed to sense anything. On the other side of the creek, the others continued to pick wild plums, the midsummer heat making dizzying waves in her vision as she watched them. It was just a smattering of people from the settlement out here picking today, mostly women, an elderly person or two, and half a dozen small children.
Hannah had crossed the creek because she was tall and there were a few bigger bushes with plump fruit that only she could reach. Now she smiled at the children and stood on tiptoe in her worn shoes to reach another plum. If they could buy a little sugar, these would make good jam for the winter.
Her smile turned to a frown as she watched her husband, Luther, leaning on his rifle. Guarding gave him an excuse not to help with the work, she thought. He glared at her and motioned to her to get back to work. Last night's bruises still ached and she felt old at the age of eighteen. Hannah gritted her teeth and returned to picking plums, hating Luther for the way he treated her. She had run away from an abusive stepfather at fifteen and had married Luther because he seemed to be so kind, and she had known little kindness in her life. How wrong she had been. Out here on the Texas plains, there was no place to run. It must be fifty miles to the nearest town and she had no money and could barely read and write.
Well, Luther might break her body, but he could not break her heart or her spirit, she vowed, thinking of their little son. Somehow she would survive and leave Luther. Right now, she brushed back a lock of blond hair and lifted her basket.
Then she realized what it was that had given her pause: the silence. The birds and all the insects had stopped their singing and it was deathly quiet. The other people didn't seem to notice; they all had their heads down, intent on the fruit in the straggly bushes.
Very slowly, Hannah turned to look over her shoulder and her heart almost stopped. On the nearby rise, a group of Comanche warriors sat on paint ponies watching the whites.
“Indians! Comanches!” Hannah shouted and started through the weeds, tripped over her basket, and fell, the ripe fruit crushed under her weight and staining the ragged blue of her dress.
Now the birds and insects exploded into a mass of noise as the Comanches galloped through the dry grass, coming down off the knoll. Already the other people were running for the safety of the settlement, little children crying, women screaming. Hannah heard the pounding of hooves behind her, but she didn't look back. She was only concerned with getting across the creek. The Indian war cries rang in her ears as they gained on her.
“Luther! The gun!” she shouted, but her cowardly husband had already dropped the rifle and was trampling over one child after another as he ran for the safety of the settlement. Had she expected any better from him? If she could reach that gun, she'd protect the retreat—she knew how to shoot. But then as she crossed the creek her foot caught the ragged hem of her dress and she tripped and went to her knees.
Now the mounted Indians surrounded her and she struck out at them with her bare hands. “Luther! Help me!” she screamed, but her husband only paused momentarily and then kept running, outracing the women and children to get to the safety of the cabins, where other men were now firing at the invading savages. If she could just make it to the cabins, she thought, but her way was blocked by screaming, painted warriors who rode around her, blocking her path.
She'd heard the horror stories about women captured by the Comanches and she'd go down fighting before she'd let them take her. Even as she thought that, the leader of the war party, an ugly, grinning devil, reached down and grabbed her arm, lifting her to his dancing paint horse. He smelled of grease and smoke and old sweat, and she fought him, while he grinned at her with yellow teeth. Then he struck her, hard.
She felt the pain, so familiar from a man's hands, and tasted blood as he hit her again. She must not pass out or she could not fight. Wasn't that what always enraged Luther? The fact that she fought back instead of taking his beating meekly like a proper wife should? Somewhere in the distance, she was vaguely aware that men still fired from the settlement and most of the plum pickers had made it to safety. Only one or two lay in the grass not moving.
Her captor shouted a command in a language she did not understand and then the group took off at a gallop, away from civilization, away from safety, one of the warriors brandishing Luther's dropped rifle.
She had to get away; this was her last chance or face terrible slavery or torture at the hands of the Comanche. Blood ran from her mouth as she struggled, but the ugly warrior hit her again and she could fight no longer as she hung from his saddle. The war party galloped away across the plains and she realized she was a captive.
Chapter 1
Spring 1856
Southwest Texas
 
Second Lieutenant Colton Prescott reined in his shaggy bay mustang and looked at the fort in the distance. “Well, Rascal,” he muttered, “here's our new assignment, Camp Cooper and the Second Cavalry.”
With that, he straightened his broad shoulders and urged his mount forward. He hadn't wanted this assignment, but the new fort on this outer limits of Texas civilization needed an officer who knew something about Comanches. Colt knew, all right—hadn't he spent ten years among them?
So he'd been sent to this post on the last fringes of civilization, which didn't look like much, just a few stone buildings, most still under construction. He urged Rascal forward. Lowly privates stared at him as he rode past, then returned to their stone laying.
This place couldn't take a major attack by Indians, Colt thought as he reined in before a stone building and dismounted. But then, Comanches weren't likely to attack a fort; they preferred surprise and small, lightly protected settlements where they could find food, weapons, and horses.
He tied his horse up at the hitching rail, returned the salute of the lean private on duty at the door, who seemed to be staring at Colt's ragged, dusty uniform. In return, Colt eyed the other's bright blue uniform with yellow stripes down the legs.
