Colt (16 page)
Authors: Georgina Gentry
“Yes, sir.”
And with that, Colt mounted up, lashed his horse into a gallop, and headed for the fort.
Chapter 11
Colt galloped back to the fort. He wasn't quite sure what he expected to do when he got there. Maybe he was only curious to see the man Hannah had married, or maybe he wanted to stop Luther from taking her, which, of course, was not his business. He only knew he wanted to be there for Hannah when she faced her husband again.
He rode up to the major's office, dismounted, and handed the horse's reins to a private. “I don't think I'll be here long,” he said as he paused at the major's door.
There was a fancy buggy tied up at the hitching rail. Strange, he'd thought the man would be some poor farmer. He squared his shoulders and walked in.
The major looked relieved. “Oh, there you are, Lieutenant. This is Luther Brownley.”
The lanky man stood up. He was well dressed, but looked like a farmer, red neck and tanned face. His beard was straggly and gray-streaked. He offered his hand, nodded, and said, “Howdy do?” and Colt could see his teeth were stained with chewing tobacco.
Colt shook his callused hand. “Good to meet you.” But he wasn't glad to meet him at all. This well-dressed cracker was coming to take Hannah away.
The major motioned Colt to a chair. “I was just telling Mr. Brownley that you were the man who rescued his wife.”
“Well, thank you kindly,” Brownley said with no show of emotion. “She's been gone most four years now.”
“Drink, gentlemen?” The major got out the bottle and tumblers.
“Don't mind if I do.” Brownley grinned and took a glass, settled down in his chair.
Colt took a glass, but didn't taste it. What was wrong with this man? If Hannah had been Colt's long-lost wife, he would have wanted to see her immediately.
They drank, but the atmosphere seemed strained.
“So you've come to take Hannah home?” Colt asked finally, trying to understand this man.
“Not prezactly,” the other man said and drank his whiskey. “I was real surprised when the message came; I gave her up for dead a few months after she was carried off.”
“The major said it was hard to track you down, Mr. Brownley, being as how you had moved to another county,” Colt said.
Brownley grinned with his uneven, brown teeth. “Got a new, big farm now and a fancy house.”
Colt fiddled with his whiskey tumbler in the strained atmosphere. Finally he couldn't stand the man's lack of interest anymore. “Aren't you wantin' to know how she's doin' and what happened and see her?”
The other man frowned and reached in his jacket for a twist of chewing tobacco. “I reckon she's all right, alive, at least, and I can guess what them savages did to her.” He frowned and Colt didn't know what to say.
The major twisted in his chair. “Lieutenant, would you take Mr. Brownley down to her cabin so they can talk?”
Colt frowned. “Does she know he's here?”
The major shook his head and didn't meet Colt's gaze. “I thought it might be a shock since they haven't seen each other in so long. I thought maybe you'd show him the way.”
“Certainly.” Colt put down his untasted drink and stood up. There were a million things he'd rather do than take Luther Brownley down to be reunited with Hannah, but he reminded himself that, after all, she was married to this man, and he had every right to claim her.
The lanky man put down his empty glass and stood up. “Well, much obliged, Major Murphy. I thank you for whatever you've done for her.”
The major shrugged. “All we did was rescue her. She's been through quite an ordeal, Mr. Brownley. You may have to be patient with her until she gets back to normal.”
For the first time, the farmer looked a little disturbed. “She ain't loco, is she?”
“No,” Colt said, “she's fine, but she needs gentle treatment for a long time.”
“Humph,” said Brownley and he followed Colt out the door.
Colt already didn't like the man. It wasn't just because he'd come to take Hannah away; it was his uncaring attitude.
Brownley gestured toward the fancy rig as he untied the horse. “Hop in and I'll drive us.”
“Very nice,” Colt complimented as he got in and Brownley got up on the seat beside him.
“Ain't it though? Emma bought it for me, new clothes, too.”
Colt didn't have any idea who “Emma” might be, but he didn't ask. “Just drive down the length of these buildings and we'll be at Suds Row.”
Brownley looked sideways at him as they pulled away, the fine gray horse stepping smartly. “Where?”
“Suds Row. It's where the ladies who do laundry for the soldiers live. Hannah has been there, makin' her way ironin' and washin' for the troops. Before that, she was helpin' around the infirmary.”
“She always was a hardworkin' gal,” Brownley said with no show of emotion. “Good cook, too, but stubborn and too high-spirited to be a good wife.”
“High spirits is good in a woman,” Colt defended her.
“Maybe in a horse, but not in a wife.” Luther spat tobacco juice to one side as he drove.
Colt didn't reply, wondering if Brownley knew about little Travis. He had a sinking feeling that the major hadn't had the courage to tell Brownley about the half-breed child.
“Stop right in front of that third one,” Colt instructed.
People were coming out of their quarters to watch, staring at the fine buggy as it went by. Evidently word had spread quickly that the Comanche captive's husband had finally come to retrieve her. Colt wished they'd all go back inside, but there wasn't that much daily excitement around the fort and this promised to be an interesting little drama for the curious.
Brownley reined in and said, “Wal, I'll just get down and go in. Has anyone told her I was comin'?”
Colt shook his head, wishing now he had a chance to tell her. She needed time to comb her hair and fix up some, put on her best dress that Olivia had given her. Come to think of it, she hadn't seemed very enthused when she'd first been rescued and he had told her they would try to find her husband. Maybe she thought he was killed in that Comanche raid.
