Uncompahgre

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  Rebecca hurriedly drew the chemise over her head and Reuben’s eyes traveled the length of her now naked body. She bent over and kissed him, a demanding, hard kiss, her teeth gently nipping his lower lip as her hands tore at the buttons of his shirt. He began to sit up but she forced him back onto the bedroll, her knees straddling his hips. She took one of his hands and placed it against the darker patch at the apex of her inner thighs. Instinctively, Reuben’s fingers probed the wet silken flesh that seemed to pulse beneath his finger. Wet, very, very wet. She reached down, held him firmly and began to lower herself, his tip spreading her tight velvet, her breath coming in gasps, tears falling on his chest. Reuben’s hips began to buck uncontrollably. Pulling her face down to his, he kissed her, then lowered his lips and nuzzled her neck. He felt her shiver.

  She sank slowly down onto him, raising herself just slightly, then began her descent again, desperation in her movements. She groaned and fell forward onto him, her lips moving frantically against his chest, the wetness of her flowing down his entire length still only half buried in her. He reached out calloused hands, caressing her sides, found the inviting curve of her hips and drew her down on him, widening his legs, spreading her inner thighs, tilting her pelvis and then he thrust, then again. He could feel the depths of her yield to him. Rebecca collapsed, moaning in his ear in a frenzied exhale of moist, warm breath. He felt her spasm around him and she groaned. Then they were locked together, inseparable in shared desperation, her hips meeting his every upward motion.

  Her small frame shuddered and she raised herself partially, her hands pressing into his shoulders and began to slide her pelvis roughly against his, back and forth, her back arched, quivering uncontrollably. “Reuben, Reuben, Reuben.” Her voice was a breathless whisper. She collapsed on him again, shuddering involuntarily, instinctively clamping herself tightly to the base of him, her inner contractions causing him to groan. He wrapped his arms around her back and pressed her roughly against him. His hips drove upward in one last, strong push, feeling the center of his soul, the essence of his being; empty deep, deep in her belly. Rebecca gasped, spasming yet again. Reuben felt as if every inch of their flesh pulsed in unison at the epicenter of the earthquake that her core had become.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered, “Oh my God.” She began to cry soft, muffled sobs into his neck, her body trembling with aftershocks.

  Still locked together, Reuben rolled her gently to her side and began to withdraw but she tightened her legs around his buttocks. “No, Reuben, no. Stay there please. Stay there, Reuben.” He relaxed, one open palm gently on her hair, the fingertips of the other hand lightly moving up and down the hollow of her spine.

  Rebecca drew back her head and through the darkness, he could feel the intensity of her gaze.

  “Such an unbearable loss,” she said in a muffled quiet voice, “for both of us. Perhaps they are together somewhere. Perhaps they will meet,” Reuben’s throat constricted and he nodded his head. They lay in silence for minutes, Reuben listening to her breathing, trying to reconcile their physicality with the dark news they had each received. He could feel himself softening. Rebecca shifted her position to keep hold of him, pressing the heat of her pelvis tightly to his and sighing. A few long moments passed.

  “Rebecca, I came to tell you, tell you about my father and…”

  Rebecca covered his mouth with hers, then drew back, her forefinger pressed against her own lips. “This is not the time to talk,” she whispered. “Reuben, thank you for the flowers. I did notice right away.” she giggled sadly, “though it was not my focus.”

  He thought hard. Should I say nothing? This is not the right time. Perhaps maybe wait until morning…?

  As if reading his thoughts, Rebecca gently disengaged from him, her hand delicately stroking his muscular pectorals and wandering down his belly, closing lightly around him. She leaned down, licking his tip and then kissed it softly. Reuben jerked in shock.

  Rebecca brought her face back to his. “I like the way we taste.” She pressed her lips to his, then drew back. “Reuben, I hope you don’t mind but I really want to be alone for the rest of the night. I have much to think about. Very different paths to take perhaps. Very different pulls…and responsibilities.”

