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  He saw her struggling to keep her own composure and knew she was only trying to make him feel better. People around them were still cheering and celebrating the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad, yet neither of them could hear the screaming and laughter. They stood in their own world, seeing only each other. Her own mother’s heart was bleeding. A moment ago two of her precious children were with her, now they were gone, for months, maybe longer.

  She took his hand. “Let’s go back to the hotel and rest. We still have to head for Fort Laramie tomorrow. Maybe you’ll be able to find Wolf’s Blood, Zeke. You’ll feel better when you see him. You’re always happier when you’ve seen him. Maybe he’ll come back with you.”

  He sighed deeply and took her arm, leading her through the crowd. “The boy is as wild as the wolves he’s named after. I don’t know if I can ever get him to come home again.”

  Abbie started awake, her first thoughts of LeeAnn and Jeremy. Her chest felt tight from worry, and the exhausted sleep she had fallen into had been a restless one. She had a terrible feeling that it was not just the recent departure of her children that had brought on this odd feeling of dread. She rubbed at her eyes. The room was dark. Apparently the afternoon nap she had intended to take had turned into something longer than that, for she had cried herself to sleep, and that always exhausted her. It was apparently early evening. She turned to see if Zeke had also slept, but he was not there.

  She frowned, getting out of bed then and putting on her robe. Abbie went to the window and looked out. Lamps were lit in the street below, and it was raining again. Where could Zeke have gone? He had been acting so strange lately, as though he was disturbed about something more than the children. But she didn’t know what it was and knew he was too stubborn to tell her anything that might upset her more, so it would be useless to ask. Whatever was bothering him, he would tell her in his own time. But it worried her. She heard footsteps outside the door then, and someone turned a key. The door opened and Zeke walked inside. She stood up, watching him carefully.

  “Where were you?”

  He turned so she could not see his eyes, closing the door. “I went to have a couple of drinks. I needed a good shot of whiskey after seeing two children off and hearing that news about the damned railroad. You were sleeping so well I didn’t want to disturb you.” He put on a smile and turned to face her. He would not tell her he had been to see a doctor. “Feeling better?” he asked her.

  She wanted to question him. He didn’t usually go into taverns in civilized places, where his Indian looks and quick temper usually brought trouble. But he must have gone. Where else would he go in a town where he knew no one?

  “A little,” she answered. She looked toward the window. “I see it’s raining. I hope it quits before we leave in the morning. What time is it anyway?”

  “About eight.” He walked to a chair and began removing his weapons belt and the big knife attached to it. His long, shiny black hair was still twisted into one thick braid at his back, beads wound into it. A beaded headband circled his forehead, and in the dimly lit room he looked more handsome than usual. “I thought we’d go out for a nice supper, if we can find a decent place that will allow me inside.” The words were spoken bitterly and he met her eyes. “I’m sorry, Abbie, for not always being able to take you to the right places, for the children—all of it.”

  She watched him closely. Yes, something was wrong. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to talk like that anymore. I’ve been your woman for twenty-four years and never regretted one moment of it. I love you, Zeke Monroe, and I wish you would tell me what is bothering you.”

  He hesitated as he removed his buckskin shirt. “Just the kids leaving, that’s all. I’ll change into white man’s clothing. At least that will give us a better chance of getting in someplace decent.” He turned to face her, his broad, muscular chest denying his years. She saw him as she saw him when she was only fifteen and he came to offer his services as scout for her father’s wagon train. He was the same handsome, dark, mysterious man she had seen then, and she loved him and wanted him as much now as ever.

  His dark eyes roved over her lovely curves beneath the soft flannel gown she wore. Always he had been able to bring excitement to her blood, stirring desires in private places only Zeke Monroe had touched and explored at her consent. “I want to make love to you, Abbie.”

  Her eyebrows arched and she smiled lightly. “You certainly don’t need to tell me first. Just come and hold me.”

  He grinned, and as he approached her she wondered why there was an urgency about him, as though someone had told him he must do this quickly or never get the chance again. He came closer and embraced her, his muscular arms encircling her tiny form. She rested her head against the broad chest that bore the scars of wounds and battles. She ran her fingers over the hard muscle of his arms, her skin looking so very white against his Indian coloring even though she was tanned from living on the plains of Colorado for so many years. He kissed her hair and she turned her face up to him. His lips met her mouth then, tenderly but almost urgently. He seemed to be trembling. She reached around his neck and returned the kiss. Whatever was bothering him, if this helped, then Abbie was glad.

  He picked her up and carried her to the bed, laying her down on it, then quickly removed his leggings and moccasins, then the loincloth that hid his most manly part. He was a grand specimen of man, seeming to only improve with age. And, after all, they had been together for twenty-four years, ever since that first time he took her as a fifteen-year-old girl who was alone and afraid and who wanted only one man to make a woman of her. In those years their bodies had become attuned to each other so much that each seemed to be able to read the other’s every need, each knowing just what excited the other the most. All the years and all the children had not lessened the excitement of these moments, for their love had endured war and separation, death and heartache. They had been through too much to let anything ever come between them now. Four years ago he had almost given it all up, when a wealthy Englishman who had bought land next to their own had fallen in love with Abbie and had offered her the world on a silver platter. Because he had always felt guilty about what she had given up to live in this reckless land with him, Zeke had been tempted to ride out of her life and leave her to the Englishman, letting her live her last years in peace and luxury. But she would have none of it. She wanted no other man but her Zeke, and had turned down wealth and comfort to stay with the only man she truly loved.

