these boys. If not the women who cared for their worldly needs, then who?
The mess bell was ringing again when she finished her work. She wrapped up Corporal Finch’s worn-out uniforms in brown paper, as if the clothing were brand new, as she had for each of the five soldiers she had minded that day.
When Corporal Finch appeared, she noted a new injury to his knee, the cloth torn and rimmed with dried blood. She estimated the next size of patch he was going to need as she handed him his parcel.
“Thank you, Missus Newcomb.” He spoke with a white-toothed grin.
“Now, Corporal,” RuthAnne scolded, “you need to be more careful when scaling those barbed wire fences. You make sure to see the post surgeon about your knee before it gets worse.”
“Post surgeon’s gone to California for the rest of the summer. It’ll heal.”
“Well, with a bad cut you could lose a leg. You go see Alex McDole at the stable. He tends wounds on the horses. He can give your knee a looking over, too.”
Properly chastised, the young man promised that he would and thanked her when she tucked the jar of healing salve in his hands along with his laundry.
Over the next few days, Dolly and Abigail both mentioned a gleam in the eye and a lighter step in RuthAnne’s soldiers. And they weren’t the only ones who noticed.
Bowen tried to shake his dark mood by heading to the post store. He needed supply rations before their next outing. Whit Baker sat behind the counter, grinning up a storm as the captain found his way back.
“So here’s the man I have to thank for bringing the sweetest single girl to the fort in years.” Baker seemed obviously pleased about something, but whatever he aimed at had gotten Bowen’s hackles raised even higher.
“Careful what you say when you’re speaking of a lady, Whit. It could land someone in a heap of trouble if it falls on the wrong ears.”
Whit’s smile faltered, but then he found his grin again and laughed. “And a fine lady she is, sir. Drives a hard bargain in the store, don’t you know. Had me giving her almost fifteen percent off supplies that were going to be used for her work! I haven’t had to haggle that much since I first sold something to Dolly Jewel.”
“Those two are becoming fast friends.”
The men eased onto stools on opposite sides of the counter. Whit poured tepid lemonade into Mason jar glasses. Bowen swallowed, refreshed from the heat of the afternoon.
“Hard not to be friends with Miss Jewel. She’s a pistol.” Whit ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. Bowen set his glass down and leaned forward to clap a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“And just when are you planning on telling her you’re in love with her?” Bowen grinned. It would be a good match once the both of them realized they were made for each other.
Whit looked up, dismayed. “Is it that obvious, then?”
“You mean to anyone but me, you, and the fence post? No. Your secret is safe.”
Whit breathed a sigh of relief before going back to unboxing merchandise from a crate marked Perishable .
He pried open a tin of butter, sighing in annoyance. “Now, for what I have to pay, you expect it to at least be butter-colored. This looks like the desert sky at sunset! I can’t sell this. Well, not to the officers’ wives, anyway.”
Bowen eyed the open tin and the swirl of clear, red, orange, and blue oils inside it. He caught a whiff and wrinkled his nose as Whit replaced the lid.
“Oh, forgot to tell you. Wire came in this morning from Prescott,” Whit spoke over his shoulder while examining the rest of the newly delivered stock.
“Not to your attention, I’m guessing.”
“From the post commander, sent to Kendrick.” Bowen’s interest piqued, he leaned forward over the counter. Baker straightened before continuing. “Mrs. Carington, it seems, is returning posthaste. They’re on their way up from the Gila already by army ambulance. Might even be this afternoon. Kendrick was
The mess bell was ringing again when she finished her work. She wrapped up Corporal Finch’s worn-out uniforms in brown paper, as if the clothing were brand new, as she had for each of the five soldiers she had minded that day.
When Corporal Finch appeared, she noted a new injury to his knee, the cloth torn and rimmed with dried blood. She estimated the next size of patch he was going to need as she handed him his parcel.
“Thank you, Missus Newcomb.” He spoke with a white-toothed grin.
“Now, Corporal,” RuthAnne scolded, “you need to be more careful when scaling those barbed wire fences. You make sure to see the post surgeon about your knee before it gets worse.”
“Post surgeon’s gone to California for the rest of the summer. It’ll heal.”
“Well, with a bad cut you could lose a leg. You go see Alex McDole at the stable. He tends wounds on the horses. He can give your knee a looking over, too.”
Properly chastised, the young man promised that he would and thanked her when she tucked the jar of healing salve in his hands along with his laundry.
Over the next few days, Dolly and Abigail both mentioned a gleam in the eye and a lighter step in RuthAnne’s soldiers. And they weren’t the only ones who noticed.
Bowen tried to shake his dark mood by heading to the post store. He needed supply rations before their next outing. Whit Baker sat behind the counter, grinning up a storm as the captain found his way back.
“So here’s the man I have to thank for bringing the sweetest single girl to the fort in years.” Baker seemed obviously pleased about something, but whatever he aimed at had gotten Bowen’s hackles raised even higher.
“Careful what you say when you’re speaking of a lady, Whit. It could land someone in a heap of trouble if it falls on the wrong ears.”
Whit’s smile faltered, but then he found his grin again and laughed. “And a fine lady she is, sir. Drives a hard bargain in the store, don’t you know. Had me giving her almost fifteen percent off supplies that were going to be used for her work! I haven’t had to haggle that much since I first sold something to Dolly Jewel.”
“Those two are becoming fast friends.”
The men eased onto stools on opposite sides of the counter. Whit poured tepid lemonade into Mason jar glasses. Bowen swallowed, refreshed from the heat of the afternoon.
“Hard not to be friends with Miss Jewel. She’s a pistol.” Whit ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. Bowen set his glass down and leaned forward to clap a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“And just when are you planning on telling her you’re in love with her?” Bowen grinned. It would be a good match once the both of them realized they were made for each other.
Whit looked up, dismayed. “Is it that obvious, then?”
“You mean to anyone but me, you, and the fence post? No. Your secret is safe.”
Whit breathed a sigh of relief before going back to unboxing merchandise from a crate marked Perishable .
He pried open a tin of butter, sighing in annoyance. “Now, for what I have to pay, you expect it to at least be butter-colored. This looks like the desert sky at sunset! I can’t sell this. Well, not to the officers’ wives, anyway.”
Bowen eyed the open tin and the swirl of clear, red, orange, and blue oils inside it. He caught a whiff and wrinkled his nose as Whit replaced the lid.
“Oh, forgot to tell you. Wire came in this morning from Prescott,” Whit spoke over his shoulder while examining the rest of the newly delivered stock.
“Not to your attention, I’m guessing.”
“From the post commander, sent to Kendrick.” Bowen’s interest piqued, he leaned forward over the counter. Baker straightened before continuing. “Mrs. Carington, it seems, is returning posthaste. They’re on their way up from the Gila already by army ambulance. Might even be this afternoon. Kendrick was
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