Thunder on the Plains (3 page)

“We're glad to have you guiding us, Mr. Travis,” she told him. “I'm so excited about the trip. It's going to be such fun.”

Colt suppressed an urge to roll his eyes in exasperation.
Fun?
He looked back at her father. “I have to say, it might be better for your daughter if you left her here in Omaha or sent her back to Chicago, Mr. Landers.”

“Oh, no.” Sunny spoke up, taking her father's arm. “Wherever Daddy goes, I go. It's always been that way. I'll be just fine, Mr. Travis.”

Landers patted her hand. “My daughter goes everywhere with me, Mr. Travis. We have plenty of well-armed men and plenty of supplies. Sunny's personal tutor is also with us, Miss Gloria Putnam. She's still in the coach, not feeling too well, I'm afraid, but she's getting used to the travel. Miss Putnam will help Sunny bathe and dress and do her hair, as well as continue her lessons. I keep my daughter well schooled, Mr. Travis. Sunny will be taking over a good share of my business someday, and by the time she does, she'll be as adept at doing accounting and figures as any man.” The man beamed with pride. “Don't you worry about my Sunny. She's looking forward to the adventure. She's got more strength and spunk than you think, and she comes from rugged stock, brave and uncomplaining, loyal to the death.” The man scowled then. “Which is more than I can say for my oldest son.”

“Oh, Daddy, Vince will come around one day.” Sunny tried to soothe him. “He'll see how right you are in this.”

Colt allowed himself to look her over once more.
Rugged
stock
, he questioned silently.
And
she
comes
out
here
with
her
nanny, dressed like she's going to a dance.

“I do hope the Indians farther west have tamed down some,” Stuart Landers put in.

“We shouldn't have too much trouble if we stick to the main trail,” Colt answered. “It would be wise to take along plenty of things to trade, like ribbons and tobacco and such.”

“Right,” Bo Landers agreed. “See to it, Stuart.”

“Yes, sir. We'll have all the supplies we need. I already have a lot of things waiting in storage.”

Colt took a quick inventory of the wagons and coach, deliberately not allowing himself to look at Sunny again. He had been prepared for a whining little child, but Sunny Landers was certainly no child, nor did she seem prone to complaining. More than that, she was beautiful.

He immediately chastised himself for the thought. Someone like Sunny Landers was as dangerous and wrong for him as a rattlesnake. Besides that, once they got going and she showed her feathers, she would probably prove herself to be spoiled to the point of unbearable. That sweet smile didn't fool him any. She was a “Daddy's girl,” and her beauty would likely fade as her personality showed itself. “Your wife isn't coming?” he asked her father.

The light momentarily left Bo Landers's eyes. “Sunny's mother died shortly after Sunny was born,” the man answered.

Colt chastised himself inwardly for asking the question, thinking that he should have realized why the man took his daughter everywhere with him, why she had a nanny along. He saw the pain in Landers's eyes, the same pain that had been in his father's eyes when his mother died. “I'm sorry, Mr. Landers. I didn't know.”

Landers cast a scowl at his son. “Stuart should have explained,” he grumbled. He looked back at Colt, his eyes brightening more. “Well, that was fifteen years ago, and I have learned to live with it. And my beautiful Lucille left me with an equally beautiful daughter, the light of my life. The older she gets, the more she reminds me of her mother.” He patted Sunny's shoulder, and turned then, opening his arms to draw attention to his entourage. “So, are we well enough equipped, Mr. Travis?”

Colt stole one more glance at Sunny, feeling a little sorry that she had never known her mother. He thought he detected a distant loneliness in those blue eyes, even though she was smiling. He walked past her to the coach, glancing at the frail-looking Miss Putnam, who remained inside the carriage. He nodded to her, but she only held a handkerchief to her mouth and looked away. Colt guessed her to be perhaps in her mid-thirties, and he supposed she was coming along only for the money, or perhaps under the threat of losing her job if she refused. Then again, maybe she was along out of loyalty and love for her young charge.

