His glorious body moved over hers, and she knew the act was made sweeter by her knowledge that this could not last for long. Everything about him groaned for his Abbie girl and she knew it, but it was not Abbie who lay beneath him. It was Anna Gale, who was prepared to take him on any terms.
Zeke’s every move originated from sorrow and despair, in his mind a vision of Edwin Tynes doing these things to his Abbie. But he must do this. He must forget. He must get Abbie out of his system, take Margaret home, and go! Go! Die! Die and leave them all to a better life! First he would make the parting easier by doing the one thing that would hurt Abbie the most. He would sleep with Anna Gale and he’d make damned sure Abbie knew about it when he went back home. He would give her good reason to turn to Edwin Tynes for comfort, for security, and for a better life. Tynes would—
He suddenly thrust himself hard into the woman beneath him. No! No other man must do this to his Abbie! How could he bear the thought of her taking pleasure in someone else, of someone else penetrating the private places that belonged to Zeke Monroe. But bear it he must. He must!
Their bodies moved rhythmically, damp skin warm-sing the bed, Anna’s voice whispering his name ecstatically. Yes. This would hurt Abbie, and it would prove to him that any woman could satisfy his manly needs. This would help him make the final break. He smothered Anna’s mouth with his own, and she was again the prostitute she was good at being, the kind of woman she was meant to be. She arched up to him, determined to enjoy every precious moment she might have with him. It would be a good night for both of them.
Anna awoke to see Zeke already up. He was staring out a window at the busy streets of Denver. How she loved him! How lonely and heartbroken she was going to be when he left. But leave he would, for she knew him well. She stretched, surprised that she felt sore all over. A woman like herself should be accustomed to nights like the last one, but then her other nights had not been spent with men like Zeke Monroe. She moaned with soft pleasure, stretching again, and he turned to look at her.
“You aren’t thinking of doing something horrible again, are you?” she asked, “like cutting off another finger in remorse for what you’ve done?”
He walked back to the bed. “No. The reasons are different this time. I want to hurt her, even though it wrenches my heart to do so.” He stretched out on the bed, putting his head in her lap, and she stroked his shiny black hair.
“I still don’t really understand why you’re doing this, Zeke, even though it pleases me to have you in my bed. Why are you so determined to end everything? You know Abbie loves you. You have everything to live for.”
He closed his eyes. “I can’t start over again, Anna. We’ve been down so many times, and we’ve always gotten up again. This time I feel that I can’t. I’ve lost everything I built, my little Lillian is dead, my son is gone, and Margaret is selling herself to men because she hates her dark skin. Who knows how LeeAnn will be affected by her experience with the Comancheros? And Abbie … my poor, devoted Abbie. I think it started when Garvey’s men abducted her. When I found her, raped and nearly dead from sickness and neglect, I knew then she had suffered more than she could stand, all because she had married me. Twenty years ago, I came very close to not going back to Fort Bridger to get her. She’d suffered that arrow wound and I had left her there to mend, had married her there, and then had gone on with the wagon train to Oregon. I was to come back in the spring for her, but I was tempted to send someone else, with a letter of divorce, so she’d be free to make a better life for herself. I came so close, Anna. So close. Then I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t envision my life without her. Because of that selfishness she has suffered badly. Why didn’t I just let her go back then, before so much damage was done?”
“Because you loved her—needed her.”
“If I’d loved her enough, I’d never have gone back. That’s why I’m doing this now, because I love her too much.”
She sighed. “You can’t turn it all around now, Zeke. Perhaps you could have then, but not now. You’ve shared too much. You say you’re going off to die. Well, what about Abbie? Have you ever considered that she might die before you? What if you left and she became ill. It’s you she’d call for, you know, no matter who she might be with. You brought her here, planted the seed of life in her belly, sustained her, supported her, protected her, loved her. Would you want to be absent in her greatest moment of need?”
