The Men of Pride County: The Rebel (7 page)

Even if she did present an intriguing challenge.

Chapter 5

They reached Fort Blair by midafternoon. Unlike the stockaded posts of the plains, Fort Blair was a collection of loosely assembled adobe buildings crouching low to the earth. The site was picked for strategic location rather than comfort. There was sufficient water to sustain the men, sufficient grass for the animals, enough timber for firewood situated on land level enough to support barracks, officers’ quarters, stables, storehouses, and a parade ground. In the center of the drill ground rose the flag, its colors drooping listlessly, unstirred by the stifling air.

Juliet had lived in dozens like it.

Once her father reported and officially took command of the fort, the men were dismissed from ranks and shown to their accommodations. The enlisted men were crowded into barracks, where rows of bunks stood head-in to the walls. Even in the noncommissioned ranks, there was a definite hierarchy, with the
senior enlisted men securing the best spots near the windows in summer and the stoves in winter. The sergeants had the luxury of small rooms off the barracks. Any privacy was a luxury. The privies were outside and bathhouses nonexistent, since there was no water to spare. Enlisted men with wives were allowed to live outside the barracks in their own tiny homes, but the best quarters were reserved by seniority of service. But even the best was little more than a small house with two to four rooms.

Juliet stood in the doorway of her new home and surveyed the interior dispassionately. A sheet-iron stove stood in the middle of the main room surrounded by scant furnishings: several campstools and unpainted chairs, and a dining table composed of three planks stretched across carpenter horses. Gray government blankets held down the dust on the floor, and curtains fashioned from unbleached cotton sheeting hung limply at the windows. A grim and uninviting welcome. She’d seen better. She’d also survived worse. Her mind hummed with possibilities. Some beet juice to dye the curtains. Colorful calico to tack over the packing-crate shelves. She’d crochet rugs for the floor from strips of an old gown. The extra touch of greenery from her plants would almost create the appearance of a real home.

Almost
.

A sudden commotion from outside interrupted her musings. Juliet wasn’t surprised to
hear Maisy Bartholomew’s strident tones rising in a shrill crescendo. Though she would have preferred to close her door and leave those troubles to another, as the daughter of the ranking officer, she knew it was her duty to make peace and restore a tenuous harmony.

“Mrs. Bartholomew,” Miles Dougherty explained reasonably, “Captain Folley has a wife and three children. They would have to move from four rooms to two. Surely you can see how uncomfortable that would be for them, especially when we’re dealing with a matter of only a few months.”

But Maisy’s jaw was set and her eyes flashed indignantly. “Does or does not my husband’s earlier commission date entitle him to those quarters?”

“Of course it does,” Pauline Folley answered with a resigned smile. She’d followed her husband from post to post long enough to understand the practice of “ranking out,” which evicted a military family if an officer of superior service wanted the house. It was an often barbaric system, but an officer wouldn’t be respected if he didn’t demand his due. And Maisy Bartholomew was demanding. Loudly. There was nothing the Yankee captain’s wife could do but back down gracefully. “We’ll have our belongings removed immediately.”

The situation was grossly unfair, but Juliet had no grounds to interfere. The military caste system was rigidly adhered to, regardless of inconvenience or personal sacrifice. It was a
case of rank value, not family size, or in this case, a favoritism of North over South. But Maisy Bartholomew’s attitude left a bad taste in the mouths of the occupants of Fort Blair. Juliet could read it in their closed expressions. And she feared subtle repercussions.

Apparently, she wasn’t alone.

“Miz Folley?”

The matronly woman turned toward Noble Banning, probably wondering if she was about to be bumped from those two rooms to a tent.

“Ma’am, as a bachelor, I’ve no need for the four rooms I’ve been given. I’d gladly surrender them to Captain and Miz Bartholomew so that you and yours don’t have to uproot yourselves to move two doors down. I’m sure Miz Bartholomew will agree to the logic of that, won’t you, ma’am?”

Put on the spot, Maisy was forced to swallow down her bid for superiority by accepting a show of generosity. “Why that’s fine by me, Major Banning. It wasn’t my desire to put anyone out.”

