“Pour whiskey … on the wound,” he said, “and on your hands. Hold … the blade of the knife … over the fire to clean it.”
Feeling numb, she removed his belt and weapons as carefully as possible and laid them aside. Then she pushed his bloodied buckskins down to his hip bones and moved his leather vest aside. Having exposed his wound fully, she poured whiskey into it. His whole body jerked, but he did not cry out. She balanced the knife on stones so that the blade end was in the flames; then she poured more whiskey over her own hands. She held out the piece of leather she had cut for him to bite on, and their eyes held for a moment. He actually managed to smile for her. When he opened his mouth, she put the leather into it. He clamped his teeth down tightly on the piece of cinch, and with his fists, he grasped the sides of the blanket on which he lay.
As she took the knife from the flames, she hesitated a moment, telling him with her eyes that she was sorry. She said a silent prayer, then started cutting. Although she wanted to scream and cry and throw up, somehow she stayed calm, even though Zeke bit harder into the leather and his fists turned white where they gripped the blanket. He let out a terrible moan, and little beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
Abbie decided that if she managed to do a proper job of getting out the bullet, then she would have experienced just about everything that could happen to a girl her age. She didn’t feel like a little girl anymore. She’d grown up fast, starting from the first time she’d set eyes on Cheyenne Zeke back in Independence, Missouri.
Fifteen
She wasn’t sure if Zeke was merely sleeping, or if he’d passed out. She washed the blood from her hands and removed her bloody blanket; then she walked back to him, lifting the blood-stained slip material from the wound to peek at it. She had no idea how to take stitches in someone, and the only thing she could think of doing was to wrap his midsection tightly and hope the bleeding would stop and the skin would somehow heal by itself. She threw aside the stained patch and began wrapping him with the rest of the strips from her slip, a difficult task, because she had to reach under his heavy body and could get no help from Zeke himself, who lay very still. He looked almost lifeless, and she begged Jesus not to let him die as she continued wrapping. Blood was already spotting the new bandaging, but there was nothing she could do about it. She’d poured whiskey into the wound when she’d finished, and now she felt whether Zeke lived or not depended on God and Zeke’s own strength.
She had finished bandaging him, but still he did not move or speak. His buckskin pants were stiff with dried blood, so she pulled at them to get them off. She tore off a piece of the torn and bloodied dress she’d salvaged and wet it; then she soaped it up with the bar she’d packed in her carpetbag. Gently she washed the dried blood from his thighs, feeling a warmth deep in her own belly because his magnificent body had made love to her. That night had been dark, and she’d never seen him this way, with his long, muscled legs bare and only a loincloth covering the part of him that was most manly. His body was lean, dark, and sinewy; and she thought to herself what a horrible waste it would be for such a strong and virile man like Cheyenne Zeke to die at only twenty-five years of age. He seemed much older in wisdom and experience, and she thought to herself that he had lived through and had experienced much more than most men do in a lifetime.
She finished washing him, then covered him with the blankets that were left on the four horses she was keeping in the cave with them. After she’d crawled in naked beside him and snuggled close to keep him warm, she fell asleep to her own whispered prayers as the rain fell softly outside the cave entrance.
She did not know how long she’d slept, but when she awoke, it was morning. She sat up quickly and studied Zeke. Her first thought was that his body was warm, so at least he was not dead. His breathing was even, and the blood stain on his bandages had not grown to any great extent since she’d wrapped him the night before. Apparently the wound had stopped bleeding, and she could only pray it was not still bleeding on the inside.
She crawled out from under the blankets; then, bending down to kiss his scarred cheek, she tucked them around his neck. “I love you,” she whispered. She rose and studied his still-painted face, smiling to herself at how vicious and frightening he’d looked the day before, while now he lay asleep, the paint still there but somehow very different. She decided she would have to wash it off when he awoke.
