Sweet Prairie Passion (Savage Destiny) (16 page)

Brown swallowed. “All right,” he replied scornfully. “I’ll thank the man … but only for my wife’s
sake, because she’s carrying and I’ll not have her out there alone.”

“Sure, Brown,” Kelsoe spoke up. “We
all
know how brave you are! And we all know how ‘considerate’ you are of your wife. You’re about as considerate of her as you are of a prize cow!”

Brown swung at Kelsoe, but Kelsoe caught the man’s arm and came up hard under Brown’s chin with his right fist, knocking the man flat. Brown stayed on the ground.

“I expect we’d all be in a heap of trouble if Zeke had lost!” Kelsoe told him. “Those Indians out there seem to think now that Zeke is some kind of great warrior—our leader. That’s going to help us stay out of trouble. Right now we owe Zeke Mr. Hanes’s life, little Mary’s life, and probably
all
our lives! So I don’t want to hear any insults from you, Brown!”

“That goes for all of us,” Trent put in.

Brown got up and stalked to his wagon, his parents watching. “I’m afraid I have to agree with all of you,” the elder Brown told them. “I’m no Indian lover, and especially not of half-breeds; but Zeke did more than his share today and he’s wounded because of my son. We won’t give him any more trouble.”

As he and his wife left to join their son and pregnant daughter-in-law, Zeke was riding back to camp without Yellow Grass, which secretly gladdened Abbie’s heart. Perhaps now with her gone, his thoughts would turn to her again, even thought he would fight against them. But no matter how much she had resented Yellow Grass, Abbie could not have been happy about the Indian woman’s leaving if she’d thought that Yellow Grass would have been unhappy
and mistreated. She looked past Zeke to see Yellow Grass walking behind the old warrior’s horse, as the rest of the Sioux were turning to ride away. Some other Sioux women gathered around Yellow Grass, and Abbie could hear laughter. She looked up at Zeke who had ridden close to her.

“She’ll be all right?” Abbie asked with genuine concern. She was glad she’d asked, for she could see gratefulness in Zeke’s eyes because she cared.

“She will be fine,” he replied. “You have an understanding heart.”

“Zeke, come to our wagon and let my daughter fix those wounds,” Trent told him.

“Thanks for what you did today, Zeke,” Kelsoe spoke up.

Zeke looked over at the Brown wagon. “White trash!” he hissed through his gleaming teeth. “He never should have spit on that buck! That Sioux was a hundred times the man somebody like Brown is!”

“You don’t have to explain, Zeke,” Mrs. Hanes told him. “We all understand—and we agree. Please go get your wounds cleaned. Olin can lead us while you rest. You’ll get an infection if you don’t let someone clean those cuts.”

Zeke looked at the woman with eyes that had now softened. “Did Mary see … what I did with the knife?”

“No,” Mrs. Hanes replied. “I made her stay in the wagon.”

Zeke looked relieved, but he seemed to be weakening. “Good,” he replied. “Good.” He leaned forward and, calling for Olin, half fell off his horse.

“Right here, Zeke.” Olin said, as he rushed forward
to help Zeke dismount.

“Take care of things,” Zeke told him, now trembling from loss of blood. “I’ll…be out riding again … after a bit.”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’d best rest till tomorrow at least and stay off that horse.” With a supportive arm around Zeke, Olin led him to the Trent wagon.

“I’ve lost blood before,” Zeke objected. “I’m all right.”

“No you ain’t. Now you do like I say,” Olin ordered. Abbie hurried beside them, and they all climbed into the wagon. Zeke fell onto the feather mattress, all his fierce strength now seeming to be drained from him. Olin climbed out and started shouting orders to people so they would get things rolling, while LeeAnn quickly climbed forward, as though she couldn’t stand to be near the awful savage who had used his knife so cruelly. She still had a bad taste in her mouth from vomiting, and she looked at Abbie and made a face, unable to understand how Abbie could care about a half-breed who could be so violent. LeeAnn wanted nothing to do with Cheyenne Zeke, for he’d already insulted and threatened Quentin Robards. Now she and Robards planned to run off together and leave the train—when the right time came. LeeAnn knew Zeke would try to stop them if he found out, so she kept her secret, determined that Zeke would not interfere with her plans to go off and marry her handsome, rich lover.

