Chapter 1
Louisiana
May 1836
Two male voices, charged with emotion, echoed along the shadowy aisles on the freight deck of the Missouri Belle. One sounded grim, demanding; the other shrill with protests. The whumpety-whump of the paddle wheels on the steamboat drowned out all but a few words and phrases.
The sounds halted Amy Victoria Baker in her tracks. After following her brother this far and recognizing his voice, she glanced around for a place to hide, a place where she could listen without being seen. She abandoned the open daylight near the railing and darted into the dim maze of crates, hogsheads, barrels, and casks.
How mysterious--her brother meeting a stranger in the midst of the cargo on the lower deck! A secret rendezvous? Who was he talking to? The hairs prickled on the back of Amy's neck as she crept forward stealthily.
"Muskets?" Jeb Baker asked, plainly bewildered.
"You heard me! And ammunition, too. Did you or did you not agree to deliver two hundred muskets? By God, I was counting on you!"
Muskets? Ammunition? To Amy's knowledge, Jeb owned no more than a couple of pistols and a Kentucky long rifle. Where would he get two hundred of them?
She hadn't set out deliberately to eavesdrop on Jeb. She'd meant only to waylay him and scold him for his failure to show up at breakfast. She hated eating alone in public; it made her feel conspicuous. None of the other female passengers ever appeared in the dining room unescorted. Why should she have to? After spotting Jeb leave the main salon--an area staked out exclusively as male territory--she'd followed him down to the freight deck, intending to confront him about his negligence. Unfortunately, it sounded as though someone had beat her to it.
"You must be talkin' about my pa, Royal Baker. I never promised to haul muskets."
"I understood the two of you were in the deal. Never mind, just tell me where I can find this Royal."
"He's dead, Major! My father is dead."
For several seconds, only the throbbing of the engines and paddles broke the silence. "I'll be damned! When did that happen?"
Jeb explained about the saloon brawl which had led to their father's death. The recollection brought a lump to Amy's throat.
"You're certain it was an accident?" asked the stranger.
"An accident is what they told me."
A pause. "I wouldn't be too sure. What if someone discovered who he really worked for?"
"Nobody else knew but me, Major. And I didn't tell."
Major, Jeb called him. Could his companion be that young military officer she'd noticed in the dining room? The one who always sat at the captain's table wearing his impeccable uniform? It did sound like his authoritative voice--the northeastern twang resonated with culture and breeding. She could tell he hadn't grown up along the Mississippi River wading barefoot in muddy water spearing bullfrogs for supper. Who was he?
When Amy had boarded the steamboat in St. Louis, heading for New Orleans with her brother to pay off their father's creditor, she hadn't expected to meet anyone they knew among the passengers. But this man knew Jeb, and what's more, he apparently expected something from him. She couldn't understand this talk about their father working for someone. Royal Baker had always prided himself on being his own man--a merchant trader on the Santa Fe Trail. He'd never called any man his boss. What did Jeb know about Papa that she didn't know?
Amy inched closer, hoping for a glimpse of the stranger. The two men stood no more than ten feet away beyond some bales of smelly cow hides. Sure enough ... Through the narrow space between two barrels, she caught the flash of a blue military uniform and identified the strong features of the soldier from back East. She frowned, trying to make sense of it. What business would a well-bred officer have with a raw youth fresh off the frontier?
Amy eased her head up to get a better look.
The major must have been blessed with second sight, because he threw his head up like a stag smelling danger. As he glanced around, his gaze pierced the gloom to hone right in on her! His eyes narrowed, pinning her with his glare.
Amy's heart leaped to her throat. For a long second, she crouched frozen, unable to break contact with those furious gray eyes. He moved abruptly, and she ducked, dropping to her knees.
"Someone's there! Baker, you go that way. We'll cut him off."
Amy scuttled away like a rat in a pantry, zigzagging through the freight containers, heading for the stairway. Off to her left, her brother shouted something, and his heavy boots kept pace with her in the next aisle. She dashed by several hogsheads reeking of preserved meat, grateful for their cover and the darkness that cloaked her movements. Rounding the end of the row, she didn't see the army officer until his brass buttons loomed inches from her face. She bounced off him and lost her balance. His arm broke her fall as it hooked her waist in a quick move.
As easily as if she were a child's doll, he set her on her feet. "What in the hell--"
She swayed, trying to collect her wits as his hands closed firmly on her shoulders. Reflexively, she braced her hands against his broad chest and shoved, but he stood firm as an oak tree.
"What are you doing here? Who are you?" He gave her a shake.
Speechless with dismay, she stared up at him. Humiliation burned a path up her neck to her face.
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