What a dandy
, he thought.
Must be new issue.
“Is the officer in charge inside?”
The private nodded. “Yes, sir. Major Murphy.”
“Private, get my horse some water and feed. We've come a long way.”
“Yes, sir.” The private opened the door for him, and Colt bent his head to get his lanky frame through the door.
Inside, a lean older man with gray hair and a new uniform looked up. “Yes?”
“Second Lieutenant Colt Prescott reporting for duty.” Colt saluted and drew his big frame to attention.
“Oh, yes, we've been expecting you. Sit down, sit down. I'm not much on formality. Would you like a drink?” The superior officer had a slight Irish accent.
“Yes, sir.” Colt sank gratefully into a chair and slapped at the dust on his uniform. “Trail dust mighty thick out there and it's a long way from San Antonio.”
The major continued to pour drinks, then paused to look out the window. “Saint Mary's blood, is that beast what you rode in on?” He grinned.
“Mustang, sir, great mount for the Texas plains.”
The other handed him a tumbler and returned to his desk chair. “Wait 'til you see what we're riding here at Camp Cooper,” the major said proudly. “Best thoroughbreds the United States could buy, and all matched. Each company of horses is a different color.”
“Hmm.” Colt sipped his whiskey. This was the good stuff from back East, not the rotgut he was used to. “Thoroughbred might be all the go back East, but they won't do out here on the plains, sir. They need corn and lots of care. Mustangs can get by on a little grass and a heavy dew.”
“Nonsense.” The major sipped his whiskey and wiped his mouth. “The Second Cav is the nation's best and newest Cavalry regiment; Secretary of War Davis has seen to that. We've got the latest weapons, too, including those five-shot Colt revolvers.”
Colt raised his eyebrows. “Really? I've never seen one, but I've heard about them.”
The major reached to hand his weapon across to Colt. “These Texans have been raising a howl about the Indians attacking their farms and ranches.”
“Can't blame 'em, sir.” Colt examined the pistol with curiosity. “Have you ever seen what's left after an Indian raid?” Colt's mind went back to sights he'd seen: burned buildings, tortured bodies, livestock lying dead with arrows sticking out all over like big pincushions, women carried off. That made him remember a long time ago, a pretty girl on a wagon train. He'd been a small boy then, and the Cheyenne had surrounded them. The girl's name had been Texanna... .
“Yes, Lieutenant, the Second Cav has the best of everything: handpicked men, the best new weapons, the latest uniforms. Half of us are here, the rest of the Second Cav is occupying Fort Mason.” The major didn't seem to notice that Colt's attention had drifted.
Now Colt came back to the major abruptly and handed over the gun, very aware of how faded and dusty his uniform was. “I see the new yellow stripes down the legs.”
The major nodded. “I hope we've got a uniform big enough to fit you and we'll get you a better horse.”
“If you don't mind, sir, I like Rascal. We've been through a lot together and I'd just soon ride him.”
“Your choice.” The major leaned back in his chair and looked Colt over. “You look a little old to still be a second lieutenant. When were you at West Point?”
“I'm thirty-two,” Colt said, “and it's a field promotion. I've never been to West Point. Rank has been hard to come by since the Mexican War.”
“Don't I know it.” Major Murphy snorted. “My wife's very disappointed I haven't made it to general by now.”
“You fought in the war?”
“No, I had a desk job so my wife could stay in Philadelphia, which is where she still is.” The major looked relieved. “Texas was too wild and uncivilized for her. My daughter came out with me.”
“Beggin' your pardon, sir, west Texas is no place for a woman, especially one from back East.”
The major chuckled. “Tell that to Olivia. She's headstrong and does what she pleases; we've spoiled her no doubt. I dare say she'll find you intriguing. I hope you dance, Lieutenant?”
“A little,” Colt said. “Don't get much time for dancin' out here on the frontier.”
Just then, a beautiful, petite, dark-haired girl opened the inner door and peeked out. “Am I interrupting anything, Daddy?”
“Oh, come in, dear. I was just telling the new lieutenant about you.”
Colt jumped to his feet, twisting his hat in his hands. She was the most beautiful girl Colt had ever seen and unlike any he'd ever met: petite, with an elaborate upswept hairdo. She wore a very expensive pink percale dress.
The major stood and hugged his daughter. “Lieutenant Prescott, may I introduce my daughter, Olivia?”
Colt's heart skipped a beat and he bowed as the girl curtsied. “How do you do, ma'am?”
“Very well, thank you.” Her long eyelashes fluttered over dark eyes. “Goodness gracious, I love your Texas drawl, Lieutenant.”
She had the palest, most delicate skin, Colt noted. Colt didn't know what to say to this elegant lady. Although he was well experienced with cheap frontier floozies, he found himself stuttering for an answer.
The major chuckled. “Well, I see you've had the same effect on this Texan you usually have on men, Olivia.”
She blushed. “Oh, Daddy. Now you're going to have this young man thinking I'm just terrible.”
“Oh no, ma'am, Miss Murphy, not at all.” He couldn't stop staring at her.
