Climb the Highest Mountain (24 page)

By then the remaining four men had been aroused. Two had been sleeping in the tent, two outside. The two outside were sitting up by now and rubbing their eyes, one already reaching for his gun. LeeAnn put a hand to her mouth when he drew his gun and fired. Her father ducked sideways, drawing his own gun and getting off four shots which ended the lives of the two men outside the tent. Then he yanked his knife from the fat man’s chest and rolled onto the ground into the shadows as a man came out of the tent, brandishing a rifle. He approached the bodies around the campfire, not sure if they were dead or sleeping. All he knew was that he had heard yelling and gunshots.

LeeAnn watched in terror, unable to see her father now. Had he been shot? Should she run? She heard a soft thud and the man with the rifle fell forward, a huge knife sticking out of his back. She gasped and felt ill; then saw Zeke dash to the tent. Several shots were fired, and a moment later her father exited. He pulled his knife from the outlaw’s back and wiped it off on the man’s shirt, then put it in its sheath.

“LeeAnn!” he called out. “It’s all right, honey. It’s over.”

The girl dashed from the shadows and ran to him, and he swept her into his arms. “I’m getting you away from here right now. Don’t look at the bodies, LeeAnn. I’ll get you to my own camp and come back for Kehilan and the mares in the morning.”

“Father, don’t let go of me!” she cried.

“I won’t. I won’t let go of you again, LeeAnn.” He held her so tightly she could barely breathe. She noticed then, as he carried her quickly through the underbrush and across an open stretch, that he seemed to be limping.

“Father, are you hurt?” she asked.

“Just my leg—a little gift from the Comanches. I had a little trouble getting information out of them.”

She cried against his shoulder then. She would never understand this wild man that was her father. Within moments he had killed nine men and yet now he carried her gently, like a man who had never known violence. She would miss him terribly when she left this land—but leave it she would. Her mind was made up.

“Father, the woman! The woman in the tent! They did … terrible things to her!”

“Hush, LeeAnn. Your young mind should never have been exposed to any of that. I could die thinking of it. I hope you can forget.”

“But the woman!”

“She’s dead, honey.”

She clung to him tightly. “I’m glad. She suffered so badly!” The girl cried harder. He had found her! Her father had found her!

Zeke walked silently. He would not tell her that he had killed the woman himself. What he had seen inside the tent told him she was better off dead. That was the
way it was in this land. A man had to be practical about such things. The woman had begged him with her eyes to end her life, and he had put her out of her misery. He was only glad he had not found his daughter in the same condition. He would get Kehilan and his two remaining mares and leave this place, but what had happened here would probably always haunt his daughter’s mind.

Chapter Fourteen

Bonnie picked her way through old, crusted snow, the cold rain turning it into mud and slop. Fort Laramie was alive and teeming, for the Sioux attacks were growing worse, