Thunder on the Plains (52 page)

Vi rose wearily and walked to a chest of drawers. She found a hanky and brought it back to Sunny, sighing with sympathy as she sat down on the edge of the bed. She watched the baby grasp at Sunny's breast, noticing how dark his little hand looked against Sunny's white skin. “I suspected,” she told Sunny. “You called out for Colt during labor.”

“I did? Did Blaine hear?”

“I don't think so. I told the doctor and nurse to say nothing—said it was just the name of an old friend you must have thought of in your delirium.”

Sunny closed her eyes again, more tears coming. Vi's heart ached for her and she touched her arm. “Sunny, don't do this. You'll lose your milk.” She wiped at a few quiet tears of her own. “Honey, since you're the one who brought up Colt's name, you might as well know that he came looking for you after he recovered.”

The baby stopped suckling, and Sunny gently pulled away, covering her breast but keeping the baby beside her. “When? What did he do?” She shivered, wiping at more tears. “Oh, how he must hate me!”

Vi took her hand. “I'm sure he doesn't hate you. He came to Vince's house while we were all having dinner, and he lit into Vince something awful. We all thought he was going to kill him. He made Vince tell the truth, figured this was all Vince's doing. Vince was a long time recovering.”

Sunny's eyes widened with dread. “Then Vince told, in front of you and Eve?”

Vi frowned. “Sunny, you should have just shared it with Colt and let him decide what to do.”

“I couldn't,” Sunny sniffed. “I was afraid of how he'd look at me, what he'd think about the two days we spent together. And I had to protect my mother and father's memories. I couldn't let people gossip. And Vince threatened to kill Colt. I would rather live without him and know he's alive than to go to him and have him die.”

“Colt can take care of himself. And the other, Sunny, how could you think that would matter to him?”

“Things like that always matter to a man. When I realized I was pregnant, I couldn't go running to Colt then either. If I had dropped everything and married Colt, you know what people would have said about my baby.” She kissed the baby's hair. “I never want ugly things said about my child, or about Colt. Vince was right in saying that even if he didn't have him killed, the way we live would have destroyed Colt. It never could have worked.”

“I think you're wrong, Sunny. But it's too late now to try to change any of it.”

Sunny sniffed and blew her nose. “Where did Colt go? Is he still working for the railroad?”

“No. No one seems to know where he went.”

Sunny pulled the baby closer. “Gone again, like the wind. At least I have his son with me. I can bear anything now, Vi.”

Unless
the
baby
begins
looking
more
and
more
like
Colt
, Vi thought. “Sunny, I am amazed at your strength and determination in the world of business; and yet you always place yourself second in your personal life. You've got to start being your true self, stop living the way everyone else expects you to live.”

Sunny kissed her son's sweet-smelling hair. “It's like you said. It's too late now. I married Blaine, and I'll be true to him. Has he seen the baby yet?”

“Yes. He'll be in soon.” Vi decided not to tell her how Blaine had frowned at first when he saw his son's black hair. He had quickly brightened, putting on a look of pure fatherly pride. Vi squeezed Sunny's hand. “You just remember that I'm always here when you need to talk, Sunny. You can always tell me the truth about anything. You know it will go no further.”

“I know. Thank you for always being there, Vi. I'll be all right.”

“Do you want me to take the baby?”

“No. I just want to hold him and look at him for as long as I can stay awake. Now I'll always have a little bit of Colt with me.”

Vi rose, feeling sick at how wrong all this was. She left the room, looking for Blaine. “Where is Blaine?” she asked Stuart.

“Oh, he's left to wire New York—wants the birth to get splattered in the papers right away—good for publicity.” Stuart made the remark with a hint of sarcasm.

Sunny heard him, even though he spoke quietly.
Yes
, she thought.
Anything
for
publicity
. Blaine had pulled her all over Europe in spite of her terrible morning sickness, showing her off, letting foreign papers take pictures, making sure many of them were sent home for articles in New York newspapers. Because of her sickness and her inner unhappiness, their sex life had been a disaster from the first night, when he accused her of being cold and unresponsive. He had been angry at first that she had gotten pregnant so soon and they had to cut short their European and African tour because she was so sick. It seemed that once she became his wife, he figured he had her where he wanted her and no longer needed to be kind and attentive.

She could still bear this marriage, be a good wife to him, if he didn't always make her feel like just a pretty ornament on his arm rather than making her feel like a loved and cherished wife. In all sincerity she had made up her mind to make him happy, but Blaine seemed to want only her bedroom favors, and to show her off to the general public, with little affection shown in their private moments. They could talk about stocks and bonds, the railroad and the progress of his logging industry; but then, Blaine could talk to anyone about those things. They were his favorite subjects. She had not realized how unfeeling he truly was until she met his mother and sister, two very cold and selfish women who cared about nothing but lying around on the Riviera and being taken care of by Blaine's money. Sometimes Sunny had to admire what a hardworking man he was, but his objective in life seemed to be only to get richer and be in the public eye. She realized that she had done a lot of things herself to increase her fortune, but it had been to prove something to everyone else, never for herself. Now that she had a son, she was determined to devote more time to her baby.

“My precious little son,” she said softly. “If only your father could see you. How I would love to give him that happiness.” The tears came again and she kissed the baby's tiny hand. Blaine came into the room then, all smiles.

“The announcement will be in all the newspapers,” he bragged. “I imagine baby gifts will be flowing in from all over before long.” He knelt beside the bed. “What do we call him?”

“Whatever you want, Blaine.”

“Well, how about after your father—Beauregard—call him Bo.”

She managed a smile, taking hope that the baby would bring a new closeness between her and Blaine. “Little Bo. All right. Beauregard Stuart, after my father and my brother.”

