But rather than find the man, people seemed happier that he had not been found. It was food for talks around potbellied stoves and card tables, and the vanished Indian leader had seemed to take on a bigger-than-life reputation. Tom was amazed at the stories people had concocted about him, all the way from being a ghostly spirit that still rode the hills of California, to an inhuman being that lived with the animals somewhere in the Sierras.
Tom sat up quietly. The stallion did not notice him. He lit a small cigar, grinning to himself at the reputation he had built as the leader of The Bad Ones. It was not unlike the reputation his father had among the Crow, who still feared him. And it seemed ironic that both reputations had been built over the love of a woman.
That love had become an aching need that was at times unbearable for Tom. He had been married three months, and still his marriage had not been consummated. They had come close once or twice, but always Juanita stiffened and began to panic, and he knew she had again tried to please him out of a sense of duty. He wondered how much longer he could go on this way before resigning himself to simply taking her out of his own husbandly rights. But he knew he could never really bring himself to do that.
He had done all that he could. He had built a small cabin for themselves, what he called their temporary house until he was rich enough to build her a better one. And just yesterday he had made a long trip into Sonoma just to buy her some special material to make curtains. She seemed content with her new little house, and she was a good housekeeper and cook—a perfect wife in every way but the one way he needed most.
In order to stay away from her he had poured his energies into building his ranch, spending long hours building fences and outbuildings, riding the borders to check for squatting miners, riding down mustangs to begin to build a herd. He was usually so tired at night that he could fall asleep quickly, so that he did not have to lie beside his beautiful wife and go mad from the temptation to force himself upon her.
He scraped the end of his cigar on a rock to put it out, then put it back in his pocket, slithering down the rock to his horse.
“Come on, boy,” he said quietly to the animal. “Time to rope down that white stud below. I think he’s in just the right place this time.” He quietly worked his mount toward the valley below, keeping to rocks and rises and brush so that the wild-eyed stallion would not spook and run.
Juanita watched, and the hired help who were nearby cheered as Tom came thundering home with the white stallion roped and tied to the pommel of his saddle. Juanita moved down the steps of the little porch of the cabin, her heart swelling with pride. It reminded her of the day Tom had come riding back with the black stallion her father had challenged him to tame, and suddenly the pride and the warm passion she felt for him then moved through her now.
It was the first time she could clearly remember how she felt that day, the odd sensation deep inside, a desire un-marred by the ugliness of rape. Her eyes teared at the realization that she had been nothing short of cruel to Tom, denying him what he most longed for. She did not doubt that if he could claim her, it might even help heal the last remnants of hatred that still boiled deep inside; for if he could have her completely, he would have won the final battle.
He rode up close to her, grinning. “Is he not beautiful?”
The husky white steed reared and pulled on the rope, and Juanita laughed. “Sí, he is wonderful!”
“I will get him in the corral. Then I will be in for supper.” He turned and rode off with the animal, and she studied his broad shoulders, the way he sat a horse. She knew capturing the stallion was not just a victory over the wild horse, but also over his physical handicap.
“No more,” she muttered softly. “I will deny you no more, my love.” Her heart pounded with the realization that this time she truly wanted him. This time was different, and she felt like laughing out loud with the joy of it. All day she had been thinking of Tom differently, ever since he had awakened with the recurring nightmare of seeing all his friends shot down. She had been reminded of what he had gone through in avenging her wrong and saving her from the horrors in which he had found her.
Juanita turned and went inside, her breath actually coming hard because of her excitement. She would surprise him. She hurried into the bedroom and began undressing.
It was almost a half hour after that when she finally heard him. He stopped on the porch to wash in a basin she kept there for him, and she snuggled deeper into the quilts when she heard him come inside.
“Juanita?”
“I am in here.” She felt scared and silly and excited and terribly in love all at the same time. His footsteps came closer and he drew back the curtain.
Tom frowned. “What are you doing in bed? We haven’t even had supper. Are you sick?”
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “No, my husband, I am not sick.” She held his eyes. “I am just . . . in love.” She pulled one arm out from under the covers, and he could see one shoulder was bare. “Bolt the door and come to bed, Tom, before I lose all my courage.”
His heart quickened, and he just stared at her at first, trying to determine if it was different this time. He felt his blood rushing hot and his skin felt prickly. “Juanita, I can’t . . . I don’t think I could stop this time.”
She smiled, and there was something different about her, something alive and beautiful. Desire! He finally saw desire in her eyes. “You won’t have to stop this time.”
He watched her a moment longer, then turned and walked across the outer room of the little two-room structure to bolt the door. He actually felt light-headed as he moved back into the bedroom, watching her eyes every moment as he began removing his clothes. She had seen him undress before, but she had never watched him as she was watching him now. He stripped down and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning close to her, reaching out and hesitantly touching the long, dark hair that tumbled over her creamy shoulders. “What happened?”
