Meet the New Dawn (24 page)

He nodded to the men. “Any more visitors out there?” he asked.

Sergeant Daniels stared at him. He had seen what Zeke Monroe had done to Julius Rage, knowing for certain he’d never do anything to harm Ellen Monroe and have to answer to this man for it.

“Daniels just got back from his investigation of the Rage ranch,” Petersen told Zeke.

Zeke glanced at Wolf’s Blood, who shrugged and walked to
the other side of the bed, wincing as he sat down in a chair.

“So?” Zeke asked. “Is there a problem?”

Petersen glanced at Abbie. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk in front of your wife—about the way you left Julius Rage.”

Zeke shifted his position and reached for a pouch of tobacco kept on the table beside him. “My wife is fully aware of what I do to men who hurt my own. Rage fully intended to kill us both, but not before beating the hell out of my son in front of my eyes. They didn’t even give him a chance—just snuck up behind him and landed a shovel into his back. They chose not to play fair, so I did the same.”

He began rolling a cigarette, and Petersen sighed. “You did a good job for us, Zeke, and thanks to you we know the sources of the problem, at both ends. But I can’t fully condone what you did to Rage. Half of Dodge City and the surrounding area are looking for two renegade Indians who murdered Julius Rage and two of his men. They know now that Rage was mixed up in whiskey trade, but they think the Indians that killed him were also mixed up in it—maybe trying to steal the goods back. We’re letting them think what they want. They’ll never know who the Indians really were, or that they worked for the Army. We’ve told the townspeople that we will make a search and take care of it. Daniels here says they seem calmed down, and we did at least recover the goods. We sent them on to St. Louis, according to what you told us. As soon as they’re claimed at the warehouse there and taken to West Enterprises, more arrests will be made. I thank you for a job well done, and am sorry Rage discovered what you were up to at the last minute like that. The killings you committed were apparently in self-defense, and with so many of Rage’s men at the ranch, you couldn’t very well just hold the man and try to tell the others the truth. They’d probably not have believed you and might have hung you, so I can’t blame you for doing what you had to do.” He sighed, grimacing slightly. “But couldn’t you have just … killed Rage outright … without using your knife on him the way you did?”

Zeke took a long drag on his cigarette, his dark eyes frightening in their cold vengeance. “He hurt my son badly.
I’ve done worse.”

Abbie looked at her lap, thinking of Winston Garvey. Yes. He had done worse. Zeke reached out and took her hand, squeezing it, knowing what she was thinking.

“I thank you for keeping me and my son out of the picture,” he told Petersen. “And I’m glad I got the information you needed—and equally glad for my pay. I’ll be heading home in a couple more days, and if you don’t mind I’d like to stay there awhile before taking on any more scouting jobs.”

Petersen nodded. “Just don’t use your knife like you did on Rage in front of me, or I’ll have to arrest you.” A faint grin passed over his lips.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Zeke answered, his voice and grip on Abbie’s hand both noticeably stronger. Petersen nodded and left the room, while Daniels hesitated, nervously fingering his hat. He cleared his throat. “You wanting something, Daniels?” Zeke asked the man.

“Yes, sir. I … uh … I’d like to keep calling on your daughter … soon as I get another leave … with your permission.”

Zeke studied the man intently. He was strong and stocky, with kind eyes. “I already told you you had my permission for that,” he told Daniels.

“Well, I … just wanted to be sure.”

“You love Ellen?”

The man reddened, feeling uncomfortable under Wolf’s Blood’s own warning look. He took a deep breath. “Yes, sir, I do.”

Zeke just shrugged. “Then go ahead and keep seeing her. I’m not going to do to you what I did to Julius Rage, unless you do wrong by her. She’s a good girl. I have another daughter who was badly hurt by a man who promised love and marriage, then used her and left her—just because she had Indian blood in her. You wouldn’t have any ideas like that now, would you?”

The man held Zeke’s eyes boldly. “No, sir. I wouldn’t do that.”

Zeke smiled. “I don’t think you would either. I’m not holding you to any commitments, Daniels. Just don’t take
advantage of her or lie to her. I’ll not see another daughter hurt the way Margaret was. Understand?”

Daniels put his hat on. “Sir, if I hurt Ellen, you have my permission to carve me up any way you wish.”

Zeke laughed lightly, wincing with pain when he did so. “Then you must love her very much.”

Daniels smiled, then nodded to Abbie and left. Zeke turned to Abbie, her hand still in his. “You ready to go home, woman?”

“Whenever you think you’re strong enough.”

He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ll be strong enough for more than that before too long.” She blushed and he turned to Wolf’s Blood. “Sonora will have a fit if you don’t get back pretty damned soon,” he told the young man. “I expect you’re ready to see your wife.”

