Chapter 22 #2
He’d seen the layout back here at night from a distance with only the stars for a guide. Daylight added clarity and much more detail. If he was lucky, they’d throw the depot doors wide open as they transferred supplies, giving him a good look at what lay inside.
He needed to strike before the order came from Confederate headquarters to load the cotton onto wagons headed for San Antonio and beyond to Mexico. He’d selected five men from the German League to help. Hopefully, New Year’s Eve would be soon enough.
He led Frieda past the hoists and crates into crumpled grass. About a quarter of a mile farther, they stopped in the shade of a pin oak. Devon spread his neckerchief over the top of a rotting stump, and Frieda sat with her back to the warehouse.
Blushing, she stuck her dainty foot out from beneath her skirt. “I’ve never had a beau before. You’ll have to forgive me if my act isn’t polished.”
“You’re doing fine.” Devon knelt in front of her. “I can’t believe you’ve never courted.” He snapped his lips shut, but not before the words slipped through. The last thing he needed to do was make this personal.
“Oh, there was a fellow or two. Bought my pies at the fairs, but no one I fancied. Besides, I vas too busy helping my father.”
Frowning, he tugged off her shoe, avoiding the touch of his fingers to her stocking.
He needed to get this conversation back on track.
“A few fellows glanced our way, but they don’t seem overly concerned.
” He turned her shoe in his hand, one way and the other, supposedly examining it while his gaze scoured their surroundings.
A hawk sailed overhead. White clouds with gray undersides loomed on the western horizon. The weather had been unusually warm lately. A storm could be brewing. He needed to finish his surveillance, get Frieda home, and head back to Sweet Briar before evening.
The hair spiked on the back of his neck, just as it had on occasion when he traveled through Comancheria, half expecting an arrow in his back at any moment. He rocked on to his heels. A shiver coursed down his spine.
He directed his gaze at the buildings. Nothing unusual.
No one seemed to be looking his way. The front of the roundhouse was out of view now, and only the east side of the loading dock was visible from here.
Men moved between the dock and the quartermaster’s depot.
The half-open door revealed a stack of crates.
Beyond all of that, some slight fellow, dressed in a rough brown coat and a flop hat, sat on a log working on something with his hands. Maybe a slave, maybe not. Hadn’t there been someone dressed like that on the street outside Frieda’s house?
Could it be possible that someone was following them, watching them?
Probably just his imagination. He wouldn’t give it another thought if it wasn’t for the hair prickling on the back of his neck.
After all, if the Rebs suspected something serious, they wouldn’t send a fellow in full uniform to march up and ask questions.
The smarter move would be for them to wait and watch, catch the whole network.
Wiggling Frieda’s shoe back on, he stood and held his hand out to her. “Let’s go for a walk. There’s a fellow I want a better look at.” He patted her hand to his arm.
A furrow creased the space between her eyebrows. “Something wrong?”
“Probably nothing. But just in case, let’s put on a show when we get closer. Follow my lead.”
She nodded. The breeze ruffled the lace on her bonnet. “Yes, of course.”
Forsaking the path which meandered toward the river, they made their way parallel to the buildings. Hip-high buffalo grass swiped at his cavalry boots and clung to her skirt.
As they neared the spot, he drew her closer to his side. One of her errant curls caught on his beard. “Tell me something fun from your childhood, a happy memory. It’ll show on your face.” He inhaled lilac. Lilac wasn’t required for a pretend courtship.
She batted her lashes and smiled until her cheeks dimpled.
“There was the time my brother Clem was chased by an armadillo. He was only six, and he swore it was a monster….” Her voice lilted as she wove the tale, only a slight quaver now and then, easily attributed to the excitement of a young lady walking with her beau.
Devon chuckled as he wove them closer to the whittling youth, not a direct path but a casual drift that brought them within earshot.
The young man wore a patched brown coat and rough trousers rolled a good three or four inches at the cuff above scuffed boots.
A battered hat with the world’s floppiest brim shadowed the fellow’s face, revealing just enough to show he was white, not black, not a slave.
Maybe a drifter. Nothing unusual, not even a glance their way.
The boy whittled away at the spike as if he weren’t aware of their proximity.
But that’s what didn’t fit. Wouldn’t someone glance up to see who was passing?
But would the Rebs really hire a boy to spy? He’d seen worse—dead boys on the field of battle not even old enough to shave.
Air leaked out of Devon’s lungs.
“I can’t vait for you to see what I’ve fixed you for dinner tonight.” Frieda squeezed his arm.
“Let me guess.” He refocused and nudged his elbow to hers. “A pie?”
“No, silly, you can’t have dessert first. I’m talking dinner.”
“Everything that comes from your hands tastes like dessert.”
“I bet you say that to all the ladies.”
“None compare to you.” He lifted her hand and brushed his lips to her gloved fingers.
Frieda sucked in a breath. Her face went dead serious.
Don’t fall for the act. He returned her hand to his elbow. “I’ll expound more on your charms this evening in your parlor.”
“You shall?” Her voice fluttered.
“Dinner?” He whispered. “We were talking about dinner.”
“Oh, yes.” She blushed. “Vhat do you think about dumplings? Papa butchered a chicken last night since you vere coming. Chicken and dumplings, and blackberry pie?”
“Best meal of my life.” He turned their steps to the beaten trail that led back to the street and shot a side-glimpse toward the youth.
The boy jerked his head down. He’d been looking.
Devon squared his shoulders. Time to give their observer something else to goggle at. “Frieda,” he whispered. “Forgive me.” He pivoted to her front and inhaled. Hand trembling and stomach contorting, he lifted her chin.
Her eyes widened.
This was not who he should be kissing.
His arid tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth as he bent his head and brushed his lips to her cheek.
She fluttered like a chickadee fluffing its wings. Her lips skimmed his beard before he could withdraw. He fought against the wince that threatened to squeeze his eyes. Their lives might depend upon this deception.
He gazed into her sparkling blue irises and spawned a smile as if he considered her the most beautiful woman in the world. He should say something, but what?
She squeezed his hand and whispered. “I know ve’re only pretending.” But the tremor in her voice said otherwise.
He nodded. She deserved to have a beau. But not him. “Slowly, let your reticule slip to the ground between us. Out of sight of the fellow behind us.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Vhat?”
“I need an excuse to return and see what he’s up to.”
She frowned. The reticule plopped lightly on his boot toe.
“Thank you.” He tucked her hand around his elbow and strode down the path to the street. Once they returned to the hubbub of people and wagons, he stopped. “I want you to head straight home. I’ll be along later.”
“No. I’ll vait.” She clung to his arm. “I mean, I’m fine going back on my own, but vhat if the fellow’s dangerous?”
“Don’t worry. I can handle him.” He tapped the revolver beneath his coat. “But I don’t think it’ll come to that. I’ll ask him if he’s seen your reticule. It’ll give me a chance to take a good look at him and get a better sense of what he’s up to.”
“Be careful.” Worry filled her eyes. Her dimples faded.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.” The foolish notion of kissing her forehead in reassurance flittered through his brain. This mission was getting to him. He touched her sleeve. “If we’re being watched, it’s best to find out now. Head home. I’ll be there soon as I can.”
He stood watching for a moment or two as she headed down the plank sidewalk toward the mercantile.
Should he tell her she and her father needed to leave town if he wasn’t at their place by dinner? No, it couldn’t be anything that serious. Yet.