“That doesn’t matter. I just want him to live. He’s a prize stallion and I need him for breeding. Can you save him?”
“I’ll do what I can. I’ll have to go get my gear.” He rose, facing Tynes, slightly taller than the Englishman. “I’ll pay my debt, Tynes, and if my wife is willing to stay with you, I’ll be on my way.” He turned to get his horse.
“As you wish,” Tynes answered with a sly grin.
Tynes watched with intense interest as Zeke knelt over the sick horse. Monroe was shirtless, and white paint streaked his chest and cheeks and chin—his prayer color. His thick black hair was wound into two braids to keep it out of his face and out of the incision he would make. Beads were wound into the braids, the hair ornament attached at one side. This was the most “Indian” Tynes had seen him. With paint on his face and chest. Zeke bent over the horse, speaking to the animal in the Cheyenne tongue while smoke from an herbal fire built in a cleared place on the dirt floor of the stall wafted into the horse’s nostrils soothing the animal.
Tynes could see that there was more to Zeke’s ability to heal an animal than just the physical things he could do for the horse. Apparently, no healing would take place without the interaction of spirits, and Tynes felt a chill at the closeness of man and animal. They seemed to be able to speak to each other. At that moment, Zeke Monroe was not just a man, but an animal spirit.
Zeke picked up a razorlike knife, smaller than the one he used to kill men. He laid it in a bowl of whiskey, then started to pick it up but hesitated. Tynes followed his eyes to see Abbie standing at the stall door, her hair brushed out straight and long. She wore only an Indian tunic. Tynes could feel powerful currents fill the air as their eyes held.
“I’ve come to help you,” she told Zeke. “I always used to help you when something like this had to be done.”
Zeke’s eyes ran over her body. He wanted her so badly he wondered where his breath was coming from, but the thought of Tynes touching her made him feel hot and stiff. “I can do it alone.”
“No you can’t. I can help keep the herbal fire going, help you keep him calm. One slip of your knife and a valuable animal will be lost.”
He sighed deeply. “All right.”
Tynes rose, meeting her eyes for a moment. This was the real Abbie, standing there in a tunic, without lip rouge and eye color, without a fancy hairdo. He knew this could be an important moment. “There’s not enough room for all of us in here. I’ll leave. One of you can come and tell me how it all goes.” He walked past her, stopping for just a moment to touch her arm, telling her good-bye with his eyes. As he left, Abbie knelt down at the end of the stall by the horse’s head. There was nothing to say for now. Their eyes met again, and as his moved over her, she knew he was wondering … wondering.…
“Add some of those leaves to the fire,” he said quietly, picking up the knife.
For the next few moments she just watched, lightly petting the horse’s forehead at times, watching the gentle hands of Zeke Monroe relieve the animal of its painful infection, surprised as always at how gentle his hands could be, hands that were brutal when force was necessary.
He looked more handsome than ever to her, and she liked him this way—all Indian, the way she had known him in the beginning. When he finished he breathed deeply, then added more leaves to the fire.
“I want to keep him still for a while yet. He’s not going to be feeling too good most of the rest of the night. I’ll sit here with him and watch over him. Go and tell Tynes.”
She sat, petting the animal. “I don’t want to go yet.”
He met her eyes. “He said to let him know.”
“Edwin can wait. He’d understand if I… if I didn’t come back right away. We have to talk, Zeke. This might be our only chance. I love you as I have always loved you. I want to go back with Margaret and the others—with you. I want us to be a family again. Why do you insist on leaving?”
“You know why. It’s best.”
“I’ll die without you!” The words were said in a soft whisper, a trace of panic in them. He studied her closely.
“When I first got back I saw you and Tynes together. You looked natural in there, in those clothes, beside him. I asked Tynes if you were still mine, and his only answer was that I’d promised not to kill him if you were willing. Then he said to ask you—that only you could give me the answer. Don’t be afraid to tell me, Abbie. Do you love him? Have you … turned to him in your loneliness?”
She could see the words almost stuck in his throat, see the desperate dread in his eyes. Even though he thought he wanted that to be true, he didn’t really want it to be. “What about you?” was her only answer. “Did you sleep with Anna Gale? Did you prove you didn’t need me in your bed!”
Her voice broke at the words, and his heart was screaming. This was the answer to forcing her to stay with Tynes—the final hurt. “Yes. I slept with her. Anna has always wanted me. You know that… and she is very good at what she does.”
She looked down at the horse, gritting her teeth for a moment. Everything seemed to rest on this moment. She breathed deeply, then faced him. “I am sure she is. I hope you feel good now. You have had your woman, so you intend to ride off and die in battle. You can pretend the last twenty years never happened! You can pretend I never existed, that I never loved you or gave up all my old ways to be with you—gave up ever seeing Tennessee again, gave up luxuries and civilization. You can rest easy and know that all I that I have suffered has been for nothing!”
