Seth was still staring at her, and the least she could hope was that the muted light of the room was too dark for him to notice the way her cheeks blazed.

The fluttering in her stomach had her trying to re-route her thoughts. Rosemary was married to this man. He just wasn’t the father of her child. It was truly a jumbled mess—and now, unfortunately, Millie was right dab in the midst of it. She was here for the child’s sake, and would do whatever it took to keep Seth from learning about the baby.

He shifted his stance, leaning farther back, and the smirk grew to resemble more of a smile as Seth looked her up and down again. It was unnerving, yet she couldn’t think of a thing to say that might make him stop, nor slow the outrageous flutters inside her.

“Matter of fact,” he finally said slowly, thoughtfully, “I want to know the truth right now.”

She gulped—a nervous reaction she couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to. The flurry in her stomach turned into a heavy glob. “Oh …?”

“Yes, Millie.”

Every muscle in her body froze.

“Why are you here? Instead of Rosemary. My wife. Your sister.”

AUTHOR NOTE

Other countries have had their wild, rowdy or scandalous times, but only America can lay claim to the ‘Old West’—the vast, unclaimed land west of the Mississippi that held promises of change, beauty, wonder and riches. The American Frontier lured people westwards in droves, and I for one never tire of reading and writing about those brave, wonderful souls.

This time I bring you to the Oklahoma Territory, once known as the roughest place in the nation.

Major Seth Parker believes there is no place for women at Fort Sill. Besides Indian uprisings there are whisky pedlars, Mexican traders, desperados, horse thieves, cattle rustlers, prostitutes, and men just bent on killing. But Millie St Clair has no choice.

I had a wonderful time putting Seth and Millie's story on paper, and it is my sincere hope that you will enjoy their journey to finding happy-ever-after in the wilds of Indian Territory.

Cheers!

The Major’s Wife

Lauri Robinson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LAURI ROBINSON’s chosen genre to write is Western historical romance. When asked why, she says, ‘Because I know I wasn’t the only girl who wanted to grow up and marry Little Joe Cartwright.’

With a degree in early childhood education, Lauri has spent decades working in the non-profit field and claims once-upon-a-time and happily-ever-after romance novels have always been a form of stress relief. When her husband suggested she write one she took the challenge, and has loved every minute of the journey.

Lauri lives in rural Minnesota, where she and her husband spend every spare moment with their three grown sons and four grandchildren. She works part-time, volunteers for several organisations, and is a diehard Elvis and NASCAR fan. Her favourite getaway location is the woods of northern Minnesota, on the land homesteaded by her great-grandfather.

Previous titles by Lauri Robinson:

HIS CHRISTMAS WISH

(part of All a Cowboy Wants for Christmas) UNCLAIMED BRIDE INHERITING A BRIDE THE COWBOY WHO CAUGHT HER EYE CHRISTMAS WITH HER COWBOY (part of Christmas Cowboy Kisses)

Also available in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:

WEDDING NIGHT WITH THE RANGER

HER MIDNIGHT COWBOY

NIGHTS WITH THE OUTLAW

DISOBEYING THE MARSHAL

TESTING THE LAWMAN’S HONOUR

THE SHERIFF’S LAST GAMBLE

WHAT A COWBOY WANTS

HIS WILD WEST WIFE

DANCE WITH THE RANCHER

RESCUED BY THE RANGER

SNOWBOUND WITH THE SHERIFF

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my wonderful nephew Kris and his beautiful wife Vikki, who so graciously assisted in researching Fort Sill. All my love, and hugs and kisses to Evan and Bear! Aunt Lauri

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

1878 Oklahoma Indian Territory

Naked?

A bout of tremors attacked her knees and Millie St. Clair grasped the handrail of the train that had jostled her for miles on end. Swallowing hard and blinking, she hoped the scene before her might change.

It didn’t.

They were naked.

Leastwise from the waist up—a sight she’d never seen before—yet they milled around the railway platform as freely as others who were fully clothed.

“Ma’am?”

“Good heavens,” she muttered.

The porter took her arm. “Ma’am. Step down, please. There are other passengers behind you.”

“Oh, yes, of course, forgive me,” Millie stammered. It took considerable effort to unlock her knees and lower her feet to the metal steps and then onto the wooden platform, for all that skin was shocking. It couldn’t help but hold her attention. Fortunately, the porter, with a solid grip on her elbow, aided her the entire way.

He’d been a kind man, offering smiles and asking about her comfort several times since she’d boarded the Missouri-Kansas-Texas rail line back in Missouri. His elderly face, complete with bushy gray brows and deep wrinkles that reminded her of a garden gnome, held compassion now as he pointed toward a small building at the edge of the wide wooden platform. “Your baggage will be placed along that wall.”

A goose egg formed in Millie’s throat as her gaze once again snagged on the shirtless men mingling in the crowd. This was known as Indian Territory, so encountering some was expected, but she’d had no idea they walked around half-dressed. In public no less.

“Is there someone to meet you?” the porter asked, tugging her farther out of the way.

“Y-yes, yes, my br—husband was to send someone,” she managed to say. Husband. No matter how odd it was, she had to remember to refer to Seth Parker as her husband, not her brother-in-law, as he truly was. One slip of her tongue would send her back to Virginia, and that couldn’t happen. Leastwise not before she settled things. For years she’d dogged Rosemary’s footsteps, righting wrongs and cleaning up after her older sister, but this was by far the most imperative. Perhaps the one that would convince her sister that life was worth living.

Willing her nerves, and the familiar sorrow sitting heavy in her heart, under control, Millie did her best to pull up a smile for the porter, as well as tug her gaze off all the dark-shaded skin of the bare-chested Indians. “My husband’s sending someone from Fort Sill to pick me up.”

“Fort Sill?” The bobbing of the porter’s Adam’s apple above his smartly buttoned-up collar sent a shiver all the way to her toes.

“Yes.” The air was so hot and dry her lips cracked as soon as she wet them, and a chill settled around her spine. “Fort Sill,” she repeated. Her home for the next three months. A mere snippet of time, considering it would save a child from becoming motherless. That’s what had kept her putting one foot in front of the other since this trip had started.

“Rosemary’s just like your mother was,” Papa had always said, which was a fear Millie had lived with for as long as she could remember.

She didn’t have a single memory of the woman who’d given birth to her. Other than a few stories others had shared, her mother was nothing but a name. One that filled Millie with sadness, and only intensified when she thought of her sister following in their mother’s footsteps.

The porter had disappeared among uniformed men, women dressed in everything from common calicos to eastern gowns as stylish as those in Millie’s trunks, and of course, the Indians with little more than tight-fitting britches and soft-soled, knee-high moccasins. Some, she noted, now that she could see beyond the bronze-colored skin that had been so shocking, had on army jackets and pants, but even they had very long hair and feathers in their hats, as well as ornate necklaces hanging around their necks.

A weary pressure settled inside her chest. Seth Parker might not have sent someone to escort her. There was no way to know if he’d received the message of her impending arrival. It had been sent; she’d seen to that herself, five days ago, before boarding the first of several trains with so many separate railroad names she’d long ago lost track.

Someone jostled her elbow, almost pivoting her in a circle.

“Excuse me,” a man muttered, rushing past.

She nodded, but he was gone, one among many bustling about. The noisy surroundings, as well as the town—from what she could see of it—did suggest things were somewhat civilized in Indian Territory, which provided a bit of a comfort. She’d harbored considerable fears about residing at the fort, bearing in mind she’d never left Richmond before this trip.

Setting her traveling valise on the ground, Millie pulled down the hem of her waist-length jacket. The coal smoke and dust from the trains had turned the pale green traveling suit grayish, and her hair was so stiff she didn’t dare remove a comb for fear every last strand would break off. But in a few miles, her travels would be over.

Then the real work would begin.

Work indeed. Pretending to be her sister would be the most challenging thing she’d ever done. Not in looks—people had been confusing the two of them forever, and she had cut her hair. It no longer hung to her waist in the simple braid she’d favored for years. For this journey she’d had to twist it around the hot prongs of a curling iron, then pin it up in a fashionable way. Rosemary had shown her how, though Millie still didn’t have the knack her sister did. Maybe because it was a frivolous waste of time. Rosemary had changed her hairstyle so many times over the past years Millie sincerely doubted her sister remembered how she’d worn it when marrying Seth. Besides, Millie had larger worries. Such as hoping she’d recall what Seth Parker looked like. It had been five years, and she’d seen him only once. Mistaking someone else for her so-called husband could prove disastrous.

Yes, when played against everything else, her hair was truly the least of her concerns. Picking up her satchel, Millie moved forward, elbowing her way to the little building with a sign proclaiming Tulsa in faded red letters.

Two of her trunks sat there. She set her traveling bag on one and stretched up on her toes, attempting to peer over or around heads sporting every type of hat imaginable for a glimpse of her additional luggage—or rather, Rosemary’s.

The high-pitched screech of the train whistle and the shout “All aboard” echoing over the crowd had her searching harder.

People rushed by, bounding up the metal steps, and steam started hissing from beneath the locomotive. Surely the train wouldn’t leave before all her belongings were unloaded. The distance between most of the previous stops had been lengthy; even when she wasn’t switching trains there’d been time to walk about, stretch her legs.

Bubbles of anxiety filled her stomach and Millie scrambled on top of one trunk. Using a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, she scanned for a round bald head ringed with gray hair. Sighing in relief at the sight of the porter dragging a trunk behind him, she climbed down. The crowd diminished a bit, leaving more room for the man and his assistant to deposit her other trunks next to her.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly. “I was getting worried.”

The porter, wiping at the beads of sweat running down the sides of his face, eyed her quizzically. “Ma’am,” he said, “you do realize how far away Fort Sill is, don’t you?”

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, the train agent in Richmond—Virginia, that would be—informed me I’d have to take a wagon the last few miles.” Patting the varnished trunk he’d set down, she continued, “That’s why I was getting worried when I didn’t see this trunk. I’ll need a parasol out of it.”

“A parasol?” The porter shook his head. “It’s pert’ near two hundred miles to Fort Sill from Tulsa, ma’am.”

“Surely not t-two hundred.”

He nodded.

