The Scout's Bride

“I don’t mind jealousy,” he went on as if he had not heard her. “It’s indifference that pains me.”

“You’re about to feel some real pain,” she warned ominously.

He yelped when she applied the alcohol to his arm. Kneeling beside him again, she placed a pad on the wound to cushion the bandage. Her fingertips felt soft and cool against his skin as she wound a length of gauze around his arm, tying it expertly. But she never met his eyes.

“I don’t know what to make of you, Rebecca Emerson,” he murmured, reaching out to cup her chin in his big hand.

“Nor I, of you.” She looked at him at last.

“Then we’re starting even,” he whispered, tracing the line of her lips with his thumb before he bent to kiss her.

Tenderly, his mouth moved over hers, the tip of his tongue exploring the crease between her lips, teasing them to open. When they parted under the merest pressure, he entered, reveling in the warmth and the sweetness of her response.

Rebecca was transfixed by sensation, every aspect of the moment stamped in her mind: the hard floor beneath her; the music carried on the breeze; the moth that batted itself against the lamp chimney; but most of all, Jack’s kiss, setting her afire, with feelings she had never felt before.

Pulling away, she stared up at him with a troubled expression. “I don’t think you should have done that.”

“I know I shouldn’t have,” he answered soberly. Rising, he put on his shirt. What possessed him? He hadn’t intended to kiss her again.

What had she done? Rebecca asked herself, watching him fasten his gun belt. Mama had always said, “If you conduct yourself as a lady, others will treat you as one.” If she were truly a proper lady, she would be outraged by his kiss. If she were truly proper, she would not have kissed him back. If she were proper, she would order him to leave.

Squatting beside her, the man seemed to search for the right words. When he spoke, his apology came as a surprise to both of them. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to go?”

Biting her bottom lip, Rebecca wavered. She knew what she should do, but she blurted, “No, don’t go! I mean…if you promise not to kiss me again, Mr. Bellamy, we’ll say no more about it.”

“I’ll behave myself for the rest of the evening, I promise.” As if to demonstrate his good intentions, he stood and extended a hand to her. “Shall we move back to the front porch?”

Rebecca led the way. Halting on the top step, she stared up at the star-studded sky. “Isn’t it glorious?”

“Even more beautiful than the fireworks will be.” Jack stood close behind her.

Sitting down on the step, she increased the distance between them. “Colonel Quiller is so concerned about fire,” she remarked, “it seems odd he would allow fireworks tonight.”

“Quiller knows what he’s doing.” The man moved down to stand in front of her. “By having one big display, there won’t be so many small ones, so there’s less risk of fire. He also ordered a special fire detail to stand by. I wouldn’t worry, though.” Lifting his head, he sniffed the wind. “I smell rain.”

“I don’t see any thunderheads.” Rebecca smiled when a small gray form materialized out of the darkness and trotted toward them. “I do see my cat, however. At least I think he’s my cat. Messmate only shows up around suppertime.”

“The name fits,” Jack chuckled. “He ate quite well at the barbecue.” His amusement faded when Messmate wound around his ankles. Never overly fond of cats, he sought a graceful escape.

“Listen.” He cocked an ear toward the unseen orchestra. “Strauss. It seems a pity to waste it. Do you waltz?”

“I…I shouldn’t. Thank you,” Rebecca answered after a long silence. She loved to dance, but she did not dare… not only because of what others might say if they saw them, but because she did not know what would happen if he took her in his arms.

Out on the parade ground, dark forms milled around the flagstaff, catching the couple’s attention. Suddenly a skyrocket shot upward and exploded overhead, a splendid, multicolored flare against the velvety black sky. Stepping down beside Jack, Rebecca gazed up at the sight.

He stirred restively as the faint fragrance of roses from her hair wafted to him on the rising breeze. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay with her, alone in the moonlight, without kissing her again. “Why don’t we join the party?” he suggested. “It’s dark. No one will even know we’re there.”

“All right,” she agreed, grateful for a distraction from his nearness.

At the back of the crowd, George Davis glanced toward the new arrivals. His brows lifted in surprise, he greeted them quietly, “Mrs. Emerson, Injun Jack, what a surprise.”

Standing beside the lieutenant, Rebecca spied Flora, seated with the other officers’ wives. Brian hovered behind her, bending frequently to comment in her ear. Colonel Quiller paced at the flagstaff with one eye on the sergeant who lit the fireworks, the other alert for fire in the dry grass. Francis stood nearby, his upturned face illuminated by the pyrotechnics.

“Oooh!” A cry rose from the audience when a brilliant rocket burst overhead. Caught by a sudden gust of wind, the fiery array broke apart, sending ash and cinders to earth in a dozen different places. In an instant, five grass fires had ignited on the ground.

As Jack and George raced to stamp out the fires near them, the crowd scattered in all directions and the bucket brigade sprang to action. Out on the quadrangle, a boy who had lolled in the grass watching the display tossed his quilt to Jack.

Bunching it in his hand, the man beat at the fire, rapidly containing the flames. But, while Rebecca watched, the blaze leapt over itself and set another small patch afire. Hauling her skirt up around her knees, she ran to stamp it out before it spread.

“What are you doing?” Jack roared, suddenly beside her.

“Trying to help.”

“Get back.” He shoved her behind him, but she would not stay. They worked side by side until the blaze was extinguished.

When they turned from the blackened patch, he uttered a strangled curse and lunged at her. Her hoops broke with a splintering crack as he carried her to the ground.

Facedown in the dirt beneath his big body, she gasped for breath. To her horror, she felt him rise to his knees above her and slap at the back of her dress.

“Are you all right?” Rolling her onto her back, he yanked her into a sitting position. “Are you all right? Speak, woman!”

“I think so,” she managed.

“Didn’t I tell you to get away?” His sooty face scowled down at her. “Why didn’t you wait for the fire brigade?”

“Why didn’t you?” She returned his glare. “You probably made your arm bleed again.”

“You let me worry about that,” he snapped.

“Becky, what are you doing here?” Francis frowned down at them.

“I was watching fireworks,” Rebecca replied with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Before she set herself on fire,” Jack griped as he stood up. He turned to offer a hand, but the lieutenant had dropped to one knee beside the woman.

“Are you hurt, my dear?” he was asking solicitously.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. Getting to her feet, she strained to see her damaged skirt over her shoulder. It had taken on an odd shape from the broken hoops beneath it. Even worse, a wide portion of fabric was missing from hem to waist. “Oh, my dress is ruined!”

“Damn your dress,” Jack snarled.

“Is he bothering you?” Francis glared at the scout.

“She’s bothering me,” Jack fumed, disturbed by unaccustomed fear. “This stubborn female scared me out of ten years of my life.”

“That’s enough.” The adjutant swung his short circular cape over her shoulders. “I’ll take you home, Becky.”

“I brought her. I’ll take her home,” Jack contended.