DAKOTA DAWN

By

Marion Marshall

© copyright January 2001, Linda Slater
Cover art by Eliza Black
ISBN 1-58608-173-x
New Concepts Publishing
http://www.newconceptspublishing.com

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

This book is not meant to be a historical narrative, but is a work of fiction based on one of the most analyzed and debated events in American history.

Marion Marshall

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to the extraordinary women of the 7th Cavalry, whose courage and self-sacrifice made it possible for their men to insure the safety of the frontier.

CHAPTER ONE

YANKTON

DAKOTA TERRITORY

March, 1875

Lucky closed the door and took a moment to make sure it was locked securely. The locks in this dump were as worn out as the rest of the room's furnishings and the last thing she wanted was unwelcome company. The company she already had was unsettling enough.

She let out a deep breath as she turned to face her visitor. He was standing not five feet from her, so tall and imposing that she fought down momentary doubts about the advisability of bringing him to her room. He was looking around in a manner that made Lucky wonder if he was as nervous as she.

Okay, Lucky, get ahold of yourself. It's not like he's the first man to cross that portal. She stared at him and shook off the despair that swelled up in her chest and threatened to cut off her breath. If only he were the first. He looks like a decent man, neat, clean, maybe even a little shy. If we had met long ago, maybe things would be different now.

Lucky's visitor turned to look at her directly for the first time since he'd approached her in the downstairs saloon a little while earlier. He smoothed the brim of his hat nervously and swallowed before he forced a smile.

"Nice place."

Lucky shrugged as she turned up the lamp on a battered chest of drawers that rested against the wall just inside the door. "It'll do." She leaned back against the chest and stared at him. "Okay, soldier boy, do you want a drink first, or do you want to get right down to business?"

The surprised expression that came to his face quickly dissolved into something very akin to embarrassment. He blinked a time or two while he appeared to be making up his mind.

"A drink…I mean…yes, a drink would be nice. Thank you."

Lucky almost laughed aloud. Instead, she pulled a bottle from one of the dresser drawers, blew into a glass resting atop the chest, rubbed it against the bodice of the chemise she was wearing, then poured it half full of the cheap whiskey. She handed it to her guest with a cynical smile.

"You soldier boys never cease to amaze me."

"Ma'am?"

Lucky shook her head as she walked slowly around him. She placed both hands on her hips as she examined him at length, pausing from time to time to glance at his curious face.

"Manners, you boys all have good manners. Soldiers are my only customers with manners. Why is that?"

"Training, ma'am," her guest replied with the hint of a smile as she circled him again. "Must be the training."

"I see. So what exactly do you do besides ride around this godforsaken country and look pretty?"

The cynicism in her voice did not fool him. She was putting on a good act, even better than the one she'd put on downstairs, but instinct had long ago taught this man that appearances were deceiving. This young woman with her aloof manner and cool eyes was not the consummate professional she was trying to appear. He knew that as well as he knew his own name. The tremor in her hands betrayed her, as did the furtive way she glanced at the bolted door occasionally.

She was young, much younger than he. That fact disturbed him somewhat. But she was very pretty, with shoulder-length, dark auburn hair and startling gray eyes that revealed an innocence long ago lost. And she was afraid of him. That fact truly disturbed him. Had she been older, more experienced, the fact that he was at least a foot taller than she and a good ninety pounds heavier wouldn't have bothered her so obviously. Her profession was a dangerous one at best. He wondered if she'd been abused by other men and felt even more guilty for being here.

"Look pretty, ma'am?"

Lucky nodded as her gaze slid up and down him. "You surely are a sight to behold, soldier boy." Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she moved around him again. "I must say, you are a handsome devil. Tall, muscular…" She touched his shoulder and let her fingers trail down his arm, across rock solid muscles that tensed beneath the long sleeved blue tunic.

"Nothing flabby or soft about you, is there? No, sir. Is that because of the training too?"

He sipped at his drink while his gaze followed her back across the room where she leaned against the chest of drawers and struck a seductive pose. "Yes, ma'am, I suppose it is."

Lucky watched him thoughtfully until he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She knew she was making him uncomfortable, but then, that was her intention. Keep him guessing… keep him off balance…stay in control…makes him a lot less dangerous…

"Where are you from, soldier boy?" she asked aloud.

"Texas, ma'am."

"Texas," she repeated thoughtfully. "They sure grow 'em big in Texas. Just how tall are you anyway?"

"Six three, ma'am...without my boots, that is."

Lucky saw the tiniest hint of a smile touch his mouth. For a moment, she stared at him and wondered if he was really as nervous as he appeared or if he was just playing her game. "Six foot three...solid as a brick wall…hair so black it gleams like a raven's feather…good teeth…the bluest eyes I've ever seen…yes sir, soldier boy, you are surely a sight to behold."

"If that's a compliment, ma'am, I appreciate it."

"It is. It's not often I see a man who looks as good as you."

He met her bold gaze without blinking, but then he cleared his throat and sipped at his drink again to break the awkward silence.

"Okay, soldier boy, time's up. Finish your drink and let's get to it."

Her brisk tone caused his brows to arch in surprise. She stood upright and pushed the chemise strap off one shoulder.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but…"

"But what? Time is money, soldier boy. The clock's ticking."

He shrugged uneasily as he moved back a step. "It's just that...well, can't we talk a little while first? Call me old fashioned, ma'am, but I prefer getting to know something about a woman before I take her to bed."

"You want to talk?" Lucky laughed aloud but it was hollow and mirthless. "Most men, soldiers especially, don't take time to shut the door before they're all over me."

"I'm not most men, ma'am."

Lucky nodded in agreement. "I can see that. You're bigger than most… a whole lot better looking…cleaner...better educated than the ordinary soldier that comes through here. Say, you're not…funny, are you?"

His lips twitched beneath a thick mustache that was as coal black as his hair. "No, ma'am. It's nothing like that, but to be honest, ma'am, it's been a long time since I've been with a woman." He actually blushed and glanced away from her probing gaze for a moment, then looked back into her eyes. "It won't last long once we get started and I...well, I just want to make it last a little longer."

"Conversation will cost you extra."

He let out a long breath as he dug into the front pocket of his uniform trousers. "Yes, ma'am. I don't mind," he said as he laid a handful of gold coins on the crate beside the bed that was used as a nightstand. "In fact, if it's all right with you, I'll just pay for the whole night so there won't be any need to rush."

Lucky eyed the neat stack of coins. "Can you afford the whole night?"

"Yes ma'am. I've been saving up."

Lucky couldn't help laughing at the boyish enthusiasm that lit his face. She glanced at the wide brimmed hat he still held in one hand. The twin crossed sabers with the "7" nestled among them meant nothing to her, nor did the silver bars on the shoulder straps of his tunic. Nor did she realize his uniform was not the typical Army issue, but was tailored to fit his lean, powerful body. To her untrained eye, he could be just another man in a blue uniform, but something told her this man was anything but ordinary. The sudden heat that made his eyes gleam caused her stomach to do a flip.

"Okay, so what do you want to talk about?"

She could have sworn he breathed a sigh of relief when she pulled the chemise strap back into place and sat down on the edge of the bed. She patted the space beside her and watched him nervously take the seat.

"Well, how about names for starters? My name's Quinn. What's yours?"

"Lucky."

"What's your real name?"

"Lucky is my real name, at least my real nickname."

"Why is that?"

She could almost feel the tension in him ease with the conversation. He placed his hat on the crate alongside the pile of money and sipped at the drink while his gaze focused directly on her face.

This close, she could see the sparkle in his eyes. It was only at a certain angle, in an exact glimmer of light that she could even tell that his eyes were blue. They were so dark and compelling a blue, that at first glance they appeared almost as black as his hair. They were stunning, but then, so was everything about this man.

"Things have happened…I've been very lucky at times in my life."

"Like what?"

Lucky looked down at her hands folded neatly in the lap of the thin, worn chemise and interlaced her fingers. "When I was eight, my ma sent me to the creek for a bucket of water. When I got back to the house, I found that renegade Sioux warriors had murdered my entire family. I was the only survivor."

She glanced up to find that intense blue gaze fixed on her. She swallowed and shook herself mentally to erase the memory of that terrible day. "Everyone said I was lucky to be alive. The nickname stuck."

"What happened to you then?"

The soft tone of his voice was enough to convince her that he really wanted to know. That knowledge made her eyes prick with unshed tears. It had been years since she had allowed herself the luxury of tears, or confiding in anyone. She had no earthly idea what there was about this perfect stranger that made it seem so natural now to tell him her innermost secrets.

"I had no other folks so I was taken in by the local preacher and his family. I stayed with them until he took an interest in me…the kind of interest that I wanted no part of. So I struck out on my own. Been that way ever since."

"Is that why you chose this kind of life?"

"I didn't choose this kind of life, soldier boy. It chose me." Her tone had become curt again, as though she regretted the momentary softness that she had allowed him to see. "I had no education to speak of, no skills except the one God gave me, so I made the best I could of the situation."

He nodded as he rolled the nearly empty glass between both palms. "I can understand that, ma'am, but you're a beautiful woman. Surely you can move on, better yourself."

Lucky snorted. "That takes money...lots of money. The kind of money I don't have. Besides, what could I do? I still have no skills, other than the ones you've paid me for."

"The Army always has opportunities, ma'am." He paused to grin at the knowing expression that came to her face. "Not that kind," he said, shaking his head. "Officer's wives are always in need of a cook, or a housekeeper, or a nanny for their children. And the soldiers pay well for a laundress to keep their uniforms washed and ironed.

"My regiment can't keep good help. Every time a woman comes out west to work for one of the officer's families, it's not three weeks until she's snapped up and married. They've even tried hiring old, ugly women, but the same thing happened. Women are at a premium out west, ma'am. If you're willing to work, the opportunity is there."

"Are you suggesting that I enlist, soldier boy?"

"No, ma'am, not at all. I'm merely suggesting that you consider the possibilities."

Lucky got up and moved to the outside wall of the room where a small fire in the fireplace had burned down to glowing embers. "It's getting cold in here. I'll build up the fire."

She heard the bedsprings creak when he stood up, then heard the clink as he sat the empty glass down on the dresser. She knew he was standing directly behind her, for she could feel the heat rising off him.

Then she felt his hands on her shoulders, lifting her from the kneeling position in front of the fire. He turned her to face him as his hands moved down her shoulders, pulling the chemise straps down with them. For a moment, Lucky looked up into his face, relieved at the gentleness in his touch, and frightened by the slow heat building in his eyes. Then he cupped her face with both hands and leaned down to kiss her.

She was surprised. Most men didn't bother with kissing. They usually bypassed all the amenities and went straight to the purpose of their visit. This man was different. His mouth was strong and hot and she felt tiny shivers of lightening flash through her when he purposefully found her tongue with his.

This was different. She'd been kissed like this before, but never had she liked it nor had she responded the way she responded now. Her hands slid up his shoulders, encircled his neck, and she stood on tiptoes in order to meld herself against his muscular frame. She felt his hands move down her back, easing off the thin garment in their wake.

She felt his erection burn against her belly. His breathing was faster too, like he was awfully short of breath, but she couldn't be sure because her own pulse had quickened and her blood was pounding in her ears.

Her hands were shaky when she tried to open his shirt. After she fumbled with the buttons for a moment, he took over the task himself and quickly removed his shirt as he walked her backwards toward the bed.

His gunbelt and boots soon followed, then his trousers. Then they were on the bed in a tangle of arms and legs. Lucky's fingers clenched in his hair as her lips sought his. She didn't understand her response to him, for she had never felt like this with any other man, but there was no time to dwell on it because she had caught his fire.

She stiffened when he mounted her, expecting roughness and pain, but again, he surprised her with his gentleness. The passion and urgency was there in abundance, but it was outweighed by tenderness and concern. She had never been treated with such care before. For a moment she allowed herself the luxury of pretending that this was not a business contract, but a relationship between two people who cared for one another. Those thoughts brought tears to her eyes.

She blinked them away, cursing herself for being so foolish. This man probably had a wife and a half dozen kids waiting for him somewhere. She was no more than a pleasant diversion while he was away from home.

But there was no denying the unfamiliar passion that swelled through her in those moments while she was in his arms. She had feigned passion more times than she cared to think about, but this was the first time she'd ever experienced it. Now she had some idea of what it was meant to be like, and she'd never be the same again. She almost hated him for that. To be given such a rare gift, knowing it would be snatched away in a matter of moments, brought almost unbearable pain.

She pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind and instead, gave herself totally to this man. When he reached a climax moments later, it was much too soon. She wanted to stay in his arms forever. She expected him to roll off her, gather up his clothes and melt into the darkness, like all the others.

He moved off her, but gathered her into the warm, damp circle of his arms and snuggled closer. One hand held the back of her head against his chest while he smoothed her tumbled auburn mane.

"See, I told you it wouldn't last long."

Lucky shifted positions so she was able to look up into his face. His eyes were closed, his breathing slowing now as the heat from the fire dried the dampness from their bodies.

"Maybe so, but it was sure something while it lasted," she said softly as she made tiny circles through the mat of crisp, damp curls on his chest.

The expression on her face quickly told him that her thoughts were sincere. He thought he caught the glimpse of tears before she dropped her gaze from his. He swallowed and closed his eyes again as he drew her closer into his embrace. She felt good in his arms, like a natural extension of himself somehow. That thought disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

"However," Lucky was saying. "You did pay for the whole night, didn't you?"

"Yes, ma'am, I did. But my nights are probably a whole lot shorter than yours."

"What do you mean?"

"Reveille sounds at a quarter to four. My company will be on the move by five."

"You're leaving Yankton?" Lucky asked, hoping her voice did not betray the sudden anguish in her heart.

"Yes, ma'am. We came to pick up a bunch of new recruits. Now we've got to take them back to the fort."

Lucky swallowed hard and blinked back her emotions. Then she let out a shuddering breath and trailed one fingertip along the firm plane of his jaw. "Well, then, soldier boy, I suggest you get busy. I want you to get full measure for your money."

Her cynical tone did not fool him. He had the strangest feeling that she was as moved by this experience as he. Her lips were soft and sweet when he kissed her again and began a sensual exploration of her supple body.

"Just one thing."

He looked at her curiously as she took both his hands and held them up to the light, turning them over and examining them at length before letting them curve once more around her. "What's that about?" he asked.

"Just making sure your hands are clean…the nails especially."

"Why?"

She shrugged, then slid upward in the bed to reach his face. "The preacher I told you about…he had dirty hands…long nasty nails." She shuddered involuntarily, then forced a brief smile. "Even a whore has some standards, soldier boy. Clean hands and fingernails are mine."

"Do I pass the test?"

She smiled at his question and dipped her head to kiss him softly before answering. "Oh, yes. Not only do you pass, but you go to the head of the class. Now, time's wasting. It will be time for reveille, or whatever you call it, before you know it. Better get busy."

"Yes, ma'am," he drawled with a grin as she reached down to pull the covers up over their heads. "If there's one thing I do well, it's take orders."

***

Lucky plumped the pillows up so she could sit up in bed and watch him dress. It was very early and the saloon below them, as well as the streets outside, was dark and quiet. He had built up the fire when he first got out of bed so that the warm glow was beating back the cold March night as he put his clothes back on.

When he was fully dressed, he turned to the packing crate to pick up his hat. Then he leaned down and kissed her one last time. His fingers slid gently across her cheek as he stared at her for a moment.

"Lucky, think about what I said…about getting out of this life. You're a beautiful, sensitive girl. You deserve better."

She felt a strangled urge to cry as he walked purposefully toward the door. It took all her strength not to leap out of bed and chase after him. Instead, she clenched her fingers in the sheets and watched him open the door.

"Quinn!"

He turned at the sound of his name, his brows raised curiously. His name on her lips made his chest tight and his groin start to ache again.

"My name? It's Lucinda…Lucinda Douglas."

"That's a pretty name. But I think I like Lucky better," he said with a wicked grin. Then he stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

When he had gone, she climbed out of bed and went to the window. She could barely make out his image as he stepped off the boardwalk and disappeared into the morning mist.

She let out a long shuddering breath and let the curtains fall back into place. Then she remembered the money and went to collect it. Her eyes widened in shock as she picked up the array of coins he had left on the packing crate.

"Holy….!" She whispered after counting the money a second time. "Five hundred dollars! He left five hundred dollars!"

Her thoughts immediately sprang to the possibilities that much money opened up. You deserve better, he'd told her. Damn right I do! I deserve much better, and thanks to you, I've got the means now to do something about it!!!

Her eyes narrowed to hot gray slits while she tried to remember all the things he'd told her. Cook, naw, I can't cook worth a….housekeeper, sure I can do that…nanny…I can do that too. And any fool can wash and iron clothes!

Her mind was made up. She hurried to the bed and yanked her old worn reticule from beneath it and began stuffing her few meager belongings into it. The steamer left Yankton at daylight and she had plenty of time to make it. She paused in front of the dresser with its cracked mirror and saluted herself with a determined smile.

"Goodbye, Yankton. Hello, Army! Lucky Douglas reporting for duty!!"

For the first time in her young life, Lucky was completely lighthearted as she scurried down the empty hallway toward the stairs. When she emerged on the boardwalk into the biting cold of the March pre-dawn, she drew a deep breath and exhaled a silvery plume of relief. She was putting this sordid chapter of her life behind her forever and moving on to better things. She walked briskly down the street toward the harbor without even a backward glance.

CHAPTER TWO

"Ten-hut!"

The gruff voice of the First Sergeant echoed through the brisk morning dawn as Quinn rode up to the column forming on the west side of Yankton.

One hundred fifty soldiers saluted at the sergeant's command, then waited impatiently beside their horses to be on the march. Quinn returned the salutes, then wheeled his own mount into position at the head of the column beside his junior officer.

"Morning, Captain Malone," Lieutenant Alex Browning said with a grin. "I was about to send out a patrol to look for you."

"I'm not that late."

The young lieutenant adjusted his hat to shield his eyes from the rising sun glinting through the fog as he eyed Quinn's disgruntled expression. "No, sir. But when ranks are formed and you're nowhere in sight, I start getting nervous."

"I was detained."

"This detainment, sir, was she blonde or brunette?"

Quinn shot Browning a quick glance, unable to keep from smiling at the young man's boldness. "Neither, Lieutenant. She had auburn hair, as a matter of fact."

Then his smile faded as he twisted in the saddle to survey his waiting troops. His sharp eye touched everything from Sergeant Brigg's vigilant watch over the men to the green recruits they had come to Yankton to collect.

"Is everyone here, Sergeant Briggs?" he asked the bearded middle-aged man who awaited his orders.

"All present and accounted for, sir!"

"That's amazing in itself," Quinn said, more to himself than anyone else. "Well, then, First Sergeant, mount your troop. We're five hundred miles from home, gentlemen. I'd like to get these recruits a couple of hundred miles into the wilderness before they decide they were a bit too hasty in enlisting."

"That probably won't happen until they get their first taste of fighting Indians, sir," Lieutenant Browning suggested as he smoothed his hat down against the cool breeze. "And by then, it'll be too late anyway."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Quinn replied as he turned back around in the saddle.

"‘A’ Company, Seventh Cavalry, prepare to mount!" Briggs bellowed as he turned to his horse. "Mount! Column by twos, forward, ho!"

The column began its arduous journey back home by moving through the deserted Yankton dawn. Off to the east, the steamer's whistle screeched through the morning stillness, but it was drowned out by the tinkle of a hundred and fifty sets of bridle bits and the creak of leather as the company moved smartly toward open country.

The morning sun was shrouded in fog. When Quinn turned to look behind him, it was impossible to see further than the first eight or ten rows of troopers. He pulled his heavy outer coat more closely around him and wished he'd had time for breakfast before beginning the grueling day's march. Even a cup of hot coffee would have sufficed.

However, he didn't regret arriving back in camp too late for breakfast. In fact, he didn't regret much of anything about last night. True, the girl had been a lot younger than he'd first thought when he saw her in the saloon the night before, but by the time he figured out just how young she really was, he was too far gone to care. He almost snorted aloud to think how awkward and foolish he'd felt with her. It had been as bad as his first time when he was just a kid. It had taken him over an hour just to work up the courage to approach her.

The only thing that had spurred him into action at all had been another man who was eyeing her from across the room. Why had she been the one to catch his eye? He shook his head at the thought. She was the most beautiful woman in the saloon. That much had been obvious at first glance, but it was more than her physical beauty that had finally made him approach her.

While he'd been observing her at a distance, he'd seen her fearfulness and the disgust at what she was doing. She hated it and it showed. He'd felt an unfamiliar surge of compassion while he watched her convince men to buy drinks and gamble.

Stray dogs, green recruits, and now beautiful young whores, he thought to himself. Pretty soon they'll be calling me Uncle Quinn and knitting me scarves.

"Something on your mind that you want to talk about, Captain?"

Lieutenant Browning's question shook Quinn from his thoughts. He glanced over at the young man's curious expression and shook his head. "No, why would you think that?"

Alex Browning grinned. "Because you're talking to yourself, sir. I don't think I've ever heard you do that before."

Quinn was grateful that his heavy coat hid most of his face and the flush he was certain that covered it. "Just thinking out loud, Lieutenant. That's all."

"About what, sir?"

"About being five hundred miles from the fort, about to head into hostile territory with only a handful of trained soldiers, and about having to worry about another hundred green recruits who are more likely to break and run than fight if we run into trouble."

"Aw, but Captain, you're forgetting who we are."

Quinn's brows rose at the bravado in Browning's voice. "And just what, Lieutenant, pray, are we?"

"We're ‘A’ Company, sir, of the Seventh Cavalry, the finest fighting force in the United States Army. That's who we are!"

"Yeah? Well, tell that to the newest members of our little assembly who are frozen stiff, scared stiff, and who will, most likely, wet their pants at the first sign of a hostile. They can't ride. They can't shoot. Hell, Lieutenant, they can't even stay awake."

Browning glanced over his shoulder at the long blue column stretched out behind them and grinned. The regular members of ‘A’ Company were distributed throughout the column to make sure the new recruits didn't fall off their horses or lag behind. It was easy to pick out those men. They rode straight and proud, eyes straight ahead, alert and focused.

The recruits were just as easy to spot. They slumped in their saddles, some of them dozing as they rode, all of them sadly lacking in the skills that made a man the pride of the 7th Cavalry.

"I see your point, sir. But we'll get them whipped into shape soon enough."

"Of course we will, Lieutenant. Providing that the Sioux doesn't get them first."

"Are you worried they may jump us before we get back to Fort Lincoln, Captain?"

A touch of concern had replaced the bravado in the young officer's voice as he stared at Quinn through the haze.

"Lieutenant, I've fought Indians for half my life. And one thing I know for certain is that you never know what they'll do until they do it. And then it's usually too damned late." Quinn's remark was sarcastic and it made Browning flush.

Quinn took a deep breath and mentally shook himself. He knew he was taking out his frustration on Browning and he didn't like it. His inner turmoil at letting a mere slip of a girl get under his skin was at the root of his irritation, not Lieutenant Browning's idle questions.

"I doubt they'll try anything," he went on in a more controlled tone. "We’ll stick close to the river and not give them any reason to attack us. This trek back to the fort will be a piece of cake."

Browning nodded. "Yes, sir. If you say so, sir."

"I say so, Lieutenant, but just in case, we'll keep the scouts out well in advance of the column. No sense in taking chances."

"Yes sir."

He could hear the relief in Browning's voice and it only made him more irritable. Damn it, stay focused, Malone. Keep your mind on this mission. Think about the Sioux. Think about this column of green kids, most of whom won't see Christmas because of the summer campaign. Think about any damned thing you can, but keep your mind off Lucky Douglas and those big sad eyes of hers. Don't, under any circumstances, think about her.

CHAPTER THREE

Lucky's euphoria was short lived. By the time the steamer docked in Mobridge, she had seen enough of the Missouri River to last her a lifetime. The trip was pleasant enough in some respects. The food was decent, the accommodations adequate, and the companionship tolerable, but the Missouri, while deep and wide in some places, was also shallow and filled with sandbars in others, making their progress unbelievably slow.

When the steam engine died just down river from Mobridge, it limped into the harbor and the passengers who were going further north were given the option of staying abroad and waiting for repairs or piling into a rickety stagecoach and finishing the trip overland.

Lucky opted for the stagecoach. So the morning after the steamer's untimely demise, she was stuffed into a vehicle with a half dozen other people to begin the arduous journey on to Bismarck.

After traveling in the slow moving vehicle all morning, she was beginning to wonder about her luck after all. It had been raining steadily since they left Mobridge at dawn and the rain and the cold of the bitter March day combined to make travel very uncomfortable. The dampness seeped into the coach from the rawhide fastenings at the windows, which also whipped about in the brisk wind until her hands and feet felt like blocks of ice.

The only bright spot in an otherwise miserable day was one of her traveling companions, the only other female aboard. Mrs. Ruby Nell Warner, her name was. She was a little older than Lucky, and a little plumper, but she had a bright disposition that no amount of bad weather or bad luck could dampen. While their male companions slept the miles away, the two women passed the time in conversation. Lucky discovered that Mrs. Warner was on her way to Fort Lincoln to join her husband; a husband she had never met.

"How can you marry a man without seeing him?" Lucky asked. She was fascinated by the woman's romantic tale and couldn't wait to learn more about it. It was the kind of fairy tale that she had often dreamed of as a child. It gave her a strange sense of peace to discover that some people's fairy tales could become reality.

"We were married by proxy," Ruby Nell Warner explained. "Someone stood in for me at the fort with Peter, and someone stood in for him with me back home in Indiana. The vows were exchanged all proper like at the same time in both places."

"So you're telling me you've never met this man?"

Ruby Nell drew her cloak more closely around her to ward off the chill seeping into the coach and nodded enthusiastically. "Not face to face, but we know each other very well. We've been writing to one another faithfully for over a year now." She patted her reticule in her lap. "I've got every single letter he's written me. I feel as though I've known Peter all my life."

"What about pictures? Didn't you at least exchange pictures?"

"No, we didn't have any pictures to exchange. Besides, looks aren't important."

They are if you find out your husband looks like a beached whale, Lucky thought, but she decided not to point that out to the obviously radiant bride.

"So what does Peter do at the fort?" she asked to keep the conversation going.

"He's the post sutler."

"Excuse me?"

"The post sutler," Ruby Nell explained with a smile. "He owns and operates the trading post at Fort Lincoln. He has a contract with the Army to supply food, blankets, ammunition and guns, whatever the soldiers need. He's very successful."

"What do you know about Fort Lincoln?"

The stagecoach rocked over a pothole in the road, making Ruby Nell catch hold of the bench seat to steady herself until it righted. "It's really quite large, Peter says. It's the home of General Custer's 7th Cavalry. In fact, it was built especially to house them while they protect the surveyors in the Black Hills. Peter says the fort has accommodations for six hundred men and horses, plus the officer's quarters. Peter says it's very impressive."

Lucky was beginning to wonder what Peter would say about helping her land a job at the fort. The more Ruby Nell talked about Fort Lincoln, the more convinced Lucky became that she really ought to investigate the possibility of employment there.

"What about you?" Ruby Nell asked. "Where are you going?"

"Bismarck, although it's only a stop over. I'm seriously thinking about trying to get a job at the fort."

"Really? What sort of job?"

Lucky shrugged beneath her thin cloak while she enviously eyed the heavier one Ruby Nell wore. "I've heard that jobs may be available for laundresses or housekeepers. I had thought I would start looking at Fort Rice, but what you've told me about Fort Lincoln, it sounds like my chances might be better there. I think I'd like to look into the possibility."

"Is that your line of work?"

Lucky nodded with a determined smile. "It is now."

Ruby Nell reached across the narrow opening between them and patted her hand. "Wonderful! I'll speak to Peter about helping you find a position just as soon as I get settled in. It will be heavenly to know someone there."

Lucky did not have the chance to reply. The first indication of trouble was a deep rumble from somewhere far above them. She heard the stage driver shout something and then the coach was jerked violently off the road when the horses seemed to go wild. She and the other passengers were flung into the floor of the coach.

Amid the flurry of arms and legs, she fought her way to the seat and jerked back the rawhide curtain at the window just in time to see the mudslide coming at them. There wasn't even time to scream before the coach was hit by a huge boulder and shoved sideways off the road.

Mud and water poured into the vehicle from the windows as it was swept away down into a steep ravine that bordered the road. She heard wood splintering, heard the other passengers screaming, and saw the coach fill with muddy water. Then the vehicle gave another sickening lurch. Her head struck the side of the bench seat and everything went black.

***

Rain pelting down onto her face finally brought Lucky around. She tried to open her eyes but the slightest movement made stabbing pain erupt behind her eyelids. She was freezing. The rain was still coming down in torrents and the cold March wind whipped across the landscape, chilling everything in its path.

Logic told Lucky she had to find shelter or die from exposure. She tried again to open her eyes. She whimpered against the blinding pain in her head but determination and a strong sense of survival pushed her until she could keep her eyes open long enough to get her bearings.

She was lying on her back on a ledge halfway down the side of the ravine where the stagecoach had landed. When she tried to move her body, she thought for a moment both arms and legs must be broken, for all movement was torture. Slowly, she turned onto her side, then used the rocky ledge to help her to a sitting position.

There was no sound except the rain and the wind; no voices, no horses whinnying, nothing but silence. She sat against the rock wall of the ravine and forced her frozen hands upward to pull her hair back from her face so she could better see her surroundings. Below, on the ravine floor, she could make out the overturned coach, or what was visible of it beneath the mudslide. The vehicle was all but buried under a solid wall of mud, rocks, and scrub brush that had been scraped off the hillside with the force of the slide.

She whimpered aloud as she struggled to her knees. Except for the bad bruise on her forehead and the ghastly pounding inside her head, she didn't seem to be injured. However, she was seeing double, her cloak was missing, she was soaking wet, and she knew if she didn't find shelter right away, she would suffer the same fate as those poor unfortunate souls she could see strewn about the ravine floor.

It took over an hour for her battered body to make the climb down the ravine wall to the coach. Her teeth were chattering so hard she was unable to keep her lips closed. She tasted her own blood, not knowing if it came from the nasty gash on her forehead or from another one elsewhere. Her face was so cold, she couldn't feel her nose, her ears, or her lips. She might have been bleeding to death and not felt the wound.

Double vision made it impossible for her to hurry down the ravine, even if her body would have allowed it. She had to stop every few seconds and close her eyes in order to focus at all on where she was stepping. Near the bottom of the cliff, her feet slipped from beneath her and she tumbled the remaining distance end over end, landing with a splat in the mud near the buried vehicle.

She passed out again from the fall, but regained consciousness more quickly than before. Holding her pounding head between both muddy palms, she cried out with the pain, then she crawled toward the coach and hauled herself upright by using the open door for a ladder of sorts.

The vehicle had been broken nearly in half with the force of the mudslide. By turning her head very slowly she was able to see the driver's body tangled in the harness of the dead team. Now that she was closer she could hear the moans of the horses that had not been killed outright by the fall. Something would have to be done about them.

Three of the four male passengers that had been abroad the coach were also scattered around the ravine. By forcing herself to concentrate very hard, she counted the bodies. Three men were dead outside the coach, and she was alive. That meant that another man and Ruby Nell Warner were most likely still inside. In spite of her own pain, a stab of fear went through her at the thought of the bright, cheerful little woman who had befriended her.

She forced screaming muscles to climb onto the coach and look inside. After blinking several times to drive back both her double vision, and the overwhelming urge to vomit, she could make out the male passenger's bald head just beneath the surface of the mud filled vehicle. There was nothing she could do for him.

There was no sign of Ruby Nell Warner. Then Lucky saw the hem of a cloak protruding from the mud. She grabbed it, pulled with all her strength, and fell backwards into the ravine when her feet slipped off the coach and she lost her balance. Stars exploded behind her eyes once more and she lay in the mud for several minutes, unable to see or catch her breath.

When she was finally able to sit upright once more, she was amazed to find the cloak in her hands. She put it on, muddy and wet though it was, and choked back a sob at the thought of Ruby Nell being buried alive. So young, so many wonderful plans…all gone in the blink of a eye…

She struggled to her feet, weaved unsteadily for a moment, then spied her reticule on the ground nearby. She picked it up and hugged it to her chest, sobbing with the relief of having something familiar to hold on to.

The injured horses moaned again and she forced her mind off her own pain and staggered toward the front of the coach. By climbing over a dead horse, she was able to grasp the butt of the driver's pistol and pull it free of his holster. It took her what seemed a very long time to weave her way toward the injured animals. Two of them were still alive, but there was nothing Lucky to do for them. Even if she, herself, were uninjured she would not have been able to extricate them from the tangled harness and tend their wounds.

She did the only humane thing she could think of. She gripped the gun in both wet, trembling hands and fired. The gunshots reverberated down the ravine until the echoes came crashing back into her head.

It was only after she was certain she had put the wounded animals out of their misery that she dropped the gun at her feet, pressed the reticule to her chest, and crumpled in a dead faint.

CHAPTER FOUR

Lucky was having the most delicious dream, reliving her last night in Yankton with her handsome soldier. Every astounding moment was coming back to life inside her mind. She relived every caress, every passionate kiss, every murmured word he whispered in her ear while he brought the woman inside her to life in his arms. The gratification of finally truly giving herself body and soul to a man was so intense she moaned softly and stirred.

"Mrs. Warner? Are you awake, Mrs. Warner?"

The voice was filled with concern, but Lucky pushed it to the backside of her brain. She wished whoever was talking to Ruby Nell would keep their voice down. She was in another place and time, reliving the most perfect moments of her life and any intrusion simply could not be allowed.

"Ruby Nell, honey? If you can hear me, squeeze my hand."

Another masculine voice filled with concern. Damn, couldn't Ruby Nell Warner's company take their visit to another room and leave her in peace? Slowly, the handsome face of her soldier dissolved into the mist surrounding her brain. Lucky moaned as she reached for him.

"Don't go…please don’t go…," she whispered aloud as she stirred restlessly.

"Don't you worry, honey. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."

That voice again! Lucky whimpered fearfully as the image she had so longed for faded away, and the voices around her grew in volume and clarity.

She tried to open her eyes, but blinding pain ripped through her head, forcing her to squeeze them tightly shut again. Even then the pain was relentless, pounding inside her head like a bass drum, so loud and sharp it drowned out everything else.

"She's still unconscious, but she's beginning to show signs of coming out of it. It won't be long now, Mr. Warner. Probably just a few more hours."

Lucky heard the words as though coming to her from beyond a deep fog, but she smiled. Ruby Nell had survived after all and her concerned husband was at her side. Things were as they should be, except her dream had ended and the man who had touched her in a manner no one else ever had was gone again. The thought that she might never see him again almost choked her. One lone tear slipped from the corner of her eye just before unconsciousness sucked her under once more into blissful oblivion.

***

A hundred miles away to the south, Quinn's eyes popped open. He stared into the darkness of the tent, blinking at the furor going on in his body. "What the hell….," he said aloud as he sat up on the hard Army cot and lifted the covers.

"Shit! I don't believe this!" He scrambled out of the warm bed and ran a hand through his tumbled hair. "Thirty six years old, for God's sake! Too damned old to be doing this!"

He quickly stripped out of his stained underwear and dug into his pack to find clean ones. Wide awake now, he put on his uniform trousers and boots, then slipped into his blouse. He flipped the covers back over the evidence and stalked toward the tent opening.

It was still a couple of hours before reveille. The night was dark and quiet, except for the occasional call of a whippoorwill in the treetops nearby and the wind lifting a tent flap and then dropping it back into place. He walked to the smoldering fire a few feet from his tent and dropped to his heels, feeling for the coffee pot he knew would be there.

Shadows moved in and out among the trees where the picket lines were stretched as the horses and sentries alike moved in the darkness. Looking to the side, he saw the double row of tents arranged like the main street of a town. The snoring coming from them was audible even over the wind. It was at times like this that he was even more glad to be an officer with his own private quarters, rather than an enlisted man who bunked with fifty other men who could snore loud enough to wake the dead. The thought made him chuckle aloud.

"What's so funny at this time of night, Captain?"

"I was just listening to the men snoring, Sergeant, and remembering the Academy. I don't think I slept more than a couple hours a night during the whole four years I spent there."

Sergeant Briggs dropped his hefty frame onto a campstool and moved it closer to the fire as he grinned through his heavy beard. "Why do you think I'm awake myself instead of sleeping like any normal man ought to be at this hour?"

He held out a battered tin cup for a splash of thick coffee from the pot Quinn offered him.

"Because we're ass deep in Sioux country, that's why. A hundred miles from the fort and enough Indian sign the past two days to make even Custer happy."

Briggs grinned again, then took a sip of the bitter brew. "Well, sir, at least they're just following us. No reason to think they're going to hit us."

"That's only because they're still sizing us up," Quinn said wearily. "Once they determine our strength, all that may change."

"Keeping our regulars on outpost duty was a real good idea, Captain. These kids," Briggs said as he waved one meaty paw toward the encampment. "Would've shot each other by now. Don't know an Injun from a hoot owl."

"Sometimes the hoot owls are Indians, Sergeant."

Briggs nodded as he stared at Quinn over the rim of his cup. The thoughtful expression on Quinn's face persuaded Briggs to voice his own thoughts. "You've been awfully quiet the past few days, Captain. Anything in particular on your mind?"

Quinn glanced at the seasoned veteran, then looked away. "I met someone, Sergeant. I can't stop thinking about her."

A wide grin split Briggs' craggy features. "Well, I'll be damned! The untouchable Captain Malone has finally succumbed to the same feelings as the rest of us, has he? It's about damned time!"

Quinn flashed him an embarrassed grin. "Succumbed? Have you been reading the dictionary again, Sergeant?"

"I'm always trying to improve myself. Stop evading the subject. Tell me about this woman."

Briggs settled down and directed a steady gaze that made Quinn squirm. Those steady blue eyes had calmed him more times than he could remember. That raspy voice had answered his questions and quieted his fears when they were faced with a situation when the lives of an entire company rested on his shoulders. He thanked God every day that Briggs had been assigned as his First Sergeant that day in Fort Riley when the 7th Cavalry had been commissioned.

Their relationship was the talk of the 7th and they both knew it. In a society where officers and non-coms worked side by side but never spoke outside of ranks, it was scandalous that an officer of Quinn's caliber openly sought the friendship and council of his First Sergeant. It was even more outrageous that he spent every Sunday afternoon at Briggs' home, having dinner with the sergeant's family, playing with his children. Briggs' youngest son was even named after him.

It was an association built on mutual respect. Quinn, the Academy trained, Civil War decorated, gallant cavalry officer whose presence at fort social functions made every female's pulse beat a little faster, and Briggs, the seasoned veteran approaching retirement age, having spent his entire life in the ranks. One was as handsome as the other was plain. One was a loner who never let himself get close to anyone, and the other was a dedicated family man. They made a strange pair, but together they had forged ‘A’ Company into the most highly respected unit in the 7th Cavalry.

"I met her that last night in Yankton," Quinn said in answer to Briggs' question. "I went to someplace called The Dusty Rose to unwind before we started back to the fort, and I saw her."

"This woman, she's a …."

Quinn nodded and looked away from the surprise that left Brigg's mouth hanging open. "She's not even a woman grown, Sergeant. She's not much more than a kid. Damned near half my age. I went in there to have a couple of drinks, get my mind off the march for a little while, and then I saw her and….It was like something hit me right in the gut. Damned near took my breath. I couldn't keep my eyes off her.

"I sat there in a corner for nearly an hour, trying to work up the nerve to approach her. When I finally did, I stuttered and blushed like a twelve year old with his first hard-on."

"Well, it ain't like you get lots of practice," Briggs pointed out as he smothered a grin. "I mean, you don't go near the whores across the river in Bismarck, and there ain't no available women at the fort. It can't be easy for you."

"Easy! Hell, Sergeant, not a half hour ago I had a wet dream. I haven't done that since I was a kid. But one night with her and I can't control even the simplest bodily function anymore."

Briggs smothered a laugh at the frustration on Quinn's face as he stared into the glowing embers of the campfire. "Then I guess I don't have to ask if the sex was good with her."

Briggs stood up and tossed the grounds in the bottom of his coffee cup out onto the ground. His expression sobered as he paused beside Quinn's morose figure, still hunched over the cold coffee in his cup.

"Quinn, I'm going to speak frankly here. This girl, as much as you may be twisted up over her, is no good for you."

Quinn's dark head snapped up, his diamond bright gaze fixed on Brigg's face. Briggs held up both hands in a defensive gesture. "Now, don't go getting your back up. I'm right and you know it. You spent four years at West Point, four more in the War, and ten since then building a career that you've got every right to be proud of. You've got medals and commendations up the ass, and you're the best damned officer in Custer's Army. Even ole Hard Ass himself knows it, though he'd die before he'd say so.

"This girl is a whore, Quinn. You said so yourself. A woman like that is poison to your career. She'd destroy everything you've worked your whole damn life to build. No matter how pretty she is, or how much you think of her, or how much she might think of you, she ain't worth throwing it all away. No woman is."

He laid a callused hand on Quinn's shoulder for a moment, then cleared his throat and melted into the darkness beyond the fire's glow.

Quinn rubbed one hand over his face and stared into the coals. If Briggs was right, and Quinn knew he was, why were his guts all tied up in knots, and why did the image of Lucky's beautiful face and lush body turn him into a smoldering mass of raging hormones?

He stood up and stretched taut muscles. "Spent my whole damned life without feeling this way about a woman," he said aloud. "Then I meet one I can't get out of my mind, and I can't have her. Shit!"

He gripped the cup and threw it viciously as far as he could into the darkness beyond the campfire.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lucky stirred and opened her eyes. The sunlight streaming through a window high on the opposite wall sent a stab of fierce pain through her head. She closed her eyes again, waited a moment, then tried again. The pain was still there, but at least she could bear to keep her eyes open longer than a mere second. She slowly turned her head on the pillow, startled at what she saw.

She was in a real bed, covered with clean sheets. When she lifted one hand to her throbbing head, she discovered it was encased in a bandage. Despite the pain, her eyes widened at the sight of a double row of cots lined up along the wall. Just where the devil was she?

Any movement was sheer torture. Focusing on her hands, she discovered that the double vision was still with her. It made the bruises that mottled both arms even more grotesque. If the rest of her body was in this shape, it was no wonder she hurt all over.

The effort to move caused her to moan. Almost instantly, a figure in a white coat sat down in a chair beside the bed and took her wrist to check her pulse. She tried to focus on the face, but seeing two of them made her dizzy, so she closed her eyes.

"Well, Mrs. Warner, I'm glad to see that you're finally awake. You've been unconscious for several days now. I can tell you, your husband is beside himself with worry."

Lucky opened one eye and tried to hone in on the kindly voice. She finally located it swimming around above her and squinted, trying to bring it into focus. "Lucky," she murmured.

"You certainly are. You are the only survivor of that terrible accident."

"No," she said, trying to shake her head, then giving up when a flash of searing pain erupted behind her eyes. "Lucky."

"Yes, I know, dear. You're a very lucky young woman. If you'd hadn't been thrown from the stagecoach, I'm afraid you would have perished with the others."

She didn't have the strength to argue with him any longer about her name. Why was he calling her Mrs. Warner? She was very confused and her head hurt so badly she couldn't think clearly. She wanted to crawl back inside that safe place in her mind and make the pain go away. She closed her eyes again and in moments was safely beyond the realm of a reality she feared she did not want to face.

***

Much later in the day Lucky awoke again. The pain was better now, she realized when she opened her eyes and looked around again. She still had double vision, but that was getting better too. Turning her head slowly, she realized that she was in some sort of hospital. How had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered was….? Her brow wrinkled as she tried to recall just what was the last thing she remembered.

"Oh thank God!"

The relief in the male voice made her try harder to focus. She saw a middle aged man in a brown suit in the chair beside her bed. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and was wiping his eyes beneath them with a white handkerchief when she was able to center on him.

"Ruby Nell, honey, I thought I'd lost you! I've been out of my mind with worry."

Lucky's brows wrinkled again as she stared up into the stranger's kind face. "Lucky," she croaked, then put one hand to her throat.

"Do you want a drink of water, honey?"

She managed to nod without passing out, and the man very gently lifted her shoulders high enough to raise a glass of water to her lips. The tepid water felt like heaven sliding down her parched throat. She took several sips from the glass before the man took it away and carefully redeposited her on the pillows.

"There, doesn't that feel better?" the man asked soothingly as he smoothed the sheets around her shoulders.

Lucky dimly realized that she was wearing a flannel nightgown, but she didn't recognize it. She didn't recognize the man who was holding onto her hand. "Lucky," she said again, pointing to herself.

"You're more than just lucky, honey," the man said as he dabbed at his misty eyes again. "God was surely looking over you."

What the hell, my head hurts too bad to figure all this out.

"You were in a terrible accident, honey. Everyone else was killed."

"How did I get out?"

"Some cowboys from a nearby ranch were on their way home from chasing strays when they heard the shots and went to investigate."

"Shots?"

"How did you ever think of that? As badly injured as you were, how on earth did you have the presence of mind to find a gun, let alone fire it?"

Lucky's brows rose as she tried to remember. "Gun? Shots? I don't…."

"Well, don't you wear yourself out trying to remember, honey. Dr. Lord says you may never remember what happened. You have a serious concussion. Maybe even a skull fracture. It's only by the grace of God that you're alive."

"Lucky," she said again, but the man just squeezed her hand and smiled happily.

"Yes, Ruby Nell, honey, I know."

What's wrong with this guy? Is he deaf or what? I've been trying to tell him who I am for the past ten minutes and still he keeps calling me Ruby Nell.

The thought of Ruby Nell flashed through her fuzzy mind. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to focus on his face, but it was becoming foggy again. "The others…"

"All dead, honey. The driver, those poor men, and that poor unfortunate young woman. They were all killed in the accident."

"Unfortunate young woman?"

The man nodded sadly as he squeezed her hand. "Yes, poor thing. We don't even know who she was. Just some unfortunate soul who was unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Lucky decided to try one more time. "Lucky," she said with as much determination as she could muster. "I'm Lucky."

The man leaned over and kissed her forehead, but she couldn't feel it through the bandage that encircled her head. "Very, very lucky, Ruby Nell, honey. Except for the grace of God, that could be you buried in that mud slide." He shuddered visibly, then gently smoothed her hair back. "I'm so thankful, honey. I just don't know what I'd do if that had been you."

The light of understanding slowly flickered through Lucky's mind. She tried very hard to blink away her double vision so she could get a clearer look at this guy.

"Peter?"

Tears rushed to his eyes when she said his name. He moved from the chair to the edge of the bed and gathered her into his arms. The pressure of his embrace made her wince, but she sucked in her breath and tried not to groan.

"Yes, honey! It's me! Silly me, I should've told you right away. I know we've never actually seen each other before but we've written so many letters that I just assumed you knew it was me."

While Peter Warner chattered like a magpie in her ear, Lucky began putting the pieces together. As her vision cleared, her thoughts became more cohesive. Everyone thinks I'm Ruby Nell Warner! For some ungodly reason, they think she was the one who survived. But why…what makes them so sure? Then she remembered the cloak.

"My cloak.."

"It's right here, honey," Peter assured her as he pointed to the garment hanging on a peg on the wall nearby. "Thank goodness I sent you that cloak. It's probably all that kept you from freezing to death until those cowboys could rescue you."

So that's it. The cloak I pulled out of the coach was hers, not mine. He recognized it as the one he'd sent her and because I was wearing it…he assumed I was Ruby Nell. She glanced around the room until her gaze landed on the reticule sitting on the floor beneath the cloak. Now that her vision was clearing, she could tell it wasn't hers. It had to be the one Ruby Nell Warner had held onto so protectively during the trip. Hers was probably buried at the bottom of that ravine.

While Peter Warner kept chattering, a wild idea began forming in Lucky's head. She considered the possibilities until her head began to hurt something fierce. She yawned and he instantly realized she was worn out.

He laid her carefully back onto the pillows and smoothed the covers around her. "You just rest, honey. I'll be right here. You just get your strength back."

"Where…where am I?"

"Fort Lincoln, honey. Once the cowboys discovered who you were, they put you in a buggy and brought you here straightaway. Good thing you kept all my letters, because that's how they knew to bring you here. I'm quite well known in the territory."

This last statement was made with a considerable amount of pride, Lucky thought. But then, from what Ruby Nell had told her about Peter Warner and his business at the fort, he had reason to be proud.

"You sleep now, honey. Everything is just fine now. We've got our whole lives ahead of us. You just rest."

Lucky was too tired and hurt too badly to feel guilty about not straightening out the confusion. She yawned again and snuggled down into the warm covers while Peter continued to stroke her hair. Tomorrow…I'll tell him the truth tomorrow….

CHAPTER SIX

By morning Lucky's mind was much clearer, and so were her options. She was served a robust breakfast, most of which she only nibbled at for food still made her queasy. Then Dr. Lord came back to check her over again.

"You keep improving like this, young lady, and you'll be able to go home in a couple of days. I know you must be anxious to start your life with Mr. Warner," he told her as he took her pulse.

He lifted each eyelid and looked into her eyes. "How's your headache?"

"Better this morning."

"And the double vision?"

"Gone, thank God."

Dr. Lord's smile faded as he moved back from the bed. "Mrs. Warner, you've had a serious head injury. There will be things that you will probably never remember. Other things, like certain smells, or colors, may never be the same. But you're basically a healthy young woman and you should make a full recovery except for those things. You're a very fortunate young woman."

"Very lucky," she replied, but this time she did not pursue the subject. During the quiet hours of the pre-dawn she had reached some startling conclusions.

"Thank you for taking such good care of me, Doctor. How did you ever get all the mud out of my hair? I seem to recall being covered with it."

"You were, but in actuality it may have helped save your life. You see, Mrs. Warner, the mud coated your body, protecting you from the wind. You might possibly have frozen to death otherwise."

"Could I please have my bag?" she asked after digesting this news.

When Dr. Lord moved on, she propped herself up on the pillows and began going through Ruby Nell Warner's reticule. The contents were in good shape considering the bag had been soaking wet. She marveled at the lovely clothes inside. There were three dresses, plus an array of undergarments such as Lucky had never possessed before. The clothes were too large but a nip here and a tuck there would remedy that.

There was also a set of hair brushes and an assortment of ribbons and, in the bottom of the bag, was a silk nightgown in a brown paper bag to protect it. Her face burned as she looked at it. This was Ruby Nell's wedding nightgown. This thought made her swallow hard and think about the decision she had made during the night.

She shook off the disturbing thoughts and took out the packet of letters tied with a bright yellow ribbon. Dr. Lord had said she would be able to leave the hospital within a couple of days. She untied the letters and began reading them one by one. She had two days at most to become Ruby Nell Warner and the key to doing that was in those letters. She had to learn what Ruby Nell and Peter had discussed, what their plans for the future were, the intimate details of their lives that they had revealed to one another through those letters.

That Ruby Nell was a virgin became painfully clear as she read. She dropped the letters into her lap and lay back against the pillows to collect her thoughts. Peter Warner didn't appear to be very experienced either, she thought. Her own knowledge had taught her to tell quickly whether a man was inexperienced or not and she was seldom wrong. Convincing him that she was a virgin should prove to be no challenge.

She closed her eyes and drew a shuttering breath. In some ways she was right back where she had started when she left Yankton. She was trading one form of prostitution for another. From taking money from a man for her services, she was now ready to trade her identity to be a man's wife. She gave a bitter snort at that thought. Her own identity was not so hot. Putting it behind her and taking up the mantle of marriage wasn't that big a stretch. She had come here to this very place in hopes of making a new life for herself. Fate had presented her with the circumstances to do that very thing, in a manner that offered a lot more promise than a job cleaning and scrubbing. She'd be a fool not to grab it.

In another respect, she had few other options. The stash of money she had been given by the soldier to build a new life on was probably at the bottom of that ravine in her reticule. She was penniless and except for the clothes in Ruby Nell’s bag, she was also naked.

She thought about the handsome soldier back in Yankton and the passion he'd ignited in her. For a few hours in his arms she'd been a normal woman and making love with him had gone far beyond the constraints of business. She wondered where he was, and if he ever gave their night together a thought. Probably not, she told herself. When he had walked out of her room that night, she had ceased to exist, just another nameless, faceless woman who had shared a bed with him, and nothing more. But the fact was, that she'd never be the same. He'd touched some virgin part of her that she'd never known existed until that night.

She had to put him out of her mind and concentrate on what lay ahead. She had a grand opportunity for the kind of life she'd always dreamed of and thought beyond her. If Peter Warner never stirred her passions the way the soldier had, she'd just have to make the best of it. That, after all, was nothing new.

***

Peter Warner was no prize in the looks department, Lucky decided once her double vision passed and she could see clearly. He was definitely middle aged, in his forties most likely, with thin brown hair that was beginning to recede badly. He was only a few inches taller than she was, with a stocky frame that was going to paunch. Evidently life was pretty good in the sutler business, for Peter's hands were soft and white, with little evidence of any physical labor. But at least they were clean and the nails were clipped and neat.

He had an owlish appearance that caused her to suspect that his talents lay in books and figures more than in passion or the sensual arts. That, in itself, was not a bad thing.

She folded the letters and put them away with a sigh. She had to stop comparing Peter to the soldier, for it was a waste of time. She'd never met a man who compared to that one and it was grossly unfair to Peter to even consider him in the same breath. Peter did, however, have kind eyes. He was soft spoken and gentle too and those things were important, very important to a woman who had been shown very little kindness in her life.

She sighed and fluffed up her pillows, then lay back and closed her eyes. The headache was coming back with a vengeance from so much reading, and she felt queasy, as well.

She suspected that much of her discomfort came from the decision she’d made to impersonate Ruby Nell Warner. Some inherent part of her knew what she was doing was wrong, but the practical part reminded her that if she wanted a better life, she had to take it. Peter Warner had sent for a wife, and that’s what he was getting. Only she knew that it was a slightly altered version.

I can make him happy. I can be everything Ruby Nell was, and then some. I may not know everything about cooking and that stuff, but I can learn. And I have other skills that make up for it. I just have to be careful about revealing too much too soon. Mustn’t start him wondering how pure Ruby Nell knows such things.

Her mind was made up and she put away her guilty feelings and took up the packet of letters again. It was time to get back to work.

***

That afternoon Lucky awoke from a nap to find Peter sitting beside the bed. He flashed her a happy smile and leaned over to kiss her forehead. The bulky bandage was gone now, replaced by a much smaller one that only covered the gash.

"How are you feeling, Ruby Nell, honey?"

Lucky smiled. "Much better, Peter. It’s amazing what some food and a pan of hot water and a bar of soap can do. I feel almost human again."

"I spoke with Dr. Lord a bit ago. He says you’ll be able to go home tomorrow." He squeezed her hand and looked deep into her eyes. "I can hardly wait, honey."

The enthusiasm in his voice made Lucky nervous. She’d seen that expression on too many men’s faces not to know what it meant. Peter was anticipating his wedding night with his loving, eager bride. She looked into his kind, hound dog eyes and tried to summon up a little enthusiasm of her own. He was a good, gentle man. It shouldn’t be too difficult to drum up some genuine feelings for him.

"You are so beautiful, Ruby Nell. You’re everything I had you pictured to be and so much more." He drew a soft hand across her cheek. "I had no idea you’d be so beautiful. You look a lot younger than I expected. You were much too modest in your letters."

Lucky didn’t know how to respond to his comments, so she said nothing at all. Better to be quiet than say the wrong thing.

"You’re very kind, Peter," she said after an awkward pause.

Peter cleared his throat and sat down in the chair. "Well, a man feels special, having a wife like you." He cleared his throat once more as his eyes brightened. "I have wonderful news, honey. General and Mrs. Custer are hosting a small reception for us just as soon you’re home and feel up to it. Isn’t that splendid?"

Lucky nodded and smiled, but her heart constricted with alarm. She had no earthly idea what a reception hosted by the fort’s commanding officer and his wife entailed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but the excitement on Peter’s face was evidence that he was very pleased.

"After all this time, Ruby Nell, General Custer is finally starting to take notice of me. I’m sure you’re not aware of what this means, but a reception hosted by the general and his wife is bound to be the social event of the season. All the officers and their wives will be there. With the general’s contacts in the War Department, I’ll soon have a string of sutler’s stores in every Army post in the West. In no time at all, I’ll be a very rich man."

The excitement in his voice and his hand movements as he talked made Lucky even more nervous. "My goodness, Peter, it sounds very exciting. I hope these bruises fade."

Peter eyed the purple and yellow blotches that covered her arms. "A long sleeved dress will cover those nicely, honey. Don’t worry about a thing. Mrs. Custer and Mrs. Calhoun are taking care of everything. All there is for you to do is just show up looking beautiful and be charming. You'll have them eating out of your hand in no time. You just wait and see."

"Mrs. Calhoun?"

Peter nodded. "Margaret Calhoun is General Custer's sister. Her husband, James, is commander of L Company. You'll also meet Annie Yates, whose husband is also a company commander, and many other ladies. It's the unmarried officers that you have to watch. The general's brother Tom, for instance, is quite the ladies’ man."

His expression sobered a bit as he looked thoughtfully at her. "It's common knowledge in the Army, Ruby Nell, dear, that the officer's wives are the ones who make or break the careers of the men."

"Are you telling me, Peter, that if I don't make a good impression on these women that it could harm your plans?"

Peter smiled at the concern that wrinkled her brow and leaned forward to smooth her forehead. "You have nothing to worry about, Ruby Nell. You're beautiful and intelligent and charming. If anything, those women will all be jealous of you and their husbands will break their necks to congratulate me."

He took out his pocket watch to check the time, then stood up as he snapped the face closed and tucked it back inside his vest. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Now, I really must get back. Mrs. Yates has generously loaned me her housekeeper this afternoon to get the house ready for your homecoming. There's so much to do, I don't want to be tardy. Besides, you just never know when some of these hired women will decide to fill their pockets if you don't watch them every second."

He flashed her a big smile, then hurried up the aisle to the doors that separated the ward from the entryway.

Lucky stared after him with wide, fearful eyes. Her head pounded mercilessly and she put both palms to her temples. Oh, my God! His future depends on the impression I make on the Custers and their friends? What if I fail? I have no earthly idea how people like this act, or what they expect of me.

Panic surged through her. It was only the fact that her body was too sore and weak to move that kept her from grabbing some clothes from the bag and bolting for the door.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Quinn halted the company on the rise overlooking Fort Lincoln to give the new men their first look at their new home. He smiled at the expressions of delight from the recruits, and couldn't help feeling a strong stir of pride himself.

Below the hill where they paused, Fort Abraham Lincoln lay in a valley, backed by a long stretch of bluffs, with the river on one side. The sight of the flag flying proudly above the garrison never failed to stir Quinn's blood. He had been serving that flag for most of his life and yet the very sight of it shook the fatigue from his bones and made him sit a little straighter in the saddle.

He twisted to look at Sergeant Briggs. "First Sergeant, straighten your column. These men are troopers in the 7th Cavalry. I want them to look like it when we enter the fort."

"Yes sir!" Briggs turned to bawl out Quinn's orders to his sergeants down the column. When the line had straightened and the men were sitting upright and waiting expectantly, Briggs turned back to Quinn. "Column's ready, Captain Malone."

"You think these green recruits can stay on their horses at a gallop, First Sergeant?"

Briggs grinned, then flashed a brief glance over his shoulder at the men. Turning back to Quinn, he nodded. "If they know what's good for them, Captain."

"Then let's go home, gentlemen. At a gallop!"

His heels barely touched the flanks of the magnificent chestnut gelding he rode before the horse broke into a spirited gallop down the hill.

The fort's band, having been alerted that the company had returned and was coming in, had hastily assembled on the parade ground, and now broke into the welcoming strains of Garryowen as the column swept past them.

Wives of the enlisted men also waited along the parade ground, waving to their husbands as they rode past, relieved to find their men had returned safely.

Quinn halted the column on the barracks side of the parade ground and turned the gelding so he was facing the troop. He saluted his officers, then spoke to Browning. "Dismiss your troops, Lieutenant, and get the new men settled. I'll have troop assignments before nightfall. Good job, men. You've earned a long rest."

"Rest can wait, Captain. My throat is parched. I hear a bottle over at the sutler's calling my name," Alex Browning said with a grin.

"An excellent idea, Lieutenant, however mine will have to wait until I report in."

"Better you than me. Reporting to the general on an empty stomach is not my idea of an ideal homecoming."

Quinn smiled, but his eyes flattened. "One of the hazards of command, Lieutenant. Just wait until you get promoted. Then you can have some of the fun."

Browning shook his head as he began taking off his gloves. "I like being a lieutenant, Captain. I get to have all the fun and little of the responsibility. I leave that to you, sir."

"Coward!"

Then Browning and Briggs turned to the task of settling the new men and sending the horses to the stables. Quinn turned the gelding and rode through the post past the barracks on the side of the parade ground nearest the river. The officer's quarters stood on the opposite side of the parade ground facing the river. On the left side of the parade ground were the granary and the guardhouse. On the right, completing the square, were located the quartermaster's office, commissary warehouses, and the adjutant's office.

It was to the adjutant's office that he headed. He pulled the chestnut to a halt in front, dismounted, and handed the reins over to an orderly, who stood ready to take them. He returned the soldier's salute and stepped through the doorway.

Lieutenant W.W. Cooke, the regimental adjutant, was standing beside a desk, looking over the shoulder of a lean man with light hair, wearing a blue flannel uniform blouse. They both looked up when Quinn closed the door behind him.

He halted just inside the closed door, came to attention, and saluted, holding the salute until his commanding officer decided, at his leisure, to return it.

"‘A’ Company reporting in, sir!"

"At ease. Any problems, Captain?"

"No, sir." Quinn took a sheaf of papers from inside his blouse and walked across the room. Lt. Cooke took them, glanced at them, then handed them on.

Lt. Colonel George Armstrong Custer took the papers and sifted through them before putting them aside and looking up at Quinn. "What about Indian sign?"

"We crossed their sign several times, sir, between Yankton and Pierre. Large hunting parties, not hostile."

Quinn's tone was clipped, professional. He kept his gaze directed at the wall above Custer's head, not making eye contact.

"How do you know they weren't hostile, Captain?" Custer asked as he leaned back in his chair.

"They didn't attack us, sir."

Custer stared at him for a moment, then turned to Cooke, who was standing by with a duty roster. Custer took it, handed it to Quinn across the desk, and leaned back again.

"We will discuss it in greater detail tonight at the reception Mrs. Custer and I are giving the sutler and his new wife. Quite a valiant young woman from all accounts. I look forward to meeting her."

"Reception?"

"Yes, reception, seven o'clock sharp at my home, and don't give me that look, Captain."

For the first time, Quinn looked directly at Custer. "Look, sir?"

"Yes, Captain Malone, the look. You know the one. Get rid of it. Then get yourself a bath and some rest. Mrs. Custer and I will be expecting you at seven sharp. Mrs. Custer has worked very hard to make Mrs. Warner's arrival here a success. You don't want to disappoint her, do you, Captain?"

Quinn swallowed. "No sir."

"Good. Dismissed, Captain."

Quinn stood at attention, saluted, turned on his heel and strode back across the room and out the door. Just before the door closed behind him, he heard Custer chuckle. He halted on the porch as anger spurted through his veins. He had turned back toward the door when another soldier's approach broke his concentration.

"Don't do it, Quinn."

He snapped around at the sound of the amused voice to find the owner, leaning against one of the supporting columns. "I know what you're thinking, and it's a mistake. Let it go. Don't give him an excuse to take another crack at you."

"I've ridden a thousand miles to gather up recruits...a job that any junior officer could handle in his sleep. I'm exhausted, I'm hungry...I haven't had a bath in a month…and my ass is numb clear up to my shoulders...and he wants me to get all gussied up in my dress blues and parade around Libby's damned reception so he can put on a show for some dowdy, dull old maid!"

Major Marcus Reno grinned as he stood upright and clapped Quinn on the shoulder, then turned him away from the adjutant's office and back toward Officer's Row. "That's because you look so damned good in your dress blues, Quinn. And he didn't ask you to attend, he gave you an order. Besides, you've been gone for a month. He's had nobody to pick on all that time but me. And I hear the sutler's new wife is anything but dowdy. In fact, I hear she's quite a looker."

"What kind of looker would look twice at Warner?" Quinn snapped as he took the chestnut's reins from the orderly and led him as he and Reno walked side by side toward the officer's living quarters.

"Maybe he lied about himself in his letters. You know, they'd never met until she got here."

"If they had, she'd run like hell. Warner's a scurvy little weasel."

"Now, Quinn, just because he waters down his whiskey, marks his cards, and lets the men run up charges they'll never get paid back doesn't make him a weasel."

"Let's not forget the whores that he owns across the river."

"No, let's not forget those," Reno agreed with a snort. "Half the regiment has the clap, thanks to those ladies."

They were met by a detail of fresh-faced young troopers who snapped to attention and saluted smartly before going on their way.

"Anyway, you've got no choice but to attend Mrs. Custer's reception. At least you'll get some decent food out of it. The ladies have been cooking like demons ever since they started planning this thing."

"I'd rather sleep for a week. In fact, I'd rather be shot in the foot."

Reno laughed and halted outside Quinn's quarters. "Fail to show up at this thing, dressed to the teeth and smiling, and you'll be lucky if that's all you get."

"I'll show up, but I won't be smiling," Quinn replied, but he managed a grin as he opened his front door and stepped inside.

***

The Custer home was ablaze with lights and music when Lucky arrived that evening on Peter's arm. Someone was playing the piano inside the parlor and in spite of the cold, many people lounged on the front porch.

The general's home stood alone, separated from the rest of the officer's quarters. Lucky could imagine how it would look in warmer weather, with people settled on the front porch drinking lemonade and passing the time in friendly conversation. She knew from Peter's letters to Ruby Nell that the Custer home was the gathering place for the post's social events and that, in good weather, the porches and lawn were thronged with officers and their wives.

Her legs were shaking and her breath caught in her throat as Peter propelled her toward the front steps. He had wanted to bring the buggy, but she had insisted on walking over, hoping the exercise would loosen her stiff muscles and the cool evening breeze would clear her head.

Her afternoon had been spent getting acquainted with her new home. The living quarters at the sutler's store were spacious and comfortable, although a bit austere in their furnishings. She already knew where a colorful pillow or a braided rug would add a touch of color and make the place more cheery. Adding a feminine touch to their home would be her first project. She was looking forward to the challenge and was feeling very hopeful as they neared the group of people near the doorway.

She knew she looked her best. Her auburn hair was brushed to a gleam and arranged in an upswept coiffure that she hoped would make her look older and more mature. Her skin glowed with youth and vitality. Her lips were pink and parted with wonder at the handsome men in full dress uniforms and their lovely ladies in their best attire.

Her own dress was more than adequate for the occasion. It was a simple garment made of a floral pattern and with the help of Mrs. Yates' housekeeper, it had been quickly altered to show her figure to its best advantage. The look of pride on Peter’s face as he helped her into her cloak had made her more determined than ever to make the impression on the Custer’s that he hoped for. She must not let him down.

A lively, attractive woman with dark hair and a bright smile met them just inside the front door. "You must be Ruby Nell. I’m Elizabeth Custer. Welcome to the 7th Cavalry, and to our home. Please come in and meet everyone."

Peter flashed her a very pleased smile as Mrs. Custer swept her into the room. In moments she was being introduced to so many friendly army wives she could hardly keep track of their names. There was Annie Yates, whose housekeeper who along with altering her dress, had gotten the living quarters ship-shape for her arrival. Annie was small, dark, and very pretty. Lucky took to her immediately, for Annie was kind and friendly.

Mrs. Custer ushered Lucky toward the piano where a young woman was playing a lovely waltz. "Ruby Nell Warner, meet Mollie McIntosh. Mollie's husband Donald is one of our fine young officers."

Mollie lifted one hand from the keys to shake Lucky's hand, then went immediately back to playing. "Nice to meet you, Ruby Nell. You've had quite a rough time of it, I understand. I hope you're feeling much better now."

"Oh, I am, thank you."

"Yes, Ruby Nell, the reason Mollie or the other ladies haven't already been by to introduce ourselves is because of your injuries. Mr. Warner convinced us that you needed your rest, but now that you're up and around, you may rest assured that we will have lots of visits," Mrs. Custer told her with a bright smile.

"And this is Margaret Calhoun, my dear sister-in-law," she went on as a sweet faced young woman approached and took Lucky's hand. Margaret was light haired and blue eyed, a trait Lucky was to discover was prominent in the Custer family.

"I'm so happy you felt like coming tonight, Ruby Nell," Maggie Calhoun said with a genuine smile. "We've all been waiting for an opportunity to meet you and welcome you to Ft. Lincoln."

Then Mrs. Custer gripped Lucky's hand and pulled her toward a group of soldiers, all dressed in their finest. "Autie, this is Ruby Nell Warner," she said as she slipped her free hand through the arm of the man who was obviously the leader of the discussion.

"Well, Mrs. Warner, it's a pleasure to meet you at last. Welcome to the 7th Cavalry. I trust Dr. Lord has taken good care of you?"

Lucky responded to his friendly manner by returning his smile. "Yes, sir, I'm feeling much better. I'm pleased to meet you, General Custer. Peter has spoken so highly of you in his letters that I feel as though I already know you."

Her charming smile and beautiful features brought a proud smile to Peter's nervous face as he stood at her side. She was very relieved when Custer extended his hand to Peter.

"You're a lucky man, Warner. Your wife isn't merely beautiful, but obviously very intelligent."

The group of officers around Custer laughed and Peter smiled with approval. Custer turned to his companions and began making the introductions. "Mrs. Warner, may I present my brother, Colonel Tom Custer."

Lucky's hand was kissed more in the next five minutes than it had been in her entire life. She was dazzled by the array of attentive men wearing their medals and ribbons. There was Captain Myles Keogh, Captain George Yates, Annie's husband, Lieutenants A.E. Smith and the general's brother-in-law Lieutenant James Calhoun, and a host of others whose names got lost in the gaiety and conversation.

She smiled happily at each introduction and made an appropriate remark to each man, always keeping one hand on Peter's arm. She took the occasion to glance up at him as she was surrounded by the elegant officers, and was pleased to see that he was beaming with pride.

"Do you ride, Mrs. Warner?" Custer asked.

"Why, yes, General, I do."

"Wonderful! We have some splendid mounts in the regiment. Perhaps you'd enjoy a ride when you feel more up to it? To get better acquainted with the countryside?"

"I'd like that very much, General," she assured him. "But it's been quite a while since I've ridden. I hope you have a nice gentle mare for me to try on my first excursion."

"I believe we can find an appropriate mount, Mrs. Warner." Custer paused and glanced toward the man walking toward the gathering.

"Mrs. Warner, I'd like you to meet another of my officers. Mrs. Ruby Nell Warner, allow me to introduce Captain Quinton Malone. Captain, this brave young lady is our guest of honor tonight. Captain Malone is the commander of ‘A’ Company, Mrs. Warner."

Lucky turned with her hand extended and a ready smile in place. It froze on her face at the sight of the man to whom Custer was referring. She didn't know which of them was more surprised. Her throat had frozen stiff and her hand, still extended toward him, had begun to shake badly.

Quinn recovered first. He bowed as he took her trembling hand and lightly kissed the back of it. Lucky felt electric shocks run all the way up her arm at the touch of his lips. After having that same hand kissed a dozen times in the preceding minutes, why did she feel as though it had been struck by lightening when he did it?

"At your service, ma'am."

As he stood upright, his gaze locked with hers boldly and held. She withdrew her hand, wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and frantically tried to think of something to say to break the tension before someone noticed.

"Captain," she murmured at last. "Do you know my husband?"

Quinn's gaze flashed to Peter, who was so wrapped up in Lucky's favorable impression that he had no idea of what was passing between them. "Yes, I know your husband, Mrs. Warner. You're a very lucky man, Warner."

Quinn's soft Texas drawl brought a pleased smile to Peter's face. Only Lucky caught the slight inflection he'd placed on "lucky." It brought a rush of color to her pale cheeks and the mocking gleam in his eyes made her itch to kick his shins.

"I am, indeed, Malone," Peter was saying. "I am a very happy man. After all my poor Ruby Nell went through getting here…well, I can tell you that I'm very relieved to have her at my side safe and sound."

"I'm sure you are, and I'm sure Mrs. Warner is just as happy to be here."

The sarcasm in his voice went unheeded by everyone except Lucky, who stood like a stone statue, unable to move, blink, or breathe in those few endless seconds. Her gaze had not left his for even a second, even through Peter's gushing. She couldn't tell if he was angry or just surprised to see her pretending to be someone else. Indeed, his expression, once the initial shock of seeing her was past, had become veiled. Those incredible eyes that she'd dreamed about for days were cool and distant.

A swish of petticoats at her side drew her attention as Elizabeth Custer slipped an arm through hers. "Ah, Quinn, I was wondering if you'd do us the honor of your presence tonight. Autie told me you weren't thrilled about our invitation."

Her bright smile finally broke through Quinn's scattered thoughts. His gaze moved from Lucky to Mrs. Custer and he smiled briefly.

"Now Libby, you know how I hate things like this."

"Yes, I do. You've made no effort to disguise your feelings," Libby laughed as she stepped back to look more closely at him. "I don't know why you make such a fuss, Quinn. Why, except for my Autie, you're the most handsome man at the post." She reached up to touch the left side of his chest and laid her hand flat on his uniform.

"And you never wear your medals. You look so gallant, Quinn, and this uniform is just aching to be decorated. One would almost think you're embarrassed by the medals."

Quinn took her hand from his chest, turned it over, and lightly kissed it. "Libby, I've just returned from a thousand mile trek. The truth is, I'm just too tired to fool with all that."

"Well, then let's get you some refreshment. You must be ready for some of Maggie's peach cobbler. She made it just for you."

"Sure, she did," Quinn said with a grin. "Don't tell Jimmie that."

James Calhoun laughed and clapped Quinn on the shoulder. They walked toward the refreshment tables on the other side of the room, leaving Lucky staring after him, wondering how on earth she'd gotten herself into such a predicament.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Tell me about Captain Malone, Peter."

Lucky's request was softly spoken as she and Peter stood to one side of the refreshment table a long while later. She lifted a glass of lemonade to her lips and sipped at it.

Peter motioned toward the group of men surrounding General Custer across the room. "He is magnificent, isn't he?" he asked, eyeing Quinn, who stood on the fringe of the group, leaning one elbow on top of the piano where Mollie McIntosh played.

"He's a remarkable man. Grew up in the army, got his commission to West Point at General Crook's recommendation. His father was a sergeant in Crook's regiment, you see. Graduated second in his class, the same class that General Custer finished dead last in."

"You're kidding!" Lucky's eyes were wide with surprise as she stared at Peter.

Peter shook his head and favored her with a indulgent smile. "Not at all, my dear. Malone has one of the most impressive service records in the US Army. Outstanding grades at the academy, graduated a second lieutenant, and went right into the war. He was given a battlefield commission to Major within a year and to Lieutenant Colonel in two. See those medals on Tom Custer's chest?"

Lucky nodded. She had noticed them when they were introduced earlier.

"Malone has a dresser drawer full of them. Never wears them."

"Why not?"

Peter shrugged. "I asked him that once. He said a man shouldn't be rewarded for just doing his job. When the war ended the 7th was commissioned and he was assigned to it. Been with it ever since. Probably the best officer in the whole outfit. His men adore him, would follow him straight into hell and back, and have on occasion. You probably don't know this, honey, but the Army has it's own social classes. Officers and enlisted don't socialize, rarely ever speak outside of duty."

"That sounds awfully snooty, Peter."

Peter flashed her a smile, then returned his thoughtful gaze to Quinn on the opposite side of the room. "It's just the way it is, my dear. But Malone is different. He knows every single man in his company personally, makes a point to know them. He actually encourages them to confide in him. Or maybe that just comes naturally, I'm not sure. One thing I am sure of is that if gallantry had a face, it would be his."

"You admire him."

Peter nodded. "Yes, I admit that I do. I admire any man who can take a group of kids and hooligans and make them into a superior fighting force with little more than his own sweat and blood. Since the War Department stopped supplying ammunition for target practice, Malone buys it with his own money so his men can learn to shoot well. With the carbines they use breaking down every other round, they need all the help they can get. Those raw recruits that he brought in this afternoon? By the time the summer campaign begins, they'll be marksmen and expert horsemen. Malone will see to it. And he'll do it with grace and strength of character."

"What about his family?"

Lucky asked the question casually, but she was anything but casual about the answer.

"Doesn't have one. His mother died when he was just a kid, and his father not long after."

"He's never married?"

Peter shook his head. "No, not that Libby Custer hasn't tried to remedy that. She's done everything but hire applicants. He isn't interested. I heard him tell her once that the army is his life. Guess he doesn't need anything, or anybody, else."

Lucky watched Quinn's face when Custer turned to engage him in conversation. She couldn't hear their words of course, but she saw Quinn tense when Custer put a hand on his arm.

"They've been together a long time. They must be very good friends."

Peter laughed while he also watched the conversation across the way. Then he turned to Lucky with a somber expression. "My dear, the only thing on this earth that Malone hates more than Indians is General George Armstrong Custer."

***

"Bloody Knife tells me you had a chance to pursue a band of Sioux two weeks back, but you let them get away."

"Did he?"

Custer nodded as he and Quinn exchanged a heated glance. Their voices were quiet, so as not to be overheard, but the softness was a thin disguise for the turbulent emotions beneath the surface.

"Would you care to explain your actions?"

"No, not really."

"Then consider it an order."

"All right, General, if you want to make it official." Quinn's tone was clipped as he reverted to the crisp, professional manner he automatically slipped into when on duty. "I took a patrol and pursued them, as you put it. They ran down a creek bed and behind a rise. Having seen evidence of a significant number of Indians in the preceding days, it was my judgment that to pursue an enemy of unknown strength into unfamiliar country with a twenty man patrol was not advisable."

"So you let them get away."

"Rather than risk losing my men, yes sir, I let them get away."

"That's your problem, Captain. You always play it safe, never go against the odds."

Quinn's eyes narrowed at the sarcasm in Custer's voice. "Perhaps that's why ‘A’ Company has the lowest mortality rate of any company in the regiment, sir."

"Playing it safe will never get you a general's stars, Quinn."

"I suppose not. But if it keeps my men from dying needlessly, then I'll consider it a fair trade off."

"Are you inferring something, Captain? If you are, please spit it out."

Quinn's eyes had narrowed to diamond bright slits of royal blue fury. He stood upright, and reached for his hat, lying on the piano top. "You know damned well what I'm inferring, sir."

"I see. We’re back to the Washita thing, are we?"

Quinn shook his head. "No sir, we're where we always are. Nowhere. It's late. If you will excuse me, I'll be leaving now."

They stared at each other for a moment, neither man blinking, until a soft feminine hand was placed on each man's arm.

"Autie, Quinn, for heaven's sake," Libby Custer said quietly. There was a determined smile pasted on her face, but it was clear she was annoyed. "Don't either of you dare spoil this evening. Do you both understand? I declare, I don't know why the two of you behave like schoolyard bullies when you're in the same room for five minutes. Now, stop arguing this minute."

She looked at Mollie McIntosh on the piano bench. "Play something lively, Mollie dear," she said loudly to the gathering. "Perhaps someone would favor us with a song."

"Perhaps Mrs. Warner will do us the honor."

Lucky's head snapped up at the sound of her name from Quinn's cool voice. Their gazes met across the crowded room and for the moment all the cajoling in the place melted into space. She saw the mocking challenge in his eyes and felt blood rush to her cheeks.

Amid all the pleading from the officers and their wives, she looked to Peter. "May I, Peter?"

He looked surprised, then, knowing how much the Custers enjoyed music, nodded enthusiastically. "Why yes, Ruby Nell, honey. That would be splendid!"

Lucky walked through the couples to the piano and stood beside Mollie, who was shuffling through the pages of music. She didn’t dare look at Quinn. He was standing not a foot away, just on the opposite side of the piano, his handsome face so deliberately casual that she knew it was an act. The fire in his eyes was not so easily disguised, nor was the erect way he held himself when she approached. Every nerve ending in his body was on alert, just as hers were.

She could feel the electricity bounce back and forth between them, and wondered if anyone else saw it, praying they didn't. She forced a smile at Mollie. "Do you know Beautiful Dreamer?"