Blaine grinned. “Hey, little Bo,” he said, letting the infant grasp one of his fingers, “you, my son, are going to win an election for me, you and your beautiful mother.” He looked at Sunny. “First my opponents said I was a poor candidate because I was single and didn't understand the difficulties of the average family. After I got married, they said I was too rich to identify with the common person's needs. Some of their damn headlines read that I've got looks and charm, but no heart—that I love money and I associate too closely with the most wealthy people of New York and will grant them favors. I suppose I will, but the general public doesn't need to know that. I'm working on some programs to benefit the poor, getting involved in a few things that will convince them that I'm on their side. When they see me out campaigning with you and little Bo, they'll see what a good family man I am. I'll talk about programs to help the average family. We'll win all kinds of votes.”

Is
that
all
little
Bo
is
to
you?
she wondered.
Just
a
vote-getter?
She saw no tender, fatherly look in his eyes, only an excitement at the possibility of becoming governor.

“I've got some campaign work to do, love,” he told her. “You certainly won't be needing me for the time being.”

“Blaine, don't you want to spend some time with us? Don't you want to hold little Bo?”

He rose. “The kid is sleeping. I don't want to disturb him. You just hurry and get well so you and the baby can come with me when I hit the campaign trail in May.”

“Blaine, please don't go. Can't you stay a few days so we can be a family for a while? No campaigning? No business? Just the three of us?”

“Now, Sunny, you of all people know some things can't wait. That's part of the reason I married you. You understand about the kind of life I lead.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You're just a little depressed from having a baby. The nurse says that happens sometimes.” He patted her shoulder. “In no time at all you'll be up and about.” He straightened and walked over to a mirror to smooth back his dark hair and check his appearance. “Maybe now that the baby has come, you and I can get around to a decent sex life. Little Bo came so soon that between you being sick in the beginning and then getting so fat, we've never quite gotten that part of our marriage in order, have we?” He turned around and winked at her. “You take care of yourself now. I'll be back later tonight.”

He left then, and Sunny stared at the door. She wanted so much to love him, and in some ways she did; but he always left her feeling so empty. He seemed to understand nothing at all about a woman's feelings and needs, and she could already see he thought of little Bo more as some kind of commodity rather than as his son. And now, when she needed Blaine more than ever, he was concerned with the political advantages of being a new father. She had once worried about how she might hurt him if she broke off the engagement. Now she realized he would have been angry only because he was afraid it might hurt his political career. She could count on one hand the number of times he had said he loved her. Blaine O'Brien did not know the meaning of the word.

***

Colt tilted back the chair inside the sheriff's office, putting his booted foot up on a table and picking up a tin cup filled with coffee. “Not much longer till spring and we can get rid of some of this damn snow,” he commented to Rex Andrews. He sipped some of the coffee, and Andrews got up from behind his desk and walked to the potbelly stove that heated the jail, opening the door and throwing in more wood. Both men wore jackets against a bitter cold just outside the door that made it difficult to keep things warm inside.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Trouble with summer coming is this town is going to be wilder than ever. The U.P. will be here in a month or two. You're going to see more cattle in this town than you've ever seen in your life. They'll smell us clear back in Omaha.”

Colt chuckled, picking up the morning newspaper. “Just wait till they declare Wyoming officially a new Territory. We'll have one hell of a time keeping order that day. Looks like it's going to be a busy year.”

Andrews closed the stove door, then stayed near it to rub his hands together and absorb the heat. “I reckon.” He turned to Colt. “But I expect you can handle it. You've been a big help, Colt. I wouldn't have made it this long without you. I'm glad I found a way to channel all that energy of yours—and that anger.”

Colt set the paper aside a moment to roll himself a cigarette. “Yeah, well, I never said how long I'd do this. Too many people and too much civilization kind of wear on me after a while.”

Andrews shrugged. “A man's got to settle sometime or other, Colt, find out what it is he wants to do and all. How old did you say you are? Thirty-one now?”

“Yup.” Colt lit the cigarette.

“Well, I'd say it's time you took a wife—tried to have yourself another family to replace the one you lost. You can't roam aimlessly all your life.”

“I suppose not. But when a man's already known the greatest love of his life, it's awfully hard to settle for second best.”

Andrews sat back down at his desk. “Well, that wife of yours must have been some woman.”

Colt didn't reply. How could he explain he hadn't been talking about LeeAnn, much as he cherished her memory. He took a deep drag on the cigarette and opened the newspaper, reading headlines about another Sioux rampage far to the north in Powder River country. Things were getting so bad that some forts had to be closed. He could not help secretly rooting for Red Cloud and his warriors, who were winning some decisive battles against miners flooding into Montana, where more gold had been discovered. But he knew how it would all ultimately end.

He scanned the rest of the front page, then saw the smaller headline.
Son
Born
to
U.P. Magnate, Blaine O'Brien.
He removed the cigarette from his mouth and straightened in his chair, setting the cigarette in an ashtray on the table.
Mrs. Blaine O'Brien, formerly railroad and freighting heiress Sunny Landers, gave birth to an eight-pound two-ounce son, Beauregard Stuart, on February twenty-six of eighteen and sixty-eight. Mother and child are doing fine. The baby's father is currently on a speaking tour in his campaign for governor of the state of New York.
He read the article over again, feeling a strange tingle that he could not explain. He found himself counting back, remembered his liaison with Sunny had been near the end of May '67, almost nine months to the day. She had married Blaine over two weeks later.

He read the article again, reliving the torture that plagued him at the thought of Sunny lying in Blaine O'Brien's bed. He told himself he was crazy to think the baby could be his own. It must have been born a little early, but eight pounds was awfully big for an early baby.