She glared at him. “I know what it is. It is a train.”
“And trains mean the end of the Indians. You’re one of the smart ones. You know your place.” He winked at her, thinking perhaps he’d return the next night for some of what his friend would be getting tonight. “Yes, ma’am, investors like us have bought up Indian lands and we’ll be making quite a bundle off the railroad. Someday the railroad will stretch from the east coast to the west. Denver will be connected with both. Hang around, honey, and watch this city grow like it never has yet. We won’t need gold to keep us going. We’ll be the center of trade.”
She picked up their empty glasses. “That warms my heart,” she said sarcastically. “I am sure my friends will be happy.”
They all laughed. “Well we showed your friends’ what will happen to them if they get in our way—at Sand Creek, right?”
She froze for a moment, and the look she gave the man chilled him. “Yes. You showed us, all right. I had relatives at Sand Creek.” Her eyes held his boldly and he swallowed.
“Well… uh … you ought to know there were a lot of investigations into that affair,” he told her, trying to get out of the hole he had dug. “Why, Governor Evans himself was forced to resign, and that Chivington fellow dropped out of sight. Now that the Cheyenne are off to their new reservation in Kansas, there won’t be any more trouble. Something like Sand Creek won’t happen again.”
She straightened and smiled bitterly at him. “Sand Creek was only the beginning!” she snapped. She whirled and carried the tray back to the bar. The men all turned to watch the gentle curve of her hips beneath the soft tunic.
“Do you think it’s true they don’t wear anything under those buckskins?” one of them commented.
“I’ll find out later tonight,” the first man answered, putting a cigar in his mouth.
They all chuckled. “She’s a wild-looking one. Better be careful, Stu. She might sink a knife into your belly.”
“Ben wouldn’t have her working here if she was dangerous,” the man replied. “And I’ll tame her down fast enough.”
“Beats going home to a wife with a headache, right?”
They all chuckled again. “A wife for social appearances, a whore for a good time in bed,” the first man answered.
Margaret stood at the bar, waiting for another tray of drinks. A well-built, dark, and very handsome man sat on a stool beside her. She felt his eyes on her, and she turned to meet his brown eyes. He was older, perhaps thirty-five, with dark wavy hair and a lean, provocative look about him. He flashed a wide, handsome smile, his teeth straight and white. There was something warm about his smile. He did not leer hungrily like the others. “Hello,” he said softly.
When she nodded, he glanced back at the table of men. He had watched her conversation with them. Then he looked back at her. “You’re awful pretty to be working in a place like this,” he told her. “Why aren’t you with your people?”
Her smile faded. “My people are dying. There is no future on the reservation, and no future in the white man’s world. There’s nothing left for me but this. I make a lot of money.”
“That I do not doubt.” Their eyes held.
“Are you interested, or are you just making conversation?”
He leaned back and looked her over. “I might be interested. But you seem kind of … special. I think I’d rather have you because you want me, not for my money.”
She felt a gentle stirring of desire, something she had not felt for some time. She turned away to set drinks on her tray. “Then I guess we can’t do business. Pay me enough, and you can come to my room. You think about it.”
He put on a wide-brimmed hat. “I’ll do that. Name’s Brown. Morgan Brown. And something tells me you have a white name—a Christian name, they call it.”
She kept her face turned away from him. “I have no white name,” she answered. “Why would I have a white name?”
He shrugged. “The way you talk, I guess. There’s just something about you that doesn’t belong here.”
She met his eyes defiantly then. “Believe me, Mr. Morgan, I belong here!” Taking the tray, she walked to another table of customers. He watched her. Perhaps he would do business with her after all, if that was the only way he could have her.
Abbie dismounted from the sleek thoroughbred Edwin had given her to ride and walked to the little stream where they had gone to talk. Edwin dismounted too, tying both horses as Abbie removed her cape. A sudden spring thaw had arrived; the temperature was in the sixties. Another snowstorm was likely, for it was only mid-March, but they enjoyed this break in the weather, during which the heavy snows of the past week were swiftly melting.
