Thunder on the Plains (28 page)

Colt stared at the strange-looking food for a moment, thinking it looked horrible, but he was not about to admit it in front of Mr. Blaine O'Brien. “Of course I have,” he lied. He picked up the ridiculously small fork and stabbed one of the shrimp. He bit off a piece, surprised at how good it was after all. It reminded him of rattlesnake.

“But you prefer a good, tender piece of buffalo, I'll bet,” Blaine said with a patronizing grin.

Colt set down his fork, returning the fake smile. “Actually, I would,” he answered. “And raw. It's always better raw. Tell me, Mr. O'Brien, have you ever held the heart of a buffalo in your hands while it's still warm and taken a bite out of it?” He watched Blaine pale, his smile fade. “Best thing in the world,” he added. “That's what keeps Indians tough.”

Blaine looked wide-eyed at Sunny when she laughed at the comment rather than being appalled. “I'm afraid we don't have any raw buffalo heart tonight, Colt,” she told him. “If I had known you were going to be here, I would have put it on the menu.” Colt laughed with her, glancing at Blaine again and feeling the hatred behind the weak smile.

The rest of the guests were lost in their own chatter, a man here talking about how he had only ten thousand to invest, a woman there talking about the latest fashions, their empty laughter making Colt long for the quiet of the prairie. He tried to guess how long the table was, how much the china and silver settings must be worth. He looked around the room, noticing the chandelier above the table, the delicate scrollwork of the wooden beams that decorated the cathedral ceiling. He had no idea what kind of wood it was, but it was beautiful.

He wished now that he had followed his impulse when he first set eyes on the Landers mansion and had just kept riding. The ornate home was situated on the shores of Lake Michigan, surrounded by other imposing homes. The whole area, this house, these people, all reeked of money and power. In spite of her basic sweetness, Sunny herself emanated that same aura. He had seen her wield that power against her domineering brother, and he could just imagine how forceful and demanding she could be in business when necessary. She would never have survived to this point if she were not able to be as ruthless and clever as the people with whom she associated.

He sure as hell didn't fit into any of this. Again he felt stifled, felt as though the whole house were going to fall in on him at any moment. He scooted back his chair again, feeling a sudden need for fresh air. “I really don't belong here, Sunny,” he said then, sobering. “And don't beg me to stay another minute. I'm leaving, and that's that. I'll come back in the morning, as God is my witness.”

The joy left her eyes. “Oh, Colt, you shouldn't feel you don't belong here. You're always welcome in my home. You know that.”

“I do know it. But not when your home is filled with people who look at me like a wild animal who's been let off his leash. We'll talk after all these people are gone and things are nice and quiet. I'll have a little time in the morning before I leave.” He rose. “Thanks for inviting me in and introducing me to everyone; but this is your night. I'm really sorry I put a dent in things.”

“Colt, you aren't leaving!” Stuart excused himself and rose.

“I think it's best,” Colt answered.

A few people turned to stare, but most continued with their meal and chatter, forks clinking against plates, wineglasses being emptied as fast as they were filled. Two men playing violins came down the wide circular staircase that led to the upper balconies and the ballroom. They began walking around the table, playing soft music.

Sunny felt helpless and pressured, suddenly frantic that if Colt left, he wouldn't come back, yet realizing she couldn't run after him and beg him not to go. Colt gave her a nod. “Thanks, Sunny. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Sunny started to rise, but Blaine touched her arm. “Stuart and I will see him to the door, dear. You really should tend to your guests.”

“Oh, is he leaving?” one woman asked. “You ought to stay, Mr. Travis. We do want to hear more about your wild Indians and such. Is it true that a buffalo is nearly as big as an elephant?”

Colt ignored the question. “I have an appointment to keep,” he lied. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He glanced at Sunny once more, trying to assure her with his eyes that he would be back.

“What an intriguing young man,” one woman mentioned as he turned and left.

“Sunny, did you really correspond with him?” The question came from Ted Regis's fiancée. “Does he actually know how to write?”

Sunny could hardly concentrate for wanting to run and give her apologies to Colt. “Of course he can write,” she answered. “Colt was raised by a missionary father who was also a teacher. He isn't nearly as uncivilized and uneducated as all of you think. He has just grown up in a violent land and had a lot of bad luck. He has no family, no one who cares.”