Stunned, she sank onto one of the trunks behind her. Air refused to catch in her lungs despite several tries. Once able to speak, Millie asked, “Surely there’s another train—”

“No.” The porter paused momentarily as the locomotive whistle sounded again. “Trains from here head straight west and straight south. Nothing goes through the center. That’s the heart of Indian Territory.”

* * *

Stretched out in bed, with nothing but a sheet covering his lower body, Seth Parker watched the sun crest the pointed tops of the stockade walls out the window of his loft bedroom. Tension had ahold of his spine like a snapping turtle latched on to a stick. Had for the past ten days. Ever since he’d dispatched a wagon to pick up his wife.

As the sun inched higher, disgust, dread, anger and a plethora of other things boiled together inside him, leaving a taste in his mouth so bad no amount of rinsing would help.

Today was the day. It could have been yesterday, so he should at least find gratitude in having had one more day of peace in his life. But yesterday was over, and that meant she’d arrive today.

Unless, of course, she’d changed her mind. That possibility would suit him just fine. It would mean he’d sent two men and a wagon to Tulsa for no reason.

Shaking his head, Seth stared at the beamed ceiling. Cutter and Wilson were good men, but they’d probably never forgive him for hauling Rosemary St. Clair—or Parker, if she was using his name—across Indian Territory. Five days of her attitude...

What did she want? They hadn’t seen each other for five years. Their so-called marriage had been a sham from the start. His ire hadn’t lessened in the years since she’d crawled into his bed and lied about what had happened the next morning, and it grew now as he lay here remembering it.

The conniving little wench. He’d been so exhausted a herd of buffalo could have stampeded through the room and he wouldn’t have awakened that night. Since then, though, he slept with one eye open.

Lesson learned.

Throwing back the covers, Seth swung his legs over the edge of the bed. What could she possibly hope to gain by coming out here? Why hadn’t she just signed the divorce papers and put an end to this misery? He’d sent her five sets. One a year. Every time an army lawyer visited the post, he filed another petition, and not once had she sent them back—signed or unsigned.

He pushed off the bed and crossed the room, lifting his clothes from the chair and pulling them on with all the joy of a man heading to the gallows.

Marriage was the last thing he’d ever wanted, and he wanted this one dissolved. Had since the day it had happened.

She should, too. Her father, General St. Clair—a man Seth had held in high esteem—had passed away four years ago, so she had no reason to continue the pretense.

Dressed, Seth made his way to the ladder and climbed down the rungs. She wasn’t going to like the living quarters, that was for sure. Besides the simple accommodations, a rough-hewn three-room cabin with a loft, there was the desolation of the fort, the weather, the landscape. None of it was going to be to Rosemary’s liking. She’d lived in the general’s posh Richmond home her entire life.

“Morning, Major,” Corporal Russ Kemper said, carrying two cups of coffee through the open doorway.

“Morning.” Seth took a cup and went to lean against the doorjamb as the rising sun erased the darkness of the cabin. His office had a window, but neither this room—the kitchen, dining room and parlor all rolled into one—nor the bedroom behind it did.

The living quarters, or barracks, as the army called them, were two rows of cabins facing each other, with the large open courtyard of the fort between them. As a major, the man in charge, Seth was assigned officers’ quarters, one of the four houses flanking the fort’s headquarters building, and was entitled to move in there, especially now that his wife would be living with him. But hell would freeze over first. If Rosemary wanted to live here so bad, she’d have to do it right here, in this little cabin, with Russ Kemper snoring the roof off every night.

A shiver zipped up Seth’s back, so sharply he stiffened, and he had to step onto the covered wooden walkway running the length of the row of cabins to shake it off.

Russ slept in one bed, him in the other. Where would Rosemary sleep?

A smile formed, the first one he’d felt in days. The first one he’d felt since getting the telegram telling him to pick her up in Tulsa.

She’d have to figure out her own sleeping arrangements. His house was full.

Seth finished his coffee and walked back into the cabin. “Ready for some breakfast?”

A young man, barely eighteen, with big eyes and long legs, Russ nodded. “Always.”

Together they angled across the courtyard to a building along the back where all the single men ate. Which was most of the forty-five men at the fort. Only four had wives, not counting Seth, of course. Six more had Comanche wives, but they lived outside the compound. The only Indians allowed to reside inside the fort on a regular basis were the four Comanche maidens who assisted the cook, Briggs Ryan. That was four more than army rules allowed, but Seth liked to keep his men happy, and hungry men weren’t happy. And Briggs, a six-and-a-half-foot-tall Swede with hands that could wrap around a cannonball as if it was a marble, wasn’t happy without his maidens.

After breakfast, a hearty meal that sat in Seth’s stomach like lead with all the commotion going on inside him, he ordered the M troop to mount up for drills. It would suit him just fine to be gone when Rosemary arrived. It’d suit him fine to be gone the entire time she was here.

That wasn’t his luck. He’d barely arrived back at the fort, having spent three hours in the hot September sun—which in Indian Territory was as hot as the August sun most days—when the sentry in the guardhouse signaled a wagon was approaching.

With his jaw locked and his temples pounding, Seth turned his mount over to Russ, and after splashing water on his face, planted his hat on his head and made his way to his cabin. Meeting her in his office would be the best thing for everyone.

It was there, at his desk, that he got the first glimpse of her. Frowning, for it was a perplexing sight, he pushed his chair back and stood to get a better look out the window. Mirth was a good feeling, and when it bubbled up the back of his throat, he let it out. This he had to see in person.

Leaning in the open doorway, shadowed by the overhang, Seth watched the wagon roll to a stop several yards away. A chuckle still tickled his throat, and he covered it with a cough as people started gathering, catching their first glimpses of his wife.

She was holding a once-fancy umbrella the wind had reduced into a misshapen frame of sticks waving several haphazard miniature flags, and her hair was bushed out as if a porcupine sat on her head. The skirt flapping around her ankles sent up puffs of dust as she climbed down, aided by Ben Cutter, who gestured toward the cabins. Throwing her shoulders back, she started walking across the hard-packed ground.

Seth was biting the inside of his cheek, for she certainly looked the worse for wear, but then a frown formed, tugging hard on his brows. He didn’t remember her having a limp. Then again, they hadn’t spent more than a couple hours together, and most of that time had been used up with her father convincing Seth to say I do.

* * *

Millie’s backside was numb and her legs were stiff, to the point every step had her wondering if she’d become a walking pincushion. But head up, she started directly toward the man she knew to be Seth Parker.

He was the one smiling.

No, not smiling...smirking.

Holding in a great bout of laughter, she’d bet.

At her expense.

Frazzled, tired, weather-beaten and sore, she marched onward. Well, limped. The heel had broken off her boot back in Tulsa. Five days ago. On the other side of the world. For the first time in her life she felt as ornery as Rosemary.

A gust of wind caught her parasol, and this time Millie let it go. There was nothing left of it, anyway. People were gathering around, but she couldn’t care less. She needed a bath, a cup of tea and a bed. In that order.

Never in all her born days could she have imagined what it was like traveling in a buckboard wagon with no canopy, across land that was little more than a desert, with two men who ate beans for every meal.

Beans.

Beans with no ginger. Everyone knew ginger helped eliminate human gases produced when people ate a lot of beans.

She hobbled onto the boardwalk, and without a pause in the clip-thud of her uneven footwear, she pointed toward the door behind her supposed husband. “Is that our house?”

“Yes.”

The grin he held back made her jaw sting as her teeth clenched. She ignored it, and him, and crossed the threshold.

A rusted, mini parlor stove, a crude table with two chairs, a tall cupboard, two doors and a ladder leading to an open area overhead... The open door on the right showed a desk, so she went left.

“That’s Russ’s room.”

The stabbing sensation between her shoulder blades stopped her movements. With only one heel, standing straight was impossible, so, as crooked as a scrub oak, she spun around. “Who is Russ?”

“Corporal Kemper,” Seth said. “My assistant.”

“He lives with us?”

“No, he lives with me.”

Millie pulled in air through her nose until her lungs were full all the way to her chin, but it didn’t help. Rosemary would have an opinion on that, but Millie really didn’t. Letting the air out, she asked, “Where will I live?”

Seth shrugged.

Her last nerve was gone, and she really didn’t know what to do about it. Not that there was a whole lot she could do. Between the train and wagon rides, her well of self-encouragement had gone dry. Finding the fortitude to pretend to be Rosemary was impossible. Yet she was here, had arrived and needed to regain her composure to make it through the next three months. Taking another breath seemed to be her only option. So she did that. Long and deep.

Mr. Cutter and Mr. Winston chose that moment to appear at the door with two of her trunks. Both men had done all they could to make the unpardonable journey across the most desolate land in the nation as comfortable as possible—despite their predictable but unfortunate reactions to the beans.

“Where do you want these, Major?” Mr. Cutter asked.

Seth moved away from the door, stepping into the room, which made the tiny space ten times smaller. She didn’t budge. She remained standing next to the little stove, which emitted a scent of creosote. Her nostrils would never be the same. They seemed to thrive on obnoxious smells now.

“Just set them down anywhere,” Seth instructed, never taking his eyes off her. With a wave of one arm, he said, “I’d like to see you in my office.”

“No,” she answered, returning a gaze just as bold as his. The clump of hair hanging over her right eye probably took some of the sting out of her glare, but she kept her chin up, mentally telling her hand not to tuck the hair behind her ear.

“No?” His expression suggested he rarely heard the word.

She didn’t have a chance to respond before someone said, “I’ll get my things.”

A young man with the longest legs she’d ever seen set her traveling bag on the table and then sidestepped around her toward the room with the closed door. Two other men set down her additional trunks and ducked out the front, while clanging and banging erupted behind her.

“Russ, your corporal, I assume?”

Seth nodded.

Had his eyes always been that blue, that piercing? Perhaps. She’d seen him only once. The day he’d married Rosemary. A few minutes ago Millie did recall his hair had been so black it looked blue, but he appeared taller than he had years ago, broader across the shoulders, and more unapproachable than her feeble memories recalled. Maybe it was the blue uniform. The tailoring of the outfits could do that to men.

The gangly corporal nodded as he scurried past her with his arms full. “I’ll bring over some clean bed linens.”

“Later,” Seth responded curtly.

The man shot out of the cabin, and Seth shut the door behind him. The sound, as well as the darkness—for only a small amount of light filtered into the room from the open office door and alcove above—had Millie holding her breath. She’d best get used to it...being alone with him. Three months was a long time.

