The Darkest Blue Page 6

  “Ash?” Bronson brought him back to the present and Ashley realized his face was wet with tears.

  “Sons of bitches!” Bronson jumped to his feet and trudged back and forth in a line in front of him. “I want to know who they are.”

  Bronson reached for the bottle and refilled his now empty glass. “Go on.”

  Ashley’s voice became hollow. “There were days I wished for death, Bronson. The only thing that kept me holding on was the thought of what it would do to our parents if I died.” He swallowed past a lump in this throat. “I don’t know how I survived, but I did.”

  Ashley continued. “The nights were worse. It was so cold and I didn’t have a blanket or even hardly any clothes to keep me warm. I had no shoes. My pants were filthy. I tried to lower my pants to relieve myself, but it was hard with my hands tied so…” He stopped talking and swallowed more of the whiskey. “The soldiers avoided being near me because I smelled so bad. They would sometimes take pity and untie me from the tree to let me clean up, but not always. After one especially hard beating that caused this,” he motioned to the scar along his jawline, “I couldn’t even sit up. At that point, I finally did give up. I lay on the ground and asked God to take me.”

  He poured another drink. This time he just held it, lost in the memories of the darkest days of his life. Bronson sat beside him silently as Ashley revealed every detail of what happened to him, finally telling of being released by Roberts.

  “It took me a while to come home because I had to gain weight and ensure the worst of the bruising and scars were healed.”

  After a few moments of silence, Bronson cleared his throat. “We knew something was horribly wrong. Pa figured it was from the war. Maybe from a battle with Indians. Especially with the night terrors and your constant silence.”

  Bronson took a deep breath and neared him. “Ash, I’m going to hug you. Not because I feel sorry for you, but because I need it for myself.”

  Ashley nodded in permission. Bronson threw his arms around Ashley and sobbed.

  *****

  Later that night, they sat inside the bunkhouse, each of them on a separate cot. It was a while before either one spoke. It took a while for Bronson to get his emotions together and Ashley allowed him time.

  “Ash. What can I do to help?”

  “I need you to go to cavalry headquarters at Fort Laramie and find out what they have on me. I was told I was listed as a murderer and a deserter. If that’s true, then I will turn myself in.”

  “You did not kill that man. Why would you turn yourself in?” Bronson kept his voice even, but Ashley heard the potency of anger in his voice.

  “I’ll try to tell them the truth, but why would they believe me after I stayed gone so long? It has to end.”

  They continued talking late into the night. Ashley’s eyes became heavy and he waited for Bronson’s final answer.

  “I’ll do it, Ash. We just have to find a way for me to go and not tell Ma or Pa why. I will get the information you need, but I won’t be happy if you do something stupid.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And, Ash?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I won’t ever tell anyone what you told me tonight.”

  “I know, Bronson. I know.”

  Chapter Eight

  Grace peered out the window once again toward the end of the road. No sign of Ashley. Her parents had left for the fair early that morning and would, thankfully, not be there to tell her, “I told you so.”

  Although she and Ashley had not set a time, she clearly told him early morning.

  A single horseman appeared down the road, but she did not pay much attention. It was probably someone heading into town for the fair. Ashley would be picking her up in a wagon at least. The rider neared and her eyes widened.

  It was Ashley.

  Dressed in a midnight blue shirt and black pants, he cut a dashing picture. His hat, also black, was pulled low on his brow, not allowing her to see his expression. Surely the man did not mean for her to ride astride with him into town. She pursed her lips. Yes, of course. He was trying to find a way for her to cancel. First by being late and then by showing up on horseback. It was tempting, but then again, it was also a challenge.

  She looked down at her dress, it was a simple, green, calico frock with wide, long skirts and cinched at the waist. As she planned to walk about all day, she wore serviceable shoes. Grace yanked open the door and rushed to the porch. “I’ll be right there, let me put boots on and grab my hat.”