He had a sudden feeling that he needed to be there. “I'll come in,” he said abruptly and got out of the buggy as Brownley tied up the horse.
“No need.” The lanky farmer frowned at him. “I don't aim to be here long.”
“She'll have to have time to pack her few things,” Colt answered and followed him up on the porch.
It was a warm day and the door was open.
Colt knocked on the doorjamb. “Mrs. Brownley? Are you home?”
“Colt?” He heard her call from deeper inside the house. “Come on in. I'm trying to get some shirts finished.”
Brownley looked at him and grinned knowingly. “So that's how it is.”
“No.” Colt gritted his teeth. He wanted to punch that tobacco-stained mouth. “She's a very moral woman and she's been through a lot. You're a lucky man, Mr. Brownley.”
The other man didn't answer as they went into the tiny front room. Colt was relieved not to see Travis. The toddler must be in the back room with his mother. He didn't know what Brownley would think about the child. After all, it hadn't been Hannah's fault that she'd been raped by Spider.
Suddenly Colt would rather have been anyplace but here. He heard Hannah's small feet coming from the back. “Hello, Colt, I hope you didn't come for your shirtsâ”
And then she skidded to a halt and just stood there, staring at both men, her mouth open.
“Hello, Hannah.” The farmer stood with his straw hat in hand, staring at her awkwardly.
She stood there and stared back, her face going pale.
Colt cleared his throat in the deathly silence. “IâI'll wait out on the porch. If you need me, Hannahâ”
“She don't need you,” the other man snapped and gestured Colt out the door. He went out reluctantly.
Â
Hannah stared at the man facing her. He was familiar, and yet not so in the fine new clothes. They'd always been so poor and he'd always worn beat-up overalls.
“Hello, Luther,” she managed to say after a few deep breaths.
“Well, you don't seemed thrilled to see me,” Luther said.
She didn't know what to say. She wasn't thrilled to see him; in fact she had hoped to never see him again. She wiped her wet hands on her apron.
“What are you doing here?” she managed finally.
“Now ain't that a helluva thing to say to your husband after not seeing him for almost four years?”
She squared her shoulders, deciding at that moment that she would not go with him, no matter what he said. She could see the blue of Colt's uniform outside on the porch, and that gave her courage.
“Frankly, Luther, I'm not glad to see you. I reckon you never expected to see me alive again.”
“No, I really didn't,” he admitted. “I figured after them Comanche bucks got through with you, they'd torture you to death or you'd kill yourself like any respectable white woman would do.”
She raised her chin, always determined and defiant. “They didn't treat me any worse than you did, didn't beat me as much, as I remember.”
He glared at her, tobacco juice stains on his thin lips. “You was never an obedient wife, Hannah. You always was too sassy and didn't obey me like the Good Book says a woman should do.”
“I never respected you,” she seethed. “You were always a coward. You think I don't remember you deserting me out there on the prairie, running past the women and kids to get back to the safety of the settlement? You had a rifle and you didn't even try to use it. I was trying to get to your gun to shoot them myself when they overran me.”
“That's no way to talk to me, you sassy piece.” He advanced on her.
She reached over and picked up one of the heavy irons off the stove. “You'll never hit me again, you mean bastard. You come one step closer and you'll get this hot iron in the face.”
Looking past his stooped shoulder, she saw Colt standing in the doorway, ready to come in, and shook her head at him. She could protect herself this time.
“You tart, you're as ornery as ever. You always was too spirited for a decent woman.”
About that time, she heard small footsteps behind her and Travis toddled into the room carrying the small wooden horse Colt had carved for him.
“Mama?” he said in Comanche.
Luther's face went white with shock. “You got a kid? You got a bastard pup by some Comanche buck? And you gave me a weakling son that died.”
“Because he was born early.” Hannah remembered that horrible day as she put down the iron and picked up Travis. “Because you knocked me down a flight of steps, or don't you remember that?”
“You was sassin' me,” Luther snapped.
“I'm not going with you.” She faced him, ready to fight.
“I didn't ask you to. And if I'd planned to, I wouldn't want some half-breed redskin kid in the deal. You should have killed yourself like a decent woman would.”
She would not cry. It never did any good. It only made her seem more vulnerable, and she could not trust any man not to exploit that weakness.
Behind Luther, Colt stepped into the room, his face stern and angry. “I think you'd better leave, Brownley, before I throw you out.”
She shook her head at Colt as Luther snarled, “This ain't your business, soldier boy. I only come to get her to sign a paper, that's all, and then I'm gone.”
Hannah sighed with relief. “What kind of paper?”
Luther brought out a folded paper from his pocket. “You got a pen?”
She put Travis down on the floor, and he clung to her blue skirt as she searched around on the table for pen and ink. “What's the paper?”
“It's a divorce,” he said, and laid the rumpled paper on the table. “I thought you was dead, so three months after you went missing, I married Mrs. Mailey.”
Hannah blinked. “The fat, rich widow with the big farm?”
“Emma is a wonderful, God-fearing, obedient wife,” he answered. “Now just sign this and I'll be gone.”
Hannah smiled a rare smile. “So if I don't sign, you're not legally married and have committed bigamy.”
“I don't want to lose Emma,” he said. “Just sign it.”
“You mean, you don't want to lose all that money and farm land?” Hannah picked up the pen.
Luther raised his fist. “Just sign it, damn you, so I can get you and your Injun bastard out of my lifeâ”
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