Thunder on the Plains

by Rosanne Bittner

  Dear Colt, she wrote. I can’t begin to tell you my sorrow at hearing about your wife and son. I can’t think of one thing I could possibly say that would make the pain of your loss any more bearable, except that you should never blame yourself. God works in mysterious ways, and sometimes we just have to accept what happens.

  She set the pen aside again, a sudden shot of jealousy moving through her at the thought of Colt loving another woman, sleeping with her, having a child with her. She put his letters back in the drawer and stared at the beginnings of her reply. Was she asking for trouble by continuing the correspondence? Was she risking an awakening of that childish crush?

  She let out a sigh of disgust with herself. Colt Travis was a lonely man who had loved and lost and was surely not about to love again for a long time. He knew back on that trip that they could never be anything but friends, and now that they both were older and more mature, what was wrong with corresponding? If her letters did some little bit to help him feel less lonely in his time of loss, then it was good that she kept writing him.

  She took up her pen and continued. Neither Vince nor anyone else was going to stop her from helping a friend in need, especially one to whom she owed her life.

  ***

  Colt headed Dancer up the gradual slope, his heart pounding with dread. For some reason he thought it was necessary to come here, that somehow seeing the graves would help him forget. He had stopped in Denver first to see Joanna Scott and tell her what had happened to LeeAnn, but he had discovered the woman had died, which only reawakened his grief. Mrs. Scott had been his last link to LeeAnn’s memory. Now that she was dead, it was as though poor LeeAnn and her whole family had never existed.

  A biting February wind stung his face, yet it felt as if a piece of hard, hot iron were lying in his stomach. Since leaving his employ with the Pony Express in November 1861, he had again wandered, moving from town to fort to town along the Oregon Trail. He’d written his fourth and last letter to Sunny in late November. He had told her their correspondence would have to end for a while, since he would have no permanent address.

  He never realized how much he would miss her letters, and he couldn’t help wondering if she missed hearing from him. He thought perhaps he should write her again, even though she couldn’t write back. He wasn’t sure what he would do with himself now. He was only sure that before he could go on, he had to visit LeeAnn’s and Ethan’s graves and face the reality of their deaths once more. Maybe if he finalized things in his mind, it would be easier to go on.

  He crested the rise, and pain ripped through him like fire. There lay the little homestead, still vacant and burned out, the plow still there, the broken-down fencing. Someone had either buried the Pawnee bodies, or come and taken them away, for as he came closer, he saw no bones or remnants of any kind. He grasped at his stomach, the awful memories from that ugly day coming back in sharp images.

  He trotted Dancer to the burned-out cabin, every muscle tense, his heart pounding so that it hurt. He dismounted, tying Dancer and turning up the collar on his wolfskin jacket against the cruel wind. He walked through the cabin’s ruins, remembering—a smile, a warm embrace, LeeAnn sitting by the fireplace breast-feeding little Ethan. That fireplace was all that remained now. The rocker in which LeeAnn used to sit still stood in front of it, but it was a charred skeleton of a chair, debris lying on top of it.

  Colt shuddered, but it was not from the bitter cold. His whole body began to tremble, and he went to his knees beside the rocker, letting the tears come, telling himself it was better to let it out. Sobs racked at his body. He had no idea how long he knelt there before he managed to get control of himself. He struggled to his feet, throwing back his head and screaming, turning and kicking at the debris while sleet turned to snow and began to whiten the ugly black ruins.

  After a rage of kicking and throwing things about, he stumbled upon the hinged door he had built into the floor of the cabin, under which LeeAnn stored potatoes and other vegetables. With a growl he shoved away more debris and lifted the door, kneeling down then to see a sack of potatoes still there but they were shriveled and dry, totally covered with long viney sprouts. He pushed the potatoes aside, and to his surprise, the four hundred dollars he had hidden behind them were still there. He grasped the money angrily and sat back and stared at it a moment, finding it ironic that out of all of this, only the damn money had survived.

  He stood up and shoved the money into his pants pocket, staring around the cabin ruins, sometimes wondering if those few precious months he had had with LeeAnn had really happened. It seemed he had already done so many things in his life, yet he was going to be only twenty-five in three months. He felt like seventy.

  He wished that for a little while he could have them all back, his mother and father, Slim, LeeAnn, Ethan. He had tried to find White Buffalo, but the ever-more-warlike Cheyenne were becoming very elusive, and bad weather had forced him into Denver for shelter. He had come here during a break in the weather, but it had again grown worse on his way out.

  He walked away from the cabin, and the wind began to howl as he looked around for the graves. He tied his hat under his chin to keep it from blowing off his head, and he huddled his mouth and chin down into the front of his jacket as he walked around searching for some sign of where his wife and son were buried. The wind blew so hard that the snow swept across the ground, mixed with sand, leaving the earth bare in spite of the snow getting heavier by the minute.

  Colt finally spotted a mound near what was once the horse shed. He hurried over, seeing that it had rocks laid over it in the shape of a cross. I marked your woman and baby’s grave with stones in the shape of the white man’s sign of God, White Buffalo had told him. I learned of this sign from your missionaries. If you go to find it, look for the sign of the cross. The boy is buried with his mother.