Except
for
you
, Vi thought.
Watch
your
heart, Sunny.

“I hope we didn't scare him away, dear,” another woman put in.

Sunny hardly heard the remark. She turned to look at the entrance to the room, but Colt and Stuart and Blaine were gone.

At the front door Stuart shook Colt's hand. “It's just too damn bad we don't have more time to talk, Colt,” he told him. “What a shock it was to see you. I'm damn sorry about your wife and son, and the best of luck to you in the army. It's a hellish war, from what I read. My wife works at a hospital here in Chicago, where wounded men who need long rehabilitation are brought. I hate to think of you getting wounded like that. You watch yourself.” He laughed. “Well, I guess I don't have to tell you that, do I?”

“Thanks, Stuart. Maybe after the war I'll see all of you again.”

“Yes, you should do that. I imagine we just might be living in Omaha by then.”

“And Sunny and I will be set up in our own home,” Blaine put in. “I don't know if it will be Chicago or Omaha, maybe even New York. I'll let Sunny decide that. Makes no difference to me, as long as she is Mrs. Blaine O'Brien.”

Colt tried to ignore the remark, saying another good-bye to Stuart. “I hate to leave it like this, but I do have to get back to the dinner,” Stuart told him. “Do take care of yourself, Colt.” The man left, and Colt walked outside, feeling Blaine close on his heels.

He reached Dancer and began untying the reins, turning to face Blaine. “Nice meeting you,” he said, trying to keep things civil.

“I wish I could say the same,” Blaine answered, the bitterness coming through full force now. “Tell me, Travis, what is the
real
reason you're here?”

Colt sighed. “Exactly what I said,” he answered. “Just visiting an old acquaintance who was nice enough to care when I lost my wife and child.”

Blaine faced him squarely. “I'm sorry about your tragedy, Mr. Travis, but the point is you're alone again, so let's get something straight. Sunny Landers is going to be my wife someday. She needs a man of her own social status, one who understands money and power—one who has plenty of both all on his own. I have bought and sold men like you many times over. If you think you can come here and pick up on some old childish crush Sunny might have had on you, think again. You would be destroyed—by wealth and power that would overwhelm a man like you. And if you do anything to turn Sunny's eyes from me,
I
will destroy you! Fighting your Indians and buffalo hunters and whatever else you've done won't compare to what I can do to a man like you, with one snap of a
finger
! You remember that when you have your little talk with her in the morning. Make sure it's a final good-bye. And don't think I won't be joining the two of you for breakfast!”

Colt stared at him, a look coming into his eyes that made Blaine swallow and tremble, although he kept his eyes boldly locked on Colt. “If you're this unsure of Sunny's love for you because of a visit from an old friend, the two of you must not have much of a relationship,” he told Blaine. “And from what I've seen, you aren't any better suited for her than
I
am!” He turned and mounted Dancer. “Don't worry, O'Brien. I came here as a friend, whether you want to believe that or not. When a man sees his wife's nude body filled with arrows and his son's head smashed, he doesn't have much stomach or desire for letting himself care about another woman, not for a long time.” He leaned closer. “You actually think I'm after Sunny's money, don't you?” He shook his head. “Jesus,” he muttered. He pulled back on Dancer's reins, making the horse turn in a circle. “I care about
Sunny
, nothing more. Her money means no more to me than cow shit. And I'm more impressed by a good horse than I am by you, O'Brien. Don't ever challenge me like that again. I don't take threats lightly, and if we were on
my
turf, you'd be begging for your
life
right about now!”

He kicked Dancer's sides and rode off, the horse's hooves clacking against the brick drive. He headed down the street, his head aching with a need to hit someone. He cut between two thick rows of neatly trimmed shrubs, guiding Dancer down a sandy bank toward the lake.

“Bastard,” he muttered. “We'll outsmart him, boy,” he told Dancer. “We'll just camp out on the beach below the bluff behind her house and wait for the party to end.”

