Free The Officer and the Bostoner (Historical Western Romance) (Fort Gibson Officers Series, Book 1) by Rose Gordon Page B

those without said uniform. While the army gave every soldier a ration of coffee each day, Charles’ was often fresher. Perhaps he’d have to buy some from him tomorrow when he went to see him. “If you’d like, you can dump what’s left in the pot out and boil some water for your tea.”
    She slapped her hands on either side of her face with a resounding pop. “And waste it? I think not.”
    Wes chuckled and took a drink of coffee. Then he slowly lowered the cup from his lips and ran his tongue over his gritty teeth. “You did use the paper, didn’t you?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
    “The paper?” Her eyes darted over to the table where the thin paper he’d placed the crushed coffee bean on top of was right where he’d left it and her face turned the color of a beet. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize...”
    Wes set his cup down on the floor beside the bed. “It’s all right. And here I was concerned that the coffee wouldn’t be strong enough because you used only one bean for the whole pot.” He grinned at her. “As we both now see, you proved me wrong on that point, so stop fretting.”
    She buried her face in her hands, but not before he glimpsed a bit of a grin on her lips.
    “ Besides,” he continued, “now you can dump that out to make your tea and it won’t be considered wasteful, but rather, a great favor to us both.”
     

 
     
    ~Chapter Eight~
     
     
    Allison hoped beyond all measure that Mrs. Lewis would once again invite her to stay for lunch today. As it was, last night’s dinner in the dining hall followed by this morning’s breakfast had been horrible. Of course she’d done her best to choke it down, but not enough to survive on.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Lewis, Sarah,” Allison greeted as she walked into Mrs. Lewis’ home.
    “ Allison, come sit,” Sarah said, patting the cushion next to her.
    Allison sat and fought the urge to groan when Mrs. Lewis used her toe to slide Allison her sewing basket, where that awful attempt at a skirt sat folded on the top, mocking her. With a sigh, she leaned down and picked it up. She held onto each corner and lifted it high into the air to look at it, scowling.
    Sighing again, she lowered it to her lap and stared at it. She had no idea what to do with it now. The skirt part was obviously the easier part of the gown, but even it hadn’t come together as nicely as Allison would have liked. Truth be told, it wasn’t really “together” at all. It would seem she hadn’t tied the thread as tightly as she should have when she’d reached the end of each panel. Now the seam was gaping open, mere touches away from completely falling apart.
    Refusing to sigh yet again, she pulled the loose thread from the fabric, too embarrassed to meet the gaze of either of the other women in the room.
    “Oh dear,” Mrs. Lewis said a moment later. “I’ve done that a time or two, myself.”
    Allison looked up at her and offered a wobbly smile.
    “Once it starts unraveling...you just have to pull it apart.” She shook her head and reached over to pat Allison’s arm. “It’s not as if there is anything else to do during the day.”
    “ Indeed,” Allison mumbled, despite the undeniable truth that she’d never finish this blasted skirt, no matter how long she was here.
    She tossed the unneeded thread on the floor and reached for the spool. This time, she pulled off more than she thought was necessary, then took a deep breath and lifted the needle in one hand and the thread in the other. Then tried in vain to the thread the needle.
    A few minutes later, she dropped her hands and rubbed her eyes. She was hopeless.
    The sound of rhythmic stomping pulled her from her thoughts, and she craned her neck to look out the window, where four rows of men were lined up marching. Off to the left was Jack, commanding them.
    He called out orders and his men did what he said: halting, marching in place, marching forward, turning, halting again,