He scanned the wagons and men, then nodded to Landers. “Looks like you've prepared yourself well.” He crouched down to take a closer look at the coach. “That's a hell of an undercarriage,” he commented. “Looks strong. I've never seen one quite like it.”

“That's a swing suspension,” Landers answered. He proceeded to explain that the coach was specially built for him by an Englishman. Sunny took the opportunity to stare at Colt while he and her father were involved in their conversation. Sometimes men came to Chicago dressed like Colt, mysterious beings from an unreal world. She had always thought of them as wild things, like a bear or a wolf. She had never spoken to such a man, nor had she ever seen one quite as clean and handsome as Colt Travis. She watched how he walked as he took a look at the rest of the wagons. He had an ambling gait that spoke of a young man who was relaxed and sure of himself. She wondered how people like him survived, living off the land and sleeping under the stars. Did Colt Travis have a place to call his own? Stuart had said the man's parents were dead. Did he just wander all the time, never staying in one place? It didn't seem like he could only be twenty. He had the sureness and build of an older man.

Another wagon clattered past them, and dust rolled. Sunny squinted and turned away, wondering at the primitiveness of this place called Omaha. Were all towns west of Chicago like this? Would such places turn into big cities once the railroad was built, as her father kept saying would happen? Oh, how she hoped that railroad would become a reality. It meant everything to Bo Landers, and what her father dreamed, she dreamed too. She knew others laughed at him, and it hurt terribly to see anyone scoff at her father, who was her whole world. He was more than a father. He was her best friend, and he needed her. She was sure she was the only one who truly loved him, who understood his dreams. A transcontinental railroad was a great challenge to him, and Bo Landers loved challenges. It took men like her father to make such ideas become a reality.
Your
brothers
have
grown
up
taking
everything
they
have
for
granted
, he had told her more than once.
They're satisfied to leave things as they are, but a man has to take chances in life, Sunny. We have to step out into unknown territory, take the bull by the tail and see where it kicks. That's how my grandfather and my father built all that we have.

“Once you pick up the supplies your son and I arranged for, we can be on our way, by tomorrow morning if you like,” Colt was saying. He and Bo Landers were walking back toward Sunny.

“We'll be ready,” Landers answered. “Let me ask you, Mr. Travis, what do
you
think of the idea of a transcontinental railroad?”

Colt decided to weigh his words. “I suppose a man can do whatever he sets his mind to,” he answered.
Especially
if
he
has
enough
money
behind
him
, he wanted to add. He decided not to tell the man he thought the idea was crazy. If Bo Landers wanted to dump his millions into an impossible dream, that was his business.

“That's the kind of talk I like to hear,” Landers answered. He began shouting some orders, and Colt allowed himself one more look at Sunny. He caught her staring right back at him. “I hope we can become friends on this trip, Mr. Travis,” she told him. “I'd like to find out more about you. I'm keeping a journal about our trip and the interesting people we've met along the way. Tell me, what is that fascinating accent you have?”

Colt watched her stunning blue eyes, still trying to determine if this spoiled little rich girl was as genuinely nice as she appeared, or just trying to trick something out of him. “People down in Texas would say
you're
the one with the accent,” he answered. He shifted his hat. “I, uh, I don't think you'd find much about me that's interesting enough to write about,” he told her. He turned and walked away, mounting his horse then to join Slim and Stuart. Sunny took note of how he sat his horse, almost as if he were part of the animal. She wondered if she had offended him by commenting about his accent, and earlier about his Indian looks, hoping she had not gotten off on a bad footing with him.

Sunny began to compose her journal entry in her mind.
We
have
reached
Omaha, and tomorrow we will head into the wilderness. Our guide is Mr. Colt Travis, and he seems quite skilled and knowledgeable. I am sure he will get us through safely, and that we will become good friends before this trip is over.