Pain showed in his eyes. He wanted so much to hurt her, to be cruel to her and make her hate him, but he couldn’t stand doing it, nor was it working. What more could he do to make her stay with Tynes?
“You didn’t answer my question,” he told her. “What about you and Tynes?”
She held her chin up defiantly. “What about us? You practically gave me permission to turn to him for comfort. A woman is very vulnerable, Zeke, when she thinks she has lost all that has meaning to her. A woman needs a man to hold her.” She did not actually say anything had happened between them, yet she knew he thought it could have.
“I thought… thought you’d wait… till I returned.”
“Wait for what! How long was I supposed to wait, Zeke? You made it very clear what you would do when you came back—very clear. You said there was no hope for us!”
She choked back a sob and he threw down the knife, grasping her arms. As he stood, he lifted her up by the upper arms, over the horse’s head, carrying her to an empty stall and almost throwing her down on the hay.
“You’re mine!” he growled. “I thought you would wait!”
“Why? Why did you have the privilege of making such decisions while I dangled, suffering, dying, waiting! You had no right to put me through that, not after all I’ve been through because I love you!”
He knelt down, straddling her legs, grasping her hair. She wondered at first if he was going to hit her. “Tell me you lie! My Abbie wouldn’t lie with another man. Tell me!”
She sobbed and closed her eyes. “My God, Zeke, of course it’s a lie!” Her chest heaved in great despair and she felt his painful grip on her hair lighten. “I don’t want anybody else!” she wailed. “I just… want you!” Her broken words reminded him of how she had cried when she was a mere girl trying to convince him they could be happy together. “I don’t want… Edwin’s money … or that fine house. I won’t sleep with a man I don’t want. I just want to go home. You can’t make me stay here, Zeke. You can’t!”
The next thing she knew, his lips were cutting off her words. He pushed her down into the straw, his hungry lips smothering hers, his huge frame crushing her. He groaned, searching her mouth, one hand deftly unlacing the shoulder of her tunic while the other gripped her hair. He stayed on top of her so that she could barely move, yanking the tunic down to expose her breasts. Then he rose up on his elbows, moving his eyes to her breasts, making her whimper at the feel of his big hand massaging them as though to prove
to himself he could still touch them. His head bent low, and his breath warmed the cleavage of the full fruits that belonged to him and no one else. He was shivering, kissing her over and over then—her breasts, her throat, her mouth again—breathing deeply, groaning her name, perspiring, his movements deliberate and almost painful to her. She couldn’t stop crying and she didn’t care if he did hurt her, as long as she could have him again. She knew he’d not leave her if they made love. It had been so long! So long! How many months? Nearly five since he had brought her here, made love to her, and left before she could say good-bye.
“I’ve never wanted you so badly in my life!” he groaned, his lips at her throat, one hand pushing her tunic up to her waist. She had deliberately not worn anything beneath, hoping that this would happen. She was too lost in him even to reply as his hand moved over her bare hips and around to the front of her, searching places that had belonged only to him for twenty years, places he had searched and invaded before any other man. She was again his woman-child, lying beneath him in the wilds of Wyoming, and no one else existed. She whimpered as his fingers dipped inside that private place she had offered to no one but him, bringing out its silken moistness, then gently caressing the secret place that brought out her deepest passions.
She moaned his name, almost instantly thereafter crying out in an intense, almost painful explosion of desire. He ran a hand over her stomach, then met her lips again, pushing, searching, tasting, claiming, while his other hand removed his leggings and loincloth. “God, I need you, Abbie!” he said in a husky voice. “No one else can take your place, damn you! Damn you!”
He surged inside of her then, and she cried out at the pain of his first, possessive thrust. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her ears, her throat, her mouth, wanting to devour her, taking, giving, moving in sweet rhythm.
He knew every way there was to please her. After all he had been doing so for a long time. Yet it was still good, after twenty years and seven children, only because of their undying love and devotion. They fed on each other, drew from each other, gave and accepted pleasure on equal terms. A moment later his life poured into her and he relaxed on top of her, breathing heavily, his sweet dampness welcome. She drew in his wonderful scent, kissing his cheek and running her hands over his shoulders and then putting her arms around him while his face rested against her neck.
“Do you really think we can do it, Abbie? Start over?”
“Of course we can. Look how we started out. We had much less than we have now.”
His body jerked oddly. “I need to … let go of something that’s … bursting inside of me, Abbie. I need to…” He swallowed. “I never cried over Lance … or my little Lillian. Poor little Lillian!” He sucked in a wrenching sob that tore at her heart. She kept one arm around him, his tears wetting her neck, while her other hand sought a horse blanket close by, not caring that it was full of straw, and pulled it over them.
