Thunder on the Plains (40 page)

Colt whirled, glaring at the others. “Anybody else want to insult Miss Landers?”

They all backed away, shaking their heads, some glancing at the pistol and knife he wore on his wide belt.

“Casement ain't gonna like hearing about this,” one man said tentatively.

“I don't give a damn! I came here only for shelter, not for trouble; and I don't doubt the general would be more upset at the remarks made about Miss Landers than he would at me for shutting that man up! She's a highly respected woman, and indirectly all of us work for her, so keep your ignorant ideas about what the woman is like to yourselves!” Colt walked up and grabbed Billie's arm. “Do you have someplace private where we can go?”

She grinned, looking around rather haughtily at the others. “Follow me,” she told him. “I have a feeling you'd better get out of here anyway.” She sauntered outside, and Colt took a last threatening look around before picking up his saddlebags and following her. They both hurried into a small sod house next to the tent, and Billie quickly added some wood to a dying fire in the cast-iron stove that stood in a corner next to the bed. Besides the bed, the only furnishings were a table and a dresser. There were no windows.

Colt bolted the door and Billie turned, throwing off her cape. She reached under her skirts and pulled down leggings and drawers, kicking them aside. “What the hell was that all about?” she asked, coming closer.

She reached around his neck and Colt grabbed her at the waist, hoisting her up. She wrapped her legs around him, and he reached under her skirts, running big hands along her thighs and to her bared bottom. “It's a long story,” he answered.

“Another one?” She pouted. “Sounds like you have a lot of storytelling to do, lover.”

“Not just yet.”

She threw her head back, and he carried her to the bed, kissing her breasts as he sat her on the edge of the bed. He pulled her dress away from her shoulders and off her breasts, and the chilly air made her nipples stand taut. Colt took one into his mouth, relishing the feel of it on his tongue, and this time it was not LeeAnn he imagined letting him do this to her. He stayed on his knees, unlacing his buckskin leggings and unbuttoning his long johns. He pushed Billie's dress to her waist, and she gasped when he rammed himself into her almost savagely. She remained sitting on the edge of the bed, grasping his powerful shoulders, her head thrown back and her breasts exposed. Colt moved his mouth to her other breast, groaning and pushing at her until his release came all too quickly.

He began trembling then, resting his head at her breasts. “I told you it had been a long time. For a while, when I first got out of Andersonville, I wasn't even sure I could be a man again; then I put it off for so long I was almost afraid to try it.”

She ran her hands through his thick hair. “Nobody would ever doubt your manhood, Colt Travis, and I've seen it all.”

She laughed, and Colt covered her mouth, laying her back and climbing onto the bed with her. “Let's get undressed and do this right,” he told her. “I intend to keep you here all night, and you won't need the fire in that stove to keep you hot.”

She laughed more as they tumbled together and undressed each other. They crawled under the covers, and Colt moved on top of her, ready again to enjoy the pleasures of a woman. She put a hand to his lips when he started to kiss her. “You've got it bad, don't you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Sunny Landers.”

Colt stiffened slightly, meeting her eyes.

“I saw her name on that letter you were reading, back in Omaha. Why was she writing to you, Colt? How in hell is it you know a woman like that?”

He rolled away from her, stretching out on his back. Billie moved to rest on one elbow, reaching out to stroke his hair. “A man doesn't stick up for a woman that way unless he's in love with her, and if you are, I feel awful sorry for you if you think there's any future—”

“I
don't
think it. Leave it alone, Billie. I didn't come here to talk about Sunny Landers.”

She studied him a moment, tracing her finger along the scar over his eye. “You seem to always come around when you're trying to forget a woman.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “But then, that's part of what I'm here for. It really is good to see you, Colt. I'm glad you got through that awful war all right. I always worried and wondered about you.”

His short laugh was bitter. “Don't waste your time.” He sat up. “I need a smoke.”

Billie pouted, sorry she had brought up Sunny Landers's name. She had seen the woman once in Omaha, and the thought of Colt with a woman like that was close to absurd, but she wisely guessed it was best not to point out that fact to Colt right then. He already knew it, and that was what was eating him. She wished she knew all the details, but Colt was a man who told a person what he wanted them to know only when he was ready to tell it. She had already made him a little angry, and she feared that to push him would make matters worse.

He rolled and lit a cigarette. “You breathe a word of anything to do with me and Sunny, and I'll be damn angry,” he said, taking a drag on the cigarette.

“Discretion is part of my profession.” She touched his back. “I'm sorry I said anything at all. You aren't going to sit there mad all night, are you? If you are, I'll just have to go find some other customer.”

