She smiled, but still felt something was not right. Still, why question it for now? Her son was coming home with them! She turned back to Wolf’s Blood, looking him over again.
“You know I am close to Father,” he told her. “Seeing him again just made me realize I have missed him more than I thought. He told me Jeremy left, and that your heart is heavy because of that, and also because LeeAnn is gone. So I decided to come home for a while so you’ll be a little happier.”
A tear slipped down her face and she ran a hand over his muscular arm. “What can I say, Wolf’s Blood, but thank you? And seeing you is … it’s like seeing Zeke when I first met him,” she told him in a shaking voice. “You look well, Wolf’s Blood. Is everything all right? Is Swift Arrow all right? And don’t you have a wife yet?”
The boy grinned. “My uncle is fine, and thinks of you often. And I do not have a wife yet.” He thought about Sweet Grass, but decided not to mention her. “I have been too busy fighting soldiers to think about taking a wife.” He glanced at Dan, who frowned.
“I’m afraid your stay can’t be long, Wolf’s Blood,” the man told him. “It makes things rather awkward for me, although if it were fully up to me you could stay as long as you want. I hate to see any of you leave. It seems like every time I see Zeke and Abbie, it’s years before I see them again.”
Wolf’s Blood looked back at his mother. “I will not cause trouble here, my mother, for your sake. But we should leave soon.”
“In the morning,” Zeke told him. He looked at Dan. “Brother, why don’t you and I do some visiting tonight? Like you say, it might be a while before we see each other again.” Inwardly he wondered if he would ever see Dan again.
Dan grinned. “I have some fine whiskey that makes the talking go on forever,” he answered.
Zeke laughed and dismounted, and then Bonnie was herding them all inside, telling them she had a grand meal planned for them. There was much commotion and visiting, and Wolf’s Blood squatted with his legs crossed Indian style in front of the hearth, sitting on the floor and ordering his wolf to lie down near him. He watched his relatives jabber, listening as his mother shot question after question to Zeke about his trip. How long did he spend at the village? Did he hunt with them? Did he see anyone she knew? How was Swift Arrow? That question was asked with deep concern.
Bonnie was bringing a young girl close to Wolf’s Blood then. The girl’s beauty moved him. Her hair was a gentle red, her skin fair and smooth, her eyes as green as grass. She was graceful and slender, yet something about her told him she was strong and true. She smiled bashfully when they came closer, and Wolf’s Blood rose then, towering over her. She shied back a little, against her mother.
“Wolf’s Blood, this is Dan’s daughter by his first wife—Jennifer. She’s twelve now. She wants to meet her Indian cousin. Jennifer, this is Wolf’s Blood.”
The girl nodded. “How do you do, Mister Wolf’s Blood.”
Wolf’s Blood laughed lightly. “You do not need to say mister,” he told her. “And I am glad to meet you, Jennifer.”
“You can call me Jenny.” She studied the tall, almost frightening looking young man before her. She thought him the most handsome man she had ever seen, even though he was her cousin and an Indian. She felt a secret pride that she was related to him—to be able to say that she personally knew and was related to a Cheyenne warrior. Bonnie patted the girl’s shoulder and turned.
“I’ll let you two talk,” she told the girl. She went back to meal preparations, and Jennifer stared at Wolf’s Blood.
“Does that come off?” she asked.
“What?” he replied with a grin.
“The paint—on your face.”
He knelt down. She was as pretty as a flower. “Sure it comes off. It’s made from plants, some from real blood.”
Her eyes widened. “People blood?”
He laughed again, his grin bright and handsome. “No, not people blood. Animal blood. You want to touch it?”
She swallowed and reached out, lightly touching his cheek. She pulled her finger away, and some of the paint was on it. She met his dark eyes. “Have you … killed white people?”
He sobered. “Some. Mostly soldiers and miners.”
She stepped back a little, studying his weapons, meeting his eyes again. “The men at the fort say the Indians kill women and little children, too. And they do bad things to them. Have you killed women and children?”