Zeke watched her climb quickly away; then he turned to face Abbie as she unrolled some gauze and the wagon started to roll. “Your sister speaking to you
since I cut off her lover’s tie?” he asked. Abbie grinned a little.

“Not much. She’s changed, Zeke.”

“It’s that damned gambler that’s done it,” he replied. “I don’t trust him—and I don’t trust that Connely either.”

“That makes two of us. Now be quiet and let me see what I can do about these cuts.” She made a face as she helped him get his vest off.

“Use plenty of whiskey,” he told her. “I don’t want to be losing any limbs from infection.”

“Then lie still and stay that way for a while so the whiskey can get all the way inside,” she replied. She uncorked a bottle and hesitated. “This will hurt something fierce,” she told him.

He smiled a little. “I’ve felt it before.”

She sighed, studying his provocative frame which seemed to fill the whole wagon. Having seen that vicious fight, as she now looked into his dirty and painted face, she wondered what a child like herself thought she was doing, trying to snag a wild mustang like Cheyenne Zeke.

“Yes, I suppose you have,” she replied, studying the thin scar on his cheek and thinking about the scars on his back.

“I’d say there’s no other woman with this outfit who’d be as careful with me as you will, though,” he added.

She blushed and leaned over, pouring the whiskey into the worst wound, the one in his shoulder. He closed his eyes and tensed up for several seconds, but he made no sound, only clenched his fists as sweat broke out on his face.

“You okay?” Abbie asked, tears in her eyes.

“Put a little more in,” he answered. “I don’t intend to go around half a man by losing an arm.”

She poured again, and this time he grunted a little. “You could never be half a man, Cheyenne Zeke,” she told him softly. “Not even with one arm.”

Their eyes held a moment, then she leaned over and placed a towel under his left forearm which had also been cut, but less severely. He watched quietly as she poured whiskey over that cut, as well as the cut on his thigh, pouring it right over his buckskins because she was too bashful to touch his leg.

“The cut on your leg …” she began, then paused. “I mean … I can’t do much for it unless you take off your britches.” She blushed more deeply than he’d ever seen her do before, and he suppressed a laugh.

“It isn’t that bad. I’ll leave my britches on. Being this close to you, things might be safer that way,” he replied.

At his remark her blush darkened even more and her eyes teared. Zeke tugged at a piece of her hair, making her wish she could be casual with this man the way Yellow Grass had been.

“It’s all right, Abbie,” he told her. “Right now I’m in so much pain, I thought I’d feel better by teasing you a little, that’s all. The leg’s okay. You just tend to the shoulder. That’s the biggest problem. You patch me up quick, and I’ll get out of here. I’m filthy, and I’m making a mess of things.”

“The bedclothes can be washed,” she replied, swallowing. “And you’ll stay right here and sleep a while. If you move around too much, you’ll start bleeding worse again. It’s starting to slow up now.” She finally
met his eyes.

“I can’t stay in here, Abbie girl,” he told her. “It wouldn’t look good.”

“To hell with how it looks!” she replied, surprising herself with her boldness. “You’ve got my pa’s permission, and everybody knows we’re just wanting to help you for what you did today. Nobody is going to think a thing of it! Now you lie still, Cheyenne Zeke, and let me wrap those cuts! If you get up, I’ll hit you over the head with my skillet and
knock
you out!”

He broke into a chuckle, and his smile made her skin tingle. “I think you’d really do that!” he told her, studying her admiringly.

“I most certainly would!” she replied. “Now sit up just a little so I can wrap your shoulder, then you lay back down and rest.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He winced a little as he sat up, and she nervously began to wrap his shoulder. She had to reach around him, so they were very close; and he had to fight the desire she brought to his loins.

“Why couldn’t you be … well … not so nice … and not so pretty?” he asked quietly as she bandaged his wound. Her heart pounded. “Why couldn’t you be an Indian hater or something like that? And why did you have to be on this particular wagon train?”

“Perhaps it’s fate,” she replied, reddening again, her whole body on fire with her craving for him. “Perhaps there is nothing either of us can do about it after all.”

“Don’t say that, Abbie,” he replied. “Because I don’t like thinking about what that could mean for a nice little girl like you.” He surprised her when he put
his free hand to her waist, than ran it over her stomach. “Such a small thing you are,” he said in a near whisper. “I know it cannot be, and then when I am close to you—” He stopped short. “Hurry and finish,” he told her, “and then get up front with your sister. I don’t want you back here too long. It wouldn’t look good.”

