Destiny's Dawn

by Rosanne Bittner

  Just as he poured himself another drink, Willena came inside the room looking for him. She stopped short at the sight of the glass in his hand and was startled by his watery eyes. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  “James, what’s wrong with you lately?” she asked with sincere concern. “You never used to drink so much.”

  He shrugged. “I have a right to drink if I want, love. Don’t start nagging me about it.” He swallowed the shot and she folded her arms, a discerning look in her eyes.

  “I suppose you do. But it isn’t like you, and I think I have a right to know what’s bothering you.”

  “Nothing!” He slammed down the glass and she jumped slightly, but she stood her ground, facing him with chin held high.

  “Is it me?”

  He met her eyes, then let out an almost disgusted sigh, smiling sadly. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  She moved closer, dropping her arms and leaning over his desk. “What then, James? You know how much I love you. I would understand anything you tell me.”

  He stared at her for a long time, then began laughing lightly. “You have no idea what you’re saying.” He shook his head. “No, my beautiful Willena, you would not understand. But it will pass. It’s just . . .” He had to think. “It’s just that sometimes I get to thinking about my parents, how I felt when I was left alone. I just get spells where I wish I could have helped them somehow—makes me feel a little guilty.”

  “Oh, James,” she said softly, coming around the desk.

  It had worked again. He had used the story about his dead parents to soothe her anger and make her quit asking questions about what was bothering him. It was his parents, all right, only they weren’t dead at all. He actually found himself wishing they were. It would all be so much easier then, and he wouldn’t have to worry about Caleb Sax’s showing up at his door someday.

  Willena cradled his head against her stomach, stroking his hair. “Please stop the drinking, James. You can bear it without this crutch. It frightens me to see you drinking so much.”

  He wanted to laugh and shout it. Your husband’s a drunken Indian! He can’t handle the whiskey because he’s part Indian! It was all a sudden and ludicrous vision. How little she knew!

  “You do still love me, don’t you, James?”

  He grinned, kissing her stomach. “You know I do.” He pulled her onto his lap, hugging her and nuzzling her breasts. “You’re the most wonderful thing in my life.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Sax.” A maid walked in, suddenly flustered when she found Willena sitting on her husband’s lap. “Oh!” She backed away. “I’m sorry, sir, but there is someone here to see you.”

  James scowled at the timing, wishing the woman hadn’t come in. He would like nothing better right now than to take Willena upstairs and have a good round with his wife. The whiskey was enhancing his manly needs. “Who is it?”

  “Your father-in-law, sir, and a Colonel Chivington.”

  James paled visibly. Two of the most active men in the Volunteers. What on earth did they want? Willena quickly rose, and James got up on shaky legs. “Send them in, Lucille.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The woman left, and James took a deep breath for self-control. “Wonder what they want,” he said, looking at Willena.

  “It must have something to do with the Volunteers.”

  “Yes,” James answered, feeling light-headed and apprehensive. They both heard footsteps, and a moment later Willena’s father came inside, accompanied by the tall, stern-looking, bearded Colonel Chivington. James saw something in the man’s dark eyes that bordered on insanity.

  “James,” Willena’s father said, coming closer with a grin on his face. “It’s our turn, son.”

  James blinked in bewilderment. “Our turn?”

  “To do our part to support the Volunteers. We businessmen can’t just throw money at them. We have to show Denver citizens that we mean what we say, and that we’re willing to go out there and fight to protect property and lives. It’s good business, James.”

  James ran a hand through his hair, wishing he hadn’t drunk so much whiskey. “What are you talking about?”

  Treat took a deep breath, looking strong and firm in spite of his age and his gray hair. Willena’s father had a powerful influence on a lot of people, and James had gone his father-in-law’s way on most things, more out of his deep fear of somehow betraying his Indian blood than anything else. He felt an obligation to constantly please the man, and he hated his inability to stand up to him. He was not a man to be bullied about, but that one dark secret seemed to interfere with his very manliness.