  Reuben was stunned. “But, Rebecca—”

  “Thank you, Reuben,” she interrupted him. “I knew you’d understand.” Her voice sounded exhausted.

  Reuben blinked into the darkness, his mind reeling. Without a word, he rose and dressed. He began to say something but Rebecca was breathing rhythmically, already asleep. He slowly and tenderly covered her with a blanket, stood looking at her for moment and then walked to the back of the wagon, reclosing the canvas and tailgate after he clambered out. He walked over to Lahn, feeling both drained and satiated, shaking his head, completely suspended in a numb emotional void. He paused. Lifting his fingers to his nose, he breathed in the smell of her. The horse turned his face toward him and nuzzled his shoulder. “No, I didn’t ask.”

  Reuben removed the saddle from the palomino and shoved it carefully under the wagon bed, untied his bedroll and spread it. Lost in thought, he absently took off his boots, stripped off his britches and rolled them up, wadding them on the saddle to complete the pillow. He lay down on the bedroll and pulled the loose side of the blanket over him. The roaring flames of the campfires had died to embers. Reuben stared at the underside of the wagon, thinking about the small, beautiful brunette above him in deep, troubled slumber.

  Reuben awoke with a start. Though they were trying to be quiet, to not awaken other wagons that would be pulling out later that day or in the days following, several of the families of the wagon train were already hard at work. Abraham—limping from the Pawnee bullet he had taken at Two Otters Creek—his father, Elijah and their Kentucky family, Margaret and Harris Johnson, their two little towheaded girls and several other wagons were hitching their teams of horses and oxen to their Conestogas and prairie schooners, planning an early start. No way to be silent about hitching up teams, especially when you have young’uns.

  Reuben shifted his head slightly on the saddle and watched across the circle of rigs as the various families struggled with their sometimes reluctant teams and stiff harnesses, trying to control the children who evidently had caught the contagion of excitement from their parents.

  He felt a sudden pang. Father died. Somehow, the scene of the busy pioneer families comforted him.

  “Becky, Eleanor—come here this instant,” Margaret hissed. “You hush up now. Not everybody’s leaving today. Some folks are still trying to get some sleep. Sit down here by the breakfast fire.”

  Reuben chuckled wistfully into the blanket. For some reason, watching the two youngsters prompted his eyes to shift up to the floor of their prairie schooner. Above those floorboards were cargo, trunks, supplies…and Rebecca. Closing his eyes, he could almost feel the perfect press of her breasts against his chest, the quivering length of her body, her nails digging into the back of his shoulders as he pumped his soul deeply into her.

  Shaking his head, still lost in the scene, he began to throw the bedroll from his body and he realized he was rigid. He chuckled. Best to wait a few minutes. Can’t go around saying my goodbyes like this.

  There was a creak above the weathered underbelly of the rig. From the sounds of it, Rebecca had risen and taken a few steps in the tiny space not covered with gear and supplies.

  Reuben waited impatiently for his body to relax. Sarah was walking from her wagon toward theirs. The tailgate opened and Rebecca slipped the ladder to the ground.

  Reuben threw the covers off, rolling out from under the wagon bed. He had started to button his pants when he looked up to see Rebecca staring below his waist and he followed her gaze to the definite bulge in his pants. He looked up and she caught his eye. Her eyes were puffy and red but a slight smile played around her lips and there was a strange energy in her stare. Reuben felt himself blush.

  “Are you okay?”


  She stretched stiffly, “I am fine, Reuben.”

  Reuben began to speak but Rebecca cut him off. “One of the letters…” Rebecca took a deep ratcheted breath, “was from her. She seemed to know she did not have long. The other was from our solicitor. It appears someone has made an offer on our land in the Red Mountains.”

  Stunned, Reuben tried to make sense of what he had just heard. He walked toward her and wrapped his arms around her. She did not resist but neither did she press back.

  Sarah cleared her throat. She had stopped ten feet from them. “Good morning, Rebecca, good morning, Reuben.” Reuben thought he detected surprise in her face when her eyes shifted to his bedroll under the wagon. Reuben noticed her usual traveling dress and petticoats had been replaced by a dull red wool riding skirt and heavy cotton blouse. He recognized the skirt as one of Rebecca’s.

