The Peacemaker (21 page)

"I see," said Prudence.

"No you don't. It was just his way of comforting me, nothing more, and then . . . Well, you know the rest." She drew a deep breath, then sighed and focused her concentration outside on the parade ground.

Prudence's hand covered hers and Indy gasped in surprise and scooted her chair back a few inches.

"You really are naive, aren't you, Indy?"

Indy resettled herself. "In some things, yes, I suppose so. In others, I'm wiser than Moses," she said with heavy sarcasm. "What does my naiveté or lack of it have to do with anything? What is all this about for heaven's sake?"

Prudence sighed wearily. "Part of me, the jealous side, says I shouldn't tell you what I know and the other part of me, Major Stallard's widow, says I should because you're the only one who's been nice to me and who hasn't gone around talking about me behind my back."

"Prudence—"

"No. Please. No interruptions. You may have something very different to say to me after I've finished saying what I have to say."

Indy sat back and braced herself.

"Late last night, very late, after everything had calmed down, I was on my way back from"—she cleared her throat—"visiting a friend, when I ran into Jim. He was coming away from the east side of this building, where your bedroom window is, I think. He said he was making sure everything was ready for this morning, but I didn't believe him. He was looking real unhappy, like he'd just lost his prized stallion. I asked him if he'd walk me back to my quarters, thinking that once I got him all to myself, he would make . . . Well, you know," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

"Yes," Indy said blandly. She felt benumbed, hurt. But she would force herself to wait until Prudence had finished her tale before making any judgment or drawing any conclusion. As if that was really possible!

"Of course, you've known all along how I felt about Jim. Even before I knew that he wasn't an Apache."

"Yes, you managed to make yourself perfectly clear." Resentment had a firm grip on her already.

Prudence pointed her index finger at Indy. "But
you
never made yourself clear. You were as taken with him as I was and you never said a word."

Indy opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Her first thought was to deny it, but she knew that Prudence would know she was lying. "No, I didn't," she admitted at length, but was loath to say anything more. Enough had been revealed already.

"You can't leave Bowie, Indy," Prudence said with fervor. "You love that man and he loves you." She chuckled. "He may not know it, but he does. Men are slow to know their feelings."

It took Indy a few seconds to recover herself. "Dare I ask how you know this?" she ventured, half afraid to learn the answer.

The answer was a long time in coming. Head bent, eyes cast downward, Prudence said, "I know Aphra, Ava, and Opal have told you about me and what I was doing when Major Stallard found me. I'm not denying what I was: a saloon girl. I made my living off men. That qualifies me to understand them better than most, so when I tell you Jim Garrity is in love with you, you can count on it." She stood up. "You don't believe me. I can tell. You're going to make me tell you exactly how I know, right?"

Indy did nothing more than raise an eyebrow.

"All right.  I didn't figure it out myself until after he had left and I thought about what happened." She hesitated, evidently not quite sure she was doing the right thing by telling. "When I ran into him, I think he must have just come from looking in on you. Maybe to make sure you were all right. Whatever he saw caused him to become . . . Oh, God, Indy. Tell me you know
something
about what happens to a man's body when he wants a woman."

Indy looked away, so embarrassed she could feel the blush heat climbing up her neck into her face, even her ears. "I have sort of an idea," she managed, choking out the words. She remembered now with vivid clarity when Jim had pushed her against the adobe building and she had felt his rigidness pressing into her skirts.

Prudence wiped invisible perspiration away from her brow. "What I'm trying to say is that it was you he wanted. Then I came along and thought it was me he desired, right up until the second I said your name. I've never seen a man turn cold like that before. Do you get my meaning, Indy? I hope you do because I sure don't want to have to get any more detailed than that."

Indy nodded her head emphatically. She couldn't bear hearing any more of the vivid details. Quite enough had been said.