Wolf’s Blood grinned and rose, glancing at his mother. “She carries the baby well?”

“She’s fine, Wolf’s Blood. We’ll make up a travois for your father and leave in a couple more days. I know you’re anxious to get home.”

“I’ll not lay on any travois like a shriveling old man,” Zeke objected. “I’ll ride. I said I’d ride to my dying day and I will. and since I am not ready yet to die, I will ride home. I’ve had enough of this lying around anyway. The next time I lie in a bed like this it will be with you.”

She blushed deeply and Wolf’s Blood laughed lightly, walking slowly out of the room. Zeke squeezed Abbie’s hand again. “Did you hear anything while I was gone from LeeAnn … or maybe Jeremy?” be asked carefully.

“No,” she answered. “I wish I could tell you otherwise.”

Zeke sighed, remembering the night he’d seen his son, remembering the hurt. He took a deep drag on his cigarette. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “So do I.” He patted her hand. “Well, Abbie-girl, I’m going to get some shut-eye so I’ll be strong enough to ride in a couple of days.”

“Zeke, you shouldn’t—”

“I’m riding, and that’s that.” He yanked on her hand. “Come here.”

She gave him a chiding look, then leaned down. He grasped the back of her neck with more strength in his arm than she expected, pulling her to his lips. He kissed her hungrily, wrapping his fingers in her hair. He released the kiss and studied her brown eyes, so true and loving. “That’s the best medicine a man can get,” he told her with a wink.

Chapter Fourteen

Charles Garvey paced in his study as LeeAnn nervously brought him his coffee. He’d been gloomy all evening, and she hoped he would not take it out on her later. Often when he was angry, the emotion was expressed in the brutal way he made love to her, as though wanting to hurt her, and she suspected that if she did not cooperate, he would truly beat her. She wondered at how he could have been so charming before marriage, and so cruel afterward. He often bragged that she bored him at times, and that he preferred the whores he often visited to his own wife, unable to understand why she was not more responsive.

LeeAnn didn’t care anymore how often he visited the whores. It only meant he would leave her alone, and that was just fine. She had paid a dear price for luxuries and elegance and social importance, and she well knew it. But she had no way out now. She would not disgrace herself and cause a scandal by asking for a divorce, and she told herself that when Charles Garvey was a little older and more settled, when he accomplished all his plans in life, he would mellow. But an inner instinct told her this man would go from bad to worse. There was something maniacal about him, a deep evil that did not often surface but was there nonetheless—something that bordered on insanity.

She handed him the coffee, and he abruptly slammed a hand against the cup, sending it flying. LeeAnn jumped and backed away.

“Bring me some bourbon!” he growled. “I don’t want that useless black brew tonight!”

She walked on shaking legs to a table where various liquors were kept. She sniffed at a few, finding the bourbon. Liquor was something she was learning more about. Charles kept much more around than the common whiskey her father drank occasionally. Her husband drank everything—and often. And to soothe her own nerves and shattered romance, LeeAnn had done her own share of drinking lately. She poured his bourbon, then set up a second glass, pouring her own drink.

“What’s wrong, Charles?” she asked, handing him his drink. She decided she had best be extra nice to him. Maybe she could calm him down and he would at least not hit her or be cruel to her in bed.

He took the drink, studying her as he swallowed it quickly. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong!” he growled, tossing the glass into a fireplace. “Somehow the goddamned Army got its nose into West Enterprises and closed the place down!”

She frowned. “What is West Enterprises?”

He walked over to the table, picking up the bourbon and drinking it straight out of the bottle. He lowered the bottle, pacing again, his face dark with rage. “West Enterprises was one of my best sources of income,” he fumed. “It’s in St. Louis. I owned it, but it’s set up so that I am not even directly connected. The government won’t get me for this one!” He took another swallow.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, sipping her own drink.

He turned to face her. “I must say, dear wife, that for all your uselessness in bed, you are equally intelligent in other matters. That’s the only reason I keep you. I’ll not have a bumpkin for a wife, nor an ugly one. It is those two assets, and those only, that keep you in this house with my honored name.”

She doubted the honor of the name but said nothing. “What does that have to do with West Enterprises?” she asked.

“I only mean, my love, that I think you’re intelligent enough to understand that no man gets rich out of strictly legitimate means. I make more money illegitimately than I do
above-board. West Enterprises was one of my sources. But now the Army has arrested Thomas West, my best man.”

LeeAnn sighed. “You’re confusing me.”

He grinned. “It’s called ‘screw the Indians,’ my sweet. You’ve heard me talk about that game before.”

