Sweet Prairie Passion (Savage Destiny)

by Rosanne Bittner

  “I’ll never forget either, Abbie girl,” he said quietly. “But some things just have to be faced. You follow me down now, and don’t look back, Abbie.”

  He went to his horse, wincing slightly when he moved up onto the big Appaloosa. He led Olin’s horse and headed down the embankment. Luckily they were upwind of the dead and bloated bodies left by Zeke’s massacre. He was careful to lead Abbie away from the scene so that she would not have to look at them and remember. He hoped that some or most of them had been picked by wolves and buzzards by now.

  They headed East, Zeke wanting to try to find Olin’s body. Abbie was of little help, for she’d had no idea where she was when she’d been abducted. That first day she didn’t even care. All she could think about was the cave and how badly she wanted to go back. Never would she have Cheyenne Zeke all to herself like that again! Never! The thought tortured her and made her feel desperate, and she couldn’t even speak without bursting into tears. It seemed every nerve in her body had been severed. They were headed back to the train, but what was waiting there for her? Nothing but loneliness and emptiness. All she wanted was to have Zeke to herself in the cave. But that could not be, and that night he made her sleep alone while he kept guard. So, the lovely closeness was over. Back to reality.

  “How did you come across Rube and his men when you did?” she asked Zeke the next morning, trying to act casual and pretend she could go on with normal living. Zeke sat on his horse ahead of her, scanning the horizon.

  “I headed northwest after Olin and you left, following the tracks of the one who got away,” he replied. He nudged his horse forward and she followed. “Then I saw they were heading back southeast once I got to the place where they’d been camped. Signs told me they were riding hard. Then they split up, and I had to make a choice as to what trail to follow. I took the wrong one for a time, caught up with those men and killed them, then headed back fast, figuring I’d been duped for a good reason. By that time the others had gotten to you and Olin and had taken you back to the main camp again. When I got there you were already tied to those stakes. I wanted to come right in and get you; but I had to do some planning first, or I’d have got myself killed and been no help to you at all.”

  “I was so scared we’d get there, and I’d find out they’d already killed you,” she answered. “I had my mind made up that somehow I’d kill myself before they could touch me. I don’t know how I’d have done it, but if they’d caught you first—”

  “Catching me is like trying to catch the wind,” he replied.

  She watched the fringe of his buckskins dance to the rhythm of his horse’s gait. “I know,” she answered sadly. He glanced back at her, then urged his horse into a faster trot.

  They rode all day, and toward dusk they were in a big valley where they could see far into the distance. Zeke spotted a lone figure riding toward them on a horse. He halted his horse and pointed.

  “I see him,” Abbie replied, shading her eyes.

  “Let’s ride out and meet him,” he told her. “Maybe whoever it is has seen the wagon train or something. At any rate, I’d just as soon meet a stranger head on as to wonder where and who he is.” They urged their horses into a slow walk, Zeke taking out his rifle and cocking it as a precaution. “Look around you, Abigail. Could be a renegade or outlaw. Could be more around. You’d best take out your rifle, too.”

  She obeyed, and they kept heading toward the lone man on a horse. Abbie saw no one else around. Suddenly, Zeke let out a yelp and put his rifle back into its holder. He dropped the reins of Olin’s horse and galloped forward, leaving Abbie behind, and as she watched in surprise, she realized the other man was Olin Wales!

  “Oh, sweet Jesus!” she exclaimed, tears filling her eyes. For once something good had happened.

  The two men rode hard toward each other now, and she could hear Zeke laugh and give out a holler. When he reached Olin, Olin sat rigid on his horse at first, and the two of them talked. Abbie realized Olin must have wondered what had happened to Abbie and worried about whether Zeke would rather kill him than shake his hand. Perhaps Zeke’s cry of joy had sounded more like a war cry to Olin. Then she saw Zeke put out his hand, and Olin shook it. Zeke reached out with his other hand and slapped Olin on the shoulder, and the two men leaned over their horses and hugged briefly. As the two men headed toward her, Abbie wondered where Olin had got the horse. And her joy at seeing Olin Wales alive was dimmed when she realized that now that they had found him, Zeke would head for the wagon train as quickly as possible. Her time with him was growing shorter.