Once again he pointed toward the office.

Emptying her lungs with an audible sigh, specifically for him to hear, she held her ground. “I need a bath, I need a cup of tea and I need a bed. In that order. Then I’ll meet with you in your office.”

Saying it aloud increased her longing. There was such an indecent amount of dirt in her hair that her scalp itched, her entire body felt sand-pitted and crusty, and her traveling suit was no longer either pale green or gray. It was now a pitiful shade of orange. The entire territory was made up of red-hued dirt that clung to everything. But it was the bed she wanted most. Just a few quiet moments, without wheels turning beneath her, to gather the energy to become her sister.

Seth leaned a hip against the table. “There’s a community bathhouse at the end of the barracks. I don’t have any tea, and I guess Russ just gave you his bed, but I’d advise you to change the sheets. I don’t how long it’s been since he did.”

A smirk still sat on his face, and it increased his genuine handsomeness, so much that she wondered if Rosemary remembered what he looked like, for looks meant a lot to her sister. Then again, perhaps Rosemary did. He was the one, after all, demanding the divorce. A weight settled on Millie’s shoulders. It was her job to make sure it didn’t happen for three months—until Rosemary delivered her baby.

Holding in the sigh welling in her chest, Millie concluded that, whether she was ready or not, it was time to start acting.

“Seth,” she said. A wife should call her husband by his given name, yet it felt very strange. “I understand you’re curious about my arrival, but I’ve been traveling for almost two weeks, and I’m more than exhausted.”

He folded his arms, and the way his eyes traveled from her broken boot to her itching scalp made her need for a bath and clean clothes intensify.

“Curious?” he asked with a hint of cynicism.

She nodded.

“Oh, I am curious,” he said, with a direct stare. “Even more now that you’ve arrived.”

The way he said “you’ve” sent a tingle coiling around her spine. Rosemary had said they’d never been together, as in man and wife, so that was not something Millie needed to worry about, but that’s what settled in her mind. Men grew amorous when they were alone for long lengths of time. Women, too, or so her friend Martin said. Not that she’d actually understood exactly what he’d meant.

Seth was still staring at her, and the least she could hope was the muted light of the room made it too dark for him to notice the way her cheeks blazed. Of all the things to think about, Martin’s explanation should not be one of them. The fluttering in her stomach had her trying to reroute her thoughts. Rosemary was married to this man. He just wasn’t the father of her child. It was truly a jumbled mess—which now, unfortunately, Millie was right in the midst of.

She was here for the child’s sake, would do whatever it took to keep Seth from learning about the baby. Once things were settled—back home, that is—she might travel to Texas. Martin was there, and after this escapade—pretending to be married to a man she wasn’t—she’d need her best friend. Her only friend. Few others would forgive such a scandal. But a life—no, two lives—were worth more than her reputation. Especially the life of an innocent child.

Seth shifted his stance, leaning farther back, and the smirk grew to resemble more of a smile as he looked her up and down again. It was unnerving, yet she couldn’t think of a thing to say that might make him stop, nor slow the outrageous fluttering inside her.

“Matter of fact,” he finally said, slowly, thoughtfully, “I’m so curious I want to know the truth right now.”

She gulped, a nervous reaction she couldn’t have stopped if she wanted to. The flurry in her stomach turned into a heavy glob. “Oh?”

“Yes, Millie.”

Every muscle in her body froze.

“Why are you here? Instead of Rosemary. My wife. Your sister.”

Chapter Two

“I...I...I—” This couldn’t happen. Closing her eyes for a moment, Millie imaged how her sister would react to the accusation. It appeared instantly, for Rosemary never accepted fault. Huffing out a breath, she sent across the room a bitter glare akin to ones she’d witnessed on several occasions. “Millie?”

“Yes, Millie,” Seth repeated. The ire zipping beneath his skin was mixed with a goodly portion of mirth. She was a sight, not just her travel-worn outfit and windblown hair, but her beet-red cheeks and eyes as big and round and startled as a doe’s at the end of a gun barrel.

“I’m not Millie,” she insisted. “Goodness, Seth, I’d have thought you’d remember your own wife.”

“I do. And you’re not her.” There wasn’t anything he could put a finger on, for he didn’t know the sister any better than he knew his wife. But this woman was not Rosemary, therefore she had to be Millicent, the younger sister. Why—the foremost question that had been bouncing around in his head for over a week—intensified.

“Seth,” she said, pressing both hands to the base of her throat. “I realize it’s been five years, and I understand how easy it is to question my youthfulness. Yes, Millie is younger than me, but please...” Her sigh was accompanied with a steady batting of her eyelashes. “She’s shorter than me, somewhat chunkier and not as attractive—her eyes are too close together. People have said that for years. Since the day she was born, actually.” Patting the hair sticking out in all directions, his visitor continued, “Now, I know I must not look myself right now, but once I’ve had a bath, you’ll see it’s me, Rosemary.”

Now, that sounded like Rosemary. Matter of fact, those were almost the exact words she’d said the first time they’d met. General St. Clair had just introduced them, and commented that the youngest sister wasn’t home, but the two were practically identical. Rosemary had piped in then, stating that she was much more attractive than her sister. Seth recalled it so clearly because at the time, he’d thought her the snootiest girl he’d ever met. The next morning he’d decided she was a lot more than snooty. Downright mean and nasty was more like it.

Maybe she had changed. The Rosemary that had climbed into his bed back in Virginia, the same one that insisted he’d taken advantage of her, and convinced the general her reputation was ruined, would not have been as calm and patient as the woman standing before him. The girl from that night would have been screeching and stating a list of demands before she got off the wagon. Actually, she’d never have gotten on the wagon.

Frustration gurgled in his stomach. The two girls looked enough alike to be twins, he remembered that, and Rosemary was older by three or four years, if he recalled correctly. She’d be twenty-four now. He shoved away from the table. Why was he concerned with any of it? All he wanted was a signed divorce decree.

A knock sounded and the door opened before he responded. That wasn’t unusual; his men knew he was always at their disposal.

“Excuse me, Major,” Ben Cutter said, barely glancing his way. “Ma’am, the bathing house is ready. I saw to it myself.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Cutter. Your kindness is never-ending.”

Seth’s back teeth clamped together and had his jaw stinging. Not just at her fawning, but at how Cutter was looking at her. One would have thought the man was gazing at an angel. Seth, of course, knew differently.

“If you tell me what you need, ma’am,” Cutter said, “I’ll carry it down there for you.”

An uneven click and thud echoed against the rough-hewn walls as she walked across the room toward the table.

“Her heel broke off in Tulsa,” Ben said directly to him. “It got caught in a knothole on the train platform. Ralph fixed it, but it broke off again yesterday.”

Seth didn’t need an explanation; it made little difference. Yet because in most instances he did expect full reports from his men, he nodded to Cutter before he asked her, “Don’t you have another pair of boots or shoes?”

The sideways glance she sent his way was full of intolerance. “Do you honestly think I’d be wearing these if I had another pair?”

That, too, sounded like Rosemary.

She lifted the tapestry bag Russ had set on the table. “I have day slippers I can wear now, but they wouldn’t have held up while traveling.” Turning to Ben, she smiled. “I packed everything I’ll need in here last night, after you and Mr. Winston explained the layout of the fort.”

“Here, then, ma’am, I’ll carry that for you,” Ben replied, taking the bag and holding the door wide with his other hand.

“Thank you.” Chin up, she marched—with her awkward high-low steps—out the door, without a single backward glance.

Seth was just fine with that. Though he did follow as far as the opening. A crowd had formed, which was to be expected. The fort was close-knit, more so than some families, and there were a few men who’d probably been standing right outside the door, attempting to hear every word. They were off to the sides now, watching curiously. Only a select number of people had known he was married, but once the telegram came in, announcing her arrival, word had spread fast. A twinge pulled at his forehead. He’d have to tell his mother now, and better send the letter soon. If someone else mentioned it, she’d never forgive him.

“Major, sir,” Ralph Winston said, clicking his heels together as he stopped next to the open doorway. “Did Ben explain your wife wasn’t hurt, other than a broken heel, when she fell? I did fix her boot, but without the proper tools, it broke again.”

Seth was grinding his teeth again; he had to pull them apart to answer. “Yes, he did.”

“She was attempting to help us load her luggage, sir. We told her it wasn’t necessary. Half the town thought it was a gunshot, the way the sound echoed beneath the platform.” Winston wiped his brow and replaced his hat. “My heart danged near stopped working, seeing her sprawled out on the ground.”

Seth was a touched surprised by the concern that raced over him—and irritated. One more person to be concerned about. Responsible for. Army men were one thing. Women and children another—and something he never wanted to have to worry about again.

The giggle that sounded a short distance down the walkway snagged his attention, but through will alone, he kept his gaze from turning that way. He was about to dismiss Winston when the man continued.

“She’s a trooper, Major. Was laughing to beat the band when I helped her to her feet. Never saw a woman laugh at herself like that.”

Seth’s spine stiffened all over again. The Rosemary he knew—or the one he thought he knew—would never have laughed at herself. True, he’d left Richmond less then twenty-four hours after meeting her, returned here to the Indian Wars, but her attitude, her persona, had imbedded itself within him the first hour he’d known her.

“I’ll see the heel gets repaired properly this time, sir.”

After a nod, Seth waved a hand, dismissing Winston. His eyes then went to where his wife entered the door to a room with tubs and water barrels. The officers’ quarters were separate homes with space for private bathing, and Rosemary would have demanded to know why he didn’t live in one of them.

He turned and reentered his cabin. Even after becoming a major, he’d gone on living in the barracks. Back then things had been so busy, he hadn’t had time to think beyond knowing he had a bed to fall into at night.

The turmoil had calmed down considerably over the past few years, even more the past months, but he still hadn’t thought about moving. Besides, the major’s house, as it was known, had become a catchall. Storage for items no one knew what to do with.

As Seth spun to shut the door, the hairs on his neck stood up. People were still gathered about, some pretending to be on missions, whereas in reality they were staring at him. Watching for his next move.

That was common. By nature, and due to his position, everyone at the fort was always watchful for his command. This was different, though. It had nothing to do with army business, and... A heavy sigh escaped, one he hadn’t known had built in his chest. He didn’t know what his next move would be, either.

That was an oddity. For the first time in a very, very long time, he was at a loss.

