Chapter 1 - Wild Rose Pass

Cadence McShane, free-spirited nonconformist, yearns to escape the rigid code, clothes, and sidesaddles of 1880s military society in Fort Davis, Texas. She finds the daring new lieutenant exhilarating, but as the daughter of the commanding officer, she is expected to keep with family tradition and marry West Point graduate James West.

Orphaned, Comanche-raised, and always the outsider looking in, Ben Williams yearns to belong. Cadence embodies everything he craves, but as a battlefield-commissioned officer with the Buffalo Soldiers instead of a West Point graduate, he is neither accepted into military society nor considered marriageable.

Can two people of different worlds, drawn together by conflicting needs, flout society and forge a life together on the frontier?  

Chapter 1 - Catclaw and Cactus: Ben

“People trample over flowers, yet only to embrace a cactus.”
― James Joyce

Reining his horse between catclaw and prickly-pear cactus, Ben Williams squinted at the angle of the late summer sun. Though still midafternoon, shadows were lengthening in the mountains. He clicked his tongue, urging his mare up the incline. “Show a little enthusiasm, Althea. If we’re not in Fort Davis by sunset, we’ll be bedding down with scorpions and rattlesnakes.”

As his horse clambered up Wild Rose Pass, the only gap through the rugged Davis Mountains, Ben kept alert for loose rocks or hidden roots, anything that could trip his mount. A thick layer of fallen leaves had created a pastiche of color shrouding the trail from view. 

He glanced up at the lithe cottonwood trees lining the route, their limbs dancing in the breeze. More amber and persimmon leaves loosened and settled near the Indian pictographs on their tree trunks. He smiled when he saw the red- and yellow-ochre drawings, recalling the canyon’s name: Painted Comanche Camp.

“How far to Fort Davis, sir?” called McCurry, one of the soldiers in his command. 

“Three hours.” If we keep a steady pace.

Without warning, the soldier’s horse whinnied. Spooking, it reared up on its hind legs, threw its rider, and galloped off. The ousted rider groaned as he sat up, caught his breath, and found himself staring into the eyes of a coiled rattler, poised to strike. “What the . . .” 

Flicking its tongue, hissing, it’s tail vibrating, the pit viper was inches from the man’s face. 

A sheen of sweat appeared above the man’s lip. “Lieutenant—”

“Don’t move. That’s an order!” Ben eased down from his horse.

“I’ll get ’im, sir.” Unsnapping his holster, Dawson reached for his Colt .45.

“Stay where you are, soldier!” Don’t need nervous fingers shooting McCurry by mistake. Scouting the area, Ben spotted a forked branch and snapped it off. Faster than the snake could strike, he pinned its head to the ground with the cleft stick. Then before it could wriggle away, he grasped the rattler just behind its jaws with his free hand and tossed it to safety.

Dawson stared at him, slack-jawed. “Why didn’t you kill the varmint, sir?”

Ben shrugged. “No need to, soldier.”

“But it could’ve attacked me.” McCurry looked pale.

“It let you off with a warning. It’s only fair to do return the favor.” Ben helped the man to his feet. “Now round up your horse, and steer clear of vipers.”

*****

As the sun’s fingers lost their grip, slipping behind the mountains, Ben led the cavalrymen into the fort. His eyes swept its crew of Buffalo Soldiers, officers, dependents, and civilians. Washerwomen hung laundry near their thatched, wattle-and-daub huts on “suds row” as they watched the infantry drill on the parade grounds. The officers and their families socialized on their front porches during the evening Retreat Parade as the Tenth Infantry band regaled the garrison with spirited march tunes.

Ben saw a young lady on the veranda glance at him and then, seeming to be absorbed in her companion’s story, turn back to the officer. Her laughter floated on the twilight breeze.

As he rode in, a black sentry saluted him. Returning the salute, he asked, “Where can I find the commanding officer?”

The guard pointed to a tall figure standing beside the woman. “That’s Captain McShane.”

“Obliged.” He guided his mare toward the porch, feeling the young woman’s eyes on him. As he approached, he noticed the freckles on her buttermilk complexion, her upswept, auburn hair, and her twinkling eyes. Comparing her starched, gold-and-green tartan dress to his dusty, wrinkled uniform, he felt outclassed. To compensate, he squared his shoulders and sat taller in the saddle. Then he turned his attention to the captain with a crisp salute.

“Second Lieutenant Ben Williams reporting for duty, sir, with Privates Dawson and McCurry.” Though seated on his horse, he still had to look up at the figure standing on the high porch. He counted the steps: thirteen. This wasn’t a porch. It was a podium, a stage.

