Comanche Sunset

by Rosanne Bittner

  He came around the fire, spreading out his bedroll. “You don’t have to be afraid. I might look like one of them, but you know by now I’m here to help you, not hurt you. In a minute we’ll eat some fresh rabbit.”

  “I…don’t know if I…can eat. My head hurts…and I feel kind of sick.”

  “Probably all that whiskey I made you drink. But you couldn’t have stood the pain without it.”

  “I’ve never…drunk whiskey…before.”

  He smiled a warm, handsome smile. “Well, you got a good introduction.”

  “I don’t think…I want any more.”

  He laughed lightly and leaned toward the fire to again turn the rabbit. It was then she noticed traces of a bruise at the left side of his forehead. “You’re hurt,” she said in concern.

  He put a hand to the spot. “Just a bad bump. The biggest share of it is under my hair. Quite an egg. I jumped from the coach as it was going over and my head hit a rock. I think that’s what saved me at first. I was unconscious for a few minutes, and the raiders must have thought I was already wounded, or dead.”

  “How about…your ankle?”

  “It’s a lot better.” He came to her side again. “You want to try to sit up a little?”

  “I don’t know.” She tried on her own and grimaced with pain in her ribs and shoulder. “Oh…I forgot,” she moaned, sweat breaking out on her face.

  He threw his cigarette aside. “You shouldn’t try to do it alone.”

  “My side…and my shoulder. When the coach…overturned…everyone fell on top of me.” The pain made her feel short of breath, bringing on a panic she would not normally feel if not still somewhat in shock. She grasped his arm, telling him she felt like she couldn’t breathe, but in the next moment his big hands were pressed at either side of her face, his deep, calm voice telling her to relax. Her fear suddenly left her again. He was so calm and sure in spite of the horror of the day, and she knew from what he had already done that he would not leave her even if the Indians came back.

  “I should have thought of other injuries,” he fretted. He pulled the blanket to her waist, and she closed her eyes against her embarrassment as his strong but gentle hands moved over her ribs carefully. She realized he could break her in half, could do whatever he wanted with her, yet she was not afraid of him. “You probably have a couple of cracked ribs,” he was saying. “I’ll wrap you tight. That will help the pain.” He checked her shoulder and she grimaced at the pain there. “I’ll see what I can do about this, too. Probably just badly bruised. If something was broken you wouldn’t be able to move your arm at all. It didn’t help being dragged out of the coach like that.”

  He left her for a moment, coming back with some torn strips of petticoat. “I’m sorry to have to rip up your own clothes, but they were all I could find for bandages. You have two or three dresses left and a couple of petticoats.”

  She thought how strange it seemed that he had searched through her intimate things, that now he was pushing up her chemise to wrap her bare ribs with the cloth. He was careful not to expose her breasts, but her shame knew no bounds. Still, it was lessened by his seemingly genuine concern, and his expert attention to her injuries. He reached under her to grasp the cloth, wrapping it around and around. By the time he was through, breathing was not as painful. He wrapped her right arm to her side so that it could not move around too much.

  “This will help the pain in your shoulder until it’s better,” he told her. “Now you just lie still while I feed you a little meat and some strong coffee. Then I want you to try to sleep again. Don’t be afraid of one thing.”

  Her eyes teared again. “Thank you,” she said in a near whisper. “Promise me…something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If they…come back.” She swallowed. “You won’t let them…get to me…even if you have to kill me before they can?”

  Their eyes held, and he wanted so much to hold her. I’d never let them touch you, he wanted to tell her. I don’t want any man but me to touch you. “I won’t let them get to you,” he said aloud. “That’s a promise. Earlier today, when I came to—” He searched her eyes. “My intentions were to shoot you then. But for some reason they let you go and ran off. I’m glad.” He smiled almost bashfully then. “It sure would have been a waste. You’re quite a woman.”

  She looked at the fire. “I don’t know about that. It probably…wasn’t very smart of me…to come out here.” She looked at him again, alarm in her eyes. “My baggage! My handbag! Did you find it?”

  He reached over toward his gear and retrieved her purse, handing it over to her. “Don’t worry. The money is still in it.”

  She closed her eyes and clutched the drawstring, beaded bag. “Thank goodness. I have…little enough left…”

  “You figuring on reimbursing that Sergeant Enders if you don’t marry him?” You shouldn’t marry him, he wanted to add. It isn’t right, something as pretty and cultured as you, living the miserable life of a soldier’s wife in west Texas.

  She met his eyes, surprised at the realization that she was apprehensive now about marrying Sergeant Enders, yet she would marry someone like Wade Morrow without knowing him any better than she already did, and in spite of his bloodlines. Somehow she knew she could trust him, that he would be kind to her. But it was not Wade Morrow she had come out here to marry.

  “Yes,” she answered his original question. “I don’t have enough left, but maybe…I can work it off. If I’m lucky…Sergeant Enders will be a fine…man…and it will be no problem.”

