Oklahoma Bride. Carol Finch
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with trouble, did you?” Micah questioned as he set the woman on her feet then clamped an arm around her elbow.
Rafe watched in amazement as the hellcat—who had tried to claw him to shreds—turned a radiant smile on Micah. “If that question was directed to me, sir, then the answer is yes. I would like to press charges against your commanding officer for molestation and assault.”
Rafe nearly choked when the woman mimicked his Eastern accent and projected an air of ladylike dignity. When Micah’s befuddled gaze bounced back and forth between Rafe and the woman, he had the impulsive urge to spout his denial of her outrageous accusations.
“Well?” the woman prompted haughtily. “Don’t I have the right to protest such ill treatment, just because Rafe Hunter is the commandant of this fort?”
“I…uh…” Micah stammered, his blue-eyed gaze leaping from one mud-covered face to the other.
“Come along, miss,” Rafe muttered as he towed her into the foyer of officers’ quarters. “Captain Micah Whitfield is second in command and he’s a longtime friend of mine. Your ploy won’t work on him.” He hoped.
To Micah he said, “She’s the one who set up the campfire that we detected before you led the patrol back to the fort.”
Micah’s eyes widened as he reassessed the woman in muddy breeches, faded shirt and patched jacket. “You were out there alone?” he asked incredulously.
She turned pleading green eyes on Micah, graced him with that feigned-innocent smile and began her spiel about traveling cross-country to rejoin her family and how she had resorted to wearing men’s clothes to protect herself from lecherous men—like the post commander.
Rafe barked a laugh. He didn’t believe this feisty little con artist for a minute. He had seen her fight like the very devil and then he had watched her turn on the charm for Micah’s benefit.
“That is more than enough,” Rafe interrupted her long-winded explanation. “Don’t waste your breath. Micah isn’t as gullible as he looks.”
Whoever this woman was, it was glaringly apparent that she was adept at living by her wits and she would say anything in an attempt to talk her way out of trouble.
Rafe grabbed the woman’s arm, wheeled toward the door, then halted in his tracks. As much as he would like to stuff this feisty female in the stockade that was bulging with men, he couldn’t. If she antagonized any of them the way she had smarted off to him they would collectively strangle her. Either that or she would find herself molested repeatedly before the guards could reach her. He really had no choice but to lock her in his quarters for the night and bunk with Micah.
“I’ll keep her in my room,” he announced as he reversed direction.
Micah’s dark brows shot up.
The woman refused to budge from the spot. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Well, good, thought Rafe. It was about time this mouthy hellion showed him some wary respect.
Rafe uprooted the woman and herded her into his tidy quarters. He slammed the door shut then positioned a chair under the doorknob to make sure she didn’t escape while he wasn’t here to stop her. With Micah hot on his heels, Rafe walked back outside to lead his weary mount to the stables.
“You gonna explain what is going on or just leave it to my vivid imagination?” Micah teased as he fell into step beside Rafe.
“That female is a chameleon,” Rafe declared. “She might have been charming to you, but she fought like a cornered Apache when I apprehended her. I’ve encountered less resistance and more respect from the men we’ve taken into custody. I was kicked, bitten and clawed repeatedly.”
“So I see.” Micah chuckled in amusement as he appraised Rafe’s frazzled appearance. “Makes me wish I had insisted on going with you. I’d like to have witnessed that battle.”
“It wasn’t a pretty sight.” Rafe’s stomach growled, reminding him that it was long past supper. “I tried to remind myself that I was brawling with a woman, but it wasn’t easy when she fought like a man.”
“I like a woman with spunk and spirit,” Micah said, blue eyes twinkling.
“You’re welcome to her,” Rafe shot back. “I’m accustomed to a woman who behaves like a lady.”
“Like your fiancée? Ah, yes, the poised and dignified Vanessa Payton. Ask me, that will be a dull marriage indeed.”
“Marriage is part of my obligation to my family,” Rafe reminded him with a casual shrug. “You know perfectly well that I’m devoted to my position here. The army is my life.”
“Which is obviously why you allowed your grandfather, the general, and your father, also a general, to arrange this marriage. As I recall, you’ve only met the lovely Vanessa twice. How can you possibly know if you’ll suit?”
“That’s just the way it’s done in my family,” Rafe replied as he led Sergeant into the stall to remove the saddle.
“Being a half-breed, raised among the Choctaw tribe, I was taught to believe that a man and woman should have a certain affection for each other when they marry. You have heard the word love before, haven’t you, my friend?” Micah taunted.
“Heard of it,” Rafe agreed as he grabbed a brush to tend his prize gelding. “Never associated it with marriage, however. My grandparents’ marriages were arranged, as were my parents, as mine has been. It’s no different than accepting an assignment with the army. You take what you are given and you make the best of it.”
“And my parents, though they hailed from drastically different cultures and contrasting civilizations, defied it all because they loved each other,” Micah maintained then grinned teasingly. “All I can say is that you whites have a strange way of looking at things. And some say Indians are heathens,” he added with a smirk. “Ask me, it’s the other way around.”
“Be that as it may,” Rafe said as he rewarded Sergeant with a bucket of grain, “I agreed to marry Vanessa when the Land Run is over and business in this territory is functioning smoothly.”
He pivoted to shoulder his way past Micah, who was leaning leisurely against the top rail of the stall. “In the meantime, I have to focus my time and efforts on protecting the Unassigned Lands against settler intrusion and attempt to maintain law and order.”
Micah shrugged as he followed Rafe from the stables. “Whatever you say, Major Hunter, but I still contend there is life beyond the military. After I served with the Choctaw light-horsemen to police the territory and guarantee my credentials, I joined the army so I wouldn’t be stuck on the reservation like my mother’s people. I’m not married to the army. When the right woman comes along, I intend to marry for love, not because her name will sound good when it’s linked to mine. That, I assure you, will be my very last consideration.”
Honestly, Rafe sometimes wondered how he and Micah had formed such a strong, lasting friendship when they came from such different walks of life. Maybe the truth was that Rafe envied Micah’s laid-back manner and his philosophies that were steeped in Indian beliefs.
In the early years of their friendship they had relied on each other’s knowledge and backgrounds to broaden their horizons and make them well-rounded soldiers. Now they were as close as brothers and had saved each other’s hide several times during harrowing campaigns against the hostile Plains Indians who had escaped from the reservations in New Mexico.
“Let me know if you need help dealing with your latest prisoner,” Micah commented as he veered toward his quarters.
Rafe snorted at the reminder of the upcoming encounter with the red-haired firebrand who was occupying his room. Now there was a woman he could never love—if there was such a thing as love.
Indeed, Micah was welcome to the smart-mouthed little witch. Rafe preferred to associate with women who allowed him to behave like the gentleman his family