awake again, reliving every moment of what had happened. Her grief and
rage were so deep that she wanted to scream aloud, but screaming again
would do no good, and she had already cried until she felt that her
tears were a river that had run as dry as the plain with its sagebrush
and dust.
She cast her feet to the floor and stared across the darkened wagon to
the bunk where her Uncle Joseph should have been sleeping, where he
would sleep no more. Joe would lie out here in the plain for eternity,
and his body would become bone, and in the decades to come, no one would
really know that a brave and courageous man had died here fighting, even
if he'd barely had a chance to raise a weapon. Joe had never given in,
not once. He couldn't be intimidated. He had printed the truth in the
Wiltshire Sun, and he had held fast to everything that was his.
And he had died for it.
Tess pulled on her shoes and laced them high up her ankles, then
silently slipped from the wagon. The cavalry camp fires were burning
very low. Dawn couldn't be far away. Soldiers were sleeping in the
A-frame tents, she knew, and more soldiers were awake, on guard, one
with the rocks and cliffs that rose around the edge of the plain.
They were on guard--against Indians!
She clenched her jaw hard, glad of the anger, for it helped to temper
the grief. What kind of a fool did they think she was? Not they--him!
That Yank lieutenant with the deep, soft drawl.
The one she'd like to see staked out for the ants. Walking silently
through the night, she came upon the graves at last. She closed her eyes
and she meant to pray, but it wasn't prayers that came to her lips.
Goodbye, Joe, I loved you! I loved you so very much! I won't be able to
come back here, I'm sure, but you're the one who taught me how special
the soul was, and how little it had to do with the body.
Uncle Joe, you were really beautiful. For all that grizzled face of
yours and your broken nose, you were the most beautiful person I ever
knew. I won't let you have died for nothing, I swear it. I won't lose.
I'll keep the paper going, and I'll hold onto the land. I don't know how
I'll do it, but I will, I swear it, I promise. I promise, with all my
heart. Her thoughts trailed off and she turned around, uncannily aware
that she wasn't alone.
She wasn't.
The tall lieutenant with the wicked force to his arms was standing not
far behind her, silent in the night. In the haze of the coming morning,
he seemed to be a towering, implacable form. He wasn't a heavy man, but
she had discovered in her wild fight with him that his shoulders were
broad, that his arms and chest were well and tautly muscled, that he was
as lean and sleek and powerful as a puma, agile and quick. His eyes were
a most interesting shade of gray, remote, enigmatic, and yet she felt
their acuteness each time they fell upon her. She realized, in the late
shadows of night, that he was an arresting man. Handsome. but not
because of perfect features or any gentleness about him. His face was
ruggedly hewn, but with clean, strong lines. His jaw was firm and
square, his cheekbones were high, his eyes done, but he hadn't promised
her a lick of help in righting things. He didn't care.