Mollie nodded enthusiastically. "I certainly do. It's my favorite song. I have the music here somewhere. Donald got it for me when we went South last year. Here it is."

She began the soft strains of the haunting melody. The room was suddenly quiet as a tomb. Every eye was on Lucky, but the only eyes she could see were the incredible ones watching her coolly just across the piano top, only inches away. She could reach out and touch him, for his arm was folded on the piano as he waited expectantly for her to sing.

The difference was that he knew she could sing. He had heard her that night in Yankton just before he approached her. God, that night seemed a lifetime ago, and yet, as she glanced up at him, it seemed only moments ago. She could swear her body was still in the throes of the excitement of being in his arms. She fairly tingled from his nearness.

Her clear, beautiful voice slid into the song and in seconds held the crowd spellbound. Not a sound could be heard except the tinkle of the piano keys and her voice as she delivered the song. By the second verse, she could see the ladies begin to look lovingly at their husbands. She glanced at Peter who stood close by, smiling happily.

She looked back at Quinn, but he was gone. Without missing a beat in the song, her gaze slid around the room searching for him. Finally, she located him in the doorway on his way out. His gaze locked with hers as he put on his hat and touched the brim in a brief salute. Then he was gone into the night, taking her heart with him.

CHAPTER NINE

"Ruby Nell, honey, you were wonderful! General and Mrs. Custer were so impressed! I had no idea you could sing like that. You never mentioned that in your letters."

Lucky smiled at Peter's praise as he closed the door of the living quarters behind the sutler's store behind them and took her cloak. The room was warm and toasty from the fire he had built up in the fireplace before they left for the Custer's reception. It gave the place a homey feel that Lucky would have appreciated more if it weren't for the turmoil in her emotions.

She barely noticed that Peter removed his outer coat and hung it neatly on the hooks beside her cloak. It wasn't until he turned to her with a beaming smile that she could focus on him at all.

"Ruby Nell, honey, you did me proud tonight. Yes, ma'am, you did! And don't think General Custer won't remember it. They love music, you know, the general and Mrs. Custer. They often have people in and sing for hours. I have every confidence, now that you’ve shown them what a splendid voice you have, that we'll become regular guests. In no time at all, the general will approve my request for a store at Fort Rice, and then after that…well, there's no limit to what I can accomplish."

His owlish appearance was so animated by this point that Lucky stared at him curiously. His face was flushed with excitement and his eyes were fairly sparkling as he rubbed his hands together near the fire.

"Yes, sir, I knew marrying you was the right thing to do. Nothing like being a family man with responsibilities to show the general that I’m a good business risk."

Lucky’s eyes widened with surprise as he rambled on. He didn’t seem to be aware of it, but she was quite sure suddenly why he wanted to marry Ruby Nell and bring her to Fort Lincoln to live.

"Is that why you married me, Peter? To impress General Custer?"

Peter blinked as he stared at her. He blushed when he realized what he’d said and how it sounded. He immediately rushed to her side and took both her hands in his. "Oh my, no, Ruby Nell. That’s not the reason at all!"

"No? Isn’t that what you just said?"

Peter’s expression was contrite as he squeezed her hands and flashed her one of those hound dog looks she had become familiar with. "That’s not how I meant it at all, honey. I’m so sorry if it came out sounding that way. I’m just real proud of the way you’ve fit right in with the General and Mrs. Custer and their circle of friends."

Lucky pulled her hands free of his imploring grasp and moved back a step. "Well, I’m happy I can be of service to you, Peter." Her voice was full of disappointment. She felt suddenly very tired and her headache was coming back. She even had a momentary flash of doubt about her decision to become Ruby Nell. All of a sudden Peter Warner did not seem so appealing after all.

"Oh, now Ruby Nell, honey, don’t look like that," he said in his most cajoling tone. "You just took what I said all wrong. I’m plumb crazy about you, honey. You know that."

Lucky rubbed at her temples with both hands, hoping it would ease the pressure.

"Is your headache coming back, honey? Well, you just come right over and sit down in front of the fire. Let me make you comfortable." He put a comforting arm around her shoulders and eased her toward the sofa drawn up in front of the fireplace. "After everything you’ve been through, Ruby Nell, it’s no wonder you’re on edge. You’re just not yourself yet."

He settled her on the sofa, then stood behind her, gently massaging her temples.

Lucky closed her eyes and tried to relax. Almost immediately her headache began to ease and she let out a sigh of relief. Peter was right, of course. She was still not back to normal after her ordeal. She was jumping at shadows, and she suspected part of the reason was just across the parade ground in the Officer’s Quarters.

She tried to put this evening out of her mind and concentrate on Peter. This was not the time for doubts. This situation had gone way too far to back out now. She trembled when Peter’s hands moved down her neck, still gently massaging away her tension. She’d think about Captain Quinn Malone later. Right now she couldn’t allow herself the luxury.

***

Quinn stood at his front window and watched the light go out in the sutler’s living quarters across the parade ground. He flung the curtain back into place, stalked across the room and dropped to his heels in front of the fireplace. After poking viciously at the fire for a moment, he stared into the flames and cursed himself for the knot in his gut that came from knowing that at this very moment Peter Warner was holding Lucky.

It was late, but he was much too restless to think about sleeping. After a few turns around the small living room, he headed for the door, pausing to yank his outer coat from the peg behind it.

It was a cold, clear March night. The moon shed a glow over the post as he walked briskly toward the stables beyond the parade ground. He would not allow himself to look at the darkened store's living quarters.

Stables for six hundred horses lay beyond the garrison. Further still was Suds Row, where the post laundresses lived and worked. A little further on were the huts and log houses of the Indian Army scouts, and then the flat plain used for drilling and parades.

"Halt! Who goes there!"

The sentry's voice interrupted his bleak thoughts as he approached the outer range of the garrison.

"Captain Malone," he replied curtly, pausing until the nervous sentry moved into the moonlight and got a good look at him.

"You're out awfully late tonight, Captain," the young man said as he lowered his carbine and saluted. "Anything wrong, sir?"

"No. Corporal Lewis, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

At the sentry's affirmation, he began walking toward the stable entrance. "Just want to check on my horse. It's a cold night. I want to make sure he's got plenty of hay."

He moved on into the stables, asking himself why he bothered trying to explain to an enlisted man why he was out this time of night, or anything else. The man was just doing his job. That did not require a description of his private life. He snorted as he moved down the rows of stalls lighted at regular intervals by kerosene lanterns hanging from the supporting beams.

"Private life, hell," he muttered as he approached the stall where his horse was bedded down for the night. "I don’t have a private life, never even knew I needed one before."

The chestnut gelding nickered softly when he saw Quinn approaching. He turned and reached his long graceful neck over the stall, nuzzling at Quinn's pockets, hoping for the treat that usually accompanied one of these visits.

Quinn's sober expression softened at the horse's affectionate greeting. He took out a sugar cube from his trouser pocket and held it in his palm while the big horse delicately took it from him. He took the halter in one hand and pulled the horse's face around so they could look directly at one another.

"You know what, Apollo? Women are a pain in the ass. Who needs them anyway? Not you or me, huh, big fellow? Of course, you were gelded so you wouldn't forget your business and start chasing after some pretty little filly. And me? I probably should've been."

He smiled in the defused light as he rubbed the animal's satiny muzzle. "Here I am at one o'clock in the morning, standing here freezing my ass off talking to you instead of in bed asleep where I should be, especially since I've got duty tomorrow. Make that today. In exactly three and a half hours.

"And why, do you ask, am I here? I'm glad you asked, Apollo," he went on as the horse rubbed his head against Quinn's chest and made deep snuffling sounds in his throat. "I'm here because I can't sleep. And I can't sleep because that little four-eyed weasel is over there doing exactly what I wish I was doing. And…you know what, Apollo?" He paused to exhale deeply, then leaned his cheek against the horse's muzzle for a moment. "It's driving me insane knowing she's with him."

The gelding nickered softly again and Quinn let go of the halter and stepped back from the stall. "Get some sleep, boy. One of us had better have all our faculties in the morning, and it's a sure bet it won't be me."

He smiled when the horse slung his head, as though in agreement. Then Quinn walked back out of the stables, past the sentry, who saluted nervously, and turned toward his quarters again. Halfway across the parade ground, he abruptly changed direction. He didn't take time to think about where he was going, what he was doing, or why he was doing it. For the first time in his life, he was reacting completely to his emotions. For a man who had built a career on planning and careful thought, that was a very scary feeling.

***

Lucky pulled Ruby Nell's robe tightly around herself as she moved silently through the house. The fire had died down to glowing embers, reminding her that she knew exactly how that felt. She seemed to be filled with that same kind of slow burning heat that would not be cooled, and could not be ignored. What she needed was some fresh air.

She eased the door open and moved through the store to the outside entrance. Grimacing when the hinges squeaked, she hastily slipped through it onto the porch and closed the door behind her. It was beautiful out here. The moon cast a mellow glow over everything and the cold night air was a welcome respite from the heat in her soul.

She moved down the length of the porch and breathed in the aura of the quieted compound. In a few hours the fort would be awakened by bugles and would come alive with men and horses and the daily routine that she was already growing to recognize as army life. She welcomed the routine. Anything that was practiced and required little thought would be a relief from the turmoil she was experiencing now.

She knew he was there before he ever spoke. She felt his presence on the breeze. Her nostrils quivered at the scent of him, undetectable to anyone else perhaps, but as clear to her as the odor of a pine forest on a summer's day.

"So, what happened to the real Mrs. Warner?"

She turned slowly, knowing he was leaning against one of the porch supports. Still, when she saw him in the moonlight, tall, imposing, beautiful, her breath caught in her throat, although she supposed beautiful was not a term likely applied to a man.

"She was killed in the mud slide, along with everyone else on the stagecoach except me." She knew her voice was shaky. So were her knees.

"It would appear that your luck is still holding, Lucky," Quinn said with a jeer in his voice as he watched her wet her lips with her tongue.

"It would appear that way."

"When did you decide to take on her identity? Before or after you found out that Peter Warner is a successful business man?"

Lucky felt the color flood back into her face at the accusation in his tone. "It was never my intention, Captain Malone," she replied curtly. She knew the safest thing to do was go back into the house immediately, put distance between them, but her legs were too shaky to move.

"At least not until I woke up here and realized that everyone thought I was her."

"Really?"

"That was about the same time I realized that I had not a cent to my name nor a stitch of clothes." She saw his brows raise at that statement and thought about the money he'd left her in Yankton. "Your most generous offering is at the bottom of that ravine most likely, along with everything else I own."

"So, being the astute young business woman that you are, you decided to let Warner think his blushing bride had survived."

Lucky nodded as she pulled the robe closer around her. "I'm not sure what that means, but yes, Captain, I did. I've spent my entire life dreaming of marriage and a family and some security that I didn't pay for on my back. Is that so terrible?"

She felt the heat in his eyes as they stared at one another in the moonlight. He had not moved from the porch support, but she felt the tension in him, and felt her own tensions mounting.

"So, tell me, how was it? Your wedding night, I mean. Was it everything you hoped it would be?"

His sarcasm made her flush, but she would not allow him to best her. She had been holding her own with men since she was little more than a child, and this one, impressive as he was, would not intimidate her now.

"I've been through worse."

He didn't reply but stared at her as though he didn't quite know how to respond. She saw his throat move as he swallowed and saw his gaze travel over her slowly. She didn't have to wonder what he was thinking. It was blatantly obvious.

"So, are you going to tell him?"

Quinn shook his head. "It's none of my business who you pretend to be. You can be Ruby Nell Warner or Betsy Ross for all I care."

"Then why are you here in the middle of the night having this conversation with me?"

Her tone was stronger now, her gaze defying him to answer. She moved a step closer, knowing how dangerous that could be and not caring. "I'll tell you why, Captain. Because a month ago in Yankton, something happened between us that neither of us can forget. Don't bother denying it. I can see it written all over you."

Her gaze traveled down his lean body, paused for a moment at his groin, then came back to his face. "Right now you're as hard as a rock. I can see that too, so don't pretend it's nothing. But let me tell you something. From now on, I am Ruby Nell Warner, and I will make Peter a good wife."

"Is that what you want?"

"I deserve a better life. That's what you told me, remember? Well, fate has handed me one on a silver platter and you bet your ass that I'm going to grab it."
"By pretending to be something you're not?"

"I see. It was okay for me to search for something better as long as it was washing and ironing and mending. Is that it? I was willing to do that. In fact, that was why I was on that stagecoach in the first place. I was coming out here to look for decent employment at one of the forts, like you suggested."

Her eyes narrowed to frosty slits. "And just why didn't you tell me that you were a company commander at Fort Lincoln? You were the one who wanted to talk, as I recall."

"It didn't matter."

"But it matters now, doesn't it?"

Quinn stood up straight as she glared up at him. "Yes, ma'am, it matters now. But hey, you want to be married to Warner, fine. You're about as married to him as I am, but then I guess sleeping with one man a night is better than a dozen."

Lucky reacted before she had time to think. She slapped his face, then poked him in the chest with a stiff forefinger until he backed up. "Don't you dare judge me! You have no right!"

They stared at each other for several long moments. The tension was so strong Lucky could actually feel it. She began to wonder what he'd do to her for losing her temper and striking him. He swallowed hard and she saw his hands clench into fists, then slowly relax.

"I deserved that. I have no right to judge you. But then, you deserve this…"

Before she could blink, he caught her wrist and yanked her into his arms. One arm went around her body, molding her tightly against him while the other hand snared the back of her head and held it steady. Then his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding. Tiny flashes of lightening ignited in her blood when his tongue found hers and began a sensual dance that made her weak and lightheaded. She felt his erection burning against her thighs and automatically leaned into his embrace. Then just as quickly as it started, the kiss was over and Quinn was backing up.

"That’s…for making me crazy!" he said through clenched teeth as he turned on his heel and disappeared quickly into the darkness as the moon slid behind a cloud.

CHAPTER TEN

Lucky had hardly fallen asleep when the fort came alive with the buglers from six companies blowing reveille at five thirty a.m. She stumbled out of bed and went to look out the bedroom window, amazed at the activity going on outside. Hundreds of men poured out of the barracks, hurrying to the mess hall for breakfast.

She had learned enough about the bugle calls while still in the hospital to know that the army lived, ate, and slept by them. Peter had tried to explain what each one was and what it meant.

It was just as well. She was not accustomed to rising before the sun, but she knew Peter expected her to be up, have his breakfast made, and be ready to help him in the store by six a.m.

The idea of rising so early was foreign to her now, but with a bit of practice she knew she'd be able to roll out of bed before dawn and have her duties well under control by the specified time. Peter's expectations were very clear, for he had explained it all very patiently to her when he brought her home from the hospital.

She dressed quickly in the cold, dark room and hurried into the living area to stoke the fireplace and get some warmth going. Then she moved to the kitchen area and built up the fire in the wood stove there so that Peter's breakfast would be ready by the time he finished shaving and dressing.

While she went about preparing the meal, she prayed that one of Ruby Nell's strengths had not been cooking, for it certainly wasn't one of hers. She knew just enough about cooking to survive, but was desperately afraid that her limited skills would not satisfy Peter.

Her forehead wrinkled thoughtfully as she filled the enamel pot with water from the barrel near the kitchen door and measured wonderfully aromatic ground coffee into it. If she was going to survive these early mornings, coffee would be her only hope. She heard Peter humming as he shaved in the bedroom and her thoughts went back to the previous night.

Her lips were still puffy from the punishing kiss Quinn had dispensed on them before vanishing into the night. How different that kiss was from the ones in Yankton. Her first encounter with him had been filled with wonderful kisses that while passionate, were nothing like that one last night. That kiss had been full of anger and fire and she had felt it clear down to the tips of her toes.

"Good morning, honey," Peter said as he came into the kitchen and paused to kiss her on the cheek before taking his place at the rough hewn table in the center of the room.

"Good morning, Peter," she said quietly as she turned bacon in the iron skillet on the stove.

Peter shook out a linen napkin and placed it over his lap. He seemed a bit embarrassed, refusing to meet her gaze when she served his bacon and eggs a few moments later. He held out his cup for the coffee she brought to the table, but set the cup aside and caught her hand as she turned to put the pot back on the stove.

"Ruby Nell, honey, I'm really sorry about last night. I don't know what to say except…"

"It's all right, Peter. Let's not make a big deal out of it." Lucky took her seat at the opposite end of the table and stabbed a fork into her eggs, but food was the last thing on her mind.

"But it is a big deal, honey." Peter's voice was strained and insistent. "I know it wasn't what you expected…."

"Peter, the truth is that I didn't know what to expect." That much is true, she thought to herself at the stricken expression on his face. "I'm sure it will be different next time. We're still getting to know one another. A bit of difficulty is not all that unusual in such cases, I'm sure. Please, don't worry about it so much."

I've said those same words to a lot of men but somehow I never thought my husband would be one of them. He's so embarrassed about it. If I can just help him stop worrying, he'll be fine.

Peter finished his breakfast, then wiped his lips on the napkin and laid it on the table as he rose to his feet. He flashed her another disconcerted glance as he smoothed his vest down.

Lucky wondered how on earth she'd ever be able to keep up with washing and ironing his fashionable attire. He had a suit for each day of the week and a dozen white shirts to be starched and ironed. She managed a weak smile as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. I'll just have to try harder, that's all. This is what I've wanted all my life and I'm not going to fail. I'm not afraid of hard work and I want nothing more than for Peter to be happy.

"Take your time about coming to the store, honey. I don't expect much business until six when the first drill starts. With all the new men in the post, I expect there will be a flurry of purchases when they realize all the things the Army doesn't supply."

"Will that include ammunition?"

Peter nodded at the doorway that led from the living room of their quarters into the store. "I'm sure it will, honey. I doubt that Captain Malone and his First Sergeant will waste any time whipping their new troopers into fighting men. Just take your time with the dishes and come out into the store when you're ready."

Lucky swallowed and nodded. When he disappeared into the store and closed the door behind him, she began gathering up the breakfast dishes. From the kitchen window she could see the troops assembling for inspection. It was impossible not to stop and watch as they lined up in front of their barracks in neat rows. All talking had stopped as the officers came from Officer's Row to begin the inspections.

Almost as if an unspoken signal was given, the good-natured joshing among the officers stopped and they took on a professional demeanor that bordered on centurion. At the bugle call, every man snapped to attention and smartly saluted his company commander and held it until the officer returned the gesture.

Picking Quinn Malone out of the sea of blue clad officers with their sabers and cavalry hats glistening in the rising sun was as easy as breathing. At this distance she could not see his face clearly, but his lean stature and the spring in his step identified him beyond doubt. She'd know those long legs and that proud carriage anywhere. No man she'd ever known had shoulders that wide or hips that taut. Certainly no other man on the parade ground filled out a uniform to such perfection.

Lucky stood motionless at the window and watched him walk slowly along the lines of men, making the routine morning inspections. She felt dampness appear on her upper lip as she watched his purposeful stride and imagined what it must be like to have that sharp royal blue gaze dissect everything about you every morning at the crack of dawn. She did not envy those men his vigilance, for she already knew that Captain Malone put all his passion into his command. And having been on the receiving end of that passion only last night, she knew better than anyone how disturbing that was.

***

"‘A’ Company all present and accounted for, sir!"

Quinn returned Sergeant Briggs' salute and turned to face the neat rows of soldiers standing at attention. "At ease, gentlemen," he said in a clear voice loud enough to be heard in the last row. He held out one hand and Sergeant Briggs slapped a rolled up document in it, then stepped back. Quinn opened it and glanced at the contents. "For those of you who are new to ‘A’ Company, I am Captain Malone. This is Lieutenant Browning, my second officer," he said with a glance at his junior officer, who snapped to attention at the mention of his name, then stood at ease.

"And this is First Sergeant Briggs," he went on with a glance at the sergeant. "As any of the men who have been in ‘A’ Company for any length of time will tell you, Sergeant Briggs runs this company pretty much to suit himself. And he does it so well that about all Lieutenant Browning and I have to do is show up every morning."

He smiled to break the tension and glanced at Briggs affectionately. There was a sprinkling of smiles from the soldiers at the unexpected lightness in his tone. Then he faced them again. "When I leave you in Sergeant Briggs' capable hands in a few minutes, he will hand out fatigue duty rosters. He will assign quarters and give bunk assignments to the new men, and then he will take you to the stables and introduce you to your mounts. He will also give you the do's and don'ts of life in the cavalry. Listen well, gentlemen, for breaking any of the rules Sergeant Briggs relates to you will result in the loss of privileges, time in the guardhouse if the infractions are serious enough, and more importantly, the loss of your life or that of your comrades if you fail to learn the lessons he has to teach you."

"I can tell 'em plenty about the guardhouse, Captain," came a cheerful voice from the ranks.

Quinn grinned. "That's a fact, Corporal Denton." Then he grew serious again and all the smiles from the troopers faded. "You're in the Army now, gentlemen. Forget your folks back home. Forget the girl you left behind. Forget about good food and comfortable beds. Forget about getting laid and having a good time.

"Start thinking about spending weeks in the saddle on top of a horse that will most likely be smarter than you are. Start thinking about staying awake when you're on picket duty after marching twenty hours a day, because if you don't, chances are you'll end up dead.

"Because the fact is, gentlemen, that there is nothing exciting about military life. It's hard work, bad food, foul weather, orders you don't like, and officers you don't like to take them from. It's bugs and snakes and going for a month without a bath or a clean uniform. This is rough country, inhabited by the most savage and terrifying adversaries you could possibly imagine.

"This is the 7th Cavalry, gentlemen, the most superior fighting unit in the United States Army, bar none. ‘A’ Company has a reputation to maintain, which I expect each of you to remember and live up to. Your country is counting on you. The 7th Cavalry is counting on you. And I'm counting on you. Don't let me down."

His words were clear and crisp, falling like rifle shots in the morning air. When he finished, he stood at attention and saluted the troop. It was returned as if by one man, in unison and with precision. Then he turned to Sergeant Briggs and handed him back the duty roster. "First Sergeant, I leave ‘A’ Company in your hands."

Briggs immediately took charge and began barking out orders to the troopers. The veterans went about their assignments with good-natured grumbling and the new recruits stood by, waiting for further instructions.

"Good job, Captain," Browning said with a grin. "I always enjoy your welcome to the army speech. You put the fear of God into them and then Briggs scares the shit out of them."

They were silent for a moment, watching Briggs give instructions. "What do you think, Captain, about the newest members of the company?" Browning asked as he watched Briggs doing what he did so well.

Quinn shook his head. "I think we have our work cut out for us, Lieutenant." His gaze settled on a lanky blonde headed kid in his early twenties who was listening attentively to every thing Sergeant Briggs was saying. "They come out here ready to take on the world and one skirmish with the Sioux, and those that are still able are ready to chuck it all and run for home."

"Where do we start, Captain?"

"Same place we always start, Lieutenant, with guns, bullets, and horses. We teach them to shoot and to ride and to follow orders. After that, it's pretty much in God's hands."

"And the Sioux."

Quinn nodded, still watching the animated features of the young trooper. "Yes, the Sioux and Custer."

***

Lucky was busily arranging a canned food display an hour later when she heard the sound of female voices and looked up to find Elizabeth Custer and Mollie McIntosh coming into the store.

"Good morning, Mr. Warner," Mrs. Custer said with a smile.

"Good morning, ladies. What can I help you with today?" Peter asked brightly as he wiped his hands on an apron that protected his suit from the splinters in the rough counter tops.

"We're wondering if Ruby Nell feels up to a ride this morning," Mrs. Custer replied. "It's a beautiful day and we thought she must be ready to get out and get some fresh air after being through so much."

Peter turned to Lucky with a beaming smile, but she didn't need any encouragement.

"I would love to! Thank you so much for asking me!"

She whipped off her apron and ran a hand over her hair as she came from behind the counter. She paused to plant a kiss on Peter's cheek as she hurried to join the ladies.

"Oh, I have no riding dress."

"What you're wearing will do nicely," Mollie assured her. "Side saddles will accommodate just about anything, so you're all set."

Lucky's brows rose at the mention of a sidesaddle. It had never occurred to her that these ladies used anything but a western saddle. Oh, Lord, what if I fall off and embarrass myself? she thought uneasily, but the gaiety of the moment drove any doubts to the back of her mind.

"Then, shall we be off?" Mrs. Custer asked.

"Have a good ride, ladies, and be careful not to go too far," Peter said with a happy smile as they headed for the door.

Minutes later they were walking briskly along the parade ground toward the stables. Lucky smiled and nodded to so many soldiers and officers by the time they had gone a hundred yards, she thought her neck would snap. But she couldn't help the thrill of being so courteously treated by so many men. Her heart was very light and she was excited by the prospect of exploring the countryside with her new friends.

Then her heart leaped when she saw the man riding toward them on the most magnificent horse she'd ever seen. He halted when Libby Custer lifted a hand in greeting and tipped his hat to them. "Ladies, where are you off to this morning?"

His tone was light, his eyes warm as he looked at each woman in turn. When Lucky lifted her head to meet his gaze, she saw his jaw clench for a moment before he looked back at Libby.

"I'm so glad to see you, Captain," Libby was saying. "Mollie, Ruby Nell, and I want to go for a ride around the countryside and we are in dire need of an escort."

"I'll see what I can do about finding you one," he replied.

"Oh no, you don't understand, Quinn. I've already spoken with Autie, and he gave permission for you to escort us personally."

"I'm afraid that's impossible, Libby." Quinn's tone was still friendly, but the glance he threw Lucky was cool and distant. "I have far too much to do this morning."

"I think you can find the time, Captain."

Lucky glanced around to see General Custer approaching on foot. He paused beside his wife and draped an arm around her shoulders while he stared up at Quinn.

"With all due respect, sir…"

"Captain Malone, what other officer would I entrust with the safety of my own dear wife and these other lovely ladies? I count on your gallantry, Captain. Are you going to disappoint me?"

Lucky saw the heat flare in Quinn's eyes as his gaze locked with the general's in an unspoken duel that she suspected had been repeated many times. She remembered what Peter had said about Quinn's feelings about his commanding officer, but at the time she had wondered if he was exaggerating. The tension in the air as the two men stared at one another in those brief moments was clear evidence that what Peter had said was true.

"No sir, I certainly wouldn't want to disappoint these lovely ladies," Quinn said after a moment.

"Good, pick a patrol and take the ladies for a ride. It will do you all a world of good," Custer said. Then he kissed his wife on the cheek and moved on past them.

"If you will come with me, ladies, I'll have our saddler get your horses ready." Quinn's tone was cool as he dismounted and began leading his horse as he walked abreast of them toward the stables.

Lucky's knees were shaky as she fell into step beside Mrs. Custer. The last thing in the world she wanted was to make a fool of herself in his presence. Then she lifted her head higher and put on a determined smile. She could ride, probably better than his new recruits, and even though the sidesaddle might prove a challenge for a bit, before they finished this excursion into the countryside, she was going to show him what she was made of.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Quinn, please don't pout." Libby Custer's voice was cajoling as she slipped a hand inside Quinn's arm as they walked toward the stables. "It's most unbecoming."

Lucky watched the tension ease from his face and saw his gaze soften when he looked down at Libby's pleading features. There was genuine warmth in his eyes and it made her sad that he could be so openly warm to Mrs. Custer and so cold to her.

"Libby, any other time I wouldn't mind escorting you on a ride, but I've got new recruits who need my attention a whole lot more than you."

Libby laughed as she looked up into his face. "Quinn Malone, those recruits can wait another hour or two for your attention. You're not going to transform them overnight into soldiers, and you know it. You've been gone for over a month. You need to relax. This ride will be good for you, as well."

Lucky saw him exhale and knew he'd resigned himself to the task. She caught his glance and felt herself flush at the cool appraisal in his eyes.

"Do you ride, Mrs. Warner?"

Lucky met his gaze and forced a tight smile. "Yes, Captain, I do. As long as the horse isn't too frisky, that is."

"Then I'll just have to pick one that isn't, won't I?"

"I'm sure you'll find just the right one. I place myself completely in your hands."

Her light tone made his eyes darken. He had not missed the implications of her statement.

"Rest assured, ma'am, that I will do my very best not to disappoint you," he replied in the same light tone.

Lucky nodded and felt her stomach do a flip at the smile that touched his lips. "I have every confidence in you, Captain."

The ring of sincerity in her words brought a rush of heat to his eyes and he looked quickly away. Thankfully, they had approached the stables by now so the excitement of picking mounts kept him busy and gave her a chance to pull her distracted thoughts together.

Mrs. Custer and Mollie had favorite horses, which the saddler began to saddle for them, while Quinn walked along the rows of stalls with Lucky at his side. It felt oddly comfortable to be so close to him. She glanced up at him, noting that the top of her head only came shoulder level to him. The silver bars on the shoulder straps of his uniform were visible, as were the identical bars on his collar. She wondered why she had not realized he was an officer that night in Yankton.

She had recognized something special about him that night. It was the quality of leadership and strength and it separated him from any other man she’d ever known. As impressive as he was physically, she also realized that character, honor, and integrity were as much a natural part of this man as the color of his eyes.

She realized she was staring and quickly looked away. She could not keep letting her thoughts stray like this. Peter believed she was his wife and that was what she wanted. He seemed to think that his position at the post, indeed, the future success of his business hinged on her ability to favorably impress the Custers. She wasn’t going to do that by staring like a smitten schoolgirl at the spread of Quinn Malone’s shoulders or admiring the way his uniform was tailored to fit his long legs and muscular thighs.

"What about this one?"

His question snapped her out of her thoughts. She blinked, then looked quickly at the horse in the stall where he had halted. It was a beautiful animal, a deep sorrel color with a blaze face and soft eyes.

"He’s beautiful," Lucky said as she reached up to stroke the horse’s muzzle as he lifted his head over the stall to sniff her. "Are you sure he’s gentle enough? I haven’t ridden in quite a while."

"I think he’ll do fine. I’ve ridden him myself from time to time. He’s not good for hard riding anymore, but for your purposes, he should do well enough."

He wasn’t looking at her, but at the horse. The animal rubbed his head against Quinn’s shoulder as he nickered softly, expecting a reward. He was not disappointed.

Lucky was surprised when Quinn took a cube of sugar from his trouser pocket and let the horse take it from the palm of his hand. Somehow, it was a gesture that she would not have expected of someone as strong as Quinn.

He noticed her expression and grinned while he rubbed the horse’s ears. "I’m afraid I’ve spoiled them rather badly. Both he and Apollo expect it now."

"Between sugar for the horses and ammunition for your men, you must not see much profit from your pay, Captain."

Quinn shot her a surprised glance. "I manage to save a little here and there. I also manage to help keep your husband in business."

Lucky blushed at the reference to Peter, but she maintained his gaze. "I fear you have a good heart, Captain. Your charitable nature will surely put you in the poor house someday."

"I’m not all that charitable. I usually have a reason for what I do. The sugar is to make friends with the horses. A little kindness goes a long way when trying to establish a relationship with an animal that your very life may depend on someday."

"And the ammunition that you supply yourself?"

"You can’t expect a man to become an effective soldier if he can’t hit the broad side of a barn." Quinn’s tone was weary. He let out a long breath and squared his shoulders. "Sending these men into battle with the Indians is little more than suicide if they have no training nor the equipment necessary. Washington doesn’t see the necessity of either."

"And the five hundred dollars you gave me in Yankton?"

"Services rendered."

Lucky smiled at his curt tone, knowing it was an act. His stance and his tone were guarded, but his eyes were not. She saw a flash of that same vulnerability he'd allowed her to see that night in Yankton. It sent a burst of warmth through her.

"No woman, no matter how talented, is worth that kind of money, Captain," she said softly.

Quinn actually blushed as he quickly looked away from her curious expression.

"That was the most generous thing anyone has ever done for me," she went on. "You said you wanted me to have a better life and then supplied the means to search for it. I don't know how to thank you."

"Marrying Warner was not what I had in mind."

He signaled to the saddler and reached past her to open the stall door. He led the horse into the hallway between the rows of stalls and rubbed the glossy neck, glancing at her as the saddler drew nearer. "But then we both know you're not really married to him, don't we?"

Lucky stared at him in surprise, unable to determine what he meant and unable to ask because the company saddler had arrived to take charge of the horse.

The only thing she knew for certain was that the heat in his eyes warmed her clear through to the bone.

***

The brisk morning air helped clear Lucky's head as they rode through the countryside. It was quite cold, but the sunshine helped warm the air and made it very pleasant. She loved the wind in her face as they broke into a spirited gallop and gave the horses full rein for a time. Libby Custer and Mollie were both excellent horsewomen and Lucky quickly adapted to the use of a sidesaddle, though she would have preferred the western variety with which she was familiar.

They had been riding for an hour when Quinn halted the expedition at the foot of a long valley. "Time to start back, Libby," he said as his gaze swept the rolling hills that lay before them.

"Oh, please, Quinn, just a little further. I want to show Ruby Nell where we'll camp later on in the spring."

"We're too far out as it is. We should've turned back already." His tone was almost sharp and contained that quality of authority that made others listen when he spoke. "Don't argue, Libby. If we run into trouble out here, these two troopers might not be enough."

His gaze touched the two men riding with them. One was the lanky blonde recruit from inspection earlier in the morning. He was young, eager, and very nervous to have been chosen by his commanding officer for a detail so soon after arriving at the post.

The second man was Corporal Denton, who had spoken up at inspection. He was much older, heavily mustached, and rode with an easy grace that came from years in the saddle.

"Quinn, no self respecting Indian would dare show his face this close to the fort," Libby said with a resigned sigh.

"You think so? Somebody forgot to tell them."

As Quinn spoke he was staring at the top of the hill a half-mile away where two dozen Sioux warriors had appeared.

"What do we do, Captain?" the young soldier asked. His face was pale and his hands shaking as he held the reins.

"Private, you get the ladies back to the fort. On the double. Now, soldier!"

Quinn whirled the chestnut gelding and pulled his carbine from the saddle boot in the same motion. He looked straight at Libby and this time there was no doubting the authority in his voice.

"Ride, Libby! They're a half-mile away. You've got a five minute head start. Use it!"

"What about you?"

His steel-eyed gaze swung to Lucky at her question. "Corporal Denton and I will cover your retreat." He looked at the young soldier's terrified face. "Private, if anything happens to these women, you'll answer to me personally. In which event, you'll be wishing the Sioux had gotten you first."

"Come, young man, do what the captain says. He has a really nasty temper when he gets angry. You don't want to be on the receiving end of it," Libby said as she turned her horse. She paused to throw Quinn a concerned glance. "Quinn, take care. We'll send help."

Then she slapped the ends of the reins against her mount's flanks and sent him flashing across the prairie toward the fort with the young trooper and Mollie close behind.

"Help? Like Custer sent Major Elliott at the Washita?" Corporal Denton asked Quinn as he lifted his carbine and held his dancing horse in place.

"That kind of help we can do without, Corporal." Quinn only then realized that Lucky was still beside him. His eyes widened at the sight of her. "What the….I told you to ride, damn it!"

"Nonsense," Lucky snapped as she untangled herself from the sidesaddle and threw her leg over the sorrel. "I told you, Captain, I can ride, and I can shoot. You need all the help you can get!"

While she was speaking, she was pulling the carbine from the boot and digging in the saddlebag for extra ammunition. Her eyes, when she looked at him across the back of the prancing cavalry mount, were bright with determination.

"When, and if, we get out of this alive, you will regret not obeying orders!"

Lucky couldn't help smiling at the fury that darkened his eyes. "I'm not one of your troopers, Captain. You can't give me orders!"

She applied her heels to the sorrel's flanks as Quinn gave Apollo his head. They flew across the prairie behind the others, and in moments heard the blood chilling war whoops as the Sioux warriors swept down off the hill in pursuit.

In a few minutes, Quinn slowed and to Lucky's astonishment, turned to face the oncoming warriors. Corporal Denton didn't seem to mind. He swung his own mount around and lifted his carbine. Lucky realized what they were doing and raised her rifle as well.

"On my order, Corporal." Quinn's voice was calm, his carbine placed solidly against his shoulder as he sighted down the barrel. "When they're just within range."

"Fire!"

Three carbines spit fire and lead and three Sioux toppled from their horses. Then Quinn whirled Apollo and raced onward while he and the corporal reloaded. It took Lucky longer, for she had never tried to load a gun on horseback while at a dead run, but by the time Quinn swung around to face the Indians again, she was armed and ready.

"Fire!"

Once more three Indians fell dead. Instead of giving up the chase, they seemed more determined than ever. They pushed their ponies to the limit and began to close the distance. Lucky heard the whine of a bullet as it whizzed by her ear long before she heard the echo of the rifle that fired it.

She thought they were going to make it. They were close to the final ridge before Fort Lincoln would spring into view. Surely any moment now soldiers would appear over that ridge.

Then Corporal Denton's horse went down from a lucky shot. He rolled clear, scrambled to his feet, and ran back toward the dead animal to grab his carbine. He dropped behind the carcass and waited for the oncoming warriors.

Quinn reined Apollo to a sliding halt and whirled him around. Within seconds he jumped off the horse with the saddlebag containing his extra ammunition and dropped to one knee beside the corporal.

"What was that you said about a nice little ride, Captain?" Denton said with a grin.

Quinn glanced at him and shook his head. "Have I ever told you, Denton, that you have a flare for understatement?"

"Hell, Captain, I don't even know what that means."

Quinn thought Lucky had kept going toward the fort. It wasn't until she landed on her belly beside him that he realized she hadn't.

She held her carbine ready and prayed she could hold it steady enough to use it. Her hands were shaking badly, and she was afraid she was going to vomit.

"Are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?" Quinn shouted at her.

"No! I'm trying to keep you from getting killed!"

"I don't need you to rescue me!"

The earth beneath them began to vibrate from the oncoming warriors' ponies. They bent low over the horses' necks to make themselves a smaller target but even so, two more of them fell dead when Quinn gave the command to fire.

"Damn, Captain, I missed," Corporal Denton muttered as he reloaded his carbine.

Lucky enjoyed the surprise on Quinn's face when he realized that her bullets had found their mark every time she fired. "I told you I could shoot," she said, unable to keep her voice steady.

"Damn, Captain, we better recruit her."

"Just be glad I'm on your side," Lucky replied.

"They're going to get behind us." Quinn's tone was calm but Lucky saw the concern on his face when he rolled over on his back to reload.

"Captain, you and the lady can still make it."

Quinn looked at the stoic face beside him and shook his head. "Corporal, we all leave together, or we don't leave at all."

Denton swallowed and cleared his throat, then covered his emotions by taking another shot at the Sioux.

"You ever thought about what a prize your scalp would make for some blood thirsty savage, Captain?"

Corporal Denton's tone was light, but Lucky's gaze flashed to Quinn's thick black hair and she felt her stomach lurch. He had taken off his hat when he landed behind the dead horse and now the sun gleamed off his hair.

"It's not my hair I'm worried about," Quinn said grimly as he glanced at Lucky lying at his side. "You should've run for it when I told you. Now look at the mess you're in."

She looked at him, saw the handsome planes of his face clench with uneasiness, and suddenly felt completely at peace. "I've been in worse places. And with men I liked a lot less."

His guts twisted at the thought of what might happen to her. The thought of her beautiful auburn hair dangling from a Sioux war lance made his heart freeze.

Lucky read those thoughts just as clearly as he had thought them. She glanced at the revolver in the latched holster on his hip. "If the others don't get here in time…."

"They won't."

"So what do we do? Die with honor?"

Quinn grinned in spite of the seriousness of the situation. Her eyes were wide with fear and he saw her lips quiver, but her voice was firm, even sarcastic.

"My rank requires it. But Corporal Denton is an enlisted man. He can die any way he chooses." Then his expression sobered and he took a second from watching the warriors to look directly into her eyes. "But you're a civilian and that's a different thing entirely. "

The Indians began trying to circle them and Quinn knew it was only a matter of seconds until they'd get behind them and then it would all be over. They had no cover except for the dead horse they were crouched behind and there was nowhere to run. He saw Lucky's mount not far away, watching them, not knowing what to do, but having been a cavalry horse for so long, he was not going to run away.

Quinn shut his eyes for a moment, then dug in his pocket and pulled out a cube of sugar. He held it up so the horse could see it and called to him. The animal immediately trotted up to him and picked the sugar out of his hand.

"That's a good boy, Zeus. Yeah, you're a good boy," Quinn said softly as he unlatched his pistol and took it from the holster. Gritting his teeth, he shot the horse in the head and it fell at his feet, kicked once and was still.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Lucky shouted. She stared, horrified, at the beautiful animal, then her gaze snapped back to Quinn's face.

"Those warriors are getting ready to rush us, Lucky. Our Springfields have longer range than the Winchesters they're using. The only chance we’ve got is to pick enough of them off that the others give it up. That requires cover. There wasn't any. Now there is."

His tone was clipped. He had done what was necessary. He hated it.

"If we can hold them off long enough, maybe the troop will get here," she said hopefully.

"Maybe, after all, Major Reno is Officer of the Day," he said as he reloaded his pistol.

Quinn and Denton exchanged a glance and both fired at the same time when a pair of unlucky Sioux ventured a bit too close. Both fell dead and the Indians backed beyond range and began riding in a wide circle around them, working up the courage to get close enough to make use of their own weapons.

"What's Major Reno got to do with anything?" Lucky asked.

"With Major Reno on duty, we've got a fighting chance of having a troop sent out to give us a hand," Corporal Denton replied as he quickly reloaded his carbine. "Good damn thing it ain't Custer. We'd be goners for sure."

"What do you mean?"

"We wouldn't be the first members of the 7th that Custer left twisting in the wind." Quinn's voice was calm and detached as he kept his attention on the moving warriors.

"And we probably won't be the last either," Denton agreed grimly.

A half dozen of the Sioux broke from the group and rode head on at the encampment, whooping and shooting as they came. Quinn heard the bullets slam into the ground all around them as he ejected a spent cartridge and shoved another into the Springfield. Two more went down from Lucky and Denton's carbines, but the remaining three kept coming.

Lucky fired again, then Quinn, and two more went down. Then Corporal Denton shouted, "Captain, my rifle's jammed!"

There was no time to reload, for the fierce looking warrior was on top of them. He was so close Quinn could see right down the barrel of his gun when he shot the Indian squarely between the eyes with his pistol.

Corporal Denton finally managed to get the fouled cartridge out of his rifle and reloaded. He twisted around to look at Quinn.

"Captain, I got four rounds left."

"I've got six, Corporal."

Quinn looked at Lucky and she wet her lips and counted the cartridges remaining in her pouch.

"Ten," she said in a shaky voice.

"One more rush and we'll be out of ammunition." Quinn's voice was still calm. He reloaded the pistol and handed it to Lucky. "There's one round in the chamber. Promise me you'll use it."

The way she met his gaze made his groin tighten and his pulse race. He was five minutes away from dying and all he could think about was how beautiful she was and how much he wanted to kiss her.

Her eyes were frightened, but she clamped her lips tightly together for a moment, then drew a long shaky breath. Nodding, she swallowed as they stared at each other. There were things she wanted to say and knew if she'd didn't say them now, there would never be another chance, but her throat was choked with emotion.

"What about you?" she whispered.

"I'm an officer, remember? I have to die with honor."

"Captain, look!"

Quinn spun around. A magnificent Sioux warrior was riding toward them at a leisurely pace, his weapon lowered across his pony's shoulders. "Hold your fire, Corporal."

"It may be a trick, Captain."

"They don't need tricks. They have us outnumbered and they probably know that we're almost out of ammunition."

"Then what does he want?" Lucky whispered as the warrior halted his pony well within the thirty five hundred yard range of the Springfield carbines.

"Who the hell knows?"

The warrior spoke for a couple of minutes in sign language, then lifted his rifle into the air, shook it, then whirled his pony and galloped back to the others. They turned and followed him out of the valley.

Corporal Denton took off his cap, scratched his head, and finally looked at Quinn curiously. "What'd he say, Captain?"

"He said he was letting us live because we fought with honor and courage. He admires that, it seems. He said we are worthy enemies and that we'll meet again."

"Not if I can help it," Denton said grimly as he stood up beside Quinn and watched the Indians ride out of sight over the next ridge. "Who the hell was he anyway?"

"That, Corporal Denton, was Raven. I should've known. No other Sioux is reckless enough to attack us so close to the fort."

"You know him?" Lucky asked, alarmed at the expression on Quinn's face as he stared after the disappearing Indians.

Quinn nodded. "We've met."

"You must've made one hell of an impression!" Now that the danger had passed, Lucky felt sick to her stomach and sat down abruptly on the rump of Denton's dead horse. "But then, you do tend to do that, don't you, Captain?"

The glance they exchanged was full of fire and relief. Lucky was grateful that she hadn't spilled her guts when she thought they were both going to die. It would have been just too humiliating to tell him how she felt, then have to face him afterward. It was bad enough as it was.

"The next time Mrs. Custer invites me to go riding with her, Quinn, remind me to tell her no thanks, will you?" she said in an attempt to break the awkward silence that had suddenly settled upon them.

Quinn nodded and tried to smile at her feeble attempt at humor, but his face felt frozen. Now that it was over, he allowed himself to think about how close he had come to losing her. Reminding himself that she wasn't his to lose was pointless. He had gone way past that point of fact the minute she turned around at Libby Custer's party and looked into his eyes.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Once the danger had passed, Quinn called to Apollo and then pulled Lucky onto the saddle behind him. Corporal Denton walked alongside until the rescue party met them and then he was offered a ride behind another trooper.

They were two miles from the post when they were met by Lieutenant Browning and a twenty man patrol from ‘A’ Company. While Lucky was relieved to see that someone had been sent to their aide, she knew that had Raven persisted in his attack, all that the rescuers would have found would have been three dead, scalped bodies. She shuddered at the thought.

Lucky was almost sorry when they reached the fort. Those few miles on the back of the horse with her arms around Quinn's waist made the terrifying ordeal almost worthwhile. She kept her face buried in his back, her hands clasped around his middle, and her eyes squeezed shut until she could stop trembling.

There had been no further conversation between them. What was there to say, she asked herself as they rode slowly toward the post. Except for a brief, ghastly time there in the prairie, nothing had changed. Nothing, and everything.

She had spent a grand total of maybe eight hours in this man's presence during four encounters. That night in Yankton in his arms had changed her forever and had given her the courage to do something about the sad state of her life. The second meeting at Libby Custer's reception had challenged her perception about the new life she was making for herself. The third time outside her new home after the Custer's party had again fueled a passion between them that was as volatile as a summer thunderstorm. And this morning on the prairie, faced with certain death, she had come to the startling conclusion that she would be happier to die with this man, than to live without him.

The cheer that went up from the troops when they returned to the post warmed Lucky's heart as they were welcomed home like conquering heroes. It was sincere and spontaneous when they rode beneath the garrison's arched sign.

She pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind as relieved faces surrounded them and Quinn pulled the horse to a halt in front of the officer's quarters. He dismounted, then lifted her down and set her on the ground before him amid claps on the back from comrades and well-wishers.

Then she was caught in Peter's embrace. He kissed her on the mouth right in front of the assembly and hugged her so fiercely that she could hardly get her breath. It was all a bit embarrassing and she pulled back, blushing at all the attention.

Libby Custer and Mollie McIntosh wasted no time in hugging her, as well. They were so relieved to see that she was safe that all three cried happily as they embraced one another.

Then the tumult faded into silence when the post's adjutant waded through the throng and approached Quinn. "Captain Malone, General Custer wants to see you on the double!"

"I thought he would." Quinn's tone was almost sarcastic as he handed Apollo's reins to the saddler.

"I'm going with you, Captain," Corporal Denton declared as he slid off the back of the horse where he had been riding double since their rescue.

"No, Corporal, you're not. The general didn't ask to see you. Go about your business."

"But, sir…"

"That's an order, Denton."

The corporal stared at Quinn for a moment, then nodded. Drawing himself to attention, he saluted smartly, turned on his heel, and merged into the group of his comrades.

"General Custer also requests that Mrs. Warner join him," Lieutenant Cooke said as he turned to Lucky.

The expression on Quinn's face was calm and controlled when Lucky glanced up at him. He did not look at her as they walked toward the adjutant's office. It was impossible to keep up with his purposeful stride so she walked beside Peter with Libby Custer and Mollie on the other side of her.

When they reached the adjutant's office, Quinn had already gone inside. Lieutenant Cooke opened the door for Lucky, then put up a restraining hand to prevent Peter from entering.

"You'll have to wait outside, Mr. Warner," he said politely.

Lucky did not like the implications. But it soon became apparent that Libby and Mollie were likewise not invited to this meeting.

Lieutenant Cooke closed the door behind them and walked to the front of the room where Custer sat behind the desk.

Custer wasted no time. He got up from behind the desk and walked around it where Quinn stood staring at the wall above the desk, not blinking, not looking at Custer.

"Explain yourself, Captain."

Lucky stared at Custer in bewilderment. He was flushed and angry as he paced back and forth in front of Quinn, then paused and leaned back against the desk.

"We ran into a little trouble, sir."

"A little trouble. You call nearly getting my wife and two other ladies from this post killed, not to mention yourself, a little trouble?"

"A lot of trouble."

Custer nodded with a grim smile. "And you got into this trouble because you went beyond the established boundaries of safety, did you not?"
"Yes, sir."

Lucky was amazed that Quinn was not defending himself. It had been Libby's idea to keep riding and even after Quinn refused to go any further, she had argued with him. Why didn't Quinn speak up and tell the general that?

"Please explain to me, Captain, why you allowed a civilian, and a lady, to be put into mortal danger? Why did you not send Mrs. Warner back with Elizabeth and Mrs. McIntosh?"

"He didn't allow me to do anything!" Lucky said as she rushed to the front of the room. "He ordered me to come back with the others and I refused! It's not his fault!"

Custer looked surprised at the fury in her eyes when she faced him. "Mrs. Warner, in the future, when you're given an order by one of my officers, I expect it to be obeyed. Orders are never given without reason. If you are going to live on my post, you will abide by the rules like every other woman who lives here. Is that understood?"

His tone was soft, his voice gentle, but his eyes were cold and hard as he stared at her.

"He needed help. There was only him and Corporal Denton to hold off the Indians. I can shoot, General. If I hadn't stayed behind to help out, they'd both be dead now."

Custer looked from her defiant face to Quinn in amazement. "Your ability to inspire such loyalty has always astounded me, Captain." Then he looked back at Lucky with a sigh. "Do you not realize, Mrs. Warner, that your staying behind resulted in greater danger for Captain Malone and the corporal? Without you to worry about, they would both have very possibly ridden to safety without the need for a confrontation with the Sioux."

Lucky stared at him for a moment, not knowing how to respond. She had not thought about it in those terms and now she doubted the advisability of her actions. But Custer had already dismissed the issue and was moving on.

"However, that does not excuse your lack of judgment, Captain. You should never have been that far from the fort. You should have never permitted Mrs. Warner to remain in danger, and you, not once, but twice, did not insist that she ride for the fort and leave the military exercises to those trained for them. Are you accustomed to having your direct orders disobeyed, Captain?"

"No, sir."

"What do you have to say for yourself in this case?"

"It won't happen again, sir."

"In the future you will control Mrs. Warner's dangerous impulses?"

"Yes, sir. In the future, Mrs. Warner will not leave the post without a full patrol to accompany her."

Lucky stared at Quinn in amazement. His jaw was clenched and so were his hands, but his voice was calm. He had not yet looked at Custer, but kept his gaze focused on the wall behind the desk.

"Good, I'm glad to hear that," Custer said as he glanced from Quinn to Lucky, then back.

"Is that all, sir?"

"No, Captain, there's one more matter that I wish to discuss with you."

"What would that be, sir?"

"The matter of putting your life in extreme danger, not to mention that of Mrs. Warner, when you went back for Corporal Denton."

Lucky saw Quinn's brows raise at the general's statement and for the first time he looked at Custer.

"Excuse me? Are you suggesting that I should have ridden away and left one of my men to face a war party alone?" His tone was cold now as his eyes narrowed.

"I'm suggesting that the prudent thing to do was to get Mrs. Warner to safety at any cost. She was your primary responsibility, Captain. And you failed miserably at it."

Lucky saw the flush that was creeping up Quinn's neck. His shoulders tensed and he clenched and unclenched his hands as he met Custer's disapproving stare.

"I take full responsibility for my actions, sir. I failed to send Mrs. Warner to safety with the other ladies, and I failed to ride away and leave one of my men to be murdered while I escaped. But while I accept the responsibility for those actions, I do not apologize for them. I made a judgment call to stay with Corporal Denton, and I stand by it."

"Your judgment, at times, is sadly lacking the necessary ingredients that your rank demands, Captain." Custer's voice was cold as ice as he moved from the desk and stood upright.

"By your standards, sir, I'm sure it is."

"That's quite enough, Captain. You're on report. You are confined to this post until further orders. Do I make myself clear?"

"Absolutely, sir," Quinn replied. "Am I to be allowed to continue training my company?"

"Yes, of course. Dismissed!"

Quinn stood at attention, saluted, then turned neatly on his heel and walked past Lucky without so much as a glance on his way to the door.

When he'd gone, Custer looked at Lucky as he let out a weary sigh. "You may go as well, Mrs. Warner. Please remember my instructions in the future."

"General, I admit that I know very little about all these military rules and regulations, but Captain Malone did nothing wrong out there today. Quite the contrary. He saved the lives of everyone in our riding party, including Mrs. Custer's. What he did by refusing to leave Corporal Denton was the bravest, most unselfish thing I've ever seen. He was willing to die himself, rather than give up one of his men. I call that extraordinary."

"So do I, Mrs. Warner," Custer said with a slight smile. "Captain Malone is a fine officer. One of the best I've ever seen. That's why he's so valuable to this command, and why what he did today was so imprudent. Corporals can be replaced, Mrs. Warner, but officers like Malone can not."

He looked at Lieutenant Cooke. The lieutenant went immediately to the door, opened it, and stood aside to let Lucky leave.

Peter took her arm and propelled her toward the sutler's store, going on all the way there about how relieved he was that she was safe. She did not hear half of what he said. Her thoughts were in turmoil about the morning's events and her reactions to them. She glanced toward Officer's Row as they stepped onto the store's porch and saw Quinn walking with a group of his men.

Inspire loyalty, Custer had said. Yes, Captain Malone had that ability, she thought uneasily as she watched his men surround him, congratulating him on a safe return. Loyalty, and so much more.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Shortly after his meeting with Custer, Quinn went in search of the young recruit he had sent back to the fort with Mrs. Custer and Mrs. McIntosh that morning.

The boy had been assigned to stable detail and was busy mucking out stalls when Quinn found him. He was whistling as he worked, oblivious to the fact that his company commander had walked up on him.

"Ten-hut!" The saddlers’ sergeant barked, warning the men of Quinn's presence.

The boy turned with a shovel full of horse manure and tossed it directly on Quinn's boots before he realized there was someone behind him.

He flushed beet red when he saw what he'd done while the other members of the detail sniggered as they stood at attention. Quinn looked down at his boots, calmly shook off one foot at a time, then looked back at the humiliated young trooper.

"Captain, sir, I'm so sorry…I had no idea you were standing there…"

"At ease, trooper. After everything that's happened today, a shovel full of horse shit isn't going to make things any worse," Quinn said with a grin at the horror on the boy's face.

The boy looked as though he might vomit or pass out from the embarrassment. Then the consternation on his face changed to shock when Quinn extended a hand.

"Private Firth, Johnny, isn't it?"

The lad nodded and stared at Quinn's hand for a moment before he realized what the gesture meant. He tentatively put out his own and Quinn gripped it in a firm handshake.

"You did a good job this morning, Private Firth. You have the makings of a fine trooper. Keep up the good work."

"Thank you, sir. But I really didn't do anything. I just hung onto the horse and Mrs. Custer led the way back to the fort."

"You followed my orders, Private."

"I was afraid not to, sir."

Quinn grinned at the boy's honesty as he released the boy’s hand and slipped into his gloves. "Good. That was the idea."

"Captain, can I ask you something?" Firth asked when Quinn started to turn away.

"Sure, what is it?"

"The patrol Lieutenant Browning sent out after I brought the ladies back, would it have arrived in time…if that Indian hadn't give up?"

Quinn studied the boy's curious blue-eyed gaze and shook his head. "No, in spite of all you and the lieutenant could have done, it would have been too late."

He watched the horrified expression on the boy's face until he began to wonder if Firth was going to throw up. He almost chuckled aloud, for he'd seen that same expression a thousand times on the faces of boys like this one.

"Another thing, Private, that Indian is a Sioux war chief. He didn't give up, as you put it. The Sioux don't know the meaning of surrender. They do, however, respect courage, even among their enemies. Raven is a commander, just like I am. What he did today when he let us walk away from that engagement was make me a promise that someday we'll meet again in battle. One of us won't walk away the next time."

Firth's eyes grew wider with every thing Quinn said until they were huge in his pale face. "Don't that keep you awake at night, Captain?"

"You bet it does, Private," Quinn said with a rueful smile as he turned and walked toward the stable doors.

"I hear the old man gave you quite an ass chewing." Sergeant Briggs grinned as he fell into step beside Quinn, walking with him through the stable.

"Chewed me up and spit me out."

"I hear he confined you to the post for not letting the Sioux have Denton for lunch."

"How in the hell do you manage to hear so much and still get so much accomplished?" Quinn asked good-naturedly.

Briggs pointed to the chevrons on his sleeves and grinned. "Keeping one ear to the ground is part of the job, Captain. So tell me about this gal that can outride and outshoot most of the men in this company."

"Did you hear that from Corporal Denton?"

Briggs nodded. "Sure did. He's damned impressed."

"He ought to be. She never missed a shot. Not once."

"With a Springfield?"

Quinn nodded. "And loaded it from horseback at a dead run."

"I hear she gave it to the old man about being so hard on you too."

"Yes, guess she thought my honor needed defending."

"Well, I hear that she thought your body needed defending is why she refused to ride back with the others."

Quinn's smile faded and his expression grew thoughtful. "She showed more courage today than I've seen in months. I've never seen anything like it in a woman."

"Must be quite a gal, this Mrs. Warner."

"She is definitely that, Sergeant."

"Sounds like Warner is a real lucky man."

Quinn's eyes were bleak as he nodded. Pulling down his hat and taking Apollo's reins from the saddler, he glanced at Briggs. "I'd say that was an understatement, Sergeant."

***

Shortly after dark that evening Lucky looked up from her work to see Quinn walk into the sutler's store. He took off his hat, nodded to her, then walked into the billiard room that was built onto one side of the store.

The room was separated into two sections, one for enlisted men, and one for officers, and contained billiard tables, a bar, and several tables for drinking or card games. One corner had been arranged as a sort of library with a few chairs, a table, and an assortment of well used magazines and the latest available newspapers from the East.

The place was usually full after duty and this evening was no exception. Quinn went straight to the bar where Peter was wiping out glasses.

"Captain Malone, what a pleasure. It's been a long time since you've been here. What can I get for you?"

"A beer, Mr. Warner. And pour one for yourself, on me." When Peter's brows rose curiously, he looked toward the end of the bar where Lucky was putting clean glasses onto the shelving built into the wall. "I haven't properly congratulated you on your marriage yet."

While Peter smiled and poured the beers, Lucky stared at Quinn uneasily. His jaw was clenched and the expression in his eyes was cool and calculated. Lord in heaven, what was he going to do? She felt her heart drop to her ankles at the thought that he might be about to reveal her secret.

He took the glass from Peter and turned to the group of officers in the room. "Gentlemen, I propose a toast to Mrs. Warner, who today faced the enemy with courage befitting a member of the 7th Cavalry, and most likely saved my life in the process. To Mrs. Warner."

He lifted his glass, as did the others, and they drank a toast to her. He sat the glass on the bar top alongside his hat, faced her and bowed. Standing upright once more, he stared into her startled eyes and said, "Your humble servant, ma'am."

Then he took the beer and his hat and walked over to the table in the corner where the newspapers were and settled into a chair. The conversation in the room resumed and soon the clink of billiard balls striking one another was heard, along with good-natured joshing as the officers went back to their games.

Presently two of them came to Quinn's table and dropped into vacant seats. "That was a close shave today, Quinn," Lieutenant Cooke, the regimental adjutant said as he eyed Quinn over a glass of beer.

Quinn nodded. "Too close."

"How does it feel to be rescued by a woman?" Lieutenant Algernon Smith asked with a grin.

"Especially one that can outshoot and outride you?" Cooke asked. His smile split the long mutton chop sideburns that were his trademark and gave his face an impish quality.

"And that won't obey orders," Smith added.

Quinn grinned as he laid his newspaper aside. He'd known the ribbing was coming and took no offense at it when friends delivered it.

"What are you going to do about it?" Cooke asked.

"Not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it," he replied to their smirking questions. "I can't very well put her in the guardhouse. She did point out that she's not a member of my troop and that she doesn't have to take my orders."

"Was this while she was killing Indians?"

Quinn nodded and sipped his beer. "Laugh, you assholes, but you'd have both been damned impressed if you could've seen her shoot."

Both men turned in their chairs to take another look at Lucky, who was still putting away glasses at the bar. "I am impressed, and it's got nothing to do with her skill with a Springfield," Smith said.

"Wonder how skilled she is at other things?" Cooke asked, still watching her.

"She must be very skilled. Look at the smile at Warner's face," Smith added.

"Even the general commented on that," Cooke said, looking back at Quinn. "He's wondering how a weasel like Warner ever got this lucky too. Have you noticed the size of her …..?"

"I think we get the point, Cookie," Quinn said dryly. "Don't you two have something to do?"

"You mean besides harass you?" Smith asked with a grin as he got to his feet and pushed his chair under the table. "Sure, we do, but it's not nearly as much fun."

"Make an effort, will you? Can't a man sit quietly and lick his wounds without being disturbed?"

Smith and Cooke both laughed and clapped Quinn on the shoulder as they headed back to the billiard tables. Alone again, Quinn went back to the newspaper and tried to ignore Lucky.

The place was packed tonight, he thought. Every unmarried officer in the regiment, and some of the married ones too, were here and he doubted it was the atmosphere they'd come to enjoy. More likely, it was wanting to get a closer look at the woman who had openly defied a company commander and lived to tell the tale, he thought with a grimace.

That, and the fact that she was beautiful and a real asset to Warner's business. With her face and figure, she'd have the place full every night and lines outside waiting to get in. A glance at Warner's cheerful face as he poured drinks for a pair of sergeants at the bar, told Quinn it was a sure bet he had already thought the same thing.

A half hour passed and the men began drifting away. Quinn finished his beer and began folding the newspaper in preparation of leaving himself.

"Would you like another drink, Captain?"

He looked up at Lucky, who stood beside the table holding a pitcher of beer.

"No thanks, I'm leaving. It's getting late."

She moved back as he got to his feet. Standing upright, he still had the power to intimidate her and she felt the need to put some distance between them.

"Peter says you don't come here often."

"I don't."

"Why did you come tonight?"

"A couple of reasons actually." Quinn picked up his hat and moved closer so what he had to say wouldn't be easily overheard. "First, to make sure you're all right. I can see that you are. At least none the worse for wear."

She met the challenge in his eyes, holding his gaze without blinking, even though her heart rate had doubled. "And the second reason?"

"To tell you that I do not appreciate your attempt to defend me to Custer. And to tell you that if you ever interfere in my business again, I'll see to it that you're never allowed to leave the post."

Lucky blinked at the coldness in both his voice and his eyes. She snapped her mouth shut as color flooded into her cheeks. "Excuse me? You were certainly making no effort to defend yourself! Somebody had to!"

"No, Lucky, they didn't. I did nothing today that needed defending, short of letting you do what the hell you pleased."

"You wanted to turn back long before we saw the Indians. It was Libby Custer who insisted on going on further. Why didn't you tell the general that?"

"He already knew it. Come on, Lucky, didn't you notice that he already knew everything about what happened out there? The Arikara scout, Bloody Knife? He rode out with Lieutenant Browning and the patrol, took one look at the situation, and rode like hell getting back to the post to tell Custer everything. No one in this whole damn regiment farts without Bloody Knife reporting it. He's Custer's private eyes and ears. "

"What's that got to do with…."

"Custer will deal with his wife in his own way. That's personal."

"Chewing you out was personal too!"

"I deserved most of that. I should have insisted that you ride back with Libby and Mrs. McIntosh. I should have insisted that you ride on when Corporal Denton's horse was shot from under him. I did neither of those things and it placed your life in grave danger."

"What about your life?" Lucky demanded. She plunked the beer pitcher down on the table and put both hands on her hips as she met his heated stare.

"I'm a soldier. I place my life in danger every single time I ride out of this garrison. It's why I wear these silver bars," Quinn said as he touched the bars on his uniform collar. "Because every single time, I come back. And I come back because I know enough about the Indians not to be taken in by their tricks."

"You hate them."

Quinn nodded. "You're damned right! Nothing would make me happier than to see every last one of them in hell, and there's a couple I'd personally like to send there."

"Like this Raven?"

Lucky's voice had softened as they talked. She saw the fire in Quinn's eyes had replaced his anger with her for interfering on his behalf with Custer. She realized he was opening up to her, whether or not he was aware of it, and it made her palms sweat and her knees feel like rubber. She put one hand on the table top, unsure she could stand on such unsteady limbs.

"Yeah, especially him!"

"Why? How do you know him?"

Quinn shook his head and put on his hat. He pulled the brim down so that most of his face was shaded, giving him an almost menacing quality. "All you need to know is that if that bloody bastard hadn't decided to continue his little game today, your hair would be hanging from his war lance at this very moment."

"And yours too?" Lucky had to wet her lips before she could ask the question. The picture he'd painted was all too clear and it made her heart pound.

"Oh yes, my scalp is the grand prize."

"You said you didn't know he was out there this morning. How did he know you were?" she asked, not willing to dwell on that picture either.

Quinn shrugged. "Apollo probably." At her questioning expression, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he returned her gaze. "My horse is distinctive. Indians have a real eye for good horses. Raven would never forget mine."

"I think, Captain, that you're too modest." Lucky forced a weak smile at the surprise that sprang to his face. "Anyone who has ever seen you walk, or ride for that matter, can pick you out of a crowd as far as they can see you. I know I can."

She smiled at his confused expression. The flash of pleasure that ran through his eyes was quickly controlled and replaced by an aloofness that she knew was all an act.

"And just how do you do that?"

"Captain, there just aren't many men who fill out a uniform, front or back, the way you do. It's the kind of thing a woman remembers. Now, I'm not saying this Indian remembers you for those reasons, in fact, I hope he doesn't." She paused while the distinct beginnings of a blush began at his collar and swept upward. "But if he has a personal reason for wanting to kill you, it's a sure bet he can spot you a mile away."

"He does, and obviously, he can. So tell me, Miss Observant, what kind of horse was he riding today?"

Lucky grinned as she picked up her pitcher. "A dappled gray, about fourteen hands high, with a bear claw painted on his right shoulder."

Quinn whistled through his front teeth as he pushed his hat back. "Damn! You're good!"

"I know," she quipped as she turned to go to the bar. "And don't pretend you don't remember."

Heat flashed into his eyes as they stared at each other. Then he pulled his hat back down and fell into step beside her, pausing when they reached the bar. He touched his hat brim, glanced at Peter, and nodded.

"Goodnight, Captain Malone," Peter called after him as he continued toward the exit. "I hope we'll be seeing more of you in the future."

Quinn paused at the doorway and turned around at Peter's remark. "I think you can safely count on that, Warner," he said with a meaningful glance at Lucky.

Then he opened the door and disappeared into the night.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lucky pulled the blanket up over her bare breasts and watched Peter hurrying into his clothes across the dimly lit bedroom. He pulled his suspenders into place and yanked on his suit coat as he headed for the doorway.

"Peter, surely this business can wait until morning! It's almost midnight!"

He paused with one hand on the doorknob and glanced at her nervously. "I'm afraid not, Ruby Nell. This is a very important shipment. If I don't get this problem resolved, it can really hurt my business. The Army counts on these arms shipments. A serious delay not only puts my business at risk, but our fighting men, as well."

"But, Peter…"

"Aw, honey, I know you're disappointed," he said, dashing across the room to plant a hurried kiss on her cheek as he buttoned his vest. "I'll make it up to you. You'll see. Please just be patient."

He didn't wait for her reaction, but rushed from the room. A moment later, she heard the front door open and close.

She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest while she stared at the vacant room. It was austere at best with its simple, almost crude furnishings and no touch of color to brighten up the walls or bare floor. Her attempts to brighten it up had met with rejection from Peter, who said such things were unnecessary and just too expensive.

But he had been very pleased with her ability to encourage the soldiers to drink and spend money in the billiard room tonight. She had been so successful at it, that he suggested she concentrate on that part of his business and not concern herself with the store. Actually, she didn't mind. Must be all those years of working in a saloon, she thought ruefully as she stared into the darkness, but she was a whole lot more comfortable with the billiard room atmosphere than in the store dusting cans of peaches.

Come on, Lucky, admit it. You want to be in the billiard room just in case Quinn Malone decides to drop in for a beer. And the fact that he plans to do it a lot more often makes the job even more appealing. Even pissed as he is right now because I spoke up to Custer, I know that he'll be back. He can't resist the temptation any more than I can. That must be really upsetting to a man who has to be in control of everything.

Her brow wrinkled and she rubbed her forehead absently. She felt the dull throb of the familiar headache beginning again and pressed both palms against her temples. Lord, would this damned headache never go away completely?

Looking back over the day's events reminded her that a headache was a small problem compared to what might have happened. Had that Indian not called off his warriors, she'd be very dead right now. She remembered the expression on Quinn's face when he pressed his revolver into her hands and made her promise to use it on herself if the worse came to pass. She wondered if she could have done it, and then nodded. Yes, because at that point he would've been dead and her life would have been meaningless anyway.

She let out a heavy sigh. Knowing that sleep would be impossible now, she climbed out of bed and slipped into her robe. She went into the living room and added wood to the embers in the fireplace, and remained on her knees before the fire when it began to blaze cheerfully.

What are you going to do, Lucky? You've got a good man, a good marriage. Okay, so Peter isn't good in bed. Okay, so he acts like he's got to get it over with before he changes his mind, or something. Some men just aren't any good in bed. Others are very good, and don't start thinking about Quinn. He's off limits. I'm married to Peter, at least as close as I'll likely ever come to being married to any decent man, and I'm not going to throw that away for a few minutes in Quinn Malone's arms. I want marriage and a home and a family. Peter can give me that, well at least, once he learns to relax with me and settles down.

She held her hands out to the warming blaze and shook her head. I have to concentrate on being a good wife and forget everything else. I can do that and still deal with being around Quinn from time to time. I can…

***

An hour before reveille, Quinn was awakened by a persistent pounding on his door. He rolled out of bed and stumbled through his darkened quarters, cursing when his bare foot encountered the edge of the sofa on the way.

"Who the hell is it?" he demanded as he flung open the door.

"Sergeant Briggs, sir."

"This damned well better be important, Sergeant. Because if it isn't…"

In spite of Quinn's curt tone, Briggs grinned. The man who stood in the open doorway did not even faintly resemble his company commander. With his hair rumpled, a day's growth of beard shadowing his lean cheeks, and eyes that would not quite focus, it was a stretch for Briggs to recognize him.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but seeing my commanding officer in his underwear is not the highlight of my day either."

"Cut the jokes, Briggs. It's four o'clock in the morning. What's wrong?"

Briggs's face instantly lost its smile and his eyes began to glitter. "You better come to the hospital, Captain. There's something there you need to see."

Quinn did not waste time by asking more questions. While Briggs waited, he hurried into his clothes, yanked on his boots, snatching his hat off the peg by the door as he went out.

Minutes later Briggs led the way into the post's hospital and into a ward where they found Dr. Lord working on a wounded man.

Quinn stood at the foot of the cot, staring at the bruised and bloody face of Private Johnny Firth. One eye was swollen closed. One jaw was badly bruised and there was a nasty cut in his lower lip.

"What the hell happened?" Quinn demanded, the question directed at the boy.

"Nothing, sir," Firth mumbled, unable to hold Quinn's gaze. "It's nothing. Don’t make a big deal out of it."

"You let me decide how big a deal it is, soldier. I asked you a question. I expect an answer."

Firth glanced up at Quinn's calm face, seeing fire in his eyes. He swallowed hard and tried to laugh, but it came out crackled and hollow.

"Some of the fellas were just having some fun, Captain. It just got a little out of hand, that's all."

Quinn's gaze snapped to Briggs. "Our men did this?"

Briggs nodded, looking uncomfortable. "It looks that way, sir."

"Is anything broken, Doc?" Quinn asked the doctor.

Dr. Lord stood up and picked up a basin of bloody water and an assortment of bandages. "No broken bones, Captain. But he's going to be sore as hell for a few days. I'll let you know when he can return to duty."

"I'm fine! I'll be at inspection, sir!"

"I doubt that, young man," the doctor contradicted with a grim smile. "You won't be wanting clothes touching you for a few days."

At Quinn's questioning expression, Dr. Lord shrugged. "The beating was secondary, Captain. The real damage is not visible at first glance."

"What the hell are you trying to say?"

"The boys shaved him, Captain."

Quinn looked at the peach fuzz on the boy's upper lip, then back to the doctor. Dr. Lord nodded at Briggs. "Show him, Sergeant."

Briggs came around to the side of the bed and lifted the sheet. Quinn's eyes widened at the sight of the boy's bloody pelvic area where all the skin and hair had been scraped away.

"Start at the beginning, soldier, and be quick about it. What happened?"

Firth looked furtively at Dr. Lord, and then at Sergeant Briggs. At a signal from Quinn, they both moved out of hearing distance.

"Some of us went across the river tonight, Captain, after duty. To the…the…"

"To the whorehouses over there. I'm well aware of their existence, Private. Go on."

"Well, some of the fellas thought it was real funny that I've never…you know...done it…and they were gonna help me get laid. We went into this place and we all had a few drinks and they called this lady over and…told her that I…and she took me upstairs to her room and…and…"

His voice broke and he turned his face away. Quinn took a long breath when he saw tears trickling down the boy's face.

"You couldn't do it? Private, that's nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of men have that problem from time to time."

Firth looked back at the understanding expression on Quinn's face. He rubbed at his eyes and shook his head. "It was worse than that, sir. See, I didn't want to…with her…I couldn't…I mean…even when she touched me, I couldn't…."

"Private, a lot of men don't want to have sex with a whore. It's not the end of the world."

"I puked, Captain." The boy's voice was raspy with emotion. "All over her. She started cussing and went back out and told them what I'd done. They all got a good laugh out of it, like it was real funny. Then when we got back to the barracks, a couple of 'em grabbed me and another one got his razor, and…I tried to fight…but…guess I'm not much of fighter either. I know I'm not much of a man."

Quinn sat down on the edge of the cot and ran a hand through his hair while he studied the boy's miserable face. "Private, a real man does not judge his manhood on sexual prowess. It takes a hell of a lot more than a hard-on and some place to stick it to make a man."

"I just wanted them to like me. I wanted to fit in. That's why I went with them tonight. I didn't want to go to that place. I didn't even want to drink. I don't drink, sir. My mama would have a fit if she knew I'd taken a drink."

"Who did it, Private? I want the names of the men responsible for this."

Firth shook his head. "I can't tell you that, sir. Things are bad enough like they are, but I figure if I can take this, maybe they'll respect me a little. If I tell you who they are, it'll just make it worse."

Quinn knew he was right. Life in the barracks was no picnic. In some ways it was like the jungle. The strongest fed off those weaker than themselves, and this quiet, shy young man was a perfect target. Too young and inexperienced to know how to spot the ones he needed to watch out for, and too weak to defend himself against them, boys like Firth always ended up getting hurt.

"Not in my company, Private," Quinn said through clenched teeth as he got to his feet. "I do not, I will not permit this type of behavior to be ignored. I respect your reasons for wanting to keep silent. I won't ask you again. But the men responsible for this will be found out and punished. You've got my word on it."

He turned on his heel and stalked back down the corridor toward the front doors where Briggs waited.

"He tell you who did it?"

Quinn shook his head. "Nope. Tighter lipped than a mummy. He thinks if he can handle this, they'll respect him."

"Maybe they would if it wasn't for…"

Briggs' voice faded and Quinn halted and turned to face him. "What? What is it you're not telling me, Sergeant?"

Briggs looked uncomfortable as he met Quinn's furious gaze. "The men think…well, they think the boy is…funny."

"Funny?"

"Yeah, you know…funny…queer."

"I see," Quinn snapped as they moved out into the darkness. "They think he's queer so they take him to a whorehouse to prove it? That's what happened, isn't it? It was a setup. The kid either takes care of business with one of those scurvy whores and proves he's a real man, or he fails and proves he's queer. And to make sure he fails, they fill him full of rot-gut whiskey that he's not used to drinking. A sure fire way to fail, if I've ever heard one."

"Quinn, you know what it's like in the barracks. Hell, you've spent a few years there yourself. You know what some of the men can be like."

"Damned right, I know what it's like! They pick out the weakest one and then proceed to tear him to pieces. I've seen it happen a hundred times."

"As I recall, you got the shit beat of you trying to stop one of those incidents, didn't you?"

Quinn nodded. "Yeah, I did as a matter of fact. My second year at the Academy. There was a kid just like Firth, so damned smart he was scary, made the best grades in the class, but he wasn't manly enough to suit some of the others. So they decided to toughen him up a little. They damned near beat him to death, trying to make a man out of him. I tried to stop it and they decided they'd beat me up too. And did a damn fine job of it. I had to have a dozen stitches in my head, and had a couple of broken ribs. But, it could've been worse, and would've been, I'm sure, if Autie hadn't stepped in."

"Autie? You mean the general?" Briggs' jaw dropped at this news.

Quinn nodded and glanced at Briggs with a faint smile as they walked across the parade ground. "He was a second year cadet, just like me then, all piss and vinegar. He was out after curfew and got back while these fellows were teaching me a lesson. He waded in and the next I knew it was all over. He kicked the shit out a couple of them and the rest slunk off to lick their wounds."

"What happened then?"

Quinn shrugged. "Autie got me and the kid to the infirmary, then ended up on report for being out too late. We both spent a week in the guardhouse for fighting."

"What happened to the kid?"

"He quit school the next day. Went home and became a shoe salesman." Quinn shook his head. "With his brains, there's no telling what he could've become if he'd stuck it out."

"So the kid quit, Custer became the nation's youngest general, you became a Civil War hero, and the two of you went from fighting side by side to fighting each other. Not a pleasant story, Captain."

"Neither is the one we've heard tonight."

"What if the boys are right about Firth, Quinn? What if he is queer?"

"I don't care if he fucks a duck, Sergeant, as long as he does what I tell him, when I tell him to do it. You find out who's responsible for what happened to him tonight. Do I make myself clear?"

Briggs nodded. "And if I can't?"

"Then I will, and getting to the truth my way won't be anymore pleasant than what they did to that kid."

They had reached Briggs' quarters by now. Briggs looked at the moon sliding behind a group of clouds and shook his head. "I'll do my best, Quinn, but you've got to remember that I walk a fine line between being one of the men, and being an officer. I doubt they'll be willing to talk to me about this.

"And, if it turns out that Firth really is queer, you'll have to deal with it. He won't be safe in the barracks. Or anywhere else, for that matter."

"I'll deal with Firth's sexual orientation when and if I have to. Right now I'm more concerned that some of my men could do something like that to a kid. I won't stand for it. Not in my company!"

"Yes sir!" Briggs said as he saluted. "I'll do what I can."

Quinn walked on toward his own quarters, seething with anger and frustration. His head pounded and his stomach churned. He hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before and had slept very little. He went into his rooms and slammed the door behind him. It was too late to think about going back to bed. It would be impossible to sleep now anyway. Better to wash up, shave, and get dressed for the day.

He glanced out the window and saw a light in the sutler's store across the way. The stir in his groin at the thought of Lucky only made him more angry.

"Damn near got myself killed yesterday. Custer wants to see me fall flat on my face, that bastard Raven wants my scalp, and my men decide to castrate a kid because he doesn’t measure up to their standards of manhood.

"My head hurts, my stomach hurts, I may have broken a toe where I kicked the damn sofa a while ago, and I have a permanent hard-on. Oh, this is going to be another great day!"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Lucky stood by as two troopers unloaded the supply wagons mid morning the next day. Peter hovered over them as they lugged crate after crate from the wagons parked outside the store into the storeroom in the back. He mopped his brow nervously several times during the transfer process and made each step with the men, as though afraid they would trip over something and drop the crates.