She stood up, removed one blanket from him to wrap around herself, and walked out of the cave to get more wood. The rain had stopped, and the morning sun was bright. Birds were singing. It was a pleasant day. She forced herself to think about the sunshine, the flowers, and the birds, rather than the ugliness of her sister’s death and her own abduction. Her mind was not strong enough at the moment to dwell on such things, and she had no choice but to put them out of her mind as much as possible and to pretend that life was still good and happy. At least she and Zeke were still alive, and that was something.
A squirrel scurried nearby as she picked up wood and hummed “Rock of Ages.” She took the wood inside and built the fire near Zeke again. The cave was damp and chilly, in spite of the sunshine outside, and she feared it would make him ill. She led the horses outside, removed their gear, and tied them where they could get to grass; then she brought the saddles and gear back into the cave. Taking some food from the saddle bags, she started to make coffee, already having decided she would wash while the coffee cooked over the fire.
She was glad now that she’d saved her one clean dress and the clean underwear. Picking up the soap, she took a small towel from her carpetbag and walked over to the little waterfall in the cave. She splashed herself with the cold water and wet and soaped her hair. How marvelous it felt to wash herself clean again—to be rid of the filth of Rube Givens and his men! She actually smiled as she bathed, and again she sang “Rock of Ages” softly to herself. Raising her arms and letting the water run down over her naked body, she felt like a new person. The sun was shining and Zeke was alive and nearby. Just the smell of the coffee seemed wonderful! As she turned to pick up her towel, she saw that Zeke’s eyes were open and he was watching her. She blushed deeply and grabbed up the towel, holding it in front of her.
“How long have you been awake?” she asked.
A faint smile passed over his lips. “Long enough to know it’s a damned shame I’m laid up with this wound.”
She scowled at him. “You could have spoke up!” she chided.
“Why should I? Watching you is the best medicine a man could ask for,” he replied, grinning more. “Kind of puts the life back into a man.”
Their eyes held a moment, and she couldn’t help smiling herself. “I’ll thank you to shut those eyes and give me your Indian’s word of honor you won’t open them again until I tell you to!” she demanded, her eyes playfully gleaming.
“How about if I give you a white man’s promise? I am half white, you know.”
“That’s not good enough. White men speak with forked tongues.”
He started to laugh but winced with pain. “All right,” he answered in a strained voice, managing to smile again as beads of sweat broke out on his face. “I give you my Indian’s word of honor.” He closed his eyes. “I have to say, though, it’s nice to get a look at something I’ve already had the pleasure of knowing. The only thing bad about that night was it was so dark. I couldn’t see how pretty … you really are.”
She watched him closely, reddening again as she quickly dried off, slipped her clean dress over her head, and pulled on some underwear. She was warmed by his compliment, and she thought to herself how strange it was that she would rather have died than to let Rube Givens or any of his men touch her, when now she felt she might die if Cheyenne Zeke could not touch her. “You may open your eyes now,” she told him, as she moved over to the boiling coffee, rubbing her hair with the towel.
“What a disappointment,” he told her.
She looked at him slyly, as she spread the towel over her saddle. “
It’s best for you this way,” she answered. “A man who’s just had a bullet dug out of him shouldn’t get too excited.” He grinned and watched as she wet another piece of her discarded dress and soaped it up. Then, grabbing up the towel again, she came to sit down next to him. Gently she began to wash the paint from his face.
“You won’t be needing this now,” she said quietly, growing more serious. “How do you feel, Zeke—truly?”
“I don’t feel like doing any war dances, if that’s what you mean.”
“You’re feverish. That scares me.” She wiped his face dry. “I did the best I could, but I’ve never done anything like that before. I probably messed things up good. I couldn’t even stitch you up.” Tears filled her eyes as he reached up and grasped her wrist.
“You did just fine, Abbie. Maybe it wasn’t a professional job, but I’d have died without it. Now a little fever never hurt anybody, and I’m strong. I’ll be all right in a few days. I owe my life to you.”