  Colt stared at the grave. So, it was real. LeeAnn and Ethan really were dead! He had never quite gotten over little spells of disbelief, the thought that somehow, somewhere, he would find them alive.

  He knelt beside the grave, grateful to see that no animals had dug at it. “My poor LeeAnn,” he groaned, reaching out and touching the rocks. “I’m so sorry.” More tears came, and he hung his head, hardly aware of the wind and snow. Finally, he lay down, stretching himself across the hard mound, pretending his wife and son were in his arms. Snow drifted up against him and began to cover him, and somewhere in the distant hills, wolves began a mournful wail.

  ***

  Blaine draped Sunny’s fur cape around her shoulders, nodding to several of Chicago’s most elite as others began leaving the theater. “Quite a good symphony, wasn’t it?”

  “I enjoyed it very much, Blaine,” Sunny answered. “Thank you for taking me.”

  He took her arm, aware that people were staring. Blaine O’Brien and Sunny Landers were the hot topic of the society columns. Everyone in Chicago seemed to know who Sunny was, and any man who might be a love interest gained instant public attention. Blaine didn’t mind one bit. He had big plans for the future, a career in politics. Public attention was just what he needed. He had deliberately taken time away from his business in New York to stay in Chicago for a while and court Sunny. As far as he was concerned, he had found the perfect woman, but sometimes he wondered just how long it was going to take to get her to marry him.

  He was determined to keep trying. It wasn’t just her beauty that fascinated him. He had dated many beautiful women in his thirty years. Nor was it just her intelligence and abilities, both of which she had proved in a grand way over the last few months. He decided that what frustrated him and made him want her most was the fact that she still had not put him on a pedestal the way other women had. He could not get the sexual response from her that he wanted and needed, nor could he get her to commit to him in any serious way. Her father’s business and the railroad still came above all else.

 
They stopped and talked to a few people on their way out, people who looked admiringly at the couple, women getting flustered when Blaine kissed their hands, men ogling Sunny’s exquisite beauty. Blaine himself had been unable to keep his eyes from the way Sunny’s dress was cut, just enough to reveal a tempting portion of the crests of her untouched breasts, breasts he dearly wanted to touch and taste, wanted to own. He escorted her outside to his waiting carriage, both of them ducking against a bitter March wind. Blaine shouted to the driver to take them to Sunny’s home, then helped her climb into the carriage and settled in beside her, commenting again about the symphony.

  Sunny put her head back. “Oh, I needed a night away from things, Blaine. Thank you again.”

  He leaned closer. “There are a lot of things you need that you neglect to let yourself enjoy, Sunny.”

  “Oh? Like what?”

  Before she could protest, he put a hand to the side of her face and covered her mouth with his own, giving her his most provocative kiss, one that usually made other women putty in his hands. He felt her soften, moved his hand over her neck, traced his fingers toward her breasts. The kiss deepened when he moved a hand over a breast, but Sunny quickly grasped the hand and pulled it away. She turned away from the kiss, and he continued to kiss her cheek and neck, trembling with the want of her.

  “Don’t do this to me, Sunny. I’ve wanted you since that first day I saw you at Durant’s meeting last fall. We’ve done a lot of things together, and our dates aren’t even chaperoned anymore. There must be a reason you wanted us to be alone.”

  She sighed, pulling away slightly, watching out the window for a moment as the coach clattered over brick streets lit with gaslights. “Blaine, part of me wants to be a woman. I’m twenty years old. Most women my age are already married and having babies.”

  “And you should be too.” He pulled her closer, kissing her again. How she wished she could feel that special rush of desire she had felt only once in her life, with a man she could not have. Why couldn’t she feel that around Blaine? She had to admit she was attracted to him, but always there was that fear of what men really wanted from her, a round in bed and a chance at her fortune. Vi had heard the rumors of Blaine’s womanizing, but then, as far as she knew he had been true to her since he first started courting her. Nearly every day he sent flowers or other gifts. It was almost too much.

  She put her hands to his chest and turned her face away again. “Blaine, I don’t think we should see so much of each other. I have so many things to think about, so much to do. I…I sort of promised myself that I wouldn’t get involved with anyone until my feet were solidly on the ground with Landers Enterprises, and until the railroad becomes a reality. I don’t have time for anything serious, and I can’t trust my own decisions right now.”

  He sighed deeply, taking her hand. “Sunny, you’re a beautiful woman with so much to give. You’d make a wonderful wife and mother. I’m not—well, I’m not actually proposing this minute, and I’ll admit I’ve had my share of women; but dammit, I’ve never wanted one quite like I want you. I’ve never come this close to wanting to marry. You’re everything a man could want. And how are we going to know how things might be between us—” He pulled her closer. “Sexually,” he continued in a near whisper, “if we don’t do a little exploring, experimenting. Jesus, Sunny, let go of the sexual woman inside the businesswoman and just be female for once. You just might like it.”

