What the Heart Wants Read Free Page B

other young women talk and laugh about the men they were likely to meet at the fort that night, I kissed my father on the cheek before heading off with my friends. Rising from the prairie like some great ship on a frothy, green sea, the man-made edifice stood two stories tall and looked very out of place. Wild poppies, sweet broom, and marigolds bloomed unhindered as we traversed on foot the few hundred yards from our vagabond homes to the safety of the wooden enclosure. Constructed of rough-cut timber, the fort had only one opening, a set of huge wooden gates manned by two stalwart, blue-uniformed men with rifles held up to their chests. The two soldiers greeted us ladies, their faces breaking into grins as they bid us welcome to the fort, while up above us another soldier called down from his position in the lookout tower, assuring us that he’d be at the dance just as soon as he was relieved of guard duty.
    Some of the younger girls giggled at his audacity, but the rest of us were suddenly silent, as music wafted out to us on the soft, late-afternoon breeze. “Listen, there’s a band!” Sarah Cranmer, the person I thought of as my best friend on the wagon train, remarked excitedly. And then we were walking through the big gates and into the fort.
    Many locals were already there, whole families having come on foot or by wagon from neighboring farms and from the nearby town, which was also named after the river. The attendees were gathered here and there, chatting about life in this mostly unsettled land or drinking the free punch, standing in groups on the wooden-planked walkways that connected the various official buildings, mess hall, and barracks or on the parade ground, which took up over half of the fenced-in interior. At the far end of the space, a four-piece band struck up a lively tune, and people began to dance to the country reel, whirling about on a wooden platform that had been constructed especially for that purpose.
    My mouth fell open. I hadn’t seen this many people in one place since Papa had taken me to St. Louis the year after Momma died. For a child of four, the noise and numbers of people had been frightening back then. Now I wasn’t frightened, just a bit overwhelmed. And nervously expectant. During our walk the women had been saying what a good opportunity this was to meet the man of their dreams. Several of the women remarked that they didn’t care if they ever reached California; they would be perfectly happy if they could settle down with one of the soldiers, right here at the fort.
    Suddenly I had a worrying thought. What if I found my intended here, the man I was meant to marry? What would I say to Papa? I almost turned tail and ran as I contemplated having to disappoint Papa and the Hudsons. Thus I was standing practically frozen with anticipatory fright, aware that my companions had already deserted me, when a smooth male voice with an elegant Eastern accent managed to break through my troubled state. “Allow me to introduce myself,” the voice said, and I turned to look at its owner. A pale face with black, arched eyebrows and dark blue eyes under a blue officer’s hat, smiled at me. His teeth were even and white. “Captain Royce Vincent, at your service,” he announced, bowing from the waist, one hand on the hilt of his dress sword.
    “Samantha Collins,” I responded, noting how well his uniform fit him and how important he looked in it. He seemed nice, and since the other girls were busy dancing, I decided to spend some time getting to know him, instead of looking like a wallflower. When he asked me to dance, I accepted. He seemed truly interested in getting to know me, and as we circled the room, I found myself telling him about my childhood. He clucked commiseratively when I mentioned that I’d been only three when my mother died. Not wanting to put a damper on the evening by dwelling on an unfortunate happening in my past, I asked him to tell me about himself, which he did,