“I must go to Denver, Edwin, now that I can get through,” she told him as he walked up to stand beside her. “Another storm could come at any moment and I’ve lost too much time already. I have sent a letter to Anna, telling her to expect me.”
“I will go with you. You shan’t go to that place alone.”
She sighed and stooped down to pick a tiny flower making its way through the snow. Then she rose and looked at Edwin, twirling the flower in her fingers. “I’d rather you sent one or two of your hired help with me. I don’t think it would look right if we went. I’m afraid your love … shows too much, Edwin. People might get the wrong idea. There is nothing between us, and I don’t want people to think otherwise.”
His eyes moved over her, handsome dark eyes that belonged to a handsome dark man, wealthy and titled. She wondered why it was so easy for her to walk away from what he was offering, while he suffered the pains of not being able to have what he wanted—for the first time in his life. “I wish it were the ‘otherwise,’” he answered.
She looked down at the flower. “I’m sorry, but it can’t be … even if Zeke doesn’t come back … not for a long time.” She sighed and blinked back tears. “Oh, Edwin, I have so many decisions to make. I must decide what to do about Margaret and the ranch. I don’t know what has happened to my husband and LeeAnn. Should I send men searching for them? What will I do if something has happened to Zeke? I don’t know where my oldest son is right now, whether he’s alive. And if Zeke is dead, how will I be able to go on living?” A tear slipped down her cheek, and she breathed deeply to control herself. “Edwin, I need you to help me for I must make up my mind soon. Yet I feel guilty for seeking your help when I know how you feel. I can’t return your feelings, and I have no right to be here under those circumstances.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “You will always have a right to be here, and I will help you all I can. I expect nothing in return, Abigail.”
She shook her head. “No. I’ve been here too long already. I’ll… I’ll go to Denver and try to get Margaret to come home. Then I’ll take the children and go to Fort Laramie where Dan is. He will help me find a place to live. Perhaps I can do mending or washing for the soldiers, baking and such. I would be near the Cheyenne again … and near Zeke’s Cheyenne brother Swift Arrow, and our son.” Her eyes lit up a little. “Yes! Why didn’t I think of that before? I could be among the Indians again, and near two of Zeke’s brothers and our son.”
He shook his head, smiling sadly. “You really would be happy around the Indians again? Don’t you realize it can’t be the way it was, Abigail? If you approached the Indians now they would probably scalp that beautiful hair from your head, after they did worse things to you.”
She reddened. “Not Swift Arrow.”
“It might be impossible to find him. It’s been a long time since you truly lived among them, Abigail. Many of the Indians don’t even know you anymore. You must understand that it would be as dangerous for you to go north as it would be for any other white woman. I couldn’t let you do that.”
“I don’t care! I’ll go. If I go to Fort Laramie where Dan is, I’ll be safe, and at least I’d be close to the Indians. I’d have a chance to see Swift Arrow and my son.” Her lips quivered and she put a hand to her mouth. “I have to go, Edw
in!” she whimpered. “I have to do … something. I can’t just sit here the rest of my life!”
He frowned. “Is it that bad here? That boring?”
She met his eyes again. “Oh, no! I didn’t mean it that way.”
He laughed lightly. “Of course you did. You actually can’t stand all this luxury, can you? You’d rather be baking and scrubbing and hunting, making your own fires and teaching your children and planting a garden. You’d have Indians camped on your doorstep if they weren’t gone now. And you’d rather be sleeping on a bed of robes with Zeke Monroe than in one of my luxurious, fourposter beds—with me.” His smile faded at the words, and she reddened deeply, turning away.
“I’m sorry, Edwin.”
“Oh, don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry, Abigail. I love you for what you are. But why choose hardship over the things I can give you, Abigail? And I can offer so much to your children.”
