Comanche Sunset

by Rosanne Bittner

  He put his arm back around her shoulders for support, and she moved an arm around his waist, helping him to Wild Horse’s tipi so she could dress his wounds. A weeping Gentle Winds ran to Wild Horse’s body, letting out a pitiful cry of mourning.

  Wade and Jennifer walked behind those who carried the stretcher that held Wild Horse’s body. It was wrapped tightly in a buffalo robe, his favorite possessions and weapons positioned around him. Behind Wade and Jennifer the rest of the warriors and the few women and children who had been with Wild Horse’s camp followed in a funeral procession.

  Aguila and the three other men who carried the stretcher raised it up, placing in on four poles fashioned from thick cottonwood branches strong enough to last well after Wild Horse’s body would wither enough that wild animals would no longer be interested in it. The poles were secured in the ground, and they held the stretcher high in the air.

  Wild Horse’s people had picked a place higher in the hills but in a spot surrounded by tangled vines and cottonwoods, a place where their leader’s body would not be found and looted by soldiers or other whites. The women began keening their death chants, and Wade stood staring at the stretcher, wondering at times if any of this was real. His shoulder ached but the wound had done no paralyzing damage. All his other wounds were superficial. He felt like one mass of cuts and bruises, but his injuries gave him no concern for the moment.

  He had killed his own brother. He wondered how he would ever explain to his parents in California why this had to be. His Christian upbringing tangled with the Comanche spirit he had come to understand, and somehow he sensed God would not be angry with him for what he had done. He had killed other men, but for reasons of self-defense, which was his reason for killing Wild Horse. But this was different. This was his brother, and he knew he was right in what he had told Jennifer earlier. In killing Wild Horse he had put an end to that part of him that had haunted him all his life, a strange inner force that had tried to claim him.

  Jennifer held back, knowing this was a traumatic moment for Wade. He had said little while she dressed his wounds, and he had finally fallen into an exhausted, much-needed sleep. At dawn he had joined the other warriors in fashioning a platform for Wild Horse, then had come to get the body, which the women had anointed with special herbs and carefully wrapped.

  Jennifer sat down in the grass, her own emotions mixed, thinking what an interesting person Wild Horse might have been to know, if he would have befriended Wade. She wished she knew how to comfort Wade, but he had to find his own way. This was a very personal trauma for him, and he had to come to grips with it on his own terms. She was only glad that he truly did seem more at peace now, in spite of his grief over killing his brother.

  Wade went to his knees, and she could see his shoulders shaking. She closed her eyes, her own tears coming then. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. She wiped at her eyes, turning to see a young white girl standing near her. Her face was dirty and badly sunburned, her legs and arms showing sores from mosquito bites. Her dark hair was greased and braided. She sat down in the grass beside Jennifer, who just stared at her a moment, realizing this must be the young white captive girl Wade had told her about.

  “Wild Horse is dead now,” the little girl said in a small voice. “The wife of the man who captured me pushed me away and would not let me come back into her tipi. I think she thinks I am bad luck now.” The child spoke with amazing calmness and obvious intelligence. She looked up at Jennifer. “They killed all my family—my grandmother, my mother and father, my brothers. There’s nobody left. What should I do?”

  Jennifer’s heart went out to her. “Dear God,” she muttered. She moved an arm around the girl’s shoulders, wondering if she had ever even had the chance to cry yet. “I know how it feels to lose your whole family and feel alone,” she answered. She touched the girl’s hair, overwhelmed with grief and pity. “Wild Horse agreed we would not be harmed if Wade won this battle,” she told the child. “We will leave here soon. You will come with us. What is your name?”

  “Kathleen. Kathleen Williams.”

  Jennifer gave her a hug. “Mr. Morrow has a fine home in California, Kathleen. White people raised him, and they’re very kind, Christian people. Would you like to come with us to California?”

  “Are there Indians there?”

  Jennifer smiled through her tears. “None that would bring you any more harm.”