They reached the damp sand, and the sound of the waves was music to Colt's ears compared to the laughter and empty talk going on inside the Landers mansion. He dismounted and spread a blanket out on the sand. He stretched out on the blanket, lying on his back and looking up at the stars. “God, this feels good,” he said aloud. “I couldn't breathe in there.”

The night was warm, with just enough of a soft breeze to keep away the mosquitoes. He would wait until the party was over. He argued that he was probably a fool to do this at all. He should leave and forget the whole thing. But now that he had looked into Sunny's blue eyes again, remembered the kindness in her letters, he couldn't go yet. Besides, he had promised her they would get a chance to talk alone, and alone it would be. If Mr. Blaine O'Brien thought he was going to horn in on their morning meeting, then he would just have his talk with Sunny tonight, right down here on the beach.

Sunny approached the campfire tentatively, remembering another night, when a young Sunny Landers had a painful crush on the tall, handsome Colt Travis. She told herself this was different. They were both older now, leading lives worlds apart from each other. She had learned a lot about life, was more mature, better able to be rational about matters of the heart. She realized Blaine would be furious if he knew she was coming to the beach alone, but Blaine O'Brien did not own her, and she had not decided yet if she ever wanted him to.

She wondered why Colt wanted to meet her at this ungodly hour. After Blaine and the guests had all left, a kitchen maid had come to tell her that a man calling himself Colt had come to the back door with a message that she should come down to the beach. It seemed a ridiculous time to be doing such a thing, but then she realized this was just like something Colt would do, never one to do the expected, just like Stuart had said earlier in the evening. And if the whole thing
was
ridiculous, then she was as crazy as Colt for being here at all.

Why had she felt so compelled to come? Why had she not even questioned whether it was right or wrong? Blaine had stirred enough womanly instincts in her to make her realize there was something inherently dangerous about this, the soft, warm night, a full moon casting a brilliant glitter on Lake Michigan, the mixed feelings she had had earlier tonight when she first set eyes on Colt after such a long time.

She breathed deeply, feeling fifteen again. She touched her hair, now brushed out from the fancy hairdo she had worn earlier. Mae had quickly braided it into one thick plait at her back. She had changed clothes, from her magnificent party dress into a simple blouse and skirt, and she had given Mae instructions that no matter how long she was gone, the girl was not to become alarmed and was not to tell a soul where she was. Mae had barraged her with a thousand questions until Sunny had simply left while the girl was still jabbering.

Waves rolled softly onto the beach, their rushing sound shrouding the scrunch of Sunny's high-top shoes stepping through the sand. She drew closer to the figure sitting cross-legged on a blanket near the fire. “Colt?” she called from the darkness.

Immediately, he jumped to his feet, looking in the direction of her voice. “I'm not used to the sounds in this place,” he told her. “Out on the prairie you never would have snuck up on me like that.”

She smiled, stepping into the light of the fire. “I was so surprised when the kitchen maid brought your message. I thought you were coming back later this morning.”

“I was, but—” He contemplated telling her about Blaine's threat, then decided he had better not bring it up. Looking at her now, he could hardly blame the man for his feelings, and maybe Blaine thought he was looking out for Sunny's best interest after all. Besides, if he told her what had happened, it would make this whole visit look like some kind of romantic challenge, which it wasn't—at least that was what he told himself it shouldn't be. Still, those blue eyes in the soft firelight did something to him. “I thought this would be nicer for both of us. With all those servants you have, we wouldn't really be alone up at the house.”

She laughed lightly. “Quite a change from where you come from, isn't it?”

He smiled almost bashfully, taking a deep sigh. “Quite.” He glanced at the lights high up on the bluff. “I thought that music would never end. When you throw a party, you do it up right, don't you? I imagine a few of those people are going to wake up with magnificent headaches in the morning.”

She laughed more. Colt thought how full and tempting her lips were, how much prettier she was when she dressed simply, as she was now.

“Of that I am sure,” she said, sobering. “I just hope Vince is the sickest. I'm so terribly sorry about the things he said, Colt.”

“It doesn't matter. I didn't come here to impress him or Blaine or anyone else. I just wanted to see you.”