He lay back down, pulling the covers over himself and smoking quietly for a moment, listening to the winter winds outside, thinking how the howling matched the way he felt on the inside. “Don't worry. I'm not mad, and I'm not through with you yet.” He put his arm out, and she snuggled against him. “Have you ever felt like you were wandering in a black tunnel, Billie? Every once in a while you see a glimmer of light, a little bit of hope that you'll find your way out and find there's a purpose to your life—and then when you walk toward that light it gets snuffed out?”

She kissed his chest. “I know what you're saying.”

“Yeah, I suppose you do.” He took another drag on the cigarette. “She's going to marry a man she only thinks she loves, Billie, a man who I know damn well is just using her to enhance his own image, and it makes me crazy thinking about it. I know in my gut that he doesn't love her. He loves only what she represents—wealth, status, power. If she lost everything overnight, he'd be gone the next day, but there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. I sure as hell can't offer her anything to compare to what he can offer her. All I've got is love, and in her world that doesn't amount to a hill of beans. Even if we could be together, I'd probably end up killing half the people she deals with, including her asshole brother, and I'd be hanged. Worst part is, I think she could love me too, but like me, she knows that love alone wouldn't be enough to get us through the hell we'd know if we tried to do anything about our feelings.”

“You don't know that for sure, Colt. Maybe you should tell her how you feel.”

He chuckled, turning on his side to put out his cigarette. “Sure.” He turned to face her. “She'll be married next summer, and that will be the end of it.”

Outside the wind swept snow into deep drifts in a winter that would prove to be one of the worst in recent history, a winter that kept Sunny trapped in Omaha. No one dared venture beyond the safety of the city, and even in town there was danger because of short supplies. Snows were so deep that no trains were running between Omaha and Chicago.

***

Sunny wondered if the wicked weather was God's way of telling her she must not consider going back to the construction site to look for Colt. She had put it off, finding all kinds of arguments against it. Now the snow was so deep that she couldn't go anyway. There was nothing left but to wait until spring, just like she originally thought she should do. Maybe by then she could resolve her dilemma and learn once and for all to face the truth, whatever that truth was. She had until June to decide. That was when Blaine would come to Omaha to accompany her back to Chicago to make plans for one of the biggest, most publicized weddings that city had known in years. Even Vince and Eve were excited about it.

She turned to her journal, opening it to the yellowing pages where she had made some of her first entries.
Our
guide
is
Mr. Colt Travis
, she read again.
I am sure that we will become good friends before this trip is over.

She immediately scolded herself, closing the journal and taking up pen and paper. She owed Blaine a letter.

May 1867

Colt heard the signal, one long whistle, followed by two short ones. Someone wanted him back at the construction site. Because the Indian problem was expected to worsen this summer, Casement had hired three more scouts, and had devised a distinctive signal for each to let him know when he was needed back at the base camp.

There it came again, the whistle's mournful wail capable of drifting across the Nebraska Plains for miles. However, today Colt was only a mile distant. He turned Dancer and headed to the end of the track, figuring that at a hard gallop Dancer could be back in a couple of minutes. He charged through tall spring grass, and the train was soon in sight. As he drew closer he realized a third train had arrived at the construction site. How long it had been there he couldn't be sure, since he had been several miles away earlier that morning. He stayed at a hard gallop until he recognized the fancy car that was part of the visiting train. The windows had all been repaired, as had siding that had been damaged by bullets, but it was the same car all right—Sunny Landers's car.

He yanked on Dancer's reins to slow the horse and felt the old mixture of apprehension and excitement. Why had he been called to camp? Sunny had not come back since the day of the Indian raid, nor had he heard from her all winter. He had supposed that by now she would be in Chicago planning her wedding.

He drew in a deep breath, hoping maybe only Stuart had come out; but as he urged Dancer into a gentler trot and approached the car, he saw Sunny herself come around the end of it, leading a shiny black mare and wearing a simple riding skirt and a plain blouse and riding cape, her hair pulled back into a thick braid. She looked no different from ten years previous, when they used to ride together on the journey west.

He couldn't help being glad he had bathed in the Platt River that morning and had shaved, then wondered why it mattered. What the hell was she doing here anyway, looking ready to ride and all? He had had all winter to stop thinking about her, and now here she was again. Did she enjoy torturing him, or was she really so innocent of his feelings that she didn't realize what she still did to him?

General Casement was standing beside her, but Colt didn't see Stuart anywhere. Had Sunny come alone? With two other trains between hers and the crewmen, few of the workers were in any kind of hearing distance; most kept too busy to pay any attention to his approach. With the time that had been lost over the winter, Casement was working the men at an even more rigorous pace in the renewed race to beat the Central Pacific's progress.

He watched Sunny's eyes as he drew Dancer to a halt near her and Casement. What was it that he saw there? He couldn't quite read it, but her face was slightly flushed. She nodded to him, and he tipped his hat. “Miss Landers,” he said respectfully, a wary look in his eye.

