The Unlikely Wife

“Anything, my dear,” the general said gallantly. Clark wanted to groan.

“Take care of our cups, will you? The lieutenant has just asked me to dance.”

It happened so quickly he felt a little light-headed. One moment he was ready to face General Hale’s displeasure, the next the dark-haired beauty was in his arms. After a moment he said, “I don’t recall asking you to dance.”

“But you did!” she declared, the picture of innocence. He opened his mouth to disagree only to have her add, “Your eyes did, at any rate.”

“I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes dancing. “I’ll admit I might have seen what I wanted to. But if I hadn’t claimed this dance, you and the general would have started talking about army business, and I would have been bored to death with no graceful way of escape. No one’s asked me to dance for just ages.”

“Two dances.” At her surprised look he clarified, “You haven’t danced for two dances.”

“Keeping track, Lieutenant?”

Clark sighed and held her closer, spinning her around, hoping to distract her. The best policy for dealing with this young lady was to keep his mouth shut. She seemed content to dance, probably savoring her victory. He decided to savor the sensation of her in his arms. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed to feel the stays of a corset under the fabric of her dress.

She sighed gently; he felt it more than heard it. Probably calculated seduction. He would hate for her to know how well it was working. He wanted to hustle her outside to some lonely spot and claim at least a kiss. He didn’t dare. And she knew it.

Her right hand in his left shifted slightly. It felt like a caress, though it was probably calculated as well. They had begun the dance with their hands in the normal position, but now her fingers were wrapped around his thumb. It made her hand look small, vulnerable. A dangerous illusion, he decided.

When the music stopped, they broke away to join in the smattering of applause. He was torn between his desire to ask for another dance and his conviction that his only chance of leaving with a shred of dignity was to leave at once.

“Thank you, Miss Huntington. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Does it have to end so soon? There doesn’t seem to be a line of partners waiting for their turns.”

“Spread that smile around, and there will be. Good night, ma’am.”

Rebecca watched him go. She couldn’t believe she had flirted with him. Of course, it was almost automatic. But he already thought so poorly of her she should have left him alone. And he hadn’t responded at all!

Someone tapped her shoulder. “Would you care to dance?”

She shook her head, waving him away with barely a glance, her attention still on the door through which the lieutenant had gone. How could he be so immune to her when he did such wonderful things to her senses? Her heart was still racing, her fingers were .tingling. No doubt, her cheeks were flushed, perhaps even feverish. And he casually walked away.

After a gentlemanly compliment, true, but still he found her easy to resist. In fact, he had barely talked to her. She felt a smile tug at her lips and let it spread across her face. He had barely talked after he admitted to watching her all evening.

Clark sat behind the field desk, fighting the wind as he went through the last of the figures Sergeant Whiting had provided. The train was due to leave in one hour, but he had a feeling they would be delayed waiting for the women in whatever accommodation General Hale had deemed appropriate. As ordered.

He heard unhurried footsteps and caught a glimpse of uniformed legs on the other side of his desk. “One moment, soldier,” he said, marking his place and placing a rock on the stack of papers. He looked up at his visitor. And leaped to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the ground behind him.

“Miss Huntington?” It was a stupid question. Of course it was Miss Huntington. But she was dressed in a cavalry private’s uniform. He supposed he should be glad she hadn’t decided to outrank him. Her glossy black hair was pulled tightly back from her face and tucked precariously under a broadbrimmed hat Her eyes were brown sparkles and her cheeks were deeply dimpled.

“Am I less temptation now, sir?”

“What?” Clark’s power of reasoning seemed to have fled with his breath.

“You said three women might be temptation for the Indians. Now we look like three more soldiers.”

Clark shook his head. “Ma’am, you don’t look like a soldier.” He was trying hard to keep his eyes on her face and off the shapely body that filled out the uniform blouse and pants in a most unusual way.

“Well, not up close.”

She sounded exasperated, and he tried to pull himself together. An official question seemed to be the best way. “How soon will you be ready to travel?”

She brought her heels together. “Ready now! Sir!” This was followed by a smart salute. His hand moved to answer it before he caught himself. He had the distinct impression he was being mocked.

“We leave in one hour. Soldier.”

She answered his sarcasm with a dimpled grin, turned on her heel and marched away. She had disappeared from view before he realized he was grinning.

Rebecca stuffed her hair under her hat for at least the fourth time that morning. She had expected to have a little trouble with the wind, but Aunt Belle had refused to let her roll up the canvas sides of the ambulance more than a couple of inches for fear someone would see them in their scandalous outfits. As a result, there was barely a breath of air.

And it wasn’t the shaking wagon that caused the problem either; it was her hair. It was too thick and too long and impossible to keep in place. She should have chosen a hat three sizes bigger. The picture she would present with a huge hat perched atop her head made her chuckle.

“What you can find to laugh about is beyond me,” muttered Aunt Belle.

A bench had been fashioned along one side of the wagon and padded with bedding for the ladies’ comfort. Aunt Belle wasn’t impressed. She had been sullen all morning.

“Things aren’t as bad as all that.” Rebecca patted her aunt’s blue-clad knee hoping to improve her temper. “We have more space than we would in a stagecoach, and we have it all to ourselves. Besides, at a stage stop we would only get a moment’s rest while they changed the teams. This way we’ll have more opportunity to walk about as the teams are rested.”

“It’ll take us longer to get there, then,” was Belle’s reply.

Rebecca resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Not as long as it would take if we waited out this war,” she said, forgetting for a moment that she was trying to soothe her aunt.

Aunt Belle shuddered.

“Come over here, Mother, and watch the prairie go by,” Alicia suggested. She had abandoned the seat an hour ago and had curled up on a bedroll where she could peek through the small opening between the wooden box and canvas side.

“There’s nothing out there to see,” Aunt Belle declared.

“There are the soldiers,” Rebecca said, winking at Alicia.

Aunt Belle nearly came out of her seat. “Alicia! Come away from there before they see you!”

“They already know we’re here,” Rebecca reasoned. “Besides, it’s just a crack. What will they see?”

“It’s unseemly!”

Alicia rose obediently. She was short enough to stand upright under the square frame that held the canvas. Rebecca mouthed a “sorry” as her cousin passed to take a seat on the other side of Belle.

Alicia gave her a forgiving smile. “Will we be stopping for lunch, do you think?”

“Of course,” Rebecca assured her. “I’ll ask the driver if he knows anything.” Before her aunt could stop her, she flung herself toward the front of the wagon and scrambled under the canvas and over the back of the seat.

“Mind if I join you for a few minutes?” she asked the driver after he had hastily made room for her. “It’s much cooler out here than inside.”

“I can stop and help you roll up the sides if you’d like,” he offered.