Love Forevermore

by Madeline Baker

  He drew the horse to a halt in a grove of aspens high in the hills and sat there looking back the way he had come. A distant line of blue told him the Army was already in pursuit.

  With a grimace, he urged the horse deeper into the wooded hills.

  Loralee sat beside Mike. He had been unconscious for three days, ever since Shad had escaped from the road gang. Mike's face was pale, his breathing shallow, and the doctor had said there was a possibility there could be complications. He did not elaborate on his diagnosis, and Loralee did not press him for details. What the doctor had inferred was too awful to contemplate.

  With a sigh, she gazed out the hospital window. A squad of troopers were drilling on the parade ground. Sweat rolled down their faces and dampened their uniforms.

  She lifted her gaze and stared at the distant hills. Where was Shad? How soon would he come back for her? Would he dare come back? He was a wanted man now.

  ''Loralee."

  She gasped as Mike whispered her name. "Mike! Thank God. How do you feel?"

  "Awful. My head" He lifted a hand to the bandage swathed around his head. "What happened?"

  "Don't you remember?"

  "No."

  "Zuniga escaped. He . . . he hit you when you tried to stop him."

  "I don't remember a thing."

  "Just lie still. I'm going to get the doctor." Smiling, she bent down and placed a kiss on his cheek. "I'm glad you're all right."

  The doctor was pleased with Mike's recovery. Five days later Mike was discharged from the infirmary. His memory seemed fine except for the events of the day that Zuniga escaped. He had no recollection of that day at all. Two weeks later he was back to full duty.

  Loralee woke up frowning, and then gasped as a contraction caught her unawares. The baby, she thought smiling. It's coming. She glanced at Mike, sleeping peacefully beside her, then slid out of bed. Drawing on her robe, she tiptoed into the parlor and sat in the chair by the window, looking out. The sky was cloudy, and even as she watched, it began to rain.

  She sat there for an hour staring at the rain as the contractions gradually grew harder and more painful. Thunder rolled across the heavens, followed by jagged bolts of yellow lightning that lit up the sky like Fourth of July fireworks.

  And still she sat there, her arms clasped around her belly, her eyes intent upon the raging storm as the pains grew steadily worse. She knew it was time to wake Mike, time to call the doctor, but she was reluctant to share this moment with anyone but Shad. He seemed close to her now. She could almost see his swarthy face in the storm, hear his voice in the thunder that rumbled across the cloud-blackened sky.

  Tears filled her eyes as a sharp contraction threatened to split her in half. If only Shad were there to help her. If only she could see his face, hear his voice assuring her that everything would be all right. If only she could cling to his hand and make his indomitable strength her own. She knew she could bear anything if he were there beside her, but he was gone, perhaps for good.

  The thought that she might never see him again was more painful than the contractions wracking her body as his child struggled to make its way into the world.

  She closed her eyes, and a verse from the 34th Psalm whispered in her mind: "I sought the Lord and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears."

  She smiled faintly. If only she could be delivered of all her fears, and of the contractions that were growing unbearable. Delivered, she mused. That was the key word.

  She screamed aloud as the hardest contraction of all knifed through her. The cry was filled with pain and despair because Shad was gone and she didn't know where he was, because she was frightened and alone.

  Moments later, Mike ran into the room, his face ashen. "Loralee, my God, what's the matter?"

  "The baby." She doubled over as another pain hit her. "It's coming."

  Mike's face went white. The day he had dreaded was here. He felt a swift surge of anger. This was all Shad Zuniga's fault. Loralee whimpered softly and Mike's anger was forgotten as he saw the pain etched in her lovely face, saw the tears glistening in her eyes.

  "Just relax," he said soothingly. "You'll be fine, just fine." Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her to bed and covered her with a clean sheet. ''I'm going for the doctor," he said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be right back."

  "Don't leave me."

  "I'll be right back, Loralee, I promise."

  "Hurry!"

  The next hour passed in a red haze of pain. She was only vaguely aware of Mike standing at her side, his face drawn with worry, as Zuniga's son came into the world.