"Those look awfully heavy, Peter. What’s in them?" she asked as she watched the sweating, puffing troopers make another trip.

"Guns, Ruby Nell. New Springfields, some for here at Fort Lincoln, and several more for Fort Rice. Also boxes of ammunition to go with them and other staples for the men and their families. We’ll be taking those along to the fort in a couple of days."

"Not without some protection, I hope!"

Peter flashed her an indulgent smile as he pointed to an empty spot where he wanted another crate of guns to be placed.

"No, of course not, honey. General Custer has promised me a full company to escort the wagons. We can’t take any chances of these guns falling into the wrong hands."

Lucky immediately thought about the previous day’s engagement with Raven’s warriors and shuddered. A full company would make the difference all right and she tried to reassure herself that there was nothing to worry about.

"Captain Malone’s gesture last night was very gallant."

Lucky looked at him curiously. He was fussing with the cartons of ammunition being stacked against the wall, but she could see that he was awaiting her reaction to his statement.

"He was very angry with me for speaking up to General Custer on his behalf. His gallant gesture was merely a ruse to cover it."

Peter stood aside as the two troopers carried in another case of ammunition, and turned to look at her directly. "Ruby Nell, the last man on earth that needs defending is Captain Malone. What you did, while you did it for most noble of reasons, was very embarrassing to him. He's taken a great deal of teasing about it."

"That was never my intention," Lucky said as she dropped her gaze. She suddenly understood that she had put him in an embarrassing situation. "I was very angry that he wouldn't speak up for himself when General Custer was bawling him out. He explained to me last night that he didn't appreciate my nobility and asked me, in his crystal-clear manner, never to do it again. That was his purpose in coming."

Peter took out his handkerchief and mopped at his upper lip. "I think there was a great deal more to it than that, Ruby Nell."

"What do you mean?"

Peter made himself busy so he wasn't looking at her directly as he answered her question. "Captain Malone is quite taken with you, Ruby Nell."

Lucky's jaw dropped. She stared at him wide-eyed as she felt the beginnings of a blush creeping up her neck. "Why…what makes you think that?"

"I can count on one hand the number of times he has been to my establishment during the past year. But that's changed now. And the reason it's changed is you, Ruby Nell."

"What are you trying to say, Peter?" she demanded. She knew her voice was rising and that she was blushing profusely. Her knees suddenly felt weak and she put out a hand to steady herself against a stack of canned food boxes.

"You did something yesterday that no other woman has ever done, if I'm any judge. You impressed Captain Malone with your courage, though foolhardy it may have been. And any man would have to be blind not to admire your beauty and goodness. Malone is not blind, Ruby Nell."

"Peter, if you're suggesting that I have, in any way,….."

"Of course not, honey," Peter quickly cut in before she got angrier than she was already. "But the two of you shared a near death experience yesterday. A thing like that is bound to change a man in some ways, even a seasoned warrior like Malone. I doubt many of his troops would have the courage to defy him the way you did. It must be disconcerting to have his authority challenged by a woman."

Lucky felt her anxiety easing, but Peter's manner bothered her. "He was not pleased about it certainly. In fact, he had a couple of things to say about that, as well."

Peter smiled faintly. "I'm sure he did, and he was absolutely right. You must never put yourself in that kind of danger again. Promise me that you won't."

His insistent expression made her feel guilty. She nodded and dropped her gaze. "I promise, Peter."

"Good, that's my girl." He left the troopers with the last of the crates and came to put an arm around her shoulders. He leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. "But I can see the bright side of this, as well. Malone is an influential man. He and I…well, we've had our differences in the past, but if he begins coming back to my establishment on a regular basis, it will make a tremendous difference in my business."

Lucky stared at him as though she couldn't believe what he was saying. "I don't understand, Peter. A moment ago you suggested that Captain Malone had some sort of improper interest in me. Now you're saying that you approve because he will bring in more business?"

Peter took his arm from around her shoulders and reached for his handkerchief. He mopped at his brow as he shook his head vigorously. "I never said Malone's interest in you was improper, Ruby Nell, honey. He lives by a special code of honor, and as such would never act inappropriately toward another man's wife.

"I'm only saying that you're a beautiful, kind hearted woman who did some rather unique things yesterday. Those qualities separate you from other women. He's rather fascinated by that. There's nothing wrong with that, honey, just as long as you remember that you must never allow him to become your own special cavalier. You may dance with him at post functions, talk with him, take walks with him, if you wish, but you must keep the relationship circumspect. Any hint of gossip will do irreparable harm to both your reputation and his career. Not to mention my business."

He kissed her lightly on the cheek, then hurried out the door after the troopers to make sure they didn't get away with anything left in the supply wagon.

Lucky stared after him, not at all sure of what he'd just said, or what it meant.

***

Quinn waited while the men poured out of the barracks and took their places in a series of neat, orderly lines. His face was tight with subdued anger, his lips thinned to mere lines beneath the thick mustache, his eyes narrowed as he watched them hurry into place.

Sergeant Briggs caught his eye as he took his place in front of the troop and shook his head. "Ten-hut!" he shouted when they were assembled.

The troop stood at attention and saluted as Quinn walked to Briggs' side. He returned the salute, then began in a voice as cold as the ice in his eyes.

"There was an incident in barracks this morning. You all know about it. Most of you were there. I am not interested in excuses or justifications. I expect the men accountable for this abomination to step forward and take responsibility for their actions."

He paused, looking at each of the stoic faces lined up before him. He had suspicions from some of the averted glances who might be the guilty parties, but no one spoke up. Rather, they shuffled uneasily in their places and a few coughed or cleared their throats.

"I will be in my quarters for an hour. You have that long to face up to your deeds. If no one comes forward, the entire company will be confined to barracks until the guilty parties confess. One hour, gentlemen."

He turned on his heel and strode across the parade ground to his quarters without a backward glance. Sergeant Briggs dismissed them and likewise, walked away.

***

Quinn paced the living area of his quarters a dozen times. He knew what was going on out there on the parade ground. He'd been through enough of these infractions to know they were talking it over and deciding if the entire company being punished was worth their silence. He had every confidence that before the hour limit he'd given them was over, someone would knock on his door and the mystery would be solved.

Forty-five minutes later the knock he'd been waiting for came. "Enter!" he called and stood back to see who would come through the door.

The door swung open and four very embarrassed and guilty faced men walked single file into the room. They formed a line and stood at attention, keeping their eyes on the opposite wall, as he walked back and forth in front of them for a moment.

"Explain yourselves."

Quinn's voice was cold and contained the authority that each of them recognized and respected.

"It was a prank, Captain. A joke. It just got out of hand, that's all."

"What I saw didn't look funny, Sergeant Jenkins." Quinn stood directly in front of the ten year veteran, his narrowed eyes piercing and furious. "What the hell is the matter with you men?"

"The kid…Captain, he's not like the rest of us…"

"Because he's choosy about where he sticks his dick?" Quinn snapped, turning his head to survey the grizzled corporal who had spoken. "If memory serves, Corporal Hutchins, you just got over a severe case of the clap. You'd be well advised to be more careful where you stick yours."

The soldier's face turned beet red above his bushy mustache and he did not speak again.

"I knew the little pussy would come crying to you," a big, rawboned private said with a halfhearted sneer.

Quinn resisted the urge to grab the man by the collar and shake him. Instead, he moved in front of the man and stared him down. "Morgan, the kid said nothing. Do you hear me? He went to the infirmary because he was bleeding like a stuck pig. He refused to tell Dr. Lord what happened. And for your information, he told me nothing about who did it.

"Private Firth has exhibited more courage by not pointing you out, than you have in the abominable way you've treated him. It takes real courage for four grown men to hold down a boy and maim him the way you did last night.

"Now, the four of you report to the guardhouse for thirty days. At the end of that sentence, you will take that boy under your wing and you will look after him as though he is your little brother. If Private Firth has any more problems in this company, I will hold you responsible. If he suffers so much as a hangnail, I will take the four of you out behind this post. I will take off these captain's bars, and I will personally kick the shit out of you. Do I make myself clear, gentlemen?"

Quinn's remarks had been delivered in a very calm voice while he looked from one face to the next, but none of them were mistaken about the sincerity in it.

"You know what you have to do! Dismissed!"

The four men saluted and filed back out the door. Quinn watched them head directly toward the guardhouse. He waited until they disappeared inside before he let the curtain fall back into place and then smiled briefly.

"That went well, don't you think?"

Sergeant Briggs was standing just inside the open front door when Quinn asked the question and turned around.

"I was impressed, Captain. But then if you threatened to kick the shit out of me, I'd believe you."

"You better," Quinn said with a grin as he picked up his hat and put a hand on Briggs' shoulder. "I meant it."

"I know you did, and I also know you could do it."

"Damned right! Now, when Firth is released from the hospital, send him to me."

Briggs's bushy brows rose curiously. "Why? You gonna kick the shit out of him too?"

Quinn laughed as they walked from his quarters and onto the porch. "No, First Sergeant, I'm going to see what I can do about making a soldier out of him. And I'm going to start by making him an orderly."

Briggs shook his head. "That'll really piss off the others. They already think Firth is queer. You take him on as a personal cause, Quinn, and they may start wondering about you."

Quinn grinned at the half serious expression on Brigg's face as they walked toward the stables. "I'm not worried, Sergeant. If necessary, I can produce reliable witnesses to the contrary."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Two days later Lucky kissed Peter goodbye and waved as he left the fort with a dozen heavily loaded freight wagons accompanied by a full company of cavalry. The trip to Fort Rice would take several days, for although the distance was only a few miles the weight of the wagons would keep the march at a crawl.

She watched until the caravan moved beyond the garrison’s entrance, and then went back into the sutler’s store with a heavy sigh, trying to recall all of Peter’s instructions about what to do in his absence. There was much work to do. Those crates of canned goods had to be unpacked and put away, as well as the boxes of other supplies awaiting her in the storeroom.

And with Peter gone, there was the added responsibility of keeping the billiard room open at night. She welcomed the hard work. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop had been a favorite saying of the preacher and his wife. Funny, how after all these years she thought about that. It brought back unpleasant memories she had thought were forever forgotten.

She rolled up her sleeves, tied her apron around her waist and decided to tackle the storeroom first. By keeping the door open, she’d be able to tell when a customer came into the store, she thought as she began to open boxes.

She worked steadily for an hour before the tinkle of the bell above the front door announced a customer. Wiping her face with the end of her apron as she emerged, she was startled to see Quinn and two troopers waiting at the counter.

"Good morning, Captain," she said with a tight smile. Of all the times for him to come in, he picks a time when I’m covered with dust and sweating like a pig, she thought as she tried to find some casual way of pulling the damp underarms of her dress free of her body.

"Good morning, Mrs. Warner. You’re looking lovely this morning."

The sparkle in his eyes as his gaze swept her from head to foot and back again made her itch to throw a can of peaches at him.

"How can I help you this morning, Captain?" she asked, ignoring both his remark and his appraising glance.

"I’ve come for a case of ammunition. If you’ll point out to my men where it is, they'll take it off your hands." His gaze paused on her dusty hands. "Don't you have someone around here to do the heavy work?"

Lucky colored at the remark, feeling somehow sure he had insulted Peter. "No. I'm quite capable of handling things myself," she said hastily as she directed the troopers into the storage room where the cases of ammunition were stacked.

"I'm well aware of how capable you are, Mrs. Warner," Quinn said in that soft Texas drawl that she remembered so well. "I do not, however, think it appropriate that you should be lifting and carrying heavy boxes. I'll send a couple of men over to handle those chores for you until your husband returns from Fort Rice."

"That's totally unnecessary, Captain," Lucky said quickly. She felt nervous and couldn't decide if it was because he had referred to her so-called married state, or if it was the heat in his eyes when his gaze swept over her once more.

"A lady in this post never does hard manual labor when there's an unlimited supply of able bodied men to do it for her."

She allowed herself to meet his gaze for a moment, startled that he'd called her a lady. She felt heat fill her cheeks and looked away, glad the troopers returned just then with the case of ammunition and broke the tension.

Quinn paid for the ammunition and touched his hat as he waited for his men to take it from the store. "I'll send someone over shortly. In the meantime, don't be lifting anymore of those crates."

"Is that an order, Captain?"

Lucky's tone was not nearly as sarcastic as she'd planned. It came out throaty and sort of breathless, because looking up into his eyes made her feel that way.

Quinn grinned at her, captivated by the combination of bravado she was trying to project and the uneasiness that made her twist her hands in her apron while she stared at him. His gaze focused on the streak of dirt on her cheek. It took supreme willpower not to reach across the counter and wipe it away.

"No, ma'am, just a simple request. As I recall, you don't take my orders very well."

"I don't take orders from anyone very well, Captain," she replied with a smile.

"Maybe that's because I haven't given the right one yet." Quinn smiled at the surprise on her face, then he turned and followed his men from the store.

Lucky stared after him, undecided if she should try to understand that parting remark or just let it go. He was as multi-layered as a feather boa and just as contradictory. Gentle and charming at times and hard as nails at others. The whole thing made her head hurt.

She put his money away in the cash box and went back to the storeroom. The stacks of unopened boxes convinced her to accept his offer of assistance so she left those alone and began to straighten the area. It had been tidy this morning when she'd started but now it was chaotic with the crates of guns sticking every which way from the troopers having to move them around to get to the cases of ammunition.

She pushed on one end of a crate to put it in line with the one below it. The corner came loose in her hands and she was up to her elbows in the box of guns covered loosely with straw. Looking at the Springfield label on the crate, she decided she'd take a look at the carbines.

She pushed the straw aside to reveal the weapons lying in neat rows in the bottom of the crate. They were shiny new, with glossy stocks and gleaming barrels, but Lucky's brows rose as she stared at them. Her eyes widened when she reached inside and took out one of the guns.

"This isn't a Springfield. It isn't even a carbine. This is a Winchester repeater. These aren't Army issue. Peter is going to be furious when he finds out he's been sold the wrong weapons."

She put the gun back in its straw nest and put the lid back on the crate, securing it with a hammer she found beneath the counter outside in the store.

Then the troopers came to help her with the remaining boxes of canned food and she forgot all about the rifles.

***

By afternoon Lucky was exhausted. She took only a few minutes for lunch, then went right back to work. Things were beginning to shape up nicely and she was quite pleased with her efforts.

She dismissed the two troopers when they had finished lugging in all the heavy boxes of supplies, although they seemed in no great hurry to leave.

Offering them each a plug of tobacco, she smiled at their polite refusals.

"Appreciate the offer, ma'am, but the cap'n would have our butts," one of the men told her. "He was real clear about things."

"He usually is," Lucky said with a smile.

Both troopers nodded in agreement. "Yes, ma'am. Cap'n Malone said we was to help you with the heavy work and then get our butts back to drill. I reckon we better be heading on over that way," the older of the two said.

"He'll be lookin' for us if we don't show up pretty quick, I imagine," the other agreed. "He's right set on ever'body in the company knowin' how to shoot."

"Do you like Captain Malone?" Lucky asked, intrigued by the men's comments.

They looked at each other, then both shrugged. "I don't know as any trooper likes his commanding officer, ma'am," the older one said. "But I've had lots worse than Cap'n Malone. He's tough, yes, ma'am, he's real tough, but he's fair. And he’s smart about Indians. I reckon we'd follow him 'bout anywhere."

"I don't know as I like what he did to Sergeant Jenkins and the others about that kid though," the other added.

Lucky's brows rose curiously. "What did he do?"

"Sent 'em all to the guardhouse for thirty days. All they did was rough up the little qu…." A sharp jab in the ribs from his comrade ended his explanation.

"Pardon us, ma'am, but we really need to get back to drill."

The men thanked her again for the offer of the tobacco and took their time leaving the store.

Lucky stared after them, wondering what they were talking about, but further thought on the matter was interrupted when Mollie McIntosh swept into the store with a handful of sheet music.

"Ruby Nell, look what came for me by post! My mother back East sent me a whole collection of the latest music. I can’t wait to try it out."

Lucky looked through the music, getting as excited as Mollie. "This is wonderful, Mollie. There’s enough music here to last all evening without playing the same piece twice."

"Libby wants us to come over tonight so we can enjoy it. You’ll come, won’t you?"

Lucky thought about all the work awaiting her. "I don’t know, Mollie. I have so much to do with Peter gone."

"Ruby Nell, you’ve just got to come. Why, the music will be twice as wonderful with your beautiful voice. Libby will be so disappointed if you don’t come."

Lucky remembered Peter’s confidence in her ability to win over the Custers and knew this was a good opportunity to make progress for his cause. She only regretted that he would not be able to be present.

"All right, Mollie. I’ll come for a little while."

"I’m so glad. We’ll have a grand time," Mollie said as she squeezed Lucky’s arm. "Just after last drill, okay? I’ll be watching for you."

Mollie hurried out of the store and Lucky went back to work on the canned food displays. She worked late into the afternoon, then finally realized it was time to wash up and dress if she was going to get to the Custers on time.

She rushed to get ready and was out of breath when she snatched up her shawl and stepped out the front door onto the porch. Wondering if Peter was going to be upset because she was not opening the billiard room tonight, she almost ran headlong into the man waiting on the porch as she made her exit.

"Easy, girl. What’s your hurry?" the man said as he caught her shoulders and steadied her.

"Oh, Quinn…I mean Captain Malone," Lucky stammered when she recognized both his voice and his face in the dim light. "I didn’t see you there."

"Obviously," he replied with a grin as he backed up and tucked her shawl around her.

"Did you need something from the store? I’m running late, but I can take a moment if…."

"No, ma’am, I don’t need anything. I’m your escort for the evening."

Lucky looked up at him in surprise. He was standing directly in front of her, his hands still on her shoulders as he secured her wrap. She breathed in the clean, masculine scent of him and felt her nostrils quiver. It was an effort to take her eyes off him. He was not wearing his dress uniform, but the tailored trousers and plain blouse were fitted to his wide shoulders and long legs. He was not wearing his gun belt either, but the broad leather belt around his waist seemed to emphasize his rugged physique.

"Escort? I don’t understand," she said breathlessly.

"To Libby Custer’s soiree this evening. With Warner away, you require a male escort and I volunteered."

"Why do I require an escort?" she asked as he took her arm, leading her down the porch.

"Army regulations. No lady goes anywhere on the post without an escort. It’s just not acceptable."

"I fear, Captain Malone, that you are pulling my leg."

Quinn put one hand over his heart and tried his best to look hurt at her remark. "Never! You have my word as an officer and a gentleman. Ask anyone at the Custers’. They’ll tell you the same thing."

"Will they?" Lucky asked with a smile. She felt the muscles in his arm constrict beneath her fingertips as he assisted her down the steps onto the hard packed ground. It was difficult to keep her tone light in the closeness of such raw masculinity, but she wanted him to keep talking. "I’ve not heard of such a regulation."

"Someone is obviously falling down on their job. That’s one of the first rules that a newcomer to the post is supposed to be made aware of."

Lucky looked up at him in the twilight as they walked toward the Custers’. It felt completely natural to have her hand tucked inside his elbow and to feel the warmth of his body protecting her from the brisk March wind. The sparkle in his eyes eased her tension and made her smile.

"And just how did you go about making yourself my own private escort, Captain? I was under the impression that gatherings like this one were not your cup of tea."

"They’re not as a rule, but when I learned that you were going to sing tonight, I decided to make the supreme sacrifice."

"Do you enjoy my singing so much that you’re willing to endure an evening of it?"

Quinn laughed aloud. "I look forward to it, ma’am."

"Even if it means spending an evening with General Custer?"

"Even then."

"Is there something in particular that you’d like me to sing?" she asked as they drew nearer to the Custer house.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Do you know Greensleeves?"

Lucky smiled as the strains of Libby Custer’s grand piano floated toward them on the breeze. "I do, Captain, and from this evening onward, whenever I sing it, it shall be sung in your honor."

"I’m honored and deeply touched," Quinn said as he stopped in the path and bowed.

"A warrior of your distinction should be honored at every opportunity, Captain," she said with a smile as they moved on.

"Having you sing a song for me alone is all the honor I need."

"You deserve so much more," Lucky said. Her voice dropped to a whisper and she deliberately avoided meeting his gaze. "You are the most generous man I’ve ever known, Quinn."

"You’re wrong, Lucky," he replied in that soft Texas drawl that sounded like warm honey on the evening breeze. "Where you’re concerned, I’m not generous at all. In fact, I’m so damned selfish that I hope Warner takes a month to get back from Fort Rice."

"Why?"

"Because as long as he’s gone, I can pretend he doesn’t exist, and that this insane masquerade you’ve created likewise doesn’t exist."

Lucky felt heat creeping into her cheeks as she stared up at him. "I have a good life, Quinn. Peter’s good to me," she said softly. "I want a family…children…Peter can give me those things."

"If you say so."

"I have the life I’ve always wanted. Please don’t do anything to ruin it."

Quinn stopped in the path and took both her hands in his. He forced her to look into his eyes by sheer willpower. "I would never do anything to hurt you, Lucky," he said. "If you think Peter Warner is the man to make you happy and make all your dreams come true, then I wish you luck. I truly do. You want to be married to him and I respect that. But people often aren’t what they appear, Lucky. Remember that."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing. I’m just pointing out that you have to be careful what you wish for. Sometimes you get it."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Custer house was filled with people when Quinn and Lucky arrived. The parlor was ablaze with lights and a fire burned brightly in both fireplaces that, with the grand piano, dominated the room. Lucky was reluctant to leave Quinn's side, but was quickly swept away to greet the other guests.

Again, the Yates' were there, along with Lieutenants Smith, Cooke, French, Browning, and a half dozen more whose names Lucky got all mixed up. Also present was James and Maggie Calhoun, who hugged Lucky and told her how happy she was that disaster had been avoided on the now famous riding adventure.

Tom Custer, too, was in attendance and insisted on getting Lucky her first glass of punch. He was friendly and warm and soon had her laughing at his stories regarding the antics of his pet buffalo calf that was known throughout the post as a vegetable thief extraordinaire. This half grown beast had been known to walk right into kitchens and help himself to bunches of carrots or a cabbage and then walk back out again as though he was an invited guest.

Mary, the Custers' cook, served refreshments of more lemonade and cake and after everyone had a chance to enjoy them, Libby called upon Mollie and Lucky to begin the evening's entertainment. Lucky took her place next to Mollie on the piano bench so she could turn the pages of music and they began to run through the repertoire of songs they both knew.

Lucky's beautiful voice gave wings to Mollie's skillful fingers and soon the entire assembly was singing along.

While the group was busily enjoying the music, Libby slipped between the couples and went to the fireplace at the opposite end of the room from the piano, where Quinn was leaning against the mantle.

She slipped an arm through his and looked up at him with a smile. "Well, I'm happy to see that it didn't take an order to get you here tonight, Quinn."

"Being confined to the post has a way of making a man look around for entertainment, Libby," he replied with a tight smile.

"You seldom leave the post anyway, Quinn. You never go across the river to those horrid brothels and gaming houses. You have no social life, in spite of my strongest attempts to force you into one." She paused and looked at the pair on the piano bench. "Until recently you rarely even went to the sutler's billiard room after duty. But I understand that's changing."

Quinn looked at her suspiciously. "Libby, you and I have known each other far too long to play this game. If you have something to say, just spit it out."

She glanced back at Lucky again. "She's a beautiful woman, Quinn. And I believe her beauty goes far beyond the obvious. Her physical appearance is impressive, of course. Her hair is the most glorious auburn I think I've ever seen and her eyes are mesmerizing, not to mention a near perfect figure. But she also has a kind, compassionate soul and a good heart."

Quinn waited for her to finish, knowing she was coming to a point.

"She's exactly the kind of woman you would fall in love with."

"Really?" Quinn's voice was sarcastic, but he looked away from Libby's insistent gaze.

"Yes. She's strong and independent, and courageous. All characteristics that would appeal to you, because you possess the same ones."

"Libby, what makes you think that you have any idea what appeals to me, and what doesn't?" he asked irritably as he withdrew her hand from his arm.

"Why, Quinton Malone! You're smitten!"

Her eyes were wide with surprise when he finally looked back at her. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"I'm not. It's as clear as the nose on your face. I've known you for years and I've never seen you look at a woman the way you've been looking at Ruby Nell this evening."

"You're imagining things!" Quinn snapped.

He moved away from her by going out on the front porch to get some air. Standing alone in the sharp night air, he took a deep breath and leaned against a supporting column while he gathered his thoughts. The music came through the walls and he could hear Lucky's clear voice leading the group in a rousing rendition of Oh, Suzanna!

When the song ended to a loud round of applause, the tinkle of piano keys signaled that it was time for those couples who wanted to dance to do so. He didn't realize he had company until she spoke.

"Here you are. I thought you'd left without me."

"I needed some air, that's all." His tone was gruffer than he'd intended, but Libby's observations were still foremost in his mind.

"Is anything wrong, Quinn?"

He shook his head, still staring off into the distance. "No. Everything's fine. It's just stuffy in there." He pulled himself together and turned to her with a smile. "I was listening to you sing. You're really very talented."

"Mollie deserves all the credit. She plays beautifully. I understand her music has made some long, lonely winters a lot easier to bear around here."

Quinn nodded. "I'm sure you're right. Winter campaigns are rough on the women. Anything that brightens up their lives is a welcome distraction."

"I imagine any campaign is hard for them." Lucky's voice was soft, her expression thoughtful as she watched him in the dim light pouring onto the porch from the windows. "I've been talking with Maggie and Annie Yates. I can't imagine what they must go through every time they watch their husbands ride out of the fort on a campaign, never knowing if they'll come back alive."

"It's a hard life."

"Makes me wonder why any woman would marry a soldier. Why put yourself through that agony over and over?" she asked.

"They're a special breed. They live in godforsaken posts in the middle of nowhere in god-awful conditions where they raise a family and give their men stability in a world where none exists outside the garrison walls. They're remarkable."

"So are the men." She shrugged when he glanced at her. "There's so much more than the dash and pageantry that I saw at first glance. Gleaming horses and flashing sabers moving as one. It's all very exciting, but that's not all there is. There's also constant danger and drudgery and mind numbing responsibility."

"You admire them?"

Lucky nodded, holding his curious gaze. "Some more than others."

His gaze dropped and he shifted from black booted foot to the other.

"So tell me, Captain, among all your skills and accomplishments, can you dance?"

"Very badly," Quinn replied, glad the tension was broken by her question.

"I understand that you graduated second in your class at West Point." Following his confused nod, she added, "Along with all those classes in riding and shooting and killing people, didn't they teach you how to dance?"

Quinn grinned and nodded. "They tried, but unfortunately, I didn't do very well in that one."

"That's right. That was the only class that I beat him at. I think it must have had something to do with his size."

The laughing voice behind them caused Lucky to turn around. She found General Custer standing in the light of the window, hands on his hips as he grinned at Quinn.

"Would you like to dance, Mrs. Warner?" he asked Lucky, extending his hand.

Lucky took it with a smile. "I'd love to, General. Thank you for asking."

They went back into the house and finished out the dance while Quinn remained on the porch, staring off into the distance. After a few minutes he stood upright, squinting at a glow against the horizon. He turned and dashed into the parlor where the dance was just ending.

Lucky knew with one glance at him that something was wrong. He had automatically assumed the professional soldier persona she was learning to recognize.

"Sir, come out on the porch, please," he said curtly.

Custer took one look at him and hurried outside onto the porch. A second later, Quinn pointed out the glow against the sky and Custer dashed back to the door.

"Sound the call-to-arms!" he snapped at the officers, who had stopped their frivolity at the possibility of trouble. "Companies A, C, and G!"

"What is it?" Tom Custer asked his brother as they bolted for the front door.

"Looks like a big fire over toward the Pickens place. It's most likely Indians!" Custer barked in reply.

Tom Custer and Donald McIntosh rushed out the door to mount their companies but Quinn made no attempt to follow them. Custer turned to him in astonishment. "What are you waiting for?"

"Sir, you forget, I'm confined to the post. I can't take my company into the field until that order is rescinded," Quinn said innocently.

Custer flushed, but his eyes were twinkling as he replied, "Don't be a smart ass, Malone! Mount your troop!"

Quinn grinned as he turned and bolted for the door. He didn't look back as he ran toward the stables, while the trumpeters awoke the entire garrison with the call-to-arms.

Behind him, Lucky stood on the front porch, watching in amazement as the fort responded to the call. Men poured out of the barracks and she could hear the officers barking orders as they scrambled to get their horses saddled and in line. In only a matter of minutes three companies of the 7th Cavalry rode out the front entrance to deal with whatever mischief was afoot.

"He didn't even say goodbye," Lucky said softly aloud.

"They never do, Ruby Nell." It was Mollie McIntosh's firm confident voice. A moment later Lucky felt Mollie's hand slide into her own. "That trumpet calls and they stop being husbands and fathers and friends. They're soldiers first and everything else second. That's the way it is."

"I don't like the way it is," Lucky said. Her heart was in her throat, remembering the threat that awaited Quinn every time he rode beneath that arched entrance. "I don't like it at all."

Mollie squeezed her hand. "Welcome to the 7th Cavalry, Ruby Nell. It never gets easier."

"What do we do now?"

"We wait…and pray," Annie Yates said quietly at their side. Although her husband was not one of the officers who had ridden out at the head of a column of troopers, she knew how Mollie felt, and would stay with her until this threat ended.

Lucky swallowed the lump rising in her throat and tried to appear calm. She could not allow the other women to know that she felt just as frightened and worried as they were. After all, it wasn't her husband who had vaulted onto his horse and led his men into the night. Not her husband…just the man she loved.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Peter returned a few days later, pleased about his successful trip to Fort Rice. It wasn't until a few days had passed that Lucky remembered the mix-up in the arms shipment. She took Peter into the storeroom on a blustery afternoon and pointed out the mislabeled crates.

"Bother!" Peter exclaimed when he saw the Winchesters instead of the Springfield carbines that had been ordered. "It will no doubt take an act of war to get this straightened out. I'll send a telegram to the War Department straight away."

Lucky was so pleased that he was home safely that she put the matter out of her mind.

When the three companies returned a week later to the fanfare of the band playing Garryowen as they rode into the garrison to the welcome of relieved wives and children, she couldn't resist standing on the front porch herself. Her heart fluttered in her chest when Quinn's company rode past and he touched the brim of his hat in recognition.

Although he was bone weary, dirty, sweaty, and unshaven, the sight of him alive and well brought tears to her eyes. She could well imagine how Mollie felt when Donald returned the same way.

***

Spring brought rain and warmer temperatures to the Dakota territory. Thunderstorms now replaced the bitter cold and the troops were just as uncomfortable out on the parade ground drilling in the rain. No matter what the weather, the work on an Army post had to go on. Wood had to be gathered, water barrels had to be filled, horses had to be groomed and stables cleaned.

Life for Lucky settled into a routine of rising early to fix Peter’s breakfast, then spending the day helping him in the store until time to fix his lunch. After lunch, she washed and ironed, and cleaned the house until it sparkled. It was the first home she’d ever felt was truly hers and she worked tirelessly to keep it clean and make it comfortable.

Evenings after dinner were spent in the billiard room cleaning glasses and serving drinks to the soldiers. It was after ten every night when she fell into bed, so exhausted she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Her greatest desire at this point in her life was to have a child. She waited expectantly each month for a sign and was disappointed when nothing happened. It was only the hope of a child of her own that made her nights in Peter’s bed bearable.

Her attempts to invigorate their physical life had failed miserably. Peter had little interest in love making at best and on the rare occasions when he made the attempt, it was done very quickly, with very little passion involved. It seemed to Lucky that he viewed it as a duty to be performed on occasion to ensure that he was fulfilling his obligations. No amount of encouragement helped the situation and whenever she tried to talk to him about it, Peter changed the subject and refused to discuss it.

Her frustration was further fueled by Quinn Malone’s appearances in the billiard room. Except for the times when his company was on patrol, he was a regular visitor. He would come in after dinner, order a beer, and sit quietly in the corner reading. On occasion he played billiards with fellow captain Myles Keogh or Major Reno.

Peter had been right about other officers following Quinn’s example. Since he had begun frequenting the billiard room, Lucky noticed other men, who had never been regular visitors, now coming in more and more often. And while Quinn never drank more than one beer in an evening, some of the others drank heavily.

The first time she went over the sutler’s books, she was amazed at the money the soldiers owed Peter. She was even more amazed that a vast majority of those charges were for alcoholic beverages. With an enlisted man’s pay at thirteen dollars a month, there was little chance he would ever pay off his debt.

The officers fared little better. Some of them likewise, owed Peter a variety of charges, some of them large, but it seemed they made enough money to pay off their bill when their salary came through.

When she asked Peter why he allowed the men to run up such debts, he smiled and told her he was guaranteed getting his money because he turned in a balance journal each month and the money was withheld from the soldier’s pay, and paid to Peter directly. This explained why he encouraged the officers to drink, and why he suggested that she encourage them as well.

Some evenings several of them left the billiard room so drunk they could hardly weave their way across the parade ground to their quarters. Lucky wondered how they managed to sit on a horse the following morning, but each day they turned out dressed, properly groomed and ready to take control of their companies. She was amazed.

She was pleased that Quinn did not participate in heavy drinking. He seemed to be a man of moderation in all things. The evenings he spent in the billiard room nursing a single glass of beer were a heady combination of the quiet pleasure just looking at him brought her, and the frustration of being so close and yet separated by circumstances.

They talked little during those evenings. Quinn read and she worked, yet she knew they were each painfully aware of the other. It was not unusual for her to look up from a task and find his gaze fixed on her. At such times she felt her palms begin to sweat and her pulse rate increase, while the heat in his eyes told her clearly that he was not oblivious to her presence as it would seem to the casual observer.

The only night the billiard room was closed was on Sunday. Out of deference for Libby Custer's wishes, Peter began closing on Sundays and in return received a standing invitation to the Custer home on those afternoons. They now gathered regularly with the Custers and the officers and their wives, where the women enjoyed an afternoon of reading or sewing while the men congregated in the upstairs billiard room for a friendly game. The evening always ended with music and dancing.

Lucky loved those Sunday afternoons. Not only was she building a genuine friendship with the other women, but on occasion Quinn would also appear for an hour or so. He never stayed long, but he would drop in to say hello to Libby and listen to Lucky sing.

Due to the popularity of the song, and her haunting rendition of it, Greensleeves was a favorite. Whenever she sang it, she felt a spark ignite between them, regardless of how many people were in attendance. She wondered how so many others could be so unaware of the electricity that filled the room when she sang the song to him.

Nothing improper passed between them. They did not touch, nor dance, nor even talk to one another at those gatherings, and yet Lucky came away each time feeling as though they had shared something fiercely intimate.

The sweet torture she endured during those hours earned Peter the reward he sought. Custer petitioned the War Department to give Peter the sutler's rights at Fort Rice and it was granted. Peter was euphoric with the news.

However, this meant that he would have to spend more time at Fort Rice setting up the store and laying in the supplies, as well as hiring someone reliable to manage it. At the end of April, while he was preparing for another extended trip with a caravan of goods to deliver to the Fort Rice store, Lucky remarked to him about the mix up with the rifles.

"Peter, when did you send back the Winchesters?" she asked while marking off the goods he was having loaded into the freight wagons.

"What, dear?"

She grimaced at his preoccupation and pointed to the empty space in the storeroom where the crates had set. "The Winchesters, Peter. Where are they?"

Peter absently patted her hand and gasped when one of the troopers who was hefting one end of a box of canned goods stumbled on the uneven ground and nearly dropped the box.

"Gone, Ruby Nell. I took care of that ages ago. You there! Be careful, young man! Dented cans cannot be sold at full price."

When the wagon was fully loaded, Lucky hurried into the house and gathered up the satchel containing his clean clothing she had packed for the trip. She took it outside, gave it to him, and forced a smile as he gave her a hurried peck on the cheek before climbing into the seat of the first freight wagon.

"I'll be home in a week, Ruby Nell. Be sure you write down everything in the ledger while I'm away," he called as the wagons began lumbering toward the fort's entrance.

She stood on the porch staring after the caravan until it disappeared over the ridge. Her heart felt like lead as she turned back to the mountain of work awaiting her inside the store. "Oh, Peter, if you wanted a hired hand, why didn't you just hire one?" she asked aloud to no one.

"Ma'am?"

She turned at the soft-spoken question to find the young private who had ridden back to the fort with Libby and Mollie the day they were attacked by the Sioux. He was standing in the doorway of the store, his cap in his hand, a friendly smile on his face.

"Sorry, I was talking to myself," she said with an embarrassed smile as she turned toward him. "Can I help you with something?"

"No, ma'am. I'm here to help you. Captain Malone sent me over to help you out while Mr. Warner is away. He said you’d need the extra help."

Relief brought tears to Lucky's eyes as she stared at the young trooper. She cleared her throat to cover her embarrassment and brushed back a lock of unruly hair from her forehead. "That is very thoughtful of Captain Malone. I gratefully accept your help, Private."

"Firth, ma'am, Johnny Firth," he replied with a smile as he followed her into the store. "It's my pleasure, ma'am. Only thing is that I have to be available to see to the captain's needs, ma'am. I'm his orderly, you know."

"No, I didn't know that," Lucky said as she took an apron from the counter top and handed another to Firth. "That's a prestigious position, Private. How did you get chosen for it?"

Firth grimaced as he put on the apron and tied it behind his back. "I had a bit of trouble with some of the others, ma'am, and Captain Malone took pity on me and gave me the position to keep me out of harm's way."

"That sounds like him."

Johnny Firth picked up the broom and began sweeping vigorously. "I ain't never had nobody treat me like Captain Malone has, Mrs. Warner. He's even taken time to personally teach me to shoot, and well, when he found out I was having trouble with the horse I was assigned, he taught me how to make friends with it."

"Sugar cubes?"

"How did you know that, ma'am?"

"Lucky guess, Private," Lucky replied with a sad smile. "Tell me, what kind of needs do you take care of for the captain?"

"Well, ma'am, I just sorta follow him around and hand him things. Right now my big job is trying to find another laundress. The lady who was doing the captain's laundry decided to run off and get married to some gold crazy miner. Say, Mrs. Warner, you don't know of a lady I might get to do the captain's laundry, do you?"

"As a matter of fact, Private Firth, I just might," Lucky replied with a smile.

"Now, ma'am, she'd have to be good. I mean, the captain's dress uniform and all them others have to be done right. He's right particular about his things."

"I'm sure he is, Private, but the lady I have in mind can do him a fine job, I assure you. Now, you run over to his quarters and bring me his laundry and I'll get it taken care of."

Private Firth promptly put down his broom and rushed off to follow her instructions. Lucky went into the kitchen, filled the kettles with water, and built up the fire.

At last, Quinn Malone, maybe I've found a way to do something for you. After all you've done for me, I'd say it's about time.

***

Quinn awoke from the nightmare bathed in cold sweat, his heart pounding furiously, his breath rattling through his lungs like a man in the last stages of consumption. He sat upright in bed and gasped aloud as the shadowy images began to fade from his mind.

He ran a hand through his hair and swung his legs to the edge of the bed and sat for several minutes with his face in his hands. Finally, he got to his feet and walked unsteadily through the house to the tiny kitchen area for a drink of water. He wished for something a whole lot stronger, but he never kept alcohol in the house, for fear he'd begin to resort to it like so many of his fellow officers.

The water in the glass in his hand sloshed as he raised it to his lips. "Shit!" he said aloud to the darkness as he set the glass down. He leaned both palms against the counter top and dropped his head, forcing himself to take deep breaths to steady himself.

As his heart rate normalized, he went back to the sleeping area and slipped into his trousers. It was a mild evening, so he didn't bother putting on a shirt as he picked up his tobacco pouch and went outside. On the small porch, he leaned against one of the supports and tried to roll a cigarette, but his hands were so shaky it was impossible.

He was cursing under his breath when a shadow appeared beside him and a pair of steady hands took the tobacco pouch and the papers and quickly rolled a neat cigarette.

"Thanks," he mumbled to his benefactor as the flare of a match illuminated Private Firth's youthful features.

"You okay, Captain?" Firth asked anxiously as he stared wide-eyed at Quinn's pale face and sweaty torso.

Quinn nodded as he drew in a lung full of pungent smoke and slowly exhaled. "I'm fine, Private. Sorry if I woke you."

"It's all right, sir. I wasn't really asleep anyway. I can't get used to sleeping in your spare room. Guess I miss all those snoring fellas."

Quinn grinned weakly and lifted the cigarette to his lips with a shaky hand. "Funny what we get used to, isn't it?"

Firth's curious gaze moved over Quinn's powerful, tanned shoulders and broad, hairy chest. He swallowed and nodded, staring at Quinn's muscular upper arms and forearms. "Yes, sir. You had the nightmare again, didn't you, sir?"

Quinn's sharp gaze flashed to the young man's thoughtful face. He drew on the cigarette again before he finally nodded. "How do you know about that?"

"I hear you, Captain, thrashing around in your sleep and you moan out loud sometimes."

Quinn didn't respond. He was at a loss as to what to say. He smoked in silence for a while, then glanced at Firth again. "One of the disadvantages of having an orderly living on the premises," he said with an embarrassed grin. "I fear I have no secrets from you, Private."

"Your secrets are safe with me, Captain."

The sincerity in the boy's voice touched Quinn. He had to clear his throat before he could speak again. "I appreciate that, Private."

"It's the Sioux, ain't it, Captain? That Raven? Your nightmares are about him, ain't they?"

Quinn nodded and looked out over the darkened garrison. Only his practiced eye could make out the sentries as they patrolled the grounds. "Did I say that in my sleep too?"

Firth nodded. "Yes sir, you've called out his name several times. Captain, you've been fighting Injuns a long time. How come this one has you so spooked?"

Quinn exhaled and dropped the cigarette butt in the dirt at the edge of the porch. He managed to smile briefly as he turned to go back into the house.

"Because this one is going to kill me."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Peter had been gone for a couple of days when Lucky looked up from her chores at the tinkle of the bell over the door. Coming into the store was a young woman who hesitantly glanced around before approaching the counter where Lucky was working.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked as her gaze swept over the woman.

The visitor was wearing an off the shoulder peasant blouse that laced up the front, tucked into a waist cinching skirt made of bright red calico. Her face was bruised and her lower lip was puffy from a cut. But it was her eyes that told Lucky all she needed to know. Lucky had seen that hard, knowing look in the mirror too many times herself not to recognize it on someone else.

"I’m lookin’ for Mr. Warner," the woman said as she glanced furtively around the store again.

"Mr. Warner?" Lucky put down the ledger she had been trying to add up with little success. "What do you want to see Peter about?"

The woman shrugged. "It’s personal, that’s all. Where is he?"

"My husband is out of town for a few days," Lucky replied stiffly. "Can I give him a message for you?"

The woman nodded briefly as she took another glance around the store. "Yeah, you tell him that that bastard Willard he hired has worked me over for the last time. You tell him I’m not working for nothing anymore too. I’m leaving on the train this afternoon. You tell him that."

"I…I don’t understand," Lucky stammered. "What are you talking about? How do you know Peter?"

The woman gave a hollow laugh as she turned back toward the door. "Honey, I obviously know a hell of a lot more about your husband than you do. You just tell him Lorraine says to kiss her ass."

Lucky stared after the woman long after she slammed the door closed behind her. After a few moments, she realized that Johnny Firth had come from the storeroom and was standing behind her. "Johnny, who was that woman? Where did she come from?"

Johnny blushed and shuffled uneasily from one foot to the other. "She’s one of those women, Mrs. Warner, from across the river."

Lucky’s eyes were wide with shock when she turned to look at him. "Those women? You mean…."

"Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid so. I saw her the night that the boys took me over there…the night I told you I got into trouble…I don’t know her name though."

"What’s going on here, Johnny? Why is that woman looking for Peter?"

"I don’t know, Mrs. Warner. Honest, I don’t."

Lucky clamped her lips together as she whipped off her apron. "Johnny, go the stables and saddle me a horse."

"But, Mrs. Warner…."

"Don’t argue with me, Johnny. A horse…now, if you please." When the boy hesitated, she tossed the apron aside and rounded the counter on her way to the door. "Fine, you stay here and watch the store. I’ll do it myself."

She was out the door and halfway down the porch before Johnny’s mouth snapped closed. He hurried after her, but she was headed for the stables like the devil himself was chasing her. He halted at the edge of the porch, trying to decide what to do.

The bugle call from the flat plain outside the post where the companies were drilling broke into his quandary. He pulled down his cap and began running. Captain Malone would be with the company. He’d know what to do.

***

Lucky bullied her way past the company saddler and quickly picked out a horse from those left in the stables. With most of the companies on patrol or drilling, the selection was less than it might have been, but she had no trouble picking a friendly looking bay with a blazed face. She led him out of the stall and began throwing the saddle on him when the saddler took it from her.

"If’n you insist on this, ma’am, let me do it. But I’m telling you, this ain’t no time for a lady to go riding alone. Cap’n Malone is gonna have a…."

"You tell Captain Malone that you had nothing to do with my decision, Sergeant," Lucky snapped. "He knows full well that I have a mind of my own."

"Yes, ma’am, I know he does. That’s why he’s gonna skin me alive for letting you…"

"You’re not letting me do anything." She jerked the reins from him and swung into the McClellan saddle with the ease of a veteran. "I make my own decisions. Tell that to Captain Malone."

The saddler barely had time to step back before she leaned down over the horse’s neck and dug her heels into his flanks. Moments later they had cleared the stable doors and she sat upright in the saddle.

The powerful horse flew across the ground, covering the four mile trip to the river in record time. He hit the water without a moment’s hesitation and swam the muddy river, emerged on the opposite bank and broke into a run again at her urging.

Lucky ignored the calls of protest from the people in the ferry just down river. She didn’t take time to think about the sight she made, plastered to the big horse, soaking wet to her shoulders, and shivering from the brisk breeze. Although it was a mild day, her state of alarm and the wet combined to chill her through and through.

Within another few moments, she arrived on the outskirts of Bismarck and began her search for Lorraine. Bismarck wasn’t much of a town, but the western edge nearest the river was a seedy affair of run down saloons and brothels. Though it was mid day, drunken miners and a few off-duty soldiers lounged about in the establishments.

She sat on the horse and looked up and down the street at the signs above the saloons, looking for a clue. One name leaped off the sign at her and she jumped down from the horse and loosely tied the reins over the hitch rail in front of the ramshackle building bearing the dubious title of WILLARD’S.

She knew the fastest way of getting information was the bartender. She marched right through the room to the bar and stated her business.

"I’m looking for Lorraine."

"So?" the mustached bartender asked as he wiped out a glass and stared at her casually.

"Look, fella, I’m in no mood for small talk. Is Lorraine here?"

The bartender shook his head. "Nope. She left a while ago. I don’t expect her back."

"Then I’ll speak to Willard."

"You are speaking to Willard," the man replied with a smile that revealed broken teeth. "What can I do for you?"

"What do you know about Peter Warner?"

"Who wants to know?"

Lucky gritted her teeth. She took a deep breath, knowing if she pushed too hard, she’d likely end up with nothing. She’d seen Willard’s type too many times to think he could be bullied into revealing information.

"Someone who’s interested in a job here. Lorraine told me Peter Warner owned this place and for me to stop in."

She put on her poker face and tried not to flinch at the man’s speculative stare as he leaned over the bar and looked her up and down.

Willard poured her a glass of whiskey and pushed it toward her.

She picked it up, tossed it back, then wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "Well?"

"You got the figure for it. Any experience?"

"All I need. Well, what about it? I don’t have all day."

"Well, I don’t know," Willard drawled as his gaze wandered up and down her again. "Mr. Warner don’t like for me to hire new girls without him trying them out first."

Lucky’s breath caught in her throat. "You know that for a fact, do you?"

Willard nodded. "Sure. A man hires a woman, he has to know if she’s any good. How else is he gonna know if she’ll bring in money?"

Lucky felt sick to her stomach and a little lightheaded as well. Gulping down the shot of whiskey on an empty stomach had not been a bright idea, but the bartender’s smug expression had demanded that she convince him she was just another prostitute looking for a place to work. Now, with the suspicion growing ever stronger that Peter was indeed somehow involved in this dump, her common sense was screaming that the drink had been a big mistake.

She caught the edge of the bar to steady herself. "So you’re telling me that Peter Warner owns this place?" she managed to say through lips that threatened to tremble and give her away.

Willard nodded again. His beady eyes narrowed as he smiled suggestively. "You want a job, honey? All you gotta do is show me what you’ve got."

"I don’t think so!" Lucky snapped as she shoved herself away from the bar. "I’ll pass."

"Maybe I won’t." Willard’s voice was suddenly cold. He reached across the bar and grabbed her arm before she could move away.

He jerked her forward with such force, it knocked the breath out of her when her chest hit the bar’s edge. She gasped for breath and the room began to spin as her knees buckled. The last thing she knew before she passed out was being pulled across the bar and Willard’s weight settling astride her.

***

Quinn watched the troop go through the drill exercises with an inward smile. A glance at Sergeant Briggs mounted alongside him confirmed his own thoughts. The new men were making progress. A few more weeks and they’d be ready to hit the campaign trail as real troopers.

He was lost in the exercises when a high-pitched voice broke through the din of the trumpet calls and the jingle of bridle bits and squeaking leather.

"Captain! Captain Malone!"

He looked over his shoulder to find Private Firth running at top speed toward him. The boy’s momentum carried him right into Apollo before he could get stopped. When he did, he hung onto the stirrup as he looked up at Quinn in alarm.

"Private, you better have a damned good reason for interrupting drill," Quinn told him while he reined Apollo around.

"Captain, it’s Mrs. Warner…" Johnny gasped.

"What about her?"

"She’s gone, sir. Took off like a cannon shot."

"Gone where, Private? Spit it out and be quick about it!"

"Across the river, sir. Some woman came to the store looking for Mr. Warner. Mrs. Warner went looking for her…to ask her questions…about Mr. Warner’s business…"

"Shit!" Quinn said as he reined the horse around to face Sergeant Briggs. "Take charge of the drill, First Sergeant."

He touched his heels to Apollo’s flanks and tore across the drill ground toward the river. Knowing that Lucky did not have much of a head start was small consolation as the horse hit the water and began swimming for the opposite bank. At the moment he was more concerned about what Lucky might find out than anything else. Even the idea that he must have looked like a crazy man to his company was only a passing thought as the horse’s hooves hit the bank and he lunged out of the water.

It only took moments to locate the wet cavalry mount tied up in front of the right saloon. He jumped off Apollo and dashed up the porch to the front doors and shoved them open just in time to see Willard crawl onto Lucky’s inert body atop the bar.

He waded through the group of leering onlookers, shoving them aside like rag dolls as he pushed his way toward the bar. The cat calls and obscene advice to Willard abruptly hushed when the bar patrons realized the good time was coming to a halt.

One look at Lucky’s pale face told him she was all but unconscious. She was gasping for breath and her lips were blue from oxygen deprivation.

Willard was fumbling with his fly when the cold barrel of Quinn’s Colt behind his ear caught his attention. When he looked up into the bore of the gun in Quinn’s hand, his face blanched and he put up both hands in defense.

"If you want to keep breathing, get off the lady. Now!" Quinn’s voice was soft, almost gentle in the dead quiet that had accompanied his forceful march to the bar. His eyes were narrowed to icy blue slits. It was the fury in those eyes that convinced Willard to do what he said.

Willard disentangled himself and slid off Lucky until he was standing in front of Quinn. "Hey, mister, take it easy. I didn’t know she was private property. She came in here looking for work and I was just…."

"Shut up!" Quinn snapped. He kept the gun on Willard while he glanced at Lucky.

She was beginning to show signs of life now. She rubbed at her throat as she coughed and struggled to sit up.

"Are you all right?" Quinn asked her as he slipped his free arm around her waist and eased her onto the floor beside him.

She nodded as she leaned unsteadily against him. "I think so."

"Look, buddy, no need to get so testy about it. She was the one who come in here looking for it…." Willard said as he pointed at her.

"You touch this woman again, and I’ll kill you!" Quinn said in that same quiet, deadly tone.

"Hey, no problem. One whore is pretty much the same as another. Ain’t none of them worth getting shot for."

Lucky reacted before the man had finished his sarcastic comment. She pulled free of Quinn’s protective arm and put all her strength into a well placed knee in Willard’s crotch.

His eyes rolled back in his head as he grabbed himself and slid to the floor in a crumpled heap.

"Nice job," Quinn said to her as they walked toward the doors through the group of drunks, who were now looking at her with greater respect. "Remind me never to make you mad."

Lucky tossed him a defiant, but still shaky glance as they cleared the saloon. "He got off easy. Most men who try to crawl onto me without my permission get hurt a lot worse."

"I believe you."

He helped her onto the bay and then mounted himself. A moment later they were galloping back toward the river and Fort Lincoln.

CHAPTER TWENTY

They crossed the river once more, but instead of heading directly for the fort, Quinn led the way upstream. They passed the hill where the detachment of infantry was stationed, and rode along the riverbed through the budding trees and green grass. After a while, Quinn reined Apollo to a halt at a spot secluded from the open landscape by a series of cane breaks.

He lifted Lucky down from her mount, tucked her hand inside his and led the way toward the edge of the water, leaving the horses to graze. Near the water, the land leveled out to a sloping plateau covered in grass before it dipped into the Missouri.

He sat down on the grassy bank and pulled Lucky down beside him. As instinctively as taking their next breaths, he took her in his arms and stretched out on the grass.

The way she folded into his embrace and let him press her face into the hollow of his shoulder sent fire surging through his blood. The sweet pressure of her body against his made him almost light headed and made breathing difficult. It was pure agony to hold her like this, but he wouldn’t have changed it for anything in the world.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" he asked after several minutes passed.

She nodded. "You knew all along, didn’t you? About Peter?"

Her voice was soft, muffled by her face being pressed against him. He felt her breath warm his flesh through his shirt and noticed that she was shivering. They were both still soaking wet from swimming the river twice, but the sun overhead was warm.

"Yes, I knew."

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

Quinn shrugged and shifted on the ground so that his cartridge belt wasn’t digging into his back quite so hard. "It was none of my business. What Warner does in Bismarck didn’t concern me, except when he cheated my men at cards or his whores gave three quarters of my company the clap."

"That must have been what he meant when he said that the two of you had differences in the past."

"I’ve made no secret of my feelings on the subject."

"You should have told me anyway."

"Why? Does it change anything? Are you going to leave him now that you know about his sordid little enterprises?"

"No."

"I didn’t think so." His voice was soft. His hands on her back were gentle as he held her close and breathed in the sweet fragrance of her hair.

"I’ll admit that Peter isn’t quite the person I thought he was in the beginning. He’s proven to be…."

"A greedy little weasel that works you like a mule," Quinn cut in curtly. His tone was harsh when he talked about Peter. His dislike for the man was blatantly obvious. "You’re up at reveille, work like a slave all day long in that damned store, and then half the night in the billiard room. And then, after all that, you go to bed with him."

Lucky bit her lip. Quinn’s misconception about her relationship with Peter was a natural one, but she felt it would be grossly unfair to tell him the true nature of things.

"I’m not afraid of hard work, Quinn," she said quietly. "I’ve done lots worse things than arrange cans of fruit. And as for working in the billiard room, it’s a lot better than similar work I’ve done."

"My point is that he’s too damned cheap to hire help. He’s using you for that."

"Is that why you insist on sending someone over to help out whenever Peter is out of town?"

"Of course. At least for a few days I can help take the load off you."

She eased back in his arms so she could see his face. "I appreciate that, Quinn. You know I do. But even though Peter isn’t exactly what I first thought, my life with him is still a thousand times better than it was before."

"So why did you go tearing into Bismarck this afternoon? If knowing he owns a whorehouse didn’t bother you, why did you stick your neck out like that?"

"I had to know for sure. That’s all. I can deal with anything if I know what it is. It’s lies and shadows that I can’t handle."

"Do you love him?"

He didn’t know what made him ask the question. It was, after all, none of his business, but something inside him would not be silenced until he knew.

Lucky was silent for a moment, then she slowly shook her head. "No, I don’t love him."

"Then why put yourself through all this?" He knew his tone was urgent as he pulled her upward so he could see into her eyes. "You’re not married to him, for God’s sake. Get out of it, Lucky."

"And do what, Quinn? Go back to what I was before? No. I won’t go back to that life."

"You don’t have to go back to that. I’ve got some money saved. I’ll help you get started."

She shook her head stubbornly. "I want a family, Quinn. I want children. This is my chance to have those things. It may be the only one I’ll ever have. People here don’t know about my past. I’ve got the chance to start over and be who I’ve always dreamed of being."

"It doesn’t have to be with Warner. He’s not the only man capable of giving you a family."

The way she stared at him in wide-eyed surprise made him realize what he’d said. He was just as surprised as she at the implication in his remark.

"Quinn, you are, without a doubt, the most wonderful man I’ve ever known. But I see what Mollie and Annie Yates, and the others go through every time their men ride out those front gates. They don’t know from one day to the next if their husbands will come home alive.

"I can’t live that way. I want security. I want to know that my man isn’t going to be murdered by Indians the moment he leaves my sight. I want my children to grow up with a father, not a set of medals and war stories."

"You want Warner to be the father of your children because he’s safe?" Quinn knew his tone was harsh, but the pain in his guts was too intense for him to care.

She took both hands and cupped his face, then lightly kissed him on the lips. "I don't want to have to worry about raising my children alone because their father went riding out on one campaign too many. Please try to understand that."

Quinn let out a long breath and nodded. "I do understand it, Lucky. I know as well as anyone what it's like, but there's something else."

She waited to hear what he was going to say, knowing in her heart that she shouldn't let him. But the intensity in his eyes stilled her tongue.

"You and I…there's this…thing… between us. You feel it…you know you do. It's not going to go away just because you choose to stay with Warner."

"What I feel for you, Quinn, is so special. Like nothing I've ever felt before. And possibly like I'll never feel again. But I need security. And that's the one thing you can't give me."

Quinn's thoughts flashed back to the nightmares he'd been having for weeks. He saw again the violent end of his life at the point of Raven's lance and felt the cold hand of despair grip his heart.

"You're right, Lucky. I can't promise you that the next time I ride out of the fort that I'll come back. But there is one thing I can, and do, promise you, and that is for as long as I am able, I will look out for you the best I can. If Warner or his shady business dealings ever threaten you in any way, he will answer to me."

He saw tears fill her eyes and felt his own throat close up with emotion. Then she relaxed in his arms and let him hold her. They lay there for a long time without speaking until the sun passed behind a cloud. Quinn felt the chill go completely through him and he quickly sat up and looked around.

"What's wrong, Quinn?" she asked, alarmed at the expression that had come to his face.

"Nothing, but it's time to go back."

He pulled her to her feet and led her back to the horses, which were still grazing contentedly nearby. He lifted her into the saddle and handed her the reins. "One more thing, Lucky," he said before he mounted Apollo. "I'm not going to deny that I want you. And I know that you want me. Let's not pretend otherwise, all right? Let's be honest with each other. We may never have anything else, but let's at least have that much."

He waited until she gave a brief nod, then turned and swung onto his horse. He led the way back to the fort without further conversation passing between them. Promises had been made and a man's word had been given. There was nothing left to say.

***

Peter returned from Fort Rice a few days later to find a determined Lucky waiting for him. She prepared a pleasant evening meal during which he rattled on about the success of the new store and the plans he had for expanding into other Army posts further West. It wasn't until the meal was over and Lucky had served him a second cup of coffee that he noticed she was preoccupied.

"Ruby Nell, honey, I'm sorry. Here I am just babbling on and on. You've haven't said five words all during supper. So, tell me what happened while I was away? Did you have an opportunity to visit with Mrs. Custer?"

"No, Peter. I was very busy with the store and the billiard room. The only socializing I did while you were gone was in Bismarck."

Her tone caught his attention immediately. She sat across the table from him, sipping from her coffee cup and eyeing him over it with all the speculation of a buzzard waiting for a prairie dog to stick its head out of a hole. He blinked at the piercing gaze she had pinned on him and set his cup down in surprise.

"Bismarck? Why were you in Bismarck?"

"I paid a social call on a friend of yours. Or perhaps I should refer to him as a business associate. Willard, his name was."

Peter stared at her in amazement, then a flush began creeping into his face. He adjusted his glasses uneasily as he put down his cup with the other hand. "Willard? I don't believe I know a …."

"Don't lie to me, Peter! I know all about Willard, and the whorehouse you own in Bismarck! I found out the whole sordid story."

"Surely you don't believe that I…"

Lucky snorted as she stared at him. The truth was in his eyes and the uncomfortable way he was trying to deny it only made her angrier. "The man did not know who I was, Peter. He had no reason to lie. Neither did you. Your business enterprises are your own affair. They do not interest me in the least. What does interest me is your secretiveness about them."

"Owning a brothel is hardly something to be proud of, Ruby Nell," Peter said at last. He took his napkin from his lap and blotted his upper lip, which was beginning to perspire rather badly. "I didn't want you to get the wrong idea, that's all."

"Wrong idea? There aren't too many wrong ideas that can reached, Peter. You either own a whorehouse, or you don’t. The entire fort knows you do. You've had words with some of the officers more than once about it, so I'm sure that General Custer knows about it too.

"I've come to the conclusion, Peter, that it's specifically because of some of these business dealings of yours that you needed to convince the general that you are worthy of his recommendations to the War Department. That's where I come in, isn't it? A wife and marriage go a long way toward convincing Custer that you're really an honest, upright businessman. Custer is a firm believer in marriage and the family life. If you could acquire the things he finds most admirable, you've made great strides in becoming an ally. Tell me I'm wrong, Peter."

Peter's face grew even redder. His mouth opened several times, but he couldn't seem to find the words to explain himself.

"Having a wife also makes for cheap labor. You don't have to hire help anymore. You have me. I'm not complaining, mind you. I don't mind hard work.."

"Ruby Nell, honey, you just don't understand." Peter's voice was strained, almost desperate. He spread his hands toward her in a beseeching gesture. "It's not nearly as sordid as you make it out."

"Then explain it to me, Peter."

He mopped at his brow with the napkin and swallowed hard. "I got into the brothel strictly by accident. I won the darned thing in a poker game, but when I saw how much money it made, well, I just couldn't throw it away. It gave me the capital I needed to start the sutler store."

"Money made off the misery of others is not going to make you happy, Peter."

"Misery?" Peter snorted, showing the first signs of bravado he'd exhibited so far. "There's no misery there, Ruby Nell. Those women are well paid for the service they provide, and as for the men…well, this post is a long way from nowhere. The soldiers here are more than happy to pay well for what they get."

Lucky shook her head. He wouldn't have understood the misery she meant, even if she were in a position to explain it. It would be a waste of time.

"It wasn't until I was able to procure the contract for the store here at Fort Lincoln that I realized it wasn't enough. I got the contract through the War Department, before Custer ever came here. When he did, I saw at once that he thoroughly disapproved of me. The man is a lesson in duplicity, Ruby Nell. He lives well, eats well, enjoys an active social life with important people from Washington. But he refuses to lobby for more training and proper equipment for his men. He is more interested in seeing his name in the Eastern newspapers than he is in the number of casualties he has every year from the Indians.

"I quickly realized that the only way to win him over was to become the model of family virtue that he insists on from his officers. So I set about to find a wife…."

"And I drew the lucky straw." Lucky's voice was filled with disappointment. She blinked back tears that suddenly filled her eyes and looked away from his imploring gaze. "I have to hand it to you, Peter. You really had me believing that you cared for me."

"Oh, Ruby Nell, honey, I do care!" he declared as he reached across the table and took her hand. "I may have searched you out for all the wrong reasons, but honey, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Of course I am, Peter. I have certain social graces that have endeared me to the Custers and with my acceptance into their circle, you've been accepted as well. The contract for the Fort Rice store is certainly proof of that."

"That's not what I meant, Ruby Nell! Why, when I saw you in the hospital after that horrible accident, I couldn't believe my good fortune. Why, you're young and beautiful, and kind. You're a wonderful person, Ruby Nell. So much more than I deserve. You've got to believe me when I tell you that I adore you!"

"Is that why you insist on trying out every new woman who comes to the whorehouse seeking work?"

Peter's jaw dropped at her sarcastic remark. "Who told you such an abomination?" he demanded.

"Your friend Willard. He pointed out that fact to me only a moment before he attempted to rape me on top of the bar. In public. If Captain Malone hadn’t come to my rescue, my fate would have been most unpleasant."

Peter blinked as he stared at her incredulously. "I'll have him horsewhipped!" he snapped. "How dare that filthy degenerate put his hands on my wife!"

"He didn't know I was your wife," Lucky pointed out in a calmer tone. Peter's fury at her mistreatment was somehow encouraging. She almost felt better. "I was there asking questions. He decided he should get something in return for the answers. I disagreed. Thankfully, so did Captain Malone.

"But my concern, Peter, is why you obviously enjoy those women, but you hardly ever touch me, and when you do, it's as though you're embarrassed, or doing something you feel is an obligation."

Peter's flush deepened. He cleared his throat noisily and dabbed at his upper lip again. "Ruby Nell, honey, I don't know quite how to explain that."

"Try."

He nodded, and ran a hand over his thinning hair. "Ruby Nell, there are just certain things that a man expects from a wife, that he, well… With a whore, it's different. They don't know you, they don't care to know you, and you just tell them what you want, hand over the money, and they do it."

Lucky watched him stammering like a schoolboy, with narrowed eyes and a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. How many times had she heard that same kind of thing from men? Their wives were just too pure, too upright, too…anything. It made her nauseous to hear those same excuses from Peter.

"Peter, has it ever occurred to you that I might be willing to go the extra mile to please you? I'm not made of glass. I'm not the Virgin Mary. I'm your wife. If this marriage is going to continue, there are going to be some changes made, starting right now."

Real fear flared in Peter's hound dog brown eyes. He gripped her hand so tightly he was cutting off the circulation. "Tell me what you want, Ruby Nell. Name it. I'll do anything."

"You'll begin by selling your interest in the whorehouse. You don't need it, Peter. You have two thriving sutler's stores already and will have others in the near future. My friendship with Libby Custer will see to that.

"And secondly, we start trying to have a family. And I don't mean those halfhearted attempts of the past. I mean you and I working together on building a relationship both in, and out of bed."

His beet red face turned even redder, but the insistence in her voice left little room to argue. He nodded and squeezed her hand. "Whatever you say, Ruby Nell. I'll do anything you say."

"And, Peter," she added with a meaningful gaze directly into his eyes. "There will be no more lies. Truth is the basis of any good relationship. Without truth, there is nothing. Lie to me again, and it's over. I mean it."

He knew she did. It was written clearly in her eyes and her manner. She held the key to his future with the Army. Her ability to charm the Custers had led in turn to Custer's recommendations to the War Department. Alienate her, alienate General Custer, and kiss his future goodbye. That knowledge left him little choice.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The first night Quinn came to the billiard room after Peter's return, he could tell an immediate difference in the atmosphere. Warner was more subdued than before, while Lucky was in higher spirits. He had not spoken to her since the day she went to Bismarck and had no way of knowing what she'd said to Peter upon his return, but from the way Peter was catering to her, she'd evidently made her point.

He played billiards with Myles Keogh for a while, then retired to the corner to read the newspapers that the mail courier had brought in earlier in the week. The beer he was drinking left a bad taste in his mouth. He got up, folded the newspaper neatly, and went to the bar to pay for his drink.

"Captain Malone," Peter said as he took the coin. "I owe you a debt of gratitude. Ruby Nell told me how you came to her rescue the other day. I am most grateful."

Quinn glanced at Lucky, who was polishing glasses behind the bar, and felt his chest tighten. He tried to keep his voice steady when he turned to Peter again. "It was most fortuitous that one of my men told me she'd gone into town. Otherwise, it could have turned out altogether differently."

Peter flushed to his hairline at the unconcealed sarcasm in Quinn's soft drawl. "I've sold my interest in that horrid place to Mr. Willard, Captain. I thought you'd like to know that."

"Warner, we've had this conversation before. Your business is your own until it directly affects me or my company."

"Or my wife?"

"Excuse me?" Quinn asked, as his shoulders squared and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Peter shrugged and made himself very busy with the cash box beneath the counter. "I am well aware, Captain, that your interest in my wife goes beyond mere gallantry."

"Are you accusing me of something, Warner?" Quinn's voice was calm and controlled, but the heat in his eyes was a clear indication that he was not at all calm beneath the surface.

Peter shook his head. "Of course not, Captain. You are, after all, an officer and a gentleman. And, I believe, an honorable man. As such, it would never occur to you to take advantage of any woman's unfortunate circumstances."

"Then just what the hell are you trying to say?"

Peter smiled as he flashed a glance at Lucky further down the bar and out of earshot. "That I am grateful that you prevented any harm coming to my wife. The fact that you seem to have appointed yourself her guardian angel doesn't bother me in the least. I have great respect for you, Captain. And I just wanted you to be the first to know that Ruby Nell and I are trying very hard to have a baby. She wants a family, you know, and the sooner the better."

"Thanks for sharing that, Warner. I'll sleep much better tonight."

Peter smiled again. "Oh, I doubt knowing that Ruby Nell will spend this night, like every night, in my bed will help you sleep, Captain. Quite the contrary, I think."

Quinn's first instinct was to yank Peter over the bar and beat him to a bloody pulp. The smugness on Peter's face was almost more than he could stand. And knowing that Peter had figured out exactly how he felt about the woman Warner believed to be his wife, made him feel foolish and angry all at the same time.

Rather than make a scene, Quinn swallowed the furious retort that came to mind. It took every ounce of his will power to turn around and walk out the door without doing something he knew he'd be sorry for. It was bad enough that he himself knew Warner's innuendo was right on target. Lucky's determination to make her relationship with Warner work was proving very difficult to live with, without that pompous little weasel rubbing his face in it.

He stalked across the compound to his quarters, cursing under his breath with every step. "This is damned ridiculous! Can't have her! Can’t stay away from her! I've got to do something before I tear that little bastard Warner limb from limb."

The sound of music sneaked into his muddled thoughts and he glanced toward the Custer house, still ablaze with light. An idea came to him then, and he wondered why he hadn't thought of it sooner. Perhaps subtly was the best approach to this dilemma.

He made his mind up quickly before he had a chance to have second thoughts. He hurried on to his quarters and wrote out the request for a transfer before he lost his nerve.

***

Quinn appeared at the adjutant's office immediately after guard mount the following morning. He found Custer and Lieutenant Cooke involved in plans for General Sherman's upcoming visit to the post. Quinn stood at attention until Custer returned his salute.

"Good morning, Captain Malone," the lieutenant said with a smile.

"Good morning, Lieutenant. I wonder if I might have a moment of the general's time."

Cooke looked at Custer, who nodded and put aside a sheaf of papers and lists.

"Privately, Lieutenant, if you don’t mind," Quinn added.

Custer nodded his permission and Cooke picked up his hat and quickly left the room. When he'd gone, Custer leaned back in his chair and looked at Quinn expectantly.

"What's on your mind, Captain?"

Quinn stepped forward and handed him the paper he'd brought with him. Custer read it, flushed beet red, read it again, and then tossed it onto the desk among all the others.

"Transfer? To where?"

"Fort Rice, sir. Captain Benteen says Frank Gibson wants to come here. We could trade places."

"Hell could freeze over too, Captain, but it's not likely." Custer's eyes narrowed as he stared at Quinn thoughtfully in silence for a moment. "You're willing to give up command of a company you've spent the past nine years building? To go to a rat infested post in the middle of nowhere?"

Quinn didn't answer. He stared at the map on the wall behind Custer and tried to breathe normally. Asking Custer for anything was in direct conflict with his nature and he began to wonder if he was doing the right thing, or if he was just out of his mind.

"Do you hate me that much?"

Custer's soft-spoken question took Quinn by surprise. His gaze snapped to the general's thoughtful face. "It's got nothing to do with you, sir. If hating you was reason to request a transfer, you'd have a trash can full of them by now."

Custer smiled faintly. He got out of his chair with the request in his hand and came around the desk to perch on one corner of it while he maintained Quinn's steady gaze. "That's one thing I've always admired about you, Captain. You're brutally honest."

Quinn did not respond to the comment but returned his gaze to the map.

"If I'm not the reason you want to leave Fort Lincoln, it must be the woman."

Again, Quinn's gaze snapped to Custer's face and he saw amusement twinkling in the general's eyes. "Woman? I don't follow, sir."

"Cut the crap, Captain! You forget that I know you, Quinn. A whole lot better than you'd like to think I do."

"What's your point, sir?"

Custer chuckled aloud at the strain in Quinn's voice. "My point is that I know how you feel about Mrs. Warner. The whole damned post knows it. You've always accused me of not knowing what was going on in the ranks, but you're wrong on this count. Libby told me weeks ago that you were enamored with the beautiful Mrs. Warner."

"That's ridiculous, sir!"

"Is it? Why is it ridiculous, Captain? Because the high and mighty Quinton Malone has discovered he has real human feelings after all? That he's found out he wants something he knows he can't have?"

Quinn swallowed and exhaled deeply, wishing he'd never started this. Thinking that Custer might possibly agree to a transfer was just as insane as his feelings for Lucky. He should have known better.

"How does it feel, Quinn? You've always gotten everything you wanted. You excelled at the Academy, won the Medal Of Honor at Antietam without breaking a sweat. Got an appointment as a company commander after the war when hundreds of good officers had to go back to selling dry goods. Not that you didn't deserve it. And you've done it all without ever letting down that guard of yours for an instant.

"And now, by God, you've fallen for a woman you can't have. This must be eating you up inside. Why, your wounded pride alone must keep you awake at night."

"Damn you, Autie!" Quinn snatched the transfer request out of Custer's hand. "I must have been out of my mind coming here."

"Clearly," Custer replied with a smile as he stood up. "If you think you can waltz out of this fort whenever you don't like the way things are going, think again. You love this woman, Quinn? Tough! You can't stand seeing her with that little shyster Warner? Tough again! Get over it! You're not the only man who's ever been in this position. Look at Myles. The woman he loved died. He survived."

"Yes, and he's damned near an alcoholic because of it! You won't grant me a transfer? Fine! I can become an alcoholic too, if that's what you want!"

Quinn turned on his heel and stalked toward the door. His hand was on the knob when Custer's amused voice halted him.

"You've got too much pride to become an alcoholic, Quinn. You'd never allow yourself the same faults as other men. It's not your style."

Quinn looked over his shoulder as he jerked the door open. "Kiss my ass, General!" he snapped as he shoved past Lieutenant Cooke, who was waiting outside.

He ignored the shock on the lieutenant's face, knowing that Cooke had probably overheard the entire conversation.

"What the hell! The whole damn post knows my business anyway!" he said aloud as he walked furiously back toward his quarters. He could still hear Custer's amused chuckle in his mind and wondered if things could get any worse.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Peter left again for Fort Rice the following morning, accompanied by a company of cavalry. The steamer had brought another load of supplies that had been transferred to wagons for the trip. The increase in business was a boon for Peter's future plans, but it left Lucky feeling even more lonely than usual.

She, again, had been blessed with Private Firth's assistance in Peter's absence. He had become such a fixture around the store that she wondered how they had ever managed without him. She also wondered how the boy managed to get so much done with only twenty-four hours in the day.

Firth attended drill in the morning, helped her in the store all afternoon, then attended afternoon drill, and ended his day by completing whatever chores Quinn had for him. In spite of the workload, she never saw Firth when he wasn't cheerful or whistling. His positive attitude was an added blessing because it helped keep her mind off her own problems.

She carried Quinn's clean, ironed laundry across the garrison that afternoon, hardly aware of her surroundings, or the friendly greetings she encountered on the walk. The only thing more perplexing to her on this bright sunny May afternoon than her confusing relationship with Peter, was her even more confusing relationship with Quinn Malone.

Johnny Firth had told her first thing when he showed up for work that he wouldn't be around for several days because the company was leaving the following morning for an extended patrol in the Black Hills. The boy was very excited about going out on his first real patrol, having missed the adventure of the Perkins' ranch attack by being in the hospital.

Lucky's heart sank to her ankles at the knowledge that Quinn was once more leading his men into the field, and undoubtedly into trouble with the Sioux. However, the only thing she could do was to have his clothes clean and pressed, and pray that he would return safely.

She arrived at his quarters and knocked on the door half hoping he wouldn't be there. Johnny Firth wasn't sure what Quinn's plans were for the afternoon, but she assumed since the company was preparing to leave the fort that he would be very busy with final details. The other half of her hoped desperately that he would be home. The thought of him riding out at dawn the next morning without having the chance to tell him goodbye was even more painful than the thought of actually saying it.

She was always amazed when she was here to deliver his laundry because his rooms were as neat and clean as if an old maid schoolteacher lived here. Nothing was out of place, everything properly arranged for ultimate efficiency.

The one thing that struck her as odd, however, was the lack of personal items. There were no pictures, no family memorabilia on the walls or sitting on the fireplace mantel. In fact, the only personal thing she'd ever seen was the box of medals she found by accident the first time she brought his clothes and put them away.

The box containing his Medal of Honor and the eight or ten other assorted battle medals was in a dresser drawer beneath some of his clothing. It didn’t look as though it had been opened recently, for the box itself was dusty.

She couldn't help wondering why a man who made a career of collecting souvenirs attesting to his courage and leadership abilities, acted as though they didn't exist. Every time she went to the Custer's, she saw many medals like the ones in Quinn's drawer pinned on the chests of the officers. Tom Custer had two Medals of Honor, which he wore with great pride. Quinn never wore even one single medal.

"Come in."

She took a deep breath when she heard his voice and stepped through the door.

"I brought your laundry," she said, holding out the package. "Johnny tells me you'll be needing it in the morning."

Quinn nodded as he took the package from her. He took it into the bedroom and put it on top of the bed where his bedroll was laid out. "I wish you wouldn't do that, Lucky. I can find someone to wash and iron for me. It doesn't need to be you."

Her brows rose at the tension in his voice. His face, when he glanced at her, was tired looking and his eyes were almost bleak. She felt her heart begin to pound with alarm.

"I enjoy doing it for you," she replied cautiously as she followed him into the bedroom. "It's no trouble."

"You have plenty to do without this," Quinn said gruffly.

He seemed to be avoiding direct eye contact with her, she thought uneasily. That wasn't like him at all.

"Things are much better now. Peter sold the brothel and Johnny's help is a tremendous aid whenever Peter is away."

"That's good."

"He's very excited about going out on his first patrol."

"That won't last long if we run into Sioux."

"Are you expecting trouble?"

Quinn glanced at her, then went back to packing his roll. "We always expect trouble. This time there's reason to think we'll find it. There have been several mining settlements attacked in the past couple of weeks. The Sioux are not taking the invasion of their summer hunting grounds lightly."

Lucky felt her stomach clench with fear. She swallowed and tried to keep her anxiety out of her voice. "You look tired, Quinn. Are you all right?"

"I've not been sleeping well, but yes, I'm fine." He flashed her a determined smile.

"Is that why you asked Custer for a transfer?" She bit her lip the second the question was out of her mouth. She had not meant to bring up the subject and the first thing she'd done was ask him.

The surprise on his face faded into embarrassment and he looked away. She could see the beginning of a flush creeping up his neck above the collar of his uniform blouse.

"I didn't get it."

"I know. Did you really think you would?"

"I hoped that Custer was as sick of me as I am of him." He shrugged. "Guess not."

"Did you ask for the transfer because of me?"

"That's a foolish question, Lucky. You know the answer."

It was her turn to blush. She felt the blood rushing into her face as he held her gaze. The heat that was building in his eyes made her warm all over and it was she that finally looked away.

"I'm sorry, Quinn," she said softly.

"For what? You haven't done anything wrong."

"Haven't I? I'm pretending to be someone I'm not because it affords me a life I've always wanted. I think that's probably very wrong."

"Not if it makes you happy."

She shrugged and forced a smile. "It's hard to be happy when I'm hurting someone that I care very deeply about."

Quinn let out a deep sigh as he turned around and sat down on the edge of the bed. He ran a hand through his hair and then rubbed both palms against the thighs of his trousers.

"Lucky, you’d be a fool to throw away this chance. You were right when you said that fate had given you a golden opportunity to have the life you want. Life gives us very few chances to take what we truly want."

"Do you truly believe that?"