  “What about him?” She pointed. “Mr. Morrow. He looks like an Indian, and he fought like one.”

  “He only did what he had to do. He isn’t like the others, Kathleen. I know him well. He’s a good man. Maybe he would even let you live with us—be our daughter, although at my age, you would seem more like a sister.”

  The girl’s eyes teared a little. “My mother was pretty like you, but she was older.” She frowned. “Why did they do that? Why did they kill my family?”

  Jennifer sighed, pulling her close so she could rest her head against her shoulder. Today Jennifer wore an Indian woman’s tunic, which Aguila had brought over to Wild Horse’s tipi for her because of her torn dress. Gentle Winds had not come back to the tipi.

  “It’s very hard to explain, Kathleen,” she answered. “Many of them have broken hearts, and they feel desperate, because they have lost so much. Some day, when Mr. Morrow is over his grief, you should ask him. I think he understands better than I do. He told me something Wild Horse said to him. He said, ‘Now you understand my own vengeance for what happened to my wives and my sons. Now you understand the Comanche heart.’ I think perhaps he does. He is the one who can answer your questions.”

  She held the child close, glad for the chance to help at least one unfortunate captive. She glanced at Wade, who had stripped off the deerskin shirt he wore, one that had belonged to Wild Horse. To her shock he pulled his knife and deliberately cut his arm, drawing blood. Several others had done the same. She realized then it was a form of mourning, and for the moment he was as Comanche as the rest of them.

  She closed her eyes and turned away from the pitiful sight. She knew there was a small part of him she would never understand. She could only accept it…and love him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The camp was quiet, and Jennifer saw neither hide nor hair of Gentle Winds, who apparently was refusing to come back to the tipi she had shared with Wild Horse, now that he was dead. It seemed to Jennifer that Wild Horse’s death had quickly robbed most of the young warriors of their cockiness and fighting spirit. All day, since the funeral that morning, everything had been quiet. Jennifer felt no fear, realizing Wade was greatly honored by the Comanche. Wade had been in council with several of them and with Aguila most of the evening, not even taking time to eat.

  Jennifer shared some fry-bread with Kathleen, her hands healed enough that they no longer gave her the excruciating surface pain that they had at first. Now they were just red and tender, and she could tell they would be slightly scarred, but she knew it wouldn’t matter to Wade.

  Earlier she and Kathleen had bathed in a nearby stream. It felt good to be clean again. Both she and the child wore Indian tunics, for they had no clothing of their own left intact. Jennifer guessed that other than being terrified and probably beaten and forced to help with chores, Kathleen had at least apparently not been sexually abused. She knew by the way the little girl was bouncing back to her natural sweet spirit that such a horror had not been visited upon her, and she thanked God the child had been spared.

  Jennifer sat and talked with the girl, telling her about her own past and how she met Wade, and Kathleen in turn told Jennifer about her family, at times struggling against tears. “My mother had a favorite locket,” she told Jennifer. “It was gold, and shaped like a little heart. Sometimes I think I’d feel better if I could just have that locket. Pa bought it for her. It was nothing real expensive, just special.”

  Jennifer thought about the locket Tony had given her. Deaver had sneered that the man had stolen it off a dead settler. Could
it have been Kathleen’s mother? She wondered if the man at the stage station had disposed of her belongings, or if he was saving them. “We’ll check at the fort and a couple other places,” she promised the girl. “Maybe whoever found and buried your family kept some of their personal possessions for possible survivors.”

  The child seemed comforted by the promise. She finally fell asleep, and two hours later Wade ducked inside the tipi. Jennifer looked up, seeing the lingering sorrow in his eyes.

  “I think Aguila and I have convinced them to go back to the reservation on the Red River. I’d like to go along with them, which means you would have to come, too. I won’t let you out of my sight again. Do you mind?”

  Their eyes held. “No,” she said quietly. She watched him as he came near and sat down. He was such a magnificent specimen of man, especially tonight, for he wore only a loincloth since he had bathed earlier in the day. She checked the gauze she had wrapped around his wounded shoulder and was relieved the spot of blood there looked no bigger.

