The barn outside gave one last rumble and Abbie looked toward the doorway. “Nothing,” she replied. “I wouldn’t change anything, if it would mean not being with your father.”
It was three days before the horses could be rounded up, three days of intense pain for Abbie. The men were gone almost constantly bringing in horses, while the women waited on Abbie and took care of the horses already there.
By the fourth day the task of picking up the debris began—a messy, tedious job. But the pile of embers had to be removed before a new barn could be built. Abbie forced herself up, insisting on doing a few things for herself at least part of the day so the women could have a little time to rest from doing household chores plus taking care of the many horses.
On the fifth day Abbie noticed Zeke seemed to have trouble lacing his buckskin shirt, finally leaving it untied and going out to work. A small fear gnawed at her, and she went outside where her rocker had been set, at her insistence, so that she could watch the clean-up procedures and get some fresh air. She sat down slowly, angered at her injuries. She should be helping, but Zeke was upset that she was doing even this much.
She watched the men work, while Ellen and Sonora fed horses and Margaret took turns between tending to the babies and filling water troughs. One thing was certain. They were a family, a hardworking, close family. Maybe LeeAnn and Jeremy did not want to be a part of it, but the others did, and she had them all with her. She had that much to be thankful for. She noticed Wolf’s Blood and Sonora stealing occasional looks. The two of them had had little time together since the fire, much to Wolf’s Blood’s regret, she was sure. They made a beautiful couple, and she wished her son would make up his mind and take a wife. Zeke would like nothing better than for his oldest son to have sons of his own. He’d had his days of riding and making war. It was time now for other things. He was almost the same age Zeke had been when he married her. Yes, there was a time for making war, and a time for making love.
She watched Zeke saw at a piece of burned wood. Part of it was still good, and all good pieces must be saved to be used over. Their work was cut out for them. Not only would they have to travel to Fort Lyon to get supplies for a new barn, but before long they would have to go west along the river toward the mountains to find heating wood to cut for the winter supply, which would take time away from building the barn. The structure was needed before winter, or at least a smaller building with stables; some kind of shelter for the horses that once were kept in the barn. It would be costly and time-consuming, for surely not all supplies needed would be found at Fort Lyon. Zeke would probably have to go to Pueblo. She felt sorry for him. There would be no time for scouting for a while, yet he needed the money now more than ever, and it angered her that Jeremy was not there to help. At least Zeke would be home a little longer, but she didn’t want it to be this way for him. And worse than that, he’d probably go out on longer missions when he got around to scouting for the Army, just to make up for the money he’d be losing now.
She wished she could go and help him, but her arm and ribs were still much too sore to do any work. She noticed then that he had stopped sawing before the wood was cut through. He put his head back and squinted, rubbing his shoulder and elbow. He was a strong man. It was not like him to tire in the middle of cutting one piece of wood.
Her heart tightened when he appeared in pain. He flexed his hands, unaware that she was watching him. He started sawing again, then suddenly kicked the piece of wood and the saw to the ground, rubbing at his arm once more. She wanted to think he was just angry over their misfortune, but it was more than that. He was in pain. She watched him remove something from under his buckskin shirt—something tucked into the waist of his leggings. A small bottle. He uncorked it and took a swallow, then put it back.
Abbie frowned in alarm. Whiskey? It was not like her husband to drink whiskey other than on special occasions of celebration. Again she worried over what it was he was not telling her—why he sometimes hinted that she would do just fine without him, that he had lived longer than the average man in this land. Why did he say such things? He was strong, tough. Because of his Indian blood she’d always expected him to live until very old, like so many Cheyenne men. And yet she’d never been able to picture him that way.