Prudence moved toward the door. "This really isn't what I came to tell you. I'm leaving Bowie as soon as I can manage it and going back to doing what I do best, being a saloon girl. I thought I'd try my luck in Tucson. I wanted to thank you for being kind to me." She had one foot out the door when she turned back briefly and said, "And by the way, I've never told anyone this so don't you go telling anybody, but I really loved that old coot I married."

The moment the door closed Indy slumped in her chair, as if the air had gone out of her.

In the theater of her mind, she saw the entire performance as Prudence had described it from the time she and Jim had run into each other: the two of them walking together in the cloud-dark night, talking low so their voices wouldn't disturb, going into each other's arms with fevered kisses and hands reaching, caressing, touching. Touching everywhere. All the forbidden places, the places that longed and yearned and . . . Angered by what she saw, she dropped the curtain on the play, and when she pulled it up for the second act, the understudy, herself, had taken Prudence's place.

The imagined warmth of Jim's touch still lingered when she lifted her gaze and looked out the window. She saw Sergeant Moseley and Captain Nolan moving slowly down a line of men. They each had a canteen from which they poured a small amount of liquid into a tin cup. After the soldier had drunk it, he handed it back and started running around the perimeter of the parade ground.

For the life of her Indy couldn't figure out what they were doing. Jim was nowhere in sight and her father was heading for the sutler's store at a fast pace, looking for all the world like a man with a bad toothache.

"
You love that man and he loves you,
" Prudence had said. Was it true? she wondered. Could it be that Major Jim Garrity was in love with her, as she was with him? Had he looked in her window because he'd been worried about her? It must have been after she had fallen asleep. How long had he watched her? But more importantly, what had he seen that would cause him to become aroused? She didn't think she wanted to know how Prudence knew that.

She had been sitting there in front of the window, still and silent for nearly an hour, when suddenly she remembered what she had been about to do before Prudence had confronted her. The stage schedule.

Even if what Prudence said was true and Jim did love her, they could never have a life together. There was no common ground between them; they were from different worlds.

Besides that, there was her fear of him. She wasn't sure exactly where it came from, but it was there, deep inside her, and it manifested itself every time he came near her.

She needed a quiet man, a placid man. A nice staid banker, perhaps. Or a merchant. Major Jim Garrity—Shatto—was too volatile, too unpredictable and given to impulsiveness. She would never have the peace of mind of knowing how he would react in any situation. He was as wild and untamed as the Apaches he had lived with. He could never be domesticated and made completely civilized. Add to that that erie wind that had circled him. She’d forbidden herself to think about that.

She jumped up and was out the door before she could change her mind about going home. In spite of her carefulness to keep out of the potholes and wagon ruts, her shoes were covered with slimy mud within seconds. The clerk behind the desk in the adjutant's outer office greeted her with a gap-toothed smile.

"I'd like to find out when the next stage will be heading east from San Simon please."

"You're not thinkin' of leavin' us already are you, Miss Taylor?"

Indy gave a half smile. "I'm afraid I have to get back home as soon as possible."

"Oh. I hope it ain't nothin' urgent, 'cause we got us a problem. Had a runner come in just a few minutes ago with word that Cochise has been terrorizing the whole San Simon Valley. All stage and freighting arrivals and departures have been suspended until the situation is improved."

"But that could be—"

"A long time," Jim finished for her, in a slow voice.

Indy swung around and froze. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, holding a piece of paper in his hands. He glanced down at it, ignoring her. She could see his fierce expression and wondered what had caused it. It was the same expression he'd worn when he challenged Chie, the same expression as when he plunged his knife between Chie's ribs. The blood in her veins turned to ice and she felt herself tremble in reaction.

"But— You don't understand," she said in a small voice. "I need to go home. I shouldn't have come in the first place."

He looked up at her with those dark,
killing
eyes. "No, Indy. You don't understand," he contradicted her. "The stage isn't running
so you
aren't going anywhere."

She gave a nervous laugh. "Well, surely there must be other routes, other stage lines."