“Major?” A hand planted itself on the half-closed door.

“Briggs,” he said, in answer to the man pushing the door open again.

“I see your wife,” the Swede said in his deep and gruff voice. “I bring food. Here to your cabin, she eat after cleaning up. No?”

It didn’t matter what the man said, question or statement usually ended with no. And right now, it fit. “No, Briggs. If she’s hungry she can eat at the hall like everyone else.”

“But Major, a woman—”

“She might as well get used to it.”

The startled look on the cook’s face made something recoil inside Seth. He usually got along with his men, because of mutual respect, but the way he’d just snapped at the Swede, said he didn’t like it. Seth squared his shoulders, let his stance confirm who was in charge. “Is there anything else you needed, Sergeant?”

“No, Major. Sir.”

The man spun around, and this time Seth all but slammed the door. Exactly what he’d always suspected. A wife would interfere with his duties.

* * *

A reflection of the dented brass tub caught in the mirror. The accommodations were rough, but she’d never enjoyed a bath as much. Twisting, needing the mirror’s assistance in placing the combs, Millie coiled each braided length and pinned them in place at the back of her head. Drying it would take an hour, and curling it even longer, and she didn’t have that kind of time. Besides, just as she’d suspected, curled hair would not convince Seth she was Rosemary.

Satisfied the combs were secure in hair that was once again brown and not dust gray, Millie tidied up the area before opening her bag to stuff her boots on top of the traveling suit that would never be pale green again. It had been new at the beginning of her journey, and clothes usually lasted her years. A miniature shiver had her lifting her head, gazing toward the mirror again.

The reflection in the glass mocked her. Millie would be sad about the dress, Rosemary would not. An invisible weight pressed upon her shoulders, so heavily she sat down next to her bag. Being Rosemary was more difficult than she’d imagined. Back in the cabin, when Seth had voiced his suspicion, it had been easy to know what to say. People often confused the two of them, especially from a distance, but in reality, her sister was more attractive, and never failed to remind her of it.

After she’d pulled Rosemary into her mind and said those words to Seth, her stomach had twisted inside out. His expression had turned hard; those piercing blue eyes had gone cold enough that she’d shivered. Seeing the tick in his cheek had made her afraid for the first time since she’d left Richmond.

Millie let out another sigh. No matter how irritated Rosemary made Seth, that’s who she had to be—Rosemary. She had to remember that.

It took several deep breaths, and a few minutes of concentration, but by the time she opened the door and stepped out onto the walkway, she was once again convinced she could do it. Could be her sister for the next three months—until the baby was born.

People stared, mostly men dressed in their blue uniforms with brass buttons, wide yellow neck scarves and flat-brimmed hats, and though Millie would have smiled, nodded, Rosemary would not, so she kept her nose up and moved forward. She did ignore a few things that her sister wouldn’t have. There was nothing she could do about the wind and dirt, and she had to wave at Mr. Cutter. It would have been too rude not to. The man had to be twice her age, yet his cheeks shone crimson every time he spoke to her. She appreciated him, too, for all he’d done.

Those things were inconsequential, of course. Seth was the only one who had to believe she was Rosemary. She could do that.

Then she arrived at their cabin, where he stood in the doorway.

Smiling.

Oh, goodness.

“Feel better?” he asked.

Millie pressed the thin leather soles of her day slippers against the boards below her feet. Rosemary wouldn’t respond—she’d ignore him pointedly or start spouting demands. But he appeared to be making an effort, and whether her sister would appreciate that or not, Millie did, and couldn’t discount it.

“Yes, thank you,” she said. “It’s amazing what a little water can do.”

Once again his gaze became so penetrating her insides sprouted wings. A stirring silence grew between them, and she clutched the satchel handle tighter, afraid it might tumble out of her trembling fingers.

“Yes, it is,” he said, stepping back, clearing the cabin’s doorway for her entrance.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, to calm the flapping there. The gown was a simple blue calico with short sleeves and a square neckline. It had seemed the most appropriate for the weather yesterday when she’d packed her bag, sitting in the back of the bumpy wagon.

When she lifted her gaze, the explanation died in her throat and her feet grew roots. There was a tightness in his jaw, and she could feel his contempt. Tugging her feet off the walkway, and praying she wouldn’t stumble, for there was no excuse now that she was no longer wearing the off-kilter boots, Millie dipped her head and moved forward.

She’d barely stepped inside the cabin when a clanging noise echoed through the open courtyard.

“It’s lunchtime,” Seth said. “Are you hungry?”

Five days of beans—the thought was still horrifying—blasted into her mind like a storm. Men could release the pressure beans produced, but women couldn’t, and most certainly never in mixed company. She’d requested to sit in the back of the wagon for fear she’d burst at times, and the thought of eating beans again today was deplorable. But so was the confrontation about to take place—it was right under the surface. She could tell he was ready to claim once again that she wasn’t Rosemary.

He was probably going to say her sister would never have made the wagon trip—or half the train rides. She’d have returned to Richmond long before crossing the Mississippi. He’d be right, of course. But Millie hadn’t had the choice of not coming—nor of leaving.

“As a matter of fact, I am hungry,” she said, setting the bag down on one of her trunks.

Once again the thought of Rosemary doing what their mother had done made Millie’s insides quiver. The housekeeper, Lola, insisted she mustn’t blame herself. Millie tried not to, but when you’re responsible, you carry blame. Forever. Papa had always feared the same thing—that Rosemary would do what Mother had done—and Millie had never told him how close Rosemary had come once. She’d never told anyone. Martin knew. He’d been the one who saved Rosemary’s life, but he’d thought she’d fallen into the river.

The weight in Millie’s chest grew immense. Lola had vowed no such thing would happen while Millie was gone, and if anyone could make Rosemary behave it was their loyal, watchful housekeeper. Remembering that gave her fortitude. If Lola could handle Rosemary, surely Millie could handle Seth. After five years postponing the divorce, an additional three months couldn’t be that difficult.

“Shall we go then?”

Dropped back to earth like a peach falling from a tree, Millie paused mentally, gathering her wits. “Yes, lunch,” she mumbled, mainly to herself. Food probably wouldn’t help, but not being alone with him would. Her nerves were too jumbled for her to think straight right now.

Millie didn’t attempt to concentrate on becoming Rosemary during the short walk across the compound. She was too focused on keeping up with Seth’s long strides. Once they entered the building a man as large as a bear, with hair as yellow as corn, met them at the door.

“Mrs. Parker,” he said, dipping his head. “My name’s Briggs Ryan. Private Cutter said you like tea, no?”

“Yes, yes, I like tea,” she responded.

“Good. Ja, I have some for you. This way.”

As wonderful as the tea sounded, she couldn’t help but pause at the way Seth stiffened at her side. He didn’t take a step to follow the man, so she didn’t, either.

“I set a table for you and your wife, Major,” the man said, “as usual when we have company.”

There appeared to be some kind of showdown between the two, and Millie had to believe she was the cause of it. “I’m not really company,” she said, hoping to ease the tension.

Neither man spoke, but after another quiet moment, Seth nodded his head slightly. He then took ahold of her elbow and led her across the room, following Briggs Ryan.

The large room was crowded, but almost silent now as they made their way to the table. All men, dressed in their blue uniforms. Some were sitting at the long tables flanked with benches, others standing in line, filling their plates from huge platters set out on a high counter.

Mr. Ryan held a chair and she sat. The table was small and set for two, complete with a tablecloth and napkins.

“I’ll have your plates out in a minute and your tea, ma’am,” Mr. Ryan said before walking away. He, too, was wearing a uniform, but it was covered with a long white apron.

“Is Mr. Ryan the cook?”

“Yes,” Seth answered. “Keeping the unit fed is his job.”

The words seemed to hold a double meaning, but it was beyond her to understand exactly what. The man was back within minutes, placing a teapot and two plates of food—stew, not beans—in front of them.

The tea was refreshing, but it didn’t help as much as she’d hoped. Perhaps because the room held a thick silence, one that had her wondering if being alone with Seth would be better.

They, too, ate in silence, and though he didn’t gobble his food, Seth was done long before she was. At which point he pushed away from the table. “I have work to see to. I assume you can find your way back to the cabin.”

After patting her lips, she laid her napkin on the table. “I’m finished, too. May I walk out with you?”

He eyed her slowly, then gave a slight shrug. “If you want.”

She wanted, all right. The eyes staring their way had burned holes in the back of her dress. It was to be expected, her showing up out of the blue like this, yet she couldn’t help but wish things were different. That animosity didn’t ooze off of Seth.

Mr. Ryan met them at the door again. “The food was to your liking, no?”

“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “The stew was delicious. And the tea wonderful. Thank you, Mr. Ryan.”

The man grinned, but his smile faded as he glanced toward Seth.

“I’ll talk to you later, Sergeant,” Seth said.

“Yes, sir, Major, sir.”

Needing fresh air, Millie bolted out the door as soon as Seth opened it. How was she ever going to pull this off? Someone that stern, that commanding, was sure to know a lie when he heard one.

You catch a lot more bees with honey than vinegar. One of Lola’s sayings raced through her mind, and Millie couldn’t help but wonder why that one came to her now. Rosemary wasn’t known for her kindness. Then again, the saying did produce another thought. “You know, Seth,” she said, forcing her voice not to tremble, “it’s been five years. People change.”

“I haven’t,” he said.

“I’m sure you have in some ways,” she insisted, while keeping up with his fast strides again. “I know I have.” That much was the truth. Five years ago she’d never have done this: traveled to Indian Territory, taken on her sister’s identity, lied. Papa would have been alive and he wouldn’t have let her.

Seth stopped and once again studied her thoroughly. “So much that I should believe you’re Rosemary and not Millie?”

She sighed heavily, partly because lying made her feel more soiled than her travels had. “I am Rosemary.”

Seth wasn’t exactly sure how to respond. In some ways he couldn’t think. He hadn’t gotten over how a bath had transformed her into a stunningly beautiful woman, and it didn’t help that the men—his men—were already treating her like royalty. It was how he’d expect them to treat his wife, but she wasn’t his wife. Leastwise he didn’t want her to be. Never had. She’d already instigated the first-ever clash of power between him and Briggs Ryan. The cook was right. Guests, moreover women, were respected at all times at the fort, and held in the highest esteem. Making her eat at the long tables wouldn’t have been right, but Seth was in charge here, and his orders had to be followed.