She met his eyes. “Then we’re even. I owe mine to you—and more than that, after saving me from those … animals!”
His grip on her wrist tightened. “What did they do to you?” he whispered.
She looked away. “Just … vile, ugly things. But they … didn’t rape me, and that’s the truth, Zeke. You got there first.”
He brought her hand down and kissed the back of it. “They almost threw me off their trail, but I figured out pretty quick what they were trying to do. So I doubled back, thank God. Are you hurt… physically?”
She shook her head and brushed away tears with her other hand. “Just some bruises. My face and teeth hurt some.” Her voice broke and she stayed turned away as she covered her mouth and cried. He kept a firm grip on her wrist.
“Abbie!” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Abbie girl. I got there as quick as I could once I figured out what they’d probably done.”
She breathed deeply to stop her tears. “I don’t blame you. You could have died, and it’s all my fault for forcing you to take me along in the first place. If they’d killed you—”
“Don’t dwell on it, Abigail. It’s not good for you to dwell on ugly things right now.”
She nodded. “At least … at least none of them touched me like you’ve touched me,” she replied. “I don’t want anybody else to touch me like that.”
He sighed. “You will, someday, Abbie girl.”
His remark reminded her that he still thought they could not belong to each other. But she was too tired to argue.
“At least you know not all men are like Rube Givens,” he went on.
She turned to face him. “They aren’t all like you, either,” she answered. “Fact is, there’s only one Cheyenne Zeke, and that’s the hell of it!”
He reached up and touched her bruised face, smiling sadly. “Did you ever stop to think I feel the same way, that there’s only one Abbie—only one woman-child who brings out all the passion in me?”
She blushed then and took his hand, kissing his palm. Then she met his eyes again. “I’m afraid Olin’s … dead, Zeke,” she told him cautiously. He closed his eyes and tensed up. “I’m so sorry! He was your friend. When those men took me, we left Olin behind, all slumped over. They took off with me so fast, I never had time to know if he was alive or not, but it’s not likely such men would spare him.”
“No,” he whispered. “It’s not likely.” He put a hand over his eyes. “I’ll… try to find his body,” he told her in a strained voice. He rubbed a hand over his closed eyes and breathed deeply. “Damn! Damn!” he swore through gritted teeth. His body tensed. “Olin was a good man! A good man! One of the few white men I trusted enough to call friend.”
“I’m so sorry, Zeke,” she repeated. “I feel like so much of this is my fault!”
When he opened his eyes, they were red and watery. “Don’t blame yourself, Abbie girl. It’s that Quentin Robards’ fault and that Rube Givens’. Nobody else’s.”
He squeezed her hand and wiped at his eyes again.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked, taking his hand from her lips and gently laying it down beside him. “I have a couple of biscuits in my bag. Lord knows they’re not worth much by now, but it’s nourishment.”
“That’s fine. I’m not ready to eat much anyway.”
She nodded and got up to pour some coffee into a tin cup.
“I admire your skill with that Spencer, by the way,” he told her, wanting to get her mind off Olin. “You saved my hide yesterday, little lady. A man like me has a strong respect for a woman as brave and strong as you are.”
She’d forgotten about shooting a man the day before, and although she was glad to have been able to show him the stuff of which she was made, the fact remained she’d killed a man. She frowned as she handed him the coffee and moved beside him to lift his head so he could drink.
“I forgot about that,” she said quietly. “Do you think God will hold me responsible for that?”
He almost laughed, but he knew she was serious. He sipped some of the coffee, then lay back down, wincing with pain again. “I highly doubt it, Abbie girl. I’d say it’s more likely it was God himself who made sure that shot went straight and true. He’d not hold you guilty for shooting a man like that.” He waved away the coffee. “One sip and I know I can’t drink any more—or eat either. I’ve got to rest, Abbie.” His voice was growing weaker again. “Come lay down beside me. I want to hold you and know you’re really alive. For the next few days I’ll get to have you to myself.”