He nodded. "With my head? Yes. With my heart? Absolutely not! My head knows that I have nothing to offer you. Oh, I could give you the basics. I make a good salary. Officers have their choice of accommodations at whatever post they're stationed. Material things, yeah, I could provide those. But the thing you need most is beyond my ability to provide. Security is the one thing I can't give you. I really wish I could."

Tears pricked the back of her eyelids at the strain in his voice. She instinctively put her hand on his shoulder. She felt her heart do a flip in her chest when he looked up at her and saw her tears.

"Hey, it's not that bad," he said with an attempt at humor. "I'm thirty six years old, Lucky. I've gotten this far in my life without falling apart because I can't have something I want. I'll get through it. It's just going to take some time. This is the first time my head and my heart have disagreed. They'll have to work it out."

Her throat burned with the words she wanted to tell him, but even if she could have spoken them, she knew it was wrong to tell him how she felt when there was nothing she could do about it.

"I know it's unfair, but I don't want you to leave Fort Lincoln," she whispered. "I think I'd die if I couldn't see you."

She heard him groan as he got to his feet. A moment later his arms closed around her and she felt the pounding of his heart against her ear. She leaned into his embrace and lifted her face for his kiss.

His mouth was hot and demanding. She gave herself totally to it, answering his kiss with equal fever as her hands ran up his back and encircled his neck. She felt one of his hands clench in her hair, felt the other move down her back and press her hips against him. Then she felt his burning erection through her clothes and heard herself moan softly against his mouth.

Neither of them heard the front door open, nor knew they were not alone until they heard Johnny Firth's gasp of surprise when he walked into the room.

"Captain! Have you seen Mrs……"

His voice trailed off into silence when he saw them locked in each other's arms. His face went beet red and he froze in his tracks. "Jeez, Captain, Mrs. Warner, I …I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…"

Lucky sprang away from Quinn as quickly as she could, but Quinn held onto her hand. She flushed and stared first at Johnny, then at Quinn, wondering what to do next.

"You were looking for Mrs. Warner?" Quinn asked gruffly. He glanced at her, then looked at Firth and let out a long shuddering breath. "You've found her, Private. What do you want?"

Lucky was amazed at how calm he sounded. One might have thought he was discussing the weather, for his voice was controlled and his face, except for his eyes, was unruffled. His eyes, however, were still burning hot with passion. The gaze he directed at Firth was so intense it made the boy swallow hard and wet his lips.

"I…I…there's a delivery man, Mrs. Warner. He has an invoice for you to sign."

"Thank you, Private. Please wait outside. Mrs. Warner will be out in a moment," Quinn said in that same controlled tone.

Johnny nodded and hurried out of the house. Behind him, Lucky looked up at Quinn in alarm. "Quinn, my Lord! What if he tells…"

"He won't," Quinn said confidently, smiling faintly at her worried face. "Private Firth has proven to be a man of honor, Lucky. He keeps secrets very well."

She didn't try to understand what he meant. She was too afraid that Custer, or Peter, or both, would find out what Johnny Firth had seen. Peter's warning reverberated inside her head, reminding her that Quinn's career could be at stake if there was any hint of impropriety between them. Being found locked in a passionate embrace was certainly an impropriety. The implications made her blood run cold.

"You better go now," Quinn told her gently. He took both her hands in his, lightly kissed them, and then cupped her face between his palms and kissed her mouth tenderly. "Don't want to keep the delivery man waiting."

She blinked back tears and put her hand against his cheek. "Quinn, you will be careful? On this patrol?"

"Yes, ma'am, I certainly will try." His tone was strained and even though he tried to smile confidently for her, she was incredibly afraid for him.

She took her hand from his cheek, wiped at her eyes, and walked toward the front door with her head uplifted. She did not look back.

"Private!"

Johnny Firth hurried into the house, his young face red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Captain…I.."

"Stop apologizing, Private," Quinn told him as he went back to packing for the patrol. "You did nothing wrong."

"Captain, sir, you don’t have to worry…about me telling…anybody what I saw. I would never do that, sir."

"I'm not worried, Private. I have every confidence in you."

The expression on Quinn's face seemed to ease the boy's anxiety. "Mrs. Warner, she's a fine lady," Johnny said. "She deserves a lot better than Mr. Warner. All he thinks about is money. More and more money."

"Mrs. Warner is a fine lady, Private," Quinn agreed quietly as he turned from his task and faced the boy. "But Mr. Warner is what she wants. Remember that."

"I don’t understand, sir, why she'd want him when she could have you."

Quinn smiled at the boy's unquestioning loyalty. "Private, I don't suppose you know this yet, but women are a strange breed and circumstances sometimes dictate what course of action a person takes, more so than they should."

"I don't understand, sir." Johnny said with a perplexed expression.

"That's quite all right, Private," Quinn replied with a rueful smile. "Neither does anybody else."

***

Quinn's three week patrol among the mining camps in the Black Hills was drawing to a close and the closest they had come to Indians was crossing their trail several times. Not that anybody minded. The young recruits on their first patrol were as nervous as cats. The older members of the company had seen so many patrols like this that they were content to let the scouts do all the work while they dozed on their horses in the afternoon sun.

They were still a week from Fort Lincoln, headed home that cloudy May afternoon as they rode through a long valley, bordered by heavy foliage on both sides. The scouts were far ahead of the column, checking for sign and had not reported in for an hour.

As they entered the valley a brisk wind began blowing. The column was riding four abreast in typical fashion, with Quinn and Lieutenant Browning side by side in front. When the wind nearly took Browning's hat off, Quinn turned to him.

"You better ride back to the cook wagon, Lieutenant, and make sure they secure everything. This sky looks like we may be in for a storm."

Alex Browning nodded and turned his horse out of formation. In doing so, the bullet that would have struck him in the heart, instead tore through his sleeve and upper arm. Instantly, the valley seemed to vibrate from war whoops and the hooves of a hundred Sioux ponies. Bullets from the warriors’ guns filled the air and a half dozen of Quinn's men fell from their horses, wounded or dead.

Quinn whirled Apollo and caught the reins of Browning's horse to keep it from bolting, while the lieutenant clung to the saddle horn. "Into the trees! Take cover!" he shouted.

The column had barely reached the cover of the trees lining the valley when the warriors streaked past, whooping and shooting.

"Dismount!"

Quinn leaped off Apollo and stuck the reins in Private Firth's hands as he yanked his carbine from the boot. Along the column he heard the order repeated and glanced around to find his men dismounted, rifles ready, except for the one man out of each four whose job it was to hold the horses for the others while they fought.

"Hold your fire!" Quinn said to Sergeant Briggs as he pulled Browning from the saddle and knelt beside him. He took a quick glance at the profusely bleeding wound and eased the lieutenant's back against a tree trunk. "It's not serious, Lieutenant. Just bloody and painful as hell. But it won't kill you."

He turned his attention then to the approaching Sioux warriors who raced by once more, shooting into the trees. Leaves and branches fell like a summer shower, but the shots were too high to do any real damage.

"On my order, Sergeant," Quinn said to Briggs who was kneeling a few feet away. He waited another few seconds while the Indians made another pass, this one a little closer. "Fire!"

His carbine spit fire and lead and the warrior he was aiming at toppled to the ground. His own shot was echoed by seventy others and several Indians fell. They raced to the end of the valley and halted.

The company quickly reloaded and waited, but the Indians did not attack again. While the soldiers held their breath in preparation for another charge, one lone warrior rode forward with his rifle held aloft. He shouted something in Sioux, but he was too far away for Quinn to hear or understand the words. His meaning, however, was abundantly clear.

He waved his rifle again, then whirled his pony, and charged up the valley with his warriors right behind him. Quinn got to his feet and lowered his carbine as he watched the war party ride out of sight beyond the rise.

"Let me go after them, Captain!" Alex Browning said as he climbed to his feet, grasping his injured arm.

"And ride right into a war party three or four times the size of the one you just saw?" Quinn asked with a glance at the young officer.

"How do you know that?"

"You saw the taunt their leader just gave. He's trying his damnedest to get us to follow. That's what he's hoping for. When you do, he's got enough warriors waiting behind that rise to wipe out the patrol."

Browning whipped his bandanna from around his neck and tied it above the wound. He secured it with one end in his teeth and then spit. "You can't be sure, Captain. It could be a bluff."

"It's no bluff, Lieutenant. Take my word for it."

Browning stared at the dust from the disappearing warriors for a moment and then looked back at Quinn. "Yes, sir. I guess you've been fighting Indians long enough to know."

Quinn nodded, his gaze still fixed on the horizon where the Indians had disappeared. "That's right, Lieutenant. Some war chiefs are all bluff and tricks. That one isn't. He doesn’t need to be. He's as cool and logistical as a West Point graduate."

"Funny, how he shot the lieutenant and the three men behind you, Captain. He had a clear shot at you too, but he didn't take it. Why?"

"Because he's not through playing the game yet, Sergeant. He's sending a message and he wanted to make damned sure I got it."

"Did you get it, sir? The message, I mean?"

Quinn nodded as the sharp intake of Private Firth's breath nearby caused him to glance at the young man's pale face. "Oh yeah, Sergeant, I got it all right."

He turned to Browning and shoved him onto his horse. "See to the wounded, Sergeant, and let's get mounted. We've got three or four more hours of sunlight. Let's not waste them."

"You think he'll hit us again?"

"Who knows what he'll do? He may be so pissed because we didn't fall for his ruse, that he'll come at us again. Then again, maybe he won't. But we're not taking any chances. We'll camp for supper early, and then we're pushing on to the fort."

"A night march, Captain?"

"That's right, Sergeant. As many of them as it takes to get these wounded men back to the fort. Pass the word. And Sergeant, double the flank scouts. From here on to Fort Lincoln the land is pretty level. He'll have to hit us in the open."

"With our longer range weapons, sir, that wouldn't be too bright," Browning remarked as he grimaced in pain. "He doesn't strike me as being foolhardy."

Quinn shook his head. "Foolhardy? No, Lieutenant, he's not that. But he's commanding some of the finest light cavalry in the world. He'll be on top of us and gone before we can react. It's how he operates."

"You seem to know this Indian's tactics pretty well, sir," Browning said.

"I do, Lieutenant. I've fought the bastard for nearly nine years, and I don't mind telling you that I'm damned sick of it. I want to finish it."

Browning nudged his horse back out in the valley and the column slowly reformed and took up the march. The wounded men were placed in the supply wagons and their injuries seen to the best way possible.

Quinn took up his position at the front of the column and gave the order to move out. The whole fight had lasted less than ten minutes. He had six injured troopers and an officer who was bleeding like a stuck hog. Worse, the hair on the back of his neck was still standing on end. It wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.

"Why didn't he kill you, Captain? When he had the chance?"

Quinn glanced over his shoulder at Firth's soft-spoken question and forced a tight smile. "He has something a whole lot more entertaining in mind, Private. A bullet is too quick and easy. His honor can't be assuaged that way. It has to be up close...eye to eye."

"That was Raven, wasn't it, sir?"

Quinn nodded and exhaled deeply.

"What happened, sir, between the two of you? That makes him to want to kill you so bad?"

"Seven years ago, Private, on the Washita, Raven and I had a personal encounter along a river bank. It got very ugly. I've got scars to prove it, and so does he. But it didn't end there. We both dragged ourselves away to lick our wounds. Now he wants to finish it, but it has to be on his terms, and I don’t intend to give them to him."

"Sir?"

"If he's going to kill me, Private, he's going to have to come to me, on my terms. I'm not stupid enough to fall for any of his tricks."

Firth urged his mount a little closer, then looked around to make sure he couldn't be overheard. "Captain, you said he's going to kill you. Your nightmares…."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy for him, Private. Before that bastard takes my life, or my scalp, he's going to know he's been in one hell of a fight."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

‘A’ Company was saddle sore and battle worn when they arrived back at Fort Lincoln two days later. They had marched for forty-eight straight hours, pausing only long enough to feed and water the horses, rest them for brief periods, and then push on again. It was a grueling trek that took its toll on the men and their animals. Every nerve ending was raw, tempers were short, and the men were jumping at shadows by the time they limped into the fort mid afternoon two days after the run-in with Raven.

Even the rousing welcome they were given by the post band's invigorating rendition of Garryowen as they rode through the gates failed to lift their spirits. The sight of the company's wives and children lined along the parade ground praying their men had returned safely made Quinn's stomach clench. They had been lucky this time. Seven men were wounded, none fatally. It could have been much worse.

He saw Lucky on the front porch of the sutler's store, but he was too exhausted to do more than touch his hat in recognition. He wanted only to take a bath, put on some clean clothes, and fall into bed for a week straight, but he couldn't do that. He had wounded men to see to, and a report to give, and all of that came before his own comfort.

He was standing up, almost asleep on his feet, at the hospital when Dr. Lord came out of the ward to tell him about his men.

"You all right, Captain?" the doctor asked at the sight of Quinn's exhausted features.

Quinn nodded and stifled a yawn. "I'm fine, Doc. Nothing wrong with me that about a week's worth of sleep won't cure. What about the others?"

"Well, a couple of them won't be sitting on a horse any time soon. But thank God, their injuries are not all that serious."

Quinn let out a relieved breath and nodded. "Good. What about Lieutenant Browning?"

"His pride is hurt worse than his arm," the doctor grinned. "It's painful, and he's lost a lot of blood, but he'll be able to return to duty in a couple of days."

Quinn smiled and turned around when the doctor stopped him with a comment.

"Captain, I did find something a bit unusual. I think you'll find it interesting."

Quinn swung back around and waited, hoping the doctor would make it quick.

"The bullets I dug out of your troopers all came from Winchesters. Now, usually when some of the troops run into Indians and get shot up, there are several different types of bullets removed. Anything from a Sharps to a Spencer. This is the first time I can recall only retrieving Winchester slugs. What do you make of that?"

"The damned Indians are armed better than we are, that's what I make of it." Quinn's voice was raspy with irritation, both from lack of sleep and frustration. "I figured they were using Winchesters. Or some kind of repeaters. They fired too many rounds in short a time span to be using anything else. They must have taken them off the miners they killed. Thanks, Doc."

He turned and walked back across the garrison to his quarters. Thankfully, Firth was on the job and had a hot bath waiting. He wasted no time stripping off his sweaty uniform and settling into the steaming tub to soak.

He actually dozed off in the water, awaking only when it cooled enough to become uncomfortable. He got out, dried off, shaved, and slipped into clean underwear, then into bed. He was so tired that he was able to sleep the night through without being awakened by a nightmare.

***

He slept until almost noon the following day. He finally stirred when the bugles announced afternoon fatigue duty. Still, it was an effort to drag himself out of bed and get dressed. Private Firth was nowhere to be seen so Quinn assumed he was either at the sutler's store helping out, or on fatigue duty somewhere. Either way, he missed having the boy on hand to fix him something to eat, for it had been an added bonus to discover that Firth, while not the epitome of a soldier, was a darn good cook.

He was finishing up his breakfast when someone knocked on the door. He gave permission to enter and a moment later Sergeant Briggs appeared, cap in hand. One glance at the sergeant's face told Quinn that he was not bearing good news.

"What is it, Briggs?"

"Captain, I'm sorry to bother you. I know you're tired and…."

"Just spit it out, Sergeant."

Briggs jerked a thumb toward the doorway. "The old man wants to see you, Captain. And it ain't to inquire about your health."

"What is it this time?" Quinn asked as he was picking up his hat and walking toward the doorway.

"Sergeant Jenkins took a poke at an officer, sir. Custer is fit to be tied."

"I'll bet. Sergeant, please tell me it wasn't Custer that Jenkins struck."

"Oh no, sir. But it was one of Custer's butt kissing lieutenants so it amounts to damn near the same thing."

"Which one? Smith or Cooke?"

"Wasn't either one of them, sir. It was that little prissy-assed Kelley from ‘C’ Company. You know the one…Tom Custer's lackey."

"Great! Jenkins may as well have taken a swing at Tom."

They were walking toward the adjutant's office while they talked. As they neared the building, Quinn saw most of the men from his company gathered around the front. They were muttering among themselves, looking angry and ready to fight. At the sight of Quinn and Sergeant Briggs they stood at attention and saluted.

Quinn returned the salutes just as Custer and Lieutenant Cooke came out of the office, followed by the lieutenant from ‘C’ Company, Tom Custer, and then Sergeant Jenkins who was accompanied on either side by an armed guard. Jenkins had a black eye and a cut in his lip, but he looked better than the man he'd attacked. Lieutenant Kelley's eyes were both black and most of his face was bruised. Quinn almost smiled. Obviously Kelley's cadet training had not prepared him for a fistfight with a born brawler like Jenkins.

"Good, Captain Malone, I'm glad you're here." Custer's voice was clear and rang out in the stillness. "You're just in time."

"Is there a problem, sir?" Quinn asked, halting in front of Custer and looking directly at him.

This was the first time since he'd asked for the transfer that he'd seen or spoken to his commanding officer. It was obvious that Custer had not forgiven his parting remark that night. Those clear blue eyes were sparkling with indignation when Quinn met his gaze and held it.

"Yes, Captain Malone, there is a big problem. One of your non-coms struck an officer last night."

"So I see," Quinn said with a glance at Lieutenant Kelley's battered face. Then he looked to his own trooper. "Explain yourself, Sergeant."

Jenkins shrugged and looked a bit sheepish, but certainly not apologetic. "I was doing what you said, Captain. Remember? You said I was to look out after the kid like he was my little brother. You said you'd kick my ass if I didn't."

"I remember, Sergeant. Go on."

The air was charged with tension as the crowd continued to grow. By now most of ‘C’ Company had also gathered around and the way the two companies were eyeing each other, Quinn had a feeling the situation could get out of control very quickly.

"Well, sir, we was down at the stables after we got back in from patrol, and the lieutenant there," he paused to point at Kelley. "Well, he said something unpleasant about you and the next I know, the kid is in his face, and Kelley there, he pushes the kid, and well, sir, I just remembered what you told me to do. So I done it."

Quinn felt the heat creeping up his neck as he looked around to find Private Firth in front of the group of troopers from his company, his eyes fairly blazing with anger and his fists clenched. He took a step forward and pointed at Lieutenant Kelley.

"He had no right to say what he did, sir!"

"Shut up, Private!" Quinn's voice was cold and the boy's face went beet red as he took a step back. "I will deal with you in good time."

The amusement on Custer's face when Quinn turned back to the group on the office steps made him want to throw a punch of his own. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Custer was going to use this situation to humiliate him in front of his men. His shoulders squared and his eyes narrowed as he returned Custer's gaze.

"You should teach your men more respect for their superiors, Captain. But since you obviously haven't, I'm going to give you the opportunity to do so now."

Custer stuck out his hand and Lieutenant Cooke put a short, nasty looking whip in it. Custer shook it out and slapped it against his boot for effect. Then he looked back at Quinn with a cold, mirthless smile.

"I've decided the punishment for striking an officer is thirty lashes. You’re the company commander, and it was, after all, your honor, Sergeant Jenkins was defending, so it's only proper that you administer the punishment." He finished by holding out the whip toward Quinn.

Quinn stared at him in disbelief. There was an uncomfortable shuffling in the ranks while the two men stared at each other. Quinn felt the color drain from his face, then rush back as fury swept through his blood. Then just as quickly, he felt a calm take over. Maybe it was time to put an end to this.

"No sir."

"What do you mean, no sir?"

"I mean, no sir. I won't do it."

Custer flushed at the confidence in Quinn's voice. He slapped the whip against his boot again. "Are you refusing to obey a direct order, Captain?"

"If you think I'm going to whip one of my men for doing exactly what I have told him to do, then, yes, sir. I am refusing."

There was a rumbling in the ranks and the other officers exchanged uneasy glances. No one dared speak up because this had suddenly become personal and they all knew it had been building for a long time. It appeared that it was about to explode into open warfare.

"Either administer the man's punishment, Captain, or take it yourself in his place!"

"Yes sir," Quinn snapped as he started unbuttoning his blouse.

Sergeant Jenkins stepped forward. "Captain, it's all right. I'll take it."

"The hell you will, Sergeant! Stand aside and stay quiet."

"But sir…"

"That's an order, Sergeant!"

Jenkins dropped his head and stepped back, his eyes wide with astonishment as Quinn whipped off his blouse and glared at Custer. "Ready when you are, sir!"

Custer's face was flushed, his eyes cold as ice as he stared at Quinn. He glanced around at the circle of silent faces, knowing that Quinn had turned the tables on him. He had to either carry out the threat or look like a fool. Either way, he lost the argument.

He hesitated a moment longer, then threw the whip on the ground at Quinn's feet. "Your arrogance never ceases to amaze me, Captain," he said sarcastically. "Put on your blouse. You're out of uniform."

Then he spun about on his heel and stomped back into the office. Quinn reached down, picked up his shirt, and slipped into it as he looked at Sergeant Jenkins. "Sergeant, when I told you to make sure nothing happened to Private Firth, I did not intend for you to beat the hell out of a superior officer. You are on report. You are confined to barracks until further orders. Understood?"

Jenkins nodded, stood at attention and saluted. "Yes, sir!"

Quinn turned to face his company and was about to speak, when they all snapped to attention and saluted. He hesitated before returning it, allowing himself a moment to enjoy the undisputed display of loyalty. "Gentlemen, from now on when my honor needs defending, please allow me to do it myself." He smiled slightly at the group of hardened, weary faces in front of him. "I'm sure you all have things you're supposed to be doing. And if not, I'm sure First Sergeant Briggs can find something suitable. Dismissed!"

He returned the salute then and the men began scattering. Private Firth waited until Quinn started walking back toward his quarters and fell into step beside him. "What about me, Captain?"

Quinn glanced at him, then halted and waited for Jenkins to catch up. "To the barracks, Sergeant. Oh, and Jenkins, nice job."

Jenkins grinned as he hurried on past them to begin his punishment. After he'd gone beyond hearing distance, Quinn turned back to Firth.

"Just what was it that Lieutenant Kelley said, Private, that prompted you to start that fracas?"

Firth's eyes once more began to snap with anger. "He made a remark about you and Mrs. Warner, Captain."

"I figured that much, Private. What was it?"

"He said that it was too bad that she had picked you to take care of her since Mr. Warner wasn't man enough. He said he wouldn't mind doing it himself. I asked him what the heck he meant by that, and he said it was no secret that you was…well, he used a really bad word that my mama would skin me alive for saying…anyway, he said you and Mrs. Warner were doing it. I told him he was a gosh darned liar, and that's when he shoved me. Then Sergeant Jenkins shoved him back and one thing led to another. Next thing I know, Sergeant Jenkins was beating the crap out of him. I was right proud too, sir."

"I don't condone fighting, Private, regardless of the reason," Quinn said as they halted in front of his quarters. "Nor do I condone that kind of innuendo about a lady. And you cannot go around calling an officer a liar, even if he is one. Understand? Don't fight my battles for me, Private. I am quite capable of doing it myself."

"Of course, sir. Am I on report too, sir?"

"You certainly are, Private. Until further orders. You are confined to quarters, my quarters that is, as well. That is all, Private."

Firth saluted smartly and went on into the house. Quinn leaned against the porch support, dug in his pockets for his tobacco pouch and rolled himself a cigarette.

He watched Custer and his brother Tom leave the adjutant's office and head toward the Custer house. Shaking his head, he wondered if things could get any worse. "From now on, my company will get every shit job that comes along," he said aloud. "I'll be lucky if I see another patrol all summer. The only thing I'm likely to see is a court marital. I wonder if I can be brought up on charges for calling the general's bluff?"

He exhaled a plume of smoke and chuckled out loud. "Even so, it would damned near be worth it."

Then his expression sobered when he thought about the remark Lieutenant Kelley had made about him and Lucky. With those kinds of comments flying, it was only a matter of time until Warner got wind of it and starting asking questions. The only way he knew of to prevent that from happening was to stay totally away from her. The problem was, he didn't know if he could.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Lucky looked up from the ledgers and chewed thoughtfully on the end of her pencil. The cloud of dust from Johnny Firth's broom was beginning to choke her. She cleared her throat, but the boy was lost in his work and didn't hear the subtle hint. Finally, she closed the ledgers and walked around the edge of the counter.

"Johnny, you've been working like a demon ever since you got here. Why don't you take a break? Have a cup of coffee with me?"

"Why, thank you, Mrs. Warner. That does sound good. I'm a mite dry."

"With all the dust you're raising, I'm not surprised," Lucky replied with a smile.

She untied her apron, went into the living quarters, and returned shortly with two steaming cups of coffee. "Milk and sugar, just the way you like."

"Thank you, ma'am. It's mighty nice of you to open a can of milk just for me."

She patted him on the shoulder with her free hand. "I think you're worth a lot more than a can of milk, Johnny. I don't know what I'd do without you with Peter being away so much lately."

"It's my pleasure, ma'am. Working for you sure beats cutting wood or carrying water or mucking out the stables. Course, I do miss the horses some."

"Let's go sit on the porch where it's cooler," Lucky suggested, leading the way down the aisle toward the front door. "It looks like another thunderstorm may be brewing."

They sat down in cane-backed chairs on the porch in the shade. From their vantage point, they could see everything going on in the compound, including the parade ground where the officers were putting their companies through the intricate maneuvers involved with a real parade.

Lucky noticed the longing in the boy's face as he watched his own company following Quinn's commands, horses and men, moving as one.

"How did you escape drill this afternoon, Johnny?"

Firth shrugged and sipped his coffee. "Captain Malone said you needed my help. The truth is, ma'am, that I ain't much good on a horse. I'm all thumbs."

"From what Peter tells me about cavalry horses, Johnny, they know the moves so well that about all you have to do is stay on."

Firth nodded and smiled. "That's true enough, ma'am. Maybe that's why First Sergeant Briggs assigned me Shakespeare. He's been in the cavalry a long time. Why, back in the Hills when Raven attacked us, Shakespeare followed Captain Malone's order to take cover before I even knew we were in trouble."

"He must be a good horse."

Firth nodded. "Yes, ma'am. He is that, and we're starting to get along better since Captain Malone gave me the hint about the sugar. Course, if I show up for drill without any, the danged horse tries to bite me."

Lucky laughed as she watched the sabers flashing as the company pulled them, then did some kind of fancy hand movements with them before sliding them back into place at Quinn's command.

It was impossible to keep her eyes off him. What he was doing was so second nature to him that she was sure he could probably go through the entire parade ceremony in his sleep.

"So when is this grand ceremony supposed to take place?" she asked, still watching the company practicing.

"During the Fourth of July festivities, ma'am. That's when General Sherman will be here on his inspection tour. It's gonna be a real big event. There'll be a parade, and a picnic, all kinds of games, and a ball that evening."

"It sounds very exciting."

"Oh, yes, ma'am. General Custer expects the 7th to make him proud so we'll be drilling night and day until we get it right. It's real important that ‘A’ Company shine."

"Because of the trouble between Captain Malone and the general?"

"Yes, ma'am, I reckon so. The captain ain't said a word, but First Sergeant Briggs told us that we had better look better than any company in the regiment during this parade. If we don't, the First Sergeant is gonna be mighty unhappy, and that ain't good, ma'am."

"Has Captain Malone heard anything…about repercussions from the other day?"

Johnny looked at her in confusion, clearly not understanding the term. "If you mean has he been arrested yet, no, ma'am. I think First Sergeant Briggs is beginning to breathe a little easier now. It's been nearly a week since it happened and the general hasn't spoken to Captain Malone since.

"First Sergeant Briggs thinks the general won't do anything about having the captain court martialed because he looked so bad the other day, a trial would make him look even worse."

"With their history, I can't believe Custer is going to let it slide," Lucky said thoughtfully.

"Captain Malone says the general has other ways of getting even. Like putting ‘A’ Company on wood fatigue duty for the past week. Next week it's water duty. God only knows what he'll think of for the week after that. The captain sure is steamed about it too. He figures we'll be lucky to get off the post the rest of the summer. We may not even get another chance at patrol."

"I hardly think that could be considered punishment, Johnny. I should think you would all be relieved not to have to go out again."

Firth looked at her incredulously. "Oh, no, ma'am! I can't wait to go out again on patrol. It's what I joined the cavalry for. Besides, when we ran into Raven the other day, I didn't get off a shot. Captain Malone told me to hold the horses. Shoot! I didn't even get to pull out my carbine."

Lucky shuddered and covered it by sipping quickly from her coffee cup. "You make it all sound so exciting, Johnny."

"It was, ma'am. Course I was scared too when all those bullets were flying, but it was grand, ma'am, the way everybody just knew what to do. Except when Lieutenant Browning got shot and then wanted to chase after Raven because he was so mad. Good thing Captain Malone didn't let him."

"Why do you say that?"

"Cause when the scouts got back they told the captain that the reason they didn't get back in time to warn the column about Raven was that there was a big war party between them and us. Three hundred warriors maybe is what Bloody Knife said. So Captain Malone knew exactly what he was talking about when he told the lieutenant he couldn't go chasing after Raven."

"He's been fighting Indians a long time, Johnny. Lieutenant Browning has only been out here a few months."

"He's really something, ma'am." Firth's voice was respectful and his eyes bright as he returned her gaze. "He never blinked once during the whole fight, and then when the general was going to make him whip Sergeant Jenkins for taking up for me…well, you should've seen the way he stood up to the general and told him he wouldn't do it. Then he was ready to take the whipping in the sergeant's place. When the whole company saluted him when it was over, I tell you, ma'am, he was really touched. I could tell."

"Loyalty can do that, Johnny." She looked back toward the parade ground where Quinn had started the drill over again. "Men like that bring out the best in others."

"Yes, ma'am, that's a fact." Johnny's voice was soft as he directed his own attention toward the drill. "That's a fact."

***

Lucky smiled at Peter's enthusiasm. He had been home from Fort Rice for nearly a week now and had been swamped with deliveries and orders. The steamer brought a load of new supplies with every trip it made up the Missouri and the storeroom at the store was filled to overflowing. Peter was directing the sweating deliverymen on how to rearrange the current crates to make room for the new merchandise.

Peter was never happier than when contemplating how to make more money. It was a factor of his personality that Lucky was learning to accept. It was not a becoming trait, but he had other good qualities that made up for it, she reminded herself as she stood in the doorway and watched him count the crates and mark them off the invoice from the steamer.

They had not talked about the brothel again. He had sold it and that was the end of it. And he was trying to follow through on his other promise to her. But his fumbling love making, while giving her the hope of having the child she wanted so badly, left her cold and lonely.

She had only to think about that night in Quinn Malone's arms to know that Peter would never be able to make her feel that way. Her resolve to make the relationship with Peter successful was difficult to remember when she thought about the passion that Quinn could ignite within her with only a glance from across a crowded room.

Not that she had seen much of him lately. Ever since that disastrous afternoon with Custer, he had stayed away from the billiard room. He no longer came to any of Libby Custer's gatherings either. She knew he was trying to keep any hint of scandal away from her and while she appreciated the effort, not being near him was agony.

"Ruby Nell, honey, where's your mind? I've been talking to you for five minutes and you haven't heard a word I've said."

She pulled her thoughts together and forced a smile at Peter's irritated features. She took the invoice he handed her. "I'm sorry, Peter. What did you say?"

"I was saying that you can add those figures to the ledger now. The whole shipment is here and accounted for. And I don't mind telling you that it will bring a pretty penny from the soldiers at Fort Rice.

"Yes ma'am, those fellows have it rough compared to life here. The fort itself is due for abandonment in a few months and there's little maintenance being done on it. I don't know how Captain Benteen and his men stand it down there. My store is the only bright spot in their dreary lives."

Lucky nodded as she took the invoice back into the store and pulled out the ledger book from beneath the counter. She began to enter the figures into it, almost forgetting Peter's chatter.

"I've been thinking, Ruby Nell, that we need to do something special for the Custers. You know, a gesture to let them know how much we appreciate their help in getting me the contract for the Fort Rice store."

Lucky blinked, not knowing what he was getting at. When he saw that she didn't understand, Peter sighed heavily and shook his head.

"I swear, Ruby Nell, sometimes I just don't know where your mind is. What I'm suggesting is that we invite the Custers for dinner. Nothing fancy, of course, but I managed to get a few bananas and some nice steaks. What do you think?"

Lucky stared at him in horror. Lord, was he suggesting that she actually cook for the general and Mrs. Custer? She couldn't imagine anything more frightening.

"Dinner? For the Custers?" she squeaked, looking at him in dismay. "Oh my, Peter, I don't know…"

"That's my girl," he said with a bright smile as he brushed a smudge of dirt from the counter top. "I knew you'd be excited about it, so I asked the general this morning when I ran into him. He said that he and Mrs. Custer would be delighted to join us for dinner this evening. It's a shame that we can't invite some of the others, but well, I just couldn't afford steaks for everyone.

"And after that unfortunate incident the other day, it would be terribly inappropriate to invite some people."

He went back out into the supply room to straighten up, leaving Lucky staring after him with her mouth open. That last remark had been directed at Quinn and it made her furious. His rather nonchalant attitude about Quinn had quite suddenly changed ever since the day she had gone flying into Bismarck. She suspected it originated with the fact that Quinn not only disapproved of his ownership of the brothel, but that he had proven to be her champion once more. She slammed the ledger shut and shoved it back under the counter.

His resentment toward a man who had not only rescued her from serious peril, but had treated her with nothing but the utmost respect made her see red.

She took a deep breath and collected her thoughts. Stifling her first impulse to tell him what she thought of his remark, she reminded herself that some things were better left unsaid. Her defense of Quinn Malone was surely one of them.

Besides, she had more serious problems at the moment. She had a dinner to prepare for the post commander and his wife, and it was obvious that Peter was counting on this meal to further his cause for more Army contracts. She put one hand to her forehead and tapped hard. Lord, after this evening, he'd be lucky if Custer didn't cancel the contracts he already had. That is, if they didn't end up in the post hospital.

***

Lucky glanced at the clock on the mantel again. It was already nearly three o'clock. The Custers would be coming for dinner in two hours and she had no idea how to go about creating a meal that would impress them.

While she stood in the kitchen wringing her hands and debating about whether or not to just run and hide, she heard a knock on the back door. When she opened it, there stood Johnny Firth holding a sack of potatoes in one hand and a smaller bag of onions in the other.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Warner. I'm here to help you out."

Lucky eyed the bags curiously. "Help me? With what, Johnny?"

"Dinner, ma'am." He came into the kitchen and put his parcels down on the counter. "Captain Malone heard that you're having the general and his wife for dinner tonight and thought you might need some help."

"You can cook?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am. Captain Malone says I cook pretty good. So, show me what you've got and I'll see what I can do with it."

Lucky hugged the boy so hard he blushed bright red. He freed himself, picked up the apron she'd tossed on the table, and immediately went to work.

"Johnny, you may have just saved my life! I don't know how to thank you!"

"Oh, don't thank me, ma'am. It's the captain's idea. I'm just glad to help out. Now, where's your skillet? And we'll need a nice tablecloth. If you don't have one, Captain Malone says he'll get one from the Officer's Mess. What about silverware? Good, I found it. Well, looks like I have everything I need. Guess we better get started."

Lucky got out of his way and watched in amazement as he went to work. She was so relieved, she felt tears burn her eyes. Peter could have his impressive dinner for the Custers and she had Quinn Malone's watchful eye looking out for her. Just like he'd promised.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Lucky poured the general's cup full of coffee and moved around the table to Peter, smiling at the pleasure on his face.

"Mrs. Warner, that dinner was spectacular!" Custer said as he folded his napkin and laid it neatly beside his plate.

"It certainly was, Ruby Nell. I had no idea you were such a splendid cook," Libby Custer agreed.

"I really can't take all the credit," Lucky said with an embarrassed glance at her guests as she set the coffee pot back on the stove in the kitchen and then took her seat at the table. She felt guilty at taking all the credit for the superb meal, but she knew that trying to explain about Private Firth was bound to spoil the pleasant evening.

It was quite warm, but a cooling breeze lifted the chintz curtains at the kitchen windows and drifted over the foursome as they relaxed after the meal.

"Of course you can, Ruby Nell," Libby said with a fond smile. "You're much too modest. The meal was wonderful. You must give me your recipe for those marvelous potatoes. What did you say they were called?"

"Twice baked," Lucky murmured with downcast eyes.

Until Private Firth had told her about them as he made the dish, she had never heard of such a thing, but they were wonderful and had been the highlight of the meal. Even the tender, succulent steaks that Firth had prepared in the heavy iron skillet and smothered in onions had not taken away from the unusual potatoes.

Peter patted Lucky's hand and smiled at her. "My Ruby Nell is full of surprises. I had no idea she knew how to prepare such an exceptional dish. Every day she amazes me with some new facet of her personality."

Lucky offered the Custers a bowl containing several perfectly ripe bananas. "Please have another, General. Peter was so resourceful in finding these delicious bananas."

"They are wonderful," Libby agreed as she took one and peeled it. "It's been so long since I've had a banana, I'd almost forgotten how much I love them."

"It's a real shame that they won't keep long enough for me to transport some to Fort Rice," Peter said. "The men there would so appreciate some fresh fruit."

"Well, we mustn't let them go to waste in any event." Custer took another banana, peeled it, and ate it slowly, savoring each bite.

"Autie, I just had a marvelous thought," Libby said as excitement brightened her eyes. "You know that Mollie is leaving the day after tomorrow to visit her sister at Fort Rice. What would you think about Ruby Nell and myself going along? I haven't visited with Mrs. Benteen in ages."

"Libby, you know that I'm not in favor of this outing. It will require a full company of troopers to accompany Mrs. McIntosh. And with General Sherman coming in only a few weeks, I think the time would be better spent in drill."

"But, Autie, the companies can do the parade maneuvers in their sleep. And frequently do, I think." Libby giggled, knowing her cajoling tone would put her husband at ease. "And you've already promised Mollie, and you know that a Custer never goes back on their word."

Custer finished his banana and looked across the table at Lucky. "How about it, Mrs. Warner? Would you like to visit Fort Rice and meet the rest of the 7th's wives?"

"I would love to, General," Lucky said as excitement started building. She hadn't been off the post since that trip into Bismarck, and the thought of some time to spend with her new lady friends was certainly a happy one.

"All right, then. It's decided. But I must warn you, this trip will be made quickly. You'll have to ride the whole way. Horseback is much faster and safer than in a carriage, even with a cavalry accompaniment."

Lucky nodded in agreement, so excited now that her eyes were sparkling. "Thank you, sir. I understand."

"Is that acceptable to you, Warner?" Custer asked Peter.

Peter nodded eagerly. "Of course, General. Getting away for a few days will be good for Ruby Nell. She works so hard, you know. She really deserves a break. Thank you, Mrs. Custer, for inviting her."

Libby's dark eyes twinkled as she pushed back her chair and began to help Lucky gather the dishes. "I'm so looking forward to it, Ruby Nell. You'll love Mrs. Benteen and the other ladies at Fort Rice."

They carried the dinner dishes to the kitchen and put them down. Libby caught Lucky's hands and squeezed them. "We'll have a marvelous time. And there's nothing to worry about. We'll have a full troop to protect us on the journey. No self respecting Sioux would dare attack us."

Lucky's blood chilled at the thought. With the recent attacks on the troops when they were on patrol, she wondered how Libby Custer could be so optimistic. But she was so glad to be included in Libby's plans that she deliberately pushed any dark thoughts to the back of her mind.

Perhaps being away from the fort for a few days would help put her conflicting thoughts about Quinn Malone in a fresh perspective as well, she thought as she stacked the dishes. At the very least, it couldn't hurt.

***

"Good morning, Quinn. How are things going?"

Quinn looked up from the company's duty roster to grimace at Major Marcus Reno. The major settled into place across the table for breakfast at the Officer's Mess. He signaled to a private on kitchen duty for coffee and asked the question with a smile.

"How the hell do you think things are going?" Quinn asked with a scowl. "My company has gotten every shitty assignment in the regiment now for damned near a month."

Reno sipped at his coffee and grinned. "Well, you knew you would after that showdown with Custer. I'm still trying to figure out what kept you from being arrested. Standing up to the old man was bad enough, but hell, you did it right in front of the whole damned regiment. I'm surprised he didn't have you shot at sunrise."

"I'm sure he thought about it."

"So, what's the plan for today?"

Though Reno had asked the question innocently enough, Quinn's brows rose in suspicion. "Why? Did Custer send you over here to break the news to me that my company is on latrine duty now?"

Reno chuckled aloud and shook his head. "No, actually, I'm here to do you a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

Reno sipped at his coffee, enjoying the impatience that flared in Quinn's eyes. Finally, he put the cup down and clasped both palms around it.

"Seems that Mrs. McIntosh wants to go to Fort Rice to visit her sister. You know, the one who married Frank Gibson recently?" Following Quinn's annoyed nod, he went on. "Well, it also seems that Mrs. Custer has decided to tag along. You know what that means? A cavalry escort. You know where I'm going with this yet?"

Quinn snorted. "Custer isn't going to let me escort his dogs, let alone his wife."

"Ah, but he told me to personally pick a troop for the job. Now, if you can get your troop mounted and out of the fort before he changes his mind…."

Quinn's attention quickly went from staring at the duty roster to showing real interest. "Are you serious, Marc?"

Reno nodded. "Sure I am."

"You do know that if you give me this assignment that you’ll be in Custer’s doghouse right along with me?"

Reno shrugged "That’s nothing new. I spend about as much time there as you do. But I admit I have an ulterior motive, Quinn. The squad from ‘M’ Company hasn't come back from their little hunting outing a couple of days ago. I want you to find them, if you can. If they stayed on track, you should cross their trail on the way to Rice. What do you say?"

Quinn grinned as he rolled up the duty roster and rose to his feet. He stood at attention and saluted Major Reno, then relaxed and slapped the document against his thigh.

"Get out your stopwatch, Marc. ‘A’ Company is about to set a record in getting ready for a patrol."

***

Lucky nervously waited with Mollie while the company saddler got their horses ready and brought them out of the stable. He also took their reticules and attached them securely behind the saddles, then he tipped his cap and went back inside.

It wasn't until she saw the saddler leading Apollo from the stable that she realized Quinn would be leading this escort. She had seen Lieutenant Browning and Sergeant Briggs organizing the men and had assumed that the lieutenant would be in charge. She had also never expected the entire company to turn out for this duty. Peter had suggested after the Custers had left two evenings earlier that an assignment such as this never required more than a twenty man patrol. Obviously, when the general's wife was supposed to be one of those escorted, the numbers went up. She was very glad because the more men in the patrol, the less chance of Indian attack, and most importantly, when the whole company turned out for duty, the company commander himself lead the operation.

The thought of spending that much time in Quinn’s proximity made this trip even more exciting. Her pulse began to race with the knowledge that she would have a chance to be near him, even though his aloofness the past few weeks left her wondering what his attitude would be toward her.

She put those disturbing thoughts aside when she saw him leave his quarters and walk toward the parade ground where the troop was assembling. She tried to concentrate on Mollie’s excited chatter while they waited, but it was impossible not to admire his purposeful stride and the authoritative manner he assumed when on duty. She couldn’t help comparing the way he was when commanding his troops with how he was with her. Captain Malone, the officer, was confident, self assured even, but Quinn Malone, the man, was almost shy and easily embarrassed. Remembering his uneasiness that night in Yankton, she smiled to herself at the contradiction. If ever there was a man who had nothing to fear regarding his masculinity, it was Quinton Malone. He was, quite easily, the most virile example of manhood she’d ever met.

She observed his lean frame in the tailored uniform that fit like a second skin as he approached the saddler and took Apollo’s reins. Not an ounce of fat, all sinew and muscle, she thought as a flush began creeping up her neck. It was impossible not to admire a man with a body like that, but it was his gentler qualities that made him so appealing.

The way his royal blue eyes softened when he looked at her could make her knees weak. The sound of his voice could make goosebumps rise on her flesh. The feel of his mouth on hers could send fire roaring through her veins in a manner no other man ever had. Unfortunately, the man she was pretending was her husband had no idea what it took to make a woman feel that way.

The thought of Peter made her flush guiltily and look away as Quinn swung into the saddle and rode toward them. She had agreed to this trip in the hope it would give her some perspective about these illicit feelings for Quinn and help her put her priorities in order, but instead she was admiring the way he looked in a uniform and the regal way he sat a horse. This trip was not getting off to the start she had intended.

She pulled at her floppy hat and forced her attention back to Mollie’s babble, hoping no one had noticed her interest in Quinn. He had gone to great lengths over the past few weeks to put distance between them in the hope that it would end the rumors, and all it took was one look at him for anyone paying attention to see that the rumors had foundation. This will never do. I have to remain detached if I ever hope to convince anyone that there’s nothing between us. And now with Peter’s sudden suspicions, it’s more imperative than ever that I keep the relationship circumspect, to use Peter’s term. The problem is, how can I do that if every time I look at him I get hot and flushed and start thinking about….

She was so lost in her thoughts that she had not realized how close he was until she suddenly saw his shadow fall across her. When she looked up, it was obvious that he was not expecting her to be with the escort. His expression registered surprise, then an instantaneous pleasure, then it took on the professional manner that was second nature when he was on duty.

"Good morning, Mrs. McIntosh. Mrs. Warner, I didn’t know you would be going."

She stared up at him, squinting into the early morning sun, and found herself tongue-tied.

"Good morning, Captain," Mollie replied, apparently not noticing Lucky’s loss of speech. "As a matter of fact, Mrs. Custer will not be accompanying us today. She’s come down with a stomach malady and has decided it would be more prudent to postpone her visit. So, it will just be the two of us this time."

Lucky realized that his gaze had shifted from Mollie to her and forced a brief smile. The momentary softening in his eyes told her that he was just as pleased by this turn of events as she. That knowledge made her heart leap in the moments they looked directly at one another. Then she caught herself and broke the contact with those piercing blue eyes before she revealed more than she had already.

"I’m sorry that Mrs. Custer isn’t feeling well. But I suggest that we get started if we want to make Fort Rice before nightfall," Quinn said.

He swung down from Apollo and leaned over, making a cup with his hands. Mollie put her left foot in it and he lifted her onto her sidesaddle. When she was safely in place, he walked around the horse to Lucky and repeated the procedure. She was so nervous, she hesitated.

"Relax, Mrs. Warner. I won’t drop you. I promise."

The heat in his eyes made Lucky’s throat go dry. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, feeling foolish. "And you always keep your promises, don’t you, Captain?" she asked breathlessly as she placed her foot atop his interlaced fingers.

"I do my best, ma’am."

She caught onto the saddle with one hand and placed the other on his shoulder for security as he straightened up. Their eyes met as he lifted her off the ground and for an instant neither of them moved. It was as though time was standing still in those few seconds. Lucky felt the muscles in his shoulder beneath her fingertips tense and saw his jaw clench, then he settled her into place on the side saddle and stood back.

"See? You're as safe as a baby in its mother's arms," he said as he tipped his hat to her.

Then he turned to mount Apollo and checked to make sure the troop was ready. At a signal from Sergeant Briggs, he wheeled into position at the head of the column and gave the order to move out. Within moments they rode beneath the arched sign and into the prairie beyond.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

It was a splendid morning for a ride. The sun was warm on their backs and the breeze was just enough to stir the air as the column rode four abreast through the countryside. Lucky and Mollie rode in the front row between Quinn and Lieutenant Browning where they'd escape the dust raised by the rest of the troop. It was the perfect position for Lucky to be able to enjoy Quinn's company and not be obvious about it.

She suspected he felt the same. From time to time when the conversation lagged, she would glance up and find him looking at her. Those brief moments when their gazes would meet spoke volumes without a single word being voiced.

But even while she knew he was enjoying her company, she also knew he was constantly on alert. It was obvious in the set of his shoulders and the way he continually scanned the horizon for a sign of trouble. Second nature, she thought with an inward smile. Always on guard, always in control. The epitome of the nation's image of Custer's 7th Cavalry.

"So, Lieutenant, has your wound healed?"

Lucky pulled her attention back to Mollie's question. Young, handsome Lieutenant Browning nodded with a slightly embarrassed smile.

"Yes, ma'am. It was just a scratch."

"A wound is a wound, Lieutenant," Mollie told him in a motherly fashion. In truth, she wasn't but a few years older than he, but it was common knowledge at Fort Lincoln that Mollie McIntosh mothered everything. "You were very fortunate."

"Yes, ma'am. But I've got a score to settle with that war chief. I take getting shot very personally."

"Most of us do, Lieutenant." Quinn's voice was amused as he glanced at his junior officer.

Lucky's eyes grew wide with concern. She quickly looked him up and down as though expecting some great injury. Having seen him naked, she couldn't remember seeing evidence of a wound, but then she hadn't been looking for one. She felt her face flood with color at the very thought of seeing his lean, muscular body glistening with sweat in the firelight that night in Yankton. One brief glance into his eyes made her wonder if he was thinking the same thing, for they were sparkling with heat. Her throat suddenly felt very dry and she looked away in confusion.

"Have you been shot also, Captain?" Mollie asked curiously.

"Not lately. Once in the war and once eight years ago on the Washita. That was plenty."

"Antietam?" Lucky asked, then flushed at the surprise that came to his face. She shrugged and felt compelled to explain. "That was where you won the Medal of Honor, wasn't it? I just thought that…"

"I fear that Captain Malone is much too modest about his war record," Lieutenant Browning said. "The wound he mentioned was the result of leading a charge on a Confederate cannon battery. He rode single-handedly into the Rebel lines, captured their guidon, and forced the surrender of their cannon crew."

"And damned near got myself killed in the process. " It was clear from Quinn's tone that he did not relish this conversation.

"That was a most courageous act, Captain," Mollie said in awe.

"It was a stupid thing to do," Quinn contradicted. "It's the very thing I'd skin a trooper of mine alive for."

"So why did you do it?" Lucky stared at him, enthralled at the story because he had never talked about his war experiences like so many of the other officers who frequented the billiard room. Usually a few drinks brought out all the war stories from the men old enough to have served in the war. But like the medals he never wore, Quinn had never spoken about it.

"That battery was cutting my regiment to pieces. I lost over a hundred men…I got mad…we couldn't get around it. I didn't stop to think. I just…did it. One minute I was trying to get out of the way of the cannon balls and the next thing I knew, I was

across their lines. It was over before I had time to think about it."

He shrugged uneasily and cleared his throat. "I was a lot younger then. And braver."

"I disagree, Captain." Lucky's voice was filled with conviction as she stared at him. "You forget, I've seen you under fire."

"So have I," Lieutenant Browning said. "Several times. You have the coolest head in combat I've ever seen, Captain. And nerves like steel. You never flinch."

"Only on the outside, Lieutenant," Quinn said with a rueful smile. "The inside is quite a different matter."

"But it's the outside your men see. And that's what matters," Mollie said. "My Donald says the very same thing, Captain. He says you do what you have to at the time, and you can throw up later, when you're alone and the men don't see."

"Your Donald is a fine young officer, Mrs. McIntosh. And wise beyond his years."

"Why, thank you, Captain. I'm glad someone else agrees with me." Mollie laughed, breaking the solemn tone their conversation had taken. "Where were you shot, Captain?"

Quinn shifted in the saddle and Lucky saw the beginnings of a flush start creeping up his neck.

"I was afraid you were going to ask that. Let's just say, Mrs. McIntosh, that my scars are not visible to the casual observer because I'm sitting on them."

Lucky's eyes widened as her gaze flashed to his posterior in the McClellan saddle.

"You mean…you got shot in the…?" Mollie gasped.

Quinn nodded with a solemn expression, although his eyes were twinkling. "That's right, Mrs. McIntosh. I got shot in the butt. Shrapnel from an exploding cannon ball. Killed my horse too. I didn't even know I was hit until the whole thing was over and I tried to get on another horse. That was a mistake I didn't make again for a while."

"That must have been very painful."

"My pride was injured worse than anything else. The entire matter was very unpleasant and not an experience I care to repeat."

Lucky suspected there was much more to the story than he was telling, but knowing Quinn, this was as much as he would reveal.

"What about the other wound? At the Washita?" Mollie inquired.

Lucky was glad Mollie had asked the question because she was wondering the same thing.

"That was a bit more serious. But it turned out okay. In view of what happened to some others, I was very fortunate."

"You mean Major Elliott?" Mollie asked, not put off by the obvious irritation in Quinn's face.

"Yes, among others."

Lucky knew from his tone that he was not going to discuss this subject any further. He had tensed up noticeably and the twinkle in his eyes had been replaced by a slow building anger that she suspected came from deep inside him. She now knew that the death of Major Elliott at the Washita had been the beginning of his feud with General Custer.

Thankfully, the awkward silence was broken by the return of two of the Arikara scouts. Quinn halted the column and rode forward with Lieutenant Browning to confer with them.

Lucky couldn't hear any of the conversation, but it seemed obvious from the scouts' urgent gesturing and pointing over their shoulders that something important must have happened.

"Wonder what's going on?" she asked Mollie as she shifted on the uncomfortable side saddle and wished for the hundredth time that morning that she could chuck the darned thing and ride astride. They were almost halfway between Fort Lincoln and Fort Rice and her posterior was numb. Her back and legs had begun to hurt as well. She was doubting the advisability of all this lady-like business when Mollie answered.

"I don't know, but I imagine it has something to do with them."

Mollie was pointing skyward to a group of buzzards circling a mile or so further on. Her usually cheerful face had become very serious. It made Lucky's stomach lurch with alarm.

Moments later Quinn and Lieutenant Browning rode back to the column.

"First Sergeant, have second squad fall out. Hold the column here until we return. And, Briggs, keep your eyes open. If you have any trouble, fire a volley and we'll come back on the double."

"Yes sir!"

Briggs immediately bellowed Quinn's order down the column and second squad, commanded by Sergeant Jenkins, wheeled out of formation and rode to the front.

"Briggs, get the women into the ranks and keep them out of sight. We'll be back shortly."

Briggs nodded. Quinn whirled Apollo and they galloped away. When they had disappeared over a rise, Sergeant Briggs nudged his horse forward and politely tipped his cap to Lucky and Mollie.

"Ladies, Captain Malone wants you to join the ranks."

Mollie immediately reined her horse around and merged into the column. Lucky's horse followed suit, but Lucky was looking over her shoulder in the direction Quinn, Lieutenant Browning, and the squad had gone.

"I don't understand, Mollie," she said as her mount turned himself into formation with the others in line. "What's going on?"

"Safety precaution, Ruby Nell. In case we're attacked, you and I are safer not sticking out in front."

Lucky's heart began pounding furiously. The thought of being attacked by Indians made her nauseous. She had already had two encounters with the Sioux. That was more than enough. The possibility brought back terrifying memories from her childhood when she had returned from the stream to find her home in flames and her parents and brother and sister brutally murdered.

They watched the buzzards circling lazily in the cerulean sky and waited. After a few minutes, Mollie turned to Sergeant Briggs again.

"Any idea what that's all about?" she asked, pointing toward the buzzards.

Briggs scratched at his beard and took his gaze off the surrounding countryside to glance at her. "I got myself a bad feeling that the scouts found the missing squad from ‘M’ Company."

***

Quinn knew what they'd find without the scouts relating the details. He'd seen enough Sioux victims over the past ten years to be able to see it all too clearly in his mind as the scouts led the way over a rise and into a shallow ravine.

Even so, his stomach lurched at the stench as they entered the ravine. One glance at Alex Browning riding beside him told him the young lieutenant was about to lose his breakfast.

For every circling buzzard in the sky, there was a dozen more on the ground, feasting on the carcasses of a half dozen horses. They squawked as the soldiers interrupted their meal and tried to fly away. Some were so gorged they could only hop along the ground and flap their wings.

"Holy Jesus!" Alex Browning gasped as they drew nearer and halted their horses.

Quinn wasn't sure his legs would hold him up as he dismounted and handed the reins to Browning. "Jesus had nothing to do with this, Lieutenant," he said hoarsely.

He tried not to breathe through his nose as he forced himself to get closer. The death stench was so overpowering this close that his eyes burned and his stomach heaved, even though he had not finished his own breakfast after Major Reno had told him about this possibility.

"Looks like the Sioux caught them off guard," Sergeant Jenkins suggested as he stared at the grisly scene. His usually ruddy complexion was pasty white as he glanced at Quinn.

Quinn nodded. Speaking at that moment was impossible. He was torn between wanting to vomit and run. He knew he couldn't do either. The others were depending on him to be calm and collected. The fact that six men had been butchered did not alter that fact.

He swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat and forced himself to objectively examine the scene. The six men from ‘M’ Company had been on a hunting trek for their company mess and had evidently camped in this ravine to have their mid-day meal. Their canteens and packs were scattered around, having been picked through first by the Indians, and then by the coyotes, judging from the tracks.

"They probably never knew what hit them." Jenkins suggested as he stood at Quinn's side.

"I'd say that is a safe assumption, Sergeant. Those are not defensive wounds."

"How can you tell, Captain? I mean, the way the bodies are mutilated, not to mention being out here in the sun for two days..."

"Experience, Sergeant. They were sitting here, having lunch, probably talking and laughing, didn't hear a thing until it was too late."

Quinn turned from the ghastly sight and placed a shaky hand on Jenkins' shoulder. "Form a burial detail, Sergeant, and get these poor devils buried, will you? I'll send for another squad to give you a hand. And, Sergeant, don't make the same mistake these men did and think that just because you don't hear anything, that there's nothing to worry about."

"You can count on that, Captain," Jenkins said vehemently.

Quinn walked back to his horse and took the reins from Lieutenant Browning. "Are you all right, Lieutenant?"

Browning shook his head and stared at Quinn with wide, horrified eyes. "Why, Captain? Why can't those bastards just kill a man and let it go at that? Why do they…" he paused to wave a hand at the dead men. "Why do they do all…that?"
Quinn glanced back at the mutilated bodies and fought back a shudder. "The Sioux believe that by mutilating the dead, their spirits are both helpless and disfigured in the next life. It's their own brand of vengeance."

"I can think of a few kinds of vengeance myself," Browning said hoarsely.

"Lieutenant, you can't, in your wildest dreams, come up with anything to compare with the savageness of a Sioux warrior. They're trained from birth to kill without mercy and to die with honor. If there was such a thing as a patent for butchery, those sons-of bitches would own it hands down."

He watched Browning's struggle for control, unable to comfort him for the despair in his own soul. Finally, he swallowed and put a hand on Browning's shoulder. "Lieutenant, ride back to the column and send another squad to help with the burials. And don't waste any time. The sooner we can get these men buried, the sooner we'll be on our way."

Browning nodded as he gratefully turned to mount.

"Lieutenant, send the new recruits on that detail. Some of them have the idea that fighting Indians is some kind of glorious adventure. I want them to see what it's really like."

Browning nodded once more, whirled his horse, and dug his heels into its flanks. He rode away as if the hounds of hell were after him.

Quinn turned around and forced himself to watch Jenkins' squad start the burial process. As with any Sioux killings, it would take more time to piece the bodies together than it would to actually bury them. He took off his hat and wiped the back of one hand over his face, feeling the cold sweat of revulsion dampen his sleeve.

He allowed himself the luxury of a moment of total despondency as the details of all those nightmares washed over him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of his own body, drenched in blood, stripped naked, punctured by a dozen wounds from a Sioux war lance.

He drew a long, shuddering breath and fought down the urge to fling himself into his saddle and ride as far away from this place and its menacing destiny as he could. The sounds of his men scraping out graves in the hard Dakota earth reminded him that he had a job to do here. If it resulted in his own death, he'd try to find the courage to face it head on.

He turned back to supervise the burials when some inner instinct made him look up toward the ridge above the ravine. There, silhouetted against the mid-day sun, sat his nemesis on a dappled gray gelding. For a moment, he stared into the black eyes of the man who haunted his dreams. Raven was well within rifle range, but he did not appear concerned. Indeed, he seemed to be daring anyone to confront him.

While Quinn stared at him in shock, Raven raised his rifle above his head and shook it.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Quinn lunged across the saddle and snatched his carbine from the boot. He swung around with it firmly against his shoulder and sighted down the barrel. The horizon was empty. Raven was gone.

Quinn slowly lowered his weapon and leaned against Apollo because his legs were so shaky he wasn't sure he could stand up on his own. His heart was pounding furiously, sweat poured off him, and his breath was coming in short, painful gasps.

He stared at the empty vista, wondering if Raven had really been there at all. Had he imagined it? He rubbed one hand over his face and let out a deep, shuddering breath. "Jesus Christ!" he said softly. " I can't even trust my own instincts anymore. Either that bastard Raven is taunting me or I’m losing my mind."

The trouble was, at the moment, he didn't know which it was.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Quinn handed Johnny Firth his bandanna that he'd wet from his canteen and watched while the boy sat back on his heels and washed off his face.

"Feel better?"

Johnny shook his head. When he tried to speak, he lunged to his knees and began retching again. He had already thrown up his breakfast and now only dry heaves resulted from the violent vomiting.

Quinn waited until he was finished and then reached for the bandanna and wet it once more. He passed it to Johnny and stood silently while the shaken private pressed the damp cloth to his mouth.

A few feet away where the burial detail was scraping dirt and stones over the six mounds in the earth, Corporal Hutchins nudged Sergeant Jenkins, motioning toward the boy. "Well, at least this time he's not the only one pukin'."

Sergeant Jenkins looked around at the other eleven recruits who were either still vomiting or just recovering. "Yeah, well, can't say I blame them any. Nothing pretty about this."

Hutchins was still staring at Private Firth. His eyes were narrowed with contempt and his lips curled into a sneer. "I don't get it. Why's the captain takin' up for the little pussy?"

"Watch your mouth, Hutchins," Jenkins said in a low growl. "I beat the crap outa the last fella that got smart with the kid."

"Yeah, because the captain scared the shit outa you. I ain't afraid of the captain, and I sure as hell ain't got no use for that little queer he's protectin'."

"The kid's got balls, Hutchins. He got in Lieutenant Kelley's face faster than you can fart when Kelley insulted the captain. It took guts to do that."

Hutchins spit a stream of tobacco juice on the grave they were covering. "That's what I'm talkin' about. The only time he shows any backbone at all and it's because somebody said somethin' about the captain. Makes you wonder, don't it?"

"About what?"

"About maybe him and the captain…"

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about, Hutchins! I don't know about the kid, maybe he is queer. But I do know the captain and he's as straight as you or me. Now, if I was you, I'd shut my big mouth and get back to work." Sergeant Jenkins' gruff voice was low and meaningful as he directed an icy stare at the grizzled corporal.

"Maybe you're right," Hutchins conceded as he glanced at Quinn again. "'Sides, everybody knows the captain's takin' care of business for the sutler. I seen the way the two of them look at each other. Like a pair of dogs…."

Jenkins stopped the rest of the remark by grabbing the corporal's blouse front and yanking him up close. "Hutchins, you shut your mouth!" he said in a very low, menacing tone that would not be overheard. "You say one more word about the captain and there'll be another grave here and you'll be in it. If the captain and the sutler's wife are fucking their brains out every night it ain't nobody's business but theirs. You keep your mouth shut about it!"

Corporal Hutchins moved back when Jenkins let go of his blouse and spit again. "All right, Jenkins. Damn, I don't know what you got your back up so for. It ain't nothin' to me if all that officer and a gentleman stuff is so much crap! The captain's a man just like you and me and if he can get some of that pretty little filly, then good for him."

Jenkins made a move toward him and Hutchins put up both hands in a defensive gesture. "Okay, okay. I'm shutting up."

Jenkins shook his head and glared at the man for a moment, then he stomped over to Quinn.

"Captain, I reckon we're through here."

Quinn nodded and stared for a moment at the six mounds of earth. "Thank you, Sergeant. Mount up the men. We need to get back to the column." Turning back to the white-faced boy still on the ground at his feet, he reached down, took Firth by the arm, and pulled him to his feet.

He turned toward the troopers who were preparing to mount and directed his remarks to the recruits, who were so shaken they could hardly stand up.

"Gentlemen, I hope this experience has convinced you that fighting Indians is not glorious. It is a matter of life and death…yours. I trust you will remember that in the future."

He walked with Firth to the horses and took the reins from the bush where they were tied. Pressing them into Firth's hands, he watched as the boy put his foot in the stirrup and tried to mount. When Firth could not seem to manage on his own, he caught hold of Firth's belt, lifted him up, and shoved him into the saddle.

When the men were all mounted, he nodded to the company bugler. As the lonely notes of Taps began, he saluted the six graves, followed in unison by the squads, and held it until the last note died away on the afternoon breeze. Then he turned Apollo and led the way back to the column.

***

Lucky's first impression of Fort Rice was one of gratitude that she didn't live there. The fort was an isolated place, established in 1864 to protect the ranchers and miners from Indian attacks. It was due to be abandoned soon and was in need of repair.

She had never seen such a desolate place. The soldiers on the parapets above were so busy swatting at mosquitoes, they had little time for anything else.

For some reason, mosquitoes loved this place. Every soldier she saw as they rode toward the sun-baked parade ground was either swatting or scratching, or both.

"You get used to them," Mollie leaned over to tell her as the column prepared to halt.

"You're sure?"

Mollie laughed as Quinn halted the column and gave the order to dismount. "Or maybe they just get used to you."

Lucky waited until Quinn came around her horse to lift her down. She didn't know how long it would be until she saw him again and he had been so quiet for the last part of the trip that she wanted to make sure he was all right. She noticed that he was still pale when he lifted her down from the horse and placed her on the ground in front of him. The despair in his eyes sent a flash of concern through her. His jaw was clenched, his lips little more than thin lines, and his manner very subdued.

She had no idea what they had seen, but it must have been horrible for every man that returned from the burial detail was pale and shaken. There had been no conversation after the column resumed the last half of the trip to Fort Rice.

Her first glimpse of Quinn's ashen face when he led the detail back to join the column had scared her terribly. Her instinct had been to reach out to him, but she had caught herself in time. Not only would it have been inappropriate, but he was so lost in himself that she was sure he would not have welcomed her concern. She had never seen him so disturbed and wished she could do or say something to help him, but that was impossible so she rode silently beside him, trying to convey her support mentally.

A stocky, gray haired man wearing captain’s bars and a big smile met them. At his side was a tall, thin woman with one child in her arms and a young son hanging onto her skirts. Beside them was the young woman who was obviously Katherine Gibson, for Mollie bailed off her horse and scooped the girl up in a bear hug.

"Good to see you, Captain," Frederick Benteen said with an outstretched hand. "We expected you sooner. I hope you didn't run into any trouble."

Quinn took off his gloves and shook the man's hand, then leaned down to kiss Mrs. Benteen's offered cheek. "Catherine, you're looking as beautiful as ever. How are you, Freddie?" he asked the young boy at her side as he ruffled the boy's hair.

"We were delayed by a burial detail." Quinn's tone was matter of fact, the statement delivered in that professional manner that Lucky had learned could cover a multitude of deeper emotions. "Not ours, thank God. A squad from ‘M’ Company went hunting a couple of days ago and ended up being trophies."

Benteen nodded but did not question Quinn any further. "Tell your men to make themselves at home, Quinn. My troops have made room for them in the barracks. You, of course, will bunk with us tonight."

"Thanks, Fred." Quinn turned to Lieutenant Browning. "Lieutenant, dismount the troop and tell them to relax. We'll be pulling out again first thing in the morning."

As Browning gave the appropriate orders and the men began dismounting and greeting friends from among the ranks stationed at Fort Rice, the younger Benteen tugged on Quinn's trouser leg.

"Who's that?" he asked, pointing at Lucky.

Quinn reached down and scooped the youngster up, setting him on his shoulders astride his neck. "This, Freddie, is Mrs. Warner. She's come for a visit."

Lucky smiled at the cherub-like face and shook his offered hand. "I'm happy to meet you, Freddie."

"She's pretty, Uncle Quinn," the boy said, leaning down to whisper in Quinn's ear.

"I know."

Catherine Benteen stuck out a thin, work worn hand toward Lucky. "Mrs. Warner, Ruby Nell, welcome to Fort Rice. I'm Catherine Benteen. Please, come to our home and let me get you something cool to drink."

"Thank you, Mrs. Benteen. That sounds wonderful."

"Ruby Nell, meet my sister Katherine Gibson," Mollie said by way of introduction as she ushered her sibling toward Lucky.

"Just call me Katie," the girl said with a smile. "I look forward to getting to know you better, Ruby Nell. Mollie has told me so much about you in her letters that I’m sure we’re going to be fast friends."

"I’m sure we are," Lucky agreed, warming to this younger, prettier version of Mollie.

"We’ll settle in and then we’ll all get together for a nice long chat," Katie Gibson said, as she locked her arm through her sister’s and led her toward the rickety row of houses that was Fort Rice’s Officer’s Row.

Catherine Benteen led Lucky toward her own home while Quinn and Captain Benteen walked toward the stables to unsaddle Apollo and make him comfortable.

The Benteen’s home was a far cry from anything Lucky had seen at Fort Lincoln. The walls were covered with newspaper, which in spots, had been torn away by the children, leaving the exposed cottonwood planks open to view. But the house was clean and neat and filled with the aroma of something delicious simmering on the stove.

Mrs. Benteen took Lucky upstairs to the children’s room and told her to put her reticule on the bed. "You’ll be bunking here, Ruby Nell. I hope it’s all right."

"It’s just fine, Mrs. Benteen. Thank you so much for your hospitality."

"Call me Catherine, Ruby Nell. There’s no need for formality here. We’re all in the same regiment."

Lucky responded to the woman’s cheerful attitude. Catherine Benteen had obviously made her peace with the Spartan conditions and was content. Lucky admired that. She looked at the baby in Catherine’s arms and felt her own heart lurch. Children could make all the difference in a woman’s outlook. She looked forward anxiously to holding her own children and hoped they could make her as content with her lot in life as Catherine Benteen’s had seemingly done for her.

***

Later, while they prepared dinner in Catherine’s tiny, well kept kitchen, Lucky remarked about the relationship between Quinn and Captain Benteen.

"Captain Malone and Captain Benteen evidently know one another very well."

"Yes, they’re very close. They became acquainted back in ’66 at Fort Riley when the 7th was commissioned. They’ve served together ever since. I think Quinn views Fred as the older brother he never had."

Lucky nodded as she took the stack of plates and began setting them out on the table. She paused to tickle the gurgling baby under the chin and smiled at the cherub’s happy reaction. "How did you end up here instead of at Fort Lincoln? I mean, your husband’s troops are part of the 7th, aren’t they?"

"Yes. What happened was that when Fort Lincoln was built three years ago to house the 7th, it was decided that Fort Rice would remain active for a while longer. Fred is the regiment’s senior captain so the responsibility fell to him to assume command. There are three companies stationed here, but when the summer campaigns get underway they join ranks with the troops at Fort Lincoln. They all go out together, which leaves only a handful of soldiers here to guard the fort. It can get pretty scary at times."

"I’m sure it does. Have you ever been attacked?"

"No, but we have seen large numbers of Indians moving past from time to time. We live in fear during those times. If the Indians had any idea that the garrison is manned by only a few men, I’m sure they’d lose no time in attacking."

Lucky shuddered at the thought. With so many women and children and so few men to protect them, a serious attack could be horrendous.

"Catherine, when the men came back from the burial detail this afternoon, they all looked sick. Even Captain Malone was pale."

Catherine shot her a quick glance, then stepped around her small son playing with his marbles on the kitchen floor. "I’m not surprised. The Sioux are particularly savage, Ruby Nell. They aren’t content with killing their victims. They mutilate the bodies in the most horrific manner possible. I’m sure that’s why the men were shaken. I’ve seen the strongest man in the troop vomit his guts up after seeing the bodies of his comrades dismembered or disemboweled."

Lucky felt the blood drain from her face. She licked at her dry lips and swallowed hard. "Then it’s no small wonder they all looked like they wanted to throw up. Even Quinn...Captain Malone. I’ve never seen him affected like that before. Not even when we thought we were going to be killed on that disastrous ride. He was calm and collected, and in control the entire time. He didn’t even appear to be frightened. It was quite amazing actually. I was terrified."

Catherine smiled briefly as she handed Lucky the silverware to put out. "He’s an officer, Ruby Nell, and one of the best. He was more concerned about your welfare than his own. But frightened? Of course he was."

"He certainly covered it up well. He knew when he turned back to help Corporal Denton that he would be killed in all probability. Yet, he did it without a moment’s hesitation. He was…wonderful."

She saw Catherine Benteen’s brows rise at the softness in her voice and felt heat flooding into her face. This would never do, she told herself firmly. Her feelings were much too obvious. She had to find a way of concealing them better.

"Quinn is a very courageous man. And a bit of a paradox, I think." Catherine smiled faintly at the curiosity on Lucky’s face. "Officers are a strange breed, Ruby Nell. On duty they’re all business and discipline. They have to be. So many lives depend on their level heads under fire. Off duty, some of them are the same way, tough, even cold. Quinn isn’t that way at all, although he wouldn’t want anyone to know. He’s kind and gentle and shy in a poignant kind of way. I’ve always thought that was why he’s never married."

"His shyness?"

Catherine nodded as she returned to the stove to stir the wonderful smelling stew. "I’ve often thought that all that gallantry when he’s among other people probably goes right to being tongue tied when he’s alone with a woman."

Lucky dropped her gaze and made herself very busy arranging the place settings. You’re both right and wrong, Catherine. He is shy, but he’s also very passionate. She knew her face was coloring and tried to think of something else so she wouldn’t give herself away.

"He is a handsome devil," Catherine was saying, apparently not noticing Lucky’s discomfort. "It’s a shame he’s never found someone and settled down. He’d make a great father. He’s so good with little Freddie. A nice girl could make all the difference in him."

A nice girl! The words went straight through Lucky’s heart like an arrow. What a pair we are, Quinn Malone. I want a home and children with a man who can give me security, and you want a nice girl. Looks like neither of us is going to find those things in each other. Sudden tears burned her eyes and she turned her back so Catherine wouldn’t see her wipe them away.

She told herself that she was being foolish. They had known from the moment they met that they had no future together. What they shared was a physical passion so strong it almost took her breath, but that’s all it was. And all it could ever be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

"So how are things at Lincoln?"

Fred Benteen asked the question casually. He sat with Quinn on the front porch after supper, enjoying the warm twilight, he with his pipe and Quinn with a glass of whiskey.

"The same way things always are at Lincoln."

Fred smiled around the pipe stem and nodded. "Too bad Custer refused to give you the transfer. I’d love to have you here, Quinn. Not that the captains I have are not good officers, but having you around would sure make me a happy man."

"You’d think with all the history between us that Custer would jump at the chance to get rid of me."

"And give up the opportunity to remind you daily that you work for him? That he’s in charge and you’re the underling? He’s no more going to give that up than the Sioux are going to lay down their weapons and play dead."

"Think how disappointed he’d be if they did," Quinn grunted. "With no Indians to fight, how is he ever going to get elected to Congress? The more Indians he kills, the better his chances for political success."

"And we both know that Custer will do damned near anything to achieve his purpose. God help the man who gets in his way."

Quinn nodded and took a sip from the glass he was twirling between his palms. "The way the Sioux are gathering, he’ll no doubt get his wish. These skirmishes are much too frequent and violent, Fred. The Indians are getting braver, and it’s got to be because they’re gathering strength. And the way they’re arming themselves with repeating rifles, they’re capable of doing some real damage."

"But they have to get close to do it," Fred reminded him thoughtfully. "Our longer range carbines give us a distinct advantage."

"As long as they continue to hit and run. What happens if they decide not to run one day? In sufficient numbers, and with repeating rifles, they could inflict casualties that even Custer couldn’t explain away."

"The way some of these troopers shoot, the only thing that has saved us so far is pure luck. I’ve asked again for ammunition to train properly. And of course, my request was denied again."

Quinn snorted as he stared out across the darkening post. "Washington expects us to win a war with the Indians with no guns, no ammunition, no decent food, and raw recruits that piss their pants at their first sight of an Indian. Do you ever ask yourself, Fred, just what in the hell we’re doing this for?"

Benteen chuckled. "Every day, Quinn. Then I see something like you saw today and I know that somebody has to put an end to the butchery. And that someone, is you and me."

"In spite of the War Department?"

Fred nodded. "In spite of them, in spite of Custer, in spite of everything. When Sherman comes out on his inspection tour next month, I’m going to speak to him personally about our situation."

"Oh, that’ll make Custer happy."

"And probably won’t do a bit of good, considering that Sherman is in Custer’s hip pocket, but I owe it to the men to try."

They sat quietly for a few minutes before Benteen spoke again. "How’s Myles?"

"Still drinking."

"And Major Reno?"

"Still drinking. Marc’s the only man at Lincoln that spends as much time on Custer’s bad side as I do. He’s still steaming because Custer kept him from getting his colonel’s brevet."

Benteen chuckled, then paused to re-light his pipe. "Well, he may as well get used to that. How many times has he kept you from getting a brevet? If anybody else were in command, you’d be a lieutenant colonel by now. But, the fact of the matter is, that as long as Custer is in charge of the 7th, it ain’t gonna happen."

"It’s damned amazing, isn’t it, Fred, that the man can be court martialed, removed from command, and still have enough influence with Sherman and Sheridan to be put back in command of Lincoln?"

"After what he did on the Washita and still coming out smelling like a rose, nothing surprises me." Benteen grunted. "He’s responsible for the deaths of Major Elliott and nineteen other men, and you and me end up in more trouble for reporting his actions than he was. I’ve never figured that one out."

Several more minutes passed in comfortable silence. Finally, Fred took his pipe from his mouth as he studied Quinn’s thoughtful features in the dusk.

"You want to tell me what’s bothering you, Quinn?"

Quinn glanced at him quickly, then looked back out across the compound. "What makes you think something’s bothering me?"

Benteen laughed. "I know you better than most. That’s how I know. So do you want to talk about it or not?"

Quinn squirmed in the cane backed chair and took another sip from the glass of whiskey. "I’m scared, Fred."

Benteen eyed him and drew on his pipe. "After what you found today, I’d be more surprised if you weren’t."

"No, it’s not that," Quinn disagreed. "Well, maybe it’s part of it. But I’ve been having these damned nightmares for weeks now. I’m to the point of almost being afraid to go to sleep."

"What happens in these nightmares?"

"I get killed." Quinn’s voice had dropped to a low tone. He shook his head, then finally looked directly at Fred. "That bastard Raven. The dreams are always the same. We’re in some horrific battle with the Sioux and he’s coming at me. I can see the lance in his hand and I try to shoot him, but my gun jams and the next thing…he drives that war lance right through me."

He hesitated to take a healthy swallow of the whiskey. His expression was bleak when he looked back at Benteen. "I’ve seen the bastard three times in the past couple of months. The first time was when I was escorting Libby, Mrs. McIntosh, and Mrs. Warner on a ride and he jumped us. He could’ve killed us all, Fred. He had us pinned down with nowhere to run and no ammunition and he let us live. He told me in sign language that there would be another day when it would be just the two of us and he would finish what we started on the banks of the Washita that day. Remember?"

Fred nodded. "Of course I do. He shot you twice and stabbed you on top of it and you still walked away. His honor demands that he finish it."

"Yes, I know. Then he attacked the column a few weeks ago and shot the four men surrounding me. He had a clear shot, could’ve blown me out of the saddle, but he didn’t. Then he rode close enough to make that same promise again.

"And then today…."

Fred waited but Quinn hesitated. He finally took a deep breath, then exhaled. "Then today while we were burying those six men from M Company I saw him again. He was on top of the ridge watching. I looked him straight in the eye, Fred. And the son-of-a-bitch waved that rifle at me and then he disappeared before I could get my carbine out.

"I wasn’t even sure at that point that he’d been there at all. I began to doubt my own vision and wondered if all those nightmares had turned my brains to mush. So I rode up there. I had to know."

"And?"

"He was actually there all right. There were plenty of tracks."

"At least you know you weren’t imagining it."

Quinn nodded. "I've been scared before, but I’ve never been scared like this, Fred. I’ve fought the Sioux for ten years, come close enough to getting myself killed to hear the Pearly Gates opening, and I’ve never felt like this."
Benteen cleared his throat and tapped his pipe against the chair leg to remove the dead ash. "Having a heathen like Raven taunting you could explain that, Quinn. You know that sooner or later you’re going to meet up with him again. He nearly killed you once. That had to have left emotional scars as well as the physical ones he inflicted. What you’re experiencing is not uncommon. Even the strongest man would be spooked under these conditions."

Quinn leveled one of those direct stares at Benteen that made others respect him. "What if I break, Fred? I can’t trust my own instincts anymore. What if I take my men into battle and lose my nerve? What if I see that bastard across my gun sights and freeze up? I couldn’t live with that."

