Oklahoma Bride. Carol Finch
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Rafe grumbled.
And that’s exactly what Karissa Baxter was, Rafe mused as he tended then saddled Sergeant. She had tempted him, tormented him and deprived him of sleep. If he didn’t believe it was necessary to adhere to the rules of the Run, he’d set her free just to get her out from underfoot. But she had broken the rules and she would suffer the consequences.
At six o’clock, Rafe ambled into the mess hall and plunked down in his chair at the officers’ table. He nearly choked on his coffee when Micah escorted Karissa into the room. All conversation dried up when the men noticed the fetching new arrival.
As for Rafe, he wasn’t sure what he expected the first time he saw Karissa dressed as a respectable lady, but the sight of her would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn’t been sitting down.
All those shapely feminine curves that had been downplayed by her baggy men’s clothes were advantageously displayed in the pale green gown. He, like every other man in the mess hall, became distracted by the scooped-neck dress that showcased the full swells of her breasts.
She had twisted that thick mass of wild red hair atop her head, calling attention to the swanlike column of her neck. The trim-fitting gown accentuated her tiny waist and the seductive flare of her hips. In short, she was breathtakingly attractive, even with that smattering of freckles on her upturned nose.
To make matters worse, Karissa flashed a smile around the room and a collective sigh of masculine appreciation sent a draft of air rushing past Rafe.
Damn, beauty, brains and irrepressible spirit all rolled into one. Much too pretty a package to be such an aggravating misfit, he found himself thinking. He had never considered a woman dangerous before, but that was the first word that sprang to mind when he thought of Karissa. Men naturally assumed that such a dainty-looking, petite female who barely stood five feet two inches and couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds wouldn’t be a force to reckon with.
Rafe knew better.
“Good morning, General,” Karissa greeted him, all smiles and good humor.
While she gracefully seated herself between Micah and Rafe, he noticed that speculative glances were bouncing across the mess hall. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what his men were thinking, as it pertained to his connection to Karissa.
When Rafe flung Micah a why-in-the-hell-did-you-bring-her-to-breakfast glare, Micah shrugged. “She was getting bored again. I was concerned about your room. I don’t want to bunk together indefinitely.”
Karissa laid her hand on Rafe’s arm and turned such a sticky sweet smile on him that he nearly lost his appetite. “Micah is such a thoughtful and considerate gentleman,” she cooed pretentiously. “You should take your cue from him, General. His charm brings out the best in me.”
Knowing all eyes were on him, he flashed her a smile he didn’t feel. Rafe leaned sideways and whispered, “Do not cross me, woman. You will not win.”
She graced the mess hall full of men with another dazzling smile. “You don’t frighten me in the least,” she murmured confidentially. “Last night we discovered who was afraid of whom.”
His fists curled on his thighs, wishing he could strangle her. “I have the authority to see you deported. One word from me and you won’t be permitted to make the Run. You better remember that.”
When her smile faded and her lower lip trembled, as if she was about to burst into tears, Rafe silently scowled. His men stared at him as if he had committed the unpardonable sin of upsetting her. She was staging an act for their benefit and threatening his credibility with his men. Even Micah, and the officers’ wives gathered at the table, looked at him as if he had committed a breach of gentlemanly etiquette.
Hell and damnation! Was there no way to gain the upper hand with her? First off, she had cleverly countered his every threat. Secondly, she stuck in his mind like a flaming arrow, even after he had vowed not to give her another thought. Rafe decided, there and then, that as long as Karissa Baxter was running around the garrison, his routine would be turned upside down.
A wise commander knew when to charge and when to retreat. He had little choice but to take a company of his men and spend the day scouting for squatters. The less he saw of Karissa the better.
Bearing that in mind, Rafe wolfed down his meal then left Micah with the task of introducing Karissa to her posted guard.
Rafe swore he heard Karissa laughing triumphantly when he turned tail and all but ran from the mess hall.
Karissa’s first impression of Harlan Billings, the corporal who had been assigned to keep watch on her while she tended her laundress chores, was not good. After Micah had made the introductions then walked off to assume his duties, Harlan had leered at her. It annoyed her that he kept finding excuses to place his hand at the small of her back to guide her through doorways and to grasp her elbow as they ascended steps.
His beady black eyes, pointy nose and thin tuft of brown hair reminded her of a rat dressed in a uniform, and each fleeting touch of his hand made her wince. Having this man following like her shadow was quickly spoiling her mood.
While Harlan propped his thin-bladed shoulder against the wall in the washroom, Karissa set to work scrubbing clothes and tried to ignore his unwanted presence. By the time he escorted her to the mess hall for lunch she decided she preferred matching wits with Rafe rather than being subjected to Harlan’s lecherous stares and innuendos. It was obvious this skinny weasel of a man wanted something from her—the same thing that he presumed she had given to Rafe.
Judging from the snide comments Harlan made about Rafe, she surmised that her guard suffered from a severe case of professional jealousy. Obviously Harlan coveted Rafe’s position of authority and had convinced himself that the commander held a personal grudge against him.
When the two other laundresses carried off their baskets of clean clothes, leaving Karissa alone with Harlan, he stepped closer and devoured her with another of those insulting stares that visually undressed her.
“So, is the commander’s mistress also available to enlisted men or is he the only one allowed to sample your charms?” Harlan asked rudely.
Karissa tossed the underwear she was cleaning into the soap-filled tub then rounded on the smirking guard. “I am no man’s mistress,” she informed him sharply. “I am under house arrest, same as the men in the stockade.”
Harlan smiled sarcastically. “Of course, and that explains why you’re staying in Commander Hunter’s living quarters and dining beside him in the mess hall. Come now, sweetheart, everyone at this post knows that rank has privileges. But you should know that the commander is betrothed already. If you’re scheming to become more than his mistress I suggest you think again. The high-and-mighty commander is marrying into another well-known family of military echelon. You’ll never be more to him than the time he’s killing before the wedding.”
Karissa didn’t know why that information sent her stomach on a downward spiral. Rafe Hunter was betrothed to one of his own kind? She shouldn’t be the least bit surprised…or hurt by the news.
It wasn’t as if she wanted Rafe for herself, for she had vowed years earlier that she would never care so much for a man that he could wield the power to destroy her. She had watched her father reduce himself to gambling and drinking when her mother died unexpectedly. She would never let herself become that dependent on anyone.
Looking out for her younger brother fulfilled her need to be useful and needed, and she had no intention of finding herself at the mercy of any man. She had been independent and self-reliant too many years to sit still for that!
She knew Rafe Hunter was far above her station in life, that he was devoted to his military position, that he would—and should—marry someone of equal social prominence. Yet…
And yet nothing, Karissa scolded herself as she went back to work. Yes, Rafe Hunter was attractive and his dynamic presence demanded her attention. Yes, he was sharp minded and she enjoyed the challenge of matching