The Five Dollar Mail (Book 1: The Green & Book 2: Lynch's Boys)

193: About Face

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Fiona by Diego Candia. All graphics by me.

Book 1: The Green, Book 2: Lynch's Boys, Book 3: The Road Home, and the Riders & Kickers Anthology are available on Amazon under the name Regina Shelley. So if you hate waiting for chapter posts and/or want a more polished read, the finished product is available now.

"Miss Lewis-Smythe!" Captain Scarcliff's flustered voice called out behind Fiona as she swept across the hard packed earth of the Fort Bridger stationyard after the meeting.

She ignored him and kept going, her skin hot with fury and the stiff collar of her dress suddenly far too constricting and tight. The golden afternoon sunlight was slanting from a foreboding sky the way it had done years ago when her beautiful Crow scout had ridden his horse up to her rocking chair on the porch of the guest quarters. The sharp longing that seemed to be permanently lodged in her chest twisted with the memory, flaring with fresh ache. She couldn't believe it was possible to miss anything or anyone this much, and her pain lent a brutal edge to her anger.

"Miss Lewis-Smythe, wait!" Scarcliff quickened his pace, following her. "Please!"

"I do not wish to speak to you, Captain Scarcliff," she snapped, not turning around or slowing her pace. "We've nothing to discuss." Actually, we have plenty to discuss, but it would be wasted words on the likes of you, wouldn't it? But if I hear the word 'savages' come out of your mouth one more time, that discussion will probably happen anyways.

He pressed on. "I can clearly see I've angered you, and that was not my intent. Please let me apologize."

I wonder how desperate he'd be to talk to me if he didn't find me attractive? I don't see him chasing down Uncle Erastus. And I know bloody well it didn't even occur to him to apologize to Saint and Wash. She stopped, clenching her fists at her sides as the thought made her nearly incoherent with rage. That's always the subtext with men like this, isn't it? 'She's pretty, so Ill fawn and scape. Maybe she'll favor me and I'll get lucky.' "Why?" she spat furiously. "Why do you care if I'm angry or not? Why not just go blame my uncle for 'bringing' me here in the first place and upsetting your little meeting?"

Scarcliff had stopped a short distance behind her. He sighed heavily. "I didn't mean to disrespect you, Miss Lewis-Smythe."

"You didn't mean to give me credit for having any sort of say in my own life, either, did you?" She turned to face him, scowling heavily and relishing a perverse satisfaction in seeing him recoil a step. "In fact, I suppose you think I'm being a silly little girl having a tantrum. Think what you want, Captain. I'm not bearing your condescension for another moment."

He roached his fingers through the faint silver gleaming at his temples. He was flustered, embarrassed. "I don't think that." He shook his head. "I..."

"No?"

"No." He held out his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I admire your passion for your convictions. Listen, Miss. I...have an awful lot on my mind. I spoke carelessly, and I'm sorry that I offended you. I'd hoped...well...that perhaps we might be friends. I'm mortified that that my careless words and actions have resulted in your being angry at me."

She huffed dismissively. "Interesting how you want to be friends with someone from the company now. Last time, it would seem you were only interested in helping yourself to our supplies and nearly getting our coach crew killed."

His face flushed red. "I'm sorry about that."

"Sorry?" Her voice was reaching that shrill pitch she so hated. "They had no bullets! Our coach guard came home shot and practically had to be carried into the house! It's a miracle neither of them were killed!" Her fury was like a tornado, gaining speed as it went. "And after all that, you have the...the...the nerve to accuse my uncle of..."

"Miss Lewis-Smythe, we had an emergency. We had a massacre out here and supplies were slow coming." He rocked on his heels, gesturing helplessly. "We're trying, don't you understand? We're doing all we can to keep the mail line open. I had to make a judgement call. I thought the eastbound trail was safer. It's obvious to me now that I was wrong."

She glared at him, holding her rage tightly, like a shield, watching his face. He mopped his pinched brow with his fingers, sighing steadily through his pursed lips.

"It wasn't my intention for harm to come to them," he said. "I give you my word on that. My goal was to protect the fort and the westbound mail line. Please understand...there's a war going on out here. I can't overstate that." He gave her a significant look. "And a man brings a..." he stopped himself, and paused to collect his thoughts. "A woman like you shows up here...it draws attention. You can't afford that kind of attention in this situation. And I can't afford the extra worry over it."

"Nobody asked you to worry."

He nodded. "That's true. Nonetheless, I'm the Captain here, and you're my responsibility while you're here. It's my job to worry over it."

She stood watching him with narrowed eyes. "I suppose that's why you wanted to 'be friends.'"

He shook his head. "No. I wanted to be friends because I admire your outspokenness and your courage. And because your English accent makes me remember a fond time in my life and I'd hoped to talk to you about your homeland."

She raised an eyebrow, surprised.

"I spent quite a bit of time in England when I was younger. I...miss it. And...well, it would be nice to talk to someone about something other than guns and supplies and warfare for a while. Please." He drew in a deep breath. "Let's try this again, and hopefully we won't get off on the wrong foot this time."

Fiona realized her mouth was hanging slightly open. I sure as bloody hell didn't see this coming. She snapped her jaw shut, feeling the corner of her lips curling on one side in a reluctant half-smile. "And here I was thinking you were a man who simply couldn't resist redheads," she quipped sarcastically.

"Well." He gave her an embarrassed shrug, exhaling heavily and rubbing the back of his neck. "Since you mention it..."

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