Crazy Woman Creek (36 page)

Lenora took a step back, abruptly breaking the new aura of intimacy they had enjoyed only moments earlier. “If my story is to be believed? You suggest that I speak less than the truth?”

“I don’t suggest anything. Sleeping with a rifle doesn’t make a woman safe. You need a man around here.”

Lenora bristled. “Deputy Davies,” she said, “you made me believe that the notorious criminal you recently incarcerated, your malevolent scoundrel Sam Wright, was the main threat to my well-being. So why shouldn’t I send Mrs. Nolan to town for a few days? And besides,” she said, her chin tipped in defiance, “I am an independent woman. I do what I think is in the best interests of myself and my child and my ranch without consulting anyone. Now that the evidence is firmly established that my husband is deceased, there is no man on earth that I must seek permission from before I so much as wiggle a big toe.”

Luke stared at her blazing eyes. “This independent man is going back to Buffalo,” he said, borrowing her argument. “Mrs. Nolan will be here with you by morning.”

Lenora opened her mouth to protest, but Luke had already turned his back to her and with long, angry strides, headed for the barn.

Fully spent from an emotionally draining day, Lenora slid into the oversized tin bathing tub, the warm water covering her softly protruding midsection. A bigger fire than usual hissed in the wood stove, a fire she had assembled to warm the kitchen for a long, Saturday night soak. There was enough oil in the hurricane lamp for one luxurious hour, though the bath water would likely be intolerably cool before the oil ran out, hence the extra wood in the stove. All she needed now was a fizzy bath bomb to scent the water, and tonight’s experience would be like the old days in New York. She made a mental note to order a box from Aeschelman’s next time she went to town.

She relaxed in the warmth, hands resting fondly on her rounded belly, mulling Luke’s proposal. Who would have thought? In the space of a day—no, an hour—James’ death had been
confirmed and another man had asked for her hand. Mrs. Nolan was right. A person’s circumstances could change drastically in a single day. Lenora’s had. But to her favor?

It was too much too fast. Did she
love
him? She certainly was fond of him. Luke was strong, reliable, and attentive, and obviously he cared for her. And he was handsome, with broad, manly shoulders and honest eyes. But, Lenora sniffed, he was also one more man in her life who presumed the liberty of telling her what to do. It seemed that western men were as afflicted with the masculinity disease as eastern ones. Never mind her superior education, her good family, her ownership of a fine ranch
that she hadn’t lost
or even all the practical, ranchlike things she’d learned to do since she had moved to Wyoming Territory, like make jam and hold a rifle. To these obdurate men she would always be a delicate female in need of protection.

Lenora glanced down at her swollen belly thoughtfully, hoping the reality of impending motherhood would inspire some poignant bubble of motherly wisdom to rise to the surface of her mind and guide her. But in the dim cast of the oil lamp and wavy refraction of the bath water, the hard round lump that impeded her movement more every day inspired only a bone-deep sense of fatigue.

“Should I marry him,
mon petit bonbon?
" she said, patting her rounded belly, "Would you like Mr. Luke for a papa? I do think I’m falling in love with him, sweet one.”

She sighed deeply. The warm water felt
soooo good. With the coziness of the nearby wood stove and the crackle of the fireplace in the front room creating a sleepy backdrop to the drama that played across her mind, it was not long before exhaustion overtook her. In fifteen minutes she was fast asleep, her hands still protectively around her belly, cradling her little bonbon.

#

Lenora awoke in confusion. She blinked and shook her head, trying to clear her mind. As she glanced around the darkness in an effort to comprehend where she was and why she was sitting in cold water, it dawned on her: she was still in the tub and the oil had run out in the lamp. How long had she been sleeping? It felt past midnight. Shivering and feeling foolish, she clumsily pushed herself into a standing position and, feet still in the tub, reached for the towel she’d left on a nearby kitchen chair. As her hand touched the rough cotton, she heard someone step onto the front porch. She froze, her fingertips dripping motionless on the towel, goose bumps covering every inch of wet skin. The intruder took a few more steps, and then she heard the sound of the door latch being pulled. Every muscle in her body went rigid with cold, heart-stopping fear.

Before she could think of what to do, she heard the sound of someone running and then a violent thud as the runner bounded onto the porch.

“Stop it right there, Jennings!” a man shouted. “It’s aimed at your head!”

Jennings?
Lenora began to shake involuntarily as she heard the sickening thud of a body being slammed against her front door.

“Where’d you hide the body?” a man shouted.

Luke?

Then a hard, muffled
whump
as someone’s head was rammed against the door. In a panic, Lenora threw the towel around her naked body and ran to the bedroom, dripping and cold, to get her handgun. She should have dashed for the rifle over the door, but her first instinct was to run away from the noise, not toward it. From the front of the house she heard angry shouting.

“Where? Where is it?”

Lenora was certain now. Luke was on her porch with another man, surely Buck Jennings.

“What are you talking about?” snarled Jennings.

“You know who I’m talking about,” said Luke with equal venom. “You tell me where you hid Rose’s body or I’ll blow a hole in your head bigger than that bragging maw of yours. Now tell me!”

Another unnerving
whump
against the unyielding plank door. Lenora’s entire body shook with raw terror, a core deep shaking that was heightened by the cold. But the nearness of the two men made her keenly aware of her nakedness, superseding her fear of the violence on the porch. She jerked open a drawer and felt around for a nightgown. When her fingers recognized soft flannel she yanked it, threw it over her head, grunting and pulling awkwardly against the cotton that dragged against her wet skin. Feeling less vulnerable now that she was covered, she opened her underwear drawer and grappled in the dark for the Colt. Once her fingers felt the cold, hard muzzle, she picked it up and walked hesitantly to the door of her bedroom. But even with the gun in her hand, she was too petrified to step beyond the door frame into the front room.