He rose again. “No,” he replied. “But some of the warriors have, and I do not blame them. Do the soldiers tell you what the white men do to Indian women and children? If you knew everything about it, you would see why we fight, and why sometimes women and children die also. There is much hatred in the hearts of the Indian for what the whites have done to them. Do not be so ready to say the Indian is all wrong and the soldiers are right. I was at Sand Creek! I saw what the soldiers can do! They killed the girl I was going to marry.”
He plunked down again beside his wolf, scowling, and she hesitantly sat down near him. “I’m sorry, Wolf’s Blood, about the girl. I didn’t mean that you are bad. I was just wondering. Besides, I like you. I think it’s fun having an Indian for a cousin. Wait till I tell all my friends. They won’t believe me.”
He smiled again and removed a coup feather from where it was tied into his long, flowing hair. He handed it to her. “You can show them this. I earned it by touching my enemy.” She took it carefully, noticing how dark his hand was next to hers. “And I will give you my old war shield. I need a new one. My mother will make me one. You can have mine. Then your friends will believe you.”
“You truly mean it? You will give me your war shield?”
He nodded, reaching over and petting his wolf. She eyed the animal. “Can I pet him?”
“No,” he answered quickly, reaching out and grabbing her hand as she started to reach for the animal. Wolf snarled but didn’t move. “Only I can touch him. But he will not harm you if you stay away. He stays wherever I tell him to stay.”
“But he looks so soft. I do wish I could touch him.” She sighed and pulled her hand back. “I am going to a special school in Denver in a couple more years,” she told him proudly. “Have you ever been to Denver?”
His smile faded again. “I have been there. I do not like big cities and all those people. And when I was there I got in trouble, and so did my father. Whenever we go to cities it seems we get into trouble, but we don’t try. Others start the trouble—white man who scorn us. I do not understand why any man would want to live in a place like that.”
“Oh, but it’s fun. There is so much to do.”
“There is much to do in the mountains also. A man can sit and think and know who he is. He can be one with the animals and the earth. He can hunt and know that he is a man. He can ride and breathe the wind and feel the sun on his back, taste the mountain waters. He doesn’t worry about a fancy house and silly furniture, or worry about anything he owns. The Indian believes that only God owns the land, and that the earth and the animals are put here to sustain us, and to be shared by all. The white man knows nothing of how to share. He wants to own everything himself, each man fighting the other to have the most. It is all silly and useless. You own something, then you die and someone else own it. So what does it matter?”
“I never thought of it that way.” She sighed, puckering her lips, and he thought about how pretty she was. Some day this girl would be a beautiful woman. It was too bad she was so young, and his cousin besides. But then it didn’t much matter. He had no use for white women anyway, except his mother and Bonnie Monroe. When he married, it would be an Indian girl. He thought of Sweet Grass and missed her, but she was not the kind he would ever marry. He would marry a young, innocent thing that could be all his. He would be her first and only man. Sweet Grass had taught him the intimacies of women, and he did not mind the learning. Some day he would have a wife and children. Maybe that would make it easier to stay in one place with his father. He would hav
e to think about it, for he knew how badly Zeke wanted him to stay at the ranch. It would not be easy, but he would try.
“How old are you?” Jennifer was asking.
“I am twenty-two summers,” he replied.
“I am twelve,” she told him.
“I know. Your father told me.”
She looked at the wolf again. “Can’t I please try to pet him? Surely if you sit right here he will let me.”
“I don’t know. If he hurts you, your father will be angry with me. I do not want to displease him, or to see you hurt.”
“Please, Wolf’s Blood. Let me try. You can hold him.”
He frowned and sighed. “All right. But move slowly.”
She reached toward the animal and he started to snarl again. Wolf’s Blood pet the animal soothingly, talking to him in the Cheyenne tongue. The animal’s lips stopped curling, and to Wolf’s Blood’s surprise, the girl’s hand touched Wolf’s head and the animal made no move against her. She grinned happily and began petting him more, burying her fingers in the deep, thick fur.
“See? He let me!” she said proudly. “Oh, Wolf’s Blood, he’s so beautiful!” She looked up at him with her wide, provocative green eyes. “Do you think we will ever see each other again after you go back to your home in Colorado?”
He frowned, irritated that he should find a cousin so pretty, let alone the fact that she was white. “No,” he answered. “You will go to Denver and become a fine lady and marry a fancy white man, I think. I will go help my father, and one day I will probably make war again because it is in my blood. Besides, we are just cousins. It matters little if we see each other again.” He suddenly stood up, ordering Wolf to follow him. He quickly left, and Jennifer watched after him, utterly fascinated and very sad. He was probably right. She would never see him again after this visit. But she knew she would always remember her Indian warrior cousin, and would treasure the feather and the war shield forever.
Chapter Five
The sky was black but brilliant with so many stars that they seemed to run together. Abbie breathed deeply of the night air.
“Remember when we used to sleep like this every night—on our way to your mother’s village?” she asked Zeke.
He turned on his side, resting his head in his hand and putting his other hand to her face. “How could I forget my young and beautiful Abbie and the good times we had under the stars?” he teased, moving his hand down over her breasts. “The best part is you’ve hardly changed.”
She laughed lightly. “That’s because you see me every day. If you saw me just once the way I was then you’d see the difference.”
He leaned down and kissed her lips lightly. “I’d see no difference.”
She reached around his neck and pressed her cheek against his own. “I hate to tell you, my husband, but there is a vast difference between fifteen and thirty-nine, especially after seven children.”
“Then you must not look in the mirror very often,” he answered, kissing her neck. They were both still dressed but warm under the blankets and buffalo robe that covered them where they lay near their campfire. He moved his hand to her stomach and pressed it lightly. “Wolf’s Blood is far off. He said he wanted to camp by himself tonight. I think he knew I wanted to be alone with you.”
“Zeke Monroe, you aren’t suggesting—”
He silenced her words with a hungry kiss. “I most certainly am,” he told her, moving his lips to her neck. “How long has it been since we made love in the open—under the stars? We’ll be home soon, Abbie-girl, and back to the everyday business of running a ranch. Tonight feels like old times. I like the feeling. It seems like the years are going by too quickly.”
“And you seem to want to do this more often lately, my loving husband. Sometimes I think you’re hiding something from me. You wouldn’t by any chance have had a last fling with some loose squaw while you were in Swift Arrow’s camp, would you? I know how you get when that Indian blood comes to the surface.”
He laughed and pulled her close. How could he ever tell her the real reason he wanted as much of her as he could get? “You know me better. I’m just happy, that’s all. My son is coming home with me, LeeAnn and Jeremy are off doing what they think will make them happy, Margaret is finally settled and with child, the ranch is back in order, and we’re together. I’ve seen Swift Arrow and Dan, and they’re both well. And here we are under the stars on the Colorado plains, just you and me, like when we were first together. And I’m remembering that first night I took you—a scared little girl, afraid and alone.”
She looked up at him, the broad shoulders hovering over her in the moonlight. How she had wanted him that first night he took her! The pain had not mattered. His being a half-breed Indian had not mattered. She had loved him from the moment she set eyes on him, and then she had lost her whole family on that fateful trip. He became her friend, her protector, then her lover. They had been together ever since, through hardships that would destroy the average person. But they were both strong, and totally in love. That love had been tested to the very thinnest breaking point, but could not be shattered.
“I love you, Zeke Monroe.”
He met her lips again, the long black hair falling around her face and shoulders. For the next several minutes the brilliant stars shone down on two people who were only a speck on the Colorado plains. There was no one to see the clothing tossed aside, no one to hear her soft whimpers and his urgent groans but the crickets and the nighthawks. It was as though no one existed at that moment but the two of them. There was no civilization, no railroads, no cities, no war. On such a night one could imagine what it once was like when the only things that existed on these plains were wild things, untouched lands, a people who lived and hunted free. The waters were clean again, the prairies and plains unbroken by farmer’s plows. The mountains had not yet been conquered, gold had not been discovered, and men like Zeke Monroe were the only ones who had explored the vast wilderness of the West.
