Lone Star 03 by Wesley Ellis Page B

must be the headquarters,” she said.
    Ki nodded. “Yes. And now, once more, we become mistress and servant. I’ll keep in the background, as always, but you’ll know I’m watching and ready if you run into trouble.”
    They stepped their horses over the hump of the former wall and rode up to the hut. Ki dismounted first and, aware of the eyes of the soldiers still fixed on them, held Jessie’s horse while she swung out of her saddle and went into the little building.
    Inside, the still-harsh sunlight of the late afternoon was tempered to a bearable glow though the high, small windows that were in the room’s two side walls. A soldier wearing the stripes of a lance corporal was seated at a table, writing. He looked up when Jessie came in, and managed to hide most of his surprise when he saw that the visitor was a young and pretty woman.
    â€œMa‘am,” he said, putting down his pen and standing up. “May I help you?”
    â€œI’m looking for Lieutenant Farnam,” Jessie replied. She pushed her hat back and shook out her gleaming reddish blond hair, aware of the admiring glances that the young lance corporal was trying to keep from being too obvious.
    â€œWhy, he’s out at the stables right now, but I’ll be glad to go get him, if you don’t mind waiting.”
    Jessie treated the soldier to one of her dazzling smiles. “If you would, please. You might tell him that Jessica Starbuck would like to talk with him.”
    â€œI sure will, ma‘am. If you’d like to sit down ...”
    â€œI’ll find a chair if I do. But after a long ride, I think I prefer to walk around a bit and stretch my legs.”
    â€œYes, ma‘am,” the soldier replied without taking his eyes off her. He backed away from the table and sidled out of the small room.
    Jessie took stock of her surroundings. A row of wooden filing cabinets lined one wall of the small building, but from the dust that lay on the documents piled on their tops, the edges of the drawers and the handles, Jessie could see they had not been touched for months.
    She turned her attention to the boxes that stood against the other wall. They too were overflowing with sheets of paper, and she stepped over to look at them. As she’d deduced, they were current: copies of informal patrol reports, and of the more formal versions of the same reports that had been sent to corps headquarters; payroll records; muster sheets; copies of the fort’s cash accounts.
    She heard the grating of footsteps on the baked ground outside and stepped away from the boxes. She was standing idly beside the table when the lieutenant entered, followed by the lance corporal.
    Farnam wore the gray shirt and red-striped blue trousers of the cavalry’s barracks uniform. He was bareheaded, and his crisp black hair curled down his cheeks in wide side-burns, ending just above the line of his square, firm chin. He did not have a mustache. His eyes were a clear brown, his lips full. Jessie guessed his age as the late twenties or perhaps the early thirties. His skin was just beginning to acquire the deep tan that went with outdoor service.
    â€œMiss Starbuck,” the lieutenant said. He put his heels together and inclined his torso forward almost exactly forty-five degrees; Jessie recognized the bow as a trademark of the West Point graduate. “Lieutenant Joseph Farnam, Junior, ma‘am, at your service.”
    â€œLieutenant Farnam,” Jessie said, extending her hand. She was watching the lieutenant closely for a reaction to her presence, but he seemed to accept as a less than unusual event the unexpected arrival of a woman visitor.
    Farnam bowed over the hand, his lips not quite touching it, another West Point trademark. When he straightened up, he said, “This is quite a surprise, Miss Starbuck. I’ve heard of your famous ranch, of course, but haven’t yet had the time to make courtesy calls on