Not that Briggs had disobeyed any, but he’d come close, and Seth didn’t allow any man to challenge his authority.

This time, he’d thank the man for seeing to Millie’s comforts. For that’s who she was, and what Briggs had done wasn’t out of line. Anger had overruled Seth’s own manners, but Briggs had to know he was walking a thin line. It had to be that way. If not, the entire regiment wouldn’t have lived through the past few years. Now wasn’t the time to let their guard down.

Especially not Seth.

As the thoughts conformed in his mind, and settled, his gaze roamed. Men, mingling in the courtyard, were moving closer, hoping for an introduction, no doubt. He’d have to make them, and take her over to headquarters to meet Jasper Ketchum—his second in command—and Jasper’s wife, Ilene.

Seth’s temper once again flared. He’d have to introduce her as Rosemary. Explaining his marriage had caused enough confusion. Introducing her now as Millie would have the questions deepening, and that couldn’t happen. People would wonder if he was capable of commanding a fort when he couldn’t handle his own life.

“Seth?”

Her whisper was soft, but the hand she’d laid on his arm bit through his coat and shirtsleeve, hotter than the fangs of a snake. Yet the anxiety filling her big brown eyes had his insides colliding. Whether he wanted her here or not wasn’t the issue. She was here and he had to offer his protection.

With that, he reached over and patted her hand. The action had him smothering a curse. He didn’t want to care about her, but he did care about his men. They looked at him for leadership, and true leaders did whatever it took. Nodding at the first man in line, he then glanced her way. “Rosemary...” Saying the name had disorder leaping inside him. “This is Quartermaster Josiah Fallon.” Turning toward the man, he said, “Josiah, this is Rosemary Parker, my wife.”

The word tasted bitter, and her fingertips dug deeper into his arm.

“Mrs. Parker,” Josiah exclaimed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. If there is anything you need, you just let me know and I’ll find it for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fallon. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” she responded with sincerity. “Mr. Cutter and Mr. Winston told me about you.” Leaning closer, she said, “Thank you for finding the tea Mr. Briggs served with lunch.”

Fallon was as hairless as a rock, and right now the top of his head was bloodred, while he shuffled feet the size of snowshoes until a dust storm hovered around his ankles.

“Private Cutter told me you were hoping for tea,” the quartermaster replied. “I had a tin left over from when we had some English visitors a while back. I dug it out and hauled it over to the cookhouse as soon as Ben mentioned it.”

“Well, thank you very much. I truly enjoyed it.”

Seth could have sworn there were stars in her eyes, the way they twinkled.

Fallon was the catalyst that led to a list of introductions so long Seth started confusing names. Neither he nor Millie moved; people just kept filing past, to the point he wondered if some weren’t coming by a second time, just to get another look at her. A part of him couldn’t blame them. She was overly charming, and remarkably, had conversed enough with Cutter and Winston to know a small bit of information about each and every person he introduced her to.

The line finally ended with Jasper and his wife, who invited them to sup at their home tomorrow night.

“That will give you time to settle in, dear,” Ilene Ketchum finished.

Her angular face with sunken cheeks and narrow eyes could never be noted as pretty, but Seth had never known a more benevolent woman, and he respected Ilene’s knowledge and support as much as he did her husband’s. Lying to her, pretending the woman beside him was Rosemary, had Seth’s stomach curdling all over again. It was almost as bad as letting down his own mother.

“Thank you, Mrs. Ketchum, that’s very kind of you,” his supposed wife answered, but she glanced his way before accepting the invitation.

“We’ll be there,” Seth stated, nodding in turn to both women. He couldn’t refuse the invitation, yet he needed to do some serious thinking before the event.

Jasper, a good four inches shorter than Ilene, and twice as round, gave Seth an inquisitive look. His second in command knew about the marriage and the divorce papers—had since the beginning. “I’ll take care of things for a day or two,” Jasper said. “You take some time getting to know your wife again.”

“No,” Seth replied, his insides stiffening. “That won’t be necessary. But thank you for the offer.” The last thing he wanted was to get to know Rosemary—or Millie. He was starting to question in his own mind who she was. Which was ridiculous. The woman beside him was nothing like the conceited little snit who’d insisted, that morning back in Richmond, that no man could resist her body.

He hadn’t touched her then, when she’d claimed he had, and he wasn’t about to touch her now, but he wasn’t going to put himself at her side, either. She was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about that, and he’d never been one to tempt fate.

“I’ll see you over at headquarters shortly, Jasper,” he said.

The Ketchums departed, and with her hand still holding his elbow, the woman beside him sighed deeply. “I never expected this.”

“What?”

“It’s so...” A blush covered her cheeks. “Civilized.”

“Civilized?”

A tiny frown had formed over her big brown eyes. “Yes, Rose—uh, roses could grow in that garden over there.” She lifted a hand, pointed toward the flower bed Ilene pampered, but the way she’d stuttered had his spine quivering.

“Rose, huh?”

“Yes, roses. They are my favorite flower.”

The innocence in those doe eyes was choking off his air like a hangman’s noose. “Roses for Rosemary,” he said, not quite sure where he’d heard that before.

“That’s what my father always said.”

Her face had softened and the words were almost a whisper, lacking joy. She was missing her father, no doubt. He understood that emotion. His own father had died on the battlefield, but hers hadn’t. No illness, no war. The general just hadn’t woken up one morning in his bed at his Richmond home.

The facts of the death had been forwarded to the fort, as many details as possible. Millicent, the youngest sister, had found their father that morning, and per the report, had been distraught. Seth’s insides jittered again—an odd sensation he recognized and listened to regularly. It was what he’d felt earlier. Intuition that held a warning.

In the few hours he’d known her, he’d understood Rosemary to be a hard woman, and he couldn’t, or perhaps wouldn’t, believe she’d mourn her father after four years. But Millie, though he’d seen her only once that day, sitting in attendance at the wedding, had been softer. She’d actually shed a tear when offering her congratulations after the ceremony. Yes, Millie would still miss her father after four years.

He should offer his condolences, yet he couldn’t do that, either. For if this was Millie, she’d changed. Was now lying through her teeth, pretending to be Rosemary.

“So,” he asked, “what kind of flower did your father relate to you, Millie?”

Chapter Three

Millie pulled her hand off his arm, but instantly wished she hadn’t. His solidness had kept her stable during all the introductions, and she found herself needing that support again.

Squaring her shoulders didn’t help much, but it was all she had. “I wish you’d stop calling me that.”

The only movement he made was to lift a dark brow, but it said a lot. Digging deep into the dredges of her mind, she found a fraction of truth to embellish upon. “Millie is...” She drew a deep breath, hoping lightning wouldn’t manifest out of the blue sky and strike her. “Engaged. Millie is engaged to an army man, too.”

This time Seth frowned.

She held her breath.

He took her elbow and guided her along a well-worn pathway. “Really? An army man?”

“Yes,” she answered, looking everywhere but at him as they walked.

“In Richmond?”

Thank goodness. A subject she could discuss freely. There was no reason to lie about Martin. “He’s from Richmond. His family lived only a few blocks away from our house. The three of us grew up together and everyone always said we...that is, the—the two of them would get married. He’s in Texas right now. At a fort there, and Millie is preparing to travel there. Their wedding will take place shortly after she arrives.”

“What’s his name?”

“M-Martin Clark.” The conversation was making her stomach gurgle. If or when Martin learned of this escapade, he wouldn’t be happy. They’d been best friends for years, and he’d been her rock when Papa died, but he wouldn’t be happy to know she was saying such things. Especially not as a cover-up for Rosemary.

“Is that a trading post?” She flinched as she said it. The sign painted the length of the building said precisely that, but she was searching desperately for anything she could use to change the subject.

Seth had stopped beside her, was staring at her thoughtfully.

“Oh, I apologise, you have work to do. Forgive me.” She spun, and a stone caught under the ball of her foot, making her recoil at the sting. It also gave her an answer. “I was just wondering if the trading post might have a pair of boots. These slippers are not made for outdoors.”

His dark eyes went to her feet and then to several men still watching them before he said, “I can spare a few minutes.”

“The fort is so large,” she said, as they started walking again. “It’s like a complete town inside walls.” Working hard at sounding normal, she added, “Mr. Cutter said there’s a hospital and a church here.”

“On the other side of the barracks, along the back wall.”

His answer was clipped, and Millie bit her lips. Rosemary had said they’d be living in tents and cooking over campfires. Though, in the next breath, she’d insisted it was completely safe and that Millie had to go.

Quietly, not wanting to draw his attention, she let the air out of her lungs. Pretending to be Rosemary might not have been the best idea, but after her abruptness, Seth would probably believe she was Rosemary now.

Oh what a tangled web we weave. Another one of Lola’s sayings. It didn’t help any better than the first one had.

Seth stepped to the side as they neared the door, allowing her to enter first. Millie showed her appreciation with a nod, not trusting her mouth to open again. Upon entering the dark and crowded store, she wanted to take hold of his arm again. The space was crammed with shelves, barrels, crates and tables full of merchandise, and Indians. Lots of Indians. Her heart started beating erratically.

“This way,” Seth said, walking around several tables stacked high with merchandise.

Very few windows let light into the area, not that sunlight would have helped. She had to get over this. Nothing had happened for her to fear the Indians, yet the way they looked at her had her inching as close to Seth as possible when he stopped to speak to someone.

“Here,” he said, pulling over a stool. “Sit down.”

“I’ll have to measure your foot, ma’am.”

Millie gulped, glancing toward a burly man with a straggly gray beard hanging almost to his belly.

“I don’t get much call for women’s boots,” the bearded man was saying as he knelt down near the stool.

She sat, and inched the hem of her dress just high enough to display her day slippers.

“I’ll have to order them. It won’t take much more than a month or so.” The man measured the length and width of her foot, and then stood, tucking the flat wooden ruler into his back pocket. “I could try to get them faster, but it’ll cost extra.”

“Get them as soon as possible, Jenkins,” Seth said.

“Aye, aye, Major. I’ll see what I can do.”

Seth helped her to her feet, then kept one hand on her elbow. “Don’t see, Jenkins, make it happen.”

