Before the Dawn

by Beverly Jenkins

  Once outside the stall, he dried her with the bathing sheet, caressing her, warming her, teasing those parts of her body he knew would make her croon. Leah stood there pulsing, rippling, wondering if she’d ever become accustomed to his fervent touch. Truth be told, she hoped not.

  They were soon back in his room. Their reentry into the sweet storm of love commenced with humid kisses, wandering hands, and his heat-filled whispers of how he planned to have her next. Leah felt treasured and then bliss as he eased his hard, thick promise into the place they both wanted him to be. He rode her slowly, carnally. He made her arch to his thrusts, and she didn’t care how scandalously she responded. He made her climb peaks and discover valleys that were previously unknown. When the dam broke, he growled; she cried out hoarsely, and together they were flung to paradise.

  “You know,” she told him a few moments after they’d regained calm, “everyone’s going to be wondering where we are.”

  “Let them.”

  She rolled her head in the direction where he lay on his back beside her and held his eyes. “That’s easy to say if you’re you, but I’m not.”

  He asked, “I thought you’ve been fighting gossips all your life?”

  “I have, but I never caused any.”

  “Just because someone names you something, doesn’t mean you must wear it.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I’ve never been in a situation like this before, is all.”

  “Never had a man court you?” he asked.

  “No,” came her quiet reply.

  Ryder once again wondered who she truly was. “You know, I’m going to find out the truth eventually.”

  She didn’t try and deny it. “I know.”

  He rolled over and kissed her swiftly. “In the meantime, are you hungry?”

  Glad that they’d moved away from talk of the past, she raised a saucy eyebrow. “Hungry for what?”

  He chuckled, “For food, woman. Food. That’s all.”

  She pouted.

  He kissed her again, this time longer and more passionately. “I can see now that I’m going to have to put you in a cage.”

  She giggled beneath his lips. “Try it, and I’ll never take lessons from you again.”

  He sat up and grabbed her by the hand. “Let’s go find something to eat.”

  She pulled back. “You don’t have on a stitch of clothing.”

  “Neither do you. What’s your point?”

  “The point, my handsome brave, is that one, what if Sam and any lingering guests are in the kitchen, and two: Ryder I must go home. Eloise is probably worried sick.”

  “No, she’s not.”

  She eyed him for a moment, then asked suspiciously, “How do you know?”

  “Remember when I stopped to talk to her before we went around to the front of the house?”

  She nodded.

  “I told her then I’d bring you home sometime before dawn.”

  Leah’s eyes widened. “You didn’t?”

  “I did.”

  Outdone, Leah fell back on the bed. “What must she think?”

  “Come on, now,” he chided her softly. “Eloise is a grown woman. She knows we’re not up here playing checkers.”

  She gave him a guilty smile.

  He looked down into her black eyes. “So, shall we wash again and then eat?”

  “Only if you go downstairs and make sure the coast is clear, and, you give me something to wear.”

  He bent and kissed her. “I can do that. Although I do favor your present attire.”

  He teased a finger over her nipple until it peaked then, grabbing a long silk robe from a nearby chair, he shrugged it on and departed.

  Chapter 9

  While Leah waited for Ryder’s return with the food, she looked up at the shadows on the ceiling. In many ways, she was happy as a clam—who’d have ever thought she’d have a lover, and one so magnificent at that—but in other ways she knew this brief lusty respite wouldn’t last. The past would rise up and smite them both, plunging them back into the throes of distrust and anger. If only she had a magician’s wand, she could wave it and make time skip over the ugliness she sensed lay ahead and place the two of them on the other side, where lying across his bed would begin and end each day, where she could explore the countryside with him, take long sensual showers, and eat spiced peaches. With a start, she realized she was musing upon him being a prolonged part of her life. Surely that would never happen, would it?