She lowered her glass, feeling the panic in her heart again. What if he found out about her past? He would surely kill her! And every time he talked about his hatred of the Indians her heart broke a little more, her soul filled with more guilt about turning her back on her own heritage.

“Thomas West ran West Enterprises,” he continued. “On paper he owned the place. West Enterprises supplies worthless, rotgut whiskey to Indian reservations, as well as guns—outdated, half-worthless guns. The goods, which the Indians want very badly, are hauled to reservations, snuck in by various means, and traded for valuable buffalo robes and government supplies issued on the reservation—blankets, pots and pans, farm tools, furniture, all kinds of things. The stupid, ignorant Indians trade those things for the whiskey and guns, like the fools they are, not even realizing what they’re giving away in return for a night of feeling good and hope of arming themselves well enough to fight the Army again.”

She looked at her glass, feeling compassion for the Indian. “And the robes and Army supplies are sent back to West Enterprises, the robes sold for a great profit,” she added for him.

He nodded, then bowed. “As I said, for a woman you are blessed with unusual intelligence.”

“But what happens to the government supplies?”

He smiled. “Simple. They are resold to the Army. In the books, they are newly ordered supplies, but they’re really just the same supplies used over again, with a few new things mixed in. West Enterprises spares themselves the cost of ordering new goods, making a profit on the same supplies over and over.” His eyes darkened again, the strange evil returning to them. “West Enterprises was the biggest supplier of all. Somehow the Army found out. They’ve closed the place down, and confiscated all robes and supplies. It will take a long time to get an operation like that underway again. Everything was
going so smoothly. Damn!”

She swallowed back tears over the kind of man she had married. How could she have let her own memories of her captivity with the Comanches bring her to this? Had she hated the Indians that much herself then? If only her own father were not one. “How do you think they found out?” she asked quietly.

“Oh, wouldn’t I love to know!” he growled.

“What does Tom West have to say? Maybe he knows something.”

Her husband’s eyes narrowed. “He knows too much. He will be conveniently killed, at my request. I’ll not risk anything dragging me into this.”

Her eyes widened. “But … he worked for you. You said he was your best man. You’d … you’d have him killed?”

His eyes ran over her scornfully. “Of course. Some damned Indians killed his source in Dodge City, and our contact at Camp Supply took off for parts unknown to avoid arrest. That leaves only Tom West knowing who really backs this thing. The man has to die. I’ll wait a while, then start the operation up all over again, find a new man, make new contacts. It’s a lucrative business. It’s just another way for me to take advantage of the Indians, and that pleases me greatly.” He took another swallow of bourbon. “You know, I kind of hate to see the red man die off, much as that’s what I want. I’ll have to think of some other way to make my money—find some other poor bastard who’s too stupid to know when he’s being taken advantage of.” He met her eyes, and saw the shock there. He only smiled. “My dear Mrs. Garvey, you must learn to be more callous. You’re too sentimental, you know—too soft. That’s your biggest flaw. You want gentleness in bed, when it’s much more fun to be brutal. And you expect me to help Tom West. I can see it in your eyes. Well, my dear, if he was stupid enough to get caught, he deserves to die. No one is going to get me in hot water and smear my good name.”

She studied him sorrowfully. “Does that include me? Would you have me killed if I threatened your reputation—your good name?”

He snickered. “Of course I would. Oh, I’d mourn you. After
all, how many men find something as beautiful and elegant as you for a wife?” He came closer, kneeling down in front of where she sat and unbuttoning the front of her dress. He pulled it open, kissing the deep cleavage of her breasts, and she shuddered with disappointment. She had hoped he would not want her this night. And now he had told her she was dispensable. “Why don’t you go upstairs and undress like a good little wife?” he asked then, rising again.

She got up from the chair, glaring at him with eyes as cold as his own. “Certainly,” she said coolly. “May I ask, Charles, if a child would make you happier—make you love me just a little more?”

He grinned. “Of course. I’ll need a son to keep the Garvey enterprises going.”

“Then you will have to stop your monstrous bedroom habits and make love to me the normal way,” she told him, almost defiantly. “There is only one way to get a woman pregnant, Charles. I want a baby. And I want to be treated like a normal woman, not like the whores you lay with. Let them be acrobats in your bed. I want only to be a woman and to have a child.”

His eyes narrowed again, and he walked up to her, planting a hand around her throat and squeezing until her face reddened. “I will do whatever I want with my own wife in our own bed!” he growled. He shoved her hard then, causing her to fall to the floor. Then he smiled again. “But I must agree with you this time, love. There is only one way to get pregnant. So get yourself upstairs and wait for me.” He clenched a fist. “Unless you have found some other man who makes love to you the way you think a man is supposed to?”