  “Do you realize you have single-handedly ended some of the worst raiding in west Texas?” she asked. “Not that any of Texas’s citizens will be grateful.”

  He sighed, staring at the small fire she had built. “If I did anything great, it was by accident. And it certainly isn’t the way I would have chosen to do it.” He talked quietly now, seeming tired, resigned.

  Jennifer put a hand on his arm. “Do you want something to eat?”

  He shook his head, glancing over at a still-sleeping Kathleen. “She’s kind of latched onto you, hasn’t she?”

  “I suppose.” She met his eyes. “I promised her she could come to California with us. She has no family left.”

  He smiled a little. “Wait till she meets Vivian Morrow. She’ll adjust and be a happy little girl again in no time once she is under my mother’s wing.” He sighed deeply. “There sure isn’t anyone around here I’d leave her with, not even at the fort.” He turned to meet her eyes, reaching out to touch her face, which was still bruised. “You remind me of my white mother, wanting to take in an orphaned child, so full of love and compassion. When I think of what you’ve been through, all because of me—”

  She put her fingers to his lips. “Willingly,” she answered, “because I love you, Wade. None of it has been your fault. It’s the fault of prejudiced people.” She looked down at his bandaged arm from cutting himself in mourning. She had been grateful to find his gear remained intact, and she was able to find enough gauze to wrap his wounds.

  “For a little while yesterday,” she said, “when you were fighting—” She touched the wrapping on his arm lightly. “And this morning, when you did this, I was afraid perhaps you had become more Comanche than I could accept. But tonight you seem a little more like your old self. I could almost envision you taking over in Wild Horse’s place.” She met his eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. His hair hung straight and loose and shining. “But I know you could never be completely like him,” she added. “Still, you will always be a great warrior in my eyes, Wade Morrow.”

  She saw the pride come into his blue eyes, and he drew in his breath, drinking in the sight of her glorious green eyes and cascading auburn hair. He put a hand to her hair.

  “My God, Jenny, it’s like I just realized you’re really here, and you’re all right and you’re still mine. Is it true? He never touched you?”

  She reddened slightly. “He slapped me around, tore my dress. He wanted you to think the worst, and I knew I had to let you think it, too. I’m sorry, Wade.”

  “Don’t be,” he whispered. “It was that thought that saved my life.”

  Their eyes held, and in the next moment his mouth covered hers in their first kiss since the night he had come to the fort. But that night had been so different. Then she feared she would never see him again. Now the worry was over. They were safe and together. The burning kiss became more passionate, as both of them realized they had not enjoyed the luxury of intercourse since that night in the cave. How long ago was that? Three weeks, perhaps? They had both lost track of time.

  Wade laid her back on a blanket that was spread over straw. Their wounds could not keep them from what they needed most. She needed to know he was truly alive, that the horror was over and Wade Morrow could truly belong to her. He was full of the feel of pride and power, possessed with a kind of fury at the thought of any other man touching her, needing to prove she was Wade Morrow’s woman.

  He moved on top of her, being careful to keep his greater weight off his wounded shoulder. But that was the least of his worries. The kisses grew hotter, heavier, hungrier. Suddenly he wanted, needed his woman, and he could tell she felt the same way. He untied her tunic at the shoulders, pulling down the front of it to touch her breasts almost worshipfully.

  Jennifer drew in her breath when finally, she again experienced the glory of Wade Morrow’s warm lips pulling at her breasts as though to take nourishment from them. She wrapped her fingers into his hair, glancing over to be sure Kathleen was still asleep. Wade smothered her in kisses, her breasts, her throat, her mouth again, back to her breasts, as though desperate for her. Her blood ran hot as she felt a big hand on her thigh, the scarred, still slightly-sore leg that this man had nursed and saved.

  His hand moved under her tunic, where she wore nothing. In the next moment she gasped when his fingers touched her magically again, easily drawing forth the satiny moistness that assured him she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. He untied and removed his loincloth, pushing up her tunic and moving between her legs.