“Travis!” Casement frowned. “I was beginning to worry about you. You've been out for days.”

“Just being extra careful. I rode a little farther north than normal. What's the problem?”

Casement finally grinned. “No problem. You have a very important job today, one that I am sure will be much more pleasurable than your regular duties. It seems Miss Landers has decided that before she goes back to Chicago, she wants a last look at the country she loves best. She'll be gone for quite a few months after this. She'd like to go riding, get a last look, so to speak.”

Colt felt Sunny's eyes on him. “What's that got to do with me?”

“Well, she wants you to be the one to take her.”

Colt scowled, looking back at Sunny, but she was turned toward her horse.

“I tried to talk her out of this—considering the danger and all,” Casement continued. “But she seems to think that if she's with you, she'll be safe. She would rather ride completely alone, but that's out of the question. She doesn't want a whole army of strange men coming along, so that ruled out a soldier accompaniment and the other scouts. I guess it's just you. Just hang back and let her ride—keep an eye out.”

Colt looked at Sunny again, and this time she met his gaze. It seemed she was trying to tell him something in that look, but he couldn't quite believe her eyes meant what he thought. What in hell was she after? Why was she doing this to him? “You probably should take more than just one man, Miss Landers,” he told her.

She shook her head. “No. Just you.”

There was a strange determination in the words. Apparently, she wanted to be alone with him, maybe needed to talk about something. But what? And why couldn't they talk right there? “It's too damn dangerous. We expect more Indian trouble than ever this summer.”

“You know your job. It's my own risk. If something happens, it's my fault, not yours.”

Why did he detect a double meaning to the words? All common sense told him to refuse, even if it meant losing his job. He looked at Casement. “I don't like the risk. She's too important.”

“Well, I don't like it either, but when Miss Landers makes a request, we try to be obliging. You mind your manners now, and be extra alert. I would ride north if I were you. The Cheyenne most likely camped farther south for the winter. If they're coming, that's the direction they'll come from. Those in the North are probably on a spring hunt. I expect it will be another month before any real trouble comes.” The man turned to Sunny and nodded. “You do what Colt tells you, Miss Landers. If he thinks it's wise to come back, then come back. He knows his business, and I know you'll be safe with him, since the two of you already know each other.”

Sunny looked up at Colt. “I have every confidence in Mr. Travis.”

She turned and mounted up, and Colt thought she looked as tempting straddled on a horse as ever. He felt his anger rising.

“Thank you, General,” Sunny told Casement. “Don't you worry. I've got a rifle of my own along, the latest in the new Winchester repeaters; and I know how to use it. My brother made me learn after that Indian attack the last time we were out here.” She glanced at Colt with a daring look in her blue eyes. “Maybe Mr. Travis and I can have a shooting match. It might be fun.” She kicked her horse into a fast run, and Colt turned to Casement.

“Just remember, I objected to this. I don't want to be hung out to dry if something happens.”

“You won't be. You heard the woman. Now, get going and stay alert.” Casement turned to walk back to the crew, and Colt reluctantly rode out after Sunny, noticing she was slowing down deliberately so he could catch up. He reached her and grabbed her horse's bridle to stop the animal altogether. “What the hell is this, Sunny?”

Sunny wondered if he realized how hard her heart was pounding. Never had she done anything so daring, and never had she been so unsure that she
would
be able to tell him what she wanted to tell him, or be able to make the right decisions. Part of her wished she would have discovered he had left the railroad for parts unknown. It would have made this so much easier. She struggled to find her courage, wondering if she seemed to him like the foolish girl who had said good-bye to him at Fort Laramie.

“I just wanted to see you once more,” she told him, looking away again. “You left too quickly for me to talk to you the last time I saw you, and it would have looked odd if I had just invited you into my private car. This was the only way I could think of to get you alone and talk to you.”

He let go of the bridle. “About what? There's nothing left to discuss anymore.”

She met his eyes again. “Yes, there is. You know it as well as I. Please, please don't laugh at me, Colt, and don't be angry. God knows I've never been more frightened in my life.”

He studied the eyes that had haunted him for years, wishing he knew what she was after. Part of him wanted to drag her back to safety by her hair and another part of him gloried in this chance to be alone with her again. “It's a damn good thing that new regiment of soldiers that's supposed to be coming isn't here yet. Enough men have seen us ride off together as it is. Don't you know how this looks?”

She raised her chin slightly. “I don't
care
how it looks. After today I'll go home and never see any of them again until the railroad is finished, and by then I'll be—” She looked away. “Married.” She swallowed nervously. “Please, Colt. I really do want to take this last ride,” she said pleadingly. “Ever since I came out here, I haven't had the chance to enjoy this country the way I'd like. No one knows what I'm doing, not even Stuart, certainly not Blaine.” She reached down and patted her horse's neck. “It's just something I need to do.”