  She closed her eyes, trying to quell her fear of meeting her intended. What would he think of all of this? And what would he think if he knew of her attraction to Wade Morrow? She wanted to ask Wade what he thought of the whole thing, but it seemed ridiculous to get him involved. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, wanted to ask. Little did she know it was the same for him. “I can’t eat,” she told him then. “Maybe in the morning. I just…I want to sleep.”

  Wade sighed. “All right, but just tonight. You never ate breakfast this morning, and you’re so slender that one good west wind could blow you clear back to San Antonio. I didn’t go through all this and get you fixed up just to have you die of starvation.”

  She put a hand to her aching head. “Where are the others? Are we very far from the coach?”

  “About a quarter of a mile—not far enough. I found a spot just over a little hill from the site so you won’t have to see anything come light. I’ll rig up some kind of travois tomorrow if I can use some things off the coach. I found enough of my own gear and a few other things to get us by. I found both your bags, although some things were spilled out of them. A few items were looted, and I don’t know what happened to the horses. I don’t relish going back there in the morning and looking at all those bodies again.” He poked at the fire. “I wanted to bury them, but there was no time. I had to tend to you. And in the morning we’ve got to get out of here. I’m sorry to leave the bodies, but we can’t sit around here. Wolves and vultures and coyotes will come snooping around, and like I said, I’ve got to get you to the fort.”

  She rubbed at her eyes, the horror of the day taking its toll again on her emotions as a painful lump swelled in her throat. She felt so useless, such a burden to Wade Morrow, who would probably much prefer making his way to the fort alone. Without her along, such a journey would not be difficult for a man like him. All of this was like a horrible nightmare that would not end.

  “What’s a…travois?” she asked, sniffing back more tears.

  He turned the rabbit once more, then took a piece from the pan and put it into a tin plate. “It’s a contraption the Indians use—a piece of hide stretched between two poles and tied to a horse. They load their supplies on it and drag them along that way.” He bit into the rabbit.

  “But…we don’t have a horse,” she answered, wiping tears from her eyes.

  He swallowed the rabbit. “I’ll pull it myself.”

&n
bsp; She frowned. “Oh, but…you mustn’t. It would be…too heavy!”

  “I’ll manage. I don’t have much choice. Maybe we’ll get lucky and come across the horses.”

  She didn’t know what to say. A simple thank you didn’t seem right. One thing she did know was that from this moment on she would never again pretend she didn’t know him or was not interested in him as a fellow human being. She felt ashamed that she had ignored him earlier on the trip, even though he had himself insisted on it. He was a fine man, educated, kind, giving, honest. It was ridiculous that he was forbidden to associate with certain people. She was proud to know him, grateful for the help he had been to her since that day in San Antonio when he defended her.

  She gradually fell into an exhausted sleep, vaguely thinking how she would be spending the night alone with this half-breed who looked hardly different from the Indians who had abused her; yet she was not afraid. Somewhere in the night she was aware that she was shaking and crying, and that he came to lie down beside her, covering both of them with two more blankets.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he had told her. “I’m just lying close to you to keep you warmer.” She was pulled into strong, warm arms, and she nestled against him, the shaking subsiding. It was the last thing she remembered before waking up to the smell of coffee the next morning.

  She looked around but did not see Wade. With great pain and effort she managed to sit up, using her left arm for support. She looked around more, seeing Wade nowhere about. It looked as though there was fresh wood on the fire, and with coffee steaming, she knew he had to be nearby. Perhaps he had gone back to the stagecoach to build the travois he had told her about.

  She remembered him sleeping next to her in the night, holding her, keeping her warm. How strange it seemed that she didn’t even mind. She looked down at her chemise, realizing how much of her bosom was revealed by the cotton lace undergarment, and she wondered with both shame and fascination if he had noticed. Her emotions were torn, and she attributed it to her condition. She was simply too dependent on Wade Morrow for the moment. These feelings would go away in time.

  She had a great need to urinate, and the last thing she wanted was for Wade to have to help her with such a thing. Since he was gone she decided to fend for herself and get it over with before he returned. She pulled the blanket away to look at her bandaged leg, and she gasped at the size of the bandage and the bloodstain that showed through it. Her leg looked scarlet above the bandage, and she wondered with dread if it would get infected like Wade was worried about. She had heard of people having their legs cut off because of infection. She could not imagine anything more horrible.

  She realized her bloomers were cut open at the side all the way to the elastic waist. The entire left side of her bottom showed. Again the humiliation returned. She was more determined than ever to take care of private things on her own, no matter how much it hurt. She rolled to her right side, grimacing at the pain in her shoulder. Supporting herself with her left hand and arm, she managed to get up on her right knee. She cried out then as she used her left knee for support while she got her right foot under her, then raised herself to a standing position with her right leg.

  The moment she stepped on her left leg to walk, she almost fell because of the pain. She grimaced, forcing herself to continue, limping to a clump of cacti, the only thing she could find to provide at least limited privacy. With her left hand she managed to pull down her bloomers. The cactus near her had only knobs toward its bottom arms, no needles. She grasped one arm and used it to support herself as she squatted, keeping her left leg out straight. She felt ridiculously awkward, and she prayed Wade Morrow would not come along until she was finished. With her left hand she tore a bottom ruffle from the already-ripped left leg of her bloomers and used it to clean herself, then grunted with pain as she rose and pulled her bloomers back up, realizing they covered only half of her.