She put the coffee down and, crawling in beside him opposite his wounded side, she snuggled close into his shoulder. They lay there quietly a few minutes; then it hit her that for miles around they were probably the only living humans. She had seen so much death in the last few days that she felt dead herself, and she broke down into tears.
“Oh, Zeke, they’re dead! Papa … Jeremy … LeeAnn … poor David … and even Olin! Gone! All … gone! I can’t stand to think about it!”
“Hush, Abbie,” he told her softly, turning to kiss her still-damp hair. “I told you not to think about it—not now—if you can help it.”
She cried, and he held her; and soon they were both asleep again.
They stayed there five days. By the third day, against Abbie’s wishes, Zeke was up and walking around, insisting it was the only way to get his strength back. His resiliency amazed her. She chided him and begged him to rest more, but to no avail.
In spite of the ugliness that had brought them to the cave, their stay there was to remain forever beautiful in Abbie’s heart and memory. They did not make love, Zeke because of his outer wound, and Abbie because of her inner emotional wounds. But they didn’t need to make love physically. In those few days a new and special love grew between them, a deep bond that gave them both strength and helped them face the fact that some day they must part. Yet Abbie could not believe that day would come. She wanted to pretend their parting would never take place. She almost wished Zeke wouldn’t heal completely. She wanted to stay there forever with him, and he knew it. He tried telling her in different ways not to think about it, but secretly he wanted it that way himself. Although he knew that as soon as he was able to get up onto a horse, they must leave quickly, or he would never be able to leave at all. To be alone with her was agony. Their long talks and her tears only made him love her more, and he must not love her. Yet how sweet and wonderful those five days were. They slept together, holding each other, relishing what little time they had, talking, crying, regaining their strength in different ways.
“Where do you think the train is about now?” she asked him on the fifth night.
“South Pass, I expect,” he replied, pulling her closer. “I know a shortcut from here. We can catch up.”
Her heart pounded with dread.
“I don’t want to leave here, Zeke,” she whispered.
“Nor do I, Abbie girl. That’s why we have to leave—in the morning.”
She pushed herself closer. �
��You … can’t ride.”
“I can ride. It’s best, Abbie. It’s best we get the hell out of here and get back to living our own separate lives.”
“I could live anywhere with you. I’ve proved that.”
“A person can do anything … for a while. But the day would come when you’d regret it, child. And you’d long for all the finer things—for a white woman’s life. It’s built into you—just like being an Indian is built into me. And I love you too much to ruin you.”
“But you wouldn’t—”
He put a hand over her mouth. “Don’t, Abbie!” he pleaded in a strained voice. “Please, please don’t keep ripping at my insides!” He pulled her close, and she wept against his chest. She cried herself to sleep, and when she awoke the morning sun had risen, and it was time to leave their little hideaway.
They hardly spoke, as she made breakfast and he saddled up the horses and repacked the gear. He put on the only other pair of buckskins he had along. He’d worn only a leather vest the day of his attack on Givens and his men, so his buckskin shirt was not stained. He put that on, along with his wide leather belt and many weapons, and again he was Zeke the half-breed scout, ready for battle or whatever else might come along. He brushed out his hair, then sat down and let her braid it down his back, and for those few moments she pretended she was his wife, waiting on him like an Indian woman. She thought to herself how beautiful his hair was, clean and black and shining. She tied it at the end with a little leather string.
Too soon it was time to leave. Zeke put out the fire and walked quietly out into the sunlight. Abbie looked around the cave, her heart aching from the terrible pain of parting. So many things she’d left behind! So many things, and now this! She walked out of the cave with her head hanging, unable to even look at Zeke. She went to her own horse and mounted up, and he put the reins of LeeAnn’s horse in her hand, squeezing her hand when he did so.
Sweet Prairie Passion (Savage Destiny) Page 27