He felt Benteen’s gentle hand on his shoulder and saw the compassion in the older man’s gaze. "That’s not going to happen, Quinn. That would be against every instinct you possess. You have the coolest head under fire of any man I’ve ever known. You know what to do, and you do it calmly, effectively, and courageously. You are not a coward. And no one, Raven or any other red devil, is going to turn you into one."

"I wish I could so sure. I don’t know anymore and I live in dread of the day that I’m put to the test."

"Maybe you’re more afraid of dying now because you’ve discovered something worth living for."

Quinn’s eyes narrowed at Benteen’s reflective statement. He shook his head. "I don’t know what you mean."

"Word gets around, Quinn, even in this isolated outpost."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that if rumor is correct, you’ve got it bad for a married woman. The married woman who is helping my wife do up the supper dishes at this very moment."

"Shit!" Quinn lunged out of the chair and walked to the supporting post of the porch, where he leaned one shoulder against it and stood with his back to Benteen.

"It’s true, isn’t it? You’re in love with her!"

Quinn shrugged, drew in a deep breath, and then turned around to face his friend. "I’m not in love with her, okay? I’m in…heat…with her. It’s not the same thing at all."

"Oh, I think it is in your case. You’ve never been one to trifle with women, Quinn. You’re a decent, honorable man and any feelings you have for this woman are likewise decent and honorable."

"You don’t know what I think when I look at her, Fred, or you wouldn’t think I’m so damned decent and honorable," Quinn said gruffly, grimacing at the amusement on Fred’s face.

"Oh, I can guess. You want to see her naked. You want to hold her, kiss her, make love to her. Nothing so out of the ordinary about that. I always knew if you ever fell, Quinn, you’d fall hard. Too bad about her husband."

"Yeah, too bad about that." Quinn’s voice was bleak as he returned Benteen’s meaningful glance. "I know what you’re getting at, Fred, and you can quit worrying. I haven’t forgotten the officer and a gentleman routine."

"Good," Fred said as he smoked his pipe quietly. "Any indiscretion on your part with this woman, Quinn, will cost you your career. Custer will crucify you."

"I know that. But that’s not even the problem." Grimacing at Benteen’s raised eyebrows, he sighed and shrugged again. "She wants a life with that little weasel. She wants a family, Fred, children and security. She wants to know that her man isn’t likely to end up so with many arrows in him that he looks like a porcupine. There’s no way I can offer her that."

"No, you can’t," Benteen agreed. "And trifling with her will cost you more than it’s worth. And cost her just as dearly. Peter Warner may be a worm, but he’d be the wronged husband if you cross that line. I’m hoping you’re strong enough not to do that."

"I’m trying, Fred. I quit going to the billiard room. I’ve quit going anywhere that I think she might be. I had no idea that she’d be along on this trip or I’d have told Marc to pick another company for escort duty."

"But?"

"But, I can’t stop thinking about her. Protecting her reputation is the most important thing right now and I’m trying my damnedest to do that by staying away from her. But I can’t help how I feel, Fred. So you tell me, what the hell I’m supposed to do? I’m having wet dreams, for God’s sake! I haven’t done that since I was fourteen. And I wake up every morning with a hard-on that lasts until noon. So, oh great sage, you tell me what to do to get rid of these feelings!"

"Sorry, Quinn, I can’t help you there. I can advise you to keep your distance, make your actions toward her as innocent as possible. Don’t, under any conditions, act in a manner that will draw suspicion. That’s the best I can do."

"You’re a lot of help!"

"Well, considering the fact that you’re both going to be sleeping under my roof tonight, I’m doing the best I can."

"One of us may sleep, but it sure as hell won’t be me." Quinn finished his drink and forced a grin as Benteen rose from his chair.

"Welcome to the real world, my friend. Come on in the house and let’s get Catherine to make us some real Army coffee. If you won’t be able to sleep, you may as well enjoy it."

"You’re a real friend, Fred," Quinn said sarcastically as they moved toward the front door. "Between the Indians and your coffee, I’ll have to go back to Custer to get any rest at all."

Benteen clapped him on the back as he held the door open. "Yes, but isn’t that what we love about Army life?" he said with a grin.

***

Lucky tossed and turned for the better part of the night, unable to sleep for the heat. Or possibly because Quinn was asleep in the Benteen’s living room downstairs. Finally, she crawled out of bed and slipped into her wrapper. She glanced out the upstairs window to discover that it was very early in the morning. Yawning, she tiptoed out of the room and down the stairs, hoping that a drink of water might ease her discomfort.

Yet, when she reached the bottom of the staircase, she instinctively looked toward the part of the room where Catherine had made a bed for Quinn on the floor hours before. Moonlight streaming through the open window revealed the empty bed. She looked around worriedly.

"Looking for me?"

The sound of his soft Texas drawl made her freeze in her tracks. Her palms began to sweat and her heart pounded furiously as she turned slowly to find him standing in the kitchen doorway. He was leaning against the doorjamb, shirtless, his hair tumbled over his forehead, and holding a glass of Fred Benteen’s good whiskey in one hand.

Her blood seemed to simmer inside her veins as she stared at him in silence for a moment. She couldn’t speak for her throat was too dry, and she couldn’t take her eyes off his wide hairy chest and brown shoulders. Her knees were suddenly too weak to support her and she put one hand on the stair banister to steady herself.

"I…I couldn’t sleep. I thought a glass of water might help," she stammered, feeling as foolish as a schoolgirl.

"Neither could I, but I needed something a bit stronger than water." He held the glass of whiskey aloft and forced a faint smile.

"I didn’t think you drank hard liquor, Captain."

Quinn shrugged and lifted the glass to his lips, eyeing her over the rim. She was beautiful with the moonlight gleaming off her hair and the thin wrapper pulled so tightly around her that it revealed more of her shape than it kept hidden. He felt an immediate and powerful surge of desire roar through him and knew if she looked lower than his chest, she’d know.

Her gaze wavered, dropped, and then came back to his face as she wet her lips nervously, but she held her ground.

"I don’t, as a rule," he said in response to her question. "But even the most stringent rules have an exception once in a while."

"Why is this an exception?

"Two reasons actually. Firstly, because I buried six men today whom the Indians had mutilated so badly identifications were all but impossible. And secondly, knowing that you’re in bed not twenty feet from me and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it."

"What do you want to do about it?" Lucky knew the question was dangerous. The heated gleam in his eyes was proof enough of that, but the blood boiling in her own veins was making her behave recklessly.

"Exactly what Fred spent an hour telling me I can’t do. Of course, he doesn’t know the whole story. He thinks you’re really married to Peter Warner and that I’m tempting the waters of adultery."

Lucky’s mouth dropped open. "You mean, he knows about you and me…I mean…about how we…"

Quinn couldn’t resist smiling at the horror on her face. He sipped from the glass, then nodded. "Unfortunately, Fred Benteen knows me well. That, and the fact that the entire 7th Cavalry seems to know that my interest in you goes far beyond the superficial one I’ve tried very hard to project. Most of them are still trying to decide if your feelings are reciprocal. "

"Oh, Quinn, that’s dangerous for you! Your situation with General Custer is so shaky that any hint of scandal could ruin you."

The concern in her eyes for him touched Quinn deeply. They stared at one another for a moment before he came to his senses enough to be able to speak. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to ease the strain in his trousers and knowing it was impossible as long as she stood there looking so beautiful and vulnerable.

"Fred pointed that out clearly. I told him that I had cut off any and all contact with you that I could, hoping that would allow the rumors to die. Then you decide to make this trip and here we are again. Not only did we make the trip together, but we’re spending the night under the same roof. That will be all over Lincoln before we get dismounted. How do you think Warner is going to react to that?""

"Peter has nothing to fear," she said bravely. She lifted her head to see him more clearly and felt her nostrils quiver from his nearness.

"Really?"

"Of course not. You and I are adults. We are fully capable of dealing with these feelings in a logical manner."

"You think so?"

Lucky wet her lips and resisted the urge to throw caution to the wind and fling herself into his arms. His lazy drawl and the way his gaze scrolled up and down her in an indolent, possessive manner made her heart pound harder. She felt dampness appear beneath her arms and between her thighs.

She nodded, knowing her eyes were burning with the same desire she could see in his halfway across the room. "Yes, don't you?"

"You know what I think?"

She shook her head, unaware that doing so made the moonlight look like starbursts on her hair.

"I think that you're standing there wondering how long it would take us to get our clothes off and get down to what we both want. I also think that you're just as hot as I am. The only difference is that I'm a man and it shows more."

She couldn’t resist glancing at the juncture of his thighs and felt her face go blood red at the obvious state of his desire. She wet her lips again, unable to take her attention from the dangerous glitter in his eyes.

"However, you do have other ways of letting me know what you want."

"Like what?" she whispered.

He nodded toward her chest tucked snugly inside the wrapper she had wound around her. "Your nipples are hard. Same principle as a penis, just smaller. It means the same thing."

She blushed to her hairline. "And I thought you were shy and uneasy around women. That was some act you put on, Captain! Why, you're as shameless and lascivious as…."

"Lascivious? Where in the world did you come up with a term like that? Peter Warner? Is that how he is in bed with you? Lascivious?"

"That's none of your business!" she snapped as she backed away. "Just how many of those have you drunk tonight?"

Quinn followed her pointed finger with a glance at the whiskey in his hand and shrugged. "I don't know. Two or three maybe. Maybe more. What difference does it make?"

"I don't think I like you very much when you're drinking! I like you a lot better shy and…sweet…and…and tender."

"How do you like Warner?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, is he good to you? Does he give you what you need, what you want? Or is he like every other man in your past? A few quick humps in the dark without ever giving a thought to what you need?"

Lucky stared at him with her mouth open. "You can't forget what I was, can you? Even with all the feelings between us, you can't forget that! God, I hate you!"

She spun about to run back up the stairs. He moved so quickly she hardly had time to blink before he caught her wrist and swung her back around into his arms. The glass he dropped sounded like a cannon shot in the darkness, but neither of them cared at the moment.

"The men in your past don't bother me. It's the one that came after me that I can't stand." Quinn's voice was soft and savage as he pressed her back against the staircase. "I lie awake at night, knowing that…that son-of-a-bitch is holding you! Knowing he's making love to you. Knowing that he's touching you…like this."

As he spoke, his hands were moving inside her wrapper, cupping each breast and gently rubbing his thumbs across the puffy tips. His eyes were burning into hers, holding her gaze prisoner with their intensity.

She instinctively leaned against his hands and gasped at the pleasure that erupted in her straining breasts. She was still staring up at him in mute fascination, unable to move even if she'd wanted to. He was dark and foreboding, his voice rough with desire, but his touch was as gentle as it had been that night in Yankton. The contradiction between his savage passion and his tenderness made her tremble with desire.

"I can't stand to think about him kissing you…like this."

Lucky lifted her mouth toward his, knowing what was coming, knowing it was much too dangerous to consider, and wanting his kiss more than she wanted her next breath.

His mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue gently flicking against hers until she replied in kind. The resulting shock waves made her knees weak and her resolve melt into a simmering pool of desire that settled somewhere between her stomach and her groin.

She lifted her arms to encircle his neck. Running her fingers through his hair, she felt him move one hand down her back. He cupped her hips, pressed her so tightly against him that she could hardly breathe. She felt his skin dampen with sweat as the kiss deepened. His erection strained against her belly and instinct made her move her hands down his shoulders and across his chest.

She finally put both hands in the middle of his chest and pushed hard enough to get his attention. When he lifted his mouth from hers, she cupped his face between her palms and stared up into his fiery eyes.

"Peter has never, ever kissed me like that," she whispered in a trembling voice. "No one has. Only you. No one has ever made me feel what I feel in your arms, Quinn."

"Then why in God's name are you staying with him?" Quinn's voice was hoarse with emotion. "Leave him, Lucky. We can be together. Don't you want that?"

Lucky felt tears prick her eyes as she saw the pain raging behind the passion in his eyes. "Yes, I want that. I want you, Quinn. I want to be with you. What I don’t want is to be a soldier’s woman. I don’t want some patrol to find your butchered body someday. I'm not that strong. I couldn't stand it! If anything happened to you, I'd die too."

"That may never happen!"

"Can you promise me that it won't?"

"No, of course I can't. But it's no kind of life without you! We're wasting precious time!"

The ragged edge in his voice brought tears streaming down her cheeks. She wanted him so much that she began to doubt the advisability of her decision to stay with Peter. For a moment she considered the possibility of a life with him, then reality came flooding back when the bugler blew the call to arms.

Instantly, Quinn let go of her and dashed across the room to yank on his boots and snatch up his blouse. He was grabbing his gun belt and hat when Fred came flying down the stairs. Without a word, they both ran out the door and headed toward the stables.

Lucky stood on the front porch and watched the post come alive in an instant. Men poured from the barracks and she saw Mollie's handsome brother-in-law dash from their house on Officer's Row to take charge of his troop.

She was vaguely aware that Catherine Benteen had come downstairs and was standing behind her on the porch, watching the precision as the troops emerged from sleeping soldiers into one of the finest fighting units in the US Army.

"Does it ever get easier?" she asked softly.

She felt Catherine's hand on her arm. "No, dear, it doesn't. As long as we live in this place, it never will. That's what makes our men so special."

"It's also what makes them so dead," Lucky whispered as she blinked back tears. "How do you live with it day after day?"

Catherine Benteen slipped an arm around Lucky's shoulders and gave her a gentle hug. "I love him, Ruby Nell. I've followed him all over the country, lived in hovels much worse than this, done without life's basic necessities at times just to be with him. And I'd do it all over again. If you truly love your man, you're willing to share the hardships and the dangers because the time you have together is precious."

"It could all end in a moment's notice," Lucky said sadly as the gates swung open and the troops rode out them in neat orderly rows.

"Yes, yes it could. But if it does, I won't have wasted a minute of the time we could've been together. The time we have is what's important, not the possibility that it may end tomorrow."

Lucky stood upright and squared her shoulders. "I admire you, Catherine, more than you can imagine, but I don't want to ever love anyone that way. I can't believe it could be worth the pain it costs. I don't believe any man is worth that kind of sacrifice."

Catherine ran a soothing hand over Lucky's hair and smiled at her. "Don't you?" she asked in a soft knowing tone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Lucky's time at Fort Rice proved to be both cathartic and troubling. She thought long and hard about Catherine Benteen's advice after Quinn took his company back to Fort Lincoln. She, like Mollie, had stayed behind to enjoy a lengthier visit at Catherine's gracious invitation and planned to return when the Rice companies traveled to Fort Lincoln for General Sherman's visit.

The days that followed consisted of long summer afternoons spent at either the Benteen home or at Katie Gibson's, sewing and renewing old friendships in the case of Mollie and the others, and the making of new ones for Lucky. She soon began to feel like one of them as they talked away the hours. It became apparent that the common element that bound the 7th together was the strength of its women. During the pleasant days of June, she came to understand that more clearly than ever before.

It was interesting, Lucky thought, that although Catherine had very different views about General Custer than Mollie and her sister, it was not a point of contention. They seemed to have agreed to disagree about the regiment's controversial commander and rarely mentioned him at all, other than in relation to other topics. One thing, however, was very clear. All three ladies thought the world of Libby Custer and were not shy about voicing their admiration for her. Lucky wholeheartedly agreed.

She feared her secret would become as apparent to Mollie and Katie as it was to Catherine Benteen, but the two sisters were so consumed with being together and sharing the news of the impending birth of Katie's first child that they were blissfully ignorant of the fact that Lucky was desperately searching her soul for an answer to her dilemma. From the night when Catherine had put a comforting arm around her shoulders and asked if Lucky wasn't sure she already knew a man worth the sacrifices asked of an Army wife, they had formed a special bond.

Neither of them mentioned Quinn. There was no need. Catherine instinctively knew Lucky's closely guarded secret and asked no questions. Lucky offered no explanations. She could not explain what she could not understand. She knew her position as Ruby Nell Warner was precarious at best and would be even more scrutinized after this trip. She was well aware that the entire post would know that she spent the night under the same roof with Quinn, and she was sure there were those who would question their behavior.

She wondered what Peter's reaction would be. In spite of her bravado to Quinn about it, she was concerned. Peter's attitude toward Quinn had changed after the incident in Bismarck, although she had no idea why. What she did know was that if she intended to remain Mrs. Peter Warner, changes had to be made in her feelings toward Quinn Malone.

For the first time, she allowed herself to think about the possibility of a life with Quinn. But thinking about it only made the reality of her situation more painful. It was impossible. She knew that. To be with him meant a public dissolution with Peter that she feared would cost each of them more than they were willing to pay. For her it would mean the stigma of a divorced woman, even though only she and Quinn knew there was no marriage to dissolve. She would have to divorce Peter just as though they were actually married. That blemish would not be an easy one to live down. She feared her new friends at Fort Lincoln would not understand her decision to leave her husband for another man, even if the man was one of their own.

And for Quinn, not only would the social ramifications be harmful to his career, there was the possibility he might actually be brought up on charges for conduct unbecoming an officer. Their relationship might prove the end of an honorable career he had spent his life building. It was hopeless. She knew that. Still, during those long summer nights in her room at the Benteen's, she only knew that she burned for him. She longed for his touch, to hear the sound of his voice, to look up and find those incredible eyes watching her and see them soften when he realized she'd caught him.

It was Catherine Benteen's devotion to her soldier husband that had first made Lucky question whether or not two people in this unique situation could build a life together. She watched Captain Benteen playing with his children and saw his affection for Catherine and couldn't help wondering what kind of family she might have had with Quinn if things were different.

She pictured dark haired, blue eyed children with his smile and saw herself reading stories to them at night. She saw herself and Quinn snuggled in bed together after the lights were out, talking quietly about their day, making plans for the future. And she had only to shut her eyes to see herself in his arms, their mouths and bodies merged into one as their passion for one another claimed them.

Then she could picture herself waiting with all the other wives while their men rode off on another campaign against the Indians. Days of worry and sleepless nights with no word. Summer campaigns were known to last for months. She didn't know how the women endured it. She was sure she couldn't.

She came to two irrefutable conclusions during those days at Fort Rice. First, she loved Quinn Malone more than her own life, and secondly, they had no chance for a life together. Her only hope for a home and children rested with Peter Warner. She accepted that and was prepared to live with her decision. That did not, however, mean that she would ever feel differently about Quinn. She loved him. She had never loved a man before and she knew with absolute certainty that she'd never love another. But facts were facts, and Lucky was a practical woman.

***

Lucky took advantage of being at Fort Rice to check up on the sutler’s store there. It wasn’t as large as the one at Fort Lincoln, of course, but it was certainly well stocked. The man Peter had hired to run the store was not the most presentable person Lucky had ever seen. His name was Bentley. He was unkempt and had a devious look that made her uncomfortable, but it was his long dirty fingernails that she found the most objectionable.

One morning shortly before the Rice detachment was due to leave for Fort Lincoln, she spent the morning in the store making a list of the supplies that Peter would need to reorder. She kept her distance from Bentley, who was only too happy to let her take charge so he could sit on the front porch in the sunshine and whittle. After making out her checklist, she opened the store’s ledgers to see if the soldiers’ accounts were in order.

Just like Fort Lincoln, she discovered that the Rice soldiers also had a fondness for drink. However, the charges were pretty much in order with only a few in arrears. There was one thing that disturbed her about the records as she looked over the ledger. There were several entries for supplies sold to a W. Chester, but no supply name was listed as with all the others.

Lucky’s brow wrinkled thoughtfully as she studied the ledger. Whatever W. Chester bought was worth a lot of money. She wondered why Peter had not listed what he’d sold this man. The large sales were the only ones accredited to him. There wasn’t so much as a single drink or a pair of bootlaces sold to this fellow.

She kept looking for more information and found invoices in the back of the ledger where supplies had been transferred from Fort Lincoln to the Rice store dated only a day or so before each of the large purchases. She scratched her head and decided this would merit asking Peter about when she returned home.

Deciding that the front portion of the store was in good shape, she took her list and went to the storeroom in the back to continue. It was very warm, for the storeroom had no windows and was very stuffy with the June sun beating down on the tin roof. She was beginning to sweat and fanned herself with the ledger as she went from one stack of crates to another.

She came to the last pile of crates and boxes, relieved that the task was nearly finished. The crates resembled coffins, for they were long and nailed shut and she almost decided to leave them alone. She would have, except there was no label or tag to indicate the contents.

Heaving a sigh, she put down the ledger in order to squeeze between the stack of crates and the outside wall, looking for a label. Finally, she saw some letters near the bottom of each crate, marked in charcoal. Her eyes widened with curiosity when she was able to make out the letters W. Chester scrawled in Peter’s distinctive handwriting.

At least she’d know what the enigmatic Mr. Chester was buying from Peter in such quantities she thought as she searched out a hammer and began to pull off the lid of the top crate. The screeching of the nails chewing through the wooden lid made her teeth grind. Having come thus far, she was determined to see what was in the boxes.

At last one end of the lid came loose and she pushed the boards aside so she could get a look inside. She began to think it was empty for all she could see was a thick covering of straw but then, after digging through it, she gasped and stood gaping at the contents. There, in neat rows, were ten brand new Winchester repeating rifles. Just like the ones she had seen in the Fort Lincoln store.

She glanced quickly around. There were at least a dozen of those crates. Also stacked neatly along the outside wall were boxes of ammunition for the guns. "What in the world….," she said as she looked from the crates containing the rifles back to the name in charcoal scribbled on the sides.

Instinct told her that she had uncovered something that she was not intended to see. With the cold hand of fear gripping her heart, she quickly replaced the lid, hurried back into the store, and closed the storeroom door securely behind her. Her hands were shaking as she put away the hammer and placed the ledger onto the counter. She opened it to the pages where the sales to W. Chester were listed.

"W. Chester," she repeated aloud. "Winchester." She put her fingertips to her temples and pressed, trying to ignore the implications. "Oh, Peter, what does this all mean? Why have you gone to such lengths to keep anyone from knowing about this? No labels on the crates, a fictitious name on the ledger. You're buying the guns from the War Department, but who are you selling them to?"

She closed the ledger and put it away beneath the counter as Bentley sauntered back into the store. Was he eyeing her suspiciously, or was it her imagination? No doubt whatever Peter was involved in, Bentley knew about and was most likely an accomplice. Something told her that he did not need to know what she'd discovered. She did not trust the man and she certainly did not like the implications of all this secrecy.

She dusted off her hands and whipped off her apron as she hurried past him. The sun and fresh air when she left the store behind were a blessed relief. She couldn't wait now to return to Fort Lincoln. Peter Warner had some explaining to do.

CHAPTER THIRTY

The trip back to Fort Lincoln with Mollie and the Rice detachment was blessedly uneventful. Mollie's happy chatter even covered Lucky's reticence and allowed her the time to think about her own problems. There was something about riding through the open Dakota countryside in the vanguard of a battalion of cavalry helped clear one's mind, she thought with a faint smile.

Captain Benteen halted his troops outside the fort and they immediately began to set up camp. The Fort Rice troops would camp here for the duration of General Sherman’s, for the facilities at Fort Lincoln could not accommodate the additional three companies. Within a matter of minutes, a sea of tents appeared in neat street-like rows, complete with cots, campstools, buckets and dippers. The Army's efficiency never ceased to amazed Lucky. The entire operation took no time at all.

By the time the kitchen tent was erected and camp was settling into order, Lucky heard the buglers announcing the arrival of the Fort Lincoln troops coming to greet them. Turning her horse, she saw the columns approaching in neat orderly fashion, with Custer himself leading the way.

Libby rode at his side and behind him in alphabetical order were the nine companies of Fort Lincoln. The 7th's battle flag snapped in a brisk wind and each company's guidon likewise fluttered on the breeze. Her heart gave an unexpected leap at the sight of ‘A’ Company's banner.

In the row behind Custer, Lieutenant Cooke, and the regiment's Sergeant Major, Quinn rode side by side with Major Reno and Lieutenant Browning. As they approached, she saw Quinn shift in his saddle just enough to allow him to search her out in the throng of faces. He did not turn his head, but moved his gaze to her face, stared at her for only a moment, then looked straight ahead once more.

Then Lucky lost sight of him when the men from the Rice detachment swarmed around the mounted troops to shout welcomes to old comrades. Custer's command to dismount was drowned out by the noisy reunions, as the men got off their horses and clapped their friends on the back. Some even offered affectionate bear hugs to colleagues they hadn't seen in some time.

Lucky felt out of place and awkward at the show of friendship. She knew Quinn would not approach her, wasn't even sure she wanted him to, but still she suddenly felt very lonely. She felt her throat fill with emotion when Donald McIntosh leaped off his horse and swept Mollie up in his arms. They exchanged an enthusiastic kiss right in front of everyone, after which Donald's troops sent up a cheer, making the young lieutenant blush like a schoolboy.

She watched Custer dismount and shake hands with Captain Benteen. After spending nearly a month in his home, she had gotten to know Fred Benteen pretty well, and had learned that he was a man who contained his feelings very well. His keen gaze was much like Quinn's in that he could dissect fact from fiction with frightening ease. She saw that quiet expression come to his face now, then saw it replaced with genuine respect and affection when Quinn dismounted and joined the group.

The two men shook hands and exchanged greetings, then Quinn turned back to his troops and was soon immersed in a sea of blue flannel shirts. Even so, she could pick him out of the crowd with ease, for he was taller than most of them and carried himself with such grace that made it impossible not to recognize him.

Then she saw the rest of the Lincoln entourage arriving. The women and children came in ambulances, followed by the supply wagons that would keep the men in food and the horses in fodder during the festivities. Amid the blowing clouds of dust at the end of the retinue she saw Peter in a freight wagon coming for her.

The sight of him in his starched white shirt and neatly tied necktie, covered by his good brown suit, made her remember the crates of weapons in the Fort Rice store and the entries in the ledger. She wet her lips and smiled when he jumped off the wagon seat and swung her up into a bear hug. His boyish enthusiasm at having her home warmed her heart, but it did not erase the burning questions in her mind. She allowed him to help her into the wagon and settled her skirts comfortably while he chattered on about how much he'd missed her.

She prayed he could answer her questions and allay her suspicions with some reasonable explanation, for the alternative was too frightening to consider.

***

"You've been awfully quiet since you came home, Ruby Nell."

Lucky started at the sound of Peter's voice. She had not realized he had returned to the store until he spoke. He had gone to the river with the empty freight wagons to collect the latest shipment of supplies from the steamer. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she had failed to hear the wagons lumbering up the dusty street.

"Peter, I didn't hear you!"

He rubbed her shoulders with the pad of one hand and frowned. "You've been home for nearly a week now, honey, and you haven't been yourself at all. Are you feeling all right?"

"Of course, I am," she replied as she began adjusting the tobacco display once more.

"You've got to snap out of this…this…mood you're in, honey. General Sherman will be here tomorrow and the fort will be bursting with festivities. I expect to do a booming business while he's here."

Lucky nodded absently, her mind only half on what he was saying. It was what he wasn't saying that troubled her. She had tried several times to bring up the subject of the Fort Rice store, but he had blithely changed the subject.

"Ruby Nell, I'm beginning to think we should have Dr. Lord take another look at you. You're just not yourself these days. I'm concerned."

Lucky forced her scattered thoughts back to his remark and shook her head. "I'm fine, Peter. I'm just a little tired, that's all."

He clucked sympathetically and took both her hands in his, turning her so that she was looking directly into his eyes. "I know things are hectic right now, honey, what with the General coming and all. You've been putting in very long hours in the billiard room too, but it will all be worth it, you'll see."

She forced a faint smile and pulled free. She had to know what was going on and decided that now was a good time to find out. The store was empty. The men he'd hired to help with the supplies were out back unloading the wagons and she had his attention for once.

"Peter, there is something on my mind that I've been wanting to ask you about."

"Well, ask away, Ruby Nell," Peter replied with an indulgent expression. Instead of maintaining her direct gaze, he pulled out the ledger from beneath the counter and began to scan it while he waited for her to tell him what was on her mind.

"Peter, I want to know why you've been selling large orders of Winchesters to someone you list in the ledger only as W. Chester."

She saw his hands clench for a moment and saw a flush begin creeping up his neck, but he did not look at her. He kept perusing the figures while offhandedly answering her question.

"Ruby Nell, there’s nothing mysterious about that at all. I sold those guns to some miners who prefer to keep their identity anonymous."

"But those guns have been ending up in the hands of the Sioux, Peter," Lucky said urgently.

"Honey, is it my fault that those miners get themselves killed and the Indians get their weapons?"

His benign tone grated on her nerves. "When our soldiers are killed by those weapons, it becomes our responsibility."

Peter looked up at her then, the indulgent expression gone from his face and his voice growing cold. "Your concern for our troops is commendable, Ruby Nell. Or is it one particular soldier that concerns you? "

She stared at him in confusion. "I don’t understand your question, Peter."

"Don’t you? Then, by all means, let me make myself clear. I am well aware, my dear, that the entire 7th Cavalry knows about Captain Malone’s infatuation with you. Although lately he’s gone to great lengths to keep the relationship in perspective…"

"Relationship? Captain Malone and I have no relationship, Peter!"

"Not for any lack of desire on the gallant captain’s part, I’m sure," Peter said with a droll smile.

His eyes had narrowed to crafty slits that made Lucky’s heart pound with alarm. Her throat was suddenly frozen as she stared at him.

"However," Peter went on without giving her time to respond. "I have complete confidence in you, Ruby Nell. You can hardly be held accountable if a man finds you attractive, can you? You are, after all, a beautiful woman and any normal man would have to be blind not to appreciate that. You’re also kind and very talented, so it’s no small wonder that Captain Malone is smitten.

"And, I must admit," he continued, smiling now as he watched her reaction to his remarks. "I’ve never had anything a man like Malone ever wanted before. It’s a heady feeling to know that I have something he wants and can’t have. I’m rather enjoying it."

Lucky felt her face drain of its color, then quickly fill up again. The amusement in Peter’s eyes made her both angry and uneasy. She wondered for a moment if he expected her to admit to some indiscretion.

"I’m afraid, Ruby Nell, that my advice to not let any particular soldier here become your special cavalier fell on deaf ears. Captain Malone, it seems, has taken your kindness as something else. But don’t worry, honey, I’ve taken care of the matter. You have nothing to fear."

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, not at all sure she wanted to know. "I’ve told you, Peter, there is nothing between Captain Malone and myself, except perhaps mutual respect."

"What you meant as respect, it seems, has been interpreted by the captain as something more. But, as I said, it’s being taken care of."

"How do you mean?"

Peter patted her hand and returned his attention to the ledger. "General Custer will be speaking to him about the matter. In a very discreet manner, of course. The less that’s made of the situation, the better for everyone."

"You asked General Custer to speak to Captain Malone about me?" Lucky’s voice was incredulous as she stared at him. "Peter, how could you?"

"I felt it was necessary, Ruby Nell, to protect my wife from malicious gossip that might irrefutably damage your reputation."

"What about Captain Malone’s reputation?"

"That was a chance he took when he chose to show an improper interest in a married woman," Peter replied coolly. "I trust that after General Custer speaks to him, it will put an end to the matter.

"As for the guns, Ruby Nell, my only responsibility to the soldiers is to provide them with the necessities of life that I have contracted for with the War Department. I do that very well. If I’m able to make a bit of a profit from selling a few guns to the miners so they can protect themselves from the Indians, it is none of the Army’s business."

Lucky blinked at his tone. She had never heard him speak in that manner before and the way his hound dog gaze had changed to meaningful malevolence made her back up a step.

"But, Peter…"

"I’ve nothing more to say on the subject, Ruby Nell, and I suggest that you refrain from speaking of it, as well. Am I making myself clear?"

Lucky had heard enough threats in her life to know one when she heard it. Peter’s tone was still calm, but the implications were clear. "You don’t want the Army to know you’re selling guns to the miners."

He nodded and exhaled. Immediately the kinder, gentler Peter reappeared. "Exactly, my dear. I am fulfilling my contract to the letter. Above that, I owe the Army no explanation, nor anyone else. Please bear that in mind, Ruby Nell."

He smiled then and patted her hand before picking up his invoices and returning to the storeroom to check off his supplies as the hired men unloaded them. Behind him, Lucky swallowed and stared at his retreating back with growing alarm.

Instinct told her she should tell someone about the guns, but Peter’s warning had been well received. And now that she knew he had spoken to Custer about Quinn, she was more concerned about that situation than any shipment of repeating rifles anyway.

She glanced toward the adjutant’s office across the parade ground and shut her eyes tightly. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t warn Quinn and even if she could, she wondered what difference it would make. She felt sick at her stomach, knowing this was as much her own fault as Quinn’s, but it was his career on the line. The thought that his feelings for her might be the tool that destroyed everything he’d spend his life building made her want to cry. That was pointless too.

It seemed that Peter had managed to kill two birds with one stone, as the old adage went. He protected his investment in her association with the Custers by making sure the general thought Quinn was the aggressor in this situation, and he made himself a sympathetic character in the process.

The whole predicament made her ill, both physically and emotionally. She began to have serious doubts about Peter. What kind of man sold guns to miners, knowing full well that a portion of them would end up in the hands of the Indians and be used to kill the soldiers upon whom he depended for his business? And what kind of man was happily willing to sacrifice a decent man’s career to further his own interests? Did she really want to spend the rest of her life with a man like that? That was a question she was not prepared to answer at the moment, but one she knew full well she’d have to answer at some point in the near future.

In the meantime, Quinn’s career was in jeopardy and there was nothing she could do to help him.

***

"You wanted to see me?"

Quinn asked the question immediately after General Custer returned his salute and motioned him into the office.

"Yes, Captain. Please, come in."

Custer’s tone was warm and friendly. It put Quinn on guard instantly. He had not spoken to his commanding officer since the debacle over Sergeant Jenkins’ assault on Lieutenant Kelley and he preferred to keep it that way.

"At ease, Captain."

Quinn interlaced his fingers behind his back and waited while Custer finished perusing some documents on the desk in front of him. They both knew it was Custer’s way of letting him know who was in charge. It was a game that had been played out numerous times over the years, and one that never failed to make Quinn’s teeth grind.

"I trust your company will be ready when General Sherman gets here?"

"Yes, sir." Quinn kept his tone cool and professional, although he resented the question.

"Of course you’ll be ready. When have you ever failed to be properly prepared for any contingency?"

"Sir?"

Custer’s sharp gaze centered on Quinn’s face as he laid aside the papers he’d been toying with. "That was a compliment, Captain. You and I may have our differences, but I never have to worry about your preparedness. Your troop is among the best trained, most capable of any company in the 7th. You always manage to make me look good and do the regiment proud."

Quinn stared at him in surprise. In nine years of service under this man’s command, Custer had never expressed himself in those terms. It made the hair on the back of Quinn’s neck stand on end. Something was afoot and he was quite certain he wasn’t going to like it.

"Thank you, sir."

Custer held that piercing gaze on him while he played with a pencil. "I’ve never said you weren’t a fine officer, Captain. In fact, you’re probably the most capable officer in my command. You have always impressed me with your coolness under fire. You’re level headed and have an amazing ability to get the best from your men under the most adverse conditions.

"You’ve got brilliant instincts about fighting Indians. Much more so than Major Reno, who still thinks we should fight the Sioux the same way we fought the Confederates. You, on the other hand, know better.

"Your loyalty to this regiment is to be commended, as well. Although your personal loyalty to me, as your commanding officer, leaves a great deal to be desired, no one can doubt your allegiance to the Army and to the 7th Cavalry in particular. And the loyalty your men show to you is nothing short of astounding. I daresay there isn’t a man in your troop who wouldn’t lay down his very life for you if the situation called for it. Caused, no doubt, by the fact that they have seen you do the very same thing for them, time after time. An admirable quality, if not a foolish one."

Quinn continued to stare at him in confusion. This testimonial was completely out of character for Custer. He rarely handed out such praise even to those few officers with whom he was close. It only made Quinn more uneasy.

Custer smiled briefly at the question on Quinn’s face. "That is precisely why I’m so amazed that you’re willing to risk everything for a married woman."

Anger instantly flared in Quinn’s eyes. He could feel the blood rushing up his neck as he stiffened at the amused, knowing expression on Custer’s face.

"With all due respect, sir. I am not going to discuss my private affairs with you." Quinn’s tone was sharp as he met Custer’s gaze without blinking. He turned on his heel and walked purposefully toward the closed door.

"You walk out that door before I’m finished, Captain, and you’ll be facing a court martial."

The authority in Custer’s voice made Quinn grit his teeth, but he paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned back. The sparkle in Custer’s eyes told him the general was dead serious. He’d seen that expression too many times over the years not to recognize the danger in it. He forced himself to take a deep breath and walk back across the office to stand in front of the desk again.

"This is not a social visit, Captain. A complaint has been made against you and it’s my duty, whether you like it or not, to speak to you. Your lack of respect for me personally has nothing to do with respecting the position I hold. Bear that in mind."

"Complaint? What kind of complaint?"

Custer studied a page of notes on his desk before answering. "It seems that Peter Warner thinks you have shown an improper interest in his young wife."

"Excuse me!"

"He came to me personally and asked me to speak to you. He requests that you stay away from Mrs. Warner and avoid any kind of personal contact in the future."

"I have not spoken to Mrs. Warner in weeks, sir. I have not gone to the sutler’s in even longer than that."

"You escorted her and Mrs. McIntosh to Fort Rice a few weeks ago, did you not? And while there, you spent the night at Captain Benteen’s home, where incidentally, so did Mrs. Warner."

"Are you suggesting that something improper took place between Mrs. Warner and myself while at Captain Benteen’s?"

Custer smiled at the rage building in Quinn’s face and voice during the question. He shook his head. "I’m not suggesting anything, Captain. I’m merely passing on a request that you refrain from any contact with Mrs. Warner. Should you fail to comply with this request, the alternatives could be most unpleasant, both for you and for the lady."

"Such as?"

"Such as a court martial, Captain. Charges of conduct unbecoming an officer. Warner isn’t kidding, and neither am I. I do not intend for my regiment to be placed under scrutiny, nor will I allow any hint of ridicule to be attached to it because you can’t control your libido."

He waved off the protest he saw in Quinn’s eyes. "Think about the lady, Captain. Do you want her to be put through the humiliation of testifying at your court martial? Are you willing to risk her reputation as well as your own?"

"No, of course not."

"Good. Then do us all a favor and stay the hell away from her. Keep your distance and keep Warner happy. You may consider this a direct order, Captain."

"This could all be avoided, sir, if you’d approve my request for a transfer to Captain Benteen’s command."

Custer chuckled as he watched the fury in Quinn’s eyes grow. "Not a chance, Captain."

Quinn swallowed the furious retort that came to mind and gritted his teeth at the amusement on Custer’s face. His hands clenched and unclenched into fists at his sides and the veins in his neck bulged with anger.

"That is all, Captain. Dismissed!"

Quinn saluted and turned on his heel. He left the office and untied Apollo’s reins from the hitch rail in front. Mounting, he turned the horse back toward the parade ground where his troop was still drilling in preparation of General Sherman’s visit. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lucky sweeping off the porch of the sutler’s store, but he would not look directly at her. Things were bad enough already. If he was to salvage any part of his own reputation, as well as keep scandal away from her, he’d have to tread very carefully in the future.

He set Apollo at a gallop toward the parade ground, trying to contain his anger and frustration. She had been listening that night at Fred’s when he entreated her to leave Warner and make a life with him. He’d felt her resistance weakening, but how was he going to convince her they could have a future together if he wasn’t allowed to speak to her, or be in her proximity? He cursed under his breath and gritted his teeth. The whole damn situation was hopeless.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

General Sherman’s arrival the next day brought an air of festivity that was infectious. Lucky caught the excitement, in spite of her own troubling thoughts. She had slept little the night before the general’s visit and was awake before reveille woke the post the following morning.

As she prepared Peter’s breakfast, she could tell that he was excited too. The flurry of activity in the garrison started immediately after reveille, for she could see the troops hurrying around getting their horses groomed and saddled for the parade that would begin upon the general’s arrival. Having never seen such a spectacle, she was curious about it.

"What happens at the parade, Peter?" she asked while she poured his coffee.

"It’s all quite grand, Ruby Nell," he told her with a smile. "Wait till you see the men in their dress uniforms, and all the horses gleaming. The companies have been working on this for weeks. It’s the most impressive thing the Army does, honey. It just takes your breath. You’ll see."

Shortly, she heard the band begin the opening strands of Garryowen. While she watched out the kitchen window, the men sprang into their saddles and the companies formed a line on each side of the post’s main road from the entrance all the way up the parade ground. With guidons flying in the pleasant morning breeze, she saw the men salute as General Sherman and his entourage entered Fort Lincoln.

General Custer rode to meet him, along with Lieutenant Cooke, the regimental adjutant, and Major Reno, the second ranking officer. Custer and Sherman shook hands as the band played on, and the women and children stood on the sidelines, watching in silence.

Custer led the way toward the wide plain just outside the fort where dress parades were held. As he escorted General Sherman out the front entrance, ‘A’ Company turned as if one man and proceeded behind them. ‘B’ Company, commanded by Captain McDougall, followed suit and so on until all the companies fell into line and moved in perfect precision toward the parade ground.

The women and children quickly hurried along behind the troops. Not wanting to miss anything, Peter took Lucky’s arm and assisted her into the wagon he had waiting outside the store. They drove to the semi circle already formed of the families of the troops, Indian scouts, and even a few of the people from Bismarck. It seemed no one wanted to miss the chance to see the 7th in a full dress parade.

Lucky felt excitement spreading through her veins at the spectacle that awaited. The horses gleamed like velvet in the bright sunlight as they moved into position. She squeezed Peter’s arm enthusiastically at the sight of all those beautiful animals moving in perfect unison. Especially impressive were the gray horses that formed ‘E’ Troop, appropriately called The Gray Horse Troop.

"Peter, it’s so beautiful."

Peter nodded as he smiled at the awe in her voice. "Yes, it is, Ruby Nell, but you haven’t seen anything yet. Just wait."

Her gaze was glued to the field as the columns advanced with flags and guidons flying on the breeze. The men all looked like centurions, wearing black helmets decorated with gold spread eagles and thick yellow plumes floating from gold spikes in the center of the crowns. Leather straps beneath their chins held the helmets in place and hid the men’s faces from view. The uniforms were blue and gold and they all wore sabers at their sides.

The officers’ uniforms were further complimented by kidney shaped yellow and gold epaulets, which bore the insignia of their rank, repeated on the collars. A gold thread belt held their sabers in place and was matched by heavy gold cords and tassels across the chest. Yellow stripes ran down the outside of the trousers, which disappeared into gleaming high topped boots.

Lucky watched in wonderment as the lines formed and divided, surging from a trot into a gallop as the bugle calls directed. Lieutenant Cooke, in his role as adjutant, was everywhere, giving orders to the band, weaving in and out of the lines with his saber drawn, until he wheeled his horse, and faced Custer.

"Sir, the parade is formed!"

Custer put the regiment through a series of smart saber exercises, while Lucky watched in awe as the sunlight glinted on the blades of seven hundred fifty drawn sabers.

When he concluded with an emphatic "Return sabers!" each company’s First Sergeant lined up in front of the command. Lucky felt a surge of pride when First Sergeant Briggs reported, "‘A’ Company, present and accounted for, sir!" Each company’s sergeant followed suit until all companies had reported in.

So much happened so quickly she could hardly keep track of it all. There was the band’s parade and the breath taking passing of the troops in review as they swept across the plain. The moment when the officers wheeled their horses into line and Lieutenant Cooke galloped up from the rear to fill the space reserved for him, made her gasp. At his command of "Officers, center, march!" the whole line of company commanders advanced as one man and one horse toward Custer and Sherman and their staffs, while the band blasted.

"Officers, halt!" Cooke called out and the line of officers reined their horses to a sudden halt. The band ceased playing as the officers saluted the Generals, holding their hands to their visors until the salute was returned.

Lucky’s gaze was glued to Quinn as the regiment went through the intricate maneuvers. He and Apollo moved as if of one mind and body. The horse was truly amazing and so was the man riding him. She felt her heart and eyes fill up with emotion at the pageantry of the parade and her pride in the centurion astride the magnificent chestnut gelding. He rode like he had been born in a saddle, with such grace and skill that she could easily see how he had excelled in this chosen profession. No other man on the field could quite match the almost regal manner in which he conducted himself, the horse, and his company. He was extraordinary, she thought proudly as she watched the line of officers return to their positions in front of their troops.

Then the band launched into The Star Spangled Banner as the flag glided gracefully down the flagpole where the soldiers who had been detailed to receive it gathered it up.

"Ruby Nell, honey, we better hurry along if we hope to get a good place for the picnic."

Peter’s urgent tone broke through Lucky’s thoughts. She turned to him and blinked to bring the events back into focus. "Oh, Peter, that was magnificent! How exciting!"

"It always is, honey."

He took up the reins and clucked to the team. As they began rumbling toward the designated picnic area, they were passed by the moving troops as the parade broke up.

She looked at one man, then another, looking for Quinn. In the helmets and chin straps it was difficult to tell one from another as the wagon plowed through the ranks. Then she saw a man astride a beautiful chestnut remove his helmet and run a hand through his hair.

For the briefest of moments their gazes met. She saw the instant softening in his eyes when he saw her, then she saw his gaze leave her and touch Peter, and saw his expression harden. She blinked and looked down, afraid he would see her despair. When she looked up again, he had melted into the sea of dress uniforms and gleaming horses.

***

The picnic was in full swing when they arrived. Amid the laughing children running everywhere, and the hordes of post dogs, the women spread their blankets and opened up picnic baskets. In short order the men joined their respective families and friends.

Lucky set out the basket she’d brought, as did Mollie McIntosh and Annie Yates. Joining them were Margaret Calhoun and then Libby Custer. In no time they were all laughing and talking as they set out lunch for their officer husbands.

Lucky sat down beside Peter on the blanket and tried to concentrate on the lively conversations. They were joined by General Sherman and were introduced to him by Custer. In a few more minutes Tom Custer came along and playfully tugged on his sister’s elegantly coiffured hair until she laughingly slapped at his hands. By the time lunch was spread out and ready to serve, James Calhoun, Donald McIntosh, and George Yates had joined the festivities.

They had chosen a spot beneath a massive cottonwood tree for their meal. The shade helped dispel the hot July midday sun, but the flies buzzed about as though they had received their own invitation for lunch. Lucky sat on the blanket and picked at her food, smiling from time to time at the spirited conversation going on around her, but her mind was wandering.

She picked Captain Benteen out of the crowd as he and Quinn led their horses toward the blankets where First Sergeant Briggs and his family had lunch waiting for them. Mrs. Briggs was a robust woman whose work worn hands dished up food and patted down her small son’s cow lick at the same time, all the while chatting with Quinn and Fred as though they were all old friends.

Lucky saw her reach out and fondly brush a lock of Quinn’s coal black hair out his eyes as she handed him a heaping plate of food. It was a simple gesture, but it brought sudden tears to Lucky’s, eyes for she knew she would never be able to do something so ordinary and innocent. Even now, she felt a hundred pairs of eyes on her and knew that half the post was watching to see if anything as simple as a hello would pass between herself and Quinn.

She envied Mrs. Briggs the freedom to touch him in such an normal manner. His warm smile when he took the food from her made Lucky’s heart flip in her chest. Then she saw the Briggs’ son climb up on his lap and help himself to the food on Quinn’s plate. He was part of their family, she realized with a start. So much a part of it that taking a meal with them and playing with their child was an every day occurrence. It had been the same with the Benteens at Fort Rice.

Not once during the meal did their gazes ever touch. Lucky kept her head down in concentration on her food, but she ate very little. Her stomach was still tied in knots from the excitement of just seeing him during the parade doing what he was so skilled at. Now he was stretched out on a blanket, supporting his head on one hand, surrounded by hundreds of other people, not a hundred yards from her. The thought of that night in Fred Benteen’s living room made her palms sweat. The memory of that searing kiss washed over her unexpectedly, making sweet heat whip through her blood.

The sound of the horses’ stamping at flies and the familiar odor of sweaty horseflesh permeated the afternoon air. Lucky made small talk with Maggie Calhoun about the difficulty associated with an outdoor meal when the flies and mosquitoes were in attendance, but she knew with all certainty that Quinn was just as aware of her nearness as she was of him. They did not look at each other, or in any other outward way acknowledge one another during that agonizing meal, but she knew he was thinking about her just the same.

"When do the contests start?"

Lucky looked up when Mollie asked the question of Custer. She remembered Johnny Firth mentioning something about games and contests of skill after the parade.

"Whenever the men are ready," Custer replied with a lazy smile.

"Let's get started!" Tom Custer said enthusiastically as he got to his feet. He motioned for Lieutenant Cooke to join them. "What do you say, Cookie? Are we ready to find out which company has the best shot in the regiment?"

"Shoot, Tom, we already know ‘C’ Company has him. This whole contest thing is a waste of time," Lieutenant Cooke said with a wide grin.

Cooke jumped up on the seat of the nearest ambulance and waved his arms. In due time the talking and laughing halted and the group waited to hear what the young lieutenant had to say.

"All right folks. It's time for the fun to start. Officers, pick the best marksman in your company, get your rifles and let's get this underway."

Lucky turned to Peter as the men began moving toward their horses and gathering up their arms. "What are they going to do, Peter?"

"Each officer picks one man from his company and then the two of them shoot against all the other officers and their man. It's all good fun."

"General, I understand Mrs. Warner is quite a shot as well." It was Captain Benteen's voice. "I propose that we let the ladies have a go at it, as well. What do you say?"

Custer jumped to his feet, smiling widely. "That's an excellent idea, Captain. Ladies, what do you say?"

Mollie, Annie Yates, and Maggie Calhoun readily agreed to shoot for their husbands' companies and set about getting ready for the contest.

"‘C’ Company gets Mrs. Custer," Tom called out with a grin at his sister-in-law.

"‘A’ Company gets Mrs. Warner," Captain Benteen said as he walked toward her and held out a hand to assist Lucky to her feet. "What about it, Mrs. Warner, will you do ‘A’ Company the honor?"

Lucky risked a glance at Quinn. He was standing beside Apollo, pulling his carbine from the boot and turned just in time to catch her eye. The subtle warning in his eyes made up her mind.

"I shall do my best to bring honor and glory to ‘A’ Company, Captain Benteen," she said, responding to the gaiety of the moment with a curtsey.

She looked at Peter, who was decidedly uneasy with the situation, but with the gauntlet having been thrown, there was little he could do, short of creating a scene. She knew that with General Sherman in attendance, he would not do anything to disturb the afternoon's festivities.

He proudly nodded. Fred Benteen handed her his own carbine and took her arm as they walked across the field to the shooting range that had been erected.

When they arrived at the target area, they found the entire post gathering. Lucky saw the friendly nudges as the officers called out the name of the man from their company they had chosen to be their partner and heard the joshing and laughter among the men as the chosen man took his place beside his company commander.

She soon realized that the shooting took the same alphabetical order as the companies. She lifted the carbine to get the feel of it and smiled at Fred Benteen. He was thoroughly enjoying this spectacle, she thought, and couldn't help wondering why he'd suggested such a thing. There wasn't a woman on the post who couldn't hold her own with a rifle against the men, but she had never seen a woman participate in a shooting contest before. It was quite an honor, she decided as she waited for Quinn to choose which one of his men he wanted to join him.

"Corporal Denton, if you would please," he said in that distinctive Texas drawl that made her palms sweat.

There was a good amount of complaining from the ranks when he chose Denton, but it was in good-natured fun and Denton made his way to the front amid claps on the back from his comrades.

"And Private Firth, if you will join us please. You can load."

Lucky saw the happy smile that lit Johnny Firth's youthful features as he hurried to take his place at Quinn's side. She also saw the surprised expressions from some of the men, then saw Sergeant Jenkins end the grumbling with a mere glance.

The targets were set up at a beginning distance of a hundred yards. They were bulls-eye targets with the center black spot being the prime target. Lucky faintly remembered seeing the things arrive in one of Peter's shipments and had wondered what on earth they were for. Each company's First Sergeant supervised the results, to make sure every thing was on the level and a private from each company was on hand to change the target for his company's combatants.

When everything was ready, Custer gave the okay to start. Corporal Denton took his shot first and scored well. Quinn looked at Lucky directly for the first time since the contest got underway and indicated the starting line.

"Ladies first."

She smiled as she took her place at the line, lifted the carbine to her shoulder, sighted, and fired.

"Bulls eye!" she heard Sergeant Briggs call.

She smiled triumphantly at the other ladies who were awaiting their own turns and then watched while Quinn took his shot. She was not in the least surprised when he also scored a bulls-eye.

After the first round, the targets were moved back another hundred yards, and the process began over again. By the end of the third round when Lucky had scored bulls eyes with every shot, the men of ‘A’ Company began looking at her in a completely different light.

By the end of the fifth round she was the only female still competing. At the end of the seventh round, she and Quinn were among the only remaining contestants. Corporal Denton missed on his sixth shot and took a lot of good-natured teasing from his comrades for being bested by a woman.

At the beginning of the tenth round, the assemblage was amazed that she was still one of the few contestants remaining. Only Quinn and Tom Custer were the only officers still hitting the target each time.

The target was setting at a thousand yards now. The crowd was really excited at this point and more than a few bets were being made on the outcome.

"Just think, Quinn," Fred Benteen said softly to Quinn as he stepped closer to where Quinn waited to take his next shot. "How good it'll feel to beat Tom Custer."

Quinn flashed Lucky a glance, then looked back at his friend. "Yeah, it's not Tom I'm worried about. Just think how humiliating it would be to get beaten by a woman."

Fred grinned and laid a hand on Quinn's shoulder for a moment. "Getting beat by a woman who can shoot that well is no disgrace, my friend. I want to know when we can enlist her."

Lucky couldn't help hearing their comments and flashed a bright smile as she took her carbine from Johnny Firth and lifted it to her shoulder. Her heart was singing at the praise she was hearing, not only from Captain Benteen, but from the ranks, as well. These fighting men had never seen a woman capable of what she was doing and they were not shy about voicing their approval.

A glance at Peter revealed that he was basking in her accomplishments, as well. General Sherman and Custer, both astounded at her ability, and complimenting him on having such a fine wife, surrounded him.

With the target moved back to fifteen hundred yards, she finally missed. A resounding roar of disappointment went up from the crowd when Sergeant Briggs announced it. She handed her carbine back to Fred Benteen with a rueful smile, and was surprised and happy when the usually solemn captain gave her a bear hug.

"Nice work, Mrs. Warner," he said as he took the rifle from her.

Tom Custer also missed at that range. The crowd was now very quiet as they waited for Quinn to take his last shot. Lucky squeezed her hands together as he lifted the carbine to his shoulder and sighted along the barrel. She shut her eyes when his finger begin to squeeze the trigger. A moment later the report from the Springfield echoed through the field and he lowered the gun.

"Bulls eye!" Sergeant Briggs shouted as he yanked off the target and waved it around over his head. He shook hands with the private who had been handling the targets and ran toward the gathering.

He held up the target with his finger stuck through the center where Quinn's bullet had pierced it. ‘A’ Company sent up a roar of applause as they danced around, slapping one another on the back, and collecting bets from the other companies.

Tom Custer walked over with an outstretched hand and a wide grin. Quinn shook hands with him and then he turned to Lucky.

"That was fine shooting, Mrs. Warner," he said politely as he held out his hand toward her.

"Thank you, Captain," she murmured as she took his hand in a firm handshake.

She knew the entire assembly was watching them so she kept her gaze steady and polite, even though her knees were weak and her heart was pounding. She let her hand drop to her side when Quinn let it go and curled her fingers into a fist so no one could see that she was shaking.

Then he turned away, carrying his carbine back toward Apollo while his troops swarmed all around him, congratulating him and enjoying their company's moment of triumph.

The crowd began drifting away to the next event and she let Peter take her arm and escort her across the field toward the area where the men were setting up for it. As they approached the place where Quinn was mounting Apollo, she saw him reach down and take Sergeant's Briggs's young son's hand and pull him up onto the horse behind him.

With the child's arms wrapped securely around his waist, he turned Apollo around and for an instant they were looking directly at each other. Peter was busily chatting about how impressed General Sherman was with her shooting skills and completely missed the glance they exchanged in that brief moment. Quinn touched his forehead with two fingers in a salute that made her stomach do a flip.

The smile he flashed her was warm and sensual as he rode abreast of her, then he urged Apollo into a gallop and streaked across the field while the child on the saddle behind him shrieked with laughter.

She watched him for a moment longer, admiring how the sun gleamed off his coal black hair as he rode away. She could almost feel her fingers sliding through it and clenched her hands into fists at her sides. Then she forced her attention back to Peter's idle chatter and used every ounce of will power she possessed to keep from looking over her shoulder at the man on the magnificent horse and the laughing little boy as they raced across the open field.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The next event in the afternoon's festivities was a tug of war. Half a dozen men from each company competed with one another, with the losers being dragged through a mud hole. This made winning highly preferable since all the men were still wearing their dress uniforms and no one wanted to see them splattered with mud.

Lucky laughed along with every one else when the wives of the contestants did most of the yelling and encouraging. Having done Quinn's laundry for a short while, she knew exactly how those women dreaded washing and ironing those dress uniforms.

It did her heart good to see him laughing and enjoying himself that afternoon. When ‘A’ Company had their turn at the tug of war against ‘M’ Company, he was one of their biggest supporters. He stood on the sidelines shouting encouragement to Sergeants Briggs and Jenkins, who headed the team, and actually danced a jig with Mrs. Briggs when they pulled their opponents through the mud hole face first.

The competition between the companies ceased being so friendly, however, when the boxing matches were announced. Lucky realized quickly that the men took this contest very seriously. Bets were being made and she saw more than a few flasks being passed around. Knowing that Custer did not drink himself, nor approve of drinking from the ranks, she was surprised that he ignored it.

"The men are all off duty, honey," Peter tried to explain above the din as the boxing matches were being arranged. "The general isn't one to interfere with their time. Besides, if he was to stop the drinking, he'd have to do something about his brother and his brother-in-law."

Lucky nodded, having already seen Tom Custer and James Calhoun partaking liberally of whatever spirits were contained in the silver flash Tom kept neatly tucked inside his dress tunic.

"These men work hard, and they deserve to play hard," Peter went on. "As long as they don’t get out of line, there won't be any problems."

Problems, however, were not long in developing. When ‘C’ Company chose a man to represent them in the boxing matches, the man selected was Lieutenant Kelley. The men applauded noisily when Tom Custer announced Kelley's name, for the young officer was evidently quite well schooled in the art.

The fact that Sergeant Jenkins had whaled the tar out of him could be attributed to the fact that Kelley, while an academy trained fighter, had never been matched against someone as experienced, or as earthy as Jenkins. Kelley knew the rules and had attempted to abide by them, and Jenkins, if he even knew rules existed, had thrown them right out the window. The event that afternoon was not to be a repeat of that disastrous brawl, but a disaster all its own.

Kelley stepped into the ring drawn on the ground and looked straight at the man he wanted for an opponent. "You!" he said, pointing at Private Johnny Firth. "A few weeks ago you called me a liar! Come over here and back up your big mouth, if you're man enough!"

Every eye flew to Firth's startled expression. An immediate flush colored his face. "I called you a liar, because you are one…sir."

Johnny's tone was respectful of Kelley's rank, even though his eyes were snapping with anger. He pushed his way through the men until he was standing at the edge of the marked off ring.

Kelley was unbuttoning his blouse sleeves in preparation of the fight, his expression murderous at the boy's remark. "You're going to be very sorry you said that, Private," he said in a menacing tone.

Firth whipped off his cap and started to unbutton his own sleeves when Quinn stepped in front of him and put one hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Private, this is a big mistake," he said softly as he held Firth's attention by the sheer intensity in his eyes. "Kelley has never lost one of these fights. Don't let him goad you into something you'll be sorry for."

Firth swallowed as he returned Quinn's persistent gaze. "I can take care of myself, Captain."

"Not against him, you can't. He'll take you apart a piece at a time. Walk away, Private. Nobody here will think less of you."

Lucky was standing close enough to hear Quinn's soft spoken warning. She saw Firth swallow and shake his head stubbornly. She was staring apprehensively at the boy as he finished rolling up his sleeves, when she heard the mutters from his fellow troopers.

"Looks like the captain's still protectin' his pet queer."

She looked around to find the owner of the raspy, amused voice, then turned to the grizzled corporal who had spoken. "You ought to be ashamed!" she snapped, as she poked a finger in the man's chest. "Private Firth is a fine young man!"

Corporal Hutchins rubbed his chest where she'd stabbed him and spit a stream of tobacco juice at her feet. "He's a fine something, ma'am, but it ain't no man."

Sergeant Jenkins jabbed him in the ribs with a well placed elbow to shut him up, just as Peter caught Lucky's arm and pulled her away. His face was flaming red with embarrassment as he attempted to move her away from the front row of observers.

"Ruby Nell, please," he said imploringly with a swift glance at the amused faces of both Custer men and General Sherman, who stood a few feet back watching the festivities. "You're making a scene."

She balked at being maneuvered like a child and freed herself from Peter's hands. She caught Quinn's forearm as Firth walked into the fighting circle and squared off against Kelley.

"Why are you allowing this?" she demanded. "He's going to get hurt."

"He knows that."

Quinn's soft tone made her brows rise. "Then why is he doing it?"

"Honor, Mrs. Warner. It's about honor."

"Horse feathers!" Lucky's tone was furious as she stared up into his sparkling eyes. "It's about men who think the only way to prove their manhood is to beat one another senseless. I might have expected it of him…"she said, pointing to Lieutenant Kelley. "But I thought you had better sense! Now if you don’t put a stop to this, I will!"

"No, you won't, Mrs. Warner." Quinn's voice was still soft, but it contained that element of authority that came from years of expecting his orders to be followed. "Warner, if you can’t control your wife, please remove her."

Peter's head bobbed nervously as he caught Lucky's shoulders and forcibly pulled her away. His face was still red and he was beginning to perspire badly. The hostile stare that Lucky and Quinn had pinned on each other in those tension filled moments did little to relieve his consternation. At any other time he might have been happy to see that Quinn's affection for his wife had been replaced by anger at her interference, but with the whole post, not to mention General Sherman watching, he was too embarrassed to take note.

Lucky was forced to stand and watch for the next ten minutes while Lieutenant Kelley methodically beat Johnny Firth to a pulp. It was obvious from the first blow that the boy had no chance of defending himself against Kelley's superior skill. Kelley danced and feinted his way around the circle, systemically delivering punch after punch to Firth's face and body, until the kid was weaving blindly on his feet.

The crowd had become obviously silent as the fight progressed. Even Kelley's troop mates stopped calling their encouragement and grew quiet. The members of ‘A’ Company, even those who had been most vocal about Firth's shortcomings, were now wincing with every blow Kelley landed.

Lucky stood with one hand to her mouth in horror at the bloody spectacle, torn between fear for Johnny Firth, and fury at Quinn for allowing this to continue. Tears blinded her as she glared at his back. He stood at the edge of the circle, shoulders straight, legs slightly spread, his thumbs hooked in his belt while he watched the fight. She almost hated him in those minutes. She certainly did not understand why he didn't do something.

It wasn't until Kelley landed a nasty blow below the belt that sent Firth reeling to the ground that Quinn acted. He moved so quickly that Lucky barely realized it as he stepped between the gasping boy on the ground and Kelley who was still advancing on him.

"That's enough, Kelley. It's over." Quinn's voice rang out clearly in the silence as he stood over the boy, facing the sweaty but unscathed lieutenant.

"It's over when I say it's over," Kelley replied. He was still dancing, his fists upraised and moving. "That little…bugger…called me a liar. I intend to make certain he never makes the same mistake again."

"He called you a liar, Kelley, because you are a liar."

Lucky sucked in her breath at Quinn's softly delivered statement. His hands were still at his sides, his stance almost relaxed as he looked directly into Kelley's surprised eyes.

"You're not only a liar, you're a bully. You've made your point here. The kid's no match for you. You knew that when you challenged him. Now back off! I said this is over!"

Kelley's face flooded with anger at the authority in Quinn's manner. "I don't take being called a liar from anybody. Not even a ranking officer. Maybe you want a little of this."

Kelley was waving his fists uncomfortably close to Quinn's face as he made the remark, smirking all the while.

"Kelley, you know damned well that I can't hit you. As much as I'd like to, you're not worth a court martial."

"That's only if you hit me first," Kelley pointed out as he danced back and forth. "Or if you're not wearing those captain's bars."

"That's a fact. Is that what you want?"

"I want that little pussy there on the ground to apologize for calling me a liar and I want to hear it from you, as well."

A faint smile touched Quinn's lips. "I want to be transferred to Captain Benteen's command, Lieutenant. Looks like neither of us is going to get what we want."

Fury flushed Kelley's face at the open contempt in Quinn's voice. He clamped his lips together and cursed.

"The next time you have some remark to make about my private business, Lieutenant, I suggest that you make it to my face and not to my men. Do I make myself clear?"

"If you weren't wearing those bars, Captain, I'd be more than happy to repeat what I said."

Quinn stared at him for a moment, then he reached up and unpinned the bars on his collar. He walked to the edge of the circle and handed them to Sergeant Briggs.

"Captain, you don't have to do this," Briggs said with a meaningful glance at Kelley.

"Sir, I'd be real happy to kick the little shit's ass again," Sergeant Jenkins called out. A second later his suggestion was being voiced by several dozen members of the troop.

"Get Private Firth to the infirmary," Quinn said to Jenkins. "And stay out of this. It's between me and Kelley now."

"But, Captain…"

"That's an order, Sergeant."

Jenkins kicked the ground and dropped his head, but he nodded. "If you say so, sir."

Quinn turned and walked back to the center of the ring where Kelley was dancing and smirking. Jenkins and Hutchins picked Firth up and carried him to the sidelines, where they laid him down on a grassy spot.

Lucky hurried to him, and dropped to her knees. Using her petticoats, she began to wipe the blood away so she could see how badly he was hurt.

"Quinn said Kelley had never lost one of these fights," she said to Mrs. Briggs who had joined her to assist Firth.

"He hasn't."

"Then how does Quinn hope to beat him?"

"Honey child, you obviously don't know as much about Quinn Malone as you think." The older woman chuckled as she flashed Lucky a quick grin. " This has been coming for awhile, ever since Kelley insulted you. The thing is with Quinn, the madder he gets, the calmer he gets. Right now he's so calm he's going to tear Kelley's head off."

Lucky stared at her in alarm. Then she turned her attention to the ring. She didn't want to watch, but nothing could have drug her away. Fighting was a childish way of settling a dispute, but she was furious enough with the way Kelley had hurt Johnny Firth that she was willing to take him on herself.

"All right, Lieutenant, the bars are off. You can take a swing at me and you won't be fighting a ranking officer. Now, would you care to repeat what you said to Private Firth?"

Quinn's voice was so soft and calm only those onlookers at the very front of the circle could hear the words. Kelley swallowed and looked hesitant for the first time. He looked Quinn up and down as though realizing for the first time that Quinn was serious.

"What's wrong, Kelley? You're the one who wanted this fight. You haven't decided that whipping me might be just a little bit harder than whipping a kid, have you? Let me assure you that I didn't get to be a captain in the cavalry by sitting on my hands. I worked my ass off for those bars. That includes taking on Confederates who would make you wet your pants. You think you're tough, Kelley? I've killed more men in hand-to-hand combat than you can count. Now, you little bastard, you either say to my face what you said to Firth and Jenkins, or you walk away."

Kelley's face paled at Quinn's softly spoken challenge and he wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. He glanced at the sidelines, hoping to encounter Tom Custer's advising gaze.

"Tom can't help you, Kelley. It's you and me. That's all."

"I said that you and Mrs. Warner are a lot more than just friendly. I said that you've been doing her when Warner's away from the fort."

Kelley's tone lacked the bravado he'd hoped for. The statement came out hoarse and raspy and he swallowed hard after he got the words out.

"You're not just a liar, Kelley, you're a Goddamned liar! Mrs. Warner is a lady, do you understand that? No, I don't suppose you do."

Kelley's temper got the better of him. He swung hard with his right fist. Quinn blocked the blow with his left forearm and put his pent-up anger and frustration into a well aimed closed fist in Kelley's face. The blow hit Kelley in the mouth and sent blood and broken teeth flying. He went to his knees, wove for a moment, then toppled head first to the ground at Quinn's feet.

Quinn backed away, shaking his hand. A whoop went up from ‘A’ Company as they rushed into the circle to greet their champion.

"Here's your bars, Captain," Briggs said with a big grin as he held them out.

"Thanks, Sergeant, but I can't put them back on just now. My hand's busted."

"With your permission, sir, it would be my honor to pin them on."

"Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate that."

Briggs pinned the bars back into place on Quinn's collar as two men from ‘C’ Company came to collect Kelley. For a moment Tom Custer and Quinn looked directly at one another.

"Any problems, Tom?"

Tom shook his head and grinned, then motioned toward Quinn's bleeding right hand. "No. It was a fair fight. I'd damned forgot what a punch you've got. You better get that hand looked after. Looks like you cut yourself pretty good on Kelley's teeth."

Lucky watched wide eyed as General Sherman made his way through the crowd to greet Quinn as he walked toward the spot where she sat with Johnny Firth's head in her lap.

"It's good to see that some things never change, Captain," Sherman said as he extended a hand. "Still fighting for the underdog, I see."

"Forgive me, sir, if I don't shake hands. I'd hate to get blood on you."

Sherman smiled as he glanced at Quinn's hand. "Looks like that's going to need stitches. Most impressive, Captain. But then, you always have been. Private Firth there, is a lucky young trooper to have you for his commanding officer. Not many would stick their own necks out for an enlisted man."

"You don't get loyalty unless you show it, sir. A commanding officer of mine told me that once."

"I'm glad to see that you took my advice, Quinn." Sherman smiled again. "I'm looking forward to spending some time with you while I'm here. I understand you and Fred Benteen have some definite opinions on this situation with the Sioux. I'm interested in hearing them."

"Yes sir, I look forward to it."

Quinn attempted to salute, but grimaced in pain as he raised his hand. Sherman put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. "Forget the salute, Captain. And get that hand looked at. I'll be talking to you later. I trust you will be attending the ball later on this evening?"

"Yes sir."

"Good, I'll see you there."

Sherman walked back to join Custer and the other staff members who had accompanied him from Washington. He fell into step beside Custer as they moved toward their horses.

"That was entertaining, Autie. Malone dropped your finest boxer with one punch. He didn't even work up a sweat. I rather imagine he was pretending it was you."

Custer chuckled aloud and nodded. "I'm sure he was. He'd like nothing better than to pommel me senseless."

"Like I said, it's good to see that some things never change."

Lucky looked up when Quinn dropped to his knees in the grass beside her and looked at Firth.

"Private, some of the men will take you to the infirmary now. You'll be fine in a few days."

"Fine?" Lucky snapped, glaring at him across Firth's prone body. "He could have been seriously injured."

"He wasn't."

"No thanks to you!"

"Mrs. Warner, please…," Johnny pleaded, trying to raise his head from the cradle of her lap. "It ain't the captain's fault. I had to do it."

Lucky glanced down at his swollen, bloody features, then directed her furious glare back to Quinn. He sat on his knees, breathing hard, holding his right hand with his left as blood seeped between his fingers. His eyes were hot with anger, but she could tell he was making a supreme effort to control it.

"This honor business is stupid! You fight each other, you kill people and get yourselves killed and you call it honor. I call it insanity!"

"Sometimes all a man has is honor." Quinn's voice was calm, in direct contrast to the fire in his eyes as he stared back at her. "Private Firth had to fight Kelley. It's the only way he'll ever make the other men in the troop respect him. It doesn't matter that he lost the fight. What's important is that he wasn't afraid to fight in the first place."

"Is it going to change anything? Is it going to make the others stop calling him names and making ugly insinuations?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Hopefully."

"Is what you did going to make Kelley and the others like him stop the rumors about us?"

"It'll make them a hell of a lot more careful what they say and to whom." Quinn's voice was still soft, but the tension in it was becoming more obvious.

"Are you going to fight everyone who makes that kind of remark?"

"If I have to. I will not have your reputation tainted by the likes of Kelley. You are a lady, Mrs. Warner, and every man on this post will know that fact and respect it even if it means that I have to kick the shit out of every one of them."

Lucky's mouth dropped open at the confidence in both his words and his tone. She stared at him in silence, not knowing how to respond. Finally, she blinked and reached for his hand.

"Let me see," she said, prying his fingers apart. "This is a bad cut. You'll need stitches to close it. It's very deep. Clear to the bone, I think."

"Too bad ole Kelley has such good teeth, huh, Captain?" Fred Benteen asked.

It was the first time Lucky had heard him speak since the fight started and the amusement on his face only made her angrier. She did not understand these men at all. The most gentle man she'd ever known had just fought a duel for her honor and he sat here now bleeding, angry with her for thinking it all foolish.

"I'm just lucky that I got the first good punch. If I'd broken my hand and not laid him out, I'd be in real trouble."

"Shoot, Captain, I think if Kelley had laid a finger on you the men in your troop would've torn him apart," Benteen suggested with a wry grin at all the concerned faces gathered around them.

"Well, let's get Firth to the infirmary," Quinn said, pulling his hand back from Lucky’s grasp and getting to his feet. "Some of you men give him a hand."

"I'll do it, Captain." Sergeant Jenkins pushed his way to the front of the group.

"Yeah, me too." It was Corporal Hutchins who spoke as he appeared at Jenkins' side.

They gently picked Firth up and each wrapped an arm around his shoulders. They started toward the fort, carrying him between them.

"That was some fight, kid," Jenkins said before they got out of earshot. "Guess ole Kelley won't be shoving you around again."

"Yeah, but you need to work on keepin' your left up," Hutchins said. "When you're feelin' better, maybe I'll show you a thing or two."

"Gee, thanks fellows. I'd sure appreciate that," Johnny Firth mumbled through split, swollen lips as they moved away.

"One thing's for damned sure," Hutchins remarked. "I don't ever want the captain mad at me. He wasn't kiddin' when he said he'd kick the shit out of us."

Lucky got to her feet as Peter, who had been standing behind her, took her arm. "Come, Ruby Nell, it's getting late and we still have to dress for the General's ball. We don't want to be late."

She nodded and took his offered arm. "Get that hand looked at, Captain."

She turned away and left with Peter without looking back. Her knees were still shaky and her vision blurred by unexplained tears. Her blood was pumping fire through her veins and her heart pounded furiously. The strength and power she'd seen Quinn use in the abrupt fight with Kelley had awakened some foreign hunger inside her. It was insane to feel such a rush of passion over something as primitive as a fight, but she could not deny it either. Those moments when Quinn had stood eye to eye with Kelley and then proceeded to knock him cold had set her desires on fire.

She wondered if he'd felt it too when she'd taken his hand on the pretense of examining his wound. Of course he had. It had been blatantly obvious in the depths of those piercing eyes. The entire situation was nothing more than a powder key of desire, waiting for a spark to ignite it.

She drew in a long, cleansing breath, then exhaled slowly. He had just fought to defend her honor and the last thing on her mind at this moment was being honorable. She had to get these feelings under restraint and quickly, before they exploded out of control.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Lucky was flushed with excitement when she and Peter reached the ball that evening. The post band was set up in the Custer's front yard, their music beckoning as she left the store on Peter's arm. There were long tables of food ready for all to enjoy. Even the weather continued to cooperate with the 4th of July celebration. It was a perfect summer night with a lazy yellow moon floating overhead and a pleasant breeze to stir the Dakota heat and humidity.

She knew she looked her best. She had taken extra time to arrange her hair in an upswept style that Maggie Calhoun had shown her and her best dress was swishing around her ankles in the breeze as they neared the house.

Only the officers and their wives were invited to this ball. It was her friendship with the Custer women that had finagled their own invitation. She was happy that Peter was so pleased with her accomplishments. His face was also flushed with excitement. It was that more than the heat that kept him mopping his upper lip and brow as they approached the celebration.

"This is wonderful, Ruby Nell. Just look at all these important people. There's General Sherman, and those are members of his staff. I don't know all their names. He was so impressed with your shooting today, honey, that he told me I was one of the luckiest men he knew. You were just superb, Ruby Nell, just superb."

"In spite of making a spectacle of myself about the boxing match?"

Peter flashed her an indulgent smile and squeezed her hand. "Oh well, there are still things about the military that you don't understand, honey. I realize all this honor stuff is new to you. It takes some getting used to, I'll admit. But all in all, I was pleased with the way you conducted yourself around Captain Malone."

"I'm glad, Peter," she murmured, keeping her face averted so he couldn’t see the heat that she could feel creeping into her blood.

It had taken the rest of the afternoon for her to cool off after the fight and just the mention of Quinn made all those disturbing memories take on their own life once more. Her condition was not aided by the fact that he was in her direct line of vision as they walked up the path to the party.

General Custer, Libby, and General Sherman waited to receive their guests. The men shook Peter's hand and kissed Lucky's gallantly.

"Mrs. Warner, I must say, I have never met a woman with your skills," William T. Sherman said as he bent over her hand. "Your shooting today was most impressive. I daresay that General Custer has nothing to worry about when he takes the regiment out on the next campaign. The post will be in capable hands with you on duty."

They all enjoyed a good laugh at his witty remarks, then Libby took Lucky's hand. "And that isn't all of Ruby Nell's talents, gentlemen. Just wait till you hear her sing."

"Well, I shall certainly look forward to that," Sherman said. "Perhaps you will favor us with a song later this evening, Mrs. Warner."

"I'd be pleased to, sir."

"Mrs. Custer tells me that you and Mr. Warner are hoping to have a family soon."

Lucky felt color leap into her cheeks. She nodded and glanced shyly at Peter.

"Yes, we are, General. The sooner the better," Peter said as he slipped an arm around her shoulders. "I've waited most of my life for Ruby Nell, and there's nothing I'd like more than to have a family right away."

Lucky glanced up just in time to catch Quinn's eye. He was standing with Fred Benteen near the refreshment table, close enough to hear this bit of conversation. The instant picture of those black haired, blue eyed children she'd dreamed about came to mind and she froze for a moment before being able to push it to the back of her mind.

The mocking expression that came to his face made her blush deepen. Then he looked away when Fred spoke to him and the moment passed. At least he wasn't still angry with her for interfering earlier in the day, she thought as she and Peter made their way further up the path. Or was he?

When Peter stopped to speak to him, she kept her gaze pinned on his chest. Along with the gold ropes and braid, pinned in neat rows were the assorted medals she had seen in the box in his dresser. Her eyes widened in surprise to see them.

"Captain Malone, I trust your hand is going to be all right," Peter said to Quinn, indicating the neat white bandage that encircled Quinn's right hand so that only the tips of his fingers were exposed.

"Yes, Warner. It's nothing that a few stitches won't cure."

Peter colored at the cool tone of Quinn's voice. He swallowed and cleared his throat, but managed to meet Quinn's gaze. "I'm sorry that I was compelled to speak to General Custer about the situation," he said hesitantly.

Evidently, the array of gold on Quinn's chest was a bit intimidating to Peter, Lucky thought as she watched the tension mount between them.

"So am I, Warner. It was completely unnecessary."

"I felt it was. Rest assured, Captain, that I was only doing what I thought best for my wife."

"Your nobility is to be commended, Warner," Quinn said dryly. "You may rest assured that the message has been received loud and clear."

"I'm glad. I'd hate for any misunderstanding to remain between us."

"There's no misunderstanding, Warner. Quite the contrary."

Peter flushed at Quinn's meaningful expression and took Lucky's arm to hurry her along.

She never once looked at Quinn, nor he at her during the exchange of conversation. She was afraid to look at him, afraid he'd see the desire that she knew was making her eyes hot. She could feel it creeping up from the pool of molten lava in her belly.

She forced herself to greet the other guests and carry on conversation with them, although her mind was racing as fast as her heart. Coming here tonight had been a huge mistake. Being in the same proximity with Quinn Malone was a mistake. The problem was there was nothing she could do about it. She stole a glance at him and sucked in a deep breath. She wasn't even sure she wanted to do anything about it.

***

It was a long time before Lucky could relax enough to enjoy herself. The music was wonderful, the food delicious, and the guests lively, but it took all her concentration to keep her mind on the conversation. When General Custer led Libby into a dance, it wasn't long until other couples followed suit, and soon the parlor was filled with laughing, dancing couples.

"Peter, please, let's dance."