She faced him again. “I just want to ride and ride, to forget about boardrooms and decisions and wedding plans and even the U.P.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the fresh spring air. “For one day, just one day, I want to be completely free and do something
I
want to do. I was hoping that you of all people would understand.” The pleading look he could never resist came back into her eyes. “Just be my friend today, Colt, like you always used to be. Be the man who wrote me those letters and who once taught me all about his land, taught me to love it. I want to laugh and be happy, and I want to share that freedom with someone who understands the need for it.”

All anger and resistance left him, as well as the common sense that told him this was as dangerous as it could be—not because of possible Indian trouble, but because of his own heart. She still had that sweet charm that made it difficult for anyone to tell her no. He leaned back and smacked her horse's rump, and Sunny let out a little scream when the mare whinnied and took off at a hard gallop. Sunny leaned into the animal as though glorying in the ride, and Colt hung back a moment, watching her. There was a strange loneliness about her today, as though she were reaching out for something but not sure she wanted to grasp what might come to her. Was this some kind of final farewell to her freedom, to the land…and to him?

He goaded Dancer into a dead run, racing to catch up with her.

***

Whatever this day might hold for him, Colt had decided to quit worrying about it, and he knew Sunny felt the same. She seemed to want only to feel happy and free and unencumbered by the strains of her normal daily life and the enormity of the decisions she often had to make. She rode hard and wild, and before long Colt was caught up in her apparent quest to simply “be.” At times it was hard to keep up with her, and he found himself laughing at the way she galloped her horse up and down the Nebraska sandhills, sometimes throwing back her head and yelling like an Indian, laughing, feeling the sun on her face. It reminded him of how he had felt after returning from the war.

What kind of battle had Sunny been fighting to bring her to this? It was almost as though she had just been released from prison herself. As the day warmed, she unhooked her riding cape and wrapped it into the gear on her horse. She took off at another run, opening her arms, screaming to him how much she loved the bigness of the land. “I wish it would swallow me,” she called.

Colt kept chasing after her, wondering if she realized how watching her, having to keep coming after her, stirred desires in him that he had fought for so many years. He told himself it was his problem, not hers, that he was going to have to fight the pain. Was she afraid to marry Blaine? His heart ached at the thought that she was not going to be happy with the man.

It was well after one o'clock before she finally slowed her horse to a walk and asked him if he wanted some lunch. “Whatever you're ready for,” he told her. “I do know you'd better rest that horse.”

She was all smiles. “Yes, I suppose.” She looked at him, her eyes running over him in a way that nearly destroyed his control. Why in hell did she keep looking at him that way? It was almost as though she were deliberately testing him. She stopped her horse completely and let it nibble at the sweet spring grasses. She turned and reached into one of her saddlebags, and Colt realized she had unbuttoned her blouse a little, he supposed because of the heat. He could see a good share of one breast, and he looked away.

“Here,” she told him. He looked back to see her handing over a piece of beef jerky. “This is all I want for now. Enough for you?”

Again he felt a double meaning to the words. He took the jerky and nodded. She was smiling that smile that made his own mouth water to taste her lips again. Did she think he had forgotten about that delicious night on the beach? He bit into the jerky and rode slightly ahead of her. “Got kind of warm.”

“Yes, but a beautiful day, isn't it? Oh, Colt, I've wanted to do this for such a long time. I just never had the chance. You don't have any idea how I used to sit in my room in Chicago and daydream about this, you and me riding wild and free—riding and riding and being a part of the land. It's always been that way for you, and I envy you for it. For me, something like this is such a glorious treat. When I finally moved to Omaha, I thought I could do this more often, but I brought my way of life right along with me, and nothing changed. And when I thought you were gone for good, it didn't matter anymore.” She trotted her horse up next to him and bit off a piece of jerky.

“Sunny, I wish I knew—”

“Don't say it. Just enjoy the day, Colt.” She chewed the meat and swallowed, unhooking the straps of her canteen and opening it to take a drink.

Colt stared ahead, afraid to look at her. He chewed on some more meat, then grasped his ammunition belt and ducked his head to take it from over his shoulder. He hung it around the pommel of his saddle, then stuck the remaining jerky in his mouth and reached down to grasp his buckskin shirt, pulling it off over his head.

Sunny allowed herself a glance. Would she have the courage to tell him what she needed to tell him? Was it better left unsaid? Wild fantasies about him returned at the sight of his powerful masculinity when his shirt came off, and she was touched by the scar left from the Pawnee arrow wound. She thought about how he had suffered, the horrors he had seen.