  * * *

  “They stuck that knife in me, and I was out for a couple of days,” Olin told them as they rode. “Next thing I know, I wake up and I’m in a bed in some cabin, an Indian woman bendin’ over me and a white man standin’ beside her. I tried to move but just about passed out again from the pain in my back. The white man—his name turned out to be Jim Baggett—said as how I missed bein’ dead by about a quarter of an inch.”

  “I always knew it would take a lot to finish you off, you old buzzard,” Zeke answered. They rode through high grass looking for a good place to camp as the sun sank lower.

  Olin had come close to tears when he’d first ridden up to Abbie, his face showing guilt and shame at having failed her.

  “And I call myself a hunter and trapper—a mountain man!” he’d spat out. “Nobody has ever snuck up on me that bad—not when I had somethin’ like you to look out for. If it had just been me, like that first time Givens got me, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But I should have been more—”

  “I’m all right, Olin,” Abbie had assured him. “I’m just so glad to see that you’re all right.”

  “I can’t tell you enough how ashamed and sorry I am, Miss Abbie,” he answered, blinking back tears. “I guess we just rode so hard that day, well I just couldn’t stop myself from fallin’ asleep. I was just gonna shut my eyes for a minute—just for a minute.”

  “Zeke got there in time,” she told him, reddening and looking down.

  “Maybe so. But that don’t erase the foul words and the humiliation,” Olin replied bitterly. “You got every right not to even speak to me, Miss Abbie—or Zeke, for that matter. I failed both of you, and I’ll not forget it—ever! I owe you. If there’s anything you need me for—anything—you tell me. If the two of you had died—if you had ended up like your sister—I’d have put a gun to my head.”

  “Olin, stop blaming yourself,” Zeke told him. “It just went wrong, that’s all. I should have known better than to split up in the first place. I’d trust your skills any day. If I had it to do over, I’d still trust Abbie to you. You’re a damned good man, and I couldn’t ride with a better one.”

  Olin waved him off and urged his horse forward. “I could have cost her somethin’ worse than death!” he mumbled. Zeke just shook his head and sighed, and Abbie wished there were something she could do to make him feel better. There were several long minutes of silence before they started talking again, about how Olin had survived and about the people who had found and saved him.

  “They was nice folks,” Olin was telling them now. “The man was a trapper who’d decided to settle in one spot. Him and that white woman had six kids, and they lived in that cabin out there in the middle of nowhere. Said they was out huntin’ when they found me. Sold me this here horse when I got better. I was headed out to find out what had happened to you and Abbie when there you came - across that valley. Goddamn, I sure did feel good seein’ you two alive.”

  They headed south-southwest now, to catch up with the wagon train. Abbie wondered what Kelsoe would think when they returned without David Craig—and without LeeAnn.

  That first night they all slept hard, Olin and Zeke keeping Abbie between them for warmth. She smiled to herself at what people in the civilized world would think of a fifteen-year-old girl sleeping between a half-breed and a wild mountain man. But it didn’t matter. In this land all that counted was being practical, and she knew sh
e couldn’t be safer than with these two men. In the morning she awoke with Zeke’s arms around her. She opened her eyes to see him watching her, a hunger in his eyes that she could not help but notice. He quickly rose and walked away to tend to the horses while Olin cooked breakfast and watched the two of them, aware of the pain both of them suffered.

  The next day was very hot, and Abbie was grateful when the sun went down. Zeke had seemed lost in thought as they rode, and she had wondered if he’d been thinking about how difficult it would be to go on without her. That evening she helped Olin with supper, and afterward Zeke went down the side of a little hill to a spot where Abbie couldn’t see him. She watched him vanish, then returned to helping Olin clean up. But Olin grasped her arm to get her attention.

