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“As a matter of fact, I did.” She wasn’t going to conceal anything from him. “All the tables were full except one. Mr. Giles suggested that we share it.”
“Giles? Bull Giles?”
“Yes. He’s arrived here in Dodge.” She included the obvious information.
“As your husband, I have the right to request that you have nothing more to do with that man,” Benteen stated.
“I haven’t given you any cause to make that request,” Lorna replied coolly. “Besides, we’re leaving tomorrow. More than likely Mr. Giles is another person I’ll be telling good-bye and never seeing again.”
“That’s the second time you’ve said that. Is there a particular reason why you keep bringing it up?” Benteen grew stiff.
Lorna wished devoutly that she hadn’t. It was too depressing. “No. No reason,” she said in a dispirited tone. A wry smile tugged the corners of her mouth up. “I have grown up some, Benteen. Now I can tell people good-bye and not cry all day about it.” This time she changed the subject. “Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Shall we go into the dining room, then?” she suggested. “I’ll have a cup of tea while you eat.”
That evening, Lorna retired to their hotel room after dinner while Benteen again made his excuses not to stay. Too restless to sleep, Lorna sat on the bed and read the newspaper he had bought earlier.
She was surprised by a knock on the door. It seemed unlikely that Benteen had come back so early, and he had a key to let himself in. She doubted that Bull Giles would be so bold as to come to the room. She glanced at the valise near the bed where she kept the pistol Benteen had given her
.
“Who is it?” Lorna demanded, and moved to the end of the bed closer to the valise.
“I am Lady Crawford’s maid,” came the precisely spoken reply. “She sent me by with some lotion for the madam.”
Lorna hadn’t exactly forgotten about it, but she thought the woman had. She crossed the room and unlocked the door. When she opened it, the maid was standing outside. She wore a black dress with a pristine white apron and a ruffled cap atop her head. She looked as starched and stiff as her clothes, as she made an inspecting glance at Lorna.
“The lotion, madam.” She seemed to sniff her disapproval as she presented Lorna with a small jar.
“Will you express my gratitude to her ladyship, and give her my regards?” Lorna requested with equal formality, and clutched the jar tightly in her hands, treasuring the thought that its contents might make her skin as smooth as Lady Crawford’s.
The maid appeared vaguely surprised that Lorna was capable of civilized speech. “I will, madam.” She made a brief curtsy and turned on her heel to rustle down the hall in her starched dress.
The lotion seemed to be all that Lady Crawford had claimed it to be. Lorna swore she felt a difference the minute she applied it to her face and hands. If she used it sparingly, it would last a long time. She could hardly wait until Mary tried some of it.
Most of her elation faded when she thought of her friend. She had hoped she’d be able to persuade Mary to continue on with them. But Benteen had said they were making preparations to leave. With the strain of her marriage, it was going to be a very long and lonely journey to the Montana Territory.
Again Lorna was asleep when Benteen returned in the early morning. She didn’t hear him undress and slide into bed beside her, taking care not to touch her.
The first rays of the sun were shining through the window when he stood fully clothed beside the bed. “Wake up, Lorna,” he said briskly.
She stirred and rolled over to blink sleepily at him. For a few seconds there was warmth in her eyes for him; then it faded.
“It’s time to leave,” she guessed.
He nodded shortly. “I’ll bring the wagon around while you dress. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“All right,” she sighed, but he was already walking to the door.
The ungainly covered wagon lumbered into camp while the morning was still new. The scene awaiting Lorna had grown very familiar to her. The highly functional chuck wagon with its sideboards for storing the cowboys’ bedrolls and chuck box at the tail end was set up for business. A couple of drovers were hunkered down by the fire, nursing cups of coffee. Over by the Stanton wagon, Mary was washing clothes. She had assumed the role of camp laundress during the drive, a chore that usually went to the cook.
When the wagon rattled to a stop, Ely put aside the harness he was repairing and came over to give Benteen a hand with the team. With the brake set, Benteen swung to the ground and turned back to place a steadying hand on Lorna’s waist as she climbed down from the wagon seat.
“Thought you might want to know, Benteen”—Ely kept busy with the team, not pausing while he spoke—“me and Mary have talked it over. We’d like to go on with you to Montana an’ maybe file on a piece of land there. I can run a few cows an’ maybe work for you on the side.”
“I’ll be needing a few riders,” was all Benteen said in response.