He took a water bucket from Sonora, who was bringing it to him and the others to drink. He sunk the dipper into it and then poured it over his head to cool off. His long hair was braided to keep it away from his face. He flexed his hands again, and Sonora went on to take water to the others. Zeke picked up the piece of wood, angrily setting it back on the barrels to finish sawing it, but she could see it was done with great effort. A few minutes later he came to the house, stopping short when he saw her sitting there, as though to wonder if she’d been watching him. He could tell by her eyes that she had and he cursed the damned arthritis that had flared up again. It wasn’t supposed to bother him in warm weather, but the storm had cooled things off the first three days afterward, and it had kept raining, releasing a pain in his bones that had lingered even though now it was very hot again.
He leaned down, smiling and putting his hands on either arm of the rocker. “How’s my Abbie? I’d rather you stayed in bed, you know.” He kissed her lightly.
“I feel pretty good today,” she answered, watching him closely. “If I don’t move around too much, the pain isn’t too bad, except if I laugh or cough.”
“Well, those ribs had better heal soon, because I miss making love to my woman.” He kissed her neck and stood up. “I forgot my tobacco.” He turned to go inside.
“Zeke.”
He stopped, not turning around.
“What’s in that bottle under your shirt? Surely you aren’t drinking whiskey.”
He sighed deeply. “It’s just a little something for pain, Abbie—nothing to be upset about.”
“What kind of pain?”
He turned and met her eyes. “Look, Abbie, I just get the aches once in a while. You know what I’ve been through in my lifetime. A man doesn’t fight his way through life like I have without suffering the consequences. These old bones gnaw at me sometimes, that’s all. So I asked a doctor at Fort Lyon if there wasn’t something I could take that would make me feel better. The last few days I’ve worked extra hard and my bones are telling me so. That’s all. I’d have given you some of the stuff when you were hurt, but I knew if you laid still the pain wouldn’t be too bad, and I knew you’d question me up one side and down the other wanting to know where I got the stuff.”
She held his eyes. “What is it?”
“It’s called laudanum. You took some when you had that operation in Denver.”
She blinked back tears. “And it’s only to be used in cases of extreme pain, not just for a few aching bones.”
He just grinned and knelt down beside her, taking her hands. “Abbie, don’t exaggerate things in your mind, all right? Let it be, Abbie. Just let it be.”
She looked down at his hands. Why hadn’t she put it together before? She’d noticed at other times that his knuckles were strangely swollen, like they were right now. But she’d ignored it. She had thought that surely it was just from hard work. But no. It wasn’t just that. They’d never looked that way before. And besides, it seemed to come and go. She rubbed at his hands gently. Her grandmother had had a similar ailment, and had ended up a crippled old woman, bedridden and hardly able to do anything for herself. She met his eyes again. Zeke Monroe would never allow himself to be brought down to such a humiliating condition. It all made sense now. She knew the other reason for the scouting. It gave him an out. When he knew he would be so crippled he could never ride again, he’d find a way to die honorably. There was no other way for Zeke Monroe to leave this world.
He saw the knowing tears well in her eyes and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “It’s not as bad as you think, Abbie-girl. If it were, I’d tell you. Just relax and get yourself healed. Don’t cry. You’ll just make your ribs hurt.” He squeezed her
hands. “I’m okay. I’m too goddamned mean to give up anything without a hell of a fight, and you know it. So you’ll just have to put up with this wild Indian for a few more years yet.”
She sniffed and held his hands tightly. “Promise?”
He gave her a handsome grin. “Promise. And that includes making love to my woman, so don’t do anything to slow the healing process.”
She smiled through tears. “Can I … do anything, Zeke? Can’t I help you in some way?”
He patted her hand. “You can sit here and get well. And you can ignore any terrible thoughts that are going through you mind. I don’t want to talk about it, Abbie. What’s the use in worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet? Let’s just take one thing at a time—one day at a time. All right?”
She nodded. “All right.” She sniffed again, her lips quivering. “I need you Zeke,” she whimpered.
He grasped her chin in one hand and gave her a quick kiss. “Well here I am, so what are you crying about?” He gave her a wink and rose, going into the house for the tobacco and coming out with a cigarette in his mouth. He walked down the steps and back to his work, and she watched his long, ambling gate, the slim hips that stirred her, his animallike grace. Surely, surely there was no sickness that could truly defeat such a man. She would not think about it. She could not think about it. Not Zeke. Not her Zeke. He looked wonderful. He’d be fine. This was just a passing thing.