  She smiled weakly as the doctor placed the infant in her arms. It had been worth the pain, she thought wearily, to hold Shad's son in her arms. In the way of all new mothers, she counted tiny fingers and toes, marveling at such perfection. She touched the soft thatch of straight black hair, gazed in awe at the beautiful face, and fell asleep with Shad's name on her lips.

  Mike Schofield swore under his breath as the doctor sent him a searching glance.

  "It's the baby's name," Mike said quickly. "Shad Michael Schofield."

  The doctor nodded dubiously. "Unusual name, Shad," he murmured. "Wasn't that the name of the Injun who killed Sergeant Blakely?"

  "Good night, doc," Mike said abruptly. "Thanks for coming."

  Face grim, Mike handed the doctor his bag and showed him to the front door. He stood there for a minute listening to the rain, his face bleak. Doc Hampton was the biggest gossip on the post. By tomorrow afternoon, everyone would know that the Schofields' baby was named after Zuniga.

  Scowling, he shut the door with a bang. Moving to the kitchen, he poured himself a drink, then wandered back to the bedroom to stand staring down at Loralee and the child securely cradled in her arms. Damn, he thought bitterly, the little bastard looked Indian through and through.

  23

  Of course there were rumors. Mike told everyone the baby had been born prematurely, but it was obvious to everyone that Loralee had carried the child full term. He was too big, too healthy, to be premature.

  It was just as obvious that the child had been sired by an Indian, though no one dared mention it aloud.

  Stella Freeman made a bit of an effort to hide her shock and disgust when she made her obligatory call on Loralee after the baby was born, but her feelings were clearly etched in her eyes and in the stunned expression on her face.

  Half-breed. The word seemed to hang in the air even though nothing had been said.

  "He's . . . healthy looking," Stella Freeman finally remarked.

  "Yes," Loralce answered. With an effort, she choked back her tears. The look of contempt in Stella Freeman's eyes hurt more than she would have thought possible.

  "Well, I know you're tired," the colonel's wife said in a rush, "so I won't keep you. I just wanted to come by and . . . congratulate you. Good day."

  Stella Freeman left the room as fast as her legs could carry her, and Loralee let out a sigh of resignation. By tonight everyone on the post would know that she had been pregnant when she married Mike, and that Mike wasn't the father of her child. How would she ever face Mike's friends again? How could she face Mike? He must be going through hell.

  She tried valiantly not to cry, but she could not hold back her tears or banish the feeling of misery that washed over her. She would never be able to teach the Apache children again. Everyone would say she was unfit to teach. People would feel sorry for Mike. They would say she had used him to cover her sins. And they would be right.

  No one would feel sorry for her. They would look at her with contempt in their eyes as they condemned her for what she had done. And the fact that she had been immoral with an Indian would make matters worse. Probably no one would ever speak to her again.

  She gave her son a hug. Poor baby. He would suffer the most. People would shun him, or call him ugly names.

  She stayed in bed for two weeks, spending every waking moment with her son, nursing him, singin
g to him, showering him with hugs and kisses so he would know he was loved. He became her whole life, the one person in all the world who loved and needed her.

  She was surprised when Sally Stockman came to visit.

  Sally smiled shyly as she handed Loralee a gaily wrapped package. "Congratulations, Loralee," she murmured. "I'd have come sooner, but Mike told me you weren't feeling well."

  "I'm better now," Loralee mumbled, unwilling to meet Sally's eyes.

  Sally gestured at the cradle next to the bed where the baby lay sleeping. "May I see him?"

  "If you like."

  Sally went to the cradle and peered inside, and Loralee felt herself begin to grow tense. Soon Sally would mumble some hurried excuse and leave. She had probably only come here to see for herself that the rumors were true.

  "He's darling," Sally said, smiling at Loralee over her shoulder. "Aren't you glad he isn't bald? So many new babies are, but he has lots of hair. Ana such lovely skin."

  Loralee studied Sally's face, looking for some sign of derision or scorn, but found none.