She shook her head and turned back to him. “My children will be just fine. In fact, Margaret might be better off up north. The change might be good for her. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I could put the ranch up for sale. Perhaps you would want it, Edwin. I’ll go north to Dan and Swift Arrow. You could … you could just watch over the ranch for a while, like you’ve been doing, until I know for sure what has happened to Zeke. And if he’s … if he’s …”
A black shudder rippled through her body at the very real possibility that Zeke would not come back this time, nor would her daughter. How could she handle that truth, with Lillian’s death so fresh in her heart? Breathing became difficult, and she dropped the flower and grasped his arms. “What if he really is dead?” she whispered, staring past him at the water. “My God, Edwin! All my strength comes from him. All my reason for living.”
“You have a strength of your own. And your reason for living will be your children. You will survive, Abigail.”
She shook her head, her eyes wide, and she stepped back from him. “No!” Never before had she realized so clearly just what losing Zeke meant. “You don’t understand … what we have. I couldn’t…” A terrible pain swept through her chest and she put a hand to her heart, turning and walking farther away. “Zeke!” she whimpered. Edwin rushed up to her, grasping her arm.
“Don’t do this, Abigail. Don’t tear yourself apart. You must go to Margaret, remember?”
She hunched over, almost gasping for breath. Zeke! How much longer must she endure not knowing what had happened to him? Edwin pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as though if he did so he could keep her from going to pieces. “Hang on, Abigail. Take deep breaths now. Think of the good things.”
She nodded, breathing deeply. How he wanted to comfort her! To kiss her! To make love to her! He helped her to a sitting position. “You sit there and relax a moment, Abigail. I wanted this ride to be enjoyable for you, but it seems there is nothing I can do to comfort you. I’m sorry about that.” He patted her hair. “Get control of yourself. I won’t have you mounting a horse until you’ve settled down. If you want to go north, then you shall go north. I will help you get there safely. Then I will wait, Abigail. I will wait here in the hope that you will come back. I will—” He stopped and looked over the broad horizon. “Someone is coming—riding hard,” he told her.
She threw her head back, breathing deeply, struggling not to think about the possibility of Zeke Monroe being dead. The pounding hooves came closer and she turned to see one of Sir Tynes’s men on a lathered horse.
“I’ve been trying to find you, sir, thought you might have come here.”
“Ah, you know I like this spot, Frank. And what is it that makes you get that horse so lathered trying to find me?”
The man looked from Edwin to Abbie. “Your husband is back, ma’am—with your daughter. They’re both fine, except your husband has a wounded leg.”
Abbie gasped, then let tears of relief fall. Edwin felt the pain of jealousy and resignation. Surely his hopes were dashed now. “Thank you, Frank. We’ll be along right away.”
As the man nodded and turned his horse, Edwin walked over to help Abbie up. She said nothing to him, but let out a strange guttural sound of total joy and let go of him, running to her horse and mounting the sidesaddle. She did not like this new form of riding she had recently learned. She’d rather ride on a normal saddle or an Indian saddle, which was the next thing to bareback.
“Use your head, Abigail!” Tynes shouted as she turned her horse. “Don’t ride too hard in your eagerness and get hurt before you see him.”
She rode off, ignoring his warning, not caring that he had to mount hurriedly and try to catch up. Abigail Trent Monroe knew how to ride and how to ride hard. She wasn’t worried. Zeke was back! Zeke was alive! And so was LeeAnn! LeeAnn! He had brought her home! Great sobs of relief swept through her, and she breathed deeply of the sweet spring wind, enjoying the feel of it in her hair, loving the look of her horse’s flying mane. Perhaps living with Zeke had made her more wild and a more a lover of freedom than she realized.
Chapter Sixteen
As Abbie rode up to the mansion, LeeAnn ran down the steps toward her. Jumping from her horse before it came to a halt, she hurried to LeeAnn, scooping the girl into her arms. For several minutes, they embraced, saying nothing, only crying. Tynes, who had ridden up, looked around for Zeke but saw him nowhere.
“It was so terrible, Mother!” LeeAnn finally choked out, clinging to the woman. “I thought I’d never see you again. I kept praying Father would find me, and he did! He found me!”