The night was warm, a soft breeze keeping away the mosquitoes. Sonora carried eight-month-old Nathan back to Margaret’s cabin. She had been watching the baby to give Margaret some relief. Wolf’s Blood came out of the tipi with Little Zeke, putting his nearly two-year-old nephew on his shoulders and joining Sonora. She knew inside he’d been watching for her so he could walk with her.
“Do you think Margaret had time to rest?” she asked him.
He laughed lightly. “I think she and Morgan did more than rest.”
Sonora blushed deeply. Even in the darkness Wolf’s Blood sensed she was reddening. Sometimes he’d say things to deliberately embarrass her, finding it amusing that even with her dark skin, he could see her blushing. She hoisted Nathan up to get a better hold of the boy as they walked.
“I think perhaps Margaret is very lucky,” she said daringly.
“To have Morgan?” he asked. “I think so, too. Morgan is a good man. My sister did well. I am glad for her.”
“I didn’t mean just that. I meant … she is lucky to be able to … to have the man she loves. Some women … can only dream.”
He stopped walking and she went a few steps further, then turned to face him in the moonlight. His heart pounded. Her long dark hair blew in the soft breeze, and he could see the fringes of her tunic dancing in the wind, almost inviting him to touch the soft roundness beneath the dress.
“And is that what you do?” he asked her. “Dream?”
She breathed deeply. Why not tell him? What did she have to lose? “I dream every night,” she answered. “About you, Wolf’s Blood.” She turned and walked to Margaret’s cabin, and he watched her. Why had he put it off so long? He wanted her, that was sure. In fact, he loved her. But he was afraid to love and then have what he loved taken from him. Yet could that be any worse than never having that which he wanted so badly?
He hurried up behind her then, getting to the door just as Margaret opened it. Morgan sat at the table, his muscular arms and shoulders bare. Margaret wore a robe, obviously quickly wrapped around a naked body. She reached for Nathan. “Thank you so much, Sonora,” she told the girl. Wolf’s Blood lifted Little Zeke down from his shoulders, and the boy ran inside to his father. Margaret looked at him and back at Sonora, then to her brother again. “Thank you both,” she told them. “You’d better go get your own rest.”
Sonora nodded and turned, heading back to the main house. Margaret frowned at her brother. “It’s a lovely night, don’t you think?”
He looked up at the sky and shrugged. “I suppose.”
She looked out at Sonora. “If I were you, I’d make use of it, my brother. With your handsome looks, you need no deer tails or any other charms to have the woman you want.” She took the baby inside and shut the door, and he turned to watch after Sonora, who was several yards away. His sister was right. Why waste the night? A man had to make a decision one way or the other eventually, and his body ached for a woman, but not just any woman. He had wanted Sonora since the first day he saw her in the supply store. For a brief moment he thought about Jennifer. There had been other occasions he’d thought of her, but only in a curious way, for her white beauty was rare indeed. But she was a little girl and far away, and a half cousin besides. Worse than that, she was white. He had little use for white women other than his own mother and sisters and Dan’s wife Bonnie. It was just that on rare occasions Jennifer’s wide, green eyes would come to mind, as well as her girlish curiosity about Indians. He’d never seen hair so red nor skin quite so white. Not even LeeAnn had skin as white as Jennifer’s. But then the vision left him as quickly as it had come, and he decided it was only due to the fact that two bloods ran in his veins, and there were times when the white blood would come to tease and annoy him. But he was Indian, and his passion was for Indians and Indian ways.
“Sonora!” he called out, running to catch up with her then. She stopped, turning and waiting for him. He came up to her then, just staring at her in the moonlight.
“What is it, Wolf’s Blood?” she asked.