Peter shook his head and patted her hand. "Not now, Ruby Nell. I see an opportunity to speak to General Sherman and I must take it. I want to feel him out about the possibility of setting up more stores at some of the posts further west."

He gave her a peck on the cheek and hurried off to corner the general, leaving her staring at his back. "If you set up stores any further west, Peter, you're going to be in the Pacific Ocean," she sighed.

Knowing it was hopeless to think he'd tear himself away from business long enough to dance with her, she strolled back toward the piano where Mollie had taken a seat. The band had taken a break for refreshments and Mollie had saved the moment by breaking into a rollicking rendition of Buffalo Gals.

"Mrs. Warner, would you do an old soldier the honor of a dance?"

Lucky turned with a smile at Fred Benteen’s woeful statement. "Captain Benteen, I know for a fact that you’re only four or five years older than General Custer, so you can’t possibly be an old soldier," she said as he took her hand and placed the other in the middle of her back.

"Ah, but you’ve never danced with me. Catherine often tells me that dancing is not high on my list of accomplishments."

"I find that very hard to believe, Captain. I’ve yet to find anything at which you don’t excel."

"You’ve been talking to my wife. Poor dear, she adores me, you see, so it’s very difficult for her to have an objective opinion."

Lucky laughed at his humor and slid easily into the music as Mollie’s talented fingers played a lovely waltz. While they danced, Lucky took advantage of the opportunity to take a much closer look at this man.

Fred Benteen was not terribly tall and was stocky built, but his thick, almost white hair and twinkling blue eyes made him an eye catcher at any event. His smile was warm and genuine and she had seen for herself that he was a man of deep emotional strength.

"Catherine is a very fortunate woman, Captain." When his brows rose in question, she blushed and hurried to explain. "I mean that it’s obvious you are devoted to her and your children. The men in your troop adore you, as well. I can see why they would."

"Thank you, Mrs. Warner. Coming from such a lovely lady, that is, indeed, a compliment."

"With your service record, I think you should be a general by now."

Fred laughed as he maneuvered her through the dancing couples with ease. "You have indeed been talking to my wife. I’m afraid, Mrs. Warner, that I have reached the pinnacle of my military success."

"Because of your disagreements with General Custer?"

"A sad fact of life is that once you cross the illustrious George Armstrong Custer your career is pretty much over. To be promoted requires the recommendation of your commanding officer and in this case, nothing is less likely to happen. And not only for myself, but for other men just, or more so, deserving."

"Like Captain Malone?"

Fred nodded as he glanced toward the sidelines where Quinn was talking to some of the other officers. "Yes. At least I have my brevet rank. Custer refuses to even give Quinn that much respect."

"Brevet rank? I don’t understand, Captain."

"A brevet rank, Mrs. Warner, is an honorary rank higher than the actual one, usually the one held during the War. For instance, my actual rank, the one I’m paid for, is captain. My brevet rank is Lieutenant Colonel. Custer’s actual rank is Lieutenant Colonel. His brevet rank is General."

Lucky thought about this for a moment. "How does one gain these brevet ranks?"

"By performing some courageous act under fire usually. The more times that happens, the higher the brevet. But it’s only an honorary title, Mrs. Warner. The pay and benefits are based on the actual rank."

"Courage under fire," Lucky said thoughtfully. "If that’s the case, Captain Malone should have General Sherman’s job."

"Someone should have it who listens to his advisors."

"You don’t like Sherman, do you, Captain?"

Fred shook his head. "No, ma’am. I served under him during the war. He’s as fine a strategist as I’ve ever seen, but he’s without a doubt also the most ruthless officer I’ve ever known. And he’s surrounded himself with men equally so."

"Custer?"

"And Phil Sheridan. Together, the three of them plan to eradicate the Plains Indians from the face of the earth."

"I shouldn’t think that is a bad thing."

"It isn’t. However, their plans for doing it do not take into consideration the hardships and loss of life among their own men. The one thing Sherman and Custer share most strongly is their disregard for the lives of their men."

"Which is why you and Captain Malone are at odds with Custer. Neither of you is the kind of officer who recklessly endangers their men."

"None of them are really," Fred said with a nod toward the group of officers surrounding Custer. "Myles Keogh is one of the finest officers in any man’s army. So is George Yates. Fortunately for them, they’ve seen the example Custer has made of those of us who dare to disagree with him. They won’t cross him."

"Why doesn’t Custer give Captain Malone the transfer he asked for?"

"And put the two of us together? Not a chance, Mrs. Warner. Requesting that transfer was a total waste of Quinn’s time. I’m still amazed that he did it. Only something of the utmost importance would have pushed him to that."

Lucky felt hot color filling her cheeks as she struggled to maintain eye contact with Fred’s somber gaze. "You are referring to the rumors about Captain Malone and me, of course."

"No, ma’am. I’m referring to Quinn’s feelings for you. Rumor has little to do with it, other than his desire to protect you from gossip."

Lucky’s tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of her mouth, for she couldn’t formulate any kind of response.

"Mrs. Warner, Quinn is like a brother to me. We’ve survived things that forge the kind of bond that goes way beyond blood ties. And God willing, we will survive this as well. But Quinn is in a very tenuous position. I’m sure you’re aware of that."

Lucky nodded and wet her lips. "Of course I am. Custer hates him and would like nothing better than to see him disgraced. And my husband is jealous of Quinn’s affection for me."

"And he has reason to be concerned." At her startled expression, Fred smiled. "You can tell me to mind my own business at any point, Mrs. Warner, but until you do, I’m going to speak frankly.

"The chemistry between you and Quinn is so powerful that even I can feel it. Today, out on the parade ground, when you demanded that he do something to stop the fight between the kid and Kelley? It didn’t take a genius to know that all that passion had a lot more to do with your personal situation than it did any boxing match."

"He…he allowed Johnny to be hurt. That’s all!"

"He did what he had to in order for that boy to prove himself to his comrades. He hated it as much as you did. You saw what he did to Kelley. One punch, Mrs. Warner. That’s all it took, because he put every ounce of his strength and all the frustration and anger that he’s endured during these past weeks into that one blow.

"He broke Kelley’s jaw and knocked out most of his teeth. In doing so, he made a point to this post that he will not tolerate any gossip about you. Quinn is one of the strongest men I’ve ever known, both physically and emotionally. But he’s fighting his feelings for you with every thing he’s got, and he’s losing. And I suspect that you’re doing the same. This is a very dangerous situation, Mrs. Warner, and sooner or later, it’s going to blow up in your faces. Two people that I care about are on a collision course to disaster and I’m helpless to prevent it."

"Oh Lord!" Lucky’s voice was so shaky it was almost inaudible as she stared into Fred’s frank eyes. "It’s worse than I thought."

"My advice, Mrs. Warner, and I realize you have not asked for it, is to stay as far away from Quinn as life on this installation will allow. The family that your husband mentioned is also a good idea. Maybe if you have children, the rumors will take care of themselves."

Lucky nodded in agreement while she tried to swallow back the fear that suddenly choked her. Peter had already spoken to Custer once. It would take little to make him do it again and perhaps go even further. She could not take that chance.

"There’s something else, Mrs. Warner, that worries me even more than this personal situation."

She blinked to bring her thoughts into focus. "Please, Captain, tell me."

"If my suspicions are correct, we are about to enter an all out war with the Sioux. If and when that comes to pass, it will require every ounce of Quinn’s skill and concentration to lead his troop through it successfully.

"The Sioux are a formidable enemy, Mrs. Warner, under any conditions, but there is a war chief who has a personal vendetta against Quinn. Put bluntly, he intends to kill Quinn, whatever the cost. I don’t know how much you know about Indians, but they seldom fail to carry out those vows."

"Raven," Lucky whispered, wide eyed and fearful at Fred’s revelations.

"Yes, Raven. If Quinn is going to survive, he must stay focused. He can’t let his guard down for even an instant. The result would be disastrous. So you can see why it’s so important that his mind is clear when he goes into the field. He cannot afford to be distracted by anything. His life and the lives of his company depend on his ability to think clearly.

"For his sake, Mrs. Warner, and for the sake of all those lives who depend on him, please, find a resolution to this situation quickly."

The music ended before Lucky had time to respond. Fred took her hand and led her back to the refreshment table where Annie Yates and Maggie Calhoun were engaged in lively conversation. He kissed the back of her hand, bowed, and then left her in their company.

She glanced at Quinn across the room when Fred joined him, and felt sick at her stomach. How could she have gotten into such a mess, she asked herself miserably. She wished she’d never heard of Ruby Nell Warner and Fort Lincoln. The horrid life she’d left behind almost seemed preferable to the one she was trapped in now. Supposedly married to a man she did not, and would never love, and in love with a man she could not have, and could not seem to stay away from. Could things be any worse?

***

Lucky did not have much time to consider her options for Mollie called her to the piano. She did not feel like singing, but the crowd’s enthusiastic applause could not be ignored. She pasted a smile on her face and joined Mollie. The crowd became very quiet when her clear voice began the opening strains of "Beautiful Dreamer". Without stopping to give her time to catch her breath, Mollie played the opening bars of "Greensleeves."

Lucky did not think she could possibly get the words out, but all those expectant faces could not be allowed to know how her heart was crumbling into pieces in her chest.

She sang the opening verse without difficulty and began to think she could get through it. The second verse was a little harder. When she began the fifth verse, she almost faltered because Quinn had turned to look directly at her.

"Well, I pray to our God on high

so that thou my constancy mayest see

And that yet once more before I die

Thou so surely wilt vouch safe to love me.

She felt the heat in his eyes from clear across the room, but kept her gaze averted. She was singing this song to him alone and they both knew it.

Greensleeves now farewell adieu adieu

For to God I pray Him to prosper thee

For I am still thy one lover true

Come to me once again and do love me.

Thankfully the loud applause at the end of the song drowned out the tremor in her voice. She swallowed hard and smiled at her ebullient audience, praying that no one else could see the anguish in her heart. It was bad enough that she knew Quinn saw it.

Begging off another song by saying she needed something to drink, she fled the piano and hurried to the refreshment table to join Peter. His visit with Sherman had evidently gone well for he was smiling from ear to ear.

"That was just wonderful, Ruby Nell! General Sherman was most impressed with your singing. He said you are a woman of many talents."

Lucky forced a weak smile as she took the glass of punch he handed her and tried to get a sip of it down her throat.

"He said that with a woman like you at my side, there’s no limit to how far I can go."

She nodded again and swallowed, relieved that he seemed to have no idea how distraught she was. But then, Peter rarely noticed those things.

Then she saw him stiffen and a wary expression come to his flushed face. She knew Quinn was standing behind her long before she turned to look at him. Not only did Peter’s expression indicate it, but she seemed to have a sixth sense where Quinn was concerned.

"Smile, Warner, everyone is watching us." Quinn’s voice was soft and his smile was likewise friendly. "If you want the post to think that you and I have buried the hatchet, so to speak, then smile and act like we’re having a friendly conversation."

"What do you want, Malone?"

"I want to dance with your wife. And since you made a formal complaint to the post commander about me, I’m asking your permission to do so."

"That’s very sporting of you, Captain."

"As you requested Custer to remind me, I am an officer and a gentleman, after all." The sarcasm in Quinn’s drawl may have been lost on Peter, but Lucky caught it loud and clear. "Think before you refuse, Warner. I made a point to the fort this afternoon that is not likely to be overlooked in the future. What could be more reconciliatory than allowing your wife one dance with me? Think how good that will make you look to Custer and Sherman."

Peter licked his lips as he glanced from Quinn to Lucky and then back. "You’ve got balls, Malone, I’ll give you that," he said a moment later. "One dance, that’s all, and if you ever come near my wife again, I’ll have you brought up on charges so fast it’ll make you dizzy."

Quinn’s smile was so genuine that Lucky was amazed. Anyone who did not know him well would think this was a pleasant conversation between friends. His eyes, however, told quite a different story. That flat, diamond bright glitter made Lucky’s throat dry and her heart pound furiously.

"Condition noted." Quinn turned to Lucky with his left hand extended. "Mrs. Warner, would you do me the honor?"

She didn’t know what else to do but take his hand and let him lead her toward the other dancing couples. She slid into his arms as naturally as taking her next breath, relieved that he held her at the proper distance and kept his left hand in the middle of her back.

"I’m sorry, did I hurt you?" she asked when he winced as she took his bandaged right hand.

"No, it’s fine. Besides, it’s not my hand that’s bothering me."

"What is?" she asked, knowing she shouldn’t ask.

"It’s my heart that’s in jeopardy. I was doing pretty well until you sang that damned song. If you wanted to string my guts all around this room, why didn’t you just take a knife to me? It couldn’t have been any worse."

"I’m sorry," Lucky whispered. She knew she had to keep smiling and make it look casual to the throng of people who were watching them, but it took every ounce of her strength to do so. "I didn’t intend to sing it at all. Mollie just started playing it. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry."

"Stop apologizing for God’s sake, Lucky." His voice was hoarse as he swung her through the steps of the waltz. "It’s not your fault."

"Yes, it is my fault. I came here under false pretenses. I’m living a lie and now you’re in trouble with Custer again because of me."

"I’m always in trouble with Custer"

"And that fight this afternoon…you got hurt because of me."

"That was not your fault either. Damn it! Kelley had that coming. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed laying him out."

"It wouldn’t have been necessary if it weren’t for me."

"Stop it, Lucky! It’s done. You can’t change it so stop beating yourself up over it. The point has been made. Let’s forget it."

She was silent for a moment while she stared at his chest. Looking into his face was impossible with all her feelings swirling so dangerously out of control.

"Your medals, you’re wearing them," she said finally.

"Yeah, it was Fred’s idea. He said Sherman needed reminding of a few things. It’s a waste of time. Especially for Fred. He had to pin the damned things on because of my hand."

"You look very handsome with them on. Of course, you look handsome without them on too. I was very proud of you today."

Quinn glanced down at her averted face and smiled. "Before or after the fight?"

"Both actually. The parade was…just magnificent, Quinn. I’ve never seen anything like it. All those men and horses…moving in perfect unison. It was wonderful."

"I was rather proud myself, especially that my newer troopers managed to stay mounted through all the maneuvers. Sergeant Briggs has done a remarkable job with them in the short time he had to work with."

"They looked very professional. And the horses were just marvelous."

"They always are. They know the bugle calls better than the men."

"I’m sorry I got so angry with you about Private Firth," she said, keeping her gaze focused on the silver bars on his collar. "I understand why you allowed him to fight, but I wish it wasn’t necessary."

"So do I. And I imagine no one is sorrier than Private Firth himself. But it was necessary. Hopefully, the other men will let up on him now."

The band broke into the last chorus of the waltz and they both knew the dance was coming to an end. Lucky finally allowed herself the luxury of looking up at him. "You said you couldn’t dance, but you haven’t stepped on my toes once."

Quinn smiled. "You are indeed lucky, Lucky. I rarely go this long without crippling my poor partner."

Their gazes met and locked and for a moment the room, the band, all the other people vanished. Then Quinn pulled himself together and looked away from the silent desperation in her eyes.

"I meant what I said that night at Fred’s, Lucky. I will do anything and everything to protect you and make you happy, if you ever decide that’s what you want. But, in the meantime, I can’t see you or talk to you. That’s essential if these rumors are to die. But please remember that even though I can’t talk to you openly, or be close to you, you will be in my thoughts. I’ll be here if you need me. Promise me you’ll remember that."

Lucky managed to nod just as the music ended. "I promise." Her voice was only a whisper, but the heat that leaped to his eyes told her clearly that he heard.

Then he stepped away from her, kissed the back of her very shaky hand, and walked away. She stared for a moment at his straight back and wide shoulders and choked back a ragged breath. She wanted to turn and run out the front door and keep on running until Fort Lincoln and this entire heart rending experience was behind her. Instead, she straightened her own shoulders and walked back toward Peter.

***

Peter watched every move she made on the dance floor with Quinn. He smiled and made small talk with a member of the general’s staff, but his gaze never left Lucky’s face. What he saw made him tremble with fear.

She was in love with Quinn Malone! He could see that as clearly as he saw the future he had planned slipping away if he lost her. Family, prosperity, and respect. They all hinged on her talents and her association with Custer. He had invested every cent he possessed, and every ounce of energy he had into this venture and he was not about to see it ruined because of her growing affection for another man.

Steps had to be taken to insure his continued security. Something had to be done about this situation. Speaking to Custer had not proven entirely successful. Malone would stay away from her in the future, but it was her feelings that were the real danger now. As long as Malone lived, he would be a threat to Peter’s security.

Fortunately, Peter had formed a plan during those agonizing minutes she spent in Quinn’s arms. It was most fortuitous that he had such a vast assortment of associates. He knew exactly where to begin his search for a solution to his problem.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The ground rumbled beneath the hooves of the oncoming Sioux warriors. There were so many it was impossible to count them. Quinn had never seen so many warriors. Sweat ran down his back as he sighted along the carbine’s barrel. He pulled the trigger but nothing happened. The gun had jammed again. There was no time to dig out the fouled cartridge and reload. The Indians were almost on top of them now.

He saw Raven riding that dappled gray pony, coming at him at top speed. He saw the triumphant gleam in the warrior’s eyes and felt the heat as the horse thundered closer. He pulled his pistol and fired. Raven didn’t flinch. He just kept coming. He saw the war chief raise his lance with those hideous scalp locks dangling from it and a second later felt the momentary flash of excruciating pain as it entered his body.

"No!" Quinn shouted as he flung his arms up to deflect the fatal thrust.

It took several moments for him to realize that he was sitting upright in his own bed. Drenched with sweat and gasping for breath, he swung his legs to the edge of the bed and leaned forward with his head in his hands.

"Here, drink this."

He took the glass Fred Benteen pressed into his hand and took a sip of the fiery whiskey. It burned a trail all the way to his stomach, but he quickly took another before lifting an embarrassed gaze to Fred’s concerned face.

"Damn! If Raven doesn’t kill me pretty soon, this stuff will," he said in a hoarse whisper as he raised the glass again.

"That was some nightmare," Fred said as he moved across the room and took a seat. He took out his pipe and filled it with tobacco while he observed Quinn’s heaving chest and pale features. "About shook me right out of bed."

"Sorry," Quinn mumbled as he slipped into his trousers and walked unsteadily across the room to refill the glass from the bottle Fred had brought with him from Fort Rice. "I should’ve warned you, I guess. Being in the infirmary is the only way Private Firth manages to get any sleep lately."

"Are you okay, Quinn?"

"Hell no, I’m not okay. I just got killed for the hundredth time in the past few weeks."

"It was only a dream, Quinn."

Quinn turned to look at Fred’s thoughtful face in the flare of his match as he lit his pipe. "It was so damned real, Fred, that I’m surprised I’m not bleeding."

"But it wasn’t real. It was a nightmare. That’s all."

"I wish I could believe that."

"Quinn, it’s not a premonition. It’s a dream, plain and simple."

"What if it’s not, Fred? What if it is a premonition?"

Fred smoked his pipe silently for a moment while he stared at Quinn’s pale face. His hand shook as he lifted the glass to his lips. Fred had a disquieting feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he deliberately kept his gaze calm.

"Then you meet him head on. Just the way you’ve always met every challenge you’ve faced."

Quinn ran his left hand over his tumbled hair and let out a deep breath. "Look at me, Fred. I’m sweating like a horse, my heart is pounding like I’ve run a race. I’m shaking so hard I can hardly hold this glass. I’m a damned wreck. That doesn’t speak well for my courage, does it?"

Fred smiled and drew on his pipe. "It’s got nothing to do with courage, Quinn. Courage is not something you plan, it’s something deep inside your gut that comes out when it’s needed. This situation is no different. If or when you face Raven, you’ll have what you need."

"At this point, I’ll be happy if I don’t break and run."

"Won’t happen. You’ve never run from a fight in your life."

"I’ve never been this scared before. But you know what? I’m so damned sick of being scared that I almost wish it would happen so I can just get it over with."

"Well, if Sherman’s little briefing this afternoon is any indication, you’ll be getting your wish soon enough," Fred said in reference to the meeting Sherman had held earlier in the day with Custer and the officers of the 7th. "Sherman’s determined to run the Sioux right into the ground and Custer’s hell bent on being in on the kill. It may be his last chance for the glory he needs to make himself a political future."

"And to hell with however many of his men die in the process," Quinn added grimly.

"You saw as well as I that neither of them is going to listen to any dissenting opinions. But I’ve got a very strong feeling that they are underestimating the Sioux. I’m getting more and more reports from my scouts that the Sioux are talking with other tribes. If they should all band together, it could get very ugly."

"Custer doesn’t think that’s going to happen. He’s counting on them continuing to fight a hit and run type of warfare. Even if he’s right, it means months on end in the saddle chasing the bastards all over the territory," Quinn replied. His breathing was slowing now and his hand, holding the glass, had ceased trembling.

"That means your chances of running into Raven increase with every patrol you make. You watch yourself."

"I plan to. I’m sorry that you’re leaving in the morning, Fred. I’m going to miss you."

Fred stood up and yawned. "It’s a shame that you won’t be returning to Rice with me. I really thought that maybe Sherman would be more agreeable to your transfer."

"Well, he wasn’t. Custer must’ve gotten to him first. Anyway, it looks like I’ll be stuck here from now on. I’ll just have to make the best of it, I guess."

"Watch your back on that score too. Custer is watching every move you make. One reckless step, Quinn, and he’ll nail you."

Quinn tossed back the remainder of his drink and set the glass aside. He turned to face Fred with a wary expression. "I’ve never been reckless, Fred, and I don’t plan to start now."

"Good, glad to hear it. Well, I’m going back to bed. See you in the morning. We’ll be pulling out as soon as Sherman leaves."

Quinn nodded and watched his friend climb back up the stairs to bed. It had been a very long week since Sherman had arrived and he was ready, even anxious to get back out into the field. Being cooped up in the fort for so long was grating on his nerves. He needed to put some distance and fresh air between himself and Lucky.

"Damned if I do, and damned if I don’t," he said as he paced the living room. "If I go on patrol I take the chance of Raven killing me and if I stay on the post, I take the chance of killing Warner. I’m scared to go out, but I’m more scared to stay. Shit! Something has got to be resolved here, and quick, before I totally lose my mind!"

***

Across the river in Bismarck two men sat at a corner table in Willard’s Place. One of them was a frontiersman, dressed in buckskins and sporting a thick bushy mustache, which he smoothed after every sip he took from the glass of whiskey that his companion kept filled from the bottle atop the scarred table.

The second man was shorter, older, and bespectacled. He frequently blotted the perspiration from his forehead and upper lip. It was obvious this meeting was distasteful to him, for he was constantly scanning the bar patrons to make sure he saw no one he recognized.

That was unlikely, due to the late hour. It was nearly two a.m., long past curfew at the fort, but he didn’t dare take a chance on being seen here, not after he’d told Ruby Nell that he’d sold this place.

"Well, did you talk to him?" he asked his rough looking companion.

The man dressed in leather nodded, then tossed back another drink before he reached for the bottle. "It’s all arranged, just like I promised, Mr. Warner."

"Now you’re sure he understands that the woman isn’t to be harmed? You’re absolutely certain of that?" Peter asked nervously.

The man nodded. His shoulder length greasy blonde hair wagged in the dim light as he tried to reassure Peter. "He knows, he knows. He’s not interested in the woman. It’s Malone he wants."

"He gave you his word?"

The man nodded once more, this time irritably. "Of course. It’s all taken care of, Mr. Warner. The price is settled on too. A hundred new Winchesters."

Peter blotted his forehead again and gave the man an uneasy glance. "I don’t like selling guns to the Indians, Rutherford. I’ll lose my contract if the Army ever gets wind of it."

"That’s his price, Mr. Warner. A hundred Winchesters and plenty of ammunition. Take it or leave it."

"I’ll take it! I’ll take it! I just want to be sure my wife will not be harmed, that’s all."

"You don’t think seeing Malone dismembered in front of her eyes is going to harm her, Mr. Warner?" Rutherford’s tone was sarcastic and his eyes were cold as he stared at Peter’s flushed, sweating face across the table.

"She’ll get over it soon enough. Once he’s gone for good, she’ll be just fine. I’ll take good care of her. I’ve just got to do something about him."

"It’s as good as done, Mr. Warner. You just say when."

Peter paused to mop his upper lip again. "That may take a few days. General Sherman is leaving the post at dawn this morning. I don’t know how long it will be before Malone takes his troop out again. As soon as I know, I’ll be in touch."

Rutherford finished his drink and set the glass down with a clink on the table top. "You know how to get in touch with me. I’ll be waiting to hear from you. And I’ll explain everything to our friend so that he don’t get too impatient." He smiled, revealing twin rows of rotten teeth. "But what the hell, he’s waited a long time for Malone. I guess he can wait a while longer. He’s a very patient man."

"I trust Malone will find out just how patient he can be while he’s roasting the gallant captain over a slow fire."

Rutherford eyed Peter thoughtfully, making no attempt to conceal his contempt. "I hope you’re not underestimating Captain Malone, Warner. I ain’t no great lover of the Army, but Malone is a first rate officer and nobody’s fool on top of it. I’d hate to be in your shoes if he should survive and find out who set him up."

Peter’s flushed face went white for a moment, then he went beet red again. "That’s what I’m paying you for, Rutherford. To make absolutely certain that he doesn’t survive. I trust I’m making myself clear in this matter?"

"Sure, I’m clear. Just thinking out loud, that’s all." He picked up a battered hat from the floor and stuck it on his head. "Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll take care of the rest."

He was gone without a sound before Peter could blink. Long after the frontiersman had left, Peter sat at the empty table nursing a glass of whiskey and thinking. He didn’t like the bargain he’d made, but he had no choice. He only wished he didn’t feel as though he’d just made a deal with the devil.

***

July was nearly gone and August was fast approaching. The heat during the day was stifling and the mosquitoes at night were ravenous. Lucky spent half the time slapping at them and the other half scratching. Nothing helped.

She was achy and tired most of the time. She attributed most of it to the heat and the dust that was a constant companion. No matter how often she dusted, the moment she turned around, everything was again covered in a thick layer of the stuff. It was tempting to just throw up her hands and forget it. Lately, her attitude about everything could be summed up in those terms.

She had only seen Quinn at a distance during the three weeks since the General’s ball. He did not acknowledge her at all and while she knew he was doing it for her own good, it still hurt.

And if things could not have been any worse, Peter had decided all of a sudden to become the great lover. He had taken her desires to have a child very seriously, and was determined to help matters along as quickly as possible. She tried pretending he was Quinn when he took her in his arms, but it didn’t help. Nothing did. She began to dread those evenings when he asked for a basin of hot water and clean towels before bed because that meant he would reach for her after he washed himself very carefully.

If there was any part of it to be thankful for, it was that it never lasted long. Five or ten minutes at the most and it was over. It would have been worse if it had lasted longer. When she tried to count her blessings, that was at the top of the list.

She came to a remarkable conclusion that Friday morning the last week of July as she stood on the store porch and watched ‘A’ Company mount up and ride out of the gates on an extended patrol. Seeing Quinn at the head of the column astride the prancing chestnut gelding, she was overcome with an almost overpowering urge to run out onto the parade ground, grab Apollo’s bridle, and tell him she loved him and beg him not to go.

Leaning on her broom, she bit her lower lip and looked at the other women who were watching their men ride out with the company. They weren’t hysterically clinging to a broom handle as though it was a lifeline. They were stoic and controlled as their men rode out the garrison gates. When the long blue column was out of sight, they turned back to their children and their housework and went on with their lives.

Lucky felt as though her life was in a suspended time frame. She only came alive when Quinn was near and she felt her heart shrivel up inside her when he was gone. Knowing that, she suddenly realized that what she was doing was unfair, not only to Quinn and herself, but perhaps even more unfair to Peter.

He deserved Ruby Nell, the woman he’d courted and won, and married, not the impostor who arrived in her place. Not the woman who was incapable of giving him the love and affection he deserved because she was in love with another man.

None of this meant that she could be with Quinn. She realized that too. The scandal would ruin him and any chance they might have had for a life together, but she could not stand here on this porch and watch him ride off on a patrol into Indian country one more time. She only had one option, and it was time she took it, but first she had to tell Peter the truth. She owed him that much.

Her mind was made up. She turned to go find him and suddenly felt faint. She reached out for the wall to steady herself and then everything went black.

***

She woke up later, startled to see Dr. Lord’s kind face above her. Looking around, she saw that she was in bed in the post hospital.

"What happened?" she asked weakly, trying to sit up.

"You just lay back, young lady, and rest," Dr. Lord said as he pulled up a chair beside the bed. "You fainted. Peter found you and brought you to me straight away."

"Fainted? It must be the heat. I’m all right now. I have to get back to the store. I have things to…"

She lay back against the pillows when another wave of dizziness hit her and sapped her strength.

"No, Mrs. Warner, it’s not the heat. I’m happy to tell you that you’ve gotten your wish."

Lucky stared at him in confusion. "Wish? I don’t understand."

"You’re pregnant, Mrs. Warner. I’d say about three months along."

Lucky stared at him in shock. His happy announcement slowly sank into her muddled thoughts. "Pregnant? Are you sure?"

"Positive. Congratulations, Mrs. Warner."

"Peter…have you told Peter yet?" she asked as she caught his sleeve when he rose from the chair.

"Oh no. That’s your happy duty. I’d never deprive you of that pleasure."

"Thank you, Dr. Please don’t say anything to anyone until I’ve found the perfect opportunity to tell Peter. I want it to be just right when I tell him. Promise?"

"Certainly, Mrs. Warner. My lips are sealed." Dr. Lord smiled as he made a criss-cross motion across his heart. "I’ll just tell him you got over-heated. You can tell him your good news when you’re ready."

He patted her hand and moved off down the ward out of sight. When he’d gone, Lucky lay back on the pillows and put a shaky hand to her mouth. "Oh, God!" she whispered as tears pricked her eyelids. "A baby! Peter’s baby!"

Tears began seeping from beneath her tightly closed eyes. "What am I going to do? Dear Lord, please tell me what to do!"

She turned her face into the pillow and cried. She couldn’t leave now. A baby changed everything.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Another three weeks passed and Lucky still had not told Peter about the baby. It wasn't that she hadn't tried, just that every time she did, the words wouldn't come out.

After her fainting episode, he was so anxious about her that he was driving her crazy. He wouldn't let her do or lift anything, or get five feet from his sight. His regular trips to Fort Rice had even been postponed because he didn't want to leave her alone.

She was smothering that afternoon in mid-August when she decided she had to get away from him, and the store, for a while so she could think. She waited until he went into the storeroom to check on a shipment of dress material for one of the enlisted men's wives, then whipped off her apron and bolted for the door.

The heat was oppressive as she hurried through the post toward the river. She considered getting a horse and riding, but decided the walk would do her more good, even in the heat. She needed to clear her head and examine her options in peace. Lately, she hadn't had a moment to herself and time was running out. She had to have time to come to terms with her situation and she couldn't do that with Peter hovering over her every minute of the day.

She walked along kicking a battered old peach can, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. Birds sang merrily in the trees bordering the path. A few yards away the Missouri rolled on lazily. The sounds of the waves slapping the shoreline eased her troubled thoughts. Soon she was feeling better about everything.

She reached the place where Quinn had brought her that day after she'd gone into Bismarck and discovered Peter's guilty secret. She approached the river's edge and picked up a handful of smooth stones. Skipping them across the water's surface brought her a strange kind of calm. She remembered skipping stones at the river that day so long ago when her mother had sent her for a bucket of water.

In fact, skipping stones that day had undoubtedly saved her life. She had stayed long past the time it took to get a pail of water and return to the homestead. Had she gotten the water and hurried back as her mother had requested, she would have arrived during the Indian attack and suffered the same fate as the rest of her family.

Now she stood beside another river tossing stones into the silvery waves, contemplating how strange fate was. She touched her stomach and smiled in spite of her troubled thoughts. One fact had become abundantly clear over the past three weeks. She very much wanted this child. She had almost come to believe that this baby was God's way of telling her to stick out the marriage to Peter and make it work somehow.

The one undeniable truth was that she had no choice but stay. She owed it to Peter to have this baby with him and do the best she could to be a good wife. Facing the fact that she did not love him was the easy part. Living with him, raising a family with him and not loving him was the tough part. Loving Quinn only made it more difficult.

She was trapped in her own web of deceit. She'd wanted a new life so badly that she'd taken another woman's identity and ended up in a situation only slightly improved than the one she'd left. There was no way out now. But this child would give her the strength to do whatever was necessary. She was suddenly very sure of that.

"Mrs. Warner?"

She started at the sound of her name and turned quickly to find a tall man with long blonde hair, dressed in buckskins standing a few feet away. He was a stranger, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end in alarm.

"Yes. Can I help you with something?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Well, yes, ma'am, you can as a matter of fact." The man was easing closer, not abruptly so as to frighten her, but slowly and cautiously. "You can come with me."

"Come with you? Where? For what?"

"Now, Mrs. Warner, just do what I say and make this easy on both of us. I mean you no harm."

"What do you want?" Lucky demanded as she began backing away. She knew all too well that she was much too far from the fort to be heard if she screamed. Her peaceful walk had turned into a nightmare and she had no one but herself to blame. No one even knew where she'd gone. It might be hours before she was found…if she was found.

"We're gonna be taking a ride, Mrs. Warner. I've got two horses back there behind that cane break. Now, come with me, nice and easy, and don't make a fuss. I really hate it when women make a fuss."

Judging from the looks of him, he was probably as fast on his feet as a jackrabbit, she thought as she sized him up. He was as rugged looking as any man she'd ever seen. That was not a comforting thought. She remembered the rocks in her hand and threw them at him as she broke into a run.

The rocks startled him for a moment, but not long enough for her to get away. He caught her before she'd gotten ten yards, grabbed her arm and swung her around. The last thing Lucky saw was his closed fist coming toward her.

***

It had been a long, hot, and uneventful patrol. ‘A’ Company was within a hundred miles of Fort Lincoln that August morning. The sun had risen with a vengeance and horses and men were sweating and irritable by the time they broke camp and got back on the march.

It didn't take long for tempers to get short on patrol. The constant strain of watching for trouble, coupled with the blazing heat and insects made life miserable for men and animals alike. Even the most seasoned trooper, who was chafing to get off the post and into the field, was wondering why he ever thought about joining the cavalry by this point.

Nearly a month without a decent meal, a bath, or a clean uniform had made everyone surly. By now they all smelled like their horses.

Quinn led the column down a slope toward a flat plain. It was almost noon and the sun was blazing down on the grass ahead, making it wave in the heat. He raised his hand to halt the column when he saw scout Mitch Bouyer riding toward them, hard.

Bouyer reined his horse to a sliding stop and wheeled him around alongside Quinn. His wide face was sweaty as he pointed in the direction he had just come.

"Captain, you ain't gonna believe it, but…."

Quinn's gaze went beyond Bouyer, fastened on the lone warrior who had emerged from the waving grass at the far end of the plain. He halted just outside rifle range and waited, sitting like a stone statue on his pinto pony.

"What the hell?" Quinn asked the scout as his gaze turned back to Bouyer.

"Captain, he says he wants to talk to you."

"Talk to me? About what?"

"He wouldn't say. Just keeps insisting that he talk to you. I figured you'd want to see what's on his mind."

"Does he have company?"

Bouyer shook his head. "No, sir. Believe me, Captain, I checked it out good before I come back to tell you. He's alone. Damnedest thing I've ever seen."

"Then I suggest we find out what's on his mind." Quinn turned to Alex Browning. "Lieutenant, hold the troop here until I return. And keep your eyes open."

Before Browning could voice his opposition, Quinn nudged Apollo forward and rode at a gallop with the scout toward the warrior. As they neared him, Quinn could tell the man was Sioux. He was young, with shoulder length inky black hair held back by a red kerchief tied around his forehead. His bare chest was decorated with a necklace made of bear's teeth and he carried a lance from which dangled a half dozen scalp locks.

"Ask him what he wants," Quinn said when they reined their horses to a stop in front of him. He made no attempt to conceal his hatred as he stared at the Indian. Indeed, just being this close to the man made his hands twitch with the instinctive urge to pull his weapon and rid the territory of one more Sioux.

The warrior's black gaze inspected Quinn at length while he ignored Bouyer's questions posed in sign language. As though satisfied that he was indeed the company's leader, the Indian reached into his breechcloth and moved his pony closer so he could hand Quinn the small pouch he'd taken out.

Quinn took it, opened it, and looked curiously at the contents, then looked at Bouyer for an explanation. "All right, Mitch, I give up. Ask him what this is and why he's giving it to me."

"I speak your language."

Quinn's eyes widened in surprise when the warrior spoke clearly in English. "Good, then you tell me."

The Indian motioned toward the pouch in Quinn's hand as his flat black eyes locked with Quinn's. "The hair belongs to the woman. You come with me now. You come…she lives. You no come...she dies."

Quinn's gaze snapped back to the lock of hair inside the pouch. On closer inspection he could see that it was dark auburn in color, with just a hint of a curl. His fingers clenched around it as he sucked in a shallow, painful breath. He felt like he'd just been hit in the stomach and had all the wind knocked out of him. For a moment, he thought he was going to vomit from the implications of this small lock of hair.

"You come alone…now."

The warrior's face held no expression, just those cold black eyes that revealed nothing, and yet held such horrific promise that Quinn's heart began pounding so hard he could barely hear his own voice above its roar.

"You son-of-a-bitch! What have you done to her?" His voice was savagely calm as he met the warrior's gaze.

"Come…see. If you do not come…she will die."

Quinn struggled to think past the fury that surged through him. After a moment, he forced out a pent-up breath as he stared into those inky emotionless eyes. Then he nodded.

"I have to tell my men first. Wait here. I'll be back. Give me five minutes."

The warrior nodded his agreement and Quinn whirled Apollo and raced back across the plain to the troop. When he reached them, he turned to Bouyer.

"Do you know him, Mitch?"

"Nope, but I've seen him around."

"He's from Raven's band, isn't he?"

Quinn heard the sharp intake of Johnny Firth's breath from his position in the first row of troopers behind Sergeant Briggs. He ignored both the gasp and the look of horror that came to the boy's face.

Bouyer nodded. "I think so. Captain, I ain't trying to tell you your business, but you can't go off with him. Not alone."

"Captain Malone, what's going on? What is Bouyer talking about?" Alex Browning asked, wide eyed as he glanced from Quinn to the waiting Sioux warrior, and then back again.

"He has Mrs. Warner," Quinn said as he opened his hand and showed them the lock of hair. "He'll kill her unless I go with him."

"Who? Captain, who's got Mrs. Warner?" Lieutenant Browning asked in confusion.

"Raven. I don't know how he got his hands on her, but he has. If I don't meet his terms, he'll kill her."

"He'll kill her anyway, Captain. If he hasn't already," Bouyer pointed out.

Quinn shook his head. "No, he hasn't. And he won't, at least until I get there." He gave a short bitter chuckle. "I have to hand it to him. He's a crafty son-of-a-bitch. How he knew what would bring me to him, I can't figure out."

"Captain, you can't seriously be considering accepting his terms!" Browning said incredulously. "This is some kind of trick! It has to be! That could be anybody's hair!"

"It's not. It's Mrs. Warner's."

"How can you be so sure?"

Quinn felt his guts clench at the memory of Lucky's silky hair sliding through his fingers that night in front of the fireplace in Yankton. "Take my word for it."

"How could a Sioux war chief get his hands on Mrs. Warner?" Bouyer asked skeptically as he scratched the side of his neck.

"He's evidently a lot more resourceful than I thought, but how it happened doesn't matter now. He has her and he'll kill her if I don't come to him. I have no choice."

"And he'll kill you when you do. Captain, you know what these devils are like," Bouyer argued as he put a hand on Apollo's bridle. "And he won't just shoot you and be done with it."

"After all these years, what fun would that be?" Quinn looked past the scout at Alex Browning's pale face and reached deep inside himself for the authority he needed to project. "Lieutenant, take the troop to the fort. You are not to follow me. Do you understand?"

"But, Captain…"

"That is an order, Lieutenant. If Raven sees so much as one more blue uniform, he'll kill Mrs. Warner without a second's hesitation. His terms are very clear and I've accepted them. Now you've got your orders, Lieutenant."

Alex Browning swallowed and nodded. Behind them, the news was being passed among the men and the whispers became cries of outrage.

"Captain, we'll get Mrs. Warner back!" one of the men called.

"That's right, sir! We'll show that red devil….," another cried.

"You'll go back to the fort with Lieutenant Browning just like I said." Quinn's voice was strong and authoritative when he spoke, but his eyes softened at the concern the men were showing. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but there's nothing you can do. It's me he wants."

"He's going to kill you, Captain." It was Johnny Firth's hoarse voice. "Please, don't go."

Quinn's throat was suddenly choked with emotion as he looked into those clear blue eyes that were filling with tears. He swallowed and forced a faint smile at the boy.

"Remember what I told you, Private, about honor? How could I ever live with myself if I don't go?"

"I don't think there's a woman alive that I'd be willing to ride into a Sioux war camp for," Alex Browning said.

"You've just never met the right woman, Lieutenant." Quinn's voice had softened as he made the statement, then it grew harder. "You have your orders, Lieutenant. I expect you to carry them out."

He brought his right hand up in a salute. Browning returned it hesitantly and tried to speak again, but Quinn whirled Apollo and sprinted back across the open plain to join the warrior.

"Let's go," he said as he reined Apollo alongside. "We don't want to keep Raven waiting, now do we?"

The warrior turned his pony without a word and led the way across the landscape until the troop was left behind a hill.

A mile from the spot where they had left the company, a half dozen more Sioux warriors appeared from a stand of pines. Quinn felt cold sweat drip down his back as they wheeled their ponies into a semi circle around him.

The one who had come to speak with him reached to pull the Springfield from the boot. He tossed it to a companion and then pulled Quinn's Colt from the holster and stuck it into his breechcloth.

One of the warriors grunted and spoke in Sioux as he held a long piece of rawhide toward Quinn. It wasn't necessary to speak their language to know what it meant. He held out both hands and in a moment the Indian securely lashed them together in front of him.

The one who came for him checked the bindings to make certain he was firmly bound. Satisfied, he leaned back on his pony and leveled a flat, glittering stare at Quinn.

"I am called Painted Antelope. Raven has told the war council many times of the brave blue coat warrior called Malone. Raven sings of his own great deeds at the Washita, but his spirit cannot rest until he has finished the battle."

"I know the feeling." Quinn's voice was remarkably calm, considering the fact he was fighting the urge to throw up.

"Now Raven's spirit will find peace."

And so will mine, Quinn thought as Painted Antelope turned his attention away and urged his pony into a gallop. Apollo snorted and slung his head at the foreign scent of the Indian ponies, but the gentle pressure of Quinn's knees calmed him and he fell into step with them.

Quinn thought about the warrior's remarks regarding Raven's troubled spirit. He almost grinned at the irony of it. I'll be damned! Looks like I'm not the only one who's been having nightmares.

Then he thought about the nightmare Lucky was living and his blood ran cold. The real irony of this situation was that his only hope for her survival lay in the word of his fiercest enemy.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

It was amazing, Lucky thought as she ventured outside the lodge, how organized the Indians were. Each seemed to have their own job to do and they went about those tasks good-naturedly. The women cooked and cared for the children. The older children gathered wood for the cooking fires and played games when their chores were done.

Except for the color of their skin and their mode of dress, this village could have been any small town in the Dakota Territory. Some things didn't change, regardless of the society. The men lay around, smoked their pipes, and talked incessantly while the women worked.

Lucky snorted at the contradiction and glared at her guard when the man looked at her curiously. She had been allowed free movement within the village, but that tall, imposing figure in a breechcloth with the long black hair and expressionless black eyes was her constant shadow. It was unnerving that the man never spoke, although she probably wouldn't have understood anything he said anyway. The language being spoken in the village was totally foreign to her. So were the customs of its people.

She had been here for nearly a week. After waking up bound and gagged and slung across the back of a horse like a side of beef, she had been transported so many miles, she had no idea where she was. All she knew was that the greasy haired mountain man who had taken her had spoken very little on the trek, except to tell her when to eat, when to drink, and when to sleep. He had treated her courteously, although he kept her hands tied during the day and both her hands and feet tied at night.

She did not know who he was, or why he had taken her from the river bank that day, but she supposed it was to ransom her from Peter. Wondering how Peter would react to demands for money in return for her release made her heart pound with fear. Then she remembered how much Peter counted on her friendship with the Custers to insure his financial success. Thinking on that always made her fears lessen, at least temporarily.

Her greatest concern, of course, was for the safety of her baby. No one knew she was pregnant and she wanted it to remain a secret. If the mountain man knew about the baby, he might ask Peter for more money. She was beginning to think that not telling Peter about the child had been a mistake, but it was too late now to worry about that. There were so many other things to worry about.

Her arrival in the Indian village had been a terror-filled event, for the Indians had gathered to watch them ride into the camp. The sight of all those stoic faces and cold black eyes had made her sick with fear. At first she couldn't imagine why her abductor would bring her here, but she soon realized that this was the one place Peter or the Army would never look for her. Indeed, with the village moving every day, she wondered how they even knew where they were.

She thought about Quinn's reaction when he arrived back at the fort and learned she had been kidnapped. It took little imagination to know that he would be more upset about her disappearance than anyone else, but there would be little he could do.

After the first day in the village, the mountain man told her she would be permitted to roam at her leisure, but she would always be under guard. There was a hard glitter in his eyes when he told her that to attempt an escape would result in such unpleasantness, that she would never want to try again. She believed him.

One thing that struck her as curious in the ensuing days was her treatment by the Sioux. She was treated almost as a guest. She was brought food each morning and evening, along with water to wash up with. The dark skinned women who came to take care of her needs never spoke to her, but stared at her as curiously as she stared back at them.

Evidently these people were friends or perhaps even family of the mountain man and had no qualms about holding her prisoner while he went to collect his ransom. Except for making sure she didn't stray away, they soon got used to her in the village and paid little attention when she took a walk with the tall, taciturn warrior following her.

The village had settled in a camping spot along the banks of a river many miles from Fort Lincoln. Lucky had no idea how far they had come, but she began counting the lodges and trying to form lasting pictures of the leaders of the band so she could tell the Army what they looked like when she returned to the fort. That she would, indeed, return home was a conclusion she refused to debate. Peter would pay the ransom, then she and her baby would be freed.

The first thing she intended to do when she got there was to tell Peter about the child. She regretted not having done it as soon as Dr. Lord had told her the news. It wasn't as though she had any options. She was bound to him by this child for the rest of her life. Having accepted that fact, she wanted nothing more now than to get back to the fort and tell him so.

***

Quinn knew they were nearing a village by mid-afternoon of the third day. The warriors became more talkative and even their horses grew spirited. The wind changed direction, bringing with it the distinct odor of campfires.

A half hour later they topped a rise and he saw the village spread out beneath them in a valley cut by a sparkling river. Lodges were set up on the west side of the stream in typical Indian fashion, in order to face the rising sun. The number of them was surprising. Behind the lodges, a herd of Indian ponies grazed, so many they resembled worms wriggling in the tall grass.

One of the warriors left the group and rode down the bluff to alert the village that they had returned. Quinn sucked in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Three days of having his hands tied every moment had become very uncomfortable. As had riding for nearly twenty hours each day, but he was used to long hours in the saddle and forced marches.

As much as he hated the Sioux, their discipline was admirable. They rode with such grace and dignity that he had to respect them. It was no small wonder they had eluded the Army for ten years. They rode excellently and their tough little wiry horses were well adapted to the terrain.

They had evidently been told to keep him healthy on this trek. They had treated him well and made sure both he and Apollo were fed and had plenty of water. Except for being tied all the time and his companions speaking a foreign language, it wasn't all that different from the many patrols he had been on in the past.

But all that was about to change. Painted Antelope led the way down the curvy bluff trail to the level plain at the bottom. As they rode toward the village, Quinn heard the whoops go up from the warriors and saw the entire village begin gathering to watch them ride in.

There were hundreds of brown, hate-filled faces that lined both sides of the path as his captors led the way into the camp. He didn't have to know the language to figure out what some of them were saying. It was abundantly clear in those raised rifles and war clubs. He did not look to either side, but kept his eyes focused straight ahead and prayed that his fear didn't show.

Then the noise and chanting abruptly stopped. Quinn's heart froze when a tall figure dressed in leather leggings and breechcloth stepped from a lodge. For a moment he stared into those inky eyes, fighting back the flash of panic that swept through him. Then just as quickly as the panic came, it was gone, replaced by an eerie calm that surged through his blood. His heart rate slowed, his breathing normalized and he made peace with his fear.

Painted Antelope halted the war party and they slipped off their ponies. He walked around his own horse and grabbed Quinn's arm and started to yank him from the saddle. Immediately, Raven raised his lance. Painted Antelope let go of Quinn and moved back.

Quinn realized that Raven was allowing him to dismount on his own, rather than be hauled off the horse like a sack of potatoes. He threw one leg over Apollo's neck and slid to the ground. It took all his strength not to gasp when his weight settled on legs that had spent nearly seventy-two hours in a saddle and were almost numb.

While he leaned back against the horse to get his balance, Raven walked toward him with the war lance raised. For an instant he thought about all those nightmares. He straightened, squared his shoulders and waited. He stared back into those flat black eyes as Raven drew closer and felt amazingly calm.

Raven halted in front of him, put the end of the lance to the ground and pulled a razor sharp hunting knife from the scabbard on his breechcloth. When he lifted it toward Quinn, their eyes were still locked together.

Then he made one swift motion with the knife and sliced through the rawhide bindings that held Quinn's hands immobile. Quinn winced as the blood rushed back into them, and he rubbed at his wrists, while he stared at Raven in surprise. He could have sworn that for an instant, there was a twinkle in the depths of those glittering black eyes.

"The last time you were this close to me with a knife, you stuck it between my ribs." Quinn was surprised his voice was so calm.

"Malone, it has been many years since that day on the Washita. You have killed many of my people since then." Again Raven's expression was touched with amusement when he saw Quinn's surprise that he spoke English.

"Every one I could."

Raven continued to regard him thoughtfully. Those sharp eyes swept over Quinn in a thorough inspection that made Quinn struggle to not squirm.

"You have become a great leader of the blue coats. And I have become a chief. It is well with both of us."

"Let's cut out the small talk. You wanted me here. Here I am. Where's the woman?"

"She is well." Raven made a motion with one hand and immediately the tall guard ushered Lucky from a lodge.

Quinn heard her gasp when she saw him. She tried to break free and run to him, but the stoic guard held her fast.

"Quinn! My God! Quinn!"

His jaws clenched at the fear in her voice, but one sweeping glance at her told him she did not appear to be hurt. She was pale, and frightened, but her clothes were not torn nor were there any bruises or cuts on her face. He allowed himself a tiny relieved sigh that his worst fear had not been realized.

"I am also a man of my word," Raven said while he glanced from Lucky to Quinn. "I gave my word the woman would not be harmed if you came."

"Then let her go. I'm here. You have no reason to hold her."

"She will be released…later." Raven looked back at Lucky for a moment, then he put his knife back into the scabbard as he turned his attention back to Quinn. "She is your woman?"

Quinn shook his head. "No."

Raven looked puzzled. "Then why have you come?"

"You gave me little choice."

"You care about this woman."

"She has a husband."

Raven looked at Lucky again. "Why do you not kill him and take her?"

Quinn grinned in spite of the situation. "Is that what your people do? It doesn't work that way with my people."

Raven stood aside and indicated that Quinn should walk with him. "Come. We will eat together and smoke the pipe. There will be much dancing and singing. You will spend this night with the woman."

"And tomorrow?"

Raven looked up at him as they walked shoulder to shoulder toward the lodge where Lucky and the tall warrior waited. "Tomorrow you will die."

Quinn heard the comment, but he didn't care. Lucky pulled free of the guard and hurled herself into his arms. She was crying as she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her wet face into the hollow of his shoulder.

"Quinn, what's happening? Why are you here? Did Peter send you with the money?"

"Money? What money?"

"The ransom money. That's why I was kidnapped…isn't it?"

Quinn held her away from him and shook his head. "Lucky, this has got nothing to do with Peter, or a ransom."

"Then what?" Lucky asked as she looked from him to the warrior who waited at the entrance of the lodge.

"Lucky, this is Raven." His voice was calm and collected as he indicated the Indian. "He's a Sioux war chief. Seven years ago we tried to kill each other. Obviously, neither of us succeeded. It seems he didn't take failure to collect my scalp very well."

"You mean…this is…about that?"

Quinn nodded.

Lucky stared at the Indian in horror as she realized what this meant. She clutched Quinn's arm. "You mean…he…,"she stammered, pointing at Raven. "He had me kidnapped and brought here so you would walk into a trap to rescue me?"

"I'd say that's a pretty accurate description."

"That means he intends to kill you." Lucky's voice was barely a whisper as she stared in Quinn's calm eyes.

Quinn's arm tightened around her. She went pasty white and looked as though she was going to faint. He tried to sound confident when he responded to her fears.

"He's given me his word that you'll be released."

"His word?" Lucky's voice was stronger now and incredulous. "What good is his word? You placed your life in this kind of danger because he gave his word!"

"He's a chief, Lucky," Quinn said. "His word is his bond. I have to believe he'll keep it."

"It doesn't matter! You're a fool for agreeing to this! This man wants to kill you and you walk in here like a willing sacrifice! How could you be so stupid!"

Quinn's voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "He said he'd kill you if I didn't come. He wasn't kidding, Lucky. Raven has no sense of humor. What he does have, however, is a very long memory and a very keen sense of honor. This has been coming for years. I'm only sorry that you got caught up in it."

She gave a low moan as she pressed her face into his shoulder. She was shaking badly and Quinn felt her tears wet his shirt.

"Come!" Raven said sternly. He was holding open the tent flap, waiting for them to enter. The expression on his face was disgusted and impatient.

Quinn saw the congregation of warriors tense when he hesitated. The hatred he saw in the dozens of faces watching him relentlessly made his stomach clench. He wondered how many of them had relatives he had killed over the past ten years. Whatever Raven had planned was sure to be as painful and prolonged as possible, but he could not think about that now. His priority was getting Lucky out of the camp as soon as possible.

He led Lucky into the lodge at Raven’s beckoning and took a seat across the small fire from him. It was stifling hot in the tent and the smoke made his eyes burn, but he sat cross legged and waited to see what the Indian’s next move would be. He knew it might be a long while before Raven revealed his plans, for the Sioux were a patient people. He had seen enough peace talks and powwows to know they never got in a hurry. It was maddening, but there was nothing to do but play out the hand.

Looking across the fire at his arch enemy, he saw a man not unlike himself in many respects. Raven was probably younger than he by a couple of years, but he was a superb example of a Sioux warrior in his prime. He was at least six feet tall and powerfully built with bulging muscles in his chest and upper arms. His ebony hair was shoulder length, tied back with a leather thong, his eyes so black they gleamed in the dim light inside the lodge.

He had matured since that day on the Washita when they had met for the first time. He had been a fierce warrior even then and Quinn suspected that time and experience had honed those warlike qualities even more. Staring at him now, he could not help feeling a spark of admiration for a man who went to such extreme lengths to get what he wanted.

He felt Lucky’s small hand clutch his, and allowed himself to even envy Raven’s tenacity. Perhaps if he had been more persistent Lucky would belong to him instead of Peter Warner. How ironic that by trading his life for hers, he was giving up the only thing that really mattered and handing it back to Warner on a silver platter.

Raven spoke in Sioux to the guard and moments later two women brought in dishes of steaming stew.

After three days of jerky and water, even the promise of eminent death had no effect on Quinn's appetite. He quickly finished the meal and set the empty bowl aside with a contented sigh.

Raven called for his pipe when he had eaten. The guard brought it, handed it and a tobacco pouch to him, and withdrew once more after delivering a comment punctuated with motions and glares at Quinn.

"Your lieutenant isn’t too pleased with your hospitality."

Quinn met Raven’s curious expression through a haze of smoke as the Indian lit the pipe and drew on it.

"Lieutenant?"

"Junior officer, in my army. I don’t know what you call them in yours."

"He thinks I am wasting time. He wants to kill you now."

Quinn met that glittering stare with the same unblinking calm Raven was leveling at him. "You must have something special in mind."

"Spotted Dog is a fool. He sees only a blue coat when he looks at you."

"What do you see?"

"I see a warrior, like myself. It was I who fought you on the banks of the Washita. It was I who drew your blood and it was my blood that you drew. It is not for him to say how you die."

"You’ve had many opportunities to kill me over the past few months. Why didn’t you take them? Why go to all this trouble?"

"It must be finished between us."

"It’s personal. Because the fight was not resolved seven years ago, it must be resolved now. Is that what you mean?"

Raven’s hair shimmered in the firelight as he nodded. "Yes. It is a matter of honor."

"What are you proposing?" Quinn asked the question in a deceptively casual manner.

"You will die, Malone, but it will be by my hand alone. Tomorrow we will meet in battle. The village will witness the contest. If I kill you, the woman will be returned to her people."

"And if I kill you?"

"You and the woman will be allowed to leave my village unharmed."

Raven handed Quinn the long handled pipe. Quinn took it, drew on it, and handed it back. The rules had been established, the prizes vocalized. For the first time in three days, he knew what he was up against.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

"I don’t understand any of this!"

Lucky’s voice was as frustrated as her features as she peered at Quinn through the darkness. Hours had passed since his arrival in the village, but nothing had been resolved. At Raven’s insistence, they had spent an eternity watching the ritual dances and listening to the war chants of the warriors. It had been unnerving.

Now they lay on a buffalo robe in the lodge where she had been held captive since her arrival a week earlier. Quinn had removed his shirt because of the heat and she lay beside him, her head cradled in the hollow of his shoulder, while one hand traced light circles in the crisp, damp curls on his chest.

"How did he know about me…us? And who was that awful man who kidnapped me? And just what kind of man holds that kind of grudge for seven years?"

"Lucky, the greatest mistake any of us ever make is underestimating the Indians. It's not a grudge with Raven. It’s honor." He grinned at the face she made. "I’m probably the only white man he’s ever fought and failed to kill. When he limped back into his village, everybody knew he’d been hurt by a white man who walked away."

"So to salvage his pride, he has to finish the fight now." Lucky’s voice was sarcastic. "It’s so stupid!"

"Not to him. Not to me either."

She twisted in his arms so she could see his face more clearly. "What do you mean?"

"Part of me is glad it’s going to be settled. I’ve not had a decent night’s sleep in months. I’ve had the most god-awful nightmares you can imagine, Lucky. Raven has killed me so many times in my dreams that I’ve woke up expecting to find puncture wounds."

She instinctively drew closer to him. "Quinn, this fight tomorrow…can you beat him?"

"I beat him seven years ago. I was younger then. So was he."

"He hurt you."

"He almost killed me. I was in the hospital for weeks, but he had his own wounds to lick. Neither of us felt too hot when it was over. But tomorrow will be different."

Lucky tensed at the strange timbre of his voice. He was so calm, his tone so level, she wondered for a moment if he'd been in the sun too long.

"When we fought before, it was interrupted by a squad of cavalry. This thing tomorrow won't be interrupted. It will be to the death for one of us. I don't plan on it being me."

"Neither do I," Lucky whispered as she turned into his embrace and began planting soft, wet kisses across his chest and shoulder, inching her way toward his mouth.

"Lucky, I'm tired, and I'm hot, and I'm scared. So, please, don't start something you don't intend to finish. My willpower is gone."

"I didn't know you ever had any," Lucky said with a half smile as she raised her lips from his chest.

"Really? I think I've shown remarkable restraint."

"When?" Lucky's question was followed by his moan when her tongue returned to the task of twirling itself around the peak of his nipple.

"That night at Fred's, for instance." His breath was coming in gasps now, for Lucky's hand was moving across the flat plain of his belly.

She felt him quiver beneath her touch. She slowly began to unbuckle his belt, and felt the heat of his erection burning through his trousers when she ran her fingers along the inside of his thigh. "That was restraint? If the bugler hadn't sounded the call to arms, you'd have taken me right there on the floor of Fred's living room."

"Like you would have objected!"

"How could I object, Captain, when you were kissing me the way you were?"

"You mean like this?"

Quinn turned and pulled her upward at the same time until his mouth found hers in the darkness. His face was rough, shadowed with three days worth of beard, but somehow it only enhanced the sensuality of the kiss.

Lucky touched her tongue to his and heard the soft moan in his throat. She nipped at his lower lip and then pulled away, smiling at the fire in his eyes when he opened them to look at her.

"Yes, I believe it was something like that," she whispered. She pressed her lips to his, then lightly ran the tip of her tongue along his upper lip. "Or maybe it was more like this."

She eased him onto his back and crawled on top of him without ever taking her mouth from his. Her fingers moved through his soft, damp hair as his arms closed around her. She felt dampness rise between her thighs when she settled herself full length on top of him and the hard heat of his erection burned through her clothes.

She reached down to pull her skirt up with one hand while the other tugged at his belt. Within moments the restricting clothing was out of the way and he was deep inside her. She sat astride him, her fingernails stabbing into the muscles of his chest while she rode him to a cataclysmic orgasm that began at her toes and ripped upward through her entire body until she was almost sobbing.

She slid off him then and curled up in the circle of his arms, listening to the pounding of his heart slowly return to normal. The baby moved deep inside her and she held her breath, for fear he had felt it too. She knew she should tell him about the child, but somehow the words just wouldn't form. If he died in the fight with Raven, his not knowing wouldn't matter anyway. If he lived, there would plenty of time to tell him.

She lay in his arms in the darkness, grateful that he couldn't see the swell of her stomach. Thankfully, she wasn't showing yet to the casual observer, but naked, to Quinn's sharp eye, she knew he'd see, and know. As much as she wanted this baby, she did not want to think about its father while she lay with another man.

"Feeling guilty?"

She shook her head at his question and kissed his shoulder. "No. This night may be all we'll ever have. I will not feel guilty about being with you. Not ever."

"Good." Quinn bent his head and kissed her forehead as he smoothed back her hair. "No matter how this turns out, Lucky, knowing you, being with you is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back and smiled through her pain. "You are the most extraordinary man, Quinn Malone."

"You mean because of this?"

The humor in his voice only made her want to cry. "No, silly. Although, this is pretty wonderful too. I mean that you're the bravest, most honorable man I've ever known. And you're strong and handsome…" She paused to plant more hot, wet kisses up his neck. "Not to mention that you have the most impressive body I've ever had the pleasure of knowing."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said in that lazy Texas drawl that made desire start pooling in her belly again. "May I say that the feeling is mutual?"

"You certainly may. Can I ask you something, Captain?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"Why are we wasting all this time talking when we could be spending it in much more worthwhile endeavors?"

"Why, Miss Lucinda Douglas, you little flirt! Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Uh-huh," she murmured as she rose on one elbow so she could reach his mouth. She kissed him long and hard and felt his arms close around her as his mouth responded to hers. "Is it working?" she asked breathlessly when she finally pulled her lips away.

"Yes, ma'am, it certainly is."

Quinn turned quickly, pulling her beneath him. His knee parted her thighs and he entered her again.

They made love slowly now, taking time to explore one another’s body, touching, kissing, stroking, until their passion roared out of control. Their orgasm came much too quickly and was so powerful that Lucky was totally spent when he moved off her and cradled her in his arms. Completely sated, they fell asleep holding each other close.

***

Morning came much too quickly. Quinn was awake and dressed before the sun rose. He sat for a long time watching Lucky sleep while he put his thoughts into focus. Then as the village began to stir, he gently shook her awake.

"Quinn?" she said as she blinked and then sat up, realizing that morning had come. "What time is it?"

"It's still early, but they'll be coming for me before long. There's a couple of things I want to tell you first."

The calmness of his voice did not fool her. She quickly turned her back and dressed, feeling foolish, but not wanting to risk him seeing the way her stomach swelled. When she had gotten herself into some kind of order, she turned back, took his hand, and stared into his eyes.

He was sitting on his heels before her, the muscles in his long legs straining the tailored uniform trousers as he looked at her. He did not smile, but leveled one of those clear, authoritative gazes that she recognized so well.

"What is it, Quinn?" she whispered fearfully.

"I don't want you to watch. No matter how it turns out, it's going to be ugly. I don't want you to see that."

"But…"

"If you're not there, I won't think about you. Try to understand, Lucky. I have to concentrate, stay focused. I can't do that if I can see you."

"You're afraid I'll see you die."

Quinn nodded. He swallowed hard and fought back the sentiment his heart was demanding he put into words. "Yes. I don't know if I can beat him. Do you understand? And I'm not sure that it will matter." He held up one hand to cut off her protest. "Even if I win, there are two hundred warriors in this camp. They are not going to let me walk away if I kill their leader."

"But he promised…"

"If I kill him, Lucky, any promise he made will be worthless. My only hope is that they'll release you either way."

"I don't care. If you die, nothing else matters."

Her voice was barely a whisper and so broken he could hardly make out the words. Tears seeped down her cheeks and he took her face in his hands and gently erased them with his thumbs. "Listen to me. Your life is the only thing that matters. If my dying is the only way to save your life, I'd gladly do it a thousand times over. You have to live. Do you understand me? You have to! Remember, the Sioux value courage above everything. No matter what happens to me, don't let them see your fear. Promise me."

"I'll try. I will try."

Footsteps at the lodge entrance brought Quinn to his feet. He pulled her up with him, took her into his arms, and held her for a long moment. Then he stepped back and squared his shoulders. He walked out into the morning sun without a backward glance.

Raven stood just beyond the lodge, his arms folded over his chest. "It is time, Malone. You have rested. You have enjoyed your woman. Now it is time for you to die."

"Don't be so sure that it will be me who dies." Quinn's voice was calm and confident while he returned Raven's intent gaze. "I want you to tell your warriors that no matter who wins, the woman will be returned to the fort unharmed."

Raven turned to the group of fierce looking warriors standing near by and spoke to them in Sioux. They looked unhappy with his instructions and muttered among themselves until he said it again in more forceful terms. Finally, Spotted Dog nodded in agreement.

Raven looked back at Quinn. "It will be done."

"Good, then let's get to it."

Quinn began unbuttoning his shirt while Raven took the knife from the scabbard on his breechcloth. When Quinn took his shirt off and tossed it to the ground, Raven took another knife from Spotted Dog and held it toward him. Quinn took it and moved it from one hand to the other to get the balance and feel of the weapon.

Raven led the way through the hordes of silent, watchful Indian faces to a spot in the center of the village. Once there, he turned and faced Quinn.

"It is only because you have proven to be a great warrior that you are given this chance to live. The Sioux do not give such honor to blue coats easily. It is our privilege to kill the soldiers who burn our lodges and desecrate our land. Many years ago you proved to be an equal when we fought on the banks of the Washita while your army attacked and murdered our women and children. You fought with honor and courage. It is time to finish the battle that was begun that day."

"Time to end the nightmares?"

Quinn almost smiled at the instant surprise that sprang to Raven's glittering black eyes. His suspicion was right on target, for the Indian's grimace gave him away in those seconds before he veiled his guilty expression.

"I was dishonored in the eyes of my ancestors when I did not kill you. Today I will bring honor back to my lodge."

"You've gone to a lot of trouble to make this happen. So let's stop the talking and do it."

Raven feinted with the knife, but Quinn easily stepped away. The crowd was silent as the two men circled each other, feinting and drawing back. The fight on the Washita came back to Quinn in those moments. He remembered that Raven shifted the knife from one hand to the other before lunging at him. It was the same now. The next time Raven struck out, Quinn danced away and landed a glancing blow with his own knife that drew blood from a cut on Raven's forearm. It was bloody, but not deep and the Indian withdrew a short distance to reassess the situation.

His eyes glittered with new respect as he attacked again. He struck out, caught Quinn's wrist, and then tripped him. They went down in a tangle of flashing steel and legs.

Raven was strong, his body pure sinew and muscle, and it took all Quinn's strength to keep his knife hand at bay while they rolled through the dirt. Quinn got a knee in the warrior's groin and kicked him backwards. They both got to their feet, covered with sweat and dust, and circled each other again.

"Do you feel the fear, Malone?" Raven asked as he feinted again.

"No more than you do." Quinn's voice was calm. His jaw was clenched in concentration. Adrenaline was spurting through his veins, giving him greater strength than he'd ever known before. He knew his confidence made the Indian uneasy. If Raven had expected this fight to be easily won, he was now convinced it would not.

The August sun was merciless as it beat down on the combatants. They were both drenched in sweat as the minutes ticked by. It ran into Quinn's eyes and burned like fire, but he ignored it. Keeping his focus was the key. Realizing that the warrior had a pattern of shifting the knife back and forth before attacking was his only advantage.

Raven charged, slashing and stabbing. He was fast, but as time wore on and the heat took its toll on both men, his speed decreased. At the end of ten minutes they were both bleeding from minor cuts and both were tiring. It took all Quinn's concentration to ignore the pain in his shoulder from a cut Raven had landed. He knew one mistake was all the warrior needed and he was determined not to make it.

Quinn heard the mutters from the Indians when Raven grew quietly desperate as the fight continued and he was unable to score a death blow. He attacked again and Quinn grabbed his wrist. They went down again, rolling over and over in the dirt while Quinn grimly held Raven's knife hand out of range. The flashing blade came dangerously close many times, but he was able to keep it at bay.

Raven kicked him in the stomach and Quinn was barely able to roll away as the knife sank into the ground beside his head. They each held the other's knife hand as they struggled in the dust. Raven's arm was slick with sweat and blood and Quinn lost his grip. When the warrior took instant advantage of the moment, blood spurted from a nick in Quinn's right shoulder.

Quinn caught Raven's wrist again. With the knife above his face, he got his left hand free and closed it into a fist that he slammed into the Indian's jaw. Raven sagged and Quinn rolled away. He came to his knees as Raven lunged to his feet and swung the knife again. Quinn side stepped the blade and used his fist again to knock the warrior off balance.

Raven rocked on his feet when Quinn hit him again, this time in the stomach. The impact made the breath rush from the Indian's lungs in a gasp. Quinn shifted his knife to his left hand and feinted with it, then used his right fist when Raven moved in closer. Blood spurted from Raven's nose from the blow and he backed up to shake his head.

Quinn lost no time in pressing the advantage. Raven's thrusts were losing their velocity and for the first time, Quinn began to feel hopeful. For the next five minutes, when Raven charged with his knife slashing, Quinn danced away and sent a closed fist into the Indian's face or body.

Raven's fury made him reckless. This fight wasn't going at all the way he'd anticipated and the thought of losing to a white man in front of his entire village made him desperate. They stood facing each other, both bloody and covered in dust, chests heaving with exertion, gasping for breath. Raven gave a blood chilling war cry and lunged. The bloody blade of his knife flashed in the sunlight as he hit Quinn in the chest with his head.

They went down, grappling for one another's knife hand. Amid the swirling dust and tangled limbs, they fought furiously, rolling over and over, with first one holding the advantage and then the other.

When the dust settled, the Indians were astonished to see Raven on his back with Quinn's knee in his chest and his knife at the warrior's throat. Quinn's eyes glittered as he pressed the blade into Raven's flesh. A thin line of blood appeared beneath the knife's edge when the Indian attempted to struggle. Realizing the fight was over, Raven slumped back onto the ground, his gaze steady and resigned as he stared up at Quinn and waited.

Quinn rested his weight on the knee in Raven's chest to make sure the warrior was incapable of renewing the fight. Raven's knife lay some distance away, too far to do him any good. Quinn stared down at him, his chest heaving, his hand holding the blade against Raven's throat trembling with exhaustion as he contemplated his next move. The Indians had grown ominously silent in those few seconds while they waited for him to finish it. They began muttering among themselves when Quinn abruptly stood up and threw his knife down.

"It's over." His voice was raspy with strain as he stumbled backwards a few steps.

Raven slowly rose to his feet, staring incredulously at him. He put a hand to his throat and took it away, looking at the blood from the minor cut Quinn's knife had made. The warriors watching the fight came to their senses quickly. Two of them grabbed Quinn's arms and Spotted Dog stepped in front of him with his lance drawn back.

Quinn was too exhausted to struggle. It would have made no difference in view of the odds and he knew it. He swallowed, shut his eyes briefly, then directed a steady stare into Spotted Dog's eyes while he waited for the Indian to drive the lance through him.

"No!"

The sound of Lucky's terror filled voice sent a spurt of adrenaline through Quinn's blood. He struggled with his captors until one of them grabbed a handful of his hair and put a razor edged knife to his throat. The pressure behind the blade made him cease struggling. He couldn't turn his head because of the knife, but then Lucky's white face came into focus as she pushed and shoved her way through the group of warriors.

She was caught by Painted Antelope and held fast while she kicked and bit and fought like a wild cat.

"Lucky! What the hell are you doing? I told you to stay in the lodge! Damnit, stop struggling before you get yourself killed!"

"He gave his word!" she cried. "He promised if you won…"

"Lucky, I told you…."

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she continued to struggle against the iron-hard arm around her neck. She sank her teeth into that bronzed forearm and escaped when Painted Antelope gasped and instinctively let her go. She flung herself past Spotted Dog and planted herself firmly between Quinn and the war lance.

"Lucky, for God's sake! Don't make this any harder than it is."

Quinn was well aware of the tremor in his voice as she faced the Sioux warriors. She was going to get herself killed right in front of his eyes and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

"No, if you die, so do I." Her voice was not nearly as strong as she'd have liked, but it was clear she meant what she said.

Spotted Dog was not impressed by her courage. He raised the lance again, his face cold and impassive while he stared back at her pale, frightened face.

"No!" Raven staggered toward them with a hand upraised. "Release him!"

Spotted Dog hesitated. The hatred in his eyes was so strong Quinn doubted Raven's command would stop him. Then Raven grabbed Spotted Dog's wrist and yanked the lance from him.

"Release him!" he said again. The warriors holding Quinn slowly let him go and stepped back. "He fought with honor. He is a warrior. A warrior does not die like a dog."

Raven's long black hair was filled with dirt and twigs, his impressive body bleeding in a half dozen places. His eyes glittered with hatred as he turned his gaze to Quinn, but there was also respect, even admiration. "Take your woman, and leave my village."

Quinn nodded. A warrior handed him Apollo's reins and another handed him his shirt. He pulled the shirt on over the dirt and bleeding wounds and took Lucky's hand. It took all his strength to help her into the saddle. He forced himself into the saddle behind her and reined the gelding around so that he was facing Raven.

"I'll take my rifle back."

A warrior from the throng handed it to him at Raven's nod and he shoved the Springfield into the boot beneath his knee.

"And my pistol."

Again the requested weapon was produced from the silent, angry horde of Indians. Then Raven walked closer and looked up at him. "Malone, there are enemies without faces. Some enemies are without honor. Those are the enemies you should fear."

Quinn stared at him, not knowing what he meant and too tired to care at the moment. He started to turn Apollo around when Raven made another comment.

"You should have killed me today. You will regret not doing so. My people will not allow the whites to take our land. We will fight the blue coats and we will win. We will meet again, Malone. Someday in battle. Now, go!"

Quinn met that flat, shimmering stare for a moment, then he reined Apollo around, touched his heels to the gelding's flanks and rode between the rows of hostile Sioux faces. He kept the horse's pace at a canter until they reached the edge of the village. Then he wrapped one arm around Lucky's waist and urged the horse into a run. Twenty minutes later they had left the Sioux village far behind.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

They rode the rest of the day, pausing only for brief interludes to rest the horse. By late afternoon all three were exhausted. With night coming on, they made camp on the bank of a small, clear stream that offered fresh water and ample grass nearby for Apollo.

Quinn unsaddled the horse and staked him out to graze while they set up camp. He spread the blanket on the ground beside the ring of rocks where he'd built a small fire.

"Is it safe to have a fire?"

He looked up at Lucky's question as she dropped to her knees on the blanket beside him. "If we keep it small. There's no wind to carry the smoke."

She nodded and studied him when he winced as he got to his feet. "I need to look after those wounds."

"After we have some supper."

He pulled the carbine from the saddle where it lay on the grass nearby. "I'll scare us up a rabbit. You get those coals ready and see if you can make a spit to roast it over. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Quinn, let me do it. I'll get supper and you rest."

"Lucky, I'm not seriously injured. Just a few nicks is all. I am perfectly capable of providing supper for us."

She knew it was useless to argue with him when he spoke in that tone of voice. It was the same tone he used when giving orders to his troopers and it rankled her nerves. But he was gone into the twilight before she could voice her objections.

Ten minutes passed before she heard the report of the Springfield echoing across the plains. When he reappeared shortly, she had a spit set up over the fire and took the rabbit from him.

"Okay, mighty hunter, you sit and I'll skin this tasty little morsel. You do have a pen knife, don't you?"

Quinn dug into a trouser pocket, produced the knife, and handed it to her. She immediately began to skin and gut the rabbit. In no time it was roasting on the spit over the fire. She cleaned off the knife blade, closed it, and handed it back to him.

"You are a woman of many talents."

"Thank you, Captain," she replied with a smile. "Among my repertoire of skills, I am also a pretty decent nurse. And it's time we took a look at those cuts."

"I told you, Lucky, it's nothing."

"You let me be the judge of that, okay?" She moved across the blanket, settled down beside him, and began to ease his shirt off his shoulders. "This isn't going to work. Your shirt is stuck to the cuts with dried blood. If I pull it off, it'll open the wounds again."

"Any suggestions, Nurse?"

Lucky flashed him a smile as she sat back. "I suggest that we soak it loose in the river. The water is clear and warm, and we can both use a bath."

"Why, ma'am, are you suggesting that we take all our clothes off and go swimming naked in the moonlight? Do you have any idea what that might lead to?"

"We'll discuss that after we get those cuts looked after and see how you feel. You must be exhausted after everything you've been through today."

"The thought of swimming naked with you is making me feel better all the time." Quinn grinned as he got to his feet and held out his hand. "Well, come on. We're wasting time."

Lucky took his hand and they ran to the stream’s edge. She slipped off her dress, left on her underclothes, and waded into the warm water.

Quinn took off his boots, then his trousers and followed her. The water, though warm and refreshing, stung the fresh cuts and he winced at the pain. In a few minutes the water soaked his shirt enough to allow the dried blood to pull free of the wounds and he took it off and tossed it onto the bank.

"Let me see," Lucky commanded as she paddled around him. She stood up in the waist deep water and peered at his upper body in the deepening twilight. She was glad it was dark enough that he wouldn’t suspect her pregnancy, but it made determining the extent of his injuries difficult.

He stood up to his waist in the water while she examined him. The sight of her body, covered only by a wet camisole and underpants, which were plastered to her, made his pulse race. Her wet hair was stuck to her head, making her look very young and vulnerable. He felt a flash of guilt for the wave of desire that was uncontrollable when she was this close. The whole situation was ludicrous, but he wanted her too much to care.

"Well, nurse, what do you think? Am I going to live?"

Lucky looked up at him and wet her lips. Standing this close, it was impossible not to know what he was feeling. The heat from his body alone warmed her own blood to a fever pitch.

"I believe so," she said in a whisper. "None of the cuts are very deep. This one on your shoulder is the worst. It should really have stitches, but I don’t have anything on me to sew it up with, so it’ll have to wait until we get back to the fort."

She paused as her fingers trailed down his chest. Her gaze met his and held while his hands settled at her waist. "I can’t believe you’re not hurt any worse. The fight was so awful and you were so bloody when it was over. I was sure you had serious injuries. And when that horrible Indian put his knife to your throat…."

She shuddered and leaned into his embrace. "I just knew that he was going to kill you."

"So did I." Quinn’s hands moved up her body. He cupped her breasts and bent his head to kiss each one in turn before looking back into her eyes. "What were you doing out there anyway? You promised me you wouldn’t watch."

"I know, but I couldn’t help it. I tried to stay in the lodge. I really did. But I couldn’t stand it. I had to know."

"I didn’t want you to see it. You should’ve stayed…"

"You were magnificent."

Quinn let out a long breath at the touch of her hot mouth moving up his chest. "I was scared to death."

"One would never have known that. You were totally in control."

"I wish I had known that at the time. I was too busy trying to stay out of the way of Raven’s knife."

Lucky reached beneath the water’s surface and stripped off her underclothes. "You were so strong and sure of yourself. Like at the 4th of July picnic when you beat up that nasty Lieutenant Kelley. And you know what else?"

Quinn shook his head and sucked in his breath when she settled herself astride him.