  Sally dragged a chair closer to the bed and sat down. "I love babies. I hope to have one soon,"

  Loralee nodded, touched by Sally's sincere good wishes and friendly-smile.

  "Open the present," Sally urged.

  "All right." Loralee removed the ribbon and paper, lifted the lid, and gave a little cry of delight. Inside the box, wrapped in a layer of white tissue paper, nestled a lacy blue shawl with a long fringe, as well as a light blue sacque. "Thank you, Sally, they're lovely."

  "Loralee?"

  "Yes."

  "I know we haven't been close friends, but I hope we can be. Don't let Mrs. Freeman intimidate you. You have many friends at the fort and on the reservation. Don't lock yourself in your room. You can't hide from the world forever."

  "I'm so ashamed."

  Sally shrugged. "We've all made mistakes, even Stella Freeman, though she probably wouldn't admit it."

  "Is everyone talking about me?"

  "Not everyone." Sally laughed softly. "Mrs. Cogan is quite shocked, of course, but she's just an old stick and probably jealous because she couldn't do any better than Tom Cogan."

  Loralee laughed in spite of herself. Tom Cogan was one of the homeliest men she had ever seen. He was short and bald, with a bulbous nose, a receding chin, and close-set eyes. For all his lack of beauty, he was a kind and honorable man, and Loralee felt guilty for laughing.

  "Loralee"

  "What?"

  "Never mind."

  "You're wondering, too, aren't you?" Loralee said. "Wondering who the father is."

  "I'm sorry. I just can't help it. Curiosity is my worst fault. Forgive me."

  "It's Shad Zuniga," Loralee confessed softly, and felt her heart twist with pain as she spoke his name aloud. Where was he? Would she ever see him again?

  Sally saw the sadness in Loralee's eyes and heard the yearning in her voice. "You were in love with him."

  Loralee nodded. "I don't know how it happened."

  "No one ever does. I doubt that any woman alive could pinpoint the moment when she fell in love."

  "He isn't like everyone says."

  "I didn't know him, of course, but I saw him at the Agency several times. He was very handsome in a wild and rugged way. He scared me, though. I'm not sure why."

  "I miss him terribly."

  Compassion filled Sally Stockman's heart as two fat tears rolled down Loralee's cheeks. Not certain if she was doing the right thing, she moved to the edge of the bed and put her arm around Loralee's shoulders.

  Loralee sagged against Sally, letting all her unhappiness pour out in a flood of tears. It was good to know she had at least one friend at the fort, one person who did not condemn her.

  Sally came to visit often after that and they quickly became good friends. Sally insisted that Loralee get out of the house, go for walks, go shopping, take the baby out for air. A few of the men eyed Loralee speculatively, wondering if the rumors were true, but they all treated her with respect. She was the wife of an officer, after all, and officers were all gentlemen.

  Her relationship with Mike was strained. They spoke to each other only when necessary, and Mike spent most of his time away from home. Extra duty, he said. If he knew what people were saying about Loralee and the baby, he never let it show, though one night he came home with a black eye and bloody knuckles. Though he refused to say what had happened, Loralee suspected he had been in a fight, and that she had been the cause of it.

  Mike made no attempt to touch her, but she knew that he was only waiting for the doctor's okay before he claimed his husbandly rights. What she would do then she did not know.

  Six weeks after the baby was born, Mike insisted that Loralee accompany him to a dinner party at the colonel's home. Loralee pleaded to stay home, but Mike insisted she attend. It was one of the worst evenings of her life. Everyone was polite, but Loralee wanted to die of shame. Every time she saw two people with their heads together, she was certain they were talking about her.

  Sally Stockman waltzed by on her husband's arm. They were an unusual pair, Loralee thought absently. Ken Stockman was a big man, with shoulders as wide as the Missouri and legs like tree trunks. Sally looked like a child beside him. But they were very much in love. Anyone could see that.

  Sally smiled at Loralee. It was obvious that Lieutenant Schofield's wife was not having a good time. When the dance ended, Sally left her husband and went to chat with Loralee.

  "Are you all right, Loralee?" Sally asked after they had exchanged greetings. "You look like you're about to be thrown to the lions."