She tried to reason why his lovemaking was more urgent and more often of late. Not that she minded, for being one with him was always a joy. And it all seemed better than ever these last few weeks, probably because they had been over the highest mountains and had made it through the lowest pits of hell and were still together. The last three years had been peaceful and prosperous, so prosperous that they could afford to send a daughter to college in the East. She knew that living the white man’s way had always been hard for him, for it was against his nature. But he had done it—for her—and for that she loved him even more. Why he was suddenly more amorous than usual didn’t matter. He was apparently happy. It was good to see him smile more, for there had been little smiling ever since her abduction and rape. It was time to forget those things; forget LeeAnn’s abduction by the Comanches; forget the problems Margaret had had because she looked so Indian. She was glad Wolf’s Blood was coming with them, for whenever the boy was around, Zeke was always in a better mood.
Their passion filled the night, so much so that they overslept in the morning, waking only when Wolf’s Blood suddenly appeared on his horse. Zeke jumped awake and grabbed his knife beside him. Abbie gasped, pulling the blankets close around her neck to hide her bare shoulders. Wolf’s Blood only laughed.
“You are losing your instincts, Father!” he joked. “See what I have learned from my Indian friends? I could have had you that time.”
Zeke grinned and shoved his knife back into its sheath. “Go collect some wood or buffalo chips for a better fire, Wolf’s Blood,” he told the boy. “And take your time.”
The boy nodded with a knowing look. “You should be careful doing such things out here. It can be dangerous for a man to have his attention taken from what is around him.”
Zeke threw a clod of dirt at him and the boy laughed, riding off again. Abbie’s face was crimson.
“Oh, Zeke, he knows! I should have been up and dressed.”
He only laughed and turned to kiss her before getting up to put
his clothes on. “Don’t be silly. Of course he knows. So what? Is he supposed to think we never make love anymore? Why do you think he rode off last night?”
“It’s still embarrassing. Get me some canteen water. I’ve got to wash a little.”
He laughed again, walking to his gear wearing only his loincloth, a wonderful specimen of man in the morning sunlight. He stretched, ignoring the irritating dull pain in his back and elbows from the night air. “Abbie, he’s twenty-two years old. When I found him, he’d been living with a widowed squaw who was very accommodating—and damned pretty, I might add.”
“Zeke, he’s a boy! My son!”
He walked to her with the canteen, shaking his head. “He’s been a man for a long time—longer than most and you know it. And he’s not ignorant of women. Now hurry up and wash and dress so we can eat something and be on our way. Margaret will be glad to see him, won’t she?”
“Oh, yes! And I can’t wait until the baby comes! Oh, Zeke, I’ll have a baby to care for again! It’s been so long!”
Her eyes teared and he knelt down beside her. He was well aware of how hard it had been on her to have the operation and know she would never have another child. She was only twenty-eight then, but already had seven children and had lost an eighth. He knew if she could have done it, she’d have kept right on having more, but he would not allow it.
“Something tells me Margaret will have a time getting her hands on her own child,” he told her, kissing her cheek.
A tear slipped down her face. “Zeke, I do so wish I could have had one more. Just one more.”
“It would always have been just one more. And there I’d be with ten kids and no mother, because it would have killed you. Now get dressed and don’t start fretting over that again.” He kissed her lightly and began taking things from his parfleche to make breakfast.
She watched him lovingly, wondering at how sad he must feel inside that the time he had spent with Swift Arrow and the Sioux and Northern Cheyenne on the Powder River was probably the last time he would live like a true Indian. He had hardly talked about it, and she knew that was probably because it hurt too much. She wondered about the widowed squaw, Sweet Grass. She knew how “accommodating” such women could be to a guest, especially if that guest were her lover’s father. What warm-blooded Indian squaw wouldn’t want to test a handsome Indian man whose knife was great medicine?
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