“I ain’t got the pull you do, Major, but I’ll get them.” With a tip of his head, which was hairless compared to his face, the man shuffled toward the long plank laid atop two barrels, with several people crowded along it.

“Is there anything else you need?” Seth asked.

Millie shook her head, barely able to keep her eyes from going to the Indians again.

A little shudder rippled through her. “Are they friendly?”

His gaze went to the Indians for a moment. “Friendly?”

She nodded.

He led her out the door, and she sighed at both the bright sunshine and the fresh air. The smell of coffee had been overpowering in the store, yet she hadn’t noticed it until they’d stepped outside.

“For the most part,” he answered, glancing toward a group exiting the building behind them. “When they want to be.”

She shivered again. None of them appeared threatening, but their stares were acute and left her chilled. “Isn’t that why you’re out here? To fight them?”

“No.”

“But you would if they attacked, wouldn’t you?”

He shrugged. “Guess that would depend on why they attacked.”

Even her throat was quivering. “What do you mean, why?”

“They only attack when they want to steal women. Not too many women around here. We’d be better off just turning them over, rather than losing men in a battle.”

Completely ignoring the stones beneath the soft soles of her slippers, she hurried to remain at his side when he started walking again. “The women? You’d just give—?”

“I have work to see to,” he said. “I assume you can make it to the barracks on your own.”

The cabins were only a few yards ahead, and she had no doubt how fast she could make it there and shut the door. Matter of fact, there was probably a rooster tail of dust behind her, but she didn’t care. Her focus was on whether the cabin door had a lock or not.

It didn’t, and Millie was dragging, pushing and shoving one of her trunks to barricade the door when a knock sounded.

“Ma’am?” Ben Cutter said, poking his head in the doorway.

“Y-yes?” she stuttered, breathing hard, mainly because her heart was still in her throat.

“Briggs wanted me to deliver this pot of tea to you. He thought you might like a bit more than you had for lunch.”

“Oh, thank you.” Stepping aside so he could squeeze in the small opening—the trunk was almost in place—she waited until he set the pot and a delicate china cup and saucer on the table. “Mr. Cutter, how many women are here at the fort?”

“Well, let’s see, there’s Mrs. Ketchum, and...”

By the time Ben Cutter was done explaining exactly who the other four women at the fort were, Millie was full of additional questions, which he readily answered.

She listened carefully as he explained that the fort had been built ten years ago, when General Sheridan was campaigning to stop Indian raids on white settlers in Kansas and Texas. He also explained Grant’s peace policy. How it promised tribes provisions if they moved onto reservation land, and how special Indian agents had been assigned to oversee the activities.

Cutter went on to tell her how when General Sherman arrived at Fort Sill several years ago, he’d found several chiefs boasting about the raids they’d initiated on wagon trains and when he’d ordered their arrests, the general had almost been assassinated.

Some tribes accepted the agreement, but others didn’t, and considered the reservations safe havens. A place where no one could retaliate against them.

Millie was fascinated by all this. General Sherman and her father had been close acquaintances. During one of his visits to their Richmond home, he’d appointed her father to oversee the men assigned to this fort.

Years ago she’d learned that Seth was a West Point graduate, and had been in Richmond, the day he’d married Rosemary, to deliver a report to their father about the raids and how rations weren’t being delivered.

Millie asked a few more questions, mainly about the Indians, and Cutter answered them, praising the major for his bravery and leadership in dealing with various tribes. The man made it sound as if everyone at the fort was alive because of Seth’s valor.

Having plenty to think about, Millie thanked Mr. Cutter for all his information, and allowed him to move her trunks into her room before he took his leave.

Papa had rarely spoke about such things with her, but Lola did. The housekeeper insisted Indians were as misunderstood as Negros, and that white folks shouldn’t talk about things they didn’t understand.

Mr. Cutter had just explained that the army was the only law in Indian Territory. He’d also said their duties included protecting the Indians and civilians, while teaching the former how to farm in order to feed their families. More importantly, he’d told her Indians didn’t steal women.

Pacing the floor of the dreary cabin, Millie imagined just how irritated Rosemary would be by all this. Her sister wouldn’t just be frustrated with the surroundings, she’d be furious at the way Seth had purposely frightened her.

A hint of a grin formed. Maybe being Rosemary could be fun, after all.

* * *

The report Jasper was reading aloud—about how the declining cattle drives would leave more tribes without food for the winter—wasn’t holding Seth’s attention. It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know. At one time the cattle drives had run directly through Indian Territory, and the ranchers had been more than happy to exchange a few head of cattle for safe travels, but the growing rail lines were replacing the drives. They’d had only half as many this year as last.

The window was what held Seth’s interest. More so, the activity happening across the courtyard. His so-called wife had beckoned to Ben Cutter a short time ago, and shortly afterward the man had led two of Briggs’s maidens to the cabin. Since then Seth had barely been able to keep up with the comings and goings. Clean linens were carried in—he’d noticed them in one of the bundles—but for the number of trips the women made there would have to have been a dozen beds instead of one. Well, two if you count his, but he highly doubted she’d have his bedding changed.

Intuition was gnawing at him again. If this was Millie, as he still believed, why was she here, if she was engaged to Martin Clark? Or was Rosemary engaged to the man? Then why hadn’t she just signed his divorce papers? Or was this Rosemary, and now that Millie was engaged...

His mind was churning faster than the crank on a Gatling gun as he watched the door of his cabin. Over the years, remembering only his wife’s personality, he’d forgotten her looks. Every man in the fort had noticed her beauty. That had been overly apparent during the introductions.

What he did clearly remember was that the woman he’d married was too full of herself to be concerned about anyone else. Yet the one he’d introduced to his men had taken the time to learn about the people living at the fort.

Frustrated, Seth ran a hand through his hair. Had he been out here so long, gotten so used to deciphering the cause behind every action, he could no longer accept actions—or people—without overanalyzing them?

A sour sensation curdled in his stomach. Martin Clark. She’d smiled when she’d said the name. Briefly, but enough that it had displayed her white, even teeth, and showed she cared about the man.

The name could be familiar, but Seth had met many soldiers over the years. For all he knew, Clark could have been one of the soldiers from Texas escorting the drives that came through this spring.

Seth scanned the area out the window once more, and frowned when he spotted the quartermaster carrying a large crate across the courtyard, toward the cabin. His teeth clamped down. He’d lied to her about the Indians, but there were dangers here. Plenty of them. The Oklahoma Indian Territory was the roughest place in the nation. Besides the very real possibility of an Indian uprising at any time, there were whiskey peddlers, Mexican traders, desperados, horse thieves, cattle rustlers, prostitutes and men just bent on killing. It was no place for women, and no matter which sister it was, he should send her back as fast as possible.

Yet he didn’t want to. Instead, he wanted to know why she’d traveled weeks to get here. Her telegram had confused and irritated him, but now she had him out of sorts. She was the exact opposite of what he’d expected. What he remembered.

“You know, Seth, sometimes what we claim not to want is the exact thing we need.” Jasper had moved, and now stood staring out the window on his right.

Seth gestured toward the activity happening around his cabin with a nod. “That is nothing but trouble, and I don’t need any more troubles.”

“Maybe she won’t be trouble,” Jasper said. “Maybe the changes she brings are what the men need.”

Seth took pride in commanding a well-run fort, but knew the counsel he received from his second in command was a driving force behind all his actions. Still pondering what Jasper could be referring to, he glanced toward the other man when he shifted, pointed out the window.

“Things have changed out here the past few years, Seth, and they’re good changes. Towns are popping up, settlers moving in, the population is growing. Including women. And I’m not referring to the soiled doves that have made the rounds for years. The army sees it, too. More and more wives are living with their husbands at the forts rather than staying back East. The men here want that, too. Most men, whether they’re soldiers or not, don’t want to remain alone forever.”

Seth turned from the window, walked to his desk and picked up the report Jasper had been reading, but it was just to give him something to do. “You know how I feel about soldiers being married.”

“Yes,” Jasper answered. “And you know how I feel about it.”

He did know how Jasper felt. Four years ago, when the man had been assigned to Fort Sill, Seth had refused to allow Ilene to accompany him out here. Neither the man nor his wife had accepted that command. It had made for some tense meetings, but, now, Seth had to admit, Ilene was as much a part of the fort as Jasper was.

Spinning so he leaned against the wall, Jasper folded his arms. “You’re one of the best commanders I’ve seen, Seth. Men not only respect you, they trust you. When are you going to learn to trust?”

“Trust who?” he retorted bitterly. “Her?”

Jasper shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m referring to life in general.”

Tension was eating at him, mainly because his second in command was much more than that. Over the years, Jasper, with his mellow ways that were the opposite of the urgency Seth often felt, had become the tutor he needed, often sought.

“You can’t hide it from me. I’ve noticed you struggling ever since that telegram arrived.”

Seth threw the report back on his desk. “Of course I’ve been struggling with it. I can’t imagine what she wants.”

“Then ask her.”

He let his glare show what he thought of that.

Jasper cracked a dry grin.

Seth ignored it.

“I know you only married her to appease her father. No one said no to the general. Ever. Including me. But—”

“Army men shouldn’t be married,” Seth interrupted.

“In your experience,” Jasper said. “I understand why you feel that way. Losing your father in battle, taking over his responsibilities for your family at such a young age... But it’s not always like that.”

“No?” Seth snapped. “I’ve seen it here, too. How battles take lives. Leave loved ones alone.” Perhaps he’d look upon things differently if his mother had been weaker. Amanda Parker-Wadsworth had cried over the loss of her husband—silently and behind her closed bedroom door. But in front of her children, she’d displayed strength and determination. Seth had seen through it, to the pain his mother harbored while comforting him and his siblings. To this day he lived on the tenacity her resolve had imbedded in him. Every day after school, he’d gone to work in the shipyards until dark, wanting to ease the burden that had fallen to his mother. Once old enough, he’d continued overseeing crews building ships, until his mother had ordered him to stop.

She’d always known his wish was to become a soldier, but considering he’d lost his father and two uncles at the Battle of Shiloh, Seth had given up on the dream. Not only for his mother’s sake—she’d lost her husband and two brothers on the same day—but for his, too. He needed to continue the shipbuilding business his father and uncles had started before the war, make sure his family was financially secure.