  “We’re going to ride out on a campaign with Colonel Chivington, James,” Treat said excitedly.

  James paled visibly, and Treat frowned.

  “Good God, man, it’s just one campaign. We’re all taking one turn, just to show our support. Surely my big, strapping son-in-law isn’t afraid to ride with the Volunteers.”

  James cleared his throat, forcing his voice to come. “Of course not. I’m just . . . surprised. I mean, I have my store to look after, and Willena and the children—”

  “We’re all in this together, James. Those who stay behind help run the businesses and watch over the loved ones of the rest. There’s no problem. You needn’t worry about the family.”

  “We need you, Mr. Sax,” Chivington spoke up in a deep voice.

  Willena moved closer to James. She didn’t like Chivington, and she was not certain everything the Volunteers did was completely proper. She had argued with her own father over the Indian issue and had been given orders to never voice their defense in public.

  James’s mind raced wildly. A campaign! Against the Cheyenne? Against his own father’s people? Perhaps against Cale himself? But surely Cale was not even in this area. He could be anywhere, most likely in the north where most Cheyenne had fled. Maybe he was even dead. He struggled to keep his composure. “Where to? Do you have a specific mission?”

  He watched Chivington’s dark eyes glitter. “We always have a mission, Mr. Sax, and it is always the same. To kill Indians and rid Colorado of the scum that keeps us from progress. The men are useless and ignorant, the women nothing but breeders of more lice-infested children who grow up to be just as useless as their parents. We will ride through the southeast and be gone only a few weeks. We will make sure there are no Indians in places they should not be. They insist on calling the Laramie Treaty lands their own. But they have been told that can no longer be, and they must understand we mean what we say.”

  “Your opinion of the Indians is much too biased and unreasonable, Colonel Chivington,” Willena spoke up. “It is one thing to—”

  “Willena!” Her father interrupted her angrily. “You’re speaking out of place. Colonel Chivington is a guest in this house, and he has done much for Colorado! If not for him, perhaps you and the children would be in danger this very moment.”

  She glared at Chivington, who met her gaze sternly. She turned and looked at James. “Are you going?”

  He met her eyes, his emotions torn. So much was at stake. His standing in the community, his father-in-law’s opinion of him, his need to make very certain his Indian blood would never be known. What better way than by riding on a campaign with Chivington? It couldn’t be all that bad. He didn’t have to kill anyone himself if he didn’t want to. And who from his own family would ever know? “I have to, Willena. It won’t be for long. I can’t shun my duty if everyone else is taking a turn.”

  She blinked back tears and left the room, and James turned to Chivington. “The only Indians I know of in the southeast are peaceful ones—Black Kettle and his band. I thought they were camped at Sand Creek, waiting for some word from the government on annuities and where they’re expected to go next. Black Kettle is known for his desire to remain at peace.”

  A wicked smile came over Chivington’s face. “There is no such thing as a peaceful Indian, Mr. Sax. If th
ey pretend to be, it is only to buy time, until they are strong enough to attack again. You apparently don’t know much about Indians, Mr. Sax, but you will learn after riding with me.”

  James’s eyes hardened. He could tell this man plenty about Indians. A tiny flicker of Indian pride moved through his blood, the kind of anger his father would have felt at this moment. But he ignored it, forced it back. “I’m sure I will. When do we leave?”

  • Chapter Thirty •

  Jess removed his string tie and his suit coat, then his shirt, as Lynda lay in bed, watching from under the covers. She was proud of her husband’s still-broad shoulders and firm physique; his handsome face was tanned from the California sun, the age lines only making him look more appealing, a man experienced in the hard knocks of life. Jess had just returned from a town meeting. He was one of the most respected men in Henderson, still the mayor, but also the owner of a food store for which most of the produce, including meat, fruits, nuts, and wine, was supplied from Tom’s ranch.