  She lay back and let him unbutton her gown and pull it off her shoulders and down past her breasts, revealing their full fruits. He liked undressing her, and she liked letting him, never failing to redden slightly in spite of the many times they had done this. He leaned over and gently tasted the sweet nipples as he pushed the gown farther down, running a hand over her stomach, soft from many children but still flat. Hard work and a tendency to be too thin all her life kept her slender still, in spite of her thirty-nine years and the many children. The gown came off, and his gentle fingers found that secret place that made her breathing quicken, as his lips moved up and over her throat, lingering there a moment before meeting her own lips. He kissed her hungrily then, urgently, groaning with the want of her.

  He would not tell her where he had been—what the doctor had told him. Arthritis. He had never heard of such a thing. The doctor had said it could cripple him some day, maybe in two years, maybe in ten. He couldn’t say for sure. He could only give Zeke something to take when the pain was unbearable. Somehow he would hide the medicine from his Abbie. He would not tell her he had this strange disease that brought such fiery pain to his back and joints. He would fight it until there was no longer any way left to fight. When that happened, he would find a way to die with honor. Somehow he must die fighting, or in some other way that was honorable. Zeke Monroe would not die lying crippled in a bed! Never! Honorable warriors did not die lying flat and helpless like women!

  He would not think about it no
w; he could manage. Cold, the doctor had said. Cold and dampness made it worse. His back ached just a little now, probably from the cool rain that was falling. But at least this was May, and Colorado was usually dry. Winter was far away.

  His wife’s breathing quickened and she whimpered his name as the lovely explosion rippled through her insides at his touch. Yes. He could still make love. He could still excite her. He was still a man. He moved on top of her, entering her almost savagely. This hated disease would not stop him from being a man to this woman who had sacrificed so much for him. He would continue to be one with her, continue to love and protect her to his dying day!

  Abbie did not fully understand why he was being so urgent, why he was not quite as gentle as he usually was. Perhaps he was simply distraught over the children after all. Whatever the reason, he apparently needed her badly. She arched up to him, giving, giving, taking her own pleasure in return, for never did he do this to her without bringing her sweet ecstasy that always seemed new, as though each time were the first time. Always she felt lost beneath his broad strength, overwhelmed by his commanding nature, wanting to please the master of her heart and body.

  It had taken a long time for her to be able to do this again, after she had been kidnapped, raped, and tortured six years ago, while Zeke was away because of the Civil War. That was another reason he suffered from guilt. Always he had been her protector and provider. Many times he had risked his life for his woman. But that one time he had not been able to help her, and his rage at what she had suffered had been mighty indeed. He and Wolf’s Blood had sought the men who had abused her, among them Zeke’s bitter enemy, Winston Garvey, a wealthy but notoriously criminal Colorado businessman, and an Indian hater. Garvey and the men who’d had a part in Abbie’s rape all suffered terrible deaths under the blade of Zeke Monroe’s wicked knife. No one but Zeke and Wolf’s Blood knew what had happened to those men, or where the bodies were. And it was only Zeke’s gentle love and care that had brought Abbie back from near death after that—and his tender understanding and gentle coaxing that had enabled her to again give herself to a man in love and desire, after months of patient, loving waiting on Zeke’s part.

  That was over now. They were one again, for nothing could truly separate them. And now he vowed that this thing called arthritis would not separate them either. And if the end came sooner than he wanted, he would always be with her in spirit. They were too close for even death to part them. But for now they were alive! Alive and well and he loved her! He pushed himself deep inside of her, wanting to touch not just her body but her soul. He came down on her, moving his hands beneath her and grasping her hips, pushing up while he whispered sweet Indian love words into her ear. Her slender white thighs were parted willingly, her beautiful eyes closed in ecstasy, her breathing coming in whimpers and groans as he ravaged her. This woman was his whole world, his reason for abandoning his Indian ways to live in one place so he could provide for her. She needed his love more than ever, and he would show her more love in the time he had left than he had ever shown her. Besides, he felt good this night—strong as ever. The doctor had said there might be several years left. He would think positively. He would keep the secret to himself and simply love her—totally, reverently, making her as happy as he could possibly make her. They would go to Fort Laramie, He would find Wolf’s Blood and perhaps be able to convince the boy to return with them. Then they would go home, to their little ranch on the Arkansas, on the green plains of Colorado with the Rockies outlining the horizon.

  His life poured into her then. Thank God the disease could not stop him from this! He would be a man to her to the very end, of that he was determined. He was glad that several years ago in Denver she had had the operation that kept her from getting pregnant. Now he was free of the worry that she would have more children at a time when he didn’t know how much longer he could provide for her.

  He relaxed beside her, still half on top of her, their damp skin touching beneath the blankets, her face buried in his neck.

