“I will not calm down! This pompous ass—”
“I beg your pardon?” Whitlock said, rising indignantly.
“You heard me. You’re a pompous, unfeeling—”
“Rayna, shut up!” Meade demanded, grabbing her arm before she could do something stupid, like flying across the desk to punch Whitlock in the face.
“General, please forgive her. As you can imagine, this ordeal has put an incredible strain on—”
“Damn it, don’t apologize for me,” Rayna snapped, jerking her arm away from him. “How can you possibly toady to a man like this?”
“I am not toadying!” Meade snapped as his perspective on the situation slipped away from him. “This is my commanding officer, and he is to be treated with respect.”
“Well, you may have to kowtow to this petty martinet, but I certainly don’t!”
“You do if you want Skylar back!”
“That’s enough!” Whitlock thundered. “I have given you my answer, Miss Templeton, and you will have to live with it. Now get her out of here, Major Ashford.”
Meade managed to calm himself. “General, I beg you to reconsider. Since it was your order that resulted in Miss Templeton’s abduction, surely you have the power to rescind it regardless of the reorganization of the department.”
Whitlock glared at him. “Major, I gave you an order and I expect you to carry it out. I want this woman out of here. If she wants that Indian back, she’ll to have to write George Crook. I believe he’ll be arriving in Arizona shortly to take charge.” He plopped into his chair. “Dismissed, Major.”
It was everything Meade could do to force himself to offer the general a brisk salute. “Good day, General. Come on, Rayna,” he said, taking her arm.
“There’s nothing more to be done here.”
Rayna couldn’t believe it. Whitlock was blithely dismissing her as though Skylar’s welfare—indeed her very life—meant nothing. Epithets and accusa-tions sprang to her lips, but Meade was bustling her out of the office before any of them could form. Trembling with barely suppressed rage, she allowed Meade to lead her out of the building.
“How could you let that happen?” she demanded, jerking her arm out of his grasp.
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“Me?” Meade gasped. “If you’ll recall, I’m the one who warned you to wait until Whitlock was in a better mood. Having his military command usurped by General Crook has been tantamount to being told that he’s incompetent to handle the job of controlling this territory.”
“Considering the decisions he’s made, I’d say that’s a pretty accurate assessment,” she replied hotly.
“Oh, why don’t you go back in there and tell him that? I’m sure that’ll make him relent.”
“Damn you, Meade Ashford, don’t you understand what’s happened here?”
“Yes, I do. Quite well, in fact. You’re angry at Whitlock and you’re taking it out on me.”
“Well, who else am I going to take it out on?”
She had a good point. “You’re right,” he said calmly, spreading his arms wide. “Fire away.”
His feeble attempt at humor was Rayna’s undoing. Her failure and the devastating repercussions it was going to have, not only on Skylar but on their father as well, came crashing down on her. A sob of anger and anguish caught in her throat, and tears flooded her eyes. “Oh, God, Meade. What am I going to do? How do I tell Papa? What if he dies?”
“He won’t die, Rayna,” Meade said gently, pulling her into his arms as he’d longed to do so many times since he’d met her. To his surprise she didn’t pull away but instead lowered her head to his chest and let the tears spill out.
He held her close, trying to ignore his body’s intense and immediate reaction to having her pressed against him. The fact that he shared her concern and understood her sorrow only enhanced the sensations.
Be paternal, Ashford, he told himself sternly. After all, you are old enough to be her father. Well, nearly old enough. The twelve-year chasm that separated them was far too wide for either of them to cross. Unfortunately he couldn’t make himself feel paternal or even brotherly about Rayna Templeton.
He crooned comforting words to her, and to his great relief—and disappointment—she quickly regained control of her emotions. She allowed him to hold her until her sobs had subsided; then she pulled away. “I’m sorry,”
she said, still not fully in command of her breathing. “I’m not normally a weepy female.”
“I would never have mistaken you for one,” he said charitably, hoping it would alleviate her embarrassment. For the first time, Meade noticed that a number of soldiers on the parade ground were watching them. He encouraged Rayna to allow him to walk her back to the hotel, and she didn’t argue.
“What will you do now?” he asked as they moved down the walkway.
Rayna tried to collect her thoughts. “Go home, I suppose, and write to General Crook.”
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“I’ll make some inquiries this afternoon and see if I can find out where he’ll be making his headquarters.”
“Thank you.” She glanced up at him, but her eyes darted away quickly. She was too embarrassed about her ridiculous bout of weeping to hold his gaze.
“If you like, I’ll write a letter to Crook that you can include in your packet to him. I campaigned under the general during his first tour in Arizona, and I’m certain he’ll remember me.”
Rayna sighed. She didn’t deserve his kindness. “It seems that whenever I’m not cursing you, I’m thanking you. I am already deep in your debt, Major, but I won’t refuse this favor.” She fell silent a moment as they walked. “Do you think Crook will help me?”
“I’m positive of it, and you should be, too. General Crook is one of the most fair-minded men I’ve ever met. He’ll be as outraged about this as Whitlock was apathetic. But, Rayna . . .” He hesitated until she looked at him expectantly.
“This is going to take some time. Crook will act the moment he receives your letter, but there’s no telling when your dispatch will catch up with him.”
“Is that your way of telling me to be patient?” she asked without rancor.
“Yes.”
“Patience doesn’t come easily to me.”
“Neither does restraint nor prudence, but you’re going to need all three to get through this ordeal.”
Rayna didn’t have enough fight in her at the moment to be offended.
Instead, she felt an overwhelming surge of guilt wash through her, and she averted her face, looking across the street without seeing anything that was transpiring there. “Is this my fault?” she asked, her voice small and far away.
Meade wanted to take her into his arms again. “No, Rayna. You mustn’t blame yourself.”
“But if I hadn’t gotten angry—”
“It still wouldn’t have made a difference,” he insisted. “Nothing you could have said or done would have changed Whitlock’s mind. He is a pompous ass even on the best of days. Calling him one didn’t make it less than true, nor did it change the outcome of the meeting.”
She gave him a weak but grateful smile. “You’re only saying that to make me feel better, but I appreciate it.”
If he had thought she’d believe him, Meade would have protested, but it didn’t seem worth the effort. For the moment all of Rayna’s fighting spirit had deserted her, but he knew she wouldn’t stay down long.
“When are you leaving?” he asked. The hotel was just ahead of them, and he was already dreading their parting.
“Tonight. There’s a train leaving for Albuquerque at six o’clock. I can stay there overnight and be home tomorrow.”
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