Santa Fe Woman Read online

  Rachel looked behind her and leaned closer to him. “I might need a poultice for my dignity.”

  “I’ll get right on that, ma’am,” he said. Isaac and their horse crashing through the brush to them distracted him from her sparkling blue eyes. Patrick greeted him with, “Stewart.”

  Isaac nodded. “Sinclair. She’s fine. Merely a tumble into the creek.”

  “So I’ve learned.” Patrick mounted his horse and tipped his hat at Rachel. “Ma’am. Glad you’re well. I’ll see you later.”

  “Thank you for checking. My fall could have been something more serious.”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t.” Taking note of Isaac’s glare, he turned his horse and began riding back. Stewart was damned annoying, but Patrick couldn’t blame him. He’d have done the same when Josie fell in love with her husband. Only being in a Confederate prison camp had stopped him.

  He raised his chin and pushed the ordeal to the back of his mind where it belonged. His life now was taking command of a frontier fort, not living in the past. Lambert came up to him, and Patrick asked, “Are we ready?”

  “Yes, sir. I assume the lady is well?”

  “She is. Just took a fall into the creek.”

  The junior officer grinned as they both turned their horses toward the main group of men. “I’m glad it wasn’t anything more serious.”

  “So am I,” Patrick replied. As Lambert went on about their status and how he’d procured a lunch for him, he tried to pay attention. All he wanted to do was go back to Rachel and ignore her brother while they talked. If he were honest, he’d admit to wanting to mention some of his achievements just to impress her. Maybe clean up some of the jokes he’d heard in the military so she’d smile at him again.

  “…the Indians carried off Jenkins in a knapsack as well. We threw a blanket party for Rogers because he wasn’t keeping watch.”

  “Excuse me? What did you say?”

  “Nothing. I’m talking gibberish to see how long you’d be thinking about that little ol’ gal.”

  Patrick chuckled at how he referred to Rachel. “I see. You didn’t consider I might be going over the logistics of getting us from here to Dodge?”

  “I have eyes, and she’s a pretty woman. Most of us noticed her until you went over to talk to her at the Missouri.”

  “Until then?”

  “Yep.” He shrugged. “She’s taken with you, too. None of us has a chance.”

  “I don’t reckon Miss Stewart is as interested as you think. She’s merely polite.” The words sounded like a lie even to his own ears.

  The lieutenant gave him a hard look. “I see. Earlier, you’d said you met her yesterday evening?”

  “Yes, I haven’t known her long at all. Thus, she is a kind and impartial lady.” Wanting to refocus the other man’s attention, he pointed at the troops. “Are we ready to continue? I’d like to make up for lost time.”

  “Yes, they’re loitering. I’ll go put a boot to their butts.”

  “Very well.” He tried not to smile as the officer made good on his promise and rode off in the men’s direction. Lambert was from the South but had fought hard for the Union. Patrick liked having the best assisting officer in the army with him. Even if he teased a little too much about Rachel.

  The rest of the day went according to plan. A little too routine for comfort. Patrick wasn’t used to an easy time of moving troops anywhere. Still, he couldn’t complain when they arrived at a wide spot to camp at Stranger Creek without incident.

  Plenty of daylight was left, and he could press on. Patrick stared out at the rolling hills to the west. Their peaks and valleys had kept Rachel out of his sight most of the afternoon. If he pushed the troops faster, everyone would guess keeping up with her was the cause for their discomfort. The men and their trip to the next assignment was his priority, he reminded his feelings. Not chasing after a woman with the sweetest face he’d ever seen.

  He smiled when thinking of her accident this morning. She’d been so pretty even in disarray. Patrick had a feeling he’d like her even more disheveled and ignored the desire filling his veins. Dwelling on her right now would lead to nothing but frustration. Instead, he focused on getting to Fort Dodge and what his assignment would be once there.

  The United States government wanted the citizens protected from attacks from all sides. Indians, Mormons, resentful Mexicans were all threatening settlers. He looked forward to fighting people who weren’t as much of an American as he was. They would learn a solid lesson in how to treat a young and strong country like theirs.