  She sat up and shook herself free. No, it wouldn’t. Monty stood between them. Ryder would never let go of his bitterness and mistrust. She had feelings for him, but didn’t expect them to be returned because of who she was and what she represented. Realizing she’d have plenty of time to be melancholy once she was back at the cabin and alone, she scooted off the bed and went to the shower to wash up before he returned.

  Downstairs, Ryder walked into the kitchen, and there sat Sam and his army buddies ringing the table. The tabletop was littered with bottles of champagne, food, and partially filled flutes and whiskey glasses. They were obviously having a good time because he’d heard the raucous laughter as soon as he started down the stairs. Ryder assumed the other guests were gone.

  Sam and his men greeted him loudly, and he smiled. He was just about to ask Sam where he’d put the food left over from the party when he looked up and saw an obviously angry Mable seated in a chair in the corner. She met his eyes; the tears sparkling in them moved him greatly. He cast a withering look at the cavalry, then walked over and leaned down close to Sam’s ear. “Can I talk to you for a moment, privately?”

  “Sure,” Sam returned brightly. “Boys, keep the champagne flowing, be right back.”

  Ryder led Sam into his study and closed the door. He then asked, “What the hell are you doing?”

  Sam, filled with a bit more spirits than he was accustomed to downing, replied, “What?”

  “Dammit, Sam, when was the last time you noticed Mable?”

  “Mable?”

  “Yes, Mable. Remember her, the lady you’re supposed to be marrying next month?”

  “She’s sitting in the kitchen.”

  “Yes, she is, but doing what?”

  Sam thought a moment, then the full meaning of Ryder’s questions seemed to hit. “Not paying much attention to her, am I?”

  “I don’t know, Sam, are you?”

  Sam dropped his gaze. “Me and my buddies haven’t seen each other in a while and—” The frost in Ryder’s face cut Sam off. “That’s no excuse, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t. That woman was nice enough to say yes to an old broken-down soldier like you and you’ve got her sitting in the kitchen corner like one of your pots.”

  Sam’s voice was filled with remorse. “Guess I have to tell the boys to leave.”

  Ryder nodded. “I guess you do, unless you’re planning to stand up with them instead.”

  Sam was quiet for a moment, and then he chuckled. “Since when did you become so all-fired caring?”

  Ryder shrugged. “Must be the company I’m presently keeping.”

  “Well keep it up. Six week ago you wouldn’t’ve cared one bit about Mable’s feelings.”

  Ryder didn’t like hearing himself described so accurately. “Where’d you put the leftover food?”

  “In the icebox and in the pantry. Want me to fix you and Miss Leah a plate?”

  “No. You just go and take care of your business. I’ll take care of mine.”

  Sam smiled. “See that you do, because if you let that little lady get away again, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

  Ryder didn’t respond.

  His hand on the door latch, Sam turned back to his best friend, and said genuinely, “Thanks for pointing out something I needed to see.”

  Ryder replied softly, “You’re welcome, old man.”

  His eyes twinkling, Sam left.

  Ryder returned to his room with enough food to feed a dozen people. The tray held slice
d meats, bread, desserts, and a pitcher brimming with lemonade. He set everything on the writing table.

  Leah looked at the mountain of food, and, remembering his giant’s appetite, asked teasingly, “You didn’t bring anything for me?”

  He shot her an amused look. “Very funny. Being around you, a man has to keep up his strength. Now, come eat.”

  She walked over to him and his eyes glowed at the sight of her lush nudity. Leah had no trouble interpreting the gleam. “You promised me clothes, remember?”

  “I lied.”

  She snorted in amused amazement. “Can I have something to wear please?”

  “No,” he replied easily, and began preparing himself a sandwich.

  “Ryder?” She had a hand on her hip, but a smile on her face.

  He turned to her. “What? Aren’t you going to eat?”

  Leah looked around the room. Spying a large chest of drawers, she went over and pulled the top drawer open. Socks, drawers, and handkerchiefs. Can’t wear those. She shut the drawer, then opened the next: bedding. Next drawer: shirts!

