“A lot you know.”
How she had the impudence to glare at him as if she carried a secret, her boots thumping across the creaking floorboards. He laughed at her inflated importance. “At least I do know what will get us an interview with General Grant.”
That stopped Rachel. She faced him, her hands bunched on her hips. “What is that?”
He sighed. “I told him the truth. I was Colonel Lucas Rourke, head of Civilian Spying.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward. “I’m sure that impressed him. Your filthy Rebel uniform coupled with the Reb passes found in your pocket will certainly win us an audience with General Grant. Why, he might even extend an invitation for tea. If he doesn’t hang you first.”
“If you cared to notice, after an hour of your inane prattle, Colonel Crawford and his subordinates pitched us a chilly enough reception to freeze the Arctic. Your presumed wisdom fails to accept a simple fact. They now regard us as Rebel spies.” He examined the burn mark over his heart where his pocket watch had miraculously stopped the bullet. He’d been lucky. “And what did you write in the message you assigned Colonel Crawford to deliver to General Grant?”
“None of your business.”
“None of my business!” He kicked a brass chamber pot across the room where it banged against the wall. Never would he condescend to beg her.
“I must tip my hat to you, Rachel. I couldn’t believe you had the audacity to threaten Colonel Crawford and his men, browbeating them with your trumped up political connections. Then suggesting to the colonel that a false step might cause anyone in your way to have probable cause for demotion, reprimands and court-martial! Your acting’s rich. Your real calling should be on the stage.” Lucas threw himself on the bed and folded his hands behind his head then hooted with hilarity. “You have a lot to learn about the military.”
“If that’s how you feel about it, Colonel Rourke, then keep your opinions to yourself. You may be surprised to see what magic I work.”
A wind blew against the house, whistling down the cracks of the chimney and shaking ill-fitting windows. Lucas didn’t think her chin could get any higher, working herself up in such a lather that she couldn’t stop.
“Not only are you balled up in your arrogance, you’re vain as well, which ranks next to stupidity. I should have fled the minute you landed on my doorstep for never have I met someone who attracts drama like flies to a hog’s corpse.”
“Still most remarkable I think…” He paused stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger in careless reflection. “…what really convinced Colonel Crawford was when you demanded, no, I mean commanded him to give us clean clothes, a bath and food. I thought the colonel would chew up his mustache.
“Of course, you had to add whiskey to the list.”
“You can’t mend a broken egg. I have to have whiskey to toast a woman who commands and knows how to scheme so well that I will meet my maker in record time. What did you write in that note to General Grant?”
“You don’t give up, do you Lucas?” The toe of her boot began to annoyingly tap on the wood floor. “That bit of news is so tantalizing you can’t bear for me to keep it from you. Very well, I’ll tell you the truth. I invoked the name of the Saint.”
Lucas’ temper flared. “The Saint. The omnipresent vanishing coward. If I could once identify the Saint and lay my hands on him—”
“The Saint may be closer than you think.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “What do you mean by that?”
Something bothered him about her too cavalier attitude with the Saint. Was it his wounded pride or something else? In the back of his mind, something didn’t add up. It nagged him like a flea on a coon dog’s tail.
Rachel shrugged her shoulders and stepped toward him, her hips swaying and her breasts swelling above the bodice of her dress. There should be a law against that, especially since his cock rose to half-mast, enough to create a lack of available space in his trousers.
“He is a cunning scoundrel, don’t you agree?”
Lucas said nothing and stared at the ceiling, counting the cobwebs, her evasiveness and preponderate adoration like bile jammed in his throat. With sarcasm he could no longer contain, he placed his hand over his heart. “Upon my honor, your misplaced worship grieves me. It truly grieves me.”
“Not for one second, Colonel Rourke, do I detect any remorse. Need I remind you that you were the one who was tricked by the Copperheads and kidnapped? Need I point out, I was the one who saved you from your certain fate, helped you get through the forests and Southern lines. Instead, the thanks I get almost got me drowned, hanged, shot at, and now imprisoned.”
Lucas sat bolt upright. “And need I remindyou, I saved you from defilement, carried you through a burning house, talked us out of a hanging, and I did get shot! What do I get for gratitude?”
They were arguing so loudly, they barely heard a knock and the door scrape open. Two Union soldiers brought a tray of food, a freshly pressed uniform for Lucas and a clean dress for Rachel.
The younger Union soldier placed a tray on the table near her. He was taken by surprise and stared at her slack-jawed. “And pray, who might you be, miss?”
Lucas glowered at him. “You’re dismissed,” he ordered.
The soldier set down the tray. “Ma’am, after you eat, I’ll escort you to a tent where you can bathe in private.” He scurried past Lucas to place the clothing on a stool, and then ran out the jail door almost forgetting to lock it.
After the soldier left, Rachel turned to him. “You needn’t be so rude.”