He frowned and sat up, facing her. He remembered when Abbie had nearly died of an arrow wound. That was when he’d first realized he didn’t want to live his life without her. He remembered how frightened she had been, how she’d looked to him for comfort and help. “I… I never thought—”
“And think about something else. If she should happen to bear your leaving or your death and if she should happen to turn to another man, Tynes perhaps, she would be giving him what belongs to Zeke Monroe. Another man would take your place in her bed. Another man would take his pleasure in her. Another man would raise your children.”
“Shut up!” He got up and went back to the window. “I’m going to get Margaret today, whether she wants to leave or not. I’ve waited long enough. It’s time to get all of this over with.”
Her heart fell. “You mean this is all I get? One night?” She studied the hard muscles of his hips and legs. He wore only a loincloth. He turned.
“I’m sorry, Anna, but I’ve waited long enough. When something needs doing, it’s best to do it and not to let it fester in the mind. It’s spring—a good time of year to ride north.” He walked to his clothes and began picking them up off the floor and putting them on. Her heart pounded with dread. He was leaving. This was it! She might never see him again. He would go back to Abbie or ride north and do his best to get himself killed. He was a stubborn man and now his mind was made up.
“Zeke!” she said softly, watching him with pleading eyes. He buttoned his pants and sat down on the bed, pulling her into his arms, letting her cry.
“I love you, Anna, in a different way. Not like my Abbie. You have been good to me—and to Abbie. For this we are both grateful. I used you last night, and for this I beg your pardon. We both knew it had to happen once more, didn’t we? Now it is done.”
She straightened suddenly, tossing her hair and wiping her eyes. “Don’t be feeling sorry for the likes of me,” she told him. “I knew what you were doing, and I didn’t care. I wanted you. That was all that mattered.” She moved off the bed and put on a robe. “Anna Gale doesn’t get hurt so easily. You know that. I’m too crusted. I’ve been around too long. You had something to prove and I hope you proved it.” She folded her arms. “But I’m putting my money on Abbie—on the love you two have. You won’t be able to leave her, not to Edwin Tynes or anyone else.” She grinned. “I wish I could be there to see you surrender to her. You will, you know.”
He rose and began to finish dressing. “I won’t. I know what’s best now.”
She laughed lightly. “So do I, and it isn’t what you think. You’re so strong, so proud, so skilled. How many men can you handle at once, Zeke? How many have you killed? What was it like, suffering the Sun Dance ritual? Everything about you is strength and Indian spirit, wildness and recklessness … except when it comes to Abbie. That tiny woman makes you as weak as a kitten! It’s almost humorous.”
He scowled. “I don’t find it humorous.” She laughed lightly and he glowered at her. “I’m going to get Margaret. Will you prepare some food for me and bring out my horse? I’d appreciate it.”
She shrugged. “Sure.” He turned to pull on his suitcoat. “No kiss good-bye?”
He sighed and walked up to her. “Damn it, Anna, what can I say? I don’t seem to know my own mind anymore. I shouldn’t have come here last night.”
“Of course you should have.” She put her arms about his waist and pressed close to him. “I won’t forget it for the rest of my life.” She looked up at him then, and he bent to kiss her, enfolding her into his arms. When his lips left
hers, she rested her head against his chest. “It’s been nice having you here. Three weeks of Zeke Monroe. Too bad I couldn’t get you into my bed sooner. I could have had you for much longer. I just hope the nice old ladies I’ve made friends with don’t suspect. I wouldn’t want my reputation ruined.” She looked up at him again and they both smiled. “You can’t wait to get out of this city, can you?” she added. “It’s been hell for you being here. You’re ready to go out on the plains and feel the wind in your face and a horse beneath you. You want the sun on your back.”
“You know me well.”
She sighed. “Oh, yes. Well enough to know I’ll probably never see you again once you leave here.” She pulled away. “Thanks for the glorious night. Prostitutes don’t usually enjoy a night in bed with a man who really cares.” She put on a cold air, tossing her head and lighting a thin cigar. “What are you going to do if Margaret won’t leave with you?”