  Ashley dismounted and pulled his horse behind. “I apologize for my lateness.” He climbed the stairs to the porch and removed his hat. “My mother needed help setting up her quilt stand and Bronson stayed behind at the ranch, so Pa and I had to build it this morning.”

  His serious gaze searched hers and she found it hard to look away. “I’ll be right back.”

  When he reached for her forearm, a quiver of awareness shook her. “I couldn’t bring the wagon, they are using it, and it’s loaded with quilts and whatever it is women use for that. I should have planned better.”

  With effort, she tore her gaze away to take in the horse. The enormous, grey beast pawed at the ground as if impatient. “He’s beautiful. As all of the horses from Cole ranch are. What’s his name?”

  Ashley’s eyebrows rose and a twinkle of pride lit his eyes. “Storm.”

  “Fits him,” she replied and hurried inside to don boots and a hat. Once she returned, Ashley helped her atop Storm, and then lifted onto the saddle behind her, his strong arms circling around her. At once, every inch of her body alerted to Ashley’s larger body so close to hers. Each movement brought more awareness of the hardness of his broad chest pressed to her back.

  He must have felt her tension. “Relax, we’ll be there shortly. We’ll dismount a bit away and walk to the fair. You father already doesn’t like me. Don’t want to push my luck.” The deep timbre of his voice so close to her ear made her want to lean back into him.

  “That’s a good idea.” The crisp breeze blew strands of hair across her face. Although still early in the day, the bright sun warmed enough to keep from becoming too chilled.

  “I half expected you not to show up.”

  “Why?”

  “Your mother forced you into it. Besides, I don’t remember ever seeing you in town for any event.”

  She felt him shrug. “I don’t like to be around people.”

  “I gathered. Why is that?”

  “Many reasons.” He guided the horse to the stables. The smell of hay and animal tickled her nose. A young man rushed out to greet them. Ashley dismounted then held his hands up to her. Their eyes met and butterflies invaded her gut. She slipped down into his arms, her hands on his shoulders. Once her feet settled on the ground, he promptly moved away.

  “This way, sir,” the boy told Ashley.

  Grace couldn’t help taking in the tall man when he walked away, pulling the oversized horse toward the stable’s interior. Together, horse and man made a handsome sight; tall, muscular and powerful.

  He’d not answered her question. She understood he was a loner who preferred not to speak unless absolutely necessary. As a matter of fact, when he conversed with her, it still surprised her.

  A few moments later, Ashley walked toward her, shoulders squared, a gun belt snug at his narrow hips. When his eyes met hers, the awareness of how attracted she was to him sent warmth to her face. She cleared her throat and looked away.

  She slipped her hand through his proffered arm and prepared for what was sure to be an interesting day.

  Long rows of booths, banners and decorated wagons on both sides of the dirt road that ran down the center of town transformed Alder Gulch. Children dashed crisscross in excitement, their mothers calling words of caution after them. The air smelled of roasted peanuts and corn. Grace couldn’t help but smile at the sound of music coming from a stage set in the center of the festivities. Three men played a lively tune while people stood aroun
d clapping or tapping their feet to the rhythm.

  As soon as they neared the festivities, townsfolk turned to them with curious looks before talking to each other in quick whispers. The muscles under her hand bunched. But when she looked to Ashley, his face remained impassive, his manner calm. Sensing her regard, he looked to her and leaned closer. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  “Not until you buy me roasted peanuts. Oh, and we won’t leave until you dance with me, too.” She smiled at his widening eyes. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to dance.”

  “I know how to.” His reply surprised her. He guided her to where his mother stood waving them over. “Ma taught the three of us several dances.”

  Elizabeth Cole’s booth was huge with exquisite quilts of every design and color displayed on cleverly attached rods that allowed for the patterns to be admired. Grace released Ashley’s arm to greet his mother who hugged her tightly. “I’m so sorry about the wagon, dear. It wasn’t until we arrived in town that I told Ashley he could not take it since it was part of the display. I hope riding astride was not too uncomfortable.”