  “Sir.”

  He turned to Lambert. “Yes?”

  “The scout says a good place to camp for the night is five miles ahead. Do we want to continue there or have him go further?”

  Using backward planning, Patrick figured they would have sunlight to do chores by but only barely. “We’ll go to where he suggests.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the young man rode forward, Patrick regretted not having an officer of equal status among the soldiers with him. His first officer was easy to work with, yet he missed the comradery of several in his rank. This wasn’t wartime. He couldn’t break protocol and be chummy with anyone here, or he’d be accused of favoritism.

  He lifted his hat to wipe his brow. The leaves showed the barest hint of yellow. A wet dew hung in the humid air. Winter wasn’t his favorite season, but he wouldn’t mind an ice-cold drink. If the water at camp was anywhere near warm, he’d just as soon have tea.

  The first officer hadn’t offered, and Patrick hadn’t asked about the scout mentioning the Stewarts. Judging by the amount of kidding around Lambert had given him, teasing would have been the man’s priority over supplies at camp tonight. He couldn’t blame the guy. Patrick hoped he’d have the chance to return the favor to him someday. Everyone deserved someone who loved them.

  A little trickle of fear flowed through Patrick. Not that anyone loved anyone. No siree. He might be smitten by a pretty lady who seemed to like him, but there was no love. After a glance around to see if anyone saw the expression on his face, he relaxed in the saddle. There was a reason he never played poker. His thoughts shone out like a lighthouse on a clear night.

  It’d be better if he thought about securing the supplies they brought along for the various forts between here and Dodge. They’d have to be sure Indians didn’t come by and steal everything they had. Patrick couldn’t blame them for wanting tools, construction materials, and food. They lived off of the land, and from what he saw the area out here needed a lot of civilization to be productive.

  People who settled out here had to like the isolation. To him, Rachel had the right idea to choose life in a larger town. She’d have others around her besides her brother to keep her safe. Sure, she’d be better off in a fort. He didn’t know if his particular role at Fort Dodge would allow for spouses, and a wife wasn’t for him.

  Lambert rode up to him. “Scout says the Stewarts are way ahead. He’s only seen them once, and they moved on after that.”

  “Good to know, thank you. I hadn’t even thought of them this afternoon,” he replied. When the young man snickered, Patrick turned and glared at him. “Do you have something to say, soldier?”

  “No, sir. I believe you.”

  “Good, because I don’t believe me at all.”

  ***

  “How far behind us do you suppose they are?”

  Isaac shrugged while breaking a dry branch for the fire. “Not close but not far, either. I’d guess no more than five to seven miles.”

  Rachel nodded. The two of them were much faster. At any other time, she’d be thrilled to travel far each day. Today? Not so much when Captain Sinclair lagged further and further behind. If this afternoon was the last time she’d ever see him? She shook her head. There had to be a way for her to visit with him again.

  “I reckon they’ll overtake us and we’ll do the same to them a few times before Santa Fe.”

  “Don’t laugh, but I like
staying around soldiers in case anything happens.” She stirred a little more water into the flour. “Miss Ellie read stories to me from the newspaper about Indian attacks and buffalo stampedes.”

  “I heard some of those. She wanted you to stay with her.”

  “And you, too. She liked both of us.”

  Isaac flipped over the cooking ham with a fork. “Yeah, maybe. I’d like to think so.” He nodded toward her as she made pan biscuits. “I’m glad you filled the pickle jar at Stranger’s Creek.”

  She slapped a mosquito on her arm. “We should have stopped there for the night. Can we put up muslin over the openings, or do you think the lack of breeze will be oppressive?”

  “It’s either sweat to death or be eaten up by bugs I guess.”

  “Looks like we’ll have just enough for coffee tomorrow.”

  “I’ll make sure we camp by water tomorrow night. I didn’t plan ahead very well.” He gave her a sly glance. “I’m used to men like Sinclair ordering me around when I travel.” Isaac used the fork to point. “Go here, sit there, bunk here. Stand up, sit down, talk, don’t talk.”