With both hands on his shoulders and mindful of his injuries, she lifted herself upward high enough to whisper in his ear. "It made me very hot."

She nipped at his ear lobe, then slid down his rock hard shaft and wrapped her legs around him.

"Really?"

She nodded. "It must be some sort of terrible character flaw to be so aroused at that kind of violence. Do you think? But when you punched Lieutenant Kelley, I got all wet and excited. It was awful."

"Why was it awful?" Quinn’s breath was labored as she moved up and down in the water.

"Because there was nothing I could do about it. You were so infuriatingly handsome in your dress uniform, and so splendid when you defended poor Johnny."

Her gaze was locked with his as she ran her hands over the wide hairy expanse of his chest. She dug her heels into his hips and leaned forward to suck each of his nipples, smiling to herself at the sharp intake of his breath.

"You know what?" he asked as he slid both hands beneath her hips. When she shook her head with wide-eyed innocence, he pulled her up, then let her slide back down slowly. "Sometimes you talk too much."

"I beg your pardon."

"Just shut up and kiss me."

"Why, Captain Malone, is that an order?"

"Take it anyway you want."

His vision blurred as she moved up and back again. "But, Captain, sir, I’m already doing that. Or haven’t you noticed?"

Quinn lifted one hand to clasp the back of her head, and used the other to propel her upward. His mouth claimed hers in a fiery kiss that obliterated logical thought. For the moment nothing mattered except the exquisite feeling of her body moving in perfect unison with his and the fire in her lips pressed to his.

***

"Quinn, how far are we from Fort Lincoln?"

Quinn turned from saddling Apollo to flash her a smile. "Not as far as you think probably." He lifted one hand and pointed toward the northeast. "It's about a day's ride, as the crow flies."

"So we'll be home by tomorrow?"

He nodded, watched her turn her face away, and swallowed. "If you go back."

"What do you mean?" Lucky's voice was suspicious, her expression surprised as she stared at him in the early morning light.

"I mean, that the Missouri is the same distance. I could put you on a steamer. You could go…anywhere you want."

He met her uneasy gaze and saw her swallow nervously. "My enlistment will be up in eighteen months. I can meet you in Yankton, or Pierre, or Philadelphia. Wherever you say."

"You mean you'd leave the Army?" she asked incredulously.

He nodded and leaned down to pull the girth tight around Apollo's belly. He winced at the soreness in his body. A good night's sleep had only intensified the cuts and bruises and made him aware of his age.

"I've been thinking about it a lot lately. Custer is never going to grant me a transfer and I'm getting too damned old to be wandering out here in the wilderness fighting Indians. I was thinking about maybe teaching at the Academy. How do you think you'd like living in New York? The Hudson River is really quite beautiful."

Lucky stared at him in total surprise. The honesty in his eyes clearly revealed the depth of emotions she was not prepared to deal with. Not now, not with the baby coming.

"You're willing to give up a career you've spent your life building for me?"

Quinn dropped the stirrup back into place and turned to face her directly. He hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and rested his weight on one leg while he met her astonished gaze. "Until I met you, Lucky, the Army was the only life I had.

"I grew up on an army post. My old man was a first sergeant in Texas. He drank too much and slapped my mama around until the heat and the dust and the wind killed her. When she was gone, he started slapping me around in her place. Then one day when I was fifteen, I got tired of it and fought back. I've been fighting ever since…my old man, then the Confederates, and now the Indians. I'm tired of fighting, Lucky.

"I'm tired of training boys like Johnny Firth only to see them get butchered by the Sioux. I'm tired of seeing good officers become drunks from seeing those same atrocities. I'm tired of fighting Autie Custer every day of my life, hoping for one ounce of the respect he lavishes on the others, and knowing it's never going to happen.

"I want a life that doesn't involve being roused from bed in the middle of the night because the Indians have come too close. I want a life with you."

Lucky swallowed and blinked back tears that had begun to seep beneath her lashes. She got to her feet and walked a few feet away, keeping her back to him so she could gather her thoughts.

"How can you say that, knowing what I am?" she asked without turning around.

"None of that matters, Lucky. It happened before we met. It has nothing to do with who you are now."

Lucky ached to fling herself into his arms and never let him go. She squared her shoulders beneath the worn calico dress and turned to face him. "Who I am is Ruby Nell Warner."

Quinn shook his head. "No, you're not! You have never been, nor will you ever be her. You're Lucky Douglas. You're the most beautiful, bravest, smartest woman I've ever known. That's who you are!"

Lucky brushed tears from her cheeks and reached deep inside her for the courage to tell him. "No, Quinn. I'm Ruby Nell Warner. I'm married to Peter Warner, and…and I'm going to have his baby."

Quinn's eyes widened at her softly spoken announcement. His brows arched in surprise as his gaze flew to her stomach, where one small, shaky hand was resting.

The pain she saw flash through his face in those few seconds made her ill. She felt faint and wished the ground would just open up and swallow her.

"Baby? You're…?"

Lucky nodded miserably. "Yes."

"How long have you known?" Quinn's voice was so strained, it sounded as though it would crack into a thousand pieces at any moment.

"A month…I found out a month ago."

"Then, tell me Mrs. Ruby Nell Warner, just what the hell was all this about?" His voice was rising in volume as his eyes flattened to diamond bright slits. He moved toward her until she backed away, fearful of the anger she saw building in him. "Was this a game to you? Did you sleep with me because good ole Peter was out of sight, out of mind? Or did watching me damn near get myself killed over you make you so hot that you couldn't control yourself?"

"It isn't like that," Lucky whispered. She choked back a sob while they stared at each other. She saw him look away and swallow hard, and knew his anger was a cover for the pain he was feeling. "You know that isn't true."

"Do I? I'll tell you what I know. I know that from the moment I saw you in that saloon in Yankton I haven't been able to think about anything else.

"I know that I've made a fool of myself in front of the whole damn fort because of it. Guess I'm not as good at acting as you are. While I'm thinking there's something strong and special between us, you're snuggling up to Peter Warner. Peter Warner, for God's sake! That damned little weasel doesn't deserve a half minute of your time. Or maybe he does at that. Maybe the two of you deserve each other!

"Well, you've got what you wanted, haven't you? Marriage, security, and now baby makes three. Congratulations, Mrs. Warner. You've managed to fuck my brains out, and make a fool of me all at the same time."

"Quinn, please…"

Quinn's face was flushed with anger, but the pain behind the fire in his eyes hurt Lucky worse. He stared at her for another minute, then stalked toward the river bank to pick up his bedroll.

He leaned down to grasp it when the crack of a rifle split the dead quiet. The bedroll went spinning out of his hand as another bullet slammed into the ground at his feet.

"Lucky, get down!" he shouted as he turned and ran for the campsite where Lucky stood paralyzed.

Bullets kicked up dirt all around him as he covered the distance between them. He grabbed her arm and shoved her to the ground, then threw himself over her. The shooting stopped and he got to his knees and pulled Lucky up with him. He pointed to a sad stand of sagebrush ten yards away.

"Run, Lucky! Now"

She jumped to her feet and ran as fast as she could to the pitiful excuse for cover and threw herself to the ground. She gasped with her heart in her throat when Quinn leaped to his feet, ran to Apollo, and snatched the Springfield from the boot.

The instant he became visible again, their attacker began firing. He ran in a zigzag pattern toward the brush where Lucky lay shaking in terror. Flinging himself down beside her, he rolled onto his belly with the carbine against his shoulder.

"Where is he?" Lucky asked, wide-eyed and white faced.

"Up on that rise," Quinn answered while he sighted down the barrel.

"Why aren't you shooting at him?"

"At this range it's a waste of ammunition."

Quinn's voice was sharp and authoritative. Lucky recognized his tone as that of the professional soldier she'd come to know.

"Range?"

"Yeah, he's at least three thousand yards away. He's using a Sharps. Has to be to get this close at that range."

"What are we going to do?" Lucky asked in a more composed tone. His calmness soothed her terror so that she was more able to think clearly. "Is it Indians?"

Quinn shook his head. "No, I'd say it's your mountain man."

"What makes you think so?"

"Indians don't like Sharps rifles. They're too damned heavy to use from horseback and the ammunition is hard to come by. They prefer Winchesters."

"Like the ones we saw in Raven's village?" she asked uneasily as she thought about the repeaters she'd found in Fort Rice.

Quinn nodded. "Yeah, they're lighter weight, easier to use, and they can pick up bullets fairly easily. Besides, as a rule, Indians can't shoot worth a damn. This guy's different. He's one hell of a good shot."

"What…do you mean?"

He turned toward her then, allowing her to see the blood soaked left sleeve of his shirt. Her face went pasty white as she automatically reached to examine the wound. He pulled away with an annoyed expression.

"Not now, Lucky. It's not serious. He just nicked me when I leaned over to pick up the bedroll. I rather imagine if I'd been a little slower, I'd be much worse off." He glanced at her worried face and forced a faint smile. "Looks like your luck is holding, maybe it's even rubbing off on me a little."

"You're losing a lot of blood. I need to bandage it."

"Later. We have more immediate problems. Here," he said as he turned toward her and pressed the Springfield into her shaky hands. "Keep him busy. But don't use up all the ammunition. If we get out of this, we still have a lot of miles to cover before we make the fort. I don't want to attempt it with an empty gun."

"What are you going to do?" she cried. She caught his arm as he started to move away.

"I have to get closer, a lot closer. With a little of your luck, he won't know how well you can shoot. You keep him busy and I'll get behind him."

"What are you going to use for a weapon?" she asked in a tone that waffled between fear and irritation.

"My pistol."

"You'll only have one round!"

"That's why I have to get closer. Are you ready?"

Lucky nodded and pressed the carbine to her shoulder. "No, but go ahead. And, Quinn, please be careful."

He didn't reply. In fact, she didn't even know he was gone until she looked to see why he didn't answer her. All she saw was the tall grass waving in the breeze.

"Damn, how did he do that?" she asked aloud.

She put aside all her thoughts and fears and put all her energy into the task at hand. She began firing at the spot Quinn had pointed out to her, knowing her bullets were falling short of the target, but hoping it would be enough of a distraction so their attacker wouldn't notice Quinn slipping up on him.

The minutes ticked by. Sweat dripped down Lucky's back as she waited and prayed. "God, where is he? Please let him be all right. I know he's hurt and angry with me, but please don't let him be hurt anymore because of me than he is already."

When she thought she couldn't bear it another moment, he whistled off to her left. She looked up to see him walking toward her. She jumped up and ran to meet him, joyful that he was all right.

"Did you get him? I never heard a shot."

"That's because there wasn't one. He was gone when I got there."

Quinn took the rifle from her and walked resolutely toward Apollo. He shoved the carbine into the boot and went to retrieve his bedroll.

Lucky stood uneasily and watched him. His expression was calm and controlled, but his jaws were clenched and his eyes were still hot with emotion. Just what emotion, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Come on, Lucky. Let's get the hell out of here. We've got a long way to go yet, and I don't like the idea of this fellow out there with a Sharps waiting to pick me off like a duck on a pond."

"Neither do I," she said stoutly while she lifted her dress and ripped off a long piece of her petticoat.

She dropped her skirt and approached him resolutely, ignoring the disdain in his expression as she opened his shirt and pressed the bandage over the bleeding wound. It was a long groove that ran along the curve of his body from his neck to his shoulder, nearly as deep as it was long. It was bleeding profusely, but did not appear to be life threatening if she could stop that.

"If this keeps up, Captain, the Army will owe me a whole new set of petticoats."

"Remind me to put in a requisition when we get back to the fort. It's the least I can do."

Lucky colored at the sharpness in his voice, but she did not respond to it. He was angry and hurt, and he had a right to be. She considered telling him that she had planned to leave Peter until she discovered she was pregnant, then discarded the idea, remembering that leaving Peter did not mean they would be together.

She took his hand when he was mounted and let him help her onto the horse in front of him. When he put his injured arm securely around her waist and urged Apollo into a gallop, she knew that in spite of the ugly things he'd said to her, his feelings were deep and honest.

And hopeless, she reminded herself miserably. She was carrying another man's child. They had no future together no matter how they felt about each other. Her future lay with Peter and the child she carried. She had to accept that and live with it. So did Quinn, but she knew it was going to be painful for them both. Very painful.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The next twenty-four hours taught Lucky what it meant to be a member of the 7th cavalry. Quinn pushed hard for Fort Lincoln, pausing only long enough to rest the horse briefly, then moving on. By the time they topped the rise above the fort at twilight the following day, she was exhausted. That many hours on horseback, riding with a man who had spoken a grand total of a half dozen words during that forced march, had taken a toll on both her body and her emotions.

The sight of the flag snapping in the breeze above the fort brought tears to her eyes. So much had happened since she'd last seen it. She'd been kidnapped, seen the man she loved nearly killed twice, suffered his anger and hurt for hours in silence, and yet those times in his arms before she told him about the baby, were the happiest in her life.

The only thing more pressing on her mind than the finality of her relationship with Quinn as they rode down the slope to the fort was his physical condition. He had lost a lot of blood and although he had pushed himself to the limits of endurance, she knew he was a lot weaker than he wanted her to know.

As they neared the garrison's gates, she heard the sentries call out. "Riders coming in! It's Captain Malone and Mrs. Warner!"

Quinn's hand on her waist tightened and he eased back on Apollo's reins to slow

the horse to a walk as they reached the gates.

Lucky could see troopers pouring out of the barracks to witness their arrival back at the post and heard them call to one another announcing their return.

"Lucky…what I said back there…all those ugly things…I didn't…mean it…"

Quinn's voice was hoarse and faint as Apollo halted just inside the gates. As a flood of troopers rushed toward them, he began to slide from the saddle. Despite Lucky's best efforts to catch him, he fell off the horse flat on his face in a dead faint.

The next few minutes were a blur of activity. Through a flurry of faces, she recognized Sergeant Briggs and other members of ‘A’ Company rushing toward them. She slid off Apollo and caught a blue clad shoulder, not knowing whose it was.

"Dr. Lord, get Dr. Lord." She tried to get through the circle of kneeling soldiers with worried faces, but Sergeant Briggs took her shoulders and eased her out of harm's way.

"The Doc’s on his way, Mrs. Warner. You just take it easy."

Sergeant Briggs had barely gotten the admonition out of his mouth when she saw Dr. Lord hurrying their way, carrying his bag, his white coat flapping in the breeze.

He pushed his way through the men and knelt by Quinn's side. Lucky's knees were so weak, she leaned against Sergeant Briggs for support while Dr. Lord turned Quinn over on his back. He opened Quinn's shirt, took the bandage loose and peeked beneath it.

Quinn's shirt was blood soaked all the way down the left side, front and back. His face was pale, his breathing shallow but steady as the doctor listened to his chest with his stethoscope for a moment.

"Mrs. Warner, are you all right?" he asked over his shoulder as he moved the stethoscope around on Quinn's upper body.

"I'm fine, Doctor Lord. Captain Malone's injuries are not serious, but he's lost a lot of blood and he's exhausted. That wound on his shoulder needs to be sewn up and there's another on his chest." Lucky was amazed that her voice was steady.

"Let's get him to the infirmary, boys," Dr. Lord said as he got to his feet.

Immediately men from the troop picked Quinn up and carried him off into the darkening twilight to the post hospital. Dr. Lord paused for a moment to direct a concerned glance to Lucky.

"Mrs. Warner, I'll be needing to take a look at you as well once I've had time to attend to Captain Malone."

"I'm fine, Doctor," she repeated with a weary smile at the anxiety his face. "I'm just very, very tired." One hand went automatically to her stomach. "We're fine, really."

Dr. Lord patted her arm with a nod, then took off to the hospital. Lucky leaned against Sergeant Briggs and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw that most every one on the post was milling around, talking among themselves, glancing at her. She knew she was a sorry sight. Her hair hung around her shoulders, whipped by the wind and tumbled. Her dress was covered with Quinn's blood. Her hands were likewise bloody and her throat hurt from holding back her emotions for so long.

"Let me get you home, Mrs. Warner." Sergeant Briggs' usually gruff voice was soft as he took her arm and guided her toward the sutler's store. "You look like you're ready to cave in too."

"I fear I am, Sergeant."

"I imagine the general will be wanting to talk to you when you've had a chance to rest some. He's been pacing for a week, sending out patrols looking for the two of you. He'll be relieved that you're back safe and sound."

"Well, safe at any rate," Lucky said with a faint smile.

"Ruby Nell! Ruby Nell!"

Lucky looked up and saw Peter rushing toward her. His face was beet red from exertion, his white shirt was splotched with dampness from the August heat and humidity.

A moment later, he swept her up in his arms and almost crushed her with his exuberance. "Oh, Ruby Nell, honey! Thank God you're all right! I've been out of my mind with worry!

"Let me get you home. You must be exhausted! Now, honey, don't you worry about a thing. You just let me take care of you."

Peter carried her toward the store, walking quickly through the hundreds of milling soldiers. While he walked, he talked soothingly to her, calming her anxieties. His tenderness brought tears to Lucky's eyes as she clutched her arms around his neck and sank her face into the damp shirt front.

"Peter, I have to tell you something," she whispered as he carried her.

"Not now, Ruby Nell, honey. We'll have plenty of time to talk when you've rested."

"No, Peter. Now. I…we're…going to have a baby."

She risked a glance at his face as he stepped up on the store's porch. He was smiling happily.

"I know, honey. Doctor Lord told me after you disappeared. He was very worried about you being taken like that, by some madman. He thought I already knew. You should've told me sooner, honey."

The reproach in his voice made Lucky's eyes burn. "I know, Peter. I meant to, I just wanted to find the perfect time. I'm sorry."

"Well, don't you worry about a thing. You're home now, and safe again. And I'm going to take good care of you and our baby! I'm so excited, Ruby Nell! I can hardly wait to hold our very own child!"

Lucky buried her face in his shirt collar and blinked back the deluge of tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Me too, Peter. It's all I can think about."

***

"What the hell happened?" Peter's voice was furious as he glared at his companion across the table in the back of one of Bismarck's seedy saloons. "Malone is still alive! And worse than that, he's come back the conquering hero! How do you explain that?"

Rutherford tossed back a glass of whiskey and reached for the bottle atop the table. "Malone is a hard man to kill," he said nonchalantly as he poured himself another drink.

"He'd have to be damned immortal to walk out of that Sioux village. Explain to me just how that happened!"

The mountain man shrugged. "Raven sees Malone as an equal and deserving of a chance to prove his worth as a warrior. He gave Malone the chance to fight for his life, and Malone won. That about covers it."

"So he just let Malone ride out of the village?" Following Rutherford's nod, Peter glared at him as he leaned forward and caught hold of the whiskey bottle when the man reached for it again. "What were you doing all this time? Playing with yourself?"

The mountain man turned a malevolent gaze on Peter's indignant face and pulled the bottle free. "Staying out of sight. I'd done my part. I was waiting for the Indians to do theirs. It didn't turn out that way."

"Obviously!"

"I almost got him though when he and your missus were camped on the river the

next morning. Had him in my sights, dead center, then just as I fired, he moved. If I hadn't got out of there when I did, he'd have seen me for sure. That woman of yours is something else with a rifle, you know that?"
"Yes, I've seen her handiwork. All Malone had was a Springfield. You had a Sharps. Face it, Rutherford, you botched this job!"

Rutherford nodded with a sly grin as he twirled his drink on the tabletop. "I'll tell you what's botched, Warner, and that's your plans. Did I mention that Malone and your wife spent the night together in the village before the fight?

"Or that they were very friendly on this return trip? Course, I guess seeing a man put his life on the line to save her would make most any woman hot for him."

He took a sip from his glass and grinned at the fury flooding into Peter's face. "Whoopee! And she was hot for him, let me tell you. When they was taking a bath in the river, she was all over him. You should've seen it, Warner. Wet, naked, doing it in the water…I had a boner like you wouldn't believe, just watching them."

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Peter snatched up his hat as he shoved his chair back and shot to his feet.

"Where you going? We ain't finished our business yet," the mountain man said with a satisfied leer.

"Oh yes, we have. Our deal is off!"

"Now, Warner, I'd advise you to think twice about that. Reneging on a deal with the Sioux ain't smart. You promised Raven a hundred new Winchesters and he expects you to deliver."

"I expected him to kill Malone too. He didn't keep his end of the bargain, so why should I? The deal is off! Tell him I said so!"

Rutherford nodded, but his eyes had narrowed. "I'll tell him, but you've been warned. He allowed Malone to fight for his life out of respect. He feels completely justified in doing that. He'll see your refusal to cough up the rifles as just another broken promise. I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"You're not me! I wanted Malone's dead body. I didn't get it. No body, no deal, no rifles! Besides, I may have gotten something even better."

"Yeah? What?"

"My wife's pregnant. She's not going anywhere. And Malone, being the man he is, wouldn't ask it of her in her condition. So I've won after all. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going home to check on her. I left her sleeping after her terrible ordeal."

Rutherford laughed softly as he stared up at Peter's haughty, angry features while he filled his glass again. "The only thing terrible about her ordeal, Warner, is that I injured her lover bad enough that he got more concerned with getting back to the fort than he was with humping her."

Peter cursed under his breath as he stomped past the table and through the dimly lit saloon. He was so angry with the mountain man that he didn't take Rutherford's warning seriously. He was more concerned about holding onto his woman. Now, with a baby on the way, it was time to play his trump card.

He smiled as he mounted up and rode through Bismarck toward the river. When he got through with Ruby Nell, she'd be on her knees begging him to forgive her this momentary indiscretion with Malone. It couldn't have worked out any better if he'd planned for her to conceive just when she did. It was perfect timing.

CHAPTER FORTY

"Uh-oh, here comes trouble."

Quinn looked toward the door of the hospital ward at Sergeant Briggs' soft warning. Coming down the aisle with that brisk stride was George Custer, with the regimental adjutant Lieutenant W.W. Cooke at his side.

"I know it's part of Cookie's job, but do you ever wonder what would happen if Custer turned a corner too fast?" Briggs added.

The other half dozen members of ‘A’ Company who were sprawled about on empty cots while they visited with Quinn, snickered outright or hid their amusement behind their hands. They did, however, leap to their feet in a proper salute at Briggs’ "Ten-hut!" as the post commander approached Quinn's cot.

"At ease, men. Don't trouble yourself, Captain." Custer's voice rang with authority as he motioned to Quinn's bandaged shoulder. "I see you're feeling better today."

"Yes, sir. The Doc says I can return to duty by the end of the week."

Quinn lay in the narrow cot that was barely long enough for his tall frame, propped up on pillows with a sheet pulled up past his waist. His left shoulder was encased in a bulky bandage and there was a smaller one on the right, covering the worst of the cuts he'd suffered in the fight with Raven.

He was clean shaven, having been unable to stand the stubble any longer. He was rested after being in the post hospital for three days with nothing to do but sleep. As he met Custer's sharp blue gaze, he knew this was no social call.

"Nice of you to drop by, General, but as you can see, I'm fine."

An unspoken signal passed between Quinn and Sergeant Briggs, who looked to the men still standing by protectively. He nodded to Corporal Denton, who immediately took the hint. Denton saluted Custer, then took the others and left. Briggs stayed behind.

"I've come to talk about the Sioux village you were in." Custer put out his hand and Lieutenant Cooke laid a rolled up map in it. Custer moved around the bed so he could roll out the map and put it within Quinn's sight. "Where was it exactly?"

Quinn looked at the map for a moment, then pointed out the location. "About here. Two days hard march from the fort."

"How many hostiles were there?"

"I saw at least two hundred warriors. Twice, maybe three times, that many women and children. And a pony herd of four, maybe five hundred."

"Anything else that I need to know?"

Quinn nodded. "Yes, sir. The warriors I saw were mostly armed with Winchesters, relatively new ones."

"Then what the scouts keep saying must be true. The Indians are arming themselves with weapons they take from the miners they're killing. Where are the miners getting new Winchesters? That's what I'd like to know."

Quinn didn't reply. He lay back on the pillows and studied Custer's frustrated face. He knew the feeling. Being frustrated was becoming a natural state for him.

Custer rolled up the map and handed it back to Cooke. "We'll be setting out in the morning for that village."

"You're wasting your time, sir. Raven will be long gone by the time you can get there."

"Probably so, but we may be able to scare up a few more of them along the way." Custer's sharp gaze focused on Quinn's calm features. "Now, Captain, let's address the matter of your leaving your command to chase off after this Indian."

Quinn's brows rose in surprise. "I did not, as you put it, sir, chase after this Indian. He delivered a very clear message that if I did not follow his instructions, he would kill Mrs. Warner. I did what I felt was necessary to save her life."

"And left your column in the hands of an inexperienced junior officer."

"Lieutenant Browning is a capable officer, sir. He had Mitch Bouyer for a scout and First Sergeant Briggs to assist him. He was in good hands."

"So you go gallivanting off with the Sioux with no thought to what might happen to your troop if they were attacked. Did it ever occur to you that this entire episode could have been a ruse to separate you from the column?"

"No sir, it did not." Quinn's voice was mild, his manner calm as he answered Custer's questions. "Past experience indicated that Raven was deadly serious. My suspicions were correct."

"Your leadership abilities are beginning to worry me, Captain."

"Sir?"

"When you were approached by this Indian you should have come directly back to the fort so I could have dispatched a battalion to deal with the threat.

"Instead, you placed your entire company at risk, not to mention your own life and that of Mrs. Warner. What were you thinking? Or were you even thinking at all?" Custer paused as a faint smile touched his lips. "Or perhaps I already know the answer to that question."

Quinn felt a flush creeping up his neck at Custer's insinuation, but he knew that reacting to it would only make matters worse. He took a long breath before responding.

"I did what I thought was best. I make no apologies for it, sir. If I had not gone with the Indian Mrs. Warner would have been killed."

"You're on report, Captain. I want a complete report of your observations in the Indian village on my desk by noon tomorrow."

Custer turned, walked away a few steps, then turned back. "Warner should be grateful to you, Captain. I understand Mrs. Warner is expecting. Not only did you rescue his wife, it seems you also rescued his baby."

Quinn gritted his teeth while Custer smiled, then walked back up the aisle and out the front door. When the door closed behind him, Quinn exhaled and muttered a curse under his breath.

"Is that how you see it too, First Sergeant?"

Briggs shook his head. "No, sir. You did the right thing, Captain. The only thing under the conditions. Given the same circumstances, any other man worth his salt would've done the same."

"But?"

"Sir?"

"There's a but at the end of that statement, Sergeant."

Briggs scratched at his beard for a moment, then moved around and sat down on the bed so he was facing Quinn. "Your feelings for Mrs. Warner are at the heart of this, Captain. If it wasn't for how you feel about her, Raven wouldn't have had the leverage to lure you into that situation."

Quinn fought the urge to squirm under that level gaze he knew so well. "What are you trying to say?"

Briggs shrugged and looked a bit embarrassed, but he maintained Quinn's direct gaze. "Nothing needs to be said, sir. Like the general pointed out, Mrs. Warner's having a baby. That about says it all, don't it?"

Quinn nodded and swallowed. "Yes, Sergeant, it does."

Briggs put a hand on Quinn's bare shoulder and looked stern. "Then put it behind you, sir, and put your energy back where it belongs; on the company and the Sioux. It don't much matter how you feel about Mrs. Warner, or how she may feel about you. She's having Warner's baby. Her life is with him."

"My head knows that, Sergeant. It's my heart that's not taking the message too well."

"I'm sorry, Quinn. I really am, but you have no choice in the matter. Her marriage, the future of her family is at stake here, as is your career. And maybe more importantly, ‘A’ Company is at stake. Now, the lieutenant is a fine young officer, just like you said, but he's inexperienced at fighting Indians. You are what holds the company together. The men depend on you."

"Are you saying I've let them down, Sergeant?" Quinn's voice was clipped and cool as he met Briggs' steady gaze.

"No, sir. Not yet."

"Meaning?"

Briggs stood up and squared his shoulders. "Captain, with all due respect, sir, you've been distracted lately. You haven't made mistakes, I'm not saying that…"

"Only because we haven't been in a situation where I had the opportunity. Is that what you mean, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir. Something like that. The men haven't noticed, but I have. Your head's not where it needs to be, sir. It's time you got your focus back. Before mistakes are made."

Quinn stared up at the sergeant, knowing what it must have taken for Briggs to say that. He rubbed a hand over his face and nodded finally. "I can't believe you're agreeing with Custer, Sergeant. I didn't think I'd live long enough to see that." His tone was lighter and a faint smile came to his lips.

Relief was obvious on Briggs' bearded face. "I'm not taking his side against you, Captain. You know I'd never do that. But you're a much better officer than you've been showing lately. It's been worrying me."

"You've never been one to hold back when you thought I was in the wrong. Why haven't you spoken up before this?"

Briggs shrugged. "I kept hoping the situation would resolve itself."

"It has, Sergeant. It has. I've been doing a lot of thinking the past couple of days while I've been lying here. Mrs. Warner's path is clear…so is mine. I'm a professional soldier and a pretty damned good one when I put my mind to it. And that's exactly what I plan to do when I get out of here."

"Glad to hear it, sir." Briggs grinned as he clapped Quinn on the back. "I'd better get back out there. I left Jenkins in charge of drill today. By now he's probably gotten the whole company so confused that the only ones who know what they're supposed to do is the horses. I'll check back on you later. I think mama is making some chicken and dumplings for your supper."

"That sure sounds good, Sergeant. I look forward to it."

Briggs left then and Quinn laid back and shut his eyes. "Damn, I must be in trouble if Briggs agrees with Custer. Well, that's over now. Time to move on. She has what she wants; a baby, marriage, security, and I've got what I've always had…the Army, the company, a career, responsibility."

He pulled the sheet up higher and turned onto his side. Still uncomfortable, he raised up and punched his pillow, then laid down again and shut his eyes.

"It meant everything to me before she came along, and God willing, it will again. I can't do anything about her having Warner's baby so I just have to stay focused on what I can do something about; the company, the Sioux, the men who depend on me. That's why I'm here. That's who I am. That's what is important."

He rubbed his hand over his eyes and squeezed them shut even tighter. He repeated what he'd said aloud once more. "Maybe if I keep saying it over and over, I'll make myself believe it," he said as he turned back over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He began counting the nail heads in the rough planking. It was boring, but until he could get out into the field again, he had to find something to keep his mind occupied and off Lucky.

***

Lucky struggled with the heavy iron skillet. It was horridly hot in the small kitchen and the fire in the cook stove made the air stifling since there was no breeze to help cool things off. The grease in the frying pan popped and splattered as she stirred the potatoes she was attempting to fry for Peter's supper.

He sat at the table sipping on a glass of water while he watched her feeble attempts at cooking. He hadn't said a word for a half hour when she finally slapped a lid on the potatoes and turned to him with a weak smile.

"Supper will be ready soon, Peter. The potatoes are almost done."

"Good, good."

It was obvious he was distracted, she thought as she wiped her hands on the tail of her apron. He had been this way for a couple of days now and she was beginning to be concerned.

"Is something wrong, Peter?"

He looked up at her and exhaled sharply. When he didn't reply right away, she took another peek at the potatoes and tried to decide if they were done. They were starting to brown the way Peter liked them so she stirred them once more.

"Nothing is wrong. At least it won't be wrong any longer…Miss Lucky Douglas."

Her hand froze in mid-air at the almost sultry way he'd said her name. She put the spoon down on the counter top and leaned against it for support, for her knees had suddenly turned to jelly.

"How…how long…how long have you known?" she heard herself ask him in a voice so faint it was nearly unrecognizable.

"I suspected from the beginning." Peter's tone was light, amused as he watched her drain of all color and her eyes grow enormous in her face as she turned finally to face him. "But you were so beautiful, so young, I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. Then you charmed the Custers at the reception so handily that it was obvious you were a tremendous asset to me so it really didn’t matter.

"It wasn't until you accepted Libby Custer's invitation to go riding that I knew for sure. You see, my dear, Ruby Nell had a nasty fall from a horse when she was a child. Poor thing was terrified of them. The last thing in the world she would have done was go for a ride."

"How…did you…know my name?" she managed to ask through lips that were so stiff they would hardly move.

"Once I knew you weren't Ruby Nell, I set out to learn who you really were. It wasn't all that difficult really. I contacted an old acquaintance who did some checking for me. He traced your steps from the steamer, learned you got on in Yankton, so he went there and asked a few questions. The answers he got were rather shocking." Peter paused to take a sip of water.

His benign smile did not put Lucky at ease. Quite the contrary. There was a hardness in his eyes that she'd never seen before. The amusement she saw in him now was more frightening than if he'd been furious. She began to tremble so violently that he jumped up and came to take her by the arm and led her to a chair, where he placed her gently.

"Now, now, my dear, there's no need to fret."

"I…I meant to tell you…everything," she whispered, staring up at him fearfully while she twisted her hands in the apron. "I was going to tell you the truth…that afternoon when I fainted…I was on my way into the store to tell you that I wasn't Ruby Nell, and that I was leaving."

"Leaving me for Captain Malone."

Lucky shook her head. "No, just leaving. I realized how unfair it was to let you go on believing I was someone I'm not. I didn't want to hurt you."

"But then you found out you're having my baby."

Lucky nodded and dropped her gaze to her nervous hands.

"Well, my dear, things always work out for the best, don't they?"

"I…I don't understand."

Peter put both hands on her shoulders and squeezed affectionately. "I suppose you don't realize it yet, Lucky, but things have worked out just fine. You wanted a marriage and a family, security, and you've got it. I wanted those same things, perhaps not for all the same reasons, but they are very important to me. We both have what we want. Well, except for your trifle with Captain Malone. Am I correct in assuming that is all in the past?"

Lucky nodded miserably and blinked back tears. Thinking about Quinn was so painful, she tried to avoid it at any cost.

"Good!" Peter's voice was hearty and confident. He moved around her, lifted her chin with a finger and looked deep into her eyes. "Then let me tell you how things are going to be from now on. This post, especially General and Mrs. Custer, will believe we have an ideal relationship. I shall be the devoted husband, and proud father when our child is born. You shall be my equally devoted spouse and contented mother. I shall run my business with no interference from you. And, this is an absolute non-negotiable point, my dear, you shall stay as far away from Captain Malone and temptation as possible.

"Should you falter on any of these points, I shall go to Custer and explain about your sordid past and how you cuckolded me into believing you were my dear Ruby Nell and then trifled with Captain Malone behind my trusting back."

He put up a restraining hand at the outrage that leaped into her face. "Hear me out, my dear. If you force me to such extremes, I can assure you that your gallant captain will be court martialed and kicked out of the Army in disgrace. You will be ushered off this post likewise, marked a harlot. I will be looked upon as a victim of your wicked plans and have every women on this post showering me with their concern."

He paused to let his remarks sink in, then smiled benevolently at the surrender in her face. "I believe we have reached an understanding, have we not?"

Lucky nodded, still unable to speak for the lump in her throat.

"Come now, my dear," Peter added in that kindly tone that Lucky now knew covered a host of darker emotions. "No need to look so stricken. It’s not as though you actually planned to do away with Ruby Nell so you could take her place."

"It wasn’t like that at all!"

"No, I’m sure it wasn’t. You got acquainted with her on the trip. She told you all about me and the store. When the accident happened and she was killed, you just didn’t see the necessity of clarifying your identity."

"I tried to tell all of you." Lucky’s voice was stronger now and her eyes had began to sparkle angrily at his insinuation. "Nobody would listen to me." Then she dropped her gaze once more and her voice grew fainter. "I had lost everything in the accident. I had nothing. And you seemed so kind, Peter. I thought we could have a good life together. I really thought I could make you happy."

"Oh, but you have, my dear. Your influence with the Custers has given me one new store already and my petition to the War Department is being considered for others. I’m sure it will be approved.

"There’s no reason for anyone on this post to ever know that you’re really a whore, instead of dear, sweet Ruby Nell. Or that honorable Captain Malone is a adulterous whoremonger. That can be our own little secret, can’t it?"

"Yes, Peter."

"Trust me, my dear, you do exactly what I’ve told you and we’ll have no problems. Cross me by interfering with my business or by having any kind of contact with Malone whatsoever other than a matter connected to the store, and I will destroy both of you."

Lucky nodded in resignation and lifted a shaky hand to wipe at her damp eyes. Peter handed her his white handkerchief and patted her shoulder.

"Now, dry those tears and blow your nose. Everything is just fine. Umm, those potatoes sure smell good. I’m starved."

He went to the stove, lifted the lid, and inhaled the tempting aroma of the frying potatoes, while Lucky stared at his back, speechless.

She did as he said and dried her eyes, blew her nose, and got to her feet. Her legs were still shaky and her throat ached with the unshed tears that scalded it. But she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. The bargain was made. There was no turning back.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

With winter only weeks away, Peter had received a huge shipment of supplies to deliver to the store at Fort Rice before the weather made the trip impossible. Autumn was in full swing now.

Lucky stood on the front porch of the sutler's store that morning the last week of September while the caravan of freight wagons lumbered out the front gates, under the protection of Captain McDougall's ‘B’ Company. With so many wagons so heavily loaded, she didn't expect him back for a couple of weeks.

It was the crates in the bed of the wagon Peter drove himself that concerned her. Her heart had stopped when she saw the W. Chester written in charcoal on those ten crates when they were loaded into the wagon earlier that morning. But Peter's warning had been well received and she'd said nothing. She'd stood by, feeling sick at her stomach, silent and frightened for the troopers riding out of the fort who might well be killed by those very guns.

She forced a smile when he turned back to wave at her just before the troop escorted him out the entrance and into the prairie. Then she took up her broom and continued sweeping off the porch. It was a relief to have time by herself for a few days, but the past few weeks had not been altogether unpleasant.

Ever since he had revealed his knowledge about her true identity, they'd had a cautious relationship. Peter acted as though nothing had happened. He treated her extremely well and had been very solicitous about her welfare. He had even insisted on accompanying her to her visit with Doctor Lord and was immensely pleased when the baby moved and put his hand over the spot. He seemed genuinely happy about this child, but who really knew what he thought, Lucky asked herself that pleasant morning as she watched the caravan disappear into the September mist.

She realized that she did not know this man at all. The Peter who had sat by her side in the hospital when she was recovering from the accident had been warm and caring. The man who had tracked down her past without ever mentioning his suspicions while he continued to enjoy her position in the Custer's inner circle was a stranger. The man who sold guns to miners knowing those weapons would end up in the hands of the Sioux was worse than that.

"Good morning, Ruby Nell! You're looking grand this morning!"

Lucky pulled her thoughts together when Mollie McIntosh's jovial greeting caught her attention. When she looked up, Mollie was coming down the porch carrying her shopping basket.

"Grand? I hardly think so, but I feel good." Lucky smiled at Mollie's cheerful face as she rubbed her stomach. "This little fellow has been running me ragged this morning. He hasn't stopped wiggling for a minute."

Mollie smiled as she adjusted her bonnet against the stiff wind. "Maybe he knows his daddy's gone away for awhile."

"Maybe. Do you have time for a cup of tea, Mollie?"

Mollie shook her head and touched Lucky's arm. "No, I'm sorry to say that I don't. Donald's company should be in today and I'm fixing his favorite supper. I just realized I need salt."

"Aren't you a little nervous, Mollie, with three of the companies out on patrol? I know I am."

Mollie patted her hand as they walked down the porch and into the store. Lucky picked up a box of salt and took it to the counter, where she took out the ledger and wrote down Mollie's name and the amount of the purchase.

"Nothing to worry about, Ruby Nell. Three companies of the 7th are more than adequate to protect the fort. It's nothing uncommon for as many as four or five of them to be out at the same time. You get used to it after a while.

"Besides, with winter coming on, the men are trying to get out all they can. Once the weather turns bad, they'll be trapped in the fort for months on end. It can get pretty ugly, let me tell you. Snow up to the windows, so cold your breath freezes on the covers at night. The men have to cut holes in the river to get water for the livestock, and they have nothing much to do except the work details and guard duty. They get awfully restless. And they're constantly underfoot."

She smiled and Lucky knew she did not mind her handsome lieutenant husband being underfoot at all.

"At least while they're inside the fort you don't have to worry about Donald being in constant danger."

Mollie's smile faded as she tucked the salt into her basket. "Yes, the winter months are the only time that I feel safe. As soon as the spring thaws start, the patrols start up again. But, that's something you don't have to worry about, Ruby Nell. Having a husband who doesn't go out chasing Indians must be a real comfort."

"It is, Mollie. I don't know how you women stand it year after year. I'm so glad I don't have to worry about Peter that way. Especially now with the baby coming."

"And just when can we expect Mr. or Miss Warner to appear?"

"In December. Dr. Lord thinks maybe around Christmas time. I can't think of a more wonderful gift."

Mollie squeezed her hand and smiled. "Neither can I, Ruby Nell. Now, I've got to run. I'll talk to you soon."

Lucky watched Mollie hurry across the post to her home on Officer's Row. The wind was growing in volume and with it came a chill that made her search for her shawl and wrap up in it. The clouds were darker now. She hoped they didn't mean a storm was on its way.

***

When the three companies left Fort Lincoln, they went in different directions. Captain Yates took his ‘F’ Company toward the southwest to patrol the mining areas. Quinn took ‘A’ Company northeast to investigate reports of Indian attacks on the crews repairing track for the Northern Pacific Railroad. Three weeks later Captain McDougall took ‘B’ Company south to Fort Rice as an escort for Peter's supply caravan.

The wind had a definite bite to it that September afternoon as Quinn led his company back toward the fort. The patrol had been in a constant running battle for three weeks and the men and horses were tired.

"Well, you can't say this patrol has been a total waste of time." Alex Browning pulled his hat down against the brisk wind as he looked at Quinn riding next to him. "We did manage to kill a few Indians."

"A very few." Quinn was not amused at the young lieutenant's observation. "I still think the ones we got were stragglers. The sign indicated a much stronger force."

"Makes you wonder what Captain Yates ran into, doesn't it?"

Quinn nodded. "Ever since gold was discovered in the Black Hills last year, the miners have been pouring into that area. All indications are that the Sioux and Cheyenne are gathering somewhere near there. Sending out one company to check on the mining camps is dangerous, even for Custer."

"When is his highness going East?" It was Sergeant Briggs's gruff voice who asked the question. He was riding directly behind Quinn in the first row of troopers and could hear the conversation clearly.

"The first of the month, as far as I know," Quinn replied, with a quick glance over his shoulder at Briggs.

"At least we should have a quiet winter. The Sioux won't fight in winter and Custer will be away until spring. You can't ask for much more."

"It's what he and Sherman concoct while they've got their heads together that worries me. They'll have months to develop a strategy for a summer campaign."

"With the government demanding that all the tribes return to the reservation by the end of December or be considered hostile, I'd say the summer campaign is going to be a hot one," Browning said thoughtfully.

"As if the Sioux could be considered anymore hostile than they already are," Briggs pointed out gruffly.

"I imagine if those dead miners could talk, they'd tell quite a story about hostiles."

Quinn's voice was full of sarcasm, but his eyes were bleak with the images of four murdered, mutilated men they had found and buried a few days earlier. It was only by accident that the troop had come upon the war party still dividing the spoils. They had killed all eight members of the band, but the tracks had indicated many more had ridden away before the soldiers had arrived at the scene.

They were silent for a few minutes, then Briggs reached behind him to pull out his heavy outer coat from the roll behind his saddle. "Looks like winter's coming early. There's snow in this wind. I hope we make it back to the fort before it hits."

Quinn pulled himself from his thoughts and looked at the sky. "Those are definitely snow clouds all right."

The wind was picking up both volume and chill element. It was becoming increasingly difficult to talk above its howl. Quinn followed Briggs' example and retrieved his own outer coat and put it on.

He was fastening the buttons when they heard the first volley of gunfire. He immediately raised his hand to halt the troop. He sat for a moment, listening intently to locate the direction.

"Southwest. Those are Springfields." His voice was clipped as another burst of shooting erupted. "It's got to be some of ours."

"Yates maybe?" Lieutenant Browning asked.

Quinn shook his head. "I doubt it. He should be northeast of us. Where the hell are the scouts?"

He had barely gotten the words out when Mitch Bouyer came flying toward them out of a dust cloud. The half-Sioux scout reined his horse to a sliding halt as he turned in the saddle and pointed toward the sound of the shooting.

"Sioux, Captain. They're attacking the freight wagons from Fort Lincoln."

"How many?"

"Two, maybe three hundred warriors. They've got the troopers outnumbered about three to one, I'd say. I couldn't tell whose troop it is though."

"First Sergeant, at a gallop!"

Briggs turned in his saddle and shouted, "Column by twos! At a gallop! Ho!"

Quinn and the scout were already a hundred yards in the lead, with Lieutenant Browning close behind when Briggs' commands propelled the troop into action. Within moments, they were flying across the prairie in perfect formation.

It took only a few minutes to reach the scene. One glance told the story completely. The freight wagon convoy was under heavy attack by a large Sioux war party. The Indians were circling the wagons just beyond rifle range, while the troopers took cover beneath the wagons.

One look at the advancing column convinced the Indians to call it quits. They made a feint at the wagons once more, then rode toward the horizon. When the members of ‘B’ Company realized they had been reinforced, they began crawling from their cover with shouts of welcome and cheers.

"Tom, are you all right?" Quinn shouted at Captain McDougall as he reined Apollo to a prancing halt in front of the company commander. "What the hell happened?"

"They just fell out of the sky on top of us, Quinn. No warning, nothing. All of sudden they were all over us." He dusted himself off and looked around at his men. "Lucky for us the Indians can't shoot worth a damn. I don't think I've lost a man."

Then he caught Apollo's bridle and looked up anxiously at Quinn through the swirling dust. "Quinn, they took Warner. I mean they made off with the first wagon. He was driving it. There wasn’t anything I could do about it with three hundred warriors crawling up my back."

"We'll find him. You take care of your wounded."

Quinn ordered the company forward and they rode after the disappearing Sioux. The blowing sand made it hard to see and made following them difficult. He cursed under his breath at the delay, but curbed his impatience. If the wind impeded the company's progress, it was most likely the same with the Indians.

They rode hard for a half mile before he saw the freight wagon. It was stopped in the prairie with the mules humped up together against the wind. There was no sign of Warner.

Quinn halted the troop and rode toward the wagon. Broken crates were strewn about the area and the straw that had been used as packing was blowing from bush to bush in swirling tangles. Whatever had been in the crates had been taken by the Indians, he thought as he rode around the wagon toward the far side.

Then he momentarily forgot about the crates when he saw Peter Warner. The sutler was pinned to the side of the wagon by a lance through his chest. His usually sparkling clean white shirt was drenched with blood. His glasses hung off one ear in a lopsided fashion.

"Is he…?" Alex Browning asked as he drew alongside and followed Quinn's gaze.

Quinn got off his horse and forced himself to approach the wagon where Peter hung grotesquely. He put his fingers against the side of Peter's neck to be certain, then stood back and shut his eyes for a moment. "Absolutely."

"Sergeant, have some of the men take Warner down and put him in the wagon bed. Find something to cover him up with."

Briggs appointed Private Firth and Corporal Denton to do it. They dismounted and approached the wagon as Quinn gripped the lance and pulled it free. Peter's body slumped into the troopers' arms and they carried him to the end of the wagon and laid him inside.

"Captain, this is awful," Johnny Firth said as he looked up at Quinn. His face was pale and he was swallowing rapidly. "What's going to become of Mrs. Warner now? And the baby? Why did this have to happen?"

Quinn glanced at the boy, both touched by the tears he saw in Johnny's eyes, and angry at everything around him. "Damned if I know!" he snapped as he swung back into the saddle. "Private, drive that wagon, will you? We'll have to take him home."

"Who's gonna tell Mrs. Warner, Captain? God, she's gonna be beside herself, her being in the family way and all. How are we gonna tell her?"

"Private, get on the wagon seat and drive the damned team!" Quinn's voice was harsh, but he could not deal with Johnny Firth's anxieties when he was imagining the expression on Lucky's face when she found out the man she'd thought was safest from the Indian threat had just managed to get himself killed.

"This is one time I'm damned glad I'm just a junior officer, sir," Alex Browning said as they rode side by side back to ‘B’ Company's position. "I'd hate like hell to have to be the one who tells Mrs. Warner about this."

Quinn glanced over his shoulder at the wagon lumbering along behind them with the company riding on both sides of it. Finally, he glanced at the lieutenant and shook his head.

"I know exactly what you mean, Lieutenant. Unfortunately, somebody has to do it."

"You going to tell her, Captain?"

"That's not a good idea. It would be better coming from the doctor."

"I'd think hearing it from you might make it a little easier."

Quinn's sharp gaze fastened on the lieutenant's face. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, sir, I just meant that…well…she seems to think a lot of you…and I just thought that…"

"Do me a big favor, will you, Lieutenant? Don't think, okay? Just sit on your horse, ride along and keep quiet."

"Yes sir." Browning's face colored, but he nodded and clamped his lips together.

Quinn pulled his hat down against the chilly wind and gritted his teeth. He wanted to hit something.

"You were kinda rough on him, weren't you?"

Sergeant Briggs moved his horse alongside Apollo as he asked the question. He did not seem to be put off by the scowl on Quinn's face.

"You trying to tell me my business too?"

Briggs shrugged and turned his collar up against the wind. "Not me. It just seems to me that you're yelling at everybody because you're afraid to face what you're really feeling."

"Then, please enlighten me, First Sergeant," Quinn said sarcastically. "Since you seem to know so damned much!"

"Part of you is sick inside that Warner got himself killed. You're worried to death about what this is going to do to Mrs. Warner. And then, there's the part of you that’s glad he's dead. That part is whispering in your ear that the path to Mrs. Warner's heart just got a whole lot clearer."

Quinn didn't reply to Briggs' insightful remarks. He couldn't deny that what the sergeant said was true. That was what was eating him up inside. He was glad Peter Warner was dead. He was also worried about what kind of man that made him.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

The column was an hour from Fort Lincoln when Quinn halted again. Turning to Lieutenant Browning, he said, "Lieutenant, ride ahead into the fort and tell Dr. Lord about Warner. He'll need to be on hand when we get there. Then find Mrs. McIntosh, Mrs. Yates, Mrs. Smith, or any of the other women you can and let them know. Mrs. Warner will need their help.

"And Lieutenant, find Major Reno and tell him about the engagement. If Custer's already left for the East, as I suspect he has, the major will be in command. He'll have to be briefed."

"Yes, sir!" Alex Browning saluted, picked a half dozen men from the troop to accompany him, and rode toward the fort at top speed.

Quinn looked over his shoulder at his men shivering in the cold wind, then beyond them to the wagon Private Firth was driving. The sky was darker now and the wind even more fierce. It was only about three o'clock, but with the conditions being what they were, it would be dark in another hour, and would be snowing before that if his suspicions were correct.

He thought about the ordeal that awaited Lucky when they arrived at the post and gritted his teeth. There was nothing he could do to spare her the pain that was coming. If there were, he would have gladly moved heaven and earth to do it. As it was, he could do no more than bring Warner's body home to her and stand by in case she needed him. After the way he'd treated her, he doubted that she would ask him for anything, no matter how badly she needed it. He couldn't blame her.

***

Lucky was trying to build a fire when Mollie McIntosh knocked on the door. It was getting late and the house was rapidly growing colder as the wind grew in velocity outside. She suspected that a snowstorm was quickly approaching and hoped that Peter's convoy would reach Fort Rice before it struck.

"Hi, Mollie! What a stroke of luck that you came by," she exclaimed when she opened the door to find Mollie. "I'm having a heck of a time getting this fire to light. Maybe you can show me what I'm doing wrong."

A moment later she realized that Annie Yates and Mrs. Algernon Smith were with Mollie. The grim expressions on their faces were her first clue that something was amiss. "Ladies, please come in. I apologize for the cold, but I fear I'm not very talented at building a fire."

She stood back to allow the three women entrance. When they hesitated and glanced at one another, her throat began to close off. Then she saw Dr. Lord approaching across the parade ground, his white coat flapping in the wind.

His expression was equally grim as he reached the door where the ladies waited. "Mrs. Warner…."

"What's wrong?" Lucky asked as she lifted one trembling hand to her throat. It was obvious that the doctor was the bearer of some kind of bad news from his expression and from the way the three Army wives looked to him expectantly.

It was then that she saw the troop coming into the fort. She almost gasped aloud with relief when she saw Quinn riding at the head of the column. But when he directed the troop and the wagon behind it toward the store, her fear took another direction.

She watched him dismount and saw him look at Doctor Lord as well. Whatever she was supposed to be told, it seemed Doctor Lord had been given the job.

"Mrs. Warner, I'm afraid I have bad news." The doctor's voice was calm and gentle, but it only served to make Lucky more fearful. "There was an Indian attack on the freight convoy. Mr. Warner…I'm afraid Mr. Warner was killed."

Lucky stared at him with disbelieving eyes. "No, that's not possible. Peter isn't a soldier. He's a businessman. The Indians would have no reason to harm him. It's a mistake."

Her voice was faint as she looked at Quinn directly. The way he glanced away from her searching gaze made her heart freeze. She stepped past the ladies and Doctor Lord, walking purposefully toward the wagon. Johnny Firth's woebegone features from his perch on the wagon seat only fueled her fears.

"Mrs. Warner, don't." Quinn's voice was strained, his manner uneasy as he stepped between her and the wagon.

"Is he in there?" she asked as she lifted a shaky hand to point at the wagon.

"Yes, ma'am. But…."

"I want to see him, Captain. I have to see him."

Her defiant tone contrasted with her pale face and trembling hands, but she met his apprehensive gaze steadily until he nodded.

"Yes, ma'am, I guess you do."

He took her arm and led her down the side of the wagon, halted midway and then he leaned over and pulled down the blanket covering Peter's body.

Lucky's breath rushed out of her in a horrified gasp. She caught the side of the wagon to steady herself and forced her shocked eyes to take another look to be certain she hadn't imagined it. When she did, she saw Peter's white face so silent and still on the wagon bed. "What…what did they do to him"? she asked in a faint voice.

"It was a lance through his heart. It was over quickly. He didn't suffer."

She glanced up at Quinn as she clung to the wagon for support. His face was pale, his throat working as he swallowed hard with the effort to maintain his professional demeanor. He did not look directly at her.

"This can't…be…happening…" Her words drifted away on the wind as she collapsed. The last thing she heard before falling into Quinn's arms in a blessed faint was the sound of his voice shouting for Doctor Lord.

***

"How is she?" Quinn asked the question in a subdued tone, as though fearful he would disturb Lucky's rest.

Doctor Lord closed the bedroom door and came into the living room where he set down his bag and proceeded to warm his hands in front of the fireplace.

"Resting now. I wanted to give her something to help her sleep, but she wouldn't hear of it. Mrs. McIntosh and the other ladies are still with her."

"What about the baby? Is everything all right there?"

The doctor nodded as he rubbed his hands together. "Yes. She's had a bad shock, but she's young and healthy. I don't foresee any problems with the pregnancy as long she takes care of herself, eats properly, gets enough rest, and so on."

"I had my men take Warner's body to the hospital like you suggested." Quinn paused to glance at Johnny Firth, who stood by looking thoroughly miserable. "And I'm leaving Private Firth here to keep the fire built and to take care of things."

"I'm sure Mrs. Warner will appreciate that, Captain. What about a grave?"

"Lieutenant Browning has a squad digging it now. It will be ready whenever she's up to having the funeral."

Doctor Lord picked up his bag and moved toward the door that led to the store entrance. "I'm sure there will be a flood of people through here in the next few hours. Tragedy seems to have a way of bringing out the best in people. Well, I'm going back to the hospital to prepare the body for burial."

"I'll walk out with you," Quinn said as he picked up his hat.

"Captain, wait a moment, if you will, please." It was Mollie's voice coming from the bedroom doorway. She closed the door behind her and waited until the doctor went out before she explained. "Ruby Nell wants to talk to you, Captain Malone. Will you see her?"

The last thing Quinn wanted at that moment was to face Lucky, but if she asked for him, he certainly wasn't going to refuse. "Yes, ma'am," he said in response to Mollie's question as he put his hat on the arm of the sofa.

He didn't look at Mollie as he walked past her, nor at Annie Yates or Mrs. Smith as they came out of the bedroom. If they were disapproving, he wasn't in the mood to deal with it.

He closed the door behind him after entering Lucky's bedroom, expecting to find her in bed. She was standing by the window with the curtain pulled back, staring out into the dark and silent garrison. She was wearing her nightgown and robe with scuffed slippers on her feet. Her hair was down around her shoulders. When she turned to face him, he was impressed by the dignity in her features.

"Thank you for coming." Her voice was soft and strained as she looked up at him. The light in the room was dim, coming from lamps set on the dresser and a bedside table. She looked very young and vulnerable and frightened. She rubbed her stomach unconsciously while she stared at him. "I wasn't sure you would."

"Why wouldn't I?"

Lucky shrugged. "You were very angry with me the last time we talked. I wasn't sure if you would ever speak to me again."

Quinn's resolve was crumbling by the second. The sight of her, pregnant, frightened, and so hauntingly beautiful it made his chest hurt, caused him to struggle against the urge to take her in his arms and try to comfort her. He knew that would be a mistake.

"I said things I should never have said. I'm sorry."

"You said that…when you were passing out and falling off the horse," she reminded him. "Anyway, you were right. I should have told you about the baby right away. But I hadn't even told Peter then. He found out from Doctor Lord while the Indians were holding me.

"It was wrong of me to give you false hope. It was wrong to be with you, make love with you when I knew I was going to return to Peter and try to make a life with him. I'm sorry."

Quinn wondered what difference any of it made now, but he refrained from saying so. She was shattered enough without him adding to her misery.

"He knew."

Quinn's brows rose at her softly spoken remark. "He knew what?"

She forced a faint smile and rubbed at her stomach. "He knew that I'm not Ruby Nell. He knew almost from the beginning. He even got someone to find out my real identity."

"How long have you known that?"

"Not long. He told me right after you brought me back from the Sioux village. He said it didn't make any difference, that everything would be okay as long I stayed away from you."

"You told him about us?"

Lucky shook her head. "No, but he suspected. I didn't deny it."

Quinn didn't know what to say. He shifted from one foot to the other uneasily, not sure what to do. "Was that what you wanted to tell me?"

Lucky nodded. "Yes, and I wanted to thank you for taking care of…everything. Doctor Lord told me that you had taken care of the arrangements. The funeral will be tomorrow morning."

"Private Firth will be here tonight. Just outside if you need anything. I thought you'd like to know that."

"Thank you."

He nodded and turned for the door. She didn't speak again and he opened it and walked through it, then closed it softly behind him.

***

It began to snow during the night. By morning there was a foot of it on the ground and more falling. It was bitterly cold when Peter Warner was buried in the post cemetery on the hill near the infantry installation.

Lucky was surprised at the number of people who turned out for the service. She knew Peter was not well liked by the soldiers, so it was comforting to see so many of them turn out for the funeral.

She didn't feel the cold as she stood beside the gaping hole in the frozen ground, watching the coffin lowered into it. She was numb, both in body and in spirit. She held onto Mollie's hand tightly throughout the brief service, then took a clod of frozen Dakota dirt and dropped it symbolically into the grave.

When she turned to leave the cemetery, she came face to face with Quinn, but neither of them spoke. He touched his hat in a respectful gesture, then went to the grave to supervise the shivering squad waiting to cover it up.

She turned at the edge of the cemetery to look back. He picked that very moment to look up and their gazes met for a moment. How ironic, she thought as she allowed Mollie to lead her back to the ambulance waiting to take her home, that it was Peter who had been killed by the Indians. If it had been Quinn, she would have been devastated, but it would not have been unexpected. Fighting Indians was what he did. Death at their hands was a chance he took every time he left the fort.

Peter was a businessman. His was a safe profession. He was not supposed to die in a Sioux attack. He was not supposed to die and leave her alone, pregnant, and adrift. But he had, she reminded herself as she climbed into the ambulance and began the return trip to the store.

People had been coming to pay their respects ever since the news got out about Peter's death, and she knew there would be visitors at the house all day. She had to make sure there was food and drink for all of them.

Grateful for the task of seeing to guests, she sank into the hard seat and drew a long shuddering breath. One step at a time, she told herself resolutely as the ambulance rocked over the frozen ruts in the road. She would take care of her guests today, and tomorrow she would worry about how she was going to provide a home and security for her child.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Quinn leaned against the doorframe and sipped at a cup of steaming coffee while he looked around Lucky's living room. It was getting late and most of those who had come to pay their respects after the funeral had gone by now, but he hadn't been able to tear himself away from her.

She was pale and shaky as she made her way through her guests, thanking them for their concern, making sure they had something to eat or drink. Almost regal, he thought as he watched her. So much dignity and class. He was very proud of her. She looked very tired now, and frequently put her hand to her stomach and rubbed it. He wondered if she was in pain or if the baby was moving about and causing her discomfort.

"I'm glad McDougall got the freight wagons into Fort Rice before this storm hit," Major Reno said at Quinn's side. "Course they're stuck there now until the weather breaks."

"The way the snow is still coming down, that may be a while."

Reno sipped at his own coffee and nodded. "At least things are quiet for now. This snow will keep the Sioux from more mischief for awhile too. I wish we knew what it was in that wagon that was so important to Raven that he'd attack a troop of cavalry to take it."

"I couldn't tell, Marc. All I saw was busted crates and packing material."

"It was rifles."

They both turned toward the sound of Lucky's voice. She was standing near them with the coffee pot in one hand.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Warner. What did you say?" Major Reno asked as he held his cup out for a refill.

"Rifles. Winchesters to be exact." Lucky's voice was a bit stronger as she repeated her explanation. Her gaze flashed from Reno to Quinn, then back. "Ten crates of them, ten rifles in each crate."

"Are you sure, Mrs. Warner?" Reno asked.

Lucky nodded as she filled Quinn's cup. "Yes, Major. Very sure. The crates were all marked with the name W. Chester."

"Mr. Warner was delivering Winchesters to somebody named Chester at Fort Rice?"

"I don't think so, Major. I believe he was selling them to the miners in the Fort Rice area."

"Unfortunately, most of them seem to have ended up in Raven's hands."

"I'm afraid so," she murmured uneasily.

"Mrs. Warner, I don't mean to speak ill of the dead, but is there any chance that Mr. Warner bypassed the miners and sold the guns directly to the Indians?" Reno looked decidedly uncomfortable when he asked the question.

Lucky met his uneasy gaze without flinching. "I don't honestly know, Major. I do know that Peter was very touchy about the subject of the rifles. He was adamant that I not speak of them to anyone."

"Mrs. Warner, do you have any idea how many of those guns he sent to Fort Rice?"

Lucky lifted one hand to her brow as she thought back. "I know of twenty cases, Major. I saw those personally. I thought there had been a mix-up in the shipment the first time. It was when the new shipment of Springfields came in for the troops. Peter said he had sent them back to the manufacturer, but I saw them later at Fort Rice when I was visiting there.

"I saw the last ten crates when they were loaded into the freight wagons just before Peter left…the last time." Her voice faltered a bit, but she swallowed and returned Reno's gaze. "Another thing I found unusual was that fellow at Fort Rice that Peter hired to run the store. He was not like anyone I would have ever thought Peter would do business with."

"What do you mean, Mrs. Warner?"

Lucky shrugged. "He was rough looking…mean almost. I was frightened of him."

Reno and Quinn exchanged glances. "Sounds like we need to have a talk with this fellow when the weather clears," Reno said.

"Major, there is something I need to discuss with you, if you have a moment." Lucky's voice was stronger, more confident as she made the remark.

"Of course. I am at your disposal, Mrs. Warner."

She put the coffee pot back on the stove and turned back to face him. "Major, I am aware that Peter's death has placed the sutler's store in some jeopardy. I wish to continue operation of both the store here and the one at Fort Rice."

She held up a hand to cut off any protest that was forthcoming. "I have been doing a good deal of it already. I know the procedure and I have some ideas I want to explore. For instance, I propose lowering the prices of the merchandise. The soldiers are being charged exorbitant fees. I do not require the same profit margin that Peter sought. I need only enough to make a decent living for my child and myself. I can do that and make life easier for the troops."

"How would you manage to run both stores?" Obviously Reno was listening.

"By getting rid of that nasty man at Fort Rice and hiring someone more trust-worthy. I was thinking of asking Captain Benteen to recommend one of the troopers' wives to take over the job. It will be spring before more supplies can be delivered now and one person should be easily able to handle the commerce between now and then."

She finished and stood twisting her hands while she waited for him to speak. She looked first at Reno, then at Quinn as though hopeful he would agree with her plan.

"Mrs. Warner, I realize the position you're in now, but the contract was given to your husband. I don't know what the War Department or Custer would say about turning it over to you."

"Oh, come on, Marc. Take a chance." Quinn's voice was soft and confident. He put a hand on Reno's shoulder and grinned. "It'll be spring before Custer comes back from the East. By then Mrs. Warner will have proven herself. Besides, you're in command until Custer's return. Make a good administrative decision and give the lady a chance."

The look Lucky flashed him made Quinn feel better about her situation. She needed this store, but she could also handle the operation of it. He was quite certain of that.

"I don't know, Quinn. That's a big job for any woman, but a pregnant woman?"

"She won't be doing it alone. "I'll add sutler duty to the duty roster for my company. A couple of men to do the heavy work will take the burden off her shoulders. Besides, the men will be fighting for a chance to work for her. With winter settling in, they'll be begging for something to do to keep busy. What do you say?"

Reno thought it over for a moment, then slowly nodded. "All right, you've talked me into it. But, it's a conditional matter, Mrs. Warner. If Custer has a fit when he comes back and finds you running the store, then you'll have to abide by his decision."

"Agreed, Major. And thank you. You won't be sorry. I've come to view Fort Lincoln as my home. The thought of having to leave it is unbearable, especially now. My baby and I are very grateful for your kindness."

"Ma'am, what more can a man ask?" Major Reno said as he took her hand and lightly kissed it.

Watching the light in her eyes flare again, Quinn felt relieved. Not only was she going to stay at the fort, but she had the means to support herself and the child. At the moment, he could ask for nothing more.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Lucky quickly settled into the life of the post sutler. Having the store to keep her busy was a godsend during those cold, snowy months. She stayed busy even with the assistance of the troopers that appeared each morning to do the lifting and moving.

She began by writing off all the overdue balances. There was no way on earth those men would ever be able to pay off their debts and wanting to start fresh herself made it even more inviting to do something nice for them. She hired a couple of the soldiers' wives to help out in the billiard room at night so she was able to keep it running and yet not be burdened with the operation of it all.

Those wintry evenings were the most comfortable. The soldiers kept a cheery fire going in the fireplace and the camaraderie between the men always warmed her heart. Their concern for her health and the welfare of her child was sincere and it never failed to remind her of how fortunate she was to have so many people looking out for her.

But it was the tall, handsome cavalry captain who came to the billiard room almost every night that she was most thankful for. Quinn came in after supper, ordered his customary one beer, and sat in the corner reading the newspapers or magazines that had come in on the steamer when it was able to navigate the often frozen Missouri. They talked very little and it seemed at times that he didn't even notice she was around, but ever so often she would look up and catch his eye.

When she did, she knew why he was there. He was keeping a vigilant eye on her, making sure she was all right, always alert to see if she needed anything. If she did, it was taken care of quietly, efficiently, and without fuss. She didn't know how she would have managed through that cold wet winter without him.

One night about a month after Peter's death, he waited until he was the only customer left in the room to speak to her. The other soldiers drifted out into the piercing cold while Lucky began collecting glasses. She had sent the women who helped out home early because there were only a few customers that evening, due to the extreme cold.

Quinn took the tray of empty glasses from her and set it on the bar top without a word while she stood with her hands on her hips staring at him.

"You know, Captain Malone, I am quite capable of carrying a tray of glasses. My goodness, every man on this post seems to think I'm helpless. I'm only pregnant, after all, not crippled!"

Quinn flashed her one of those slow grins that made his face light up as he reached for his hat. "Mrs. Warner, you're the most capable woman I've ever known, and that's a fact. However, no lady in your condition will ever lift a finger around here as long as there's a man to do it for you. And that's a fact too."

She didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. She stared up into those incredible eyes and swallowed. "I…I appreciate your concern, Quinn. I truly do. I don't know how I'd manage the store without the men you send over every day…."

"Believe me, Lucky, the men just about stand on their heads to get chosen for that detail. It's no hardship."

"Still, I don't want to mislead you. I mean…"

Quinn put on his hat and then slipped into his heavy outer coat. "You don't want me to think that there can ever be anything between us? I understand that, Lucky. You've got too much on your mind right now to worry about that."

"Quinn, I'm having Peter's baby. I can't think about anything else now. I have to make the store work. I have to take care of my child. I just buried the one man I thought I never had to worry about being murdered by the Indians. I can't conceive of going through that again. Please…"

He lifted her chin with one finger and looked into her eyes. "I said I understand, Lucky." Then he smiled, leaned down, and lightly kissed her on the lips. "But that doesn't mean I don't think about you night and day. What you're feeling now is normal, but it will pass. I promise. In the meantime, I'm going to be right here if you need anything."

He smiled at her again, then walked around her and left. Behind him, she stared at the closed door and rubbed her stomach. "Until the next campaign," she said to the empty room. "Until the next time those trumpets blow and you ride out of this fort to face the Sioux."

Tears burned her eyes and she angrily brushed them away. Tears solved nothing and she knew it. The trouble was, she loved Quinn Malone, and knowing he might not live through the next Indian campaign didn't change that fact. She wished it did.

***

A few weeks later, on a cold rainy afternoon, she sat at the counter in the store, adding up the month's sales totals. She re-added the column of figures, then laid her pencil down with a smile.

"Must be good news, Mrs. Warner," Johnny Firth said as he came toward her.

"It is, Johnny. In fact, it's wonderful news. November's figures show a real profit. Not a large one, but a profit nonetheless. I'm very pleased."

"That's wonderful, Mrs. Warner. But I can tell business has been real good lately. Since you wiped everybody's bills out and started over, well, the men are trying real hard to make it up to you."

"I don't want them to feel that they have to make anything up to me, Johnny. I just want them to have a fair price for their necessities. And the better I can do, the better the chance that General Custer will allow me to continue running the store."

"Oh, I don't think you have to worry much about that, Mrs. Warner. I think if he was to say you had to give it up, the whole post would riot."

Lucky smiled at his boyish enthusiasm and closed the ledger. She slid off the stool and stood back as he carried another armful of wood through the store into the living room where he deposited it in the box beside the fireplace.

"That ought to hold you through the night, Mrs. Warner," he said as he brushed the bark off his arms. He took off his coat to hang up before beginning his duties in the store. When he did, something fell out of one of the pockets.

Lucky picked it up and looked at it, surprised at what it was. "Johnny, you dropped this. I didn't know you had won a combat medal."

Johnny's face went beet red as he took the medal from her outstretched hand and stuck it in his trouser pocket. "I...well, Mrs. Warner, it's not mine."

"Whose is it?"

He shifted from one foot to the other uneasily, his face still red and his gaze downcast. "Captain Malone's, ma'am. He's got so many of them, I didn't think he'd miss it." He finally looked at her with alarm. "You won't tell him, will you, Mrs. Warner? Please, don't! He'd be real mad."

Lucky eased past him into the kitchen and checked the coffee pot. Assured it was still hot, she poured them each a cup of coffee, added the milk and sugar that Johnny liked, and turned to him extending one cup. "Let's sit down, Johnny. There's no one in the store right now and I need a break."

When they were both seated at her kitchen table, she sipped her coffee and studied the boy's uneasy face. "Now, Johnny, I don't have to tell you that taking Captain Malone's medal was wrong, do I?"

Johnny shook his head and kept his gaze turned downward.

"Why did you do it?"

"It...well, it just makes me feel close to him."

Lucky's brows rose in surprise, both at the boy's statement and the anguish with which it was spoken. "Johnny, I realize that you look up to Captain Malone and respect him."

"You don't understand, Mrs. Warner. It isn't just that. Captain Malone is the finest man I've ever known. He's strong, and honorable, and...decent. And he's tough. He expects me to do my best and when I do, he always knows. But he doesn't ask something of me that I'm not able to give."

Lucky nodded. "I know, Johnny. That's the kind of man he is. He's very special."

"Yes, ma'am, and that's why...I guess...I feel the way I do about him."

Lucky's mouth dropped open when the implications of the boy's statement sunk in. She quickly snapped it shut and wet her lips while she stared at him in amazement.

Johnny's face was blood red and his eyes brimmed with tears when he looked directly at her. "I don't expect you to understand, Mrs. Warner. Nobody does. I don't understand it either, but I'm not like the other guys. I never have been."

Lucky sat speechless while the boy swallowed hard and brushed away tears. The expression on his face begged her tolerance and she felt so sorry for him that she automatically reached to take his hand.

"Nobody's ever stood up for me the way Captain Malone has," Johnny went on miserably. "My pa, he don't even claim me. Said for me to join the army and not come home until I could be a real man. I've tried, Mrs. Warner, really I have, but I'm just not like the others. But the captain, he treats me real good. He makes me feel like I'm worth something. You know?"

Lucky nodded. "Yes, Johnny, I do know."

"I watch him sleep sometimes, you know? He's so beautiful, I just stand there in the dark and look at him."

Having been guilty of the same thing on occasion, Lucky could only nod understandingly and swallow. She squeezed Johnny's hand and felt tears fill her eyes when the boy brushed away his own tears and looked at her gratefully.

"In other words, Johnny, you love him."

Johnny nodded and rubbed one shirtsleeve across his face. "I know that sounds sick, Mrs. Warner, but I can't help it."

Lucky patted his hand and tried to smile. "I understand, Johnny, how easy it is to love Captain Malone."

The boy looked at her with something akin to adoration. "Yes, ma'am, I know you do. You love him too."

Lucky nodded and tried to smile. "Yes, Johnny, I do. Captain Malone told me once that you can be trusted with secrets. Looks like you and I share a very important one now, don't we?"

"Yes, ma'am, I reckon we do. I'd just die, Mrs. Warner, if the captain knew any of this. Do you think I should put the medal back? I didn't steal it, Mrs. Warner, really I didn't. I just like to keep it with me, you know? It makes me feel close to him somehow."

Lucky swallowed hard as she stood up. She impulsively put an arm around his shoulders and hugged him. She, of all people, knew what it was like to love Quinn Malone.

"I think it's all right if you keep it, Johnny. I doubt that Captain Malone will ever miss it."

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Two days before Christmas Lucky went into labor on a cold, snowy afternoon. The backache she'd had for hours had gradually developed into something more urgent, but it wasn't until her water broke that she realized what was happening. Standing in a puddle of bloody water, she put one hand firmly against her stomach and leaned back against the store's counter.

"Johnny! Johnny, come quickly!"

Johnny Firth came hurrying from the storeroom at her call, covered in dust and cobwebs. He rounded the counter, saw the wet splotches on her skirt and the bloody puddle at her feet, and went white as a sheet.

"Johnny, go get Doctor Lord. It's time."

"Time?"

"Yes. The baby's coming, Johnny. I need Doctor Lord."

"Yes, ma'am! I'll get him!" Johnny jerked his coat off the nail on the wall behind the counter and yanked it on. He snatched up his cap next and jammed it on his head as he ran up the aisle. "Mrs. Warner, you want I should get Captain Malone too?" he asked as he halted at the door.

Lucky nodded. "I'd like that very much, Johnny. Thank you."

He was out the door in a flash. She moved to the doorway and watched him disappear into the snow. It was mid-afternoon and she had no idea how long it would be before the baby was actually born. As yet, the contractions were still mild, so she cleaned up the bloody water, went into the living quarters, and changed into her nightgown and robe, built up the fire in the cook stove and put on a kettle of water. She wanted a cup of tea and she suspected Doctor Lord would enjoy a fresh cup of coffee while they waited.

***

Quinn was in the barracks conducting his weekly inspections when Johnny Firth burst into the room. He gave little notice to all the men lined up before their bunks standing at attention while Quinn checked their rifles and personal gear. He even forgot to salute when he ran up the aisle.

"Captain! Captain, you've gotta come quick!"

Quinn turned immediately at the urgency in the boy's voice. One look at Johnny's face convinced him.

"Private! Have you forgotten your manners?" First Sergeant Briggs snapped.

"Oh, sorry, sir." Johnny pulled himself together enough to salute. He saluted Briggs, but totally forgot to salute Lieutenant Browning or Quinn.

"Captain, you gotta come."

"What's the matter, Private?" Quinn asked sharply.

"It's Mrs. Warner, sir! We're having a baby!"

"You mean now?"

Johnny nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir! Mrs. Warner, she wants you to come."

Quinn pitched the rifle he was inspecting back to its owner and looked at Alex Browning. "Lieutenant, finish the inspection. I'll be at the sutler's if you need me."

He ran up the aisle toward the front door, paused just long enough to grab his hat and coat off the rack nailed to the wall, then disappeared into the snow.

"I say it's a girl," Alex Browning said with a grin. "Forget the inspection, men. Let's go have a drink."

"I'll take that bet, Lieutenant. Five dollars says it's a boy," Corporal Denton called out as he reached for his own coat and cap.

As he left the barracks, Corporal Hutchins looked at Sergeant Jenkins and scratched at his neck. "What's the captain going to do about Mrs. Warner having the baby?"

Jenkins snorted and shoved Hutchins out of the way as he headed for the door. "Hold her hand, I guess, you fool! Point is she wants him there. Now I don't know about the rest of you fellas, but I figure Mrs. Warner needs all the moral support she can get, what with her being all by herself. I'm going over to the billiard room, have a couple of beers, and wait to see what we get."

"No sense in getting in a hurry," Sergeant Briggs said to the lieutenant. "First babies take their time. It's likely to be a very long evening."

"Good, that means more beer," Browning said with a grin as he bowed gallantly, allowing Briggs to go out first.

Within minutes, every man in ‘A’ Company had grabbed their coats and were on their way to the billiard room to wait.

***

The billiard room was standing room only for the next few hours. The men packed it to the walls, along with other concerned members of the 7th while they waited. Beer flowed freely and the conversation was lively, but every ear was attuned to the living quarters on the opposite side of the wall.

A few minutes after Doctor Lord and Quinn arrived, Annie Yates hurried in, followed shortly by Mollie McIntosh. They quickly took charge of the situation and began making fresh coffee and boiling water for the doctor to sterilize his instruments. With all the authority of a general in combat, the two ladies assumed command. They made sandwiches for the doctor and urged Quinn to eat, but he did little more than look at the food before he started pacing again.

He and Johnny Firth passed each other a thousand times on the braided rug laid in front of the fireplace that afternoon. Darkness fell and the wind outside became a howl as it brought more snow, but no one seemed to notice. Mollie lit all the lamps and shook her head at the two pacing men.

She took two coffee cups into the room and handed one to each of them. "Here, you two have some coffee and sit down. You're making me a nervous wreck." Her voice was stern, but her expression was amused at the concern on both their faces.

Quinn sat down at her request, but it wasn't long before he was on his feet again, when he heard Lucky's muffled cries. His hands clenched into fists with helplessness. This was worse than combat.

A few minutes later, he heard cries of another kind. They started out as more mews than actual cries, then rapidly progressed to wailing. A moment later Annie Yates stuck her head out the bedroom door with a happy smile.

"It's a boy! He's beautiful! And Ruby Nell is just fine."

Quinn let out an audible sigh of relief. When he relaxed his hands, he was surprised to find he was trembling. He ran one hand through his hair, then shook hands with Johnny. "Private, why don't you go let the others know?"

Johnny happily ran through the living quarters into the billiard room to deliver the good news. Quinn, suddenly feeling the need for something stronger than Mollie's coffee himself, followed him.

***

"That was a nice thing Mrs. Warner did, naming the baby after Private Firth. Wonder why she did that?" Major Marcus Reno asked the question while he watched Johnny Firth playing with the baby in his basket on top of the bar.

Quinn glanced at the boy as he sipped his beer. He and the major sat at the corner table in the billiard room amid the latest Eastern newspapers. It was long past dark and the post was quiet, swathed in a foot of fresh snow.

"First, because John David is a nice name, and second, she and Private Firth have become pretty close."

"Doesn't that bother you, Quinn?"

Quinn shook his head as he watched Johnny dangling a set of old keys above the baby's outstretched fingers. "Should it?"

Reno shrugged. "No, I guess not. Firth certainly isn't her type, but they are awfully chummy."

"He's a good kid."

"But a lousy trooper. You said that yourself."

"That's not what I said. I said he wasn't likely to win any medals. It's not the same thing at all. He follows orders and he's learned to shoot pretty well."