  "I feel like it, too," Loralee replied. "And Stella Freeman looks the hungriest."

  "She does have sharp teeth," Sally allowed.

  "Yes," Loralee agreed glumly. "She looks at me as if I had a scarlet letter emblazoned across my forehead."

  "Be brave," Sally coaxed. "Here comes Mike to dance with you. Smile now, and if Old Ironsides says anything, just spit in her eye."

  Loralee laughed at that. Sally Stockman looked as timid as a field mouse, but she had more spunk than anyone she knew.

  Loralee smiled at Mike as he took her onto the dance floor. They danced well together, Loralee mused as she sought for something to say, something light and airy that would take the haunted look from Mike's eyes. But she couldn't think of anything and she was glad when the music ended.

  Later she danced with Colonel Freeman, who made it a habit to dance with every woman present at least once. He fancied himself to be quite an expert on the dance floor, but Loralee thought she would just as soon waltz with an elephant.

  She was glad when the night ended. At home, she stared, unseeing, at her reflection as she brushed out her hair. If only she could put an end to the nightmare she lived every day. If only Shad would come and take her away. . . .

  24

  With a sigh, Shad Zuniga stepped from the saddle. Never in all his thirty-four years had he been so utterly weary or discouraged. The Army had pursued him relentlessly, never giving up, never slowing down.

  Now, with darkness settling over the land, he bedded down in a dry wash, the dun tethered nearby. He grinned wryly. Soon after his escape from the road gang, he had made his way back to the fort, hoping to see Loralee. He had waited impatiently, counting the minutes until sundown, then made his way to Schofield's house, hoping to find Loralee alone. But his luck had been bad that night. Schofield had been at home, relaxing in an easy chair before the fire, his feet propped up on an ottoman.

  Peering through the window, Shad had seen Loralee sitting on the sofa, leafing through a ladies magazine. So close, he thought. She was so close. He had stayed at the window a long time, his eyes drinking in the sight of her. Once, she had laid the magazine aside and placed her hand on her distended abdomen, a smile lighting her face as the baby moved beneath her fingertips. It had been all Shad could do not to burst into the room and sweep her into his arms. Soon, he had promised himself. Soo
n.

  Zuniga had waited until the lights went out inside the house before he moved out of the shadows and padded noiselessly toward the horse corral. The horse he had been riding had gone lame the day before and he had been on foot since then. It had been his intent to steal a horse from the Army, preferably Schofield's big bay gelding. To his delight, he had found the dun penned in a small enclosure. Shad had grinned into the darkness. No doubt Schofield had brought the dun to the fort along with Loralee's mare when they returned from Bisbee. One day he would have to thank Schofield for returning his horse, he had thought wryly.

  It had been no easy task, stealing the dun from the corral, but it had been worth the effort. There wasn't a horse in the territory that could match the stallion for speed or endurance.

  Now, lying on the ground in the dry wash, Zuniga thought of Loralee, always Loralee. She was ever in his thoughts and her image came quickly to mind: hair like soft gold, eyes as warm and brown as mother earth, lips as soft and pink as the petals of a wild rose, skin like soft satin.

  Thinking of her stirred his desire, and he groaned low in his throat, hungry for the sight of her. He had been long without a woman, he mused, far too long, but he knew that no other woman would ever satisfy him again.

  Loralee. He cursed softly. It had been weeks since he had seen her last, and he didn't know when he would see her again.

  Thinking of Loralee brought his child to mind. The baby would have been born by now, he mused, and wondered if he had a son or a daughter. The sex of the child was no longer important, so long as mother and infant were both well and strong.

  His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he had not eaten for two days. Muttering a mild oath, he gazed up at the stars wheeling against the midnight sky, willing his hunger to go away.

  For the next three weeks, he stayed one jump ahead of the soldiers pursuing him. He ate whatever he could catch or steal, slept wherever he could find shelter. He grew thin and haggard, but still he ran. Better to live as a hunted man than to die at the end of a white man's rope, or spend the rest of his life rotting in prison.