“Well,” the major said, “I guess that about wraps up this meeting, Lieutenant Prescott. We'll talk more later once you get settled. Olivia, would you mind showing the lieutenant to the officers' quarters?”
He found himself stuttering like a schoolboy. “Oh, I wouldn't want to trouble the lady—”
“Not at all. I'd be happy to.” The dark eyelashes fluttered again. “Come along, Lieutenant.”
Colt felt like a clumsy boy as he saluted the grinning officer and followed his daughter out onto the boardwalk. He picked up his knapsack and stumbled along behind her, trying to think of some brilliant thing to say. Nothing came.
“Cat got your tongue, Lieutenant Prescott?” She glanced back over her shoulder, smiling.
“No, ma'am, I just wasn't expectin' such a charmin' guide in a far outpost such as this.”
“It was a long, miserable trip,” she complained. “Over seven hundred miles from Jefferson Barracks in Missouri.”
“Very brave of you to make it.” Colt tried to match his long steps to her small ones.
“I thought Texas would be a bold, exciting adventure.” She sounded miffed. “Instead, it's just hot, dirty, and dangerous. Why, Daddy won't even let me ride outside the fort walls without an escort.”
“Your father is right,” Colt said. “You don't want to be carried off by the Comanche.”
They had reached a stone building still under construction, and she stopped and looked up at him. “Why, I've read
Last of the Mohicans
and
The Song of Hiawatha
.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. “I don't read much, ma'am. I came up the hard way.”
“I just meant I know all about our noble savages.”
“I doubt you do, Miss Murphy.” Colt frowned down at her. “Most white women carried off are never heard from again or are found scalped and ...” He started to say “brutally raped,” but then remembered he was talking to a lady.
“Goodness gracious, I think it would be an exciting adventure.” She turned pouty. “Well, anyway, here's your room.” She smiled up at him and he thought he had never seen such a dainty, feminine beauty.
“Thank you for escortin' me, Miss Murphy.” He bowed low. “I do hope I'll see you again.”
“It was an interesting change to a very dull day,” she said. “Do you dance, Lieutenant?”
“Not very well, I'm afraid, and not like the polished gentlemen you're used to.”
“Oh, all those boys back in Philadelphia are such prissy dandies, not like Texas men at all.”
He didn't know what to say. He stood there feeling awkward. “Well, much obliged for the escort,” he said again.
“I'll be happy to show you around the fort, such as there is to see. You'll escort me on a ride, won't you, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, ma'am. One thing I do well is ride. All Texans are almost born on horses.”
“I ride well, too, much better than I play the spinet or embroider. I'll be looking forward to it.” The petite beauty turned and walked away, Colt staring after her, completely enraptured. He'd never met a back-East lady before. He watched her lift her dainty pink skirt above the Texas dust swirling around her feet. Yes indeedy, he'd be happy to take her riding. Now Colt was happy he'd been sent to Camp Cooper. Olivia was so different from the saloon tarts he was used to.
The next morning, he was called into the major's office. “Well, Lieutenant, did you get settled in?”
“Yes, sir.”
“At ease, young man.” He poured them both a whiskey. It was a little early for Colt, but he accepted the tumbler. He was beginning to wonder if the major drank too much and why.
The major lit his pipe. “Sorry our accommodations are so sparse. We're still building here, you know.”
“I've had much worse, sir. I'm not used to bein' coddled.” He thought of the nights sleeping under the stars with one thin blanket, or his years among the Comanche, fighting the icy wind wrapped in a buffalo robe.
“I asked for someone who knew something about Comanche ways.” The major gave him a piercing look. “Are you that man?”
“I lived among them as a captive ten years, sir.” In fact, he had a scar on his arm from the blood-brother ceremony. Should he tell the officer he was blood brother to Spider, one of the most savage chieftains on the plains?
“Have you heard much about the Second Cav?” The major leaned back in his chair and studied him.
“No, sir.”
“We're a new outfit, pride of the country. Secretary of War Jeff Davis has spared no expense in outfitting us with the pick of Cavalry men, the best horses and weapons, and new uniforms. You've looked around, Lieutenant. What do you think?”
“The men seem good enough.” Colt shrugged and sipped his drink. He'd rather have a late-morning cup of coffee, but Easterners didn't know how to make coffee anyhow. Texans liked it strong enough to float a horseshoe. “You've got some of the finest thoroughbreds I've ever seen.”
The major nodded and puffed his pipe. “Best horseflesh in the country. Big horses that can cover a lot of ground.”
“Like I told you before, sir, you'd find mustangs would be better for the Texas plains.”
The major snorted. “You mean like that scruffy little beast you rode in on? I was planning on giving you your choice of our fine stock.”
“If you don't mind, I'll keep Rascal. After a few chases across the plains, you see why those fine thoroughbreds won't do. They need too much feed and too much care.”
The major laughed. “Saint Mary's blood. We'll see about that. Our assignment out here is to hold back the Comanche. They're playing havoc with these outlying ranches—murder, pillage. Our goal is to drive them farther west, make Texas safe for future settlement. Congress and President Pierce are getting too many complaints from voters in the Lone Star State.”

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