  Tom had long ago expanded from just raising horses to raising cattle and produce, as well as developing a winery that was doing more business every year.

  Jess’s store was doing so well that he was thinking of opening a second one in Sonoma. Henderson itself had grown to many times its size since when they had first settled there, and now the current sheriff had several deputies; there was a town council, and law and order now prevailed in Henderson, something for which Jess Purnell was more than a little responsible.

  Lynda was proud of her husband, glad she had agreed to let him come here and lead his own life. The years while he was sheriff had not been easy for her. She had lived with a constant fear that some unsavory character would come along some night and think nothing of shooting her husband in the back. She could not imagine a life without him now, and she smiled as he came to the bed, wearing only his underwear.

  “John get back yet?” he asked her as he moved under the covers and turned down the oil lamp next to the bed.

  “No. I hope he’s all right.”

  “He’s almost twenty-four years old, Lynda, and he’s made that supply run between here and Tom’s many times.”

  “Well, I hope you can keep him interested in helping you with the store. I don’t want him doing that, Jess.”

  “Well, he’s damned good with a gun. And a man has to do what he wants to do, Lynda. We’ve been over that before. But I agree. I hate to see it, too. I’ll do my best to keep him in the produce business. At least with his skills he can take care of himself if he gets bushwhacked on the trail.”

  “Oh, Jess, don’t say that.”

  He grinned and turned to her, pulling her close. “Quit worrying. Jessica sleeping by now?”

  “Yes.”

  Their eyes held, and he traced a big, rough finger around her full lips. “You know, the nice thing about marrying a woman with Indian blood is she doesn’t seem to age as quickly. Something about that pretty, dark skin. I wanted you twenty-seven years ago, and those feelings haven’t changed a bit.” He kissed her lightly. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

  She pursed her lips. “Mmmm, I think so—a few days ago.”

  He laughed lightly, pulling her closer and nuzzling her neck. “Life’s been good to us since we came out here, Lynda, hasn’t it? We’ve been pretty damned lucky.”

  She sighed deeply. “Mother and Father are so happy about it all. Ten grandchildren.” She lay there quietly as he kissed her neck more as he began unlacing the front of her gown. “Except that one of those grandchildren we don’t know anything about anymore. Maybe even I have grandchildren, Jess.”

  He raised up and met her eyes. “Caleb won’t go to his grave without finding out about Cale, Lynda. You know that. And Cale is a thirty-two-year-old man now.”

  She met his eyes. “If he’s alive.”

  He kissed her eyes. “What did he tell you about the spirit and the great circle of life? He’s alive. You know it—” He put a hand against her chest. “In here. Your son is all right, Lynda.”

  She smiled sadly. “I love you, Jess.” She reached up and touched his thick, sandy hair. “It’s hard for Mother, too—not knowing about James. How sad that he never kept in touch. Sad and cruel. Cale has a reason—the way he lives. But James has no reason, living back East somewhere, knowing how to send a letter.”

  “Hey—you’re spoiling my plans with all this sad talk.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “What plans?”

  He pulled the gown down over her shoulder. “I want my woman. That’s what plans,” he answered, his voice suddenly gruff with desire.

  She ran her fingers down the thick hairs of his powerful chest. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop talking.”

  She met his eyes, and in the next moment his mouth was caressing hers while his fingers lightly teased a nipple. He pushed her gown down farther and she helped wiggle out of it while they remained kissing. She curled up against him, reaching down to unbutton his underwear. She reached inside to feel his soft swelling need of her, and he moved out of his underwear. He tossed them to the floor and moved between her still-slender legs, remembering the first night he had taken this woman—that wonderful, passionate, desperate night before he had left to go fight for Texas independence, that night of ecstasy when he had discovered the steamy desires and passion that lay beneath the cool exterior of Lynda Sax.

  That first time they were so eager they didn’t even undress all the way. It just seemed important to be inside of her, without all the foreplay that usually goes with making love. But afterward the clothes had come off, and they had made love again—and again.