  Leah playfully stuck out her tongue at him, then withdrew a red check flannel shirt and slipped it on. The shirt’s hem fell past her knees and the long sleeves had to be rolled up, but she was covered. She walked back to him with triumph on her face. “Now, I can eat. No help from you.”

  “Purely selfish,” he confessed.

  She shook her head and made herself a small plate. “So, are all the guests gone?”

  “Looked like it. I had to make Sam send his cronies home though.”

  “Why?” Leah asked.

  “Because while they were all sitting around the table drinking and telling lies, poor Mable was sitting in the corner with tears in her eyes.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Did you talk to Sam?”

  Ryder nodded. “I did. Asked him if he were standing up with Mable or his buddies.”

  Leah found his championing of Mable impressive. “Good for you. Anybody else know you have a soft spot in your heart for women’s feelings?”

  “No, so keep it to yourself.”

  She grinned and bit into her sandwich.

  After their meal, they sat on the black settee positioned near the huge stone fireplace and Leah got her first good look at her surroundings. Ryder’s bedroom was like all the other rooms at Sunrise—large. Decidedly a man’s quarters, too. Most of the furniture was made from deep, dark wood, and as in the other rooms, trophy heads adorned the walls. There was a ram’s head, complete with huge, elaborately curved ivory horns on the stone chimney of the fireplace, and another ferocious-looking bear’s head above the big four-poster bed. She was glad she hadn’t seen his snarling face until now. There was a writing table and chair. The hems on the black-velvet drapes were trimmed with a red, Indian-based design. The large black rugs on the floor also bore the signs and prints of Ryder’s tribal roots.

  There were two paintings of warriors on the wall by the door to the bathing room. Leah had seen enough of Eloise’s works to guess they’d been done by her hand. A black headdress in a glass case on a table on the far side of the room drew her curiosity so much that she had to walk over and see it up close.

  “What is this?” she asked. Unlike the war bonnets she’d seen in the newspapers back East, this one had feathers that stood straight up, and the tips were scarlet red.

  “Belonged to one of my uncles. It’s a Dog Soldier bonnet.”

  “What’s a Dog Soldier?”

  “One of the six Cheyenne warrior clans—the fiercest and the bravest.”

  “I’ve never heard of them. What type of feathers are these?”

  “Raven, and that’s red down on the tips.”

  Leah peered at the glass. “Why’s it in glass?”

  “To preserve it. An archaeologist friend of mine says it’s the best way, short of sending it to a museum, which I refuse to do. They’ve stolen enough.”

  Leah could sense the power and pride a brave must have felt donning such finery. It had a cold beauty that radiated majesty. Dog Soldiers. “Did you want to be a Dog Soldier?”

  “I did. They always inspired such awe and respect. They’d set up their own camp within the big camp and had their own rules and ceremonies. They fought the Whites long after everyone else had surrendered.”

  Leah thought back to her conversation with Eloise about Sand Creek. “Were there any Dog Soldiers at Sand Creek?”

  From his seat across the room, Ryder studied her for a moment. Her question caught him off guard. Few Easterners, if any, knew about Sand Creek.

  As if reading his mind, she explained, “Eloise told me some of the story.”

  “No, there were no Dog Soldiers in camp that day,” he responded in a voice void of emotion.

  She saw pain and bitterness in his eyes.

  He continued distantly, “When Chivington rode into camp with his seven hundred men and his cannons, there were only a handful of warriors with us. Most of the others, my uncles included, were up at Sand Hill. The soldiers found only the old chiefs, the elders, and the women and children.”

  “But they still fired on you all?”

  “Yes. Cheyenne Chief Black Kettle was what they called a peace chief. He’d signed many treaties and was convinced the Americans stealing our land and butchering our game meant us no harm. In fact, an Indian Affairs Commissioner had given him an American flag as a symbol of Washington’s word that they wanted peace. When Chivington’s soldiers arrived at Sand Creek, Black Kettle grabbed up the flag and placed himself and all of us behind it. The commissioner said all he had to do was show it and any soldiers we encountered would leave us be.”