He sat down to pull on his boots. “She’ll leave with me. She’ll have no choice. This has gone on far too long. Abbie has been going mad from worry while men have pawed at my daughter. I shouldn’t have listened to any of you. I should have dragged her out of there the first day I got here.”
“It would have been a mistake, believe me. And if you drag her out of there today it will still be a mistake. She has wounds that have to heal, lessons to learn. She’ll come around to the way she was brought up in the end.”
“I don’t have forever. It’s been a long winter, and there are decisions to be made.” He turned and their eyes held. “Thank you, Anna. I know now what I will do.”
He left the room. “Good-bye,” she whispered. She glanced at the bed, then walked to it and stretched out on it, running her hand over the place where he’d lain. Then she curled up into a pillow and wept.
Zeke walked through the muddy streets of Denver, dodging horse dung and the mud splattered by passing wagons. Sometimes women stared at him, but most people stepped back as though they feared for their scalps. Men tended to eye him suspiciously or to make hostile remarks: “There should have been more incidents like Sand Creek”; “Why aren’t you on the reservation with the rest of the red bastards?” A child emitted an Indian howl. A few people were pleasant and courteous, seemingly unaffected by his heritage—a few.
He walked into a general store, thinking about Anna. He knew he had hurt her, but he seemed to be hurting a lot of people lately and Anna was Anna. She had seen a lot and done a lot. She had no fantasies about there being anything permanent between them. She would survive. He was glad Winston Garvey was out of her life. The man had held her indebtedness over her head for years. He’d been a senator then, and a steady customer of the young Anna Gale. But that was a long time ago, and Winston Garvey was dead. Zeke grinned at the thought of how horribly the man had died. He would never cease to derive pleasure from that memory.
He approached the store clerk. “You got any tobacco and some of those papers for the new smokes, cigarettes?”
The clerk cleared his throat and swallowed, wondering if the big Indian had come to rob him. “Yes, sir,” he answered quietly. He was reaching for the tobacco when a young, sandy-haired man asked him for a canteen.
“Maybe I should just leave this list with you, mister,” the young man told the clerk. “I’m heading back to Texas and I’m low on supplies, but I’m in a hurry. Can I leave this and come back later?”
“That’ll be all right. And the name?”
“Temple. Sam Temple.”
Zeke turned to study the man. He fit the description, and he was from Texas. According to what Abbie had told him about the young man who had ruined their daughter, this had to be the one … and he had said he was going to Denver. Temple left, and Zeke looked at the clerk.
“Get my tobacco and papers. I’ll be back in a minute.” He hurried out and glanced up the street to see Temple head for a hotel.
He walked quickly after the man, glancing around to be sure no one noticed. People went about their business as Zeke followed Temple into the hotel lobby, where a few men sat reading papers and conversing. The clerk was busy signing in a new guest. Zeke watched Temple go up the stairs; then he followed, speaking to no one, making himself look as though he belonged there and was simply going to his room. He reached the top of the stairs just in time to see Temple go into a room and close the door.
Quietly, Zeke went to the door and knocked. “Come in!” came the reply. Zeke gladly obliged, and when Sam turned to see him he froze momentarily, remembering a tall Indian who had come to the Tynes estate with his family. Zeke closed the door, his dark eyes burning into Temple, who swallowed and stood up straighter, his hand resting on a gun. “Monroe?”
Zeke just stared at him, making his heart pound. Sam glanced at the window, then the door.
“You won’t escape either way,” Zeke hissed.
Temple began to shake. “Look, Monroe, your daughter was willing! I did what any red-blooded young man would do!”
“She was willing because you won her friendship first, then her trust, then you promised to marry her! You ruined her! Destroyed her pride! Robbed her of something precious! You deliberately led her on. You had no right to take advantage of her innocence.” The words were hissed.
“I didn’t hurt her. She learned a good lesson, that’s all! Now get out of my room before I yell for help and get you thrown into jail.”
