The Peacemaker (25 page)

"He likes fresh baked bread, does he?"

The captain rolled his eyes. "He'd kill for it."

She glanced over the captain's shoulder. "Well, then, you best eat it quickly." At his questioning look she pointed behind him. "I wouldn't want to be responsible for your death, Captain."

"Jerusalem!" The captain carefully covered the loaf with his kerchief.

Indy's stomach muscles knotted as she watched Jim and his company running toward her. He was dirty, sweaty, but she thought he had never looked handsomer. He stopped a few feet from Captain Nolan and waved the troopers ahead.

"Be at the corral in one hour," he told them. They ran ahead as ordered.

"How'd they do?" the captain asked.

Indy noticed that Jim was looking at the captain in a very odd way. His eyes had darkened and narrowed. It almost looked like he was suspicious or . . . jealous!

The captain, however, seemed completely unaware of it, and Indy, wanting to see more before she drew a conclusion, kept silent and continued to watch.

"They did well." He looked like he wasn't going to elaborate, then he did. "I've got one troublemaker so far, Corporal Ryker. I had him help me demonstrate some of the more advanced fighting techniques." His hard gaze didn't let up. He stood with his hands on his hips, legs vee'd. His chest rose and fell with exertion.

"Do I need to send a detail after him or did he come back under his own power?"

Indy recognized the jest. If Jim did, he wasn't going to let on.

"He came back with the rest of them," Jim answered in a tight voice. Covering his mouth with his hand he turned away to spit a pebble out of his mouth.

It was then that Indy noticed the bloody scratches on his back. "You have some bad scratches, Major. I'll get some water and clean them for you."

Before he could say one way or another, she was gone and through the kitchen door. She returned a minute later with a tin cup, a cloth, and a bucketful of water. She set the bucket down and dipped the cup into it. "I figured you'd probably be thirsty too." Indy's heart pounded at the nearness of him, the near nakedness of him.

"Thanks." Without another word he took the cup and drank greedily.

"You shouldn't drink that so fast when you're overheated," the captain warned. "It could make you sick. You know that."

Jim gazed at the captain over the rim of the cup, accusing him with a piercing look. "Yeah, I know," he said, his voice an ominous bass. He handed the cup back to Indy.

"By the way," the captain said conversationally. "The Indian commissioner arrived a little while ago. Unbelievably, he came in from Tucson, accompanied by a whole military escort. The colonel's over at the old camp and won't be back until later so I took him to his quarters to rest up."

Turning to Indy, he said, "He wants to meet with your father as soon as possible in someplace comfortable, with a cushioned chair. Sounds to me like that would mean here." He inclined his head toward the back door. "I thought you'd want to know."

For a moment she was too dazed to realize what he was saying. "Oh, yes," she said, nodding her head like a Chinaman. "I'll need to make preparations."

"Speaking of making preparations, I've got to get back to my quarters. More than likely I'll see you both this evening." He turned to leave, then glanced back. "Thanks for thinking of me, Indy." He gave her a wink and walked off, whistling "The Girl I Left Behind Me."

As the captain walked away, Indy stood next to Jim, holding her cloth, thinking he looked very angry indeed. The captain's wink had cinched it. Jim was jealous. She breathed a sigh of relief and dipped her cloth into the bucket.

"Turn around and I'll clean those scratches," she ordered.

He obeyed and she was filled with an intoxicating sense of power. She started dabbing at the bloodied area. It was possible he still didn't know his feelings, she reminded herself. Prudence had said men were sometimes slow to recognize such things. Would it be too terribly bold of her to give him a little nudge in the right direction? she wondered. After all that the captain had said Jim wamted a home and family. A home and family was what she wanted too, and she wanted it with Jim Garrity. No other would do.

A furtive smile curved her mouth.

The scratches had looked worse than they really were, but she didn't need to tell him that, she realized with great satisfaction. "You might want to see Doc Valentine," she suggested, dipping the rag, swishing it around as if it had gotten very dirty, then squeezing it out and reapplying it to his back, to a much broader area than the scratches actually encompassed.