“That doesn’t matter to me.”

“Do like I say, Abbie,” he told her with pleading eyes.

She blinked back tears, then could not stop herself from leaning forward and kissing his scarred cheek. “You’re too lonesome, Cheyenne Zeke.”

He moved his hand to her neck, their eyes holding, and then he leaned closer, brushing her cheek with his lips, then meeting her own lips for a beautiful, glorious few seconds in a gentle kiss. His mouth was sweet, and she thought to herself how good and manly he smelled, in spite of just having been in a fight and being covered with dirt. He left her lips and gently kissed her eyes.

“If only you didn’t make me think of her,” he said softly. “Life can be cruel, Abigail. I’ve been dealt a good share of hard blows, and I can take another by turning you away. It’s just that I don’t like seeing you hurt, too, especially when it’s my fault. But it’s for the best. I’m sorry, Abbie girl, but that’s the way it’s got to be.”

The wagon jolted, and his grip on her neck tightened.

“And when we get to Oregon?” she asked.

“Then we go our own ways. And we always think about each other, and learn to live with a memory. Fact is, you get to me more than you realize, Abbie.
There will likely be some good men at Fort Bridger, men who can join up with Olin and take the train from there. I gave my word to take this train to Oregon, but I didn’t figure on you. So I’ll be leaving at Fort Bridger. We’ll be in the Rockies then. With good men you’ll do okay from there. I won’t take any pay, because I won’t finish the trip.”

“Oh, but you must go all the way with us!” she whispered desperately, unable to bear the thought of his leaving. She’d hated the hardships and dangers of the trip, but now she didn’t care if it lasted forever; for to have it end would mean saying good-bye to him. But at least she thought he’d be with them until they got to Oregon. “Please don’t leave the train early!” she whispered.

“No, Abbie girl. See what happens every time I’m close to you? It’s not good. I’ll be saying good-bye at Fort Bridger and that’s that.”

“I can’t go on without you!” she pleaded.

“Yes you can. Now finish me up and get up front with your sister where people can see you. I’m already disgusted with myself for what I just did.”

She sniffed and finished wrapping his shoulder, feeling as though her whole world had come to an end. Neither of them spoke for a while. She thought about how changeable he could be, one moment as vicious as a wild animal and the next as gentle as a kitten. An untamed savage … and a quiet Tennessee man.

These different aspects of him tore her heart into pieces, and prompted emotions in her that ranged from fear to admiration, from apprehension to desire. These turbulent feelings were being experienced by a girl trying to change into a woman, and she cursed the
fact that she’d been born too late to quite know how to handle such a man. He closed his eyes and lay back as she wrapped his arm.

“Is that Rube Givens behind us?” she asked, not wanting to think about what he’d said about leaving.

“I expect so. If I leave, I’ll take care of him. He’ll be no bother to you.”

“Maybe the Sioux will do him in.”

“Not likely. He’s too clever at trading with them. He’ll give them a couple of rifles or maybe some horses he stole, or some whiskey, and they won’t do him any harm.”

“That horrible Willis Brown didn’t even appreciate what you did for him today,” she said disgustedly, tying the gauze. “You should have let him take his due!”

He did not reply right away, and when she finished she realized he’d fallen asleep … or had he passed out? She felt his forehead. It was cool, and his breathing was even, so she assumed he was only asleep, and she wondered if he’d been up all night watching for the Indians—and for Rube Givens. She leaned over and kissed him softly, taking advantage of that precious moment and knowing there might not be another like it. Although he was elusive and changeable, his mind was set, and Cheyenne Zeke was a man whose mind was not changed easily.

She sighed and climbed up front where LeeAnn sat, staring straight ahead, a hard look in her eyes.

“How is he?” the girl asked.

“I expect he’ll be all right,” Abbie replied.

“I can’t say as I care. I’m sorry,” LeeAnn told her.

“I didn’t figure you’d care—no more than I care
what happens to Quentin Robards,” Abbie answered, her heart breaking because of the resentful feelings between them. “And I don’t care that you hurt me, LeeAnn Trent. But you’re hurting pa, and that I do care about.”

“Pa is too old to remember what it’s like to be in love.”

“Is he? He remembers so good that he’s running away from familiar things because he loved our ma so much. Don’t you even realize that?”