  “I’m not interrupting?”

  Rebecca pulled away from Reuben, one finger wiping a welling of tears. She took a deep breath, “No, not at all, Sarah.” Rebecca turned back to Reuben, looking at him for a long moment. “Let’s talk this evening. Sarah and I have decided to ride into town later today.”

  “Yes, we want to see the sights.” Sarah offered with a smile, followed by a look, almost apologetic, toward Rebecca.

  “That might be a very short trip,” commented Reuben.

  “I wish I had told Zeb to leave Red here,” said Rebecca pensively and then quickly added, “for a little while.” She looked around. “I think we shall ride Sonny and Sterling. I think Sonny is gentle enough for Sarah.”

  Reuben, surprised, looked at Sarah, “I didn’t know you rode.”

  Sarah smiled, “I don’t but Rebecca’s going to teach me.”

  Reuben nodded. “Yes, I would agree, Rebecca, Sonny is the horse for Sarah. He won’t cover a lot of ground quickly but that’s probably a good thing, considering she’s a beginner.”

  “Well, if you’ll excuse us, Reuben, we are going over to say goodbye to the Johnsons and the others.” Rebecca’s voice trailed off as she glanced across the circled wagons. “It seems as if they are close to being ready to pull out.”

  “I plan to do that myself, ladies but I have a few quick chores to attend to first.” He stared hard at Rebecca who seemed to be making a point of not looking back at him. “I think Johannes and I will be going into Cherry Creek also. Need to check on supplies, see what folks down there know about the availability and location of cattle south of here. And I want to meet Randy and offer my condolences.”

  Rebecca finally returned his gaze. “Then we each have our plans.”

  Reuben nodded. “Perhaps we will run into you on your return or perhaps we’ll see you in town.”

  Rebecca broke her eye contact. “Sarah, let’s go over to the Johnson’s first. It looks like they are furthest along in their preparations. I need a hug from those two cute little girls.”

  “Me too, Rebecca. Let’s go.”

  Fighting a feeling of helplessness, Reuben watched the two women move across the camp. Shit. Stooping down, he retrieved his saddle from beneath the wagon and whistled for Lahn. The big palomino had slipped Reuben’s hurriedly tied hitch of the night before, and was grazing the now thoroughly cropped grasses a hundred feet from the wagon.

  CHAPTER 7

  May 28, 1855

  I DON’T PUSH

  “You want it snug but not too tight.” Rebecca straightened up from fastening the cinch under the grey mare. “Sarah, run your fingers between the cinch and the horse’s belly. You should be able to feel both but shouldn’t have to squeeze it in there.”

  The redhead bent over and tentatively stuck her hand out, glancing nervously at Rebecca and the horse.

  “I think I’ve adjusted the stirrups for you. They should be about this same length as mine. When you step up, lead with your left foot and put just the toe of your boot in the stirrup. If something goes wrong you will be able to get off in a hurry,” Rebecca laughed, “or at least not be dragged.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened and Rebecca laughed again. Then suddenly, tears began to well. She wiped her eyes and shook her head.

  “I’m so sorry about your mother, Rebecca,” Sarah said.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Yet, sometimes the only thing one can do is focus on the present and that’s what I must do.” She shuddered and let out a deep sigh. “So, after your toe is in the stirrup,” Rebecca demonstrated, “hold the reins in your left hand—don’t ever let go of those reins— put your left hand up on the saddle horn like this and then swing your right leg over the back of the horse and settle into the saddle like this. Put your other foot in the stirrup so that your weight is on the balls of your feet.” Rebecca looked down at Sarah. Her friend’s eyes were wide and her lips a thin, nervous line. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Sarah. The last thing your old gelding wants to do is move faster than a slow walk. You’ll be fine.”

  A thin film of dust covered everything in Cherry Creek like a gritty blanket. The air seemed filled with a slightly opaque, light brown cloud that gradually dissipated as it rose higher from the hooves of horses, the roll of wagon wheels and the scuff of boots. Rebecca felt as though she was a figure in a lithograph.