  It all happened quickly, uncontrollably. He was inside of her, and she knew in that moment that he had been right. Taking a man did get more enjoyable after the first time. This time she was healed, and her leg was also healed. She arched up to him as he raised up, grasping her bottom with big, strong hands, pushing hard while he looked down at her like a conquering warrior. He moved in ways that made her mad with desire, and in moments she felt the glorious climax. He sensed it, pushing deeper, holding out as long as he could endure, for his own ecstasy was beyond measure.

  She felt his life surging into her, and she hoped it would take hold. He threw back his head and groaned with pleasure, waiting several seconds before leaning back down to kiss her hungrily again. “I don’t want to stop yet, Jenny,” he whispered. “I love the feel of being inside of you.”

  She felt him already swelling with the want of her, for they were starved for each other. “Then stay inside of me,” she answered in a silken voice. “We have the rest of the night. We have forever now.”

  He grinned, moving his lips to her throat, lightly licking her skin. Jennifer closed her eyes, hoping Kathleen was a hard sleeper.

  “Indians ahead, sir, moving kind of slow, mostly warriors, but I swear I saw that white woman, and a young white girl. The white woman was riding with one of the warriors—sits tall on his horse. I think it’s Wild Horse.”

  The army scout had ridden up to Captain Howell with the news. Unwittingly, Howell and his men had intercepted what was left of Wild Horse’s party, now headed for the Red River.

  “If the white woman is still with them, it must be Wild Horse,” Howell answered, excitement in his voice. “They must not even know we’re here! We’ll circle ahead and trap them!”

  “Wait a minute,” Bill Morrow said, moving his horse in front of Howell’s. “Which way were they headed?” he asked the scout.

  “Almost directly north.”

  Bill moved his eyes to Howell. “That’s the direction of the reservation. For all you know, that’s where they’re headed—peacefully! My brother could be with them. Even if he isn’t, you know damn well that when attacked by surprise the Comanche usually kill their captives before they let the soldiers get them back. You’d be endangering Jennifer Andrews’s life, and the life of the little girl if you attack them straight on. For all you know the man your scout thinks is Wild Horse could be Wade.”

  “This is an army matter, Mr. Morrow! W
ild Horse could be down there, and I’m not going to let him get away from me this time!”

  Bill surprised the man when he pulled a gun and pointed it at him. The rest of his thirty-plus men followed suit, literally surrounding the soldiers, every man appearing ready to shoot.

  “Tell your men to hand over their weapons, Captain,” Bill told the man.

  Howell’s eyes widened. “Are you crazy!”

  “You’re not going to attack them, Captain,” Bill declared. “I won’t have your men shooting at a man who could be my brother! Now those Indians out there are a lot more likely not to run if they see regular citizens approaching them. You show a blue coat, and they’ll scatter like birds fresh kicked up. Let me and my brother and a few of my men ride in first, with white flags, kind of feel them out. If Wade has been with them, something could have happened we don’t know about!”

  “I’ll have you hanged for this,” Howell growled.

  “You can’t do a thing to me.” Bill looked at his men. “Take their weapons, boys.” He looked back at the captain as his men began taking guns from the soldiers. “It’s me and my brother who will be putting our lives on the line,” he said. “If you hear shooting, my men will give you back your guns and you can come riding in. If they’re peaceful and if my brother is with them, I’ll send one of my men back to tell you. You can ride in—no guns! I know how trigger-happy soldiers get around Indians. I’m not about to let this turn into a needless slaughter. When you come in, you do it damn slow. I don’t want them thinking we tricked them, or my brother and I will be the first ones they take aim at.”

  “This is preposterous,” Howell roared. “You can’t do this!”

  “Well, I’m doing it.” Bill looked around at his men, picking those he knew were the most experienced with Indians. “Pete, Justin, Nick—you three come with me. Get a petticoat or something from the woman’s baggage and rip it up for white flags.”