"There's one that leaves out of Prescott once a week." At her expectant look, he added, "But in order to get you there, we'd have to send a detachment out with you and that's not possible, especially right now. The only men I would trust to escort you are going to be with me. I'm sorry, Indy, but you'll have to wait. Arizona just isn't a safe place to be right now."

"No, it certainly isn't," she retorted, giving his statement a different meaning altogether. When she started toward the door, Jim stepped aside, but only slightly.

"If there's anything I can do—anything you need, Indy. All you have to do is ask."

"You've done quite enough, thank you." She stepped outside. The troopers had stopped running and were again standing at ease. One by one they leaned forward and spat a mouthful of water onto the ground in front of them.

"It's a test," Jim explained without her asking. Again, he had come up behind her without her hearing him. "Each man hold a mouthful of water while he runs twenty times around the parade ground, or approximately four miles. If he loses it or swallows it, he fails the test."

Indy frowned. "But what does it determine?"

"His ability to take orders, to concentrate—to do as well as an Apache boy."

Indy started back toward her quarters. "Seems like a pretty silly test to me," she mumbled beneath her breath.

Jim's laughter followed her halfway across the parade ground. Indy, however, was not in the least amused for she realized that it would be up to Major Jim Garrity and his yet to be trained company of white scouts to make those improvements in the Indian situation that would allow the stage line to continue operation.

By late afternoon the sun had burnt off the clouds and slowly moved across the western sky like a giant fireball, taking the temperature to well over the century mark. Beneath the sun's merciless rays the rain-soaked parade ground cooked. A vapor of steam rose out of the mud.

Indy was miserably hot and sticky. Her simple calico dress clung damply to her back and she could feel perspiration trickle down between her breasts. The parlor was an airless oven sapping her energy. When she could stand it no more, she picked up her father's padded footstool, located the one and only parasol she had brought and went outdoors.

While trying to decide where the best place would be to set her stool, she noticed Aphra and Opal coming back from the sutler's store and felt a stab of envy for the close friendship they shared. Indy waved and they waved back, but as usual, they didn't give any indication that they would like to have her join them. They had each other and that seemed to be enough for them.

She placed her stool up close to the wall beside the parlor window, sat down, and leaned against the cool adobe. A small breeze, coming through the mountains off the San Simon Valley, made quick work of drying her dress.

Shaded by her parasol, she resumed watching the activities on the parade ground. The original ninety-eight troopers had been whittled down to thirty. Those remaining looked to be capable of most any task assigned them.

In making his selections, it appeared Jim had not concerned himself to a man's rank, but instead had selected each man on his individual merit. Ava's husband had been returned to duty at the onset of the selection process due to his impending fatherhood. Aphra's and Opal's husbands had been disqualified because of their ages.

Prior to her coming outside, a dozen horses had been brought up from the corral and picket pinned. All were lean and muscled. Their coats shone with good grooming and health. Docilely they stood by, swishing their tails at flies and occasionally blowing dust out of their nostrils.

The last Indy had seen of Jim Garrity, he had been walking with her father to the adjutant's office. That had been an hour ago. It came to her that with the exception of her talk with Prudence and this morning's jaunt to check on the stage, she had done nothing all day long but watch Jim, as if her eyes couldn't get their fill of him. No matter who or what drew her attention away, her gaze was pulled right back to him as if magnetized.

During Jim's absence, Captain Nolan taught the infantrymen, most of whom had no knowledge of horses or riding, how to clean stones and other debris out of their horses' hooves. "A stone, left in the hoof too long, can cause a horse to go lame," he explained. "Your new skills will be your most valuable asset when fighting the Apaches. Your horse is second, so take good care of him, treat him with the respect he deserves, and he'll bring you home."

Leaving the men to work on their horses' hooves, Captain Nolan hastily retreated from the parade ground. Beating his hat against the side of his leg, he made his way across to Indy. He was shaking his head as if there was something he just couldn't quite comprehend.