Even now, years later, he wondered if she’d truly wanted her sons to go to West Point, as she’d said, or if his mother had pushed him to because she’d known it was what he’d still wanted. It had been, and by then, money hadn’t been an issue. So he’d gone. Not just to make his mother happy. It had made him happy, too. By then he’d carried the weight of responsibility for his family and the shipbuilding crews for several years, and he’d found he liked commanding men. It came naturally to him. What he’d decided he didn’t want was the responsibility of having a wife and children. He loved his family, but the loss of their father had affected them all deeply.

“Yes,” Jasper said. “It’s here, too. There’s no avoiding death.”

Seth didn’t respond. Death was inevitable, but there was no reason to leave broken hearts and shattered homes when it happened. He saw it on the battlefields, but he shouldn’t have to see it in the faces of the wives and children left behind. It was too much.

“Someday, Seth, you’ll understand that living is as much a part of life as dying is.” Jasper crossed the room and left, closing the door softly.

A shiver settled deep in Seth’s spine, making his back stiffen. Living didn’t need to include a wife. Snatching up the report, he forced his mind to concentrate on it, as well as several other tasks that needed to be completed. So it wasn’t until the dinner bell echoed over the compound that he rose from his desk.

From the front steps of the headquarters building, where he was stretching muscles that had stayed idle too long, his gaze went to his cabin. The right thing would be to go get his wife, escort her to dinner. Then again, she had ears, and as he’d told Briggs, she might as well get used to fort living.

He was toiling with his decision when he entered the hall, almost feeling guilty. That instantly changed. She was here. Not sitting at a table set for two, but at a long bench, talking merrily with several men already seated around her.

A growl vibrated at the back of Seth’s throat. That definitely reminded him of Rosemary. As did the way she turned and lifted her brows at the sight of him.

Men moved, gesturing for him to take their seats, and Seth, accustomed to making snap decisions, faltered. He couldn’t ignore her in front of all his men, yet he couldn’t pretend they were happily married.

Or could he? That might prove to be the one thing that would irritate Rosemary—or Millie, or whoever she was. After five years, an amorous husband would be the last thing she’d expect, and perhaps the one thing that would send her on her way.

It was a twist he hadn’t thought would thrill him, but it did, and he almost cracked a grin as he walked across the hall. “Hello,” he murmured, gently placing a hand between her shoulder blades, where he felt the tiniest quiver beneath his palm.

Shock shimmered in her eyes as she answered, “Hello.”

“I trust you had a nice afternoon,” he said, taking a seat and scooting a bit closer to her side than necessary.

“Y-yes, thank you,” she stammered.

The twitching of her lower lip did make him want to smile. Oh, yes, this might be the perfect plan of attack. He should have thought of it earlier. Not doing what his enemies expected had kept him alive for years.

When Briggs opened the food line, Seth escorted her through it, with his hand riding low on the small of her back. He noted how her feet kept stumbling, and her nervousness had triumph rising inside him. They ate with the men at the long table, and Seth encouraged her to answer the slew of questions the soldiers posed. Many of them hadn’t been outside Indian Territory for years, and they were hungry to hear what was happening in other parts of the country.

The attention was more than she’d bargained for—her trembling fingers said that. And the edgy glances she sent his way told him she hadn’t expected him to be so accommodating.

Seth simply smiled, and asked a few nonessential questions of his own. When the meal was over, he took her hand and folded her arm through the crook of his while leading her to the door.

Things were slow at the fort right now. The cattle drives were over for the year and most of the crops harvested. That had bothered him this morning, knowing he wouldn’t have other duties consuming his time, but now he realized it was a good thing. Dedicating a few days to a plan that would ultimately hasten her departure was exactly what he needed.

The way he’d linked her wrist around his elbow had her breast brushing the upper part of his arm, and she was straining to keep the simple contact from happening. Telling himself it wasn’t affecting him, Seth asked, “Would you like to take a stroll through the compound?”

Her gaze bounced to the cabin and she pinched her lips together, which made him suddenly want to see what all the commotion had been about. “But you must be tired,” he said. “It’s been a long day. Let’s just go home.”

“No,” she said nervously. “We could take a stroll.”

“It’s all right, you’ll have lots of time to explore the fort,” he cajoled. “Right now, you need some sleep.”

“No, really—”

“I insist.” Seth let go of the hand he’d kept hooked on his elbow, and looped his arm around her shoulders. “You must be exhausted.”

She let out a sigh that held a tiny groan, but didn’t struggle as he guided her forward.

The sun hadn’t set yet and the warmth intensified Seth’s sense of smell. They were across the compound from Ilene’s flower beds, but he caught the scent of flowers. Or maybe it was perfume, because it smelled more like roses. Actually, he’d noticed a hint of it when he’d sat down next to her back in the hall.

A shiver rippled his spine as he turned his head, glanced down at the woman standing next to him. Her grin was much more of a grimace as she stepped aside for him to open the door to their cabin.

The warm, closed-in air rushing through the open doorway was downright overpowering. Blinking from the sting in his eyes, Seth asked, “Did a vial of rosewater burst in one of your trunks?”

“No,” she said, stepping past him to enter the cabin. “I washed the floors with it.”

“Washed the floors with it?”

Millie drew a deep breath, almost choking. The rose oil Lola made was quite potent and she may have used more than necessary. But it was what Rosemary would have done. “I also had To-She-Wi and Ku-Ma-Quai help me wash the walls.” She flinched slightly, not wanting to get two of Briggs Ryan’s maidens in trouble. The Indian women had proved to be not only friendly, but most helpful in assisting her with transforming the cabin.

“Wash the walls!” he exclaimed. “That oil will soak into the wood. It’s going to smell like this forever.”

“One can only hope,” she replied, sounding so much like her sister she wanted to bite her tongue. “It smelled of sour men before.”

The tick that appeared in his cheek should alarm her, but from what she’d learned today, Seth was not unfair. Though she might have decorated things a little more than she should have. It had been fun at the time, thinking she was getting him back for frightening her.

“My eyes are watering,” he said.

“You’ll get used to it.”

“What’s this?” He gestured toward the table.

“I know you’ve seen a tablecloth before.”

“Not in an army barrack.”

Making her best attempt at being nonchalant, she shrugged.

“And pillows, and cushions, and rugs.” He was walking through the tiny area, pointing things out, and stopped in the doorway to his office. “Curtains? Curtains in my office? Where did you get all this stuff?”

“Mr. Fallon. You must be quite proud of him. He has a bit of everything.”

Seth gave her a glimpse full of disdain before he spun to take a second look at the space that had been his office. Once again Millie flinched inwardly. She’d never done anything like this before, and pulling up the courage to finish what she started was not easy.

“Where. Is. My. Desk?”

His cold tone had Millie gulping, but she managed to find the nerve to step into the room and point toward the far corner. With the desk up against the wall, covered with a tablecloth, and the chair positioned in front of the window, decorated with two tiny pillows, plus a rug covering the floor, the room looked much bigger and more homey. To her. What Seth thought was probably a bit different. Obviously was.

He glared at her with those piercing eyes for several long moments. “You are Rosemary, aren’t you?”

She held her breath, hoping the churning in her stomach wouldn’t erupt.

“Put it back,” he growled. “Put it back the way you found it. All of it.”

Millie scurried aside as he left the room.

“And get rid of those stupid curtains!”

The door thudded shut and Millie let out her breath in a gush. Rosemary wouldn’t put any of it back. So Millie wouldn’t, either.

Chapter Four

Millie did walk over and open the office window she’d closed earlier, having known the heat would intensify the smell of the rose oil while they were eating supper. Lola had said to use it sparingly, just a drop or two in a bathtub of water. Millie had used an entire bottle scrubbing the cabin.

Exhausted inside and out, she plopped onto the chair. What would Rosemary do now?

Millie couldn’t remember when she’d learned her mother had died; it had happened when she was just an infant. But she did recall the moment she’d learned how her mother had died. It had been her eighth birthday. Papa had given her a new saddle, black with silver conchas, and a seat as plush as velvet. She’d ridden all afternoon. It was that night, when she was in bed, that Rosemary had entered her room and said if she didn’t give her the new saddle, she’d jump in the river. Drown. When Millie said she wouldn’t give it to her, her sister had told her the family secret.

No one was ever to know, Rosemary had said, but their mother hadn’t died from complications of childbirth. She’d taken her own life when Millie was six months old, with one of Papa’s pistols.

Papa hadn’t been home—he had been off doing army business, as he had been most of their childhood. The saddle had been ordered and delivered with a note from him. So Millie had asked Lola about their mother the next morning.

The housekeeper confirmed what Rosemary had said was true, that their mother had shot herself when Millie was a baby. She’d also said no one but their dear mama, God rest her soul, knew why she’d done it.

Months later, when Papa had come home and asked Millie about the saddle, she’d told him she loved it so much she was sharing it with Rosemary. Papa had said he was proud of her, how she understood Rosemary was different, and needed to be assured constantly that she was loved, just like their mother.

Millie closed her eyes. It was true. For as bold and brassy as Rosemary was on the outside, inside she was fragile, as delicate as glass, just as their mother had been. Rosemary had said she’d take her own life, and that of the baby, before allowing Seth to discover the truth. He would ruin her if he found out. Millie didn’t believe there was much left of Rosemary’s reputation to ruin, considering the number of men her sister’s name had been linked with, but she did believe her threats. She feared the baby would be in danger, for Rosemary did appear to be as desperate this time as she’d been over the saddle, when she had jumped into the river.

The weight on Millie’s chest increased tenfold. She didn’t believe her sister capable of murder, but she did know there were things worse than death. And knowing that had left her with no option but to agree to travel to Fort Sill to keep Seth from going to Washington, and possibly Richmond, as the letter he’d sent implied, until December.

Her gaze roamed the room. Seth didn’t deserve the deception, neither Rosemary’s faithlessness nor Millie’s lies. And he didn’t deserve her painting his cabin with rose oil, either. But Rosemary was her sister. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to protect her, and the life growing inside her.

If Millie was more daring and courageous, this would be easier. Actually, if she’d told Papa the truth five years ago, she wouldn’t be here now. She’d known about Clifton Wells, that Rosemary was planning to run off with him, but instead of saying something, fearful there’d be a row when Papa discovered it, Millie had gone to a friend’s house to avoid being dragged into the argument. The following morning, when she’d been summoned home, she’d been confused to hear Rosemary was marrying Seth instead of Clifton. Until Papa told her Clifton was already wed, and marrying Seth was the only thing that would save Rosemary’s name.