  “Of course not, Mrs. Cole. I ride all the time. I just had to change my shoes.” They laughed at the worn boots under her dress. She took Ashley’s arm again. “We’ll be back after we walk around a bit.” She allowed him to lead her through the crowd. Some glanced their way while others overtly stared. A paltry few paid them no mind.

  Olivia Dougherty, the town doctor’s daughter, stood next to the peanut stand. Grace greeted her friend who gave them a warm smile and a polite nod to Ashley. The pretty blonde scooped up peanuts into a paper cone. “My father was called away to deliver a baby, so it seems I’m stuck here for a while.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t even like peanuts.”

  “How can you not?” Grace cracked one and ate the smoky bits holding the bag out to Ashley who took a handful.

  Olivia eyed him. “It’s nice to see you out, Ashley.”

  His gaze went from Grace to Olivia. He directed a stiff nod to Olivia. She raised an eyebrow to Grace, the unspoken question. “How do you communicate with him?”

  After paying Olivia for the peanuts, they continued to the stage. Two women sang a sweet song while a man played a fiddle and another a guitar. The women’s voices carried the lively tune as the crowd around them clapped in rhythm. Ashley found a place for them on a bench and they sat. No sooner had Grace settled and looked to the stage than the woman next to her leaned into her ear. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Grace Dawson. I’m shocked your father allowed you to be escorted by that man. He’s not to be trusted.”

  After sliding a glance to find Ashley continuing to look straight ahead towards the stage, Grace turned to the woman. “I don’t believe I know you, lady. At your judgmental countenance, I am glad for it.” The woman’s mouth fell open. Her eyes looked past Grace to Ashley then back to the stage.

  “Suit yourself,” the woman snapped.

  They walked around to the different stands, admiring the wares and Grace found she enjoyed Ashley’s quiet company. After a while, it seemed the folks stopped gaping and became accustomed to his presence, for which Grace was grateful. She felt bad for him. Not that the strong, proud man needed her protection, but she wanted to give it. She wanted to keep him from hearing any rude comments or suffering glares filled with contempt.

  Grace craned her neck to look to the other displays and spotted her parents standing beside a display of dolls. Dolls were a hobby of her mother’s that both she and her father tolerated. It was not the hobby itself that was bothersome. It was living with dozens of the dolls around the house, on shelves, chairs and beds that got annoying.

  “My parents are over there.” She pointed. Grace paid a woman for a basket she held and they walked toward her parents’ stand. Upon spotting them, her mother visibly stiffened and said something to her father who turned and scowled in their direction.

  Not exactly a welcoming front, Grace tugged at Ashley’s arm. “Let’s try this ring toss game. It looks like fun.”

  “Go ahead and play. Your father has beckoned me over. I’ll be back in a bit.” He walked away and she followed, not sure what her father intended.

  *****

  Ashley knew he’d be confronted by Miles Dawson and was actually surprised the man had not sought him out earlier. Grace came alongside Ashley, her chin jutted forward and a determined look on her face. Her presence calmed his racing heart. “It’s expected that he ask my intentions toward you, Grace.”

  She turned to him with a questioning look and blew out a breath. “He better mind his manners.” With her arms to her sides and a determined expression, she made a beautiful protector.

  Sheriff Dawson waited for them to approach with his eyes locked on Ashley, his right hand resting atop his revolver as if expecting a shoot out. He stood away from any booths to ensure they were out of earshot from most. “I need to speak to Ashley in private. Grace, please go to your mother and help her for a few minutes.”

  “I don’t know what could be so important that it can’t wait.” She gave her father a long look then turned to Ashley, who gave her a nudge on the arm.

  “Do as your father asks.”