  Sarah, her voice plaintive, asked, “Are my thighs and knees supposed to ache like this?”

  “As a matter of fact they are dear Sarah,” Rebecca chuckled. “When you dismount and walk you’ll find that your behind will feel a bit sore too.”

  Rebecca looked around, soaking in the feel of the tiny settlement. “There’s not much to it, is there, Sarah?”

  The redhead’s expression was pensive. Sarah looked slowly and followed Rebecca’s eyes down one side of the street toward several Indians whose finely colored mustangs were piled high with pelts. “I think Zeb said they were Arapaho.”

  From the second-story window of one of the few buildings made of wood rather than canvas, a bare-shouldered woman, her auburn hair piled in tight curls and her lips red with thick lipstick, leaned from an open window. She caught Rebecca’s eyes, gave a disdainful shake of her head and drew back into the window, shutting it hard.

  Rebecca pointed, “That combination of old tents and wooden buildings attached to that newer partial brick one must be the mercantile.”

  Rebecca dug her heels into Sterling. “Come on, Sarah.” Sarah kicked back clumsily into the rear haunches of her horse. The gelding stood still. She did it again, harder, almost falling from the saddle, when Sunny took a half jump forward and then stopped again. “Rebecca, Rebecca come back. The animal won’t move.”

  Rebecca reined in, wheeled her horse and trotted back to Sarah circling the rear of the old gelding. As she did so, she reached out and slapped his rump. Sunny lurched forward, almost tumbling Sarah over the back of the saddle. From across the street there was rough laughter.

  Rebecca saw the red creeping into Sarah’s cheeks and quickly appraised the four men leaning against the log uprights of the porch overhang of a rickety storefront. They grinned lewdly back at her. Rebecca could feel a clench steal into her jaw. Two of the men were heavyset, one was quite tall and very thin, the other was medium build and powerful. A bit like Reuben. Her baleful look seemed only to add to their merriment. “Did you see that cute thing almost topple off that horse, Andy?”

  “Sure did. She would’ve landed straight on her back too,” the tallest of the quartet chuckled. “That woulda made it easy.”

  They were all dressed in dirty, torn cotton shirts of varying faded colors. The rest of their clothing looked like it had long ago outlived its originally planned lifespan. Rebecca noticed that one wore a gun belt and the other three had pistols tucked in their belts. The attention of the man with the medium build—unlike his three companions—was not fixated on Sarah but rather directed at her. Rebecca reined in on one side of Sarah and in a smooth motion drew the .52 caliber Sharps rifle given to her by her father years before. She laid it across the saddle, thumb on the hammer and one delicate, thin finger stretc
hed out across the trigger guard, the muzzle pointed at the four men.

  “Lookee now, would ya? One of them fine lassies has a gun.”

  The heaviest of the four spit a gob of brown saliva into the dust, wiped his stubbled lips with the back of his hand and thrust out his hips, “I got me a gun too.” Except for the man with the medium build, the group broke into gales of laughter. He simply stared at her, his eyes unabashedly scanning her profile, then again, a slight smirk on his lips.

  Without taking her eyes from the men, Rebecca said in a low voice, “For God’s sakes, Sarah, stay in the saddle and follow me.”

  Once in front of Gart’s, they reined in. Rebecca sprang lightly from the saddle and watched, amused, as Sarah gingerly swung her leg backward over the top of the horse and eased herself to the street with unsure, wobbly motions.

  “This is how you tie them off on a hitching post, Sarah.” She wrapped the reins around the crossbar twice, slid the end of the leathers back under the wraps and pulled. “Try it, Sarah.”

  Sarah wrapped the reins, then hesitated, throwing a questioning stare at Rebecca.

  “You bring the ends underneath the loops, then pull.” Following instructions, Sarah completed the tie-off and straightened up with a satisfied air. Rebecca laughed. “Let’s go shopping!”

  Sarah giggled, “Yes, let’s do.”