A true gentleman, Noble didn’t allow his wry smile to escape, though Juliet caught the glint of amusement in his eyes. He waited outside her door until the others dispersed to settle into their appointed lodgings. Only when they were alone did he display a toothsome grin.

“Very diplomatically done, Major.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Can’t see that it’d do
anyone any good to get folks at cross purposes so early in our stay.”

“And that’s all that motivated your gesture?” She’d hoped there’d be more. The quick downward cant of his gaze said there was.

“A family shouldn’t be put out on a vain woman’s whim, regardless of rank.”

“I quite agree.”

“Then we’ve found some common ground at last.” His words were teasing, but his sudden penetrating stare was not. It conveyed all sorts of deeper meaning, giving Juliet a start of alarm.

“A small patch, Major,” she conceded gruffly, then turned away. On second thought, she looked over her shoulder. “I should have my books in order by tomorrow. Then consider the library open.”

His dazzling smile shot a quiver to her soul. “Yes, ma’am. I look forward to looking under your covers.” Again his grin took a devilish twist that both annoyed and aroused her sensibilities with its unspoken subtext.

“Rogue,” she muttered to herself as she shut the door between them. A rogue and a rebel. She couldn’t afford to forget the latter.

John Crowley stepped into the small adobe house hours later and felt instantly at home. Familiar touches already filled the stark rooms. A lacy cloth covered the plain pine board tabletop, where two place settings of well-traveled china were laid out for dinner.
His wife’s woven shawl was folded over the back of a reassembled rocker set at an inviting angle next to the stove. His pipe and humidor and tattered leather slippers waited there as well. Plain daubed walls were adorned with a portrait of his late wife and the military citations that highlighted his long career. And those ferny green things his daughter insisted on carrying wherever they went leaned toward the harsh light at the windows. In his bedroom, he knew he’d find his shaving mirror on the wall and a tin basin next to his toiletries.

Like her mother before her, Juliet knew how to make a man feel welcome.

And while he selfishly enjoyed being that man for the moment, he also thought it high time she found one of her own to cater to.

“Dinner’s almost ready.”

Juliet stood in the doorway of the small kitchen. An apron covered her practical gown, and her features were flushed by the heat of the stove. Not a beauty, but a handsome girl, her father observed. One who would make some deserving officer a fine wife.

“If it’s no trouble, set two extra plates. I thought the dinner table would be a good, informal place for my seconds to get to know each other.”

A deeper color rose to his daughter’s cheeks, but her reply was automatic. “No trouble.”

Crowley knew better. Something was bothering her, and he didn’t think it was worrying
over how to divide their beef into two extra portions. It was one of the guests who flustered her, and by evening’s end, he hoped to learn which one.

No trouble
.

Juliet grumbled to herself as she diced more potatoes for her stew. Most of her ill-temper was because it ordinarily wouldn’t have been any trouble. She was used to stretching meals to accommodate her father’s last-minute invitations to their table. But this time it irritated her.

And she knew it had to do with Noble Banning.

The thought of sitting down to a meal with him disconcerted her. She’d have only enough time to set two more services and dish the meal, none to freshen her appearance or change into another dress. Such sprucing-up details wouldn’t have occurred to her if Miles had been their only guest. The knowledge that she wanted to fuss in order to please the smug Kentuckian galled her no end.

After all, he wasn’t coming to dinner to ogle her.

But obviously, that was Miles’s intention.

Miles Dougherty had been her father’s second in command at his last post in Texas, before the War between the States pulled the Crowleys back East. Miles had gone on to serve under another at Fort Blair until that unfortunate commander had taken a bad turn after
a sudden, unexplained fever. So her father’s return had the comfortable feel of a reunion.

Miles Dougherty was a fine man. Everything about the tawny-haired major was solid as stone—his build, his character, his ideals. He was career Army, a volunteer who wished for nothing more than to lead his own command. Her father had been impressed by his unflagging devotion to duty, and Juliet, by his devotion to her.

He met her at the door with a warm kiss of welcome that grazed her cheek. And when he stepped back, she saw something new in his eyes. Before there had been fondness and friendship. Now there was more. More like confident ownership. Her smile of greeting faded.

“Hello, Miles. How good to have you back to sit at our table.”