"They'll heal fine without Doc."

"All right then, but give me a minute or two to make sure I clean them out real good."

"I'm in no hurry."

She put her hand on his shoulder and froze. Her hand was so small and white next to his wide, sun-browned shoulder. His flesh was warm, firm. His shoulder muscles flexed and tensed beneath her fingers. It was easy to be brave when she didn't have to look into his eyes.

"About my little fainting spell yesterday," she said. "I wanted to thank you for coming to my rescue. I'm a little embarrassed by the whole thing. If I had just kept my parasol with me I probably would have been just fine. Prudence told me the whole story."

"She did, did she?"

"I hope I didn't cause you any trouble."

"Trouble?"

"I mean. Well—I took you and the captain away from your men and all."

"It was no trouble."

"That's good. I wouldn't want—"

"That's enough, goddammit!" His voice crackled with savagery. He whirled around, facing her. Grasping her upper arms, he pulled her up against him with such violent force that it was like the other night when she'd had the wind knocked out of her.

"What did I do?" Her voice was high and thin.

"You really don't have any idea, do you?"

She started to shake her head but his hand lifted her chin, tilting it back so she had no choice but to meet his glittering, black eyes—
killing eyes
. It felt to Indy that he was hovering over her—like a hawk and the look on his face told her he had just found his prey.

His head swooped down and he kissed her. His lips were bruising, punishing. He captured her tongue and drew it into his mouth, tasting it, holding it prisoner as he held her body prisoner. Then he let it go and plunged his tongue into her mouth, leaving no part of it untouched.

"God, Indy. Do you know how much I've wanted to make love to you?" His lips breathed against hers. He kissed her again, wrapping his arms around her, holding her with such powerful urgency that she knew something was terribly wrong. Or was it terribly right?

Suddenly she had something she had to say. And she had to say it now. Placing her hands on either side of his face she managed to slide her mouth from his. "I love you," she whispered breathlessly. She gave meaning to her declaration then by placing fevered kisses aside his cheek, then working her way back to his mouth.

Something was wrong. He was silent. He was still.

He moved away from her so quickly that her arms were still raised and her hands still curved to the lines of his face. He stepped back from her, as if she were a rattler ready to strike.

"Don't love me, Indy. I'm not the man for you. We're worlds apart."

He turned and left.

The cottonwood stood silent, sad.

Camp Bowie is a crucial outpost, not only to the War Department but to the future of this territory." Indian Commissioner Isaiah P. Moorland had the attention of all present: Colonel Taylor, Indy, and Captain Nolan.

He was a tall man, incredibly tall, Indy thought, and narrow as a bed slat. His long, thin face was gaunt, with deep hollows beneath his prominent cheekbones. His eyes were his one saving feature, blue as a summer sky and keen with intelligence. He had been carrying the conversation, which really wasn't a conversation, but a speech, for the last quarter hour without let up.

"How Bowie is or isn't managed is of vital concern to President Grant as he intends this outpost to play a major roll in his plans to civilize the territory. Hence, it is my job to see that his concerns are dealt with.

"At this point in time the basic function of Camp Bowie, as the President sees it, Colonel Taylor, is to provide military escorts for all persons, military and civilian, through Apache Pass; to protect the neighboring ranches and towns from raids; and to keep the Apaches contained and under control. The reports I have received, sir, indicate that you have failed in every regard. Would you care to explain yourself?"

The colonel stood stiffly, clearly on guard. "I would indeed, Mr. Moorland. I don't know whether you are aware of it or not but the War Department made a terrible mistake, which they have yet to rectify. I was given the wrong assignment. As soon as the President won the election, I applied for transfer to Washington. It was my wish to work closely with the President in whatever capacity he desired. Grant and me, we're very old friends, you know. We were cadets together at the Point," he added portentously.

Indy saw the remark as an attempt to elevate his station in the commissioner's eyes. She also saw it didn't work. The commissioner remained unimpressed.