Her eyes began to tear. “I . . . I do not even know. All day I have thought about you. Perhaps God planted you there, in my mind. And then I saw you coming back with the stallion—so proud and sure and handsome—and I thought about how quickly you have made a home for us here, how hard you have worked.”
“Juanita, it can’t be a payment—”
“No. I do not think of it that way. It is . . . it is different this time. I . . . I felt like that day . . . that day you came riding in with Valiente. I wanted you so that day, even though I was so young. Now I am eighteen, Tom. I am a woman, and I want to be a complete woman. And most of all I want a baby to hold and love. You should have a son, Tom Sax.”
He swallowed, instantly on fire, gently taking his hand from her face and grasping the quilts, carefully pulling them down to her waist and exposing her full, firm breasts. His only glimpse of them had been when he had first brought her to the mission. Now their dark nipples peaked with the stimulation of his gaze, and he touched them ever so lightly with the back of his hand.
“Yo te amo, querida,” he whispered.
She reached out and touched his thick, dark hair, pulling his head down to the fullness of her breasts. “Mi esposo,” she whispered in reply.
He shuddered with the beauty and wonder of it, the glory of tenderly kissing the smooth skin of her breasts, of hearing a light whimper from her lips, a whimper that bespoke desire, not dread. He could not keep his lips from moving to the nipples, and he groaned as he lightly sucked them, finding a force akin to power move through him at the act, as though doing this gave him some kind of new strength and nourishment.
Her breathing quickened into enticing little gasps as he lingered at her breasts, laying her back and moving under the covers, running his hands over her tiny, soft body. He sucked and kissed her breasts while his fingers found what they were hoping to find, a silken moistness deep in the soft folds between her legs that said this time she desired what was to come.
Juanita knew now that she did not want him to sto
p. The past was something to put behind them, and these wonderful things they could share were all that lay ahead. Once she let go of her fear and put all trust into this man who loved her, it all seemed so simple and easy and wonderful.
She was quickly lost in him, the room swirling with lovely, romantic Spanish words of love; muscular, dark shoulders hovering over her; moist, gentle kisses pouring over every part of her body; expert fingers bringing out desires she didn’t even know existed deep in her womanly being. His own groans and whispers told her this moment was just as exciting and important for him, and suddenly he was moving between her legs.
She felt a hint of the old panic, but he kept whispering her name so lovingly, drowning her in kisses that left her breathless. His big hands moved under her small hips, and suddenly it was done. Her man was inside her. It was nothing like the ugly horror of her rapists. It was like rising up to the clouds of ecstasy, floating in the beauty and splendor of love that was greater than all fear—love that conquered memories and pain. He moved with a beautiful rhythm that she found herself responding to, arching up to him in return.
Never had Tom Sax felt this way with a woman. Taking his first wife had been a beautiful experience. But Bess had never suffered what this beautiful child had suffered, and it was his duty now to erase all of it for her, to make it as beautiful as he possibly could. His joy at feeling her respond as she should, realizing her genuine desire, was overwhelming. It took tremendous willpower for Tom not to release himself too quickly, for never had he known such exquisite pleasure as he felt being inside his new wife.
Tom felt her throbbing climax as she whispered his name with each breath, her eyes closed, her body shuddering. She took him almost wildly, so relieved and overjoyed that it could be as wonderful as he had promised. She cried out almost as though in pain, but he knew that instead it was ecstasy.
“My God, Juanita, it’s so beautiful,” he groaned, surging inside of her in hard thrusts, changing at times to teasing circular movements that made her grasp his arms tighter and whimper his name. He held back for as long as possible, not wanting the glorious moment to end, but the thrill of it finally brought forth an almost agonizing climax, as he fought it all the way, spilling his life into her unwillingly.
He breathed deeply a moment longer, as she lay there with here eyes closed. He looked down at her tiny body and flat stomach, wondering how he had even fit inside her.
It was done. She belonged to Tom Sax, finally, completely. No other man would ever touch this one again. Those who had already done so had lived to regret it.
He met her eyes as she opened them. “Gracias, querida,” he whispered.
She smiled, tears in her eyes. “You liked it?”
He laughed lightly, embracing her tightly and staying on top of her. “I’ve never felt like that in my whole life. I love you, Juanita. I love you so much.” He kissed her hair. “Things are going to be good now. So good. This has been the best day of my life.”
He raised up and looked down into her eyes again. “Are you all right? Did you enjoy it?”
She reached up and traced slender fingers over his lips. “You could not tell?”
He grinned. “I could tell. I just wanted to be sure.”
Her eyes teared more. “It was beautiful. I wish I would not have waited so long.” She swallowed. “Perhaps we should make up for all the lost time.”
She felt her cheeks growing hot under the bold remark, and his dark eyes glittered with heated desire.
“Perhaps we should.” He met her lips again.
“Dear Folks,” Sarah read. “I reached St. Louis and decided to stay right here.” She glanced at Caleb, pain moving through her. She and Caleb had both found love in St. Louis and had also found tremendous suffering and the agony of separation. How ironic that their son was now there, living in that very city. That had all been so many years ago, another time, another Caleb and Sarah.