“Of course he found you!” Abbie replied, finally releasing the girl and wiping her eyes so she could take inventory of her daughter. “Zeke Monroe can do anything.” They both hugged again, laughing and crying at the same time.
Then LeeAnn’s mixture of laughter and tears turned to just tears. “Mother, Jeremy said Lillian died,” she sobbed. “And Margaret has run away!”
Abbie held her, stroking the girl’s long, blond hair. “It’s true, dear.” Her heart tightened. “My God, did he already tell your father?” She pulled away again and LeeAnn nodded. Abbie let go of the girl for a moment. Pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of her cape, she blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “Where is he, LeeAnn?”
The girl sniffled and wiped at her eyes with her arm. “He asked … where the grave was. I think he went there.”
Abbie looked up at Edwin and the man frowned. “You’d better go out there, Abigail.” She could see the pain in his eyes. She turned back to LeeAnn.
“First I must look you over, LeeAnn, and later we must talk.” She smoothed back the girl’s hair, studying her face. The girl wore a simple cotton dress that Zeke had taken with him in case her own clothing were torn or gone when he found her. The fact that the girl wore the dress brought a sick feeling to Abbie’s stomach. She well knew the horror of rape, but for a thirteen-year-old girl who knew nothing about men … “What did they do to you, LeeAnn?” She put an arm around the girl’s shoulders and walked her away from the others.
“They hit me … made me do work for them.” The girl put a hand to her stomach. “The Comanches weren’t so bad, but they hit me a lot and the women were mean to me. Then they sold me—to Comancheros.”
“Comancheros!” Abbie held the girl closer.
“They were awful men!” LeeAnn whimpered. “I would rather have stayed with the Comanches. They … undressed me … and looked at me.” She wrapped both arms around her stomach. “They raided a ranch and took a white woman and did … cruel things to her. Every minute I was scared … they’d do that to me. But they didn’t. They kept saying I was worth more if they left me alone.”
A wave of relief swept over Abbie, even though she knew her daughter had seen and experienced things that would surely haunt her forever. She kissed the girl’s hair and hugged her close. “We’ll talk more later, LeeAnn. We’ll talk a lot… as much as you want to talk. You must remember that there are good people, and good men like your father. Being with a ma
n can be wonderful and beautiful, LeeAnn. And you’re such a beautiful child. Don’t let this destroy that.”
“Sometimes I just want to go away, Mother—go East where everything is different… civilized.” She leaned back and looked at her mother, already as tall as the woman who bore her. “Do you think when I’m older I could go East to school, mother? Could I?”
Abbie’s heart was pained at the thought of her children growing up and going away. “We’ll see. Perhaps Bonnie Lewis could give us some advice. I haven’t been back East since”—she thought about Zeke, and how they’d met—“since my father brought me out here from Tennessee. She looked out in the direction of Lillian’s grave, which she could see now from where she was standing. She could see a horse, and the figure of a man kneeling under the huge cottonwood tree that shaded the little grove. She felt as though someone were pushing a sword through her heart. “I must go to your father, LeeAnn.”
“He’s hurt, Mother, but he’s healing.”
Abbie frowned. “Hurt? How? Where?”
“The Comanches. He had to fight them before they would give him information. He got stabbed in the leg many times—his right calf. He told me it got infected and he had to burn it himself.”
Abbie closed her eyes. “Dear God!”
“He said he had to, or he might have lost his leg. He suffered so much to find me, Mother. And he attacked the Comancheros’ camp and killed them all! I never saw him like that before.”
Abbie sighed deeply and stroked the girl’s hair, studying her, hardly able to believe she was standing there in front of her. “What happened to the poor white woman the Comancheros took?” She shuddered at the thought of it, her own memories of captivity making her feel ill.
“Father said she was dead when he found her in the tent where they kept her, after he’d killed them all. But I know she wasn’t dead before that, because there were men in there with her.” The girl swallowed and held her mother’s eyes. “I think … I think Father killed her himself. He acted funny … when he told me she was dead.”
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