Slim rubbed his stinging jaw, where he had cut it shaving with cold river water that morning. “I ain't never seen the like,” he grumbled, “a man bein' told he's got to shave just to suit some fancy gal he don't hardly know. It ain't right, Colt. I ain't never shaved on a trip like this in my life. Here we are out here huntin' game and Indians, and we've got to worry about keepin' our mugs smooth.”

Colt laughed lightly. “You'll survive.”

“Easy for you to say. You ain't old enough to have a beard that grows back on you before the sun sets.” The man looked back at the elegant coach and the procession of wagons that followed it. “You gonna take supper with them?”

Colt sobered. “Do I have a choice? Her father practically demanded that I be there.”

“He made it sound like he was askin' you to a ball or somethin'. I can't get over them settin' out a fancy table every night, spreadin' that white tablecloth over them boards, settin' out china. That Bo Landers sure keeps his help busy, them cooks stirrin' up a full meal every night under these conditions, that sourpussed Miss Putnam fussin' after that little gal like she'd die if that there Sunny got dirty or got a hair out of place. I wonder why all of a sudden they invited you to sit at their fancy little table instead of sharin' grub with the rest of the men like always.”

Colt scanned the wide horizon for trouble. “Who knows? I'd just as soon
not
join them, but Landers seemed pretty insistent.”

Slim shrugged. “After two weeks on the trail and that little gal sittin' at your fire every night askin' you all them questions, I guess they figure you've earned the right.”

“Earned? You make me sound like some servant who gets to come in the front door.” Colt wrapped the reins of his horse around the pommel of his saddle, freeing his hands so that he could roll himself a cigarette. “All that money doesn't impress me any, and men like Landers bore me. Sometimes I find myself hoping his idea never gets off the ground. Do you realize what the railroad would do to this country? It would finish off the Indian and the buffalo, bring towns and noise and all sorts of no-goods out here, ruin the peace and quiet.” He took a paper from a pocket of his buckskin shirt and lifted a pouch tied to his belt, pulling it open and managing to pour some tobacco onto the paper without spilling any. “We've been on the trail for only two weeks and already I'm wishing this trip was over with.”

Slim adjusted his hat, casting Colt a sly glance. “I think you've got other reasons for wishin' this trip was over.”

“Yeah?” Colt licked the paper and sealed the cigarette. “What the hell are you thinking?”

Slim sat a little straighter, forcing back a chuckle. “I think you'd like this trip just fine if you didn't have to always be lookin' at that pretty Miss Sunny, answerin' her questions, hearin' her voice, watchin' her move. I ain't exactly missed myself the way she sits a horse, wearin' them split skirts and straddlin' that horse like a man. I didn't believe her when she first said she could ride, but she does just fine.”

Colt put the cigarette between his lips. “I never thought of you as a dirty old man, Slim Jessup. And as far as what you think
I'm
thinking, mind your own business. I'm not a damn fool. Besides, she's just a kid.”

Slim chuckled. “And you ain't?”

Colt took the unlit cigarette from his mouth and cast the man a look of chagrin. “I stopped being a kid the day I saved your scraggly scalp from those Crow Indians when I was only seventeen. And don't forget that rattler. Anybody who's done what I've done the past few years isn't any kid.”

Slim waved him off. “Just gettin' in my digs,” he said with a wink. “You know how I like to get a rise out of you.” They rode quietly for a moment while Colt slipped his hand into one of his saddlebags and took out a match. He flicked it with a fingernail to make it flame and he lit his cigarette.

“She is a looker, though,” Slim teased. “You be careful, Colt. You've been down that road before.”

Colt snickered and shook his head. “Lay off, will you? She's way above my head. I'm not ignorant enough to have any fantasies about someone who wears real gold and diamond brooches.”

“Colt!”

Colt turned at his shouted name to see Sunny riding hard toward them. “Jesus,” he muttered, noticing how her riding skirt hugged her belly and hips.

“Speakin' of gold and diamonds, here they come,” Slim joked.

“What's she doing riding up here by us again?” Colt grumbled.