  “Zeke Monroe, do you really expect me to get up now and go out to eat? You’ve worn me out.”

  He grinned and kissed her nose, moving down and kissing her breasts. “Want me to go get something and bring it back?”

  “Would you? We have such a long ride ahead of us yet. I just want to lie here and not get up.”

  “Whatever my woman wishes.” He kissed her lightly then. “Don’t worry about LeeAnn and Jeremy. It’s useless to worry about something we can’t do anything about. They’re Monroes—strong and independent. They’ll be all right. And Bonnie did tell us it was a good school when she wrote us. She wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble making arrangements if she didn’t think it was best for LeeAnn. Maybe they’ll both be happier being away for a while.”

  She sighed. “I suppose. It’s just so hard to let go, Zeke—so hard to realize your children aren’t babies any more. I want them with me, where I can protect them and be a mother to them.”

  He got up and started dressing. “You lost your own mother at an early age and you did all right.”

  “But I found you. I had my Zeke.”

  A pain shot through his heart at the remark. “One thing you don’t realize, Abigail Monroe, is that you have survived on your own strength. You think it’s because you have me, but it isn’t. You’re a strong woman who will always survive, with or without me.”

  “Well I much prefer it be with you, so don’t go getting in any fights out there on the street when you get us something to eat,” she replied, pulling the blankets over her naked body. “You do have a way of getting into trouble in civilized places. People look at you and think you’re going to take their scalps. If half those women knew what you’re like in bed, they’d not be so afraid of you. But luckily I’m the only one who knows what you’re really like. You don’t need to go proving it to any other woman.”

  He laughed lightly, determined to forget about his doctor visit. “You sure you don’t want me to prove it to a few of them?”

  “I’d rather they thought you might take their scalps.”

  He pulled on his shirt and strapped on his weapons belt again. “Whatever you wish.” He walked to the door. “Keep this thing locked while I’m gone. I won’t be long.” He turned and met her eyes, still full of her, still warm from their recent lovemaking. “I love you, Abbie-girl. Sometimes that’s the best I can offer you, but if it was worth money, you’d be rich.”

  She smiled softly. “I am rich. Your love is all I’ve ever asked for in the first place. I told you that when I was fifteen. I meant it then, and I still do. Now go get something to eat. You’ve made me very hungry, Mister Monroe.”

  He gave her a wink and left, closing the door softly behind him. She breathed deeply, revelling in the remains of sweet ecstasy, curling herself into the soft sheets. Apparently it was only the children after all that had upset him. She prayed again that he would be able to find their wild Indian son. That would not be easy.

  The plains rolled ahead of them like motionless waves in an ocean. It seemed with every huge swelling of land they climbed, another always lay ahead on an endless horizon, a sea of green and yellow. There was a time when such land would have been unmarked by civilization, but every now and then they spotted a crude house or a soddy, fences, and cattle. Once they would have seen thick herds of buffalo that might stretch for miles. Now there were only smaller herds, scattered here and there. They crested one hill and spotted what at first appeared to be a huge black hole in the distance, then realized it was buffalo grazing. Zeke reined his horse to a halt and watched, Abbie moving her mare up beside him.

  “It all looks so peaceful,” she told him.

  “For a little longer it will be,” he answered, sighing deeply. “I remember the days when my brothers and I would ride as far as we could go, hunting, just having fun. It was so good then, Abbie. I never felt so free and happy as those first years after I found my mother and learned I had three Cheyenne brothers. Now l
ook what’s left. Just Swift Arrow—at least we think he’s alive. Gentle Woman, Deer Slayer, Red Eagle, Yellow Moon, little Laughing Boy, Black Elk, Blue Bird Woman, young Bucking Horse, your good friend Tall Grass Woman, her husband and son. All gone. And why, Abbie? All because of white settlement—white man’s diseases, white man’s whiskey, white man’s lust for land, white man’s brutality. You can’t ride across these plains and run into great migrating tribes anymore, only smaller villages, full of the renegades, the ones who refuse reservation life, the ones who still cling to the old ways.”

  “Don’t torture yourself, Zeke. Let’s just get to the fort. It’s only a day away now. Then you can see about riding into Sioux land and finding Wolf’s Blood.”

  There was the sharp report of a rifle then, an unusually loud boom that cracked the crisp air and made the horses whinny and move nervously. A huge cow in the distance slumped to the ground, and the rest of the herd started running.

  “Goddamned buffalo hunters!” Zeke growled. Three more shots were fired in quick succession, and three more of the animals went down as they ran, one stumbling forward and rolling head over heels. Zeke reached out and grasped Abbie’s arm. “Get down!” he ordered. “Those bullets are whizzing by us too close. Wherever those sons of bitches are, they might have seen you.”

  They were quickly off their horses, Zeke leading Abbie and the animals down the hill a short way to a washout. Abbie ducked down inside it while Zeke coaxed the horses down, speaking to them in Cheyenne, using his expertise to get the animals on their sides. He crouched down in the washout beside Abbie then. Several more shots had been fired, and at least ten buffalo lay dead or dying below.

  “Don’t make a move until I can see how many there are,” he warned Abbie.