“Well? Keep going, Grandma,” John spoke up anxiously. “Is Uncle James all right?”
Sarah blinked back tears and returned to the letter. She had asked Jess and Lynda to join them for supper so they could read the letter together. It had come that same day. It was mid-February, 1849, and for once Sarah had had a winter free of major illness. Everyone was healthy, and they prepared to leave for California. Caleb could not bear another year of wondering about Tom, nor could he put off taking his Sarah to a place where the climate meant it would be possible to add years to her life. It was now or never. One never knew what another winter would bring.
“I looked right away for a job and found one within two days with a big supply merchant here. While I work, I am using some of my money for special tutoring so that I will get the equivalent of a college degree when I am through. My boss’s name is Gilbert Hayden, and he said he might even send me to even bigger cities farther east someday to hunt for good buys and find out the latest fashions—things like that. The way you used to describe St. Louis to me, you would be surprised if you saw how big it is now. There will even be a railroad built into the city soon, connecting us with all the major cities in the East, and with Chicago.”
Memories. They came flooding in. Sarah and Caleb had grown up like brother and sister at Fort Dearborn when that was all it was, just a wooden fort. Now it was a city called Chicago. Her eyes met Caleb’s again, and he realized he had better keep some humor in the situation or his wife would break down.
“Too bad they didn’t have a locomotive between Chicago and St. Louis when I had to get down there to find you all those years back. Sure would have saved me a lot of time, wouldn’t it?” He puffed on a pipe, his eyes twinkling.
She smiled sadly. “We’ve never even seen one of these locomotives they talk about at the fort. I wonder how big they are.”
Caleb shrugged. “Pretty damned big, so I’m told. Big and noisy and dirty. But fast. And contrary to what a horse can do, they can go on forever, as long as you keep feeding wood into their bellies.”
“They sound like monsters,” John spoke up. “I bet they scare away animals.”
Caleb nodded, wondering what the effects of the railroads would be on the peaceful plains and the Indians and buffalo that lived there. Maybe they would never get this far west. Still, he no longer underestimated the power and will of the progressive white man. More would come, and they would bring their railroads with them.
“You going to finish that letter, woman, or do I have to take it from you and read it myself?” Caleb asked.
She smiled, taking a deep breath and continuing. “I am just fine. We had no problems on the way here. Right now I mostly just stock shelves and take inventory, and Mr. Hayden is teaching me how to keep books. I stay in a room right over the store, so if you want to write me, you can send your letter to Hoyden’s Mercantile, River Street, St. Louis. I expect to be here a long time, so I will get the letter.
“I suppose you have heard by now about gold in California. Because of the gold rush, Mr. Hayden is doing a booming business and has already opened a second store. St. Louis is filling up with thousands of people getting ready to head west. There are so many that there is a tent city growing outside of town. This will be a benefit to all of you, as there will be a lot of people going to California and it will be easy for you to find a wagon train to travel with. With so many wagons the trip should be safe, and there should be lots of help if anything goes wrong.
“It is exciting to be around so many people. I never knew there could be so many in one place. There are schools here, theaters, opera houses, saloons, barbers, doctors, and even places called factories where they make machinery and things. I can’t believe the difference between the East and the wide open plains.
“It’s hard to believe the West could ever be like this, but some people here say that someday it will be. Most people think the West is wild and dangerous, and a lot of people going there for the first time ask me about it. It makes me feel kind of important to be able to tell them I grew up there.
“I do wish you could see St. Louis again, Mother. I know you often wondered what the latest fashions are like now, so I enclosed some sketches for you that can be bought here at the store and used for patterns.”
Sarah stopped, looking into the envelope and taking out more folded paper. She opened it, smiling and holding up the sketches for Lynda. “Lynda, look! We are out of style. We had better get the needles going and bring ourselves up to date.”
They both laughed lightly, realizing how silly it was to worry about style in the middle of Indian country.
Sarah returned to the letter. “You and Lynda will have fun with these patterns, Mother. I would send material, too, but I’m not very good at that. You had better buy your own.
“It’s late and I have to get some sleep and get this to a messenger in the morning, so I’ll close now. Send me a letter and let me know if you’re going to California. I’m tempted to go myself, but this is a good job, and just working at a supply store in St. Louis means getting in on some of the excitement. This job is a sure thing, but running off to find gold doesn’t sound to me like anything very dependable. Besides, I just got to the city. I don’t relish the thought of turning right around and going back out to the ‘wild West’ as they call it here.
“My love to all.
“Sincerely, James.”
Sarah put down the letter. “Well, he sounds as if he’s doing fine.” She tried to sound cheerful. But somehow she could not shake the feeling that she would never see her son again.
Caleb nodded, rising from his chair. “Sounds like. I’ve got a pregnant mare to check on. You and Lynda can ponder those patterns.” He looked at Jess. “You want to come see how Paint is doing?”
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