"I studied engineering," the colonel continued. "Thus, I spent my war years mapping out battle plans on paper and helping coordinate troop movements, also on paper. I
never
professed to have any kind of knowledge about the frontier or Apaches." His hands balled into tight fists and his knuckles whitened with strain.

She knew as well as he did that if the commissioner didn't like what he heard and saw during his visit, which would be through the end of the following week, his report to the President would not be a favorable one. That could lead to all sorts of ramifications. He could use his authority to relieve her father of command and send him home. In that event, the likelihood of him getting another command, with such a scar on his service record, was little to none. Or, worse yet, the commissioner could even have him discharged. Either way it would be a terrible disgrace and the end of a long, hard-won career that had not been totally without merit.

Indy had told herself she wouldn't care one way or another what the commissioner's report said or how it affected her father. He deserved what he got. But she did care. How could she not? In spite of everything, he was her father. The only father she would ever have. The only family she had left.

"On behalf of the War Department, Colonel, I extend my apologies for the error. Rest assured that I will have the matter looked into and rectified as soon as possible. However, that does not excuse you, Colonel. You, sir, are a West Point trained officer who served in the war. I've seen your service record and while it isn't outstanding by any degree, it is an adequate record and it indicated that you were qualified to command a frontier garrison.

"Most of the officers sent west for duty such as yours have far less education and experience than you do. The point being, Colonel, for all intents and purposes, it appears that you blatantly shirked your duty here, perhaps as a form of rebellion for the error?"

The colonel's face turned red with rage. "I most certainly did not, sir."

"This afternoon, Colonel, in your absence, I had Captain Nolan escort me around camp so I could personally speak to the men. What I learned, not just from one source but from many, was that you refused to take the good advice of your experienced officers, who had been in residence here during Major Clarke's command, and who were familiar with his methods and his operations—successful operations I might add—that were in effect and working at the time of his death.

"The men were extremely cooperative and made their complaints clear by way of this petition, which apparently they held back from sending at Captain Nolan's request." He unrolled the petition and turned it around for the colonel to see. "Were I to take the time to verify all these charges and discovered them to be true, Colonel, you could be subject to military court-martial."

The colonel's expression went from indignation at having been publicly rebuked to extreme alarm. "Court-martial?"

Indy gasped and put her hand over her mouth. She had thought a discharge at the worst, but a court-martial had never entered her mind. She'd had no idea that the problems were so serious. Turning to her father, she saw him go white with shock and take his seat at the end of the table, where he had sat so imperiously the day the captain brought Jim Garrity into her parlor. He rested his arms on the tabletop and clasped his hands.

Showing no trace of sympathy whatsoever, Mr. Moorland leafed through several papers in his hand. "Now then, Colonel," he said as he crossed one long leg over the other. "Now that you know where things stand, why don't you tell me what steps you've taken to remedy the situation here at Bowie."

In a voice Indy hardly recognized, her father gave a concise explanation. "I've just reinstated the escorts through the pass and have patrols going out on a regular basis to check the ranches."

"Where, may I ask, were your patrols when the San Simon stage station was attacked by Cochise and his raiders?"

"We can't put patrols everywhere at once," was the colonel's explanation.

"I realize that, but the stage station, like Camp Bowie itself, is a vital point of travel and communication that should have been protected all the time. Is that the extent of it?"

"Yes—I mean no. There's the training," said the colonel, shaking his head.

To Indy, it appeared he had given up trying to help himself and had resigned himself to whatever fate the Indian commissioner decided.

She
had
to help him. "Commissioner Moorland," she ventured, not sure she was doing the right thing by coming to her father's aid, but knowing she had to try. "As you can see my father isn't quite himself. If I may speak on his behalf, sir, I'd like to tell you about the new training program."

Mr. Moorland cut a quick glance to the colonel, then came back to Indy. "This is a highly unusual request, young lady . . . but yes, I'll allow you to speak on Colonel Taylor's behalf."