The morning sky was magnificent, rich in hues of pink and gold and blue, with only a few wispy clouds hanging low on the horizon. The Monroes headed home, Zeke riding Kehilan, man and horse looking wild and happy and free. The stud Zeke had operated on lived, and during the wait for his recovery, Sun and Dreamer had both delivered foals, one colt and one filly. Both pranced alongside their mothers, the broodmares ridden by Abbie and Margaret. LeeAnn rode with Abbie, eleven-year-old Ellen with Margaret. Jeremy rode proudly on his Uncle Lance’s horse, and Morgan was astride his own mount, seven-year-old Jason in front of him. Zeke rode alone, keeping an eye on the two energetic foals and the four thoroughbreds they’d purchased from Edwin Tynes. Two of them were pregnant mares, the other two younger fillies. When they were ready to mate, he would take them to the Tynes estate and leave them for a while, in order to keep the fine Arabian strain, for Kehilan was a jealous sort who allowed no other studs near his harem, and Zeke didn’t want to mix the Appaloosa with the thoroughbreds.
There was hope now. Once they were settled Zeke would go to Pueblo or Julesberg and purchase more horses. Then he and Abbie would visit the Cheyenne in Kansas in the hope that they could find some good Appaloosas among his kin, horses that would be traded for money and supplies. The reservation Indians surely needed both. Somehow they would find other ways to help the Cheyenne, for they knew the battle wasn’t over yet. They had already heard rumors that the war for the Powder River country was getting hotter. The Sioux and northern Cheyenne were very active, and their worry over Wolf’s Blood was the only cloud that still hung over them. The great warrior Red Cloud would not give up. A Capt. William Fetterman and over eighty soldiers had been massacred at Peno Creek, and rumors were spreading of a new, fearful warrior called Crazy Horse and of a young, determined soldier called George Custer, sometimes called Hard Backsides or Long Hair by the Indians. They had heard that Congress had enacted a new bill, granting equal rights to all persons born in the United States—except Indians and women.
But Abbie refused to worry about any of that for now. They were going home. That was all that mattered. When they crested a ridge and looked down on the little cabin and the outbuildings and corral—all still intact—her heart tightened and she looked over at Zeke. He looked back at her, his eyes taking in her beauty and stirring delicious feelings in her body, a body reawakened to love and passion. She felt like a young girl in love for the first time.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she commented. “We’re home, Zeke. There was a time when I thought—”
She was interrupted by a distant war whoop. They all reined to a halt and stared across the cabin and distant fields to a far ridge, while LeeAnn clamped her arms around her mother tightly, afraid they were being raided again.
“Zeke, what is it?” Abbie asked, her own heart racing.
The lone figure called out again, a piercing, frightening cry. “Nehoeehe! Nahoe-hootse!”
Zeke sat straighter in the saddle, and Abbie recognized the words: “My father, I have come visiting.” Her heart raced excitedly. Could it be? Suddenly Zeke let out a wild war whoop that made them all jump. He put a fist in the air and called out several more yips and whoops, and the lone figure called back. Zeke laughed.
“It’s Wolf’s Blood!” he said excitedly. He kicked Kehilan’s sides and charged forward, the magnificent Appaloosa’s mane and tail flying in the wind, as was the sleek black hair of its master. The lone figure on the ridge began riding in from the other side, a wolf running hard at his horse’s heels.
“Wolf’s Blood!” Margaret cried out, starting forward.
“No, Margaret!” Abbie ordered quickly. “Don’t go yet. Let them be alone.”
They began to ride in slowly, watching father and son gallop toward each other so fast that their horses, unable to stop, carried them too far. Sod flew and both men turned, riding past each other again, now doing crazy tricks. Abbie remembered how irritated she used to be because Zeke was teaching their son such dangerous riding, but she never worried now. Could any man and animal seem more like one than an Indian and his horse? Soon Zeke and Wolf’s Blood dismounted, hugging, and then falling into the grass on their backs, Wolf jumping on them, tail wagging. They were still far out in the field, and Abbie knew they would mount up again and ride off. They would be gone a long time. There as much for father and son to talk about.
She looked over at Margaret. “Let’s open up the cabin,” she said, a lump in her throat. “It will need airing out. And let’s get a fire going in the stone oven. I want to make some of those biscuits your brother loves so much.”
They rode up to the cabin, and the two foals pranced up to suckle from their mothers almost before Abbie and Margaret could dismount. Abbie stepped up and unlatched the door, pushing it open. She stared around the small cabin. Yes, this was much nicer than a stone castle. This was home.
.
Climb the Highest Mountain Page 37