In a flash a big hand grabbed Temple around the throat. The hand was amazingly powerful, for Zeke Monroe squeezed not just with his own strength, but with a fury aroused by the thought of what had happened to Margaret and aggravated by his terrible sorrow over his recent losses. This man was the reason for Margaret’s despair. He had deceived the girl, deceived Abbie. He was the reason Zeke had been forced to stay in this city that he hated. All Zeke’s agony and restlessness and sorrow were being vented on Sam Temple. His grip was like a vise around the man’s throat.
Temple started turning red as he tried to pry the arm away; then he went for his gun. Zeke caught the movement and grasped the man’s wrist with his other hand, kneeing Temple between the legs. The man’s eyes bulged, and he started to crumple, but Zeke hung on, watching the color in the man’s face turn from red to purple, then to an ugly gray as his body slowly slid to the floor. Zeke kept hold until he knew the life had gone out of Sam Temple. Then he rose and looked down at the dead man.
“Who says a man can’t deal out his own justice in a civilized town?” he hissed. He felt good. Somehow he even felt relieved. He wanted to let out a war whoop, but he didn’t dare. He went to the door, opening it cautiously. No one was in the hall. He closed it quietly and left by the back way.
Minutes later Zeke Monroe entered the general store again. “I’ll take that tobacco and paper now,” he told the clerk.
“Certainly,” the man replied nervously. “I have them ready. Will there be anything else, sir?”
Zeke looked around. “Yes. Maybe a bottle of nice perfume for a lady friend of mine—and a couple of fancy combs, for my daughter.”
The clerk looked around, finding suitable items. “Fine day, isn’t is, sir?” he said, wanting to stay on friendly terms with the big Indian he waited on.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Zeke replied. “One of the best I’ve seen in a long time.” He paid the clerk and left.
Margaret opened the door to her room and stepped back when she saw her father, allowing him inside. Zeke’s eyes rested on a tall, handsome man standing in the room. A carpetbag was on the bed and Margaret was dressed.
“I was just coming to see you, Father.”
He frowned and looked from the carpetbag to the man, who smiled and nodded to him. “Morning, Mister Monroe.” Zeke looked at Margaret.
“You running away again, with this man? Get him out of here or I will! You’re going home with me.”
She smiled and took his hand. “Father, sometimes you’re such a bear.” She led him to the man. “This is Morgan Brown, Father, and he’s my husband. W
e were just coming to see you.”
There was a moment of silence as Zeke looked from Brown to his daughter, surprise in his eyes. Morgan put out his hand. “I’m glad to meet you, sir. I saw you once before, but you didn’t see me.” Zeke hesitated. Margaret couldn’t have known the man for long. “I know what you’re thinking, sir, and you shouldn’t. Margaret and I care for one another very much. Marriage just seemed like the right thing for us. I intend to take as good care of her. In fact, we have a lot to talk about.”
To Margaret’s relief, Zeke finally shook the man’s hand. He was good at judging men, and he liked the look in Morgan Brown’s eyes, the firm friendliness of his handshake.
“We have a lot in common, Mister Monroe,” Morgan told him, releasing his hand and putting an arm around Margaret’s shoulders. “You are a half-breed. I am a mulatto. We might as well get that cleared up right now. We were coming to the boardinghouse to talk to you, but we can talk here.”
Zeke just stared at him. “Mulatto?”
Morgan chuckled. “You look as though you could use a drink.” He walked to a night table and poured Zeke a shot of whiskey. “You do know what a mulatto is, don’t you?”
Zeke looked at Margaret. Sheer happiness glowed on her face. She seemed totally changed. “I love him, Father. We are very close. And he’s proud and independent, like you.”
Zeke turned back to Morgan, who handed him the whiskey. “I know what a mulatto is,” he replied. “I grew up in Tennessee.”
“Well then, by your own experience, you know what life has been like for me. Margaret has told me a lot about you—your family. I look forward to meeting all of them.”
Zeke drank down the whiskey. This was turning out to be a strange morning indeed.
Brown rambled on about his own background, and about how he had saved a great deal of money. He’d been told of Zeke’s misfortunes, and since he was now part of the family, he wanted to help.
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