He came closer, his breathing heavy. He reached out and touched her hair. “I want …” He swallowed. “Stay with me tonight—in the tipi. It is the Indian way. Stay with me tonight, and you will be my wife. My mother says people need a white preacher to marry them, but you and I do not need such things. We are Indian. You need only to give yourself to me, and you are mine.”
Her eyes feared, and her breathing quickened. “You want me to be your wife?”
He came closer, moving his hands to her hips and pressing her against him. “I love you, Sonora. I have loved you for a long time, but was afraid. I am not afraid anymore.”
She felt weak at the manly scent of him, the closeness of the broad shoulders, the feel of his manhood pressing hard against her belly. He could feel her trembling. “I … I would like to be your wife, Wolf’s Blood. I … want you for my man. But … it frightens me.”
He kissed her hair. “Do not ever be afraid of me, Sonora. I would not hurt you.” His lips found hers then, and she felt on fire, her passion so great she lost all fear. If being his woman brought pain, so be it. It would be pleasurable pain. He moved his lips to her neck and she reached up to embrace him, her breathing coming in short gasps. He picked her up in his arms and carried her inside the tipi, setting her on her feet and closing the deerskin flap over the entranceway, tying it so no one could come in unexpectedly. She stood before him, shivering, half crying, wondering how her legs still worked.
He walked around her then, eyeing her up and down as he removed his own clothing. When the loincloth came off she looked at the ground shyly and he smiled. He came closer and took her chin in his hand. “Don’t be afraid of it,” he told her. “All of me belongs to you, Sonora, and all of you belongs to me.”
He unlaced her tunic at the shoulders and pulled her arms open so that it fell to the ground. She stood there in naked splendor, looking at him boldly as he gazed at full, firm breasts and milky brown skin.
“You are … the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,” he told her sincerely. “You make me tremble, Sonora.”
She reached out with a shaking hand and touched his chest. “And you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen.”
He took her hand and led her to his bed of robes. He sat down, gently pulling her down beside him. “You are shaking. I want you to be relaxed, Sonora.” He gently pushed her down onto the bed of robes. “I will relax you, and you will want me so much that it will not hurt you.” He moved away for a moment, carrying over a wooden bowl. “It is a swe
et-smelling oil. I have been … saving it. When I lived with the widowed Sioux woman in the North, she taught me the secret of oil, and how it helps a woman not be afraid.” He took her arms and laid them up over her head. “Do not be afraid to let me look at you, Sonora. You are so very beautiful. I could not have a more pleasurable wife.” He dipped his hands into the oil and rubbed it on his palms, then began massaging her, moving from her wrists down her arms to her throat. She gasped when his hands gently moved over the full breasts. “I will massage all of you—every muscle, every hidden place,” he told her. “And then I will make you my woman.”
He smiled. This was going to be the most glorious night he’d ever experienced. Perhaps they would not even leave the next day. He would lie next to her all day and make love to her again and again. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman, and this one was going to be his wife.
Wolf lay at the other side of the dwelling, totally unconcerned over what his master was doing. The big gray beast yawned and turned over, curling into a new position, ignoring the gasps of pleasure and whispered words of love.
The next morning found everyone at the breakfast table but Wolf’s Blood and Sonora.
“Where are they?” Abbie fussed. “Maybe Sonora stayed at Margaret’s. Jason said she never slept in the loft last night.”
Zeke grinned and sat down. “I wouldn’t go looking for her at Margaret’s, Abbie-girl. I saw our son carrying her into his tipi last night. They didn’t know I was outside.”
He met her surprised eyes. “But they aren’t … I mean we need to get a preacher here. Maybe they didn’t even—”
“Abbie, you know as well as I that when it comes to being in love, nobody needs a damned preacher. And yes, I’m sure they did do exactly what you’re thinking. I say it’s about time.”
She began to redden, cursing her injuries, for she suddenly wanted her own husband. No, when it came to passion, a preacher made little difference. After all, hadn’t Zeke Monroe made her his woman without a preacher? The formalities had come later, but they were already married in heart and soul and body, of that there was no doubt.
Meet the New Dawn Page 17