How she loved to hear him talk with that soft drawl. There was that wonderful melting smile she remembered. Again she thought about that last night she saw him at Fort Laramie. Was that five whole years ago? Or was it just yesterday? They watched each other a moment, hardly aware they were moving closer, neither of them quite sure how or why they were suddenly in each other's arms. She rested her head against his chest and he pressed her close, relishing the feel of her against him, remembering how nice it was to hold someone sweet and beautiful and pure.

“Oh, Colt, I'm so glad you decided to do this,” she said, feeling safe and protected in his embrace. “I was so tired and was thinking of nothing but sleep; and then I got your message and suddenly I was wide awake. I still can't believe you came to Chicago, but I'm so glad you did.” They held each other a moment, both of them confused by their emotions.

“I am too,” he told her.

She leaned back slightly to look at him. “Why, Colt? Why do you want to join the army? It's so dangerous. Vi has been working part-time at the hospital, and the awful injuries—men losing legs and arms, even dying of infection from much simpler wounds. It's an ugly, ugly war, Colt, and you have already been through so much.”

He watched her eyes, saw her own sudden embarrassment that they had so easily embraced. Colt felt a dangerous stirring deep inside and pulled away from her. “A man has to do
something
with his life. I can't think of a better way to be useful and still have something to do that will help me stop thinking about things that make me want to go crazy.” He took her hand. “I put out a blanket here so we can sit.” He sat down cross-legged, and Sunny, her cheeks still feeling hot from having let him hold her, tentatively took a place beside him, her legs curled under her. She wondered why, after all these years, she felt such a wonderful comfort in his arms.

“I know what you're thinking, Colt,” she told him, her concern for his welfare overpowering a sudden shyness. “You think you're expendable because you're a man without responsibility or family—because you think no one cares. But
I
care, Colt. And I know Stuart thinks a lot of you and so do Vi and a few others, simply because I've told them so much about you.” She hesitantly touched his arm. “Please don't go, Colt. You could stay here. I would find some kind of work for you. I'm leaving for Omaha soon. Maybe you could go back and work for the railroad. For heaven's sake, they'll need surveyors, scouts, guides—there are any number of things you could do.”

Colt reached in front of him and took his tobacco pouch and a cigarette paper from his saddlebag. “It's something to think about, but not right now.” He opened the bag and carefully shook some tobacco from it onto the paper, turning slightly to shelter the loose tobacco from the gentle breeze. “It's going to be a long time yet before your railroad gets under way, Sunny. I've had enough experience with the government and the Indians to know how long it takes Washington to move on anything, even after they have decided to take action.” He packed the tobacco tightly and licked and sealed the paper. “My guess is it will be at least a year before things get off the ground. You're more familiar with how our fine legislators operate. What's your guess?”

Sunny watched him strike a match and light the cigarette. She studied the handsome, hard lines of his face as he smoked. What was it about him that stirred her so? He was nothing like the kind of man to whom she should be attracted. Was it his heroic nature? The hint of danger about him? Or was it simply that he was so forbidden? She moved her eyes to watch the fire. “You understand politics better than I thought,” she told him. “Yes, I figure a year, maybe even longer. But it
will
get done, Colt.”

He blew smoke into the night air as he let out a sigh. “I have no doubt about that. In the meantime, I have to make myself busy or go insane. I know you care, and I appreciate that; but you're just one person, Sunny. And right now it wouldn't matter
how
many people cared. For the moment I don't give a damn what happens to me, and nothing can change that. There are moments when I would welcome death.”

She closed her eyes against the pain of the words. “It was terrible, wasn't it?”

He hesitated a moment, staring at his cigarette. “Worse than anything your imagination could ever conjure up,” he answered almost absently. “After that, revenge was all I had to live for. The thought of going after the Pawnee was my medicine. And I by God went after them.” The last words were spoken low and mean. He drew deeply on the cigarette. “When I'm not in such civilized places, I still tie the three Pawnee scalps I took that day into Dancer's mane. Dancer is that fine Appaloosa you see hobbled nearby. He's a gift from White Buffalo.”

Sunny could just make out the horse's silhouette beyond the fire. The reality of what Colt was telling her made her shiver. What was she doing here, sitting beside this half-breed man who had lived among the Cheyenne, had attacked the Pawnee like the wildest savage, had taken scalps? She remembered how calmly and coldly he had shot the buffalo hunters. It was hard to believe a man like that could turn around and be so thoughtful and caring, could settle with a wife and son, or could have written such wonderful letters.