  She frowned at the surly tone in his voice. “Surely it’s not as bad as all that.”

  “Maybe not. Some men needed the constant instruction. I didn’t.”

  Rachel focused on setting the biscuits just so and avoided looking at him. Otherwise, she figured he’d see the skepticism in her face. Her brother hadn’t trained to be a soldier before the war. He hadn’t gone to strategy school or whatever troops did to learn how to march, shoot, and fight in general. Isaac had said officers went to West Point and had included Captain Sinclair in his statement.

  Patrick would know what to do in any conflict. Senior officers had most likely given him their wisdom from prior conflicts. He’d escaped the Civil War unscathed, she thought, but reconsidered. Did anyone leave a battlefield unchanged? Isaac had been a happy-go-lucky fellow until he came home. She wondered what Patrick had been like before the war.

  “Your biscuits are burning.”

  Rachel woke up out of her daydream. “Oh!” She moved fast to flip the four of them, only to find they all had black bottoms. “Phooey.”

  “Yep. If Ma were here, she’d laugh and make a joke about buttering, not burning, biscuits.” He took the ham from the pan. “Meanwhile, I’m perfect.”

  “Your ham is perfect. Not you.”

  “I know better. In fact, I’ll go put up the muslin while you redo our dinner. Just remember, we don’t have all the flour in the world in our wagon. Try not to moon over Captain Wonderful while you’re cooking.”

  Rachel laughed and threw one of the burnt biscuits at him, missing by a mile. She remixed a little more dough. Isaac was right. She could daydream about the captain after dinner.

  By the time the food cooked, the sky glowed orange from the sunset. Isaac had finished up and wandered off without telling her where he was going. She hoped he’d be back soon. Rachel stood, stretching her legs. Smoke from the fire kept flies away. She bit her lip. Was answering nature’s call worth scratching for the rest of the night?

  “Is dinner ready? How’s it looking?”

  She glanced over at her brother. “Good. Still hot. Get started eating while I take a short walk.”

  “Sure.”

  He sat on one of the larger logs around the campfire. Rachel took care of her needs, glad they weren’t the first to travel here. The lack of water must have made this an excellent place for a noonday meal. She liked the quiet. A stream would have meant more people around them tonight.

  She stepped into the firelight and took a plate of food from him. “Good?”

  “Surprisingly, yes,” he answered with his mouth full. He swallowed. “An open fire is different from a stove.”

  “Oh.” Once seated, she took a bite of the ham. He was right. The food tasted just as good here as at home. “If we had a cow again, we’d have butter.”

  “Something to look forward to when we reach Santa Fe.”

  She nodded, eager to be rolling through New Mexico. “Right. I’d like a sewing shop in town, and civilization set up so close to the mountains means everything is perfect for farming.”

  “We’ll have to live in a valley or get several oxen to pull a plow.”

  The farming tools sounded as expensive as the land would be. She’d need to write up new financial figures in her journal. “There are so many things we’ll have to buy. I don’t think we can own a farm this year or next.”

  “Probably not. I’ll have to find work in town, too.”

  Rachel ate her last bite, not as optimistic as she’d been first thing in the morning. She didn’t want to risk the trip only to go back to living in a one-room apartment with her brother. He was a good man, but she needed independence.

  “You look worried. What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t want to admit any dismay over repeating their life in Weston. “Nothing.”

  “Yes, there is, and I agree. I want my own place, too. Or at least my own bedroom. I want to start a family, work land I can leave to my children, start my life instead of always increasing someone else’s wealth.”

  His words struck home with her. He’d voiced her wishes, too. Only, now when she considered settling down, Captain Sinclair was her husband. Rachel stared into the dying fire. He’d be in Kansas, and she’d be in New Mexico Territory. Her imagination would need a closer husband for her. Struggling to sound convincing, she said, “We’ll both get what we want. I promise.”

  Chapter Six

  Patrick stared out over the open plains. Hilly forests had given way to rolling and desolate hills. Now they all stood on a massive lump of stone called Pawnee Rock, rising up from the prairie. The country stretched out around them, beautiful in a wild and open way. He’d never seen so much sky all at once.