Her eyes widened. “Of course not! How can you say such a thing?”

He looked her over as she got to her feet. “Just checking. Maybe you want a man who doesn’t limp—or one more handsome.”

She blinked back tears. “Don’t you understand such things don’t matter to me? I only want a little gentleness—to be loved and treated like a normal woman. I loved you, Charles. Why do you seem to try so hard to make me not love you? Why is it so hard for you to accept love, and to give love?”

His eyes glittered. “It does no good to love, my dear LeeAnn. When I was a small boy, I learned about love—and about looking out for yourself. I loved my mother. She was blond and pretty—like you. When I went west with her and the Indians attacked our stagecoach, I wanted to protect her. But I couldn’t because I was too little. I’ll never forget that, and I’ve hated the Indians ever since for murdering her—scalping her right in front of me.” He slugged some more bourbon. “Yes, I learned that day that it hurts too much to love—not just because I watched my pretty mother die, but because I knew she was going west because my father sent her there for cheating on him.” He grinned sarcastically. “I learned many things that day, LeeAnn, things I remembered the rest of my life. I had already learned about cheating wives, but I could forgive her for that. I learned about filthy Indians and how cruel they could be. And I learned that no one, not even a child, can depend on love. You see my … uh … ‘beloved’ mother offered me to the Indians, in exchange for her life.”

Her eyes softened and she started toward him. “Charles—”

“Forget it, my sweet!” he answered. He drank some more. “You know, I think that’s why the Indians killed her—because they held such contempt for her for trying to trade her own son for her life. And maybe that’s why they left me there instead of taking me along. I suppose in a way I should thank them for that, but at the time I could only see them as rotten, killing savages. They still are—except now I don’t work against them so much because I hate them, but more because they stand in the way of progress, my dear. The land they roam is packed with wealth, and I want that wealth. Every Indian can die for all I care! What good are they?” He set down the bottle. “And don’t give me any speeches about love. Just don’t you mess around on me like my mother did to my father, understand? If you do, you’re dead. Now get upstairs.”

“Charles, let me help you. Let me love you.”

“Go!” he roared, stepping closer with his fists clenched. She backed up, then turned and fled the room. He picked up the bourbon bottle and smashed it against a wall, following after her then, unbuttoning his shirt on the way. No woman was going to tell him how to behave in bed. His father had taken
him to see the whores when he was hardly more than a boy. He knew what women were for, and his own wife was no different.

Abbie lowered the lamp and climbed into bed, wearing only a cotton under slip, for the August night was warm. Zeke watched her quietly. He had been home three weeks now—long enough as far as he was concerned. Abbie gave him a quick kiss and curled up on the cool sheet, her back to him. The house was quiet, Ellen and Jason sleeping outside rather than in the loft because of the heat.

Zeke studied his wife’s form, still shapely in spite of all the children, kept firm by hard work. He reached over and ran a hand along her leg and up her thigh, pushing up the slip and exposing bare hips.

“Zeke Monroe you aren’t healed enough,” she said quietly, her back still to him.

He leaned down and kissed her hip, pushing the slip up more and moving his lips along her back. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he told her, moving his hand around to her belly and up over her full breasts, while his lips nuzzled her neck. He pressed his hand against her shoulder, turning her onto her back and meeting her lips. He moved one knee between her legs, pushing against private places while his lips moved to her throat.

“Zeke, you shouldn’t do this,” she protested weakly.

“Of course I should. It’s a sure cure. I think the only thing left wrong with me is I haven’t had a woman since February. That’s a hell of a long time for a man like me, and I’ve got some love all built up inside of me just dying to be released.”

He met her lips again. How could she protest, when she was as hungry for him as he was for her? She returned the kiss with a whimper, reaching her arms around his neck. Her slip was pushed all the way to her neck. The rest was easy, for when it was this hot her husband slept naked. He moved on top of her, shivering at the pleasant feel of her bare breasts against his skin.

Neither of them cared about preliminaries. Nor did they need them. Their passion was instant and powerful, and in moments she welcomed him inside herself, crying out in
glorious ecstasy. He moved his hands under her hips, and she was lost in him, her face buried against the broad, strong chest, her body pushed against him by his own strength so that he filled her completely. He pushed in groaning need, not caring that it brought mild pain to his side. The pain was worth it. He was stronger again, making an amazing recovery considering his age. But Zeke Monroe had always had a tremendous capacity for overcoming wounds. It was the disease from within that he could not seem to control. But he would not think about that now. It was summer. The arthritis bothered him little this time of year. He would worry about winter when it was upon them and not before. For now he would enjoy the fact that he was recovering from the gunshot wound, and he was home and with his woman.