“Welcome to Fort Davis,” said Captain McShane. “I’ve heard excellent reports about your reconnoitering skills at Fort Clark.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ben’s spine straightened. 

He gestured to the woman seated beside him. “Allow me to present my daughter, Cadence McShane.”

Ben tipped his hat. His throat dry, he said, “Ma’am.”

The captain gestured to the officer seated beside her. “This is First Lieutenant James West.”

“Sir.” Ben nodded to him as his eyes grazed the woman’s.

“We can use another good man” said West, nodding. “Too many Apache attacks on travelers along the San Antonio-El Paso Road.”

“If I understood the commander at Fort Clark,” said Captain McShane, “Williams knows Indians, was raised by Comanches.”

Uncurling her spine, the lady studied the newcomer. “Is that true, lieutenant?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ben nodded, mesmerized by her copper-flecked, amber eyes that seemed to trap and radiate the sun’s ebbing light. With her seated in a rocker on the raised veranda, her eyes were level with his. Gazing into them, he was reminded of a hungry wolf.

“Fort Clark’s commander also spoke highly of your hunting skills,” said Captain McShane. “After you get settled, maybe you could organize a wild turkey hunt for the officers.”

“Yes—”

“Hunting’s good in the area,” said the lieutenant, “though as it is now, we can’t go more than three or four miles from the fort.”

“Why’s that, sir?” asked Ben.

“Too many Apache raiding parties, remnants of Victorio’s renegades,” said West. “They’d like nothing better than to ambush a lone hunter. Private Willis found a good lake for bass fishing, not ten miles from here, but unless a large detail’s assigned, the men are easy pickings.”

Familiar with the Apaches’ tactics, Ben said, “No skirmishes if they’re outnumbered, just quiet retreats.”

“With your skills,” said the captain, “you’ll be a welcome addition to Fort Davis.” Then he called to a passing soldier, “Corporal, escort Lieutenant Williams to the unmarried officers’ quarters. Then show these men to the barracks.”

“Yes, sir.” The corporal saluted as he came to attention.

Dismissed, Ben again squared his shoulders and sat up in the saddle as he saluted. “Thank you, sir.” Ignoring the familiar pang of exclusion, he tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”

Chapter 2 - Painted Comanche Camp: Cadence

“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.”

― Aristotle

Cadence McShane watched Ben’s retreating figure, a dark silhouette against the waning sunset’s ruddy blush. When he had been talking to them, she couldn’t help but notice his chin-length, dark, wavy hair and warm brown eyes, or how his uniform had hugged his lean, muscular body. Neither had the tantalizing chest hairs peeking out from beneath his shirt’s neckline escaped her detection. What would it be like to run my fingertips through his chest hairs, feel the muscles and sinew beneath?

“Cady!”

When she did not respond, Captain McShane raised his voice. “Cadydid!”

Her head spun around to look at him. “Yes, Father?”

“You were a million miles away.”

“I was just watching the sunset.” Covering her fib, she glanced at the sky’s last glimmer of light. The evening’s crimson and gold colors had morphed into plum and amethyst. Elongated shadows stretched across the parade grounds.

“Tell your mother to set another place at the table. I’ve asked Lieutenant West to stay for dinner after we make the rounds.”

Echoing his words, the bugle sounded retreat as the post officially observed the day’s end.

*****

Midafternoon the next day, Cadence was having tea with two officers’ wives on the front veranda. She wore a straw hat perched at a jaunty angle that waved with the breeze. Both shielding her eyes from the sun and allowing her to peek out from beneath its broad brim without being seen, it allowed her to watch Ben mount his horse while she chatted with the ladies.

A sudden gust of wind swept down from the mountains, blowing sand into a dust devil. It captured several leaves and paper scraps, swirling them round and round, spiraling them higher into the air. As another gust lifted her bonnet aloft, she shrieked, watching helpless as the wind carried it to the ground and rolled it along its rim toward the tiny cyclone.

When Ben heard her cry, he dug his heels into his horse’s sides, urging it toward the dust twister at a gallop. Veering at the last moment, he reached out with his left hand and grabbed the hat just before it was lifted skyward.

Then slowing his mare to a walk, he kept his eyes on the young lady as he rode up to the high porch. “I believe this is yours, ma’am.”

She smiled, never taking her eyes off his. “Thank you, Mr. Williams.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” 

As he began to rein his horse away from the veranda, she inhaled, catching the masculine scents of leather and horses. “McShane,” she said, her voice stilling his hand on the reins. “Cadence McShane.” She felt the warmth rise to her cheeks.