A knock on the door had Millie pushing off the seat and squaring her shoulders. She couldn’t stop protecting the family secrets now, nor could she give up on this mission.

“I hope I’m not intruding, Mrs. Parker,” Mr. Winston said when she opened the door, “but I wanted to drop off your boots. They should be fine this time. Good as new, actually.”

A lump had formed in her throat at how he’d addressed her. Others, when making her acquaintance, had called her Mrs. Parker, but right now, after contemplating the past and the events that had led her to here to Seth, the deceit seemed uglier. Heavier. Taking the boots, she found a simple smile. “Thank you, Mr. Winston. I do appreciate all you’ve done.”

“It’s been my pleasure, ma’am,” he said, bowing his head as he backed out the doorway.

Not so much as a single scuff mark signaled that the heel had once been separated from the boot. Brand-new at the start of her journey, the black leather was still relatively stiff and the breakage had been disappointing. To Millie. Rosemary would have thrown them away and bought a new pair in Tulsa.

“Good night, ma’am.”

“Good night,” she repeated, closing the door.

Seth watched the door close from where he stood across the compound. The smell of roses still filled his nostrils, leaving his insides hard. The flower’s aroma might be pleasant in small doses, but what he’d just experienced was sickening, mainly because it reminded him of Rosemary. The overpowering smell had taken him back in time.

“Marry her and I’ll make you a major,” General St. Clair had said that fretful morning five years ago.

Seth’s stomach recoiled all over again.

He’d refused the offer, more than once, but ultimately, before the day was done, he’d become a major and married her.

It had been a goal he’d set for himself, to become a major, and to do so at the age of twenty-three had been enticing, but that was not why he’d given in. The reason had been the general. The man had been afraid. Seth had assumed it was because of his daughter’s reputation, but St. Clair’s fear had been deeper, more distressing than one might experience over a reputation. The general had talked as if Rosemary’s very life was in danger, and eventually shared the truth that Rosemary was seeing another man, one she shouldn’t have been associating with, but was.

None of that had truly been Seth’s concern, but knowing how the general had numerous times put his own life in danger to save the men he commanded, he hadn’t been able to ignore the man’s plea for assistance. When the general had assured Seth that he could still return to Indian Territory, and that when things calmed down in Richmond, he’d see to the divorce himself, Seth had finally agreed to marry the girl. In name only. He’d left shortly after the ceremony, with the general’s promise of a divorce within the year ringing in his ears.

St. Clair had died less than a year later, and that’s when Seth had started pursuing the divorce on his own. It galled him, how he’d accepted the man’s deal—saved her reputation, and then worked twice as hard to prove he was capable of the position he’d been granted—only to have her ignore his requests. Not so much as a note had been sent his way, verifying she’d received his letters.

Why was she here now? The question jarred his insides. She had nothing to gain, and though he lived half a world away from Richmond, word traveled. He knew Rosemary wasn’t sitting in her father’s parlor, pining for her husband.

His gaze followed Winston as the man walked almost the entire length of the compound, his way lit by torches staked in the ground and shielded from the wind with heavy glass-and-brass enclosures. Winston turned near the icehouse and headed toward the location where a group had gathered.

Some of the boys sat back there most every night, strumming guitars and banjos, playing harmonicas and an assortment of other instruments they’d acquired over the years. Seth sat there plenty of nights, too, but it wasn’t their music filtering through his mind right now, it was an annoying little feeling he hadn’t experienced for a very long time. He couldn’t be jealous of Winston; the man had simply returned her boots. Yet there was an inkling of envy or perhaps resentment inside Seth. It had appeared as soon as she’d opened the door and smiled at the man.

She had Seth flustered. A crazy thing for him to be, but there was no other way to explain the turmoil swimming through his veins, and that confused him, too. Crazy as it was, he was attracted to her. A fact he’d been trying to deny ever since she’d climbed off the wagon and stomped across the dirt with that adorable uneven gait.

A smile tugged at his lips. Covered in Oklahoma’s red dirt, parasol whipping in the wind behind her, with bright red cheeks and windblown hair, she’d been a sight. He’d never seen anything so endearing.

And later, when he’d stepped onto the walkway after Russ had signaled that she’d left the bathing house, his heart had almost stopped in his chest. A puny gust of wind could have blown him over as he’d watched the beautiful woman walk toward him, dressed in a form-fitting blue-and-white dress that had him craving to see what lay beneath it. She still had on that dress, and he’d still like to see what was under it.

He drew in another breath of air, long and hard. The telegraph lines weren’t working. A renegade had chopped down several poles recently, and repairs had been ordered, but the troop he’d sent out hadn’t returned yet. It was ironic that the last message that had come in had been the one saying his wife was to be picked up in Tulsa.

A short time ago he’d questioned Lieutenant Paisley, but the man couldn’t say when the line might be up again. Poles could be down all the way to Tulsa. It had happened before. He’d given Paisley instructions—private ones—that as soon as the lines were working, a message needed to be sent to Richmond. He was determined to confirm his suspicions that it was, in fact, Millie in his cabin.

It had to be Millie. There were too many inconsistencies for her not to be.

Seth pushed off from the post he’d been leaning against. Whether it was Millie or Rosemary, payback was in order. “Lieutenant,” he shouted into the barn.

A man appeared instantly. “Yes, sir?”

“Get my saddle and some saddle soap. Bring it to my cabin.”

“Now, sir?”

“Yes, now.”

“But that soap will stink up your cabin. The Indians make it for us and—”

“I know,” Seth said, already heading there.

It took even less time than he’d anticipated. He’d barely opened the tin, had yet to work much of the black slime into the leather when the door to her room opened. Her little nose was curled and her eyes were squinting.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Oiling my saddle.” He explained the obvious without looking up.

“In here?”

“Why not in here? An army man has to keep his equipment in order.”

She crossed the room, opened the door. “Don’t you have a barn for that kind of thing?”

He leaned back in his chair, stared at her pointedly. “If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to leave.”

That was a nasty glare, the one she flashed his way, as she stomped across the floor to Russ’s old room. Seth allowed himself a moment to gloat.

Only a moment, because in the next instant she was back, pouring something onto the seat of his saddle.

“What the—” He grabbed the bottle, not needing to sniff the container to know she’d just dowsed his saddle with rose oil. “What do you think you’re doing?” A stupid question, but it was all he could think to say.

“Disguising the stench,” she said with a curl to her lip.

They stood there, across the table from one another. In all his born days, Seth had never backed down from a challenge, and he wasn’t about to start now. He even felt the tiniest mingling of guilt. After all, her only weapon was a bottle of rose oil.

Wrong.

Two nights later, Seth conceded her plethora of female things was more than he could take. Like those big bows, all eight of them, tied to the rungs of the ladder leading to his loft. And the bouquet of flowers that had been sitting in his hat this morning, which she’d positioned in the center of the table as if it was some huge, hideous vase.

She had to have done that after he’d gone to bed last night.

He should have heard her. He’d barely slept. Not with the way he was sneezing. The thought of another sleepless, miserable night snapped his last nerve. Two days of trying to out-scent each other hadn’t got him anywhere.

Seth barreled through the door of their cabin. “What are you doing here?”

Spinning around from where she stood near the stove, she held up a bundle of weeds. “Drying out wild lavender.”

He sneezed.

“Bless you,” she said.

He’d been worn down before, but never quite like this. The cabin was overrun with flowers and bows and cushions and curtains. A man couldn’t take it.

“No, I mean, why are you here?” He sneezed again. “If it was to make my life as miserable as possible, if the past five years haven’t been enough, you’ve succeeded.” They hadn’t spoken much over the past forty-eight hours, having been too busy trying to outdo each other. He was ready to talk now. “I did your father a favor—not to mention you—and he promised me a divorce in return.” After one more sneeze, Seth waved a hand around the cabin. “Instead, I get this.”

Her eyes grew wide. “My father promised you a divorce?”

“Yes, he did.” Seth hurried to shut the door before the entire compound heard him. “What were you thinking that night? Why’d you climb into my bed?”

“I—I...”

The way she trembled from head to toe sent a wave of guilt curdling in his stomach. He took a step back, but wasn’t going to back down on his questioning. He needed some sleep—in a cabin that didn’t smell like a flower garden.

Another sneezed raked his body.

“Bless you,” she repeated. “And I don’t know why I did that.” She spun, then walked across the room so the table separated them. “I thought I was going to marry another man, but—”

“He was already married,” Seth supplied.

“Yes,” she answered quietly, “he was.”

That despondent little whisper did more to his insides than it should have. So did the way she gathered up several pots of flowers and set them outside the door.

“Why are you here?” he asked as she propped the door open.

“Because of your letter,” she said.

“Which one?”

She frowned slightly. “The one asking for a divorce.”

“Which one?” he repeated.

Her frown deepened.

“I’ve sent you five sets of divorce papers.”

“You have?” Shaking her head, she said, “I—I, um, I only saw this last set. The ones that arrived last month.”

“How can that be?” he asked. “I know they were delivered.” After hearing no response to his first requests he’d insisted upon and received confirmation that the papers had been delivered to the house.

He saw how wide her eyes grew before she turned and headed into his office. “M-my sister, M-Millie, always accepts the correspondence that arrives at the house.”

Following, watching her pull dried bundles of flowers from the rope stretched from corner to corner, he sneezed before asking, “And she withholds mail from you?”

“No...” Millie was searching for an explanation. She’d wondered if that had been the first time Seth had sent papers, yet had believed Rosemary when she’d assured her it was. The fact that Papa had promised a divorce was a surprise. He’d never mentioned that, but she had to believe Rosemary knew about it.

The way Seth sneezed several more times had guilt and concern rippling through her.

“Then why didn’t you get my other requests?” he asked, somewhat winded.

“There was a lot of mail after Papa died.” Millie continued to pull down the flowers. It had been fun, irritating him, but his puffy, bloodshot eyes said this had gone far enough. “Anything to do with the army, anything official looking, was forwarded on. I must assume that’s what happened to your previous letters.”

He gave a nod that didn’t really say if he believed her or not. She, on the other hand, had no doubt that Rosemary had received every set. Squeezing past him, flinching at another of his sneezing bouts, she carried the flowers she’d gathered out the front door.