  When Grace walked off, the sheriff ground his teeth, a muscle jumping at his jaw. Barely restrained anger emanated from him. “You will return my daughter as soon as this thing is over and you will never call or speak to her again. Do I make myself clear?”

  Ashley looked straight into the man’s eyes. He’d already made a decision. He felt too much when he was with Grace and had no intention of calling on her again, nor did he have any intention of speaking to her unless necessary.

  “By the way,” the sheriff continued, “Captain Ford, a decorated cavalry captain, has shown interest in courting Grace. I am not only giving my permission, but encouraging the match.”

  His hackles up, Ashley wondered how he’d keep Grace away from Ford and keep her safe while avoiding the entanglement of the angry man before him. He looked past Dawson’s shoulder and caught sight of Grace watching them. When Ashley’s eyes met hers, something in his chest fluttered and he drew away to once again look to her father.

  “Not Ford,” he said to the surprised sheriff who he rarely spoke to. “Anyone but him. He’s not a good man.”

  The sheriff frowned. “What do you know about him?”

  Ashley locked gazes with the man who he’d never gotten to know well. What could he say? “Grace is coming back.”

  Sheriff Dawson turned when she approached and gave his daughter an awkward pat on her shoulder. “Go on and enjoy yourself. You can return home with us. Ashley was just telling me he wants to remain and help his mother pack up at the end of the festivities.”

  She didn’t reply. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked away from them.

  Ashley followed.

  Grace rushed between two buildings and stopped next to a barrel and placed her hand on it, her body rigid.

  More than anything right now, he wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her close. Reassure Grace that all would be well. Unfortunately, that was something he could not promise. Not until Ford was out of the picture.

  He pondered how to keep her away from Ford while at the same time not give her any false hope of a relationship with him. Ashley came to a stop next to her and heaved a breath. “You said you were holding me to a dance.”

  The silence stretched and he leaned forward and noticed her reddened face. “Are you crying?”

  Grace didn’t respond. She kept her head down and turned away from him. He took her arm. “Talk to me.”

  She remained with her head bent, so he cupped her jaw and lifted her face to be shocked at the anger blazing from her chocolate brown eyes. “I am not crying. I’m fighting to keep from punching you.”

  His lips twitched at her words, but in this instance his usual silence was best.

  She jerked her face out of his grasp. “When were you going to tell me you are
not escorting me home? Is this your way of telling me you don’t like my company?”

  Her enticing mouth took his attention. Had she asked something? Ashley pressed his lips over hers. He took her slender shoulders at the same time and pulled her against him. When she placed her hands on both sides of his waist and responded, he held back a moan.

  He urged her to part her lips and she did. Her intoxicating taste fogged all thoughts other than the woman in his arms and the need to protect her. Never letting her go.

  Obviously, Grace realized the inappropriate display they made when she suddenly pushed away with a sharp intake of breath. “What are you doing?”

  “What?” Ashley blinked several times to get his bearings and adjust to the sharp contrast of not having her close. “You kissed me back.”

  “I am too mad at you to dance.” She changed the subject and turned toward the festivities. “I may as well help my mother.”

  He took her hand and pulled her behind him toward the center of the fair where four men on the stage played an animated song. Ignoring the sharp glances by people, he guided Grace to where several people already danced.

  Her face impassive, Grace allowed him to guide her into the dancing area and they fell into a relaxed rhythm. It did not escape his notice how well they fit together, how comfortable for the first time in his life he felt with someone not in his family.

  She lifted her face to him and looked into his eyes. “Don’t call on me again, Ashley.”

  When the song ended, Grace turned away and made her way toward her parents.

  Chapter Nine

  Erwin Ford arrived late to the festivities, too late it seemed from the scene before him. Grace danced with Ashley Cole. The lively, irritating music flowed through the air as he made his way toward the edge of the stands. “Captain Ford!” A woman he remembered from a social function he’d attended a few days earlier motioned him over, her wan face brightened with a wide smile.