"But he still can't ride worth a damn." Reno grinned as he reached for the whiskey bottle on the table in front of him. "Firth may be your cross to bear, Quinn, but every company commander in the outfit has one of their own. It's just the way things go."

"He does okay. He'll get better as he gains experience."

Reno tapped the pile of newspapers on the table. "From the sound of things, he'll be getting plenty of that soon enough. If these reports can be believed, we'll soon be up to our eyeballs in Indians."

Quinn shuffled through the papers until he located an article of particular importance. "It appears that Custer is doing his usual job of charming all the right people. It says here that he addressed the Century Society and the New York Historical Society and has agreed to give a series of lectures this year."

"Well, Quinn, 1876 is a presidential election year. You don't think Custer is going to miss any opportunity to get his name before the people, do you? Of course, with this Belknap scandal brewing about the profiteering at the posts' trading stores, he's not endearing himself to the President. It's not one of his brightest moves to accuse President Grant's brother of influence peddling and taking payoffs."

"I rather imagine all those inflammatory articles he's written has Grant itching for his scalp."

"Well, he's getting publicity and that's what he wants," Reno remarked. "The winter campaign Sheridan had planned didn't work out because the weather has been so terrible, but you can bet your ass they're planning a summer campaign that'll make somebody a national hero."

"And Autie plans for it to be him," Quinn said grimly as he laid the newspaper aside. "It's been a while since he's achieved any real military success. A really big Indian war would do the trick."

"And kill how many of the rest of us?"

"You don't think he gives a shit, do you, Marc? Custer has his eye set on Washington and he's not likely to lose any sleep about how many of these inexperienced kids like Firth have to die to get him there."

"It's not the inexperienced troopers I'm worried about," Reno said as he reached for the whiskey bottle again. "It's my scalp I'm thinking about. It would really gall me that my getting killed would help Custer on his road to Washington."

"He'll be back in a few days. We'll find out then what he and Sheridan have cooked up. I have a feeling none of us are going to like it."

Quinn's gaze settled on Lucky as she paused in her duties behind the bar to tickle the baby under the chin. She looked amazing. She was trimmer now than before John David was born, her breasts fuller, her waist even more tiny. Her hair had never been more lustrous or her eyes brighter. She was stunning in the simple calico dress with the buttons down the bodice. It made his groin tighten just to look at her.

"When are you going to do something about her?"

Quinn's gaze flashed back to Reno's amused face and he felt heat creeping up his neck at the question.

"Warner's been dead now for how long…four, five months? She's had plenty of time to do her grieving. It's time to get on with her life…and yours."

"She'll let me know when she's ready," Quinn mumbled as he hid behind his glass of beer.

"Quinn, she's a beautiful, single woman on a military base with six hundred men. At least half of whom would be pounding on her door if they didn't have such respect for your right hook. Every eligible man in the fort is waiting for you to make a move. What are you waiting for?"

"Not that it's any of your business, Marc, but my life expectancy doesn't exactly impress the lady." Quinn's tone was harsher than he had intended, but Reno merely grinned and tossed back another drink. "She thought Warner was safe, then he got himself killed. Where does that leave a man whose job is fighting Indians? She's in no hurry to take that kind of chance again."

"Can't say as I blame her," Reno conceded with a solemn expression. "If the post sutler wasn't safe, a company commander certainly isn't. But then again, nobody's promised tomorrow, my friend. We'll be leaving on the summer campaign as soon as ole Hard Ass gets back. We'll be gone for months. You don't want one of the men that will be left to protect the fort in our absence getting ideas, do you? I'm telling you, Quinn, you better make a move soon. If you don't, you may come back from the campaign and find that baby calling some other guy daddy."

"One thing I know about the lady, Marc, is that she won't be pushed into anything. She's stubborn as a Missouri mule, and that's a fact. She'll let me know when she's ready for a relationship. Until then, there isn't a whole hell of a lot I can do."

"Except show up here every night, looking handsome and available. Not to mention lonely. Women are real suckers for that."

"She knows I'm here and she knows how I feel."

"Does she?"

Quinn's brows rose in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Reno shrugged. "You ever told her how you feel?"

"Well, no, not in so many words."

"Why not?"

"The timing hasn't been right. She just buried Warner for heaven's sake! She just had a baby. She's trying to make a go of the store so Custer won't take it away from her when he returns. What was I supposed to do? Stand over Warner's grave and tell her how I feel? That would really have impressed her."

"Oh, I have a feeling you've already done all the right things to impress her, Quinn."

Reno grinned as he pushed back his chair and got to his feet. After a half dozen shots of whiskey, he was a little wobbly as he picked up his hat and threw up his hand in a salute.

Quinn knew his face was flushed as he returned the major's salute. He could hear Reno chuckling all the way out the door. He neatly folded the newspapers and picked up his own hat.

He paused at the bar to pay for his beer and leaned down to tickle the baby's chin while he waited for his change. A grin came easily to his face at the baby's antics as he kicked off his blanket and waved both tiny arms about furiously.

"He wants you to pick him up," Lucky said as she took his change from the woman who worked for her. She walked down the bar and handed him the coins, smiling at the apprehension on his face. "Go ahead, Quinn. He won't bite you."

"I…I don't know. I don't know much about babies."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Lucky scooped John David out his basket and held him toward Quinn. "You just put one hand under his back and keep the other under his head."

Quinn looked at her laughing face and let her put the wriggling baby in his arms. He was afraid to move for fear of dropping the infant.

"You walked into a Sioux village unarmed but you're afraid of a tiny, helpless baby. You amaze me, Captain Malone."

Quinn looked at her bright eyes and radiant complexion and felt the familiar stir of desire that inevitably hit him when he was this close to her. "So now you know my secret. I'm really a coward at heart," he said with a wry grin.

"You don't have a cowardly bone in your body. However, ‘A’ Company has more or less adopted John David as the company mascot and you're the only man who hasn't held him."

"You're right. And I'm the one man who needs to get acquainted with the little guy."

Lucky's brows rose at his remark. "And why is that, Captain?"

Quinn shifted the baby in his arms, cradling him against his chest while John David's arms flailed about until one fist landed in his mouth. "Because I'm the man who's going to help his mama raise him."

"Is that right?" she asked in surprise.

Quinn nodded as he handed the baby back to her. "Yes, ma'am, that's a fact." His eyes darkened to a deep royal blue as he met her curious gaze. "We may even give him a couple of brothers and sisters. Just as soon as his mama decides to take a chance again."

"You sound awfully sure that I will, Captain."

Quinn nodded as he put his hat on and stepped back to take his coat off the rack near the door. "You see, ma'am, me and John David there, we both know something you're not admitting just yet."

"And just what would that be?" Lucky's question was posed in a breathless manner as she stared into those sparkling eyes.

"We both know that his mama is in love with me. Always has been, always will be. And just as soon as she works out those fears of hers, well, we can start working on being a real family."

He grinned at the shock on her face as he slipped into his coat. "Goodnight, ma'am. Sleep tight."

He walked out into the bitterly cold night and stuck his hands in his pockets as he strode briskly across the parade ground to his quarters. He started whistling as he walked, suddenly feeling invincible.

Lucky stood at the open door for a moment, watching him. She saw his breath in the cold air as he whistled the tune, then smiled as she closed the door and went back to her duties. She began humming the same tune, then leaned down to kiss the baby's chubby cheek when she realized the tune Quinn was whistling was Greensleeves.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Custer had no more than returned to Fort Lincoln than he was summoned to Washington to testify at the Congressional hearings into the Belknap debacle. At a time when he should have been in Dakota readying his command for the summer campaign, he was stuck in red tape. When the hearings ended, he was ordered to testify at the trial, but managed to win a release from that duty and returned to Fort Lincoln once more.

Lucky was quite happy with the way things worked out that spring. With the general in Washington much of the time and so much to do when he returned before the campaign against the Indians began in earnest, he had little time to think about her. He gave no more than a passing acknowledgment of the job she'd done running the sutler's store since Peter's death. Relieved and overjoyed, she threw herself into supplying the troops with everything they'd need for months on the campaign trail.

Between keeping the store shelves stocked and watching her baby son grow, she had little time to think about anything else. She was up at reveille each morning and in bed long after taps sounded at night, but she had never been as content as she was during those months.

The only disturbing factor in her life as spring began creeping into the Dakota landscape was Captain Quinn Malone. After that night he had not spoken again of a relationship, but he continued to come every evening that was possible. His purpose had shifted somewhat. Now he not only perused the papers and magazines at the corner table, but spent a great deal of time playing with John David. They developed quite an alliance as spring brought the much-anticipated thaw of the river, allowing the steamers to once more began making their regular visits.

But along with the warmer temperatures and burgeoning plants came almost constant Indian trouble. It became frighteningly commonplace for the trumpets to awaken her at all hours of the night when roving bands of Sioux ventured too close to the post for comfort.

During the day she was able to keep her mind occupied with the store and the baby, but at night when the soldiers gathered after Taps to drink or play billiards, the talk always turned to the Indian threat. It was impossible for her not to hear the conversations and the speculation about the coming campaign. At those times, she felt like her heart shriveled up in her chest. It was only a matter of a few weeks until the major summer crusade would get underway.

She no longer had to imagine what Mollie and Annie and the other women were feeling. She knew exactly. Every time she looked up from her duties and her gaze settled on Quinn, she knew the moment that he led his company out of the fort in pursuit of the Sioux would be among the most difficult of her life.

She learned of the exact time of departure from Johnny Firth, who was so excited by the prospect of getting out and chasing Indians that he failed to see how upset she became. The second week of May brought Captain Benteen and his companies from Fort Rice to join forces with the Fort Lincoln troops.

Drilling had been proceeding at a fever pitch from the moment weather permitted and men and horses were as prepared as their company commanders could possibly make them. That did not ease Lucky's fear. As the day of departure grew ever closer, she became more frightened.

Business was at an all time high during that last week. She was so busy she had little time to think, but the day before the troops were due to leave, there was suddenly no business at all. The men were all making final preparations and the women were mentally fortifying themselves against the moment when they would be alone with nothing but their fears and prayers for company.

She sent Johnny on his way early in the afternoon. He wasn't needed in the store, and his fidgeting was making her a nervous wreck. So she handed him a package of the peppermint candy he loved so much, hugged his neck, and told him to take care of himself.

"Don't you worry, Mrs. Warner. We'll have those Indians licked and on the reservation before you know it," he assured her with a grin. Then his face sobered and he rubbed his front trouser pocket. "And don't you worry about the captain either. I'll take good care of him."

Lucky forced a weak smile, knowing he kept Quinn's medal in that pocket.

He leaned down to plant a brotherly kiss on her cheek, paused to look lovingly at John David sleeping on his blanket behind the counter, and then dashed out the front door.

When the merry tinkle of the bell above the door announced his leaving, she wanted to burst into tears. Instead, she paused to cover up her tiny son and went back to the ledgers. The Army had purchased large portions of the supplies they would be taking on this campaign from her. Looking at the figures, she could tell that those purchases alone gave her enough profit to see her and the baby through the next winter.

She knew she should be happy. She had money put back to take care of her and John David. She had a thriving business that only promised to improve in the future. She had a healthy, happy baby and good friends. But she was miserable.

She looked out the windows at the troopers scurrying about making final preparations. The fort resembled a very large beehive with all the frenetic activity as supply wagons were loaded, weapons cleaned and readied, and horses groomed.

It was time to start thinking about supper. She had closed the billiard room for the evening, knowing the men would be too busy to drop in, and the women who worked for her both had husbands they wanted to spend that last evening with. That meant she would spend a very long evening alone, followed by a sleepless night. That knowledge brought tears to her eyes.

She rubbed at them angrily and turned at the sound of John David's gurgling as he awoke from his nap. She hurried to pick him up and kissed his happy little face. He was a joy and she hugged him so tightly that he began fussing and squirming.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she said as she relaxed her hold on him. "Mama's just anxious, that's all. Come, you need to be changed and then I'll fix us some supper. Doesn't that sound good?"

She thought about locking up the store, but decided to leave the door open in case someone thought of a last minute item they needed. With the baby in her arms, she went into her living quarters, marched over to the window and pulled the curtains closed. It made the room dim and gloomy, but she couldn't stand one more glance out that window at the men preparing to leave.

She put John David on a blanket on the floor so she could keep a close eye on him and began their supper. After a half dozen faint hearted attempts, she sat down at the kitchen table, put her head in her arms and burst into tears. She cried for several minutes before raising her face, wiping her tears on her apron, and swallowing hard.

"This is ridiculous! Tears don't change a thing. He's leaving tomorrow morning and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it."

She stared at her baby son crawling around on the blanket in search of a toy he had gleefully tossed aside and sat upright in her chair. "I can't stop him from going, but I can't let him go like this. I have to see him. I have to be with him."

She leaped up from the chair and scooped up the startled baby on her way through the house. She flung open the living room door and came face to face with Quinn, who was on the other side, about to knock.

She stared up at him in surprise for a moment, thinking how frantic she must appear. Her eyes were red, her face wet with tears, her hair mussed, and she knew she must look like a wild woman.

"Going somewhere?"

That lazy Texas drawl immediately began to soothe her fears. He held out his hands to John David, who was reaching for him and squealing.

"I...I..." Lucky couldn't get the words out now that she was standing a foot away from him. She stopped, swallowed, and wet her lips, then tried again. "I was coming to look for you."

Quinn's brows rose as he took the baby from her and cradled him against his chest. "Really? Isn't that interesting? Here I am to see you."

"Well, come in," Lucky said as she stood back and held the door open for him. "You must be very busy. I mean, with all the preparations for tomorrow..."

"I've got a few minutes." Quinn walked past her into the living room and turned to face her after she closed the door. "What did you want to see me about?"

"I...well...I...why don't you go first?"

Quinn grinned and put the squirming baby down on the blanket. "Okay. I came because I want to ask you to keep these for me." He took a packet of documents from inside his blouse and handed them to her.

Lucky looked at the neatly folded papers tied with a ribbon, then she looked up at him in alarm. "Why? Why are you giving them to me? Do you think you're not coming back?"

"It's a precaution, Lucky. That's all. Don't read more into it than there is. Every man on this post who's leaving tomorrow is doing the same thing. We do it every summer before we leave on the campaign."

She nodded. "Yes, of course. Johnny gave me a letter for his folks just this morning. You know...just in case."

"I'm afraid my stuff is nowhere near that dramatic."

He offered no further explanation, but stood watching her curiously.

"Johnny's relationship with his family is not a good one, I'm afraid," Lucky said because she was at a loss as how to bring up her own feelings. "His father threw him out, told him not to come home until he was a man."

"Because of the boy's sexual preferences?"

Lucky's brows shot up in surprise. "You know about that?"

"Lucky, you'd be shocked and amazed at how much I know about each of the men in my company." Quinn grinned at her embarrassed flush. "I make it my business to know all I can about them. When your life depends on other people, you have to know who you can count on and who you can't."

"You've never let on that you knew."

"As long as Private Firth does his job, his personal affairs are not my concern."

Lucky considered telling him what else she knew about Johnny's feelings, but discarded the idea quickly. She had, after all, given Johnny her word. "I'm a little surprised that you made him your orderly and let him live in your quarters, knowing that about him."

Quinn shrugged. "It was that or let the others pick his bones clean. I couldn't let that happen. Besides, I've been in no danger."

"Of course not! I just didn't think you would be so tolerant, what with you being so...masculine."

She blushed profusely at Quinn's grin as he shifted his weight to the other foot while he watched her with that slow building heat rising in his eyes.

"Why, thank you, ma'am. I didn't realize you'd noticed."

"A woman would have to be deaf, blind, and dumb not to notice that, Captain," she said in a faint little voice.

"As far as being tolerant of Private Firth's sexual preferences, I learned a long time ago not to judge things I know nothing about. That doesn't mean I understand it. Frankly, I've never met a man that I'd prefer over you."

Lucky smiled in spite of herself at the teasing quality in his voice. "I suppose that's a compliment."

Quinn nodded. "Yes, ma'am, it certainly is." Then his expression sobered. "Private Firth is not the first person I've ever known with this problem. There was a kid when I was at the Academy, smartest person I've ever seen, was the same way. He had the potential to be a general, or even president. Instead, he ended up leaving school

and going back home to be a shoe salesman."

He shook his head. "It was a terrible waste, but once the other men learned his secret, they made his life a living hell. He felt he had no other choice but to leave. I won't let that happen to Johnny Firth, not if I can help it."

"Does Johnny have that kind of potential?"

"No," Quinn admitted with a rueful smile. "Private Firth is lucky if he doesn't shoot himself in the foot, but he's a good kid. He deserves a chance."

They were both silent for a few moments. Lucky focused her attention on John David's antics on the floor to avoid direct contact with Quinn's piercing gaze. She knew he had to be wondering what she wanted to talk to him about and wondering why she was having so much trouble getting it out.

"There's something else, Lucky." Quinn's voice contained an element she had heard but few times. It made her finally meet his searching gaze. "Before I leave, I want you to know I love you and I will for the rest of my life, whether I live another day, or a hundred years."

She stared at him, stunned that he had been able to put his feelings into words, when she could only stammer and stumble over her own tongue. She felt tears burn her eyes. With a muffled cry, she flung herself into his arms.

"Oh, Quinn, I love you too! That's what I was coming to tell you! I love you so much I can't stand the thought of you leaving tomorrow. I'll die too if anything happens to you!"

She felt his arms fold around her, drawing her into the safe fortress of his love. She lifted her face for his kiss and felt him cradle the back of her head in one hand as he leaned down to meet her eager mouth.

She leaned into his embrace and felt his erection burn through their clothing. Tears wet her face as she kissed him urgently. She ran her hands up his arms and around his neck and let her fingers sift through his hair. Their kiss deepened in intensity until John David broke the spell by crawling off his blanket and attempting to climb up

Quinn's leg.

He grinned as he took her face in both hands, lightly kissed her lips again, then stepped back, reached down and picked up the insistent baby. "I guess this is something I'll have to get used to."

Lucky drew a long shuddering breath, struggling to regain her composure and put the fire in her blood on hold. "He can be very persistent when he's hungry."

"I can see that."

"Luckily, he goes to sleep early and sleeps through the night now."

She smiled when his brows rose at the insinuation in her statement.

"Is that an invitation?"

She nodded as her hands trailed down his chest. "I was just about to start supper. Why don't you stay and eat with us? Then you can help me put John David to bed. Would you like that?"

"Yes, ma'am, I sure would." He leaned down to kiss her again. "I can't think of anything I'd like better. Well, maybe one other thing," he added with a mischievous grin.

"All in good time, Captain. When there's a baby in the house, some things have to be put off until a more convenient time. That doesn't mean, however, that they're not important."

She stood on her tiptoes, planted a warm, sensual kiss on his mouth, and then stepped back. "I'll get supper started and then put water on to heat for John David's bath. When he's fed and bathed, he'll be ready for bed. When do you have to report back?"

"At reveille."

"Good." She forced a smile to her lips and deliberately put any thoughts of tomorrow out of her mind. "We have plenty of time then."

She went to the kitchen and began slicing potatoes and ham while Quinn sat down on the floor to play with the baby. She paused while she watched them, thinking momentarily about all the other women in the fort who were doing the very same thing tonight. Cooking supper for their husbands, trying to maintain a normal atmosphere for their children's sakes, knowing that they would spend this night in their man's arms, and

knowing it might be for the last time.

She drew in a long breath and went back to work while she reminded herself that this night could also be the beginning of a lifetime together. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and prayed silently for a moment. Knowing that a hundred other women were doing the same thing was a comfort somehow. Whatever awaited them, she would

not be alone. Then she opened her eyes, looked at Quinn playing with the baby and smiled through her tears.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Quinn was up an hour before reveille. He insisted that Lucky not get up while he dressed in the dark. She knew he did not want anyone who might be up at that hour to see a light or see him leaving her house. So she lay quietly in bed and tried to be brave.

When he was dressed, he came back to the bed, sat down on it, and gathered her into his arms. She clung to him, biting her lips to fight back her tears, then forced a damp smile when he held her away from him to look into her eyes.

"Lucky, I'm not going to tell you not to worry because it would be a waste of time. But I want you to remember two things. One, the 7th is the finest fighting regiment in the United States Army. We've never encountered an enemy we couldn't contain. Two, and most importantly, I love you and I will do whatever I can to come back to you.

"Now, you take care of yourself and little Mr. John David over there. I'll write the first opportunity I get."

"Take care of yourself, promise?" Lucky knew her voice was shaky, but it was the best she could do. She took his face in her hands and kissed him hard. "I love you."

Quinn kissed her once more and held her tight for a moment, then he stood up, went over to the baby's crib and kissed him on the cheek. He paused at the door to look back at her.

She was sitting upright in bed, wearing a cotton gown with the ribbons hanging open down the bodice, one hand to her mouth to stifle the sobs that were threatening to strangle her. She forced a smile, and then he was gone. She listened to his footsteps as he walked through the store and heard the bell tinkle as he closed the door behind him.

She felt tears sliding down her cheeks, but made no effort to stem them. Her heart felt like lead in her chest and she could not shake the heavy feeling that had enveloped her ever since she first knew the regiment was going after the Sioux. In spite of her best efforts to think otherwise, she was terrified she would never see Quinn again.

***

Lucky got through the post band's rousing rendition of Garryowen without bursting into tears. She stood on the porch of the store with the baby in her arms, watching as the regiment mounted and formed ranks.

Her heart was full of pride as the men rode past on their way out of the fort. General and Libby Custer rode at the front of the column, with Lieutenant James and Margaret Calhoun beside them. She knew that Libby and Margaret would be returning the next day, and wondered if that one extra day would make it any easier to say goodbye when the time came.

Behind them rode Custer's staff, including Lieutenant Cooke, Doctor Lord, and the other two regimental surgeons accompanying the troops, and Mark Kellogg, a reporter from the New York Herald newspaper, whom Custer had given permission to accompany the expedition. Younger brother Boston Custer, who had come to join his brothers in hopes the fresh air and outdoor living would improve his failing health, and Autie Reed, the general's young nephew were also in the column. Immediately behind them were the companies of the 7th Cavalry in alphabetical order. She saw ‘A’ Company's guidon snapping in the breeze and fought back tears. The road was lined with women and children who waved as their men rode past.

There was a mist in the air that gave a ethereal effect to the troops as the sun rose in the sky. The light flashed on the bridles and other metallic objects as they rode out of the fort and the yellow threads on the saddle blankets also gleamed in the eerie light.

When the band struck up The Girl I Left Behind Me even veteran Army wives burst into tears and fled into their homes to keep their men from seeing their suffering. Lucky didn't even realize she was crying until she felt the tears drip off her cheeks.

The men rode out looking grand and invincible. Twelve companies, seven hundred fifty men with a complement of infantry, supply wagons, and Indian scouts. She tried to take heart in their stoic faces and supreme physical conditions. They were the most highly trained unit in the US Army, just as Quinn had told her. They had met the enemy on many occasions and overcome.

Yet she knew some of these men would not return to their wives and children. She kept her focus on the handsome captain at the head of ‘A’ Company as long as she could see him, and prayed that he would be one of those who returned.

***

"What do you think?" Quinn looked at Fred Benteen's thoughtful face as they rode through the heavy afternoon air.

"I doubt seriously if bringing Kellogg along on this campaign was in Sheridan's plans," Fred replied, nodding toward the reporter who rode next to Custer in the formation ahead of them. "But then, Custer isn't going to miss an opportunity to get his name in the papers. What better way to make sure the story reads the way he wants than to have his very own reporter?"

The sarcasm in his voice made Quinn grin in spite of the heat and the insects. He slapped at a mosquito buzzing around his ear and nodded. "I agree, but that wasn't what I meant. I was referring to Sheridan's plan. The three prong attack he devised with General Crook."

Fred scratched his neck. "It's a good plan. With Crook coming north from Wyoming and Gibbons coming west from Montana, and us east from Dakota, we should be able to bottle the Sioux up and drive them back to the reservation."

"I bet Custer's still steaming because Sheridan put General Terry in charge of the Dakota forces."

Fred grinned. "Don't you know it! But after Custer's testimony against the President's brother, he's damned lucky he's even being allowed on this march. I hear he actually got down on his knees in front of General Terry and begged him to intercede with Grant. If it wasn't for Terry feeling sorry for him, he'd be in a stockade somewhere awaiting trial for leaving Washington without permission."

"I don't think it was so much Terry's sympathy that caused him to ask the President to let Custer command the 7th on this campaign, but more the fact that he has no experience fighting Indians and Custer has. It was a logical decision on his part."

Fred nodded and slapped at a fly. "Whatever the reason, Custer is in his glory. He can hardly wait to hear from Reno's reconnaissance patrol so he can make plans for an attack."

"I'd say that General Terry will have something to say about that. This is his party."

"For about as long as it takes Custer to get out of sight. He's not going to share the glory of bringing the Sioux to surrender. Not if he can help it."

Quinn pulled his hat lower over his eyes against the sun and nodded. "That's what I'm afraid of."

***

The 7th Cavalry left Fort Abraham Lincoln on May 17th under two wings. The right, commanded by Major Marcus Reno, consisted of Companies B, C, E, F, I, and L, was sent up the Powder River on a scouting patrol by General Terry on June 7th. His orders were to take his battalions up the Powder River, over to the Tongue River, and back to the Yellowstone in search of Indian sign.

The left wing was commanded by Captain Benteen and consisted of Companies, A, D, G, H, K, and M. They joined Reno's command at the junction of the Rosebud and the Yellowstone Rivers on June 21st. While they rested their animals and waited for further orders, Custer met with General Terry and Majors Gibbon and Brisbin aboard the steamer Far West. The steamer had followed the expedition on its way up the Yellowstone carrying supplies, as well as the regimental band, and was used for the high level meeting to determine a plan of attack on the Sioux.

When the meeting aboard the steamer was concluded, Custer took only a pack train, and moved the regiment up the Rosebud, leaving behind the supply wagons, Gattling guns, and the offer of four companies of Major Brisbin's 2nd Cavalry, stating that the 7th could handle anything it met. Colonel Gibbon called out as Custer led the regiment southward toward the mouth of the Rosebud, "Don't be greedy, Custer! There are Indians enough for all of us. Wait for us!"

Custer looked up at him, smiled, and called back, "No, I won't." He urged his horse into a canter and took his position at the head of his column.

Quinn, riding close enough to the front of the column to hear the exchange of conversation, looked at Fred Benteen. "God forbid that he might have to share the glory," Fred muttered.

It wasn't the thought of shared glory that made Quinn uneasy that hot afternoon as they rode toward the Rosebud. It was Custer's history of not waiting for complete reports before plunging into battle, or disregarding them when they were given. It had always proven successful in the past, but Quinn's concern that day centered on whether or not Custer's luck would continue to hold.

The following day Custer assembled his officers. It was night by now, and hot as they gathered around him to learn what decisions had been reached.

"Gentlemen, I understand some of you have gone to headquarters to criticize my conduct. If you have any complaints, I'm willing to listen. Otherwise, I expect your full and complete loyalty," he said to the group.

"Would you care to be more specific, sir?" Fred Benteen asked mildly as he lit his pipe and stared at Custer through the hazy smoke.

"I do not have to answer to you! But, I will state that none of my remarks have been directed towards you." Custer's face reddened as he got to his feet. "That will be all, gentlemen. We will be on the march by five a.m. Dismissed!"

Quinn and Fred left together, then paused at the outer edge of the firelight. "What the hell was that all about?" Quinn asked.

Fred drew on his pipe and shrugged. "To be honest, Quinn, I don't know. He's been acting strange ever since Reno gave his scouting report."

"I'd rather he pay attention to it," Quinn replied as they began walking toward their own tents. "When Mitch Bouyer tells me he's seen evidence of the biggest Indian force he's ever seen, I believe it."

"Custer doesn't seem to think the Indians are capable of gathering in mass. And even if they are, he's certain they'll run at the first sight of us."

"They always have," Quinn said thoughtfully. "But if they number anything close to Bouyer's estimates, we're talking about a huge war party. I'm having a little trouble making myself believe they're gathering in that kind of force to take to their ponies when they see us coming. I think they're going to fight, Fred."

Benteen nodded. "So do I. The question is where are they exactly? Reno's report wasn't conclusive as to their location. They could be anywhere along the Yellowstone or any of its tributaries. Until we get more information, we're riding blind."

"Riding blind into a force we know virtually nothing about except that it's larger than anything we've ever encountered. I don't like not knowing what we're up against."

Fred looked at him through the darkness and exhaled fragrant pipe smoke. "What about your nightmares, Quinn? Are you still having them?"

Quinn nodded. The expression on his face was grim as he met Fred's concerned gaze. "They stopped for a while after I fought with Raven. I thought I'd put it to rest. Then when we found Warner nailed to that wagon bed with a lance…." His voice trailed away for a moment. Then he visibly shook himself. "They've been worse than ever since then. Thank God Custer is pushing so hard because I'm so exhausted at night that I can sleep."

They had reached their tents and Fred tapped his pipe out against his boot heel. "Well, try to get some rest tonight. The next few days are going to be rough."

Quinn nodded. "Right. Goodnight, Fred."

Benteen murmured his goodnight, then went into his tent. Quinn stood outside his own tent and listened to the sounds of the camp settling down. With reveille at four a.m., the men had turned in early in anticipation of an early march and a long day. He let out a long breath as he stared into the darkness. That disquieting feeling in the pit of his stomach was back, stronger than ever. He thought about Lucky and the life they might have together once this campaign was over.

Then he thought about Marcus Reno's report of the extraordinarily large Indian force, and wondered if any of them would ever make it home to Fort Lincoln again.

***

Lucky looked up from the ledger with a smile when Mollie McIntosh entered the store, but the smile quickly faded when she saw the expression on Mollie's face.

"Mollie, what's wrong?"

Mollie's usually jolly features were pale and drawn. She hurried up the aisle to the counter where Lucky sat and reached across to take Lucky's hand.

"Ruby Nell, have you heard?"

"Heard what?" Lucky asked in a faint voice as her heart began to pound.

"Dispatches just came in from Army headquarters in the East. General Crook's column was hit hard by the Sioux on the Rosebud on the 17th. The number of Indians in the war party was enormous. General Crook was fortunate to save his command."

Lucky wet her dry lips while she stared at Mollie's frightened face. "What does that mean?"

"It means that General Crook's column has been delayed because of the casualties. He won't be able to reach our troops to support their engagement of the Sioux. The dispatches also said that the Sioux who attacked him, have turned back toward the Yellowstone. It means they're joining forces with the others."

Lucky's face went pale at Mollie's explanation. It took little imagination to know that the Indian force the 7th was facing was far larger than anything they had anticipated.

"There is hope, isn't there?" she finally managed to whisper.

"Scouts have just left the fort to try and warn our troops of the developments with General Crook's column. There's not much chance they'll be able to travel that great a distance in time. All we can do is wait…and pray."

Tears burned Lucky's eyes and throat and terror gripped her heart. She squeezed Mollie's hand tighter and held on while they both began to cry silently. She had never known fear so strong she could taste it, but she could now. Her stomach heaved and she thought for a moment she would actually vomit from her fear. Then she took off her apron and snatched up the baby from his pallet on the floor behind the counter.

"Come, Mollie, let's join the others. Being together may be a small comfort," she said in a voice much stronger than she expected. "We'll all pray together."

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

June 25th was a Sunday. It dawned hot and dry over Fort Lincoln, promising another long, tepid day filled with anxiety. Lucky was gathering up John David's things in preparation for going back to Libby Custer's house to spend this day like the one before with the other wives of the 7th officers. She had the baby in one arm and was closing the door between the living quarters and the store when the tinkle of the bell announced a visitor.

She looked up, expecting Mollie or Annie Yates. What she saw not only filled her with fear, but made her blood boil with anger as well. She reached beneath the counter and brought out the Colt .45 Peter had always kept there in case of trouble. A moment later she had the gun pointed at the greasy haired mountain man who had kidnapped her months before.

"Easy now, ma'am. I mean you no harm," he said as he lifted both hands.

"That's what you said before! Then you tried to kill us!" Lucky's voice was furious as she juggled the pistol and the squirming baby at the same time.

Rutherford shook his head. "No, ma'am. I tried to kill Captain Malone. You were never in any danger."

Lucky's mouth dropped open at the amused tone of the man's voice. He came a few steps closer, but halted when she jiggled the pistol in his direction.

"What do you mean by that? What do you want?"

Rutherford shrugged and hooked his thumbs in his belt. His leather leggings were just as grimy as she remembered. His long greasy hair stuck out from beneath a floppy brimmed hat. His eyes were cold as he smiled at her indignant questions.

"I came to tell you a couple of things, Mrs. Warner. All those guns the Indians got? The Winchesters? Your husband supplied them. Not directly, of course. But he shipped them to Fort Rice under a false name where I picked them up and delivered them to miners in the area. You know what happened to them.

"Another thing. Your kidnapping? Your husband paid me to do that…"

"That's a lie! I don't believe you!" Lucky broke in furiously.

The mountain man shook his head and kept his gaze steadily on hers. "I ain't lying, ma'am. He was afraid you were falling in love with Captain Malone. That would've messed up his plans since you were close to the Custers. He knew Raven wanted Malone's scalp so he arranged for me to kidnap you and take you to Raven's village, knowing Malone would walk through hell for you."

He paused and rubbed a grimy hand over his face. "Nobody figured Raven would do the honorable thing and give Malone the chance to fight for his life. Warner underestimated the Indians. Then he refused to hand over the shipment of Winchesters he promised Raven for killing Malone. I warned him. I told him you don't back out on a deal with the Sioux, but he didn't listen. He should've."

"Are you saying he was killed because of those guns?"

Rutherford nodded. "Yes, ma'am. He made a deal with Raven and didn't keep it. Raven took the guns anyway and killed Warner for not keeping his word. Indians are real big on that."

"You tried to kill Captain Malone at the river!"

"Yes, ma'am. I admit I did. But dumb luck was still riding with him. I missed and had to get away before he nailed me. May I say, ma'am, that your shooting is admirable?"

Lucky jiggled the pistol once more for emphasis, even though Rutherford made no attempt to come closer. "So why are you telling me this? What do you want?"

The mountain man shrugged and scratched at his neck for a minute while he considered her question. "I don't want nothing, ma'am. Just thought you needed to know what a snake you were married to. That whorehouse over in Bismarck that he told you he sold? He never sold it. He lied about that, just like he lied about a lot of other things. I don't hold with a man using his woman to better himself in business and that's what Warner was doing. Using your friendship with Mrs. Custer to feather his own nest. But then, I reckon you know that."

He paused for a moment. "Warner knew all about you and the captain. I reckon I'm to blame for that. I told him what I saw that night on the river. That's been on my mind ever since, wondering if I should've just kept my mouth shut about that."

"It's a little late for a bout of conscience, isn't it?" Lucky's voice dripped sarcasm as she stared into the man's uneasy eyes.

"Yes, ma'am, I reckon so. I'll be going now. Just wanted you to know that with Custer taking the 7th Cavalry into the fight of their lives, that they've got Warner to thank for all those Winchesters they'll be facing. Ironic, ain't it, ma'am, that if Captain Malone gets himself killed fighting the Sioux, it'll be Warner's doing?"

He touched his hat in a polite gesture, turned on his heel and faded out of the store without making a sound, except for the tinkling of the bell above the door.

Lucky watched him go, then hurried back into the living quarters, bolted the door, and put John David back down on his pallet. She went to the fireplace mantel and took down the packet of papers Quinn had left her and untied the red ribbon that bound them together. She didn't know why it was so important that she see them now. She had given no more than a passing thought to them in the time Quinn had been gone, but now it seemed vitally important to see what they were, if nothing else to make herself feel closer to him for a moment.

She knew immediately that she was not supposed to look at them unless he failed to return. The letter he'd written her said as much. It also affirmed his love for her and his sorrow that he had not been able to fulfill his vow of taking care of her and the baby. She put the letter aside with trembling hands and picked up another letter that contained his will. It specified how he wanted his personal effects to be dispersed. Not surprisingly, everything he had, he left to her. Finally, she took up an official looking document that completed the package. Her eyes widened, then filled with tears when she saw what it was.

It was an insurance policy from New York Life issued the preceding winter that named her the beneficiary. The policy amount was ten thousand dollars. She held the document to her chest as tears spilled down her cheeks. Quinn had made certain, even after his death, that she and John David would be provided for. She felt certain now that he was afraid he would not return from this campaign. Those horrible nightmares he'd had for months had been a premonition of disaster and if it came to be, Peter Warner would be in some part responsible for his death.

She began to sob. Perhaps Peter had put the guns in the hands of the Sioux, but it was her fault that Quinn had become a threat to Peter. If he died, she would have no one but herself to blame.

***

"Corporal Hutchins, you will be in charge of ‘A’ Company's squad with the pack train." Quinn's voice was curt and authoritative as he gave the orders. "Pick five men and report to Captain McDougall on the double. Private Firth, you will be one of those men."

Hutchins saluted and pointed at four other men, who then took their horses toward the rear of the regiment in compliance with Quinn's order. Johnny Firth stared in dismay as he began following Quinn when he turned away to make other assignments.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Quinn turned back to look at the young trooper. "I gave you an order, Private. What are you waiting for?"

His tone was harsher than he had intended, but two days of hard marching, including a night march the preceding evening had strained his patience. The regiment had covered nearly a hundred miles that night through alkaline dust so thick at times the men and horses could hardly breathe, and buffalo gnats that stung their eyelids until some of them were so swollen it made seeing difficult. It was one hundred degrees that Sunday afternoon as they stood in the sun and sweat was running down his back in streams.

"I want to go with the company into the battle," Johnny Firth said. "Captain, don't send me with the pack train like a dumb kid. Let me fight."

Quinn paused for a moment and his expression softened at the boy's dogmatic insistence. "Private, you have nothing to prove to anyone."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but I do. Captain, you know I'm no darn good with horses and those mules in the pack train hate me. I can be a lot more help to you if you'll just let me fight."

Quinn hesitated for a moment, but it was enough to feed Johnny's confidence. "Sir, I have to do this. Not for you or for the company, but for myself. Please, sir, give me the chance."

"All right, Private, you can go, but you stay close to First Sergeant Briggs, and you do everything he tells you. Understood?"

"Oh, yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" Johnny saluted happily and led his horse toward the area where the company was gathered.

"You, go with Corporal Hutchins," Quinn said to another young private as he pointed to him. He looked at Johnny Firth and shook his head. "I never saw anybody in such a hurry to get into a fight."

***

Captain Thomas McDougall's ‘B’ Company had been ordered by Custer to protect the pack train of ammunition and supplies during the coming engagement and each company was to provide a non-commissioned officer and five privates to assist with their individual company's packs. Each of the twelve mules in the train carried two boxes containing one thousand rounds of ammunition each while each trooper was armed with his single shot .45 caliber pistol and a Model '73 Springfield carbine with a hundred rounds of ammunition, which he carried on his person.. There were also additional mules to carry headquarters’ and miscellaneous supplies.

The pack train now went to the rear of the column as the troops mounted and battalion assignments were handed out.

"I've sent Captain Benteen and companies D, H , and K to scout those hills on the left front to make sure the Indians don't slip away in that direction." General Custer's voice was clear and eager as he looked around the circle of his officers, whom he had called to this last briefing. "Major Reno will take Companies A, G, and M, cross the Little Big Horn River at the first crossing and attack the village from the south."

He paused for a moment as his expression hardened. "I am aware that some of you are of the opinion that we should wait for General Crook, General Terry and Colonel Gibbon to join us on the 27th as was the original plan. However, it's come to my attention that the Indians have learned of our presence. Captain Yates informed me earlier that a squad of his men discovered several Sioux going through some supply boxes that were lost during the night's march so there can be no doubt that they know we're here.

"We have no choice but to attack now or take the risk of them getting away. We cannot wait for the other columns. We must strike now!"

And take exhausted men and animals into a fight with an enemy whose strength has not been determined, nor whose location is exact. Not to mention disobeying a direct order from General Terry to wait until the other two columns meet us on the 27th. Heavens, no. The great George Armstrong Custer must not be cheated out of his moment of glory. You've never been one to share your toys, have you, Autie? God help you if this backfires in your face. God help us all, Quinn thought wearily as he returned Custer's persistent stare.

"Any idea how many hostiles we'll be facing, sir?" Major Reno asked.

"The more, the better," Custer said confidently. "Don't worry, Major, you will be supported by the whole outfit."

The officers saluted and left to rejoin their companies. Custer waited until Reno had turned away before he reached out and put a hand on Quinn's arm.

"I want you to know, Captain, that the only reason Reno is leading this attack instead of you is his rank. Reno has never led an attack against Indians. I'm counting on you to support him if he gets into trouble. Your experience fighting Indians will be invaluable today."

Quinn's brows lifted in surprise. "I will do my best, sir."

"I know you will." Custer smiled briefly. "In spite of everything, Quinn, I have never questioned your capabilities or your loyalty to the regiment. There's no one I'd rather have with me in a fight."

Quinn stared at him in amazement, then saluted and swung quickly onto Apollo. A few moments later, the battalion formed ranks and moved toward the ford in the river, leaving Custer and the remaining five companies of the 7th behind.

***

As they rode toward the river, Quinn went over things in his mind. For the past two days the regiment had passed campsite after campsite, which the scouts insisted was not separate camping sites at all, but all parts of one huge Indian gathering. Finally, on the morning of the 24th they had struck the trail of the Sioux that had brought them here. That trail was a half mile wide.

The knot in his stomach was tightening. His mouth was dry as cotton as they neared the water. All they knew for certain was that a Sioux and Cheyenne village lay in the valley of the Little Bighorn River. They knew the encampment lay on the far side of the river, which ran between banks from five to ten feet high in places. There were few opportunities to cross. One ford was upstream in the direction from which they had come. A second was near the center of the village and a third ford lay farther downstream just below the camp. This was the one they were headed for.

There were one hundred twenty eight men and thirty-five Arikara scouts in Reno's command as they approached the river. The horses were allowed to drink briefly, then they crossed the thirty foot wide, belly deep stream and formed ranks on the other side.

"I wish to hell we knew what we were riding into," Reno muttered as they moved at a fast trot toward the village, which lay two miles beyond their crossing point.

"Maybe it's better we don't." Quinn's tone was calm, his expression mild as he returned Reno's gaze.

"Why do you say that?"

"I have a feeling that if we knew what we're riding into, Marc, every man in this outfit would piss their pants, me and you included."

Reno grinned, but his expression was concerned. "You're probably right."

Reno gave the order to proceed at a gallop and the troop picked up its pace. Within a few minutes, the Indian village came into view. So did the warriors who had learned of the advance on their encampment and rode to meet the challenge head on.

As the column closed the distance, the warriors wheeled their horses and rode back toward the village, creating a great cloud of dust. Suspecting a trap, Reno ordered the column to halt and dismount.

"Form a skirmish line!" he shouted. " Fire at will!"

Sergeant Briggs looked at Quinn for directions. "Captain?" His concern was that by dismounting, Reno was turning cavalry troopers into infantry, which put them at a disadvantage. He saw that concern mirrored in Quinn’s expression.

"Do what the major says, First Sergeant!"

"Yes sir!" Briggs began barking orders and the men moved into skirmish line formation, about nine feet apart, while every fourth man took the others’ horses and headed for the timber, where the right flank of the column had ended up.

The warriors came at them in force. They rode in yelling blood curdling war hoops, shooting with every weapon at their disposal. They were too far away at this point for their guns to do any real damage, but the arrows fired from marksmen's bows were far more accurate.

"Lower your sights, men! You're shooting over their heads!" Quinn's voice was calm as he moved along the row of troopers from ‘A’ Company. "Take your time. Aim! Think about your target."

The next volley his troops fired took down a front row of Indian horsemen. Private Firth looked over his shoulder with a white-faced grin. "How was that, Captain?"

"That's better! Fire at will!" he shouted to be heard over the din.

More and more warriors poured into the valley in front of them. Quinn had never seen so many at one time. His stomach clenched as he sighted along the barrel of his carbine. There were at least a thousand warriors coming at them. A thousand against a hundred and twenty eight. The odds were not good, but he couldn't think about that now.

"Move the skirmish line into the timber!" Major Reno shouted.

Quinn and the other two captains repeated the order and the men withdrew into the timber near the river and reformed the skirmish line as more and more warriors rode into the battle.

"Where the hell is Custer?" Reno shouted. "He's supposed to be supporting us!"

Quinn didn't answer. He was too busy directing his company's fire, but he had a bad feeling about Custer's support. Then the smell of smoke caught his attention. Looking to the right flank, he saw that the Indians had started a fire in the underbrush. As the smoke rose, the warriors came in beneath it on their bellies, rising up to shoot and then disappearing again from sight. The cavalry horses reared in panic, lifting the men holding them off the ground. Some of them broke free and bolted for the river. Some of the soldiers panicked and were firing wildly.

"Captain, the Arikara's are skedaddling!" Sergeant Briggs yelled.

Quinn looked to the right and saw the scouts riding out as fast as their ponies would take them. At the same time, the advancing warriors swallowed up the place in the skirmish line they vacated. The casualties were beginning to mount. The Indians were now close enough to make good use of their Winchesters. Their calmness as they continued to attack was a startling contrast to the panic that was spreading like wildfire through the troopers, many of whom were involved in their first real Indian fight.

The smoke and dust were choking the men and making their eyes water. The noise, with the shooting, whooping from the Indians, the wounded men crying out in pain, and the horses whinnying, was deafening.

"Mount up!" Major Reno shouted.

The men hurried to follow his order. Then as they were mounting up, he jumped back off his horse and shouted, "Dismount!"

Quinn looked at him in surprise. During the interval when the men were mounting and dismounting, they stopped shooting altogether, allowing the Indians to get much closer. A group of them burst through a clearing less than thirty feet away and fired a point blank volley into the lines. Several troopers went down, wounded or killed before the others shot down the warriors and briefly closed the hole in the lines.

"Marc, we can not hold this position!" Quinn had to shout to be heard. "They've turned the right flank! They're cutting us to pieces! In five minutes we'll be surrounded!"

Major Reno looked at him in confusion. At that moment the Arikara scout Bloody Knife, who was standing between Reno and Quinn, was hit between the eyes with a Sioux bullet. His blood and brain tissue splattered all over the major's face. Stunned, Reno lost sight of his original plan at this gruesome event. As the overwhelming numbers of warriors kept coming, panic became evident in his features.

"Marc, make a decision!" Quinn's voice was still calm as he caught hold of Reno's shoulder.

"What...would you do?" Reno stammered.

"Retreat to the bluffs beyond the river. Get to higher ground where we've got some chance of defense."

Reno stared at him for a moment, then nodded as he bolted for his horse. Quinn turned to the troops. "To your horses, men! When we reach the river, form a skirmish line and hold them back until the other companies reach the bluffs. Take the wounded and mount up! Pass the word!"

The men leaped for their horses and headed for the river. Some of the other troopers had bolted after Reno and were already on their way toward the river. All firing stopped while they mounted and rode hell bent for safety. As they raced through the valley, the Indians followed them whooping and yelling as they rode upon the stragglers, pulled them from their horses, and killed them with their war clubs.

Upon reaching the river, Quinn and his company wheeled their mounts, formed a mounted skirmish line and leveled a devastating fire into the Sioux advance. Faced with an enemy that was not fleeing and that could shoot better than themselves, the warriors backed away momentarily. It was enough for the other two troops to jump their horses into the river and climb the bluff on the opposite side. Once there, they dismounted and began firing on the Indians below, giving ‘A’ Company enough cover to attempt the crossing.

Apollo scrambled up the nearly eight foot high bank on the other side of the river crossing and heaved himself upward to safety. Once there, Quinn leaped off the horse and ran back to the edge of the bluff to make sure all his men had reached the bluff.

Assured that they were safe, he wasted no time in devising a plan of action.

"Form a perimeter, First Sergeant! Bring the horses and the wounded into that swell there and hold them. We don't have much time before the Indians start crawling up this bluff after us."

Briggs began barking orders and the men scurried to follow them. Immediately, the troopers from the other two companies fell in and within in a short time, they had built a temporary breastwork atop the bluff.

They waited expectantly for the next assault. It didn't come. Instead, they saw the warriors below in the valley regroup and ride toward the center of the encampment. Then they heard the sound of distant firing and knew that Custer had engaged the Indians.

While they had worked to built a defensive position, Captain Benteen and his three companies had arrived at the bluff. With the pack train just behind him, he dismounted his troops and conferred with Reno.

"For God's sake, Benteen! Halt your command and help me. I've lost half my men!" Major Reno exclaimed.

"Where's Custer?" Benteen asked, looking from Reno to Quinn.

"I don't know. All I know is that the support he promised never materialized." Reno's voice was curt and angry. His face was still splattered with drying blood but he had lost some of that wild expression he'd had down in the valley.

"He's in a fight. We can hear the guns, but I can't tell exactly what his position is," Quinn said.

"Cooke sent me a message to hurry up and bring the packs up. Said they'd found a big village and needed the packs."

"That's all well and good, except for one little detail," Reno pointed out. "Who's going to convince the Sioux to let us ride through them so we can find him?"

Fred took Quinn's arm and led him away from the others. Looking back at Reno's rather frantic features, he asked, "What the hell happened down there?"

"He panicked." Quinn's voice was calm, but his eyes were cold and flat. "He couldn't make a decision and when he finally did, he rode off without giving any orders about covering the retreat. It wasn't even a retreat; it was a rout! Wounded men were left behind to be butchered by the Sioux while Reno rode hell bent to save himself. We lost half of the men in this engagement, Fred."

"And there will probably be many more. I don't know exactly where the Sioux have gone, but you can bet they haven't forgotten about us. They'll be back. In force."

"I'm glad you came along. We're almost out of ammunition. Without the pack train, we'd be done for."

Benteen clapped him on the back. "Well, we'll give them one hell of a fight, won't we?"

"Shouldn't we be going to find Custer?" It was Captain Thomas Weir, commander of ‘D’ Company who had spoken. "Without specific orders it's common knowledge that we're supposed to ride toward the sound of the firing."

A lively conversation ensued. Major Reno flatly refused to move forward and Captain Benteen was not at all sure that leaving the relatively safe position they now held was advisable. In the end, Captain Weir mounted his troop and they took off on their own.

Benteen, who had more or less assumed command due to Reno's poor mental condition, finally agreed and ordered the troops to mount up and proceed. They got as far as a high point about a mile and a quarter from the entrenchment on the bluff. From this vantage point they could see the Indian encampment below.

"There must be at least eighteen hundred lodges down there," Fred Benteen said as he stood looking downstream toward the valley. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Neither have I," Quinn agreed. "The village must stretch for three miles along the river."

"What about Custer?" Weir insisted again.

"I don't see anything but dust and Indians milling around," Benteen said as he looked through his field glasses. "No sign of soldiers at all. Custer must have retreated back down the river to wait for General Terry." He held the glasses up again and quickly took them back down. "Uh-oh. We’ve got trouble."

"What is it?"

"The Sioux have remembered us. They're heading this way, fast." Fred turned to the other officers. "Mount up! Get back to the bluff on the double. We're going to be crawling with Indians in a few minutes!"

Quinn leaped into the saddle and looked at Lieutenant Browning. The young officer's face was almost white except for the smudges left by the smoke and gunpowder. "Move the troop out, Lieutenant! Double time!"

"Yes, sir!"

Alex wheeled his horse and issued the order and it was repeated down the line. In moments, the tired troopers turned their equally exhausted mounts and began a race back to the bluff entrenchment.

The furious Sioux warriors were not far behind. By the time the soldiers reached their prior defensive position atop Reno Hill, the Indians were much too close for comfort and were firing volleys from their Winchesters into the ranks.

As they arrived back at the entrenchment, Quinn's company was embroiled in a rear guard action to prevent the Sioux from overwhelming the soldiers. When the last of his troops made it toward the perimeter of the camp, he allowed himself a brief sigh of relief that they had made it back with no losses. Only one man from one of the other companies had been killed during this sojourn, which was remarkable in view of the numbers of Indians swarming up the sides of the bluff.

Withering fire from the soldiers inside the camp drove the Indians back beyond range for the moment. It was then that he saw the sorrel cavalry mount go down a hundred yards from the defense perimeter, pinning the rider beneath it.

"Lieutenant Browning!" he shouted.

"Yes sir!"

"Order the men to fire at the Indians, and keep firing until further orders!" he said as he whipped off his hat. "And Lieutenant, tell them to aim high. Very high. I don't relish being killed by one of my own men."

"Quinn, what the hell are you doing?" Fred Benteen demanded as he dropped to his knees beside them.

"That's one of my men out there, Fred. I'm going after him."

"Don't be a fool, Quinn. There's nothing you can do."

"I'm not leaving him for the Sioux! Now, are you going to help me, or not?"

They stared at each other for a moment in silence. Then Benteen nodded with a slow grin. "I don't see that I have any choice. What do you want me to do?"

"Keep them busy."

Fred nodded, then slipped away to deploy the rest of the troops along the horseshoe shaped defense perimeter they were working feverishly to establish.

As Quinn removed his gloves and took a deep breath, Sergeant Jenkins nudged Corporal Denton. "Which one of the men is it the captain's going to get himself killed for?"

Denton shoved a cartridge into his Springfield and spit a stream of tobacco juice over the trench they were lying behind. "Private Firth. But it wouldn't matter, Jenkins, who it was. You know that. The captain's not about to leave any of us for the Sioux."

"Yeah, I know. Not even if it means getting killed himself."

"Well, we just have to make sure that don't happen," Denton said as he steadied his carbine against his shoulder.

Quinn nodded at Alex Browning who shouted "Fire!" A moment later Quinn leaped over the edge of the trench and ran toward the fallen horse and the man trapped beneath it. It took only a few seconds to reach the position. He dropped to his knees beside the dead horse, propped his carbine against it, and put one hand on Johnny Firth's shoulder. Bullets whizzed by over his head as the troopers maintained a steady fire to keep the Sioux at bay. The Indians were likewise shooting back, pouring heavy fire toward the entrenchment, but they were too far away to cause much damage.

"You okay, trooper?"

Johnny Firth nodded. His face was white and there was a blue ring around his lips. His left leg was pinned beneath the dead horse and no matter how much he struggled, he couldn't pull it free. "I'm okay, Captain. I don't think anything's broken, but I can't get loose."

"We'll have you out of here in no time," Quinn said. His voice was calm and confident as he leaned over the dead animal and released the girth. The bullets flying around them didn't seem to bother him as he took hold of Johnny's shoulders and pulled, hoping the unfastened saddle girth would allow enough slack to pull the boy free.

He had been listening to the bullets, but it wasn't a bullet that hit him. It was an arrow from a marksman's bow. The projectile struck him high in the right thigh, went all the way through and came out the other side. It was propelled with such strength that it effectively knocked him backwards and nailed him to the ground.

The blinding pain took his breath for a moment. He lay on his back, unable to move while he fought back the urge to pass out. Then as he tried to raise up in order to pull himself free of the arrow, the pounding of a horse's hooves and Johnny Firth's shrill cry made him look up.

Coming at him at a dead run atop a dappled gray pony, war lance held high in preparation of a deadly thrust, was the essence of his nightmares. Time seemed to freeze in the next few seconds. Quinn felt as though everything was moving in slow motion. He was unable to pull himself free of the arrow that had him bolted to the ground and the pain the effort caused made him light headed. He grabbed the Springfield he had propped up against the dead horse, lifted it to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. The cartridge misfired, rendering the weapon useless, for there was no time to remove the fouled cartridge and reload. It was just like in all those horrifying nightmares. Raven was bearing down on him despite the bullets that hissed all around him. Quinn ripped the snap loose on his holster and yanked his pistol free. He felt the ground shudder from the approaching pony's hooves. He could even feel the heat from the animal's body as Raven leaned low over the horse's neck to make himself a smaller target.

Raven held the war lance aloft, the scalp locks attached to it dancing in the wind as he rode. There was a triumphant smile on his face as he drew it back.

Quinn fired at almost point blank range, but if the bullet hit Raven, he did not show the effects. Instead, he kept coming. By now he was so close that Quinn was looking into his eyes. Quinn knew he had no time to reload the pistol and get off a second shot. In those moments, frozen in time and space, he knew he was going to die.

Despite the frenzied shooting from ‘A’ Company and the hoarse shouts and curses from the troopers, Raven remained amazingly unscathed. He reined the dappled gray pony to a sliding halt and threw the lance with all his strength and skill.

Quinn saw the weapon coming at him, thought fleetingly of Lucky and how much he loved her, and then he heard Johnny Firth's panicked shout as the boy managed to free himself from the dead horse. With a muffled cry, he flung himself over Quinn. Raven's lance, aimed so purposefully at Quinn's chest, went into Johnny's back instead.

Quinn fell backwards from the impact of the boy's body, his right hand digging for Johnny's pistol. Before Raven could pull his rifle into position to fire, Quinn shot him squarely between the eyes with Johnny's .45 Colt. For a moment, the war chief simply sat on the pony, staring wide eyed at Quinn in disbelief. Then he slowly began to slide off. He landed on the ground beside Quinn, stone dead.

Only then did time seem to go back to its normal pace. Quinn eased Johnny off him, then he sucked in a deep breath, reached beneath him and snapped the shaft off the arrow. Then he took a firm grip on the feathered part still protruding from the top of his thigh and yanked. He almost passed out when the arrow came out with a whoosh. He was bleeding profusely and the pain was incredible as he gritted his teeth and got to his knees. He pulled the lance from the boy's back and turned Johnny Firth over so he could see his face.

Johnny was snow white pale except for a trickle of blood oozing from his lips. He smiled when Quinn gathered him up in his arms and sat down with him, his head cradled against Quinn's chest. He swallowed painfully and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, they were slightly out of focus.

"Did I do all right, Captain?" he asked in a voice that was little more than a hoarse whisper.

"You did just fine, trooper. You saved my life."

"I promised Mrs. Warner I'd look after you. I couldn't let her down."

"You didn't. You've made the company proud. Nobody could have done better." Quinn's voice was strained and he rubbed one bloody hand across his face to clear his vision.

"Thank you…sir. All…I ever…wanted was…to…make you proud…of me." Johnny got out the words, took one long gasping breath, and died in Quinn's arms.

Tears burned Quinn's eyes as he held Johnny for a moment. He sat there in the dirt, bleeding profusely, ignoring the heat, his own pain, and the bullets flying overhead while he gently smoothed the boy's hair back from his eyes.

Then his blurry vision focused on the dead Sioux warrior lying on the ground beside him. His eyes grew cold and hard as he laid the boy aside. Hatred twisted his lips into thin lines of contempt as he picked up the lance he had pulled from Johnny Firth's body. He broke the lance over his uninjured knee and threw both halves of it on top of Raven's dead body.

"Now it's finished, you son-of-a-bitch! You've killed your last soldier!" he ground out through clenched teeth. He wished he had the strength to scalp the Indian, but he barely was strong enough to pull himself to his knees. It took every last ounce of his endurance to pick Johnny up and begin carrying him toward the entrenchment.

He hadn't taken a half dozen steps when a dozen men rushed from the breastworks to help. He relinquished Johnny's body to Sergeant Jenkins and let Corporal Denton and Sergeant Briggs each slip an arm around him and half carry him to safety. He was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering in the one hundred degree heat, but he didn't know if it was the effects of the arrow that had gone completely through his thigh, the loss of blood, Johnny Firth dying in his arms, or his own out of control emotions. The only thing he knew for certain was that he wanted to crawl off somewhere by himself and cry.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

For the remainder of that night and throughout the next day, what was left of the companies fought a desperate battle with the Sioux. Captain Benteen had all the pack animals brought into the circle, along with the empty packs and crates, and ordered trenches dug to help reinforce the defensive position. The hilltop position was completely surrounded and casualties continued to mount. At times the Indians drew within as close as fifteen feet from the soldiers across the trenches.

Dr. Porter, who had been with the pack train, fought hard to keep the wounded men alive, but with no water and few medical necessities, he was losing more than he could save. During that first night, after thirty-six hours without water, Benteen asked for volunteers to go down to the river for water for the wounded. Twenty-four men, some from each company, answered the call and risked their lives to bring water back to the camp for the wounded men. Miraculously, none of them were injured.

Just before dusk on the following afternoon, June 26th, after heavy fighting for more than a day and a half, the Indian attack suddenly came to an end. The officers gathered at the top of the bluff to watch as the Indian village below in the valley began moving up stream. Thousands of travois and ponies were in motion, making it seem as though the entire valley floor was moving.

"Do you think it's a trick of some kind?" one of them asked Benteen.

"No, I don't think so. Those are not just women and children. The warriors are pulling out too."

"What do you think it means?"

Benteen shook his head. "Maybe they've spotted Custer and the rest of the regiment coming back. Stay alert, men. This isn't over yet. Some of them may double back and try to catch us off guard."

The officers drifted away to check on their men and Benteen turned to look at Quinn. "I thought the doctor told you to stay off that leg."

Quinn grimaced as he leaned against a tree stump. "Don't you start in on me too. Doctor Porter is driving me crazy. I don't need you to help him."

Fred grinned as he poured tobacco into his pipe and lit it. He puffed until a plume of smoke finally filtered out of it while he studied Quinn through the smoky haze. "That's a nasty wound, Quinn. You've got to take care of it so it doesn't get infected. You don't want to lose your leg. I doubt Dr. Porter would really enjoy another battlefield amputation. I imagine the one he did on Trooper Madden from ‘K’ Company was enough to hold him for awhile."

"I doubt Madden was very thrilled about it either," Quinn grunted as he winced again. "I'm all right, Fred. Quit worrying about me and let's worry about the Sioux."

"Look at them, Quinn," Fred said as he pointed toward the exodus in the valley below. "They're moving out in almost military precision. If they had any idea just how close we are to being out of ammunition, they'd be swarming all over this bluff again."

Quinn forced a stiff grin as he watched the Indians moving away into the gathering dusk. "Let's hope nobody tells them, Fred."

Benteen drew on his pipe, still watching the Indians. "Right. I don't know about you, but I've seen all the Indians I care to for a very long time."

"That's a fact," Quinn said softly. "That's a fact."

***

Not long after sun-up the next morning the sentries reported a large dust cloud appearing in the distance. Every man was instantly on alert. Rumors ran rampant through the ranks as they wondered if the Sioux were returning to finish the job, although no Indians had been sighted since the previous evening. Or perhaps it was Custer and the rest of the regiment. Major Reno, having recovered somewhat from his frantic state of the valley fight, sent a runner to find out who it was.

A short while later jubilation filled the camp when they learned it was the Montana column of General Terry and Major Gibbon arriving right on schedule. It became clear that the Indians had spotted them the evening before, bringing about their sudden departure. It appeared the battle was over.

Their joy was short lived. Lieutenant Bradley, who was Major Gibbon's chief of scouts, rode into the bedraggled camp later in the morning.

"Where's Custer?" Major Reno asked, voicing the question that every man was thinking.

"I don't know, but I suppose he was killed. We counted one hundred ninety seven bodies. I don't suppose anyone escaped."

The men simply stared at him. The very thought was ludicrous.

"That's impossible!" Major Reno exclaimed, finally breaking the deathly silence that had fallen upon the men with Bradley's announcement.

Bradley shook his head. "I'm sorry, but it's true. General Terry requests that Captain Benteen and a few men come with me back to the battlefield to help make identifications. And we'll need more men for a burial detail. The general also wants me to tell you that he's sent for the steamer. It's anchored on the Big Horn River. We'll start taking the wounded there shortly.

"Captain Benteen, will you come with me, sir?"

Fred nodded, still too dumbfounded by Bradley's announcement to put together a cohesive statement. He asked for volunteers to form the burial detail and several men rushed to their horses.

"You're not going anywhere, Captain," Doctor Porter said as he put one hand on Quinn's shoulder and pushed him back down on an empty ammunition crate. "You've lost far too much blood to think about climbing on a horse."

"I've got to go!"

"Quinn, Doc’s right." Fred's voice was calm, almost soft as they stared at each other. "I'll go. The only place you'll be going is to the steamer and then back to Fort Lincoln for treatment." His expression was grim, his face pale in the bright June sunlight.

"Fred, it can't be true. There's been some kind of terrible mistake," Quinn said.

"If there is, I'll straighten it out. You stay here and take care of yourself."

Fred clapped him on the shoulder, mounted up, and led his patrol across the hills to see if what Lieutenant Bradley had reported was true.

***

It was late that evening when Captain Benteen arrived back in camp. Quinn was ready to chew his fingernails by the time Fred rode back and dismounted. One glance at Fred's face told him more than he wanted to know.

"My God, it's true, isn't it?" His voice was hoarse, his face was pale and he felt himself start to tremble.

Fred pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his thick white hair. He gratefully took a cup of coffee from one of the men and sipped from it before he answered Quinn's question.

"Yes, it's true. They're all dead, Quinn."

Quinn's eyes widened with disbelief. "Custer? Tom? Myles? Cookie? George Yates? Smithy? Jimmie Calhoun?"

Benteen nodded after each name. The shock on Quinn's face was much the same reaction he'd had himself earlier in the day when he rode over the battlefield. "I'm afraid so, Quinn. As unbelievable as it seems, five entire companies of the 7th Cavalry have been wiped out to the last man."

Quinn slumped back on the crate he was seated on and clenched his hands into fists to stop them from trembling. He felt tears burn his eyes, then he cleared his throat and looked back at Benteen.

"My God! Autie Custer's ego finally killed him!"

"And he took two hundred good men with him. He got what he wanted, Quinn, although not quite the way he had in mind. Because of the way he died, he'll be immortal. People for centuries will talk about General George Armstrong Custer and the Battle of the Little Bighorn. Think what a stroke for his ego knowing that would be."

Benteen finished his coffee and tossed out the grounds in the bottom of the cup. "Except for the grace of God, Quinn, we'd both be lying over there on that hill, stripped, mutilated, and bloated right alongside him. We have a lot to be thankful for, my friend."

"Do you ever wonder, Fred, why it is that we've survived? In spite of everything? In spite of all the Indian wars and the injuries?" Quinn rubbed at his injured leg while he asked the question. The bandage around his thigh was bloody and the leg was feverish, a fact he was in no hurry for Dr. Porter to find out.

"I don't know, Quinn. That we've survived in spite of Custer is a miracle in itself. But we have. My Catherine would say that God has a reason for it. She says He has a reason for everything. Now I don't know that I believe that so much, but after today, I'm a little more inclined to agree with her."

"Now what, Fred? What becomes of the regiment now?"

Fred took out his pipe, filled it with tobacco, and lit it, drawing on it quietly for a few moments. "We stay here, rest up while we wait for reinforcements, then we press on after the Sioux. The nation will be in chaos when news gets out of Custer's defeat. Washington will be screaming for the Indians' blood. People won't rest until this massacre is avenged. Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull may have won this engagement, but it will cost them dearly. Whether they know it or not, the day of the Plains Indian is over. They sealed their own fate on the 25th at the Little Bighorn."

Quinn remained silent, lost in his own thoughts. He was suddenly very cold. He was tired and felt every one of his thirty-seven years.

"Autie and I are the same age, Fred. I've known him for…Jesus…nearly twenty years, hated him almost that long too. There were times I wanted to kill him myself, with my bare hands, yet, I keep thinking about that time at the Academy when he waded into a gang of thugs who were beating the shit out of me and saved my ass. He was brash and reckless and vainglorious… and the bravest man I ever knew. I keep asking myself why he was so driven to become famous and successful that he risked the lives of every man who ever served under him, from the Civil War right up until two days ago. And I ask myself why I'm not."

"You come up with an answer yet?"

Quinn shook his head. "No. The Army has been my life, all I've ever known, but becoming a general or president never crosses my mind. All I want is back home at Fort Lincoln."

"A woman, a child, a life." Fred smiled. "I know exactly how you feel, Quinn. My life is at Fort Rice with Catherine and my kids."

"Guess this means that we're not very ambitious, doesn't it?"

Fred grinned in the deepening twilight as he glanced around at the doctors moving from patient to patient. The horses’ snuffling was audible as well as the junior officers calling out orders to the men as darkness fell.

"Ambition can be a very dangerous thing, my friend. I rather imagine Autie Custer, wherever he is tonight, would agree. You and me, Quinn? We're just a couple of company commanders who go about doing our jobs the best we can, looking after our troops, defending our country, following orders. We can take comfort in the fact that we do it better than most, and a whole hell of a lot better than some."

Quinn peered up at him the dusk and nodded. "Is that why kids like Johnny Firth are willing to step in front of a war lance to save our lives?"

Fred nodded solemnly. "That’s exactly why. You earn loyalty and respect by giving it. That's the only way. It can't be bought or bargained for or traded like horses. It's earned with sweat and blood. And it's maintained with honor, integrity, and dignity. And those qualities, my friend, are things that you possess in abundance. And I like to think I do, as well."

"Where do you think I learned it?"

They smiled at each other in the dark and then Fred put out his hand. Quinn took it and let Fred pull him to his feet, put one arm under his shoulders and help him limp back into camp.

The next morning troops came from Major Gibbon's regiment to begin taking the wounded to the steamer. When it came Quinn's turn to be carried away on a stretcher, he asked the men to wait for a moment.

Standing was very painful, but he forced himself off the stretcher so that he could face his troop. "Lieutenant Browning, you are now in command of ‘A’ Company. She couldn't be in better hands."

Alex Browning snapped to attention, followed in unison by the members of the troop. As if one man, they saluted him and held it until he returned it. "Thank you, sir. I will do my best to bring honor to the company," Alex said when Quinn climbed back onto the stretcher.

Quinn looked down the rows of familiar faces. Many of them were missing. Some of those missing faces he had hardly known at all, for they had belonged to new recruits he had not yet become acquainted with. Others, like Private Johnny Firth, were old friends. He would miss them.

"You've already done that, Lieutenant," he said in response to Browning's remark. The expression of gratitude and respect that came to the young officer's face made his eyes burn and his throat close up. "Take care, Lieutenant. I'll see you in a few weeks."

"Yes sir!"

"Carry on, Lieutenant," he said, then looked up at the two sturdy young men who were carrying the stretcher. "Let's go, gentlemen. I have an appointment in Fort Lincoln. I don't want to be late."

***

It was almost eleven o'clock p.m. on July 5th when Lucky heard the steamer's whistle as it docked in Bismarck. That sound was the loneliest she had ever heard and it filled her heart and soul with dread. She knew that come morning, good news or bad, she and the other women at Fort Lincoln would learn the truth about the fates of the men they loved. Rumors of all sorts had run rampant throughout the post and the premonition of impending doom had made the past ten days all but unbearable. She had not slept, nor eaten for most of that time, but had spent her time with the other women as though being together would somehow make it all easier to bear.

She wasn't sure if that was true. She was so tired and frightened that she didn't believe anything would make the news that Quinn was dead any easier. During the day she had gone through the motions of running the sutler store and caring for John David and somehow had gotten through the endless hours. But at night when the post settled down and everything was quiet, she had only her fear for company. Looking out of her bedroom window, she could see some of the other women gathering as they heard the steamer's whistle. A few minutes later she heard a knock at her door and opened it to find Mollie, Annie Yates, and Mrs. Smith. She invited them in, put on a pot of tea, and they settled down together to wait for morning.

***

That night was the longest in Lucky's memory. None of the women gathered with her had slept a wink, nor had they talked much during the night. They sat like sphinxes, silent and thoughtful, waiting for dawn, each dealing with her own set of demons.

Now as the morning sun rose, she gathered up the baby, dressed him, fed him, and made coffee for her friends. Then they went out onto the front porch to wait.

News was not long in coming. The sun had not risen very high when they saw Captain McCaskey, the acting post commander, whose infantry company had been left in defense of the fort during the summer campaign, his junior officer Lieutenant Gurley, and the post surgeon, Dr. Middleton enter the post and go directly to Libby Custer's home where she and Margaret Calhoun waited.

Twenty minutes passed and then Lucky's heart began to pound so hard she could hardly breathe when the three officers, accompanied by Libby, left the house and approached the store where she stood, paralyzed with fear. One look at Libby Custer's ashen face told her the news was bad.

"Ladies, it's my sad duty to inform you that on June 25th five companies of the 7th Cavalry, along with General Custer and his staff, were wiped out in a battle with the Sioux on a river called The Little Bighorn," Captain McCaskey said as he stood at the edge of the porch with his hat in his hand.

"Which companies?" Lucky heard herself ask in a voice that was hardly recognizable.

"Companies C, E, F, I, and L. No one survived."

Mollie gasped and leaned against the porch column for support. Annie Yates, who had three small children, began to weep softly, and Mrs. Smith sank to the floor in wide-eyed disbelief.

The forces remaining at the post had begun to gather to hear the news. Whispers became shrieks of grief as the captain called out the companies that had been killed. Women and children became hysterical with the news and Dr. Middleton had his hands full trying to take care of them.

"What about the other companies?" Lucky asked in that same weak, frightened voice.

"There were heavy casualties," Captain McCaskey answered. "Several officers were killed, including Lieutenant Hodgson and Lieutenant Sturgis. Also Dr. Lord, Dr. DeWolf, and Dr. Sharrow. The steamer Far West, has brought in the wounded. They'll be brought to the post hospital shortly. I'm very sorry, ladies. I wish the news was better."

He stood at attention, then moved back into the crowd of shocked, grief stricken women. Lucky finally came to her senses and bolted off the porch, following him into the crowd.

"Captain, please…."

He halted and turned to her, his face grave and as bloodless as she knew her own must be.

"Captain, what about ‘A’ Company? Do you know anything about it?"

"‘A’ Company was with Major Reno in the valley, Mrs. Warner. They apparently attacked the Sioux village with less than a hundred and fifty men. Estimates of the Indian force put them at two thousand warriors. Fighting was fierce and casualties were very high. Major Reno lost half of his troops."

Lucky's heart was pounding so hard she began to fear it might burst through her chest. "Captain Malone?" she whispered in a voice so weak she wasn't sure if he could hear her.

"Wounded, ma'am. He came in on the steamer." McCaskey paused and pointed toward the front entrance of the fort where the ambulances were beginning to appear. "Looks like they're beginning to get here with the wounded. He'll be in one of those ambulances."

Lucky barely took time to thank him as she whirled about and began running toward the line of ambulances. John David fretted and fussed at being squeezed so hard, but she held on to him tightly and kept running.

"Captain Malone?" she asked the driver of the first vehicle.

"Back there, ma'am. Third or fourth in line, I think."

She hurried on, asking each driver until the fifth one nodded. She fell into step beside the ambulance, thanking God that Quinn was alive and praying that his injuries were not life threatening. She followed the vehicle through the post to the hospital, filled with sorrow at the grief and despair she saw among the other women and overjoyed that the man she loved had been spared. Many of them fell into step with her, waiting for word of their own husbands who were among the wounded.

The short ride from the fort entrance to the hospital seemed to take forever. When troopers began taking the wounded men from the conveyances on stretchers, she held her breath, then burst into tears at the first sight of him.

"Quinn, oh my God! Quinn!"

He was very pale and obviously weak, but he opened his eyes and a slow grin came to his face when he saw her and the baby. She shifted John David to one hip so she could take his hand as she followed the stretcher into the hospital.

"How bad is it?" she asked, eyeing the bloody bandage around his right thigh.

"It's not bad, Lucky. Don't worry. I got hit with an arrow. It went all the way through. I'm very lucky. It didn't hit a bone or do any permanent damage. It's just bloody and hurts like hell."

"Are you sure? You're going to be all right, aren't you?"

"I'm going to be fine. You'll see."

"Ma'am, you'll have to wait out here," a young orderly told her as the troopers carried Quinn into the hospital ward. "We'll let you know when you can visit him."

They closed the door in her face, but she was crying so hard she didn’t really see it. "He's alive, John David! He's alive and he's going to be all right! Thank you, Jesus! Thank you for bringing him home to me!"

She leaned against the wall, suddenly so weak she didn't think her legs would hold her up a moment longer. The enormity of the situation was sinking in. Ten days of worry and ten nights of little sleep were taking a toll on her nerves and her emotions. She was suddenly exhausted. Then the baby began to fuss and she realized he was wet and hungry. Such mundane tasks became a blessing now.

***

A week later Lucky sat with Quinn in the hospital ward. His color was much better and his strength was returning daily. When he began complaining about the food and the boredom, she knew he was well on his way to recovery.

They talked about many things during those long days. Often she brought John David to visit and the bond she saw forming between the man she loved and her son warmed her soul. If she had any doubts that Quinn could accept Peter Warner's child and raise him as his own, they were quickly put to rest.

They talked about Peter's scheme to kill Quinn and how it ultimately resulted in his own death. At least now they understood Raven's strange parting remarks that day in the village when he spoke of an unseen enemy.

Her own guilt at Peter's actions would be a long time leaving her, but Quinn helped her to realize that it was Peter alone who had made the decisions that had resulted in his destruction. She would come to accept that in time and forgive herself for her initial deception.

He told her about Johnny Firth's death and the sacrifice he'd made and held her while she cried for her friend. "Just before they took me to the steamer, Lucky, Lieutenant Browning gave me this. He said it was in Private Firth's pocket when he was killed. Do you know anything about it?" he asked as he held out the medal.

Lucky took it and looked closely at it. It was the one Johnny had dropped that morning in her store and it brought fresh tears to her eyes. "It's one of yours. He borrowed it, Quinn. He carried it everywhere."

"Why?"

Lucky shrugged and smiled slightly. "He admired you very much. I think he wanted to be like you. Maybe he thought by carrying your medal some of your courage would rub off onto him."

"He didn't need my courage, Lucky. He saved my life out there. He threw himself between me and Raven's lance without a second thought. It was the most noble thing I've ever seen. I'm putting him in for a Medal of Honor."

"He'd like that," she murmured as she handed him back the medal and smoothed his hair with her other hand. She swallowed back tears and remembered her promise. Johnny Firth's secret had gone to the grave with him. "I understand General Terry has a few recommendations to make himself."

"That's what these papers say." Quinn picked up a sheaf of papers from the bed and handed them to her to peruse. "He's offered me a promotion."

"A big promotion…ranking major of the 7th Cavalry."

"What do you think about that?"

"I think it's long overdue."

Quinn took her hand and kissed the back of it. He shifted his body in the bed and winced at the pain in his thigh when he did so. "That's not what I meant. We talked once about me leaving the Army when my enlistment is up. That's going to be soon. Three months, in fact. This promotion would mean staying in for at least another five years. How do you feel about that?"

Lucky studied his thoughtful features. With his strength returning, his eyes were losing the haunted expression they'd had when he first came back to the fort. She felt sure that part of the reason for that was the fact that he had survived a catastrophe that had cost three hundred other men their lives.

She leaned over and kissed him tenderly on the mouth, then nipped lightly at his upper lip. When she pulled back and looked into his eyes, she saw the familiar heat rising in those extraordinary royal blue depths that never failed to stir her deepest passions.

"I'll hate it. I'll worry myself sick every time you leave the post and pray until I make God crazy that you'll come home safely."

She paused to place his hand against her cheek while she met his direct, unblinking gaze. "But I've learned something, Quinn, through all this."

"And that would be?"

She smiled, then kissed his hand. "That you're a soldier. It's not just what you do, it's who you are. You're not just any soldier, but an extraordinary one. You're the reason so many of your troops lived through the valley fight and the siege on Reno Hill.

"It's because you care about your men. You're a strong leader and the Army needs strong leaders. You inspire courage and integrity and honor." She paused and wrinkled her nose at the word. "Yes, Captain, I said honor. That dreaded word that I've only recently come to understand. So, yes, I'll hate it when you have to leave us to chase Indians, but I'll learn to live with it. After what we've just been through, I think I can live through anything as long as we have each other."

Quinn pushed himself up higher on the pillows and pulled her off the chair into his arms. "Have I told you recently, Lucky Lucinda Douglas, how much I love you?"

"Yes, but that's okay. Tell me again."

"Another thing, no more Ruby Nell. From now on it's Lucky. Agreed?"

She nodded happily as she settled into his embrace. "Agreed. It will be wonderful to have my own name back."

He kissed her long and hard and then held her away from him so he would look into her eyes. "Will you marry me and really make me the luckiest man in the world?"

Lucky slipped her arms around his neck and melded herself into his embrace. She kissed him deeply, passionately, then settled into his arms with a contented sigh.

"Gee, Captain Malone, I thought you'd never ask."

THE END