Slim smiled. “You don't know? Better watch out, son, or ol' Bo Landers will hang you by your, uh, toes.”

Sunny trotted her horse between the two men. She was all smiles and eagerness, her hair plaited into a thick blond braid down her back. “Father said I could come up and ride with you today,” she said excitedly. She looked at Colt. “I hope you don't mind. I wanted to watch you work. What do you look for? I mean, what does a scout actually do?”

Slim tipped his hat to Colt. “I'll let you answer that,” he said with a wink. “I'm goin' on up ahead and find us a good spot to cross the river.” He kicked his horse into a faster trot, and the animal lumbered away, carrying its heavy cargo.

Colt watched the wide shoulders of his companion, trying to decide how he could get back at the man for abandoning him at this awkward moment. He kept the cigarette in his mouth and his eyes forward when he answered Sunny. “Scouting is just—just scouting,” he half grumbled. “You watch for tracks that show there's a buffalo herd up ahead, or Indians. You smell the air for a storm coming, shoot game when it's needed for food, dicker with pesky Indians—things like that.” He finally looked at her. “Maybe your pa said you could come up here, but
I
didn't. You shouldn't just go riding out in the open like this unless I say it's okay.”

“But we're only a couple of weeks out of Omaha! There certainly can't be any dangerous Indians here,” she objected, tossing her head.

Colt allowed his gaze to linger. Did this woman-child understand what it did to a young man to see a blouse fit the way hers fit her, or to see such soft, fair skin? He was suddenly angry with her for being so beautiful, let alone for her assumption that she could ride up and join him anytime she felt like it. She and her father both were people accustomed to doing what they pleased without having to ask permission, and he decided to put a stop to it before she began thinking she could come up and join him whenever she got the yen. That was the last thing he needed.

“How the hell would
you
know where the Indians are?” he barked, deliberately using a swear word. “
I'm
the scout, remember? I told your father that once we got under way, things had to be like I say. You act like this is going to be one big picnic. You'll find out different after a few more weeks, and when I say you should stay hidden in that coach, you'd better do it! And I can't do my scouting with you tagging along asking questions. That's not what I'm getting paid for!” He looked away then and waited for her reply, hoping she would just turn around and ride back; but she trotted her horse right beside his, and he hated himself more with each passing silent moment.

“You're just like all the others,” she finally said, so quietly he barely understood her. There was such a ring of sorrow to the words that he felt an odd sick feeling. Why had he let himself be short with her? She was as innocent as a sunrise. It wasn't her fault she was so damn beautiful, and dealing with it was
his
problem, not hers.

“What others?” he asked.

She let out a long sigh, then sniffed. Colt was not about to look and see if she was crying. “The people who don't know me,” she answered. “They think that just because I'm rich and because my father dotes on me, I must be spoiled and arrogant. Most of the people I associate with back in Chicago who are my age
are
spoiled and arrogant. I don't like them at all, and people of a lower class think I'm too good for them; or maybe they think they're too good for me. Maybe they
are
. All I know is that it's awfully hard to make friends. Miss Putnam is older and domineering. I can't tell her anything.”

She rode her horse forward, then turned it in front of him, halting and facing him. Colt rode closer, feeling like an ass at the sight of tears in her eyes.

“I wasn't being condescending when I asked about your work, Colt. Truly I wasn't,” she told him. “I really am interested. You must know that from the times we've talked over campfires at night. And just because we're different doesn't mean we can't be friends. After all, you aren't that much older than I.”

Colt took the cigarette from his mouth and grinned. “To begin with, I'm afraid I don't even know what
condescending
means,” he told her.

Sunny thought for a moment, then smiled, realizing he was teasing her. She quickly wiped a tear. “It just means I wasn't trying to act superior or make fun of what you do. I respect your work very much, and I want to get things into words so that I don't forget. After this trip I'll probably never see you again.”