He was a man of contrasts, and of all the wealthy, famous, and important people she knew, none was as interesting or exciting as Colt Travis. “Did you get that scar over your eye from the Pawnee?” she asked. He did not answer right away, but she could feel his hatred.

“I did,” he finally said. “You know, Sunny, a man can kill and kill and kill, and still not be satisfied, because killing a thousand men isn't going to bring back the loved ones you've lost.”

She drew up her knees and folded her arms around them. “I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry about all of it. Maybe you need to talk about her, Colt. I'd be willing to listen. What was she like? What was her name?”

He studied his cigarette thoughtfully. “Her name was LeeAnn,” he finally said. “We didn't meet the way people normally meet. Actually, I
found
her. She had been traveling with her mother and father. Her mother got sick and died, and before she was buried her father shot himself in his grief—blamed himself, I guess, for bringing her west. I was camped nearby—heard the gunshot. When I went to investigate, I found LeeAnn in hysterics, covered with her father's blood.”

“Dear God,” Sunny whispered. “How awful!”

“Pretty pitiful. I buried her parents and took LeeAnn to Denver—found a woman who took her in. It took some time for her to recover. We did a lot of talking—kind of identified with each other, you know? Neither of us had one damn person left who knew or cared we existed. I guess it was the loneliness in both of us that—”

He stopped, the words catching in his throat. Sunny again felt the unwanted jealousy gripping at her. “That made you fall in love,” she finished for him.

Colt took another deep breath, and it was obvious he was having trouble finding the words. “I, uh, I used the money your father paid me to set up a little farm in eastern Colorado—built a cabin. We got married, and to my own surprise I actually enjoyed being settled. Then Ethan was born. I helped deliver him myself—my ‘little colt' LeeAnn called him, seeing as how the only thing I had ever helped deliver before that was foals.”

He smoked a moment longer, and Sunny waited quietly, letting him tell it at his own pace. “I can't even begin to describe how it feels to a man to have a son. I thought I had finally found what I needed in life. And then one day I—” He cleared his throat. “I went hunting. We needed the meat. I've had people tell me I shouldn't blame myself, that I did what any man would do in the same situation. But that doesn't help. I'll never stop blaming myself for being gone that day.” His voice turned gruff with anger and bitterness. “Ever since then I've been able to understand why LeeAnn's father shot himself for feeling responsible for his wife's death.”

His voice broke on the last few words, and Sunny's heart went out to him. She touched his back in a caring gesture. “My God, Colt, I hope you haven't thought of doing such a thing.”

He cleared his throat again and took another drag on the cigarette. “I suppose I've hoped it would happen in a roundabout way. When I went after the Pawnee, I literally prayed I would get killed, but luck wasn't with me, I guess. I still wake up in cold sweats, sometimes screaming. I keep seeing it all in my dreams—the cabin on fire, my son's little face gone, LeeAnn's naked body full of arrows. If I told you the other things they did to her, you'd be sick…like I still sometimes get sick.” His voice withered on the last words, and he rubbed at his eyes.

“Colt—”

He waved her off, putting the cigarette to his lips and rising. He walked off into the darkness for several minutes, and Sunny could not help her own tears. Finally, he reappeared, carrying a couple of pieces of dried wood he had found washed up on the beach. He put the wood on the fire, and Sunny could see his eyes were red from silent tears. He no longer had the cigarette.

“It's pretty here,” he said. “The Great Lakes are beautiful, but I miss the mountains. Too bad there aren't nice big fresh-water lakes like this out west. I have a feeling that as things get more settled out there, people will be killing each other over water rights.” He sat down next to her again, and neither of them spoke for several long seconds.

“Colt,” Sunny finally said, “you aren't joining the army to preserve the Union or fight slavery, or because you have no family, are you? You're just joining up in the hope you'll be killed.”

He rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the fire. “I'm not sure. I do think the slavery thing is completely wrong. Before I came here I helped a young Negro boy escape to Canada. That's what got me interested in joining up—hearing the things he told me, and reading a book called
Uncle
Tom's Cabin
.”