  “Go on, Abbie,” he told her quietly. “Go and talk to him.”

  She looked at him curiously. “What do you mean? He must want to be alone.”

  He shook his head. “He’s waitin’ for you. I expect we’ll catch up with the train tomorrow. We’ve been ridin’ hard and takin’ a lot shorter route to the pass than that wagon train could do. So this is probably your last night alone together. Me—I don’t count. Zeke’s healed now—good enough to know there’s somethin’ that’s got to be done before you go back.”

  She reddened deeply and turned away.

  “Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of,” Olin added. “It’s the law of nature, and I can’t think of a better way for two people to say good-bye.”

  He got up and went to tend to the horses, and she turned and looked toward the embankment where Zeke had disappeared. What if Olin was wrong? She’d make a fool of herself. But then no one knew Zeke much better than Olin, if anyone could know the man at all. Her heart pounded with apprehension. How could she go and make love to a man she knew she could not have? But her body was on fire for him. That first night had been too quick, and too painful. There had been no time to truly enjoy each other and to make love slowly and deliberately. It had been more of an accident than anything else. And ever since she had longed to know him again—just once more. At the cave he had been in too much pain, and they’d left as soon as he was better because he knew if they stayed and he made love to her there, it would be next to impossible to leave. But now they were closer to the wagon train, and Olin was along. In spite of all the voices that told her this was wrong, she walked to the edge of the embankment and made her way hesitantly down the hill. Zeke sat at the bottom, watching the last flickers of the sun on a rippling brook, smoking quietly. He felt her walking up behind him, and he turned to look at her. Their eyes held, and she reddened.

  “I … Olin said …” She swallowed. “I thought we could … talk … before we get with all those people tomorrow.”

  He threw down his smoke and stood up, walking up close to her. He enveloped her in his arms and bent down, covering her mouth with his own, groaning lightly as he kissed her, and pressing his hardness against her belly. She returned his kiss just as hungrily, reaching her arms up around his neck as his hands moved over her hips, pulling her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and his lips moved to her neck.

  “God, Abbie!” he whispered.

  “I must be crazy!” she whimpered. “You must think me so bad!”

  “Never!” he whispered. “Never! I have to have you just once more, Abbie girl. God, forgive me! After seeing those men … abuse you … I couldn’t stand them … looking at you … touching you! You’re so small and so full of sorrow … and after tomorrow …”

  As their lips met again he knelt onto a blanket he already had spread out, drawing her down with him. It was easy for her to lose herself in his arms, to be hypnotized by his dark eyes and spellbound by his hungry kisses. Her clothes were coming off, and it didn’t matter. His lips moved over her body, caressing her bruises, reclaiming the private places that Givens’ men had touched. She lay in ecstasy, allowing him to do whatever he wanted with her, wanting only to please him as good as, or better than, any other woman had ever done, and wanting in turn to enjoy a man as she never had before. His hands and lips worked magic with her until a lovely explosion rippled through her insides, then his broad, dark shoulders hovered over her and he was inside of her surging, groaning, claiming. It didn’t seem wrong, just natural—something they both took for granted had to be done, like breathing or eating. He had to have her, and she had to have him. It didn’t even seem wrong that they shared intercourse twice before the night was over, sleeping naked together beneath the blankets, then making love once more in the morning. It was all beautiful and delicious and wonderful, and there was no doubt Abigail Trent was no longer a child. Far too much had happened to her now, and she’d been loved by Cheyenne Zeke.

  The next morning, she screamed and laughed when he arose, picked her up, carried her to the nearby stream, and jumped in with her. They frolicked under a waterfall, dunked each other, and kissed and touched; then suddenly they hugged each other tightly, both crying, while the water roared nearby. They didn’t talk as they walked back to shore, dried off, and dressed. It was done.

  Zeke kept an arm about her waist and helped her up the steep embankment to where Olin already had coffee made and most of the gear packed.