Their gazes remained fixed for a moment, each realizing the other didn't dare say what was really felt. There was no future in such thoughts. In the past two weeks Colt had come to see her as an amazingly genuine, honest person, albeit a little spoiled. He couldn't help wishing she were a little older, and much less wealthy.

“I guess that's true,” he answered. “I have to say, I never thought of somebody as wealthy as you as being lonely for friends. I'm sorry I lost my temper, but you really do have to be careful. You ought to stay back by the wagons.”

“I'll ask first after this. Just tell me you aren't terribly angry, and that we can be friends. I might even write a story about you someday.”

Colt shook his head in embarrassment and touched his horse's sides, goading the roan gelding into a gentle walk. “I don't think it would be a very exciting story,” he told her.

“Oh, of course it would. A little boy of five, whose mother dies of cholera, goes on to the city of Austin with his missionary father and works for surveyors, then is orphaned at fourteen and strikes out on his own. And then that wonderful story Slim told me, of how you saved his life when you shot that rattler; and how you rode right into an angry band of Cheyenne warriors to rescue a white woman they had stolen from a wagon train; and what a good marksman you are, and—and the time you fought off Crow Indians who were attacking Slim, and—”

“Slim likes to exaggerate.”

“I'll bet he's not exaggerating at all. I know you could tell me more if you weren't so bashful about yourself.” She took a deep breath, watching Slim, now several yards ahead of them. “How do you even know where you are?”

Colt shrugged. “It's easy this first part of the way. You just follow the river. When you can't do that, you watch the sun by day and the stars at night. After you've done enough of this kind of traveling, you watch for certain landmarks. In our particular case you look for Chimney Rock, Independence Rock, things like that. Farther west the land gets hillier. You'll see bluffs and low mountains, more trees. You might even see one or two herd of buffalo before we're through. That's something you'll for sure want to write about.”

“I've never seen such country. Except for along the river, there are no trees.” She looked over at him. “Do you still think my father is crazy to think he can build a railroad out here?”

“I never said I thought he was crazy.”

“No, but I could tell you were thinking it.”

Colt laughed lightly, and Sunny thought she had never met a more handsome or more mysterious man. She was surprised at the feelings he stirred in her. Until she had made this trip with her father, she had not given fond thoughts to any young man. All the ones she knew back in Chicago were so empty, and so obviously interested in the wealth she would one day inherit. Somehow she suspected this young man didn't care about those things. Colt was the first young man who had actually drawn her attention from her father.

“It's really best if you go back,” he told her.

How could she tell him she loved riding beside him? How could she ever explain to him or anyone how her heart pounded so that it hurt when he was near? Was she too young to feel this way? Would he laugh at her if he knew? Worse, was she being disloyal to her father and her responsibilities? Someday she would be one of the richest women in the country. What would someone like Colt Travis think of that? She had learned enough about him to know that he would hate the kind of life she led back in Chicago, and she carried too many obligations to ever leave that life. She was being silly and irresponsible to think of being anything but passing friends with this man; but even that much was exciting.

Colt turned to meet her gaze, and she reddened, wondering if he realized what she was thinking. Maybe he thought the same. “You
will
take supper with us tonight, won't you?” she asked. “We're having steak, boiled potatoes, biscuits, and peas. We'll even have a little wine.”

Colt snickered and shook his head. “Your father sure knows how to travel.” He took another drag on his cigarette. “I'll join you, but don't ask me too often. A man like me feels kind of out of place doing that sort of thing. I sure never thought I'd see the day when people ate off fancy plates out here. I can't even imagine the way you must live back in Chicago.”

“Well, it's the only life I've ever known, so I suppose it isn't as grand to me as it might be to others. Our house is three stories high, and has twenty-five rooms. The third floor has a wonderful ballroom. Daddy loves to throw parties. We have ten servants and two cooks. You should come and visit us sometime when this trip is over. We could take you to the theater, and you could ride a train. Maybe you could come to my sixteenth birthday party. There will even be senators and congressmen there.”