  He had never lost his desire for her. Moving inside Lynda Sax Purnell carried the same thrill as it had then. She had a way of pulling him inside herself that drove a man crazy with ecstasy, and she did it to him again now.

  Lynda sucked in her breath with Jess’s first thrust. How she loved her sweet Jess, the homeless drifter she had taken in to keep forever. They moved in a steady rhythm, finely tuned to each other’s needs, until he felt the pulsations of her climax. He met her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep as he thrust himself into her, making her groan with the ecstasy.

  They hung in that magic moment where a man and woman are oblivious to anything around them, glorying in the excitement of the moment, until finally his life spilled into her in several explosive throbs. He let out a long, satisfied sigh, going limp beside her and kissing her damp hair.

  “I hope I can always keep up with you, woman,” he told her teasingly.

  She laughed lightly, but quickly sobered when they heard a horse ride up close to the house at a hard gallop. Jess was quickly out of bed and pulling on his underwear as they heard someone come pounding up onto the porch and begin unlocking the door. It could only be John, but why would he come in such a hurry and this late at night? And why on horseback? He was supposed to come back with a wagonful of supplies.

  Before Jess could get to the bedroom door John was tapping on it. “Pa?”

  “Just a minute.”

  Lynda pulled the covers up close to her neck, and Jess opened the door. John had been with women enough to know when someone was fresh from lovemaking, and his cheeks reddened slightly when he looked at his father’s disheveled hair and perspiring face.

  “I’m sorry, Pa. It’s Grandma. She’s worse. Grandpa said Mother should come. The quicker she goes back, the better.”

  Lynda felt her heart beat harder. Sarah! She had been expecting this, and yet now it hit her like a terrible weight. It had been many years since Lynda had lost someone close to her, but she had never quite gotten over the sting of it, the hatred of the inevitable.

  “We’ll head out at the crack of dawn,” Jess said. “Thanks for riding back yet tonight to tell us, Son.”

  “I would have gone ahead with the supplies, but it would nave slowed me down.”

  “It’s all right. All that’s important is to get Lynda to her mother as soon as possible.”

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p; “I’ll go up to my room and try to sleep a little. I’ve got to go cool down the horse first. It’s one of Grandpa’s best.”

  Jess closed the door and turned to Lynda, who suddenly looked like a lost little girl. She and her mother were as close as any two people could be. “I’m sorry, honey,” Jess told her, feeling helpless.

  Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Come and hold me, Jess.”

  He came to the bed, taking her into his arms, and she wept bitterly.

  “Get it all out now, Lynda.” He petted her hair. “Don’t cry in front of her.”

  He did not look forward to the next few days, or hours—however long Sarah Sax had left to live.

  Cale turned to Snowbird, who to him was more beautiful at twenty-eight summers than she was when they were wed. Knowing their tribe would go with Black Kettle’s people to the hated new reservation farther south made Cale so full of sorrow that it tired him. He had seen once-proud Cheyenne warriors turn into women from the hated whiskey, and he remembered how his grandfather used to preach against it. His good friend Ten Stars had accidentally shot and killed himself one night after drinking too much, something he and other young warriors had come to do all too often. Cale often wondered if the shooting had really been an accident; there was so much despair among the young men. Buffalo Boy, Snowbird’s brother, and another of Cale’s good friends also drank heavily now. They had ridden north to be among the Northern Cheyenne and the Sioux, who were responsible for many of the raids for which the Southern Cheyenne were being blamed. It was safer here in the South, or so Cale thought, and so he had kept his family here.

  So much had been lost. They were surrounded now by the enemy—white settlers who wanted their land. Where was their hope? It was true the Sioux were waging a good battle in the North, but Cale had knowledge of the white world, and that knowledge told him now in his older years of wisdom that no matter how many battles the Indians might win presently, in the end it would all be the same.