  “Sit down and have somethin’ to eat,” he told them, going on about his business as though nothing had happened. Zeke gave her one last hug and helped her sit down, pouring her coffee himself. Then the two men started talking, Olin never once looking at Abbie as though she had done something wrong. In fact, he said nothing at all and asked no questions. It was Zeke’s business.

  “I’ve been out this mornin’,” he told Zeke, sipping his coffee and lighting a pipe. “Saw signs of Indians—a lot of them—probably more Crow, but not renegades like Givens had along.”

  Zeke lit up one of the cheroots he usually smoked, and Abbie’s heart pounded with fear. “Goin’ in our direction?” Zeke asked.

  “Mmmm-hmmm. Headin’ south. Some of their scouts might have seen the train and told the others. Probably figure on doin’ some tradin’.”

  “I hope there’s no trouble. Crow and Cheyenne haven’t always been the best of friends, and I’d hate to have to be the one in the middle.”

  “What do you mean?” Abbie asked, her eyes wide.

  He looked at her, his eyes giving her the once-over and making her blush. Then he winked. “The Crow and Cheyenne warred bitterly for generations, Abbie. A couple of years ago we came to a peaceful agreement, and things have been better. But if there’s any kind of trouble, like, for instance, if Willis Brown or that preacher creates a problem, I won’t be able to do much to help them because I’m Cheyenne. They’ll figure me to be an enemy, too, so they won’t be much inclined to listen to anything I have to say. And if they look at me as a white man, that won’t help matters much either. They’ve got as much use for a white man as they do for a Cheyenne.”

  “Zeke, I don’t think I could take anything more happening—anything bad, I mean. It was a Crow who put that scar on your face, wasn’t it?”

  He actually chuckled. “Don’t get all worked up. I licked that one and I can lick any other Crow—just like those renegades back there.”

  “Being against a whole tribe is different!”

  He smiled and stood up, walking over to pat her head. “Don’t worry about it. Long as I’m around, you’re not to worry about anything.”

  “You two ready to head out?” Olin asked.

  “Soon,” Zeke replied. “I want Abbie to eat good first.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she replied, her heart heavy and her eyes on the verge of tears. She did not want to go back.

  “Eat. That’s an order,” Zeke told her. He handed her a biscuit and some jerky. “It isn’t much, but eat it down. I mean it, Abbie.”

  She took the food, and he bent down to kiss her hair, then stood up and patted her shoulder. Those were his last gestures before they mounted up to leave.

  They continued on a southwest course, following the trail of Ind
ians most of the way, Zeke pointing out the tracks of the travois. “Must be a whole village,” he told them. “If they’re dragging travois, then they’re carrying supplies, and they’ve got women and kids along. A hunting party would travel much faster and they wouldn’t be packing along so many supplies.”

  “They ought to be pretty peaceful then,” Olin replied.

  “Ought to,” Zeke answered, seeming to be lost in thought.

  By late afternoon the three of them rode carefully through thick forest as they headed for the South Pass. Zeke had advised them to keep to cover, not caring to run into the Crow just in case they were a bad lot. A few Crow still dealt in buying and selling women, and he did not care to be caught alone against a whole tribe with Abbie along.

  Larks fluttered about, as well as butterflies. The delicate and pretty butterflies reminded Abbie of LeeAnn. Her aching heart was full of gentle memories of her mother and her home back in Tennessee, and of herself and LeeAnn when they were small, playing with dolls. The whole way of life that had been so dear to her had been torn from her in a matter of a few weeks. Soon Cheyenne Zeke would also be gone, for the next stop was Fort Bridger; and she thought she might die of heartache.

  As they crested a hill, below them lay a broad, flat stretch of land that seemed to go on for miles, right through the middle of majestic peaks—mountains that Abbie wondered how they’d ever cross—and there below them was the pathway. Zeke halted his horse.

  “There she is,” he announced. “The South Pass. Damned pretty sight to a weary traveler.”

  Abbie smiled. “It’s as though God himself put it there to aid people to get through,” she replied, fascinated.