  The view made killing rattlesnakes worth the effort. Gunshots cracked out every so often as his men found one hidden among the plum bushes or rocks. He’d read the names carved on the black sandstone and looked to see if Rachel’s name was among them. Maybe the intermittent rattlers had distracted him from finding hers. Patrick crossed his arms against the cool, stiff breeze.

  He’d traveled behind the Stewarts—he hoped. No signs of her or her brother lay along the road, something Patrick was both glad and sad to see. The past two weeks of missing her left him working hard to hide his irritation at life in general. He didn’t want the last time they’d met to be the final time. Whenever he considered never seeing her again, his heart hurt.

  “Did you look west?” Lambert asked him. “There might be a familiar wagon out there.”

  Patrick sighed. His second in command was the only person who knew his secret. “Yes. I’ve looked for her every hour of every day. I’m completely smitten. The only way I figure to get over her is to either find another woman or have her so close I get sick of her.”

  “What if neither way works?”

  “Then, I don’t know. Convince her Dodge is a great place, or figure a way to lead from Santa Fe.”

  Lambert clapped him on the back. “You’ll figure it out, sir.”

  “Until then we’ll camp here, but closer to the Arkansas.”

  The younger man nodded. “Will do. I’ll tell the men.”

  He nodded and watched for a moment as Lambert picked his way to where the wagons and mules were waiting. The Arkansas River would be their companion until reaching their terminal fort. Patrick looked forward to seeing what sort of setup Fort Larned had. Fort Dodge was so new, and he expected the installation to be better.

  From where he stood Patrick saw the first officer, Jenkins, and Rogers looking up at him. The men must be ready to make camp. He eased down the rocky hill while listening for rattlers along the way. Once at the bottom, he found his horse and followed the caravan to the river.

  Later around the fire, beans and bacon bubbled in a pot. The various soldiers played cards. Patrick enjoyed the routine. Except, he wrote in his journal, he’d liked to hav
e shared the day with Rachel. He glanced up from the page before ripping it out. The notes needed to be about the journey and not about impossible dreams. He tossed the wadded-up ball into the fire.

  “Again?” Lambert asked.

  “Mm-hm.”

  The trio of soldiers to his left stopped playing cards to look at him. One of them, Douglas, cleared his throat. “Sir, there are more women where she came from.”

  Instead of following his initial impulse to argue and say no lady could be Rachel’s equal, Patrick stood. The sudden flush of anger from the offhand comment surprised him with its ferocity. He needed some time to cool down. Headed toward their supply wagon, he said over his shoulder, “Probably so. I’ll write the day’s notes after I get water for tomorrow’s coffee.”

  He put his journal and pencil in his haversack and grabbed the coffeepot on his way to the river. The last little bit of daylight illuminated the trail to the water’s edge. He enjoyed the warmth still rising from the heated ground. Cooled air from the water would wash over him every so often. The temperature reminded Patrick autumn would arrive soon. He walked between several large cottonwood trees, a movement on the opposite side catching his eye. An Indian woman was in the water with her toddler. He stopped cold, still as any statue.

  No one else was near as they laughed and splashed in the river. The tribe must be nearby for the woman to be so carefree. She was a pretty gal, he figured, dressed in buckskins. Her black hair was braided on both sides. She didn’t seem to mind getting the hem of her dress in the water. Considering how much the baby giggled while playing, Patrick wouldn’t care either.

  He watched as she played at bathing her son. The child reminded him of his nephew. All cheeks and a sunny disposition. If Josie and her family were here, she’d be just as full of fun with her son as this woman was with her baby. He missed his family and enjoyed watching the mother with her son.

  She put the baby on the riverbank and began to undo her braids. Patrick panicked a little, figuring she was washing her own body next. Propriety demanded he alert her to his presence. He coughed and stepped forward to the water’s edge. She turned in a whirl as if alarmed, before standing motionless. Even the baby stared at him with wide eyes. He nodded and knelt to fill the coffeepot. Once done, he turned and went back to camp.