With a surprised smile, he blinked, as if caught off guard. Then he nodded again as he touched his fingers to his hat. “Pleased to be of service, ma’am—” 

“Cadence,” she corrected him. Ignoring their raised brows, she gestured to her companions. “Mrs. Sarah McIntyre and Mrs. Flossie Purdue, permit me to introduce Lieutenant Williams.”

“Ma’am.” He tipped his hat to each. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

As he started away with an informal salute, she gave a polite bow. “Thank you again for fetching my hat . . . Ben.”

“My pleasure, ma’am—”

“Cadence.” The corners of her eyes crinkling, she smiled.

“Cadence.” Maintaining eye contact, he grinned as he pulled the reins to one side, turning his horse. Then nodding to the women, he said, “Ladies,” and rode off.

*****

Cadence watched him canter away. How wonderful to be free to come and go. Sighing, she glanced back in time to see the lieutenant’s wife, pouring tea. “Thank you, Sarah, just half a cup.”

“When you’re already spoken for, is it wise to flirt?” Flossie arched her brow.

Cadence resisted the urge to argue, instead feigning ignorance. “Whatever do you mean?”

“It’s common knowledge you’re pledged,” said Sarah.

“Not to my knowledge.” Cadence lifted her bare left hand. 

Flossie exchanged a coy look with Sarah. Stirring honey into her tea, she glanced at Cadence. “But you have been seeing a lot of James, haven’t you?”

Knowing full well what she meant, Cadence gave her a wide-eyed smile. “Do you mean Lieutenant West?”

Her spoon clinking against the cup as she stirred her tea, Flossie pursed her lips, showing an irritated dimple. “Of course, I mean Lieutenant West. What other James is stationed at this post?”

Donning a sweet smile, Cadence pretended to notice neither the tone nor body language. “There’s the quartermaster—”

Flossie rolled her eyes. “I meant the James who’s under seventy, the one who’s been calling on you these past weeks.”

Sarah took up the train of thought. “I’ve heard it on the highest authority that he has a glowing career ahead of him. As I understand it . . .”

Cadence stifled a weary sigh as she watched Ben ride out of the fort, wishing she could canter alongside him, but strict military protocol prevented her from fraternizing with anyone but officers’ wives. Though the fort contained other women, decorum prevented her from socializing with enlisted men’s wives and laundresses. 

Besides my mother, these are my only companions at the fort, and they’re both married with half-grown children. If it wasn’t for tea and gossip, we’d have nothing to talk about.

She knew these women expected her to marry a dashing, young officer from West Point. They considered it her destiny and privilege, but she balked. Where’s the adventure in that? Where’s the challenge? Besides, I’m not sure James is the one. It’s just that no one else has caught my attention . . . ’til now.

“Cadence?” Sarah spoke up. “Cadence!”

Blinking as she emerged from her reverie, she realized Sarah was waiting for an answer. “I’m sorry. What was it you’d asked?”

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Sarah drew in her breath. “I said, you and James make such an attractive couple. When are you two setting the date?”

Cadence smiled to herself as she sipped her tea. “I don’t think we are—”

“That’s because he hasn’t asked you yet . . .” Flossie let her words hang.

That’s quite an assumption. Annoyed at the conversation’s personal turn, Cadence arched her brow. “Whatever do you mean?”

“A little birdie told me . . .” Flossie paused as a knowing smile crossed her face. “James is planning to propose at the Harvest Ball.”

*****

After dinner, James complimented his hostess. “Mrs. McShane, without exception, that was the best trout I’ve ever eaten.”

Pleased, she beamed at her daughter beside her. “Cady made dinner herself.”

Sitting across from Cadence, he gave her a startled smile. “A beauty and a good cook, that’s a heady combination.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t catch the trout. Lieutenant Williams did.”

“I’ve heard he’s quite the fisherman,” said Captain McShane, seated at the head of the table.

“Instead of a turkey hunt, why don’t we have him organize a fishing party?” asked James.

The captain smiled. “An excellent idea. It’d be a diversion for the officers.”

“And the ladies,” said Cadence, lifting her chin at a defiant tilt.

“Oh, heavens, not me.” Mrs. McShane held up her hands in mock horror. “And I doubt Sarah or Flossie would be interested in handling wriggling worms or slimy fish, either.”

Cadence agreed. “But that doesn’t stop me.” She recalled how she had felt when Ben had ridden from camp, how she had envied his freedom. “I’d like to go fishing.”

The captain’s chuckle was indulgent. “You always were a tomboy.”

“I’d hoped she’d have outgrown it by now.” Mrs. McShane stifled a sigh. 