  His words and touch made the thought so tempting. He searched her mouth again, his lips trailing over her neck, down to her breasts. She felt only curiosity and a desire not to hurt his feelings, but she did not feel the passion she was sure she should feel. She touched his hair, and suddenly imagined that it was Colt Travis doing this to her. The thought startled her so that she gasped and pushed him away again. “Blaine, don’t.”

  He scowled, moving into his own corner of the seat, saying nothing for several long seconds. Sunny blinked back tears, wondering if the pressures of her business life were ruining her own femininity, her ability to love and want and—She shivered when she realized what had made her push him away. Why on earth had she thought of Colt? She hadn’t heard from him since that last letter in December, telling her not to write anymore because he didn’t know where he would be. He was a man from another world whom she hadn’t seen in five years and would very likely never see again. Was she throwing away the best years of her life?

  “I’m sorry, Blaine. You deserve better. I’m just not ready.” She felt the sudden ache to her throat. “You have to understand that other women…other women don’t have the responsibilities I have. They have more time to socialize and go to parties and think about their personal lives.”

  “Is there someone else?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  She looked out the window again, thinking of Colt. “No, of course not. That’s a silly question. You know yourself I hardly have time to see you as often as you would like.”

  “As I would like? What about you? Do you see me just because it’s what I want? God, woman, don’t patronize me.”

  Sunny blinked back tears. “It isn’t that way. I do like being with you, Blaine. I guess I’m just not as mature a woman that way as you need.” She thought then how he had said only that he wanted and needed her, not that he loved her. Perhaps that was the problem. Until she heard those words, she could not be sure.

  The carriage rolled up in front of her home, and Blaine got out his side, slamming the door. He came around and opened her door, helping her down, his grip on her arm a little tighter than necessary as he walked her to the huge double oak doors of the mansion.

  “I have to go back to New York for a few weeks,” he told her. “Maybe we’ll see each other in Washington. You will be there for the vote, won’t you?”

  “Of course I will.” She put her hands to the satin lapels of his wool overcoat. “Blaine, don’t be angry, please. Maybe it’s good that you’ll be gone for a while. I need time to think about things, and I just can’t bring myself to get involved until the railroad bill is passed. Give me at least that much.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t need any more time to know what I want.” He let out a short sarcastic laugh. “You do know how to get back at a man, don’t you?”

  “Get back at him?”

  “Is this your way of paying me back for insulting you that first day?”

  She smiled. “I would love to be mean and say yes.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “No, Blaine. I forgot about that after that first dinner.” The brisk wind blew her cape wildly, and she stepped back to grab hold of it. Blaine stared at her a moment, as though he didn’t believe her.

  “You ever get any more letters from that half-breed scout you told me about?” he asked.

  Sunny felt a flush to her cheeks at the unexpected question. “No. Not since December. I don’t even know where he is.”

  A strange look came into his eyes as his gaze moved over her in that way he had of making her feel naked. “Do me a favor. If he writes you again, don’t answer.”

  Her eyebrows arched in surprise, mixed with anger. “Why!”

  “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, that’s all. A woman shouldn’t be corresponding like close friends with some man when she’s serious about another. It doesn’t look good and it isn’t proper, especially a woman of your station writing to a worthless drifter. Leave it alone, Sunny.” He turned and went down the steps, getting into the carriage. “I’ll see you in Washington,” he called out to her.

  “Maybe,” Sunny muttered, still angry. She stood on the portico and watched the carriage clatter away. She shivered, not sure if it was from the wind or from Blaine’s warning. How dare he give her orders as to whom she could choose for friends! In spite of the cold she walked around the house to the backyard and to steps that led down the steep sandy ba
nk to the lake below. The blustery wind tore at her, and she listened to the waves crashing to shore, wondering what Colt would think of Lake Michigan.

  She closed her eyes then, realizing that again she had allowed Colt to come into her thoughts. As much as it angered her to be told what to do, she wondered if perhaps Blaine was right in telling her she shouldn’t answer him if he wrote again.

  She touched her breast where Blaine had caressed it with his lips. Part of her had wanted him to do that and more. It wasn’t that she didn’t have the same desires as any woman; it was just that she had never done such things before…and she wasn’t sure she wanted Blaine to be the one to enjoy her favors.

  She felt a mist of cold rain then and turned to hurry back to the house. She decided she was better off for the time being not getting involved with any man. If the railroad bill passed the House and Senate and was signed by Lincoln, then the real work would have just begun. She would be busier than ever. It wouldn’t be long now before they would all know if the Union Pacific was going to become a reality, and at this time in her life, that was more important than worrying about hurting Blaine O’Brien’s feelings, although there were times when she wondered if he had any feelings at all.

  Chapter 12

  Colt reached over and pulled the letter from the pocket of his buckskin shirt, lying back in the bed and opening it to reread it for the tenth time. He strained to see by the light of a nearby oil lamp that the prostitute lying next to him had turned down so she could sleep. He smoked quietly, wondering how much had changed since Sunny had written the letter seven months ago.