Sun Woman. Lindsay McKenna
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tent. Nettie came rushing back from another tent, his pressed and folded clothes in her arms. Gib took them and thanked her. He dug out some coins from his pocket and gave them to her.
“Sergeant McCoy, you always pay us too much.”
“Keep it, Nettie.” Ten cents was a lot of money. It could buy a pound of food, and Gib knew that Poppy would put it to good use. The woman was forever feeding the scouts and the other enlisted men who couldn’t afford to buy enough food for themselves. Malnutrition was a real problem within the cavalry. Poppy was always making deals with men who hawked fresh food at the post. She kept it on hand in her large trunks to dole out to the men.
“I found it!” Poppy crowed. She brandished a stick of candy she’d pulled from the trunk. Turning, she gave it to Kuchana. “Here, chile, you suck on this. I bet you never had peppermint before.” Her eyes danced as she watched Kuchana stare at the candy. “Go on, now, eat it.”
Sniffing it cautiously, Kuchana noted it smelled wonderful. Poppy stood there, grinning, as Kuchana put the stick in her mouth. It was pleasantly minty and sweet. Surprised, Kuchana took it out of her mouth and studied it more closely.
“It is sweet, but it is not honey.”
Chuckling, Poppy clapped her on the back. “Chile, you just come around once a day, and Poppy here will fatten you up.”
Kuchana needed some care, Gib thought. And he couldn’t give it to her without being accused of favoritism. Poppy gave him a knowing look, and Gib breathed a sigh of relief. Kuchana might not have a place among the Apaches or the white world, but if he was any judge of the situation, Poppy had just adopted her as part of her own family.
Chapter Five
“Sergeant, I want you to go pick up the food supplies from Jacobsen’s Mine,” Carter ordered, triumph blazing in his eyes. During the two weeks since that woman savage arrived, Dodd had been giving her every detail he could think of. Although she had brought in fresh meat twice, he still didn’t believe she could track. McCoy must have brought down the game and lied for her, he was certain. He saw the disgust in the sergeant’s eyes at his command.
“And take Kuchana with you. You’ll need help with that string of mules to and from the mine. Go get a voucher over at Supply to pay for it.”
What was Carter trying to do? Get Kuchana shot? Gib had watched a pattern develop the past couple of weeks. Carter was trying to get Kuchana in trouble. If Gib hadn’t been as alert as he was with his enlisted men, Carter might have gotten his way. Kuchana was rapidly learning about army and post life, but her naiveté could be her downfall.
Holding on to his temper, Gib drilled the officer with a scathing look. “Sir, it isn’t wise to send a scout up to Jacobsen’s. Those miners are constantly getting raided by Apaches. If I take Kuchana along, there could be real trouble.”
Carter shrugged. The day was just beginning and the sun was already sending hot streamers across the arid land. “Sergeant, just do as you’re ordered. Pick up the ten mules and get up to Jacobsen’s.”
“Sir, those miners hate Apaches.”
“I don’t care,” he said irritably.
“You’ve never ordered one of our scouts along on this supply trip before. Why now?” Sweat was forming on McCoy’s upper lip. He longed to wipe it away with the back of his hand. Carter stiffened, his eyes blazing with anger.
“Sergeant, are you questioning my orders?” he snarled.
“Sir,” McCoy said evenly, “I’m not questioning your orders, just your choice of who should go with me. Normally, one of the cooks goes along to help pick up the officers’ supplies.”
Setting his mouth, Dodd glared up at the tall sergeant. He hated McCoy. The Negroes jumped to carry out the sergeant’s orders. While, when he gave orders, the men were sullen and slow about obeying them. “You may have been considered a brilliant Indian campaigner at Fort Apache, Sergeant, and you may have more medals than I’ll ever get, but you’re not an officer any longer. What you think isn’t important. It’s my responsibility to give orders.” He punched McCoy in the chest. “It’s your job to carry them out. Or do you want to be drawn up on charges of disobeying a direct order?”
The urge to reach out and pin Carter against the headquarters building was very strong. West Point had swelled Carter’s already arrogant head. Worse, McCoy realized, was that Carter had been in the Southwest less than a year and didn’t have a flea’s intelligence about Indians. Nor did he care.
“For the record,” McCoy ground out, “I protest Kuchana being chosen to go along. She’s an Apache, and the miners aren’t going to like her presence in their camp.”
With a wave of his hand, Carter turned away. “Go file your protest, Sergeant. Those miners know we have scouts. Nothing’s going to happen.” He turned on his heel, stalking off toward the stabling area.
With a curse, Gib stood there, mulling over the options. Kuchana was going to be in danger. Over the years, the miners had killed a lot of Apaches. They were trigger-happy and liked to collect black-haired Indian scalps for the twenty-five dollars apiece they got from scalpers. Turning, McCoy went into the office to file his protest. If anything did happen, he’d at least be able to protect Kuchana and himself from any further charges by Carter. The snot-nosed officer was out to get him, and was using Kuchana as a lever to do it.
Kuchana was visiting Poppy’s tent when Gib located her. The laundress and her daughter were hard at work, scrubbing clothes on the corrugated tin washerboards set in tubs filled with hot, soapy water. He hid his worry and anxiety over the forthcoming trip to the mine as he approached. Kuchana was helping out by hanging clothes on a line.
“Morning, Sergeant McCoy,” Poppy greeted, her features shiny with perspiration. She wore a bright red scarf around her head, and a voluminous red dress. The sleeves were folded up to her elbows but the material was soaked, anyway.
Gib tipped his hat. “Morning, Poppy. I see you have Kuchana hard at work.”
“No-o-o, Sergeant McCoy. Why, I told that chile she didn’t have to help us, but she got it in her head to do just that.”
Kuchana smiled and waved to Gib. Hanging the last two items of clothes on the line, she brought the woven basket over to the laundress and set it down.
Every time Kuchana smiled, an ache shot through Gib. The past two weeks had wrought a miracle of sorts in her. With Poppy’s feeding her three times a day and making her feel at home, Kuchana had blossomed from a silent, suspicious woman into one with a ready smile.
And every night, he dreamed of her in his arms. Gib tried to tell himself it was infatuation, not love, that he was feeling for Kuchana. It was agony to be with her and not reach out and make contact with her. This urge to touch her was a hunger he was barely able to control. Kuchana was in his blood and he was helpless to do anything about it.
Gib nodded in her direction. “We’ve got orders to get up to Jacobsen’s,” he told Kuchana.
Poppy gasped. “You aren’t going to take this chile up there! Why, that’s plumb stupid, Sergeant McCoy.”
Kuchana frowned at the alarm in Poppy’s voice. “Who is Jacobsen?”
Uncomfortable, and wishing he could express his anger and concern just as the laundress had, Gib explained, “It’s a mining community about five miles from here. Lieutenant Carter usually sends the cooks up with the mules to get supplies for the officers and their wives once a month.” Trying to hide his worry, he added, “Carter has ordered us to do it this time.”
“Oh, Sergeant McCoy,” Poppy pleaded, “you know that’s foolish. Kuchana’s Apache. Oh, Lordy, something awful could happen.”
“It won’t,” Gib answered tightly. He could see Kuchana becoming upset over Poppy’s dramatic display. Taking Kuchana by