“A good cook, who’s as beautiful as she is adventurous.” James’ eyes twinkled as he smiled from across the table. “I find it refreshing.”

Mrs. McShane shared a sly nod with her husband.

*****

Three days later, Ben sat in the driver’s seat with Private Smith, a black cavalryman who moonlighted as the captain’s striker. Riding in the ambulance, the sole carriage at the fort, Ben led Cadence, her father, and Lieutenants James West, Tom McIntyre, and Michael Purdue on a fishing expedition to Limpia Creek.

A vibrant indigo sky outlined the Davis Mountains’ craggy peaks. Though the sun blazed overhead, a light wind made their ride comfortable. The cenizos were in full bloom, their dusty purple blossoms releasing a spicy-sweet fragrance on the breeze. Cadence inhaled deeply as she took in the day’s splendor.

“I didn’t know there were trout so close to the fort, lieutenant,” called James, raising his voice for Ben’s benefit.

Ben turned, as if questioning whether being addressed or not. Not until he saw James waiting for an answer did he respond. “Traveling from Fort Clark, I saw what looked like a good fishing hole, and that’s what it turned out to be.”

Ben stopped the wagon beneath an aged cottonwood along Limpia Creek. He unbridled the horses, while James helped Cadence from the wagon, and Private Smith started unloading everyone’s gear.

Soon, everyone lined the crystalline banks, fishing rod in hand. All the officers tried fly casting except Ben, while Cadence dangled a line, using a cork for a bobber. Ben fished several yards upstream from everyone as the private gathered wood for a campfire.

Within minutes, Ben caught the first trout. The officers congratulated him on his good luck. Then he caught another and a third without anyone else getting so much as a nibble. 

As Cadence watched smiles turn to grumbles, she pulled her line out of the water and joined him. “What’s your secret?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Tree roots,” he murmured under his breath.

She gave him a blank stare. “What do you mean?”

He gestured toward the water’s edge with his chin, where she saw a maze of tangled tree roots beneath the waterline. The sun’s rays penetrated the creek’s translucent water, and she saw the outlines of trout hiding among the roots.

He smiled while he whispered. “They’re shy.” 

“Why are you whispering?”

“Don’t want to scare the fish.”

Nodding, she asked in a whisper, “Mind if I join you?” 

Ben gave her a warm smile. “I’d like that, but step back.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Why?”

“See how the sun’s behind you?”

She nodded.

“The fish can see your shadow, can see you. Take a step back.”

Nodding, she followed his instructions and dropped her line in the transparent water. As she stood fishing, just inches from Ben, she studied him in her peripheral vision: his aquiline nose, five o’clock shadow, and full lips. Wonder how they’d feel—She flinched as she felt the nibble on her line.

“Easy,” Ben whispered. “Don’t jerk the line.”

Concentrating, she held her breath, trying not to move. This time, she saw the bobber go under a moment before she felt the bite.

“Steady,” he murmured.

She could see the fish nibbling the bait. The cork bobber moved in response, but she held the pole with a firm hand, waiting. Waiting.

Then the bobber disappeared beneath the water as she felt the fish take the bait and run. Instinctively, she pulled the pole up and back, hooking the trout and lifting it from the water. 

Ben swept up the fish in the net. “You caught a beauty!”

Grinning, she looked from him to the trout and back. “I did, didn’t I?” One arm holding the pole, she started to reach out with the other in a victory hug. Then a hair’s breadth from his broad shoulders, she stopped with a nervous laugh. “Thank you for your help,” she paused, “Ben.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

Captain McShane approached them with a red-faced, white-lipped James following close behind. The captain looked at the fish and then turned back to her with an approving nod. “That must be a fourteen-, fifteen-inch trout. Good work!”

Trying to keep a straight face, she shrugged. “Beginner’s luck.” Then she shared a private smile with Ben.

Reaching out, he said, “If you’d like to hand me your fish pole, ma’am, I’ll just add your catch to the stringer.”

She smiled as she passed it to him. “Thanks again.”

After removing the fish and baiting her hook, Ben returned her pole. “Ma’am.” His back to her father and James, his tone was cordial but aloof. 

Only Cadence saw the twinkle in his eyes as they creased at the corners in a conspiratorial grin. She could not help returning his smile.

Captain McShane glanced at the bristling lieutenant and back to his daughter. “Cady, maybe you can teach James your strategies.”

“Excellent idea, captain,” said James, offering her his arm. “Why don’t you show me your angling skills . . . over here?” Their fish poles in hand, he led her several feet upstream. “Let’s try our luck in another spot, shall we?”