“Always a pleasure to be invited.”

He stepped inside, and before she could close the door, Noble Banning slipped across the threshold behind him.

“Good evening, Miz Crowley.” He leaned closer to croon
sotto voce
, “I don’t suppose you’d allow me a quick kiss, too.”

Though her pulse was suddenly thrumming, her reply was cool. “I don’t think so, Major. Were I you, I’d be grateful for the supper.”

Her tart reply earned a sober response. “Oh, I am, ma’am, truly I am, considering most of
the meals I’ve sat down to in the past three years weren’t fit for human consumption. This is the first table I’ve seen since ‘61.”

Unbidden, her tone gentled. “Then I trust you’ll have no complaints.”

“No, ma’am. I don’t imagine you’d accept them kindly.”

“No easier than your compliments, sir.”

He gave a low chuckle, then strode past her to greet her father. “Good evening, sir. I hope you’ve gone to no trouble on our behalf.”

“No trouble,” Juliet supplied with enough vinegar to earn a quick glance from the colonel. She forced a smile. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I must tend the stove.”

All three waited at polite attention until she’d left the room. Once in the kitchen, she dished the stew with a vengeance.

“A quick kiss, indeed. Maybe you can turn the heads of your vacuous Southern girls with such nonsense, but you’ll find me immune to your empty flattery.”

But for all her angry mutterings, her heart beat faster just considering what a kiss from Noble Banning might be like.

Perhaps she could blame her limited experience of kissing for her senses being all aquiver. Otherwise, why would such intimacies with a stranger hold an appeal? Her knowledge of kissing, at least mouth to mouth, was based on one brief moment beneath the mistletoe four years ago. She’d been so surprised by Miles’s sudden demonstration
that she’d had no time to decide whether or not she enjoyed it. A stiff, dry pressure against her alarm-slackened lips—a gesture that hadn’t stirred half the excitement as the mere thought of experimenting with Noble Banning.

Annoyed with herself for getting worked up over the Southerner’s teasing remark, Juliet deposited the meal on the table with unnecessary force, then assumed her seat. Conversation between the men resumed almost at once, the topic Army business. Used to being excluded, Juliet ate in silence, keeping her attention focused on her plate and suppressing a desire to study Noble Banning’s mouth.

“The horses should be arriving tomorrow, unless those damned Apache thieves snatch them,” Miles reported. “We don’t have an animal on this post that’s worth a ration of grain.”

“Or a rider, either. Until now,” Crowley amended with a nod toward Noble. “Major Banning, my experience with livestock purchased locally is that it’s green and wild. I trust you have men who can break them to the saddle.”

“All of my men are capable, sir. Most of us were practically born in the saddle.”

“As soon as the beasts are marginally agreeable, I want you to set up a schedule for drilling. I want this company turned out as proper cavalry. I’m sick of having the Indians riding circles around us. Until we can come close to
matching them in the saddle, we’ve no hope of maintaining a balance here in the West.”

“Sir, my men don’t need to be drilled on how to sit a horse,” Miles protested with a cutting glance at Noble.

“Miles, no offense to you or your men, but you’re more suited to a wagon seat than a saddle.”

“But sir, I don’t think there’s anything these Seseshes can teach us.”

Crowley chuckled. “That’s because you haven’t seen them ride.” His mood chilled slightly. “And I would remind you to watch your language, Major Dougherty.”

The two majors exchanged cool stares for a long moment, then Noble returned to his meal. He paused after a few bites to say, “This is excellent fare, Miz Crowley. You’ll hear no complaints from me.”

The colonel beamed proudly at his child. “Jules is a fine cook. She can make hardtack into a delicacy. We’ve no shortage of men seeking invitations to dinner.”

“Particularly once she puts Hortense and Willamina to work I’d guess.”

Miles scowled when Juliet and Noble traded small smiles. He felt moved to state, “You’ve an exceptional daughter, John. I’ve always said so.”

“Yes, you have,” Crowley conceded, but his attention was pulled between Juliet and his new major. Slowly, he smiled. “A woman like Jules is a treasure out here on the frontier. She
knows a man’s wants before he needs express them. I shall hate to lose her.”