  “These didn’t.”

  “No, when they saw the flag, they opened fire.”

  “Had Black Kettle been on the warpath?”

  “No, he and the other old chiefs had been trying to find a way for both peoples to live together peacefully but, the Americans didn’t want peace. They wanted our land, and for the tribes to disappear.”

  “Eloise said over a hundred of women and children were killed that day.”

  “And butchered and mutilated. Soldiers were riding around with the privates of our dead women stretched over their saddles. I saw one man dismount and drop to his knees so he could accurately shoot a child no more than three winters old.”

  He quieted then as if his mind were recalling that day. “The massacre went on for seven hours. From dawn until that afternoon. White Antelope, an old Cheyenne chief, seventy-five years old, yelled at the soldiers, trying to make them stop. They gunned him down too. He died singing the death song, with a medal he’d been given by President Lincoln around his neck.”

  A sharp sadness filled Leah. “But you and your grandmother managed to escape.”

  “Yes, and joined the rest of the survivors on the long walk northeast to join the warriors camped at Smoky Hill.”

  “This took place in November?”

  “Yes, the Cheyenne call it Hikomini, the Month of the Freezing Moon.”

  “So it must’ve been cold.”

  Ryder nodded. “Cold, ice, wind. We had small children and women with us, many of them wounded, so the going was slow.”

  “But you made it.”

  “We did, and from there we headed north to join the Northern Cheyenne up by the Republican River.”

  Silence filled the room. Leah couldn’t imagine how horrible it must have been for a fourteen-year-old male child to be suddenly called upon to defend his people. How courageous he and the others had been.

  She retook her seat. “I didn’t mean to bring up such sad times by asking about the bonnet.”

  “No harm done. At least I can talk about it; back then I couldn’t. I had nightmares on and off for years.”

  Leah didn’t find that admission surprising. “Eloise said Chivington is now a sheriff in Denver.”

  “Sure is. Pretty ironic. A lawless, murdering man, now in charge of enforcing the
law.”

  “Where are your uncles now?” Leah asked.

  “Dead, in various battles. The one who wore that bonnet was the oldest of my mother’s three brothers. He died with the great Cheyenne Chief Roman Nose at what the Americans called the Battle of Beecher’s Island.”

  “What did the Cheyenne call it?”

  “The Fight When Roman Nose Was Killed.”

  Sadness held Leah. No wonder Ryder kept his true feelings hidden. He had good reason to. After Sand Creek, the conquering of his tribe, and the death of his mother, it was a wonder he had any feelings at all.

  He looked her way, and asked, “How about we change the subject?”

  She nodded.

  He said, “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

  “Okay. Let’s see?” She thought for a moment, then said, “I really enjoy being with the man who lives inside Ryder Damien.”

  He searched her eyes. “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  Ryder’s heart filled with a satisfaction he couldn’t name. He’d never talked with anyone but Sam about Sand Creek; he’d certainly never admitted he’d had nightmares. Was Sam right? Was this woman slowly changing him? “I’m enjoying you, too, both with and without your clothes.”

  She laughed. “I’m being serious.”

  “So am I.”

  She picked up one of the small, Indian-designed pillows resting on the settee nearby and playfully swatted him with it.

  Laughing, he tore it from her hand, and while she mockingly screamed her outrage he dragged her kicking and flailing onto his lap. “In the old days, a brave would beat his woman for committing such an outrage.”

  “Well, these aren’t the old days. Beat me, and I’ll have Sam feed you arsenic with your eggs, and as much as you eat, you’ll keel over before you leave the table.”

  He grinned, then ran an admiring finger over her smooth dark cheek. “I would never beat you.”

  “Never?”

  “Ever.”

  “Good. I’ll never beat you either.”