  She turned to limp back to her bedroll when she saw him—a painted Indian on a horse, sitting on a nearby ridge watching her. Her heart raced, and it took her a moment to find her voice. “Wade,” she finally screamed. “Wade! Wade!” She realized she should have said “Mr. Morrow,” but using his first name came as easily to her as using hers had come to him. After what they had been through, it hardly seemed important.

  She stood shaking, screaming his name over and over, then turned when she heard him call back to her. He came running from over the ridge behind her, rifle in hand. He reached her in seconds, panting. “What is it?”

  She turned and pointed to the opposite ridge, but the figure was gone. “Up there,” she said frantically. “I saw an Indian…on a horse! He…was watching me.”

  He left her, hurrying up the hill, and Jennifer waited, her heart pounding, fearing a band of raiders would come over the ridge any moment and murder him. Moments later he returned, leading a sleek, spotted horse behind him. It sported a saddle and bridle, although not like any Jennifer had ever seen. An Indian blanket was under the saddle. Wade walked straight to Jennifer, looking confused.

  “He left this horse,” he told her, “as though he knew we would need it.”

  She held his eyes, her own still showing terror. “Why?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know. All I know is they seem awfully eager to keep me alive.” His eyes fell to the enticing whites of her exposed bosom before meeting her eyes again, and she realized she was standing there in her underwear, her left leg and hip showing clear to the waist. “What the hell are you doing up on that leg?” he asked gruffly.

  “I…” She reddened deeply, putting a hand over her breasts. “I had to do something…you weren’t here.”

  He realized what she meant and he felt sorry for the devastated look on her face. He let go of the pony and in the next moment she was in his arms. “Don’t ever do that again. It won’t take much to get your leg bleeding again. I’ve had a hell of a time keeping that from happening. I can help you, Jenny. I told you before not to be afraid or be bashful around me.”

  He picked her up and carried her back to her bedroll, setting her down on it. She pulled a blanket across the front of herself as he checked her leg. “It’s bleeding again, damn it. I don’t want you doing another thing without my help. I’m going to get the travois I was working on. I’ll tie the pony. At least now we have something to pull the travois. If this bleeding doesn’t slow by the time I get back, I’ll rewrap your leg before we leave.”

  He met her eyes, and it was her first chance to study him closely in the daylight, now that she was free to set eyes on him all she wanted. His eyes were bluer than she thought, intensely handsome when set against the dark skin. His features were as perfect as a man’s features could be, with high cheekbones and dark hair and full lips. She thought again about how he had held her the night before, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing as his eyes suddenly took on a look of near worship. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but he suddenly turned away. He glanced at the ridge again, but no one was there.

  “I’ll go get the travois,” he told her. “That Indian apparently didn’t mean any harm, so I think you’re all right. I’ll be right back.”

  She wanted to cry out to him, to beg him to come back and hold her just for a moment, for the incident had terrified her all over again. She realized she would be entirely dependent on him for the next several days, and that was not going to help her avoid the growing emotional feelings she had for the half-breed man who was supposedly forbidden to someone like herself. She was not supposed to feel this way. She should be thinking about Sergeant Anthony Enders. But then maybe she would never reach Fort Stockton.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jennifer lay on the travois, thinking how strange her journey had become. It seemed as though she had known Wade Morrow for a very long time. She was fast losing her modesty and embarrassment around him because she had no choice. At noon he had cooked for her, carried her in his arms to a place where she could relieve herself, had come back f
or her and carried her again to the travois, then changed the bandage on her leg. He tended the wound with the same concern and personal detachment as a doctor might.

  By evening Wade guessed they had traveled perhaps fifteen miles. He was taking a more direct route to the fort than the stage trail, hoping to get there more quickly, but in some ways Jennifer didn’t want to get there at all. She felt safe and protected with Wade, but she had no idea what to expect from Sergeant Anthony Enders, and suddenly the thought of Wade delivering her at the fort and then going his own way made her sad.

  Wade found a stream that still rushed with water because of the recent rain. He commented how lucky they were to have found it, since in these parts water did not come easily. “You want to wash?” he asked her. “I’ll wash your hair for you if you like. I can take that bandage off your head. The cut would probably heal better now if we let air get to it.”

  “Oh, I would love to wash my hair,” she answered, managing to sit up. “I’d like a real bath, that’s what I’d really like. But if I could wash my neck and arms and maybe change my—” She reddened then, realizing there was no place in this open land to hide while she did such things. “I’d like to put on some clean clothes and a dress.”

  He untied her bags from their gear. “You find what you need and I’ll carry you to the stream. If you want different bloomers, I’ll have to cut one leg off so I can keep changing the bandage on that wound. I hate to keep cutting up your clothes, but it’s important to keep that wound clean and tended. The last thing you want is infection.”

  She kept her eyes averted, digging out clean underwear and a plain gray cotton dress. “I hope I’m able to buy some clothes at the fort, or at least send for some.”