Her breathing was fast and furious as she listened in terror, the scene playing out on the porch etched like acid on her mind. She could feel the tension building outside as palpably as the cold wood floor beneath her feet. She held the Colt with two wobbly hands, aiming at the door. From the porch she heard the click of a trigger followed by a long, strained silence.

"There's a lower place in Hell reserved for creatures like you."

Lenora imagined Luke's face up close as he growled at Jennings.

“You jackass,” said Jennings.

In the next instant Lenora heard the tell-tale sound of a man hawking in his throat, then an ugly splooth as someone—she imagined it was Jennings—used spittle to provoke. She waited for an explosion of male outrage, but none came.

“I may be a jackass,” said Luke, “but I’m a jackass with a gun, and it’s aimed at your neck. I'd blow your brains out, but there's no use shooting where there’s no target." A skull slammed against the door a third time. "Where’s his body?” Luke was shouting now.

Another taut silence. Lenora involuntarily tensed her chest muscles so hard that her diaphragm ached. Finally she heard Jennings speak, all bravado drained from his voice. He sounded pinched, as though Luke had gripped his throat and was squeezing his airway.

“He’s buried in that German woman’s grave. Next to the church.”

“Down! Get down!”

Luke sounded positively wild to Lenora, and in a second she heard Jennings slump to the porch floor.

“Lenora,” shouted Luke. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes?” Her voice sounded like a kitten’s mew, she was shaking so badly.

“Stay where you are until I tell you what to do.”

“I will.”

He needn't have worried. Lenora was still frozen to the entrance of her bedroom. She heard shuffling, muffled thuds, and obscene curses, the particularly obscene ones belched by Jennings. Several times Luke told him to shut up. After what seemed like a very long time, the disturbing rustling noises stopped.

“Lenora, you can open the door now,” said Luke, his breathing ragged.

Lenora pulled the latch and slowly cracked the door, half cr
azed with fear that this was all a nightmare and that some evildoer pretending to be Luke waited to pounce on the other side of the door. But once she saw him looking down at her, she flung open the door and rushed toward him, still holding the Colt, now aimed straight at Luke’s midsection. His eyes got wide and in a swift, practiced movement, for the second time in a matter of months he lunged for her gun and grabbed it from her.

In one breathless moment his arms were around her, holding her tightly to his hard chest. He was damp with sweat despite the frigid night air, but to Lenora he was safety. He was home. He held her for a long while, stroking her hair, neither one speaking, until at last she stopped trembling. Finally he released his hold and pulled her away from him, just far enough to gaze down into her eyes. Seeing the tears streaking her face, he reached into a pocket, drew out a hanky, and handed it to her.

Lenora wiped her face with the hanky and started to speak, but Luke put his finger to his lips and tilted his head to urge her into the house. As she moved toward the door, Lenora glanced at Buck Jennings. Luke had tied him up like a hog going to market, but his hands and feet were roped firmly behind his body instead of in front. He was gagged, and he looked very uncomfortable. He looked mad, too. Jennings glared at Lenora, a look of pure evil that sent shivers up her spine. She started shaking all over again.

Once inside the house, Luke touched Lenora’s elbow, guiding her toward the fireplace in the front room where a bank of hot embers threw an intimate red glow over the two of them.

“You alright?” he whispered, gripping both of her shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she lied. "What happened?"

He didn't answer. Instead he pulled her to him and bent his head and kissed her, a long, deep kiss, pressing his body to hers firmly but gently, sparking such intense desire in her she felt excited and frightened all at once. She could feel the power of his longing, and it made her knees go weak. She put her arms around his waist and melted into him. Finally he broke away, but he held her firmly, his hands bracing her upper arms.

"I'll explain everything tomorrow. Right now I need two blankets. One for me and one for the snake," said Luke, jerking his head toward the porch. "We'll stay here until daylight, and then I have to get him to town. I'll need your wagon. I'll return it later tomorrow."

"Alright," said Lenora, nodding obediently.

She left him by the fire while she fetched two blankets from the bedroom. He took them and left. An hour later Lenora was still so wound up she could not sleep. She tip-toed to the front room and peered through the window. In the silver-blue shadows of night she saw Luke's blanket-draped
silhouette. He sat upright on the bench, eyes open, cold moonlight glinting on the gun in his lap. Buck Jennings lay still and shapeless on the porch floor under the other blanket.

When she awoke the next morning they were gone.

Lenora was standing in her kitchen peeling potatoes for supper when she heard the sound of horses and a wagon rolling into the yard. She wiped her hands on her apron and then hung it on a hook. Luke had said he would return her wagon today, so she was ready for company. She wore the dress he said he liked so much, her striped white-and-pink gown with the dainty pink flowers. But now it was altered where she had let out the tucks in front to make room for her expanding girth.

Lenora knew Luke would unhitch her horses and secure the wagon before he knocked on her door. She waited a while in the house, allowing him time to set everything in order. By the time he emerged from the barn she was waiting for him on the porch, wrapped in her emerald-green cloak. The sky was heavy and still, a thick, unbroken blanket of gray that stretched as far as the eye could see, a sure sign of impending snowfall.

Luke saw her waiting as he emerged from the barn. He smiled. “Let’s walk. We’ll be warmer that way,” he said. He extended his hand to her, and with her warm hand in his cool one together they began walking toward the open prairie. “I promised you an explanation,” he started.

“Indeed. I’d like to know how it was that both you and Buck Jennings were on my property last night. I have enough troubles,” she said, glancing down at her rounded belly hidden beneath her cloak. But she smiled as she spoke, making light of the situation.

“I’m sorry you had to be there for the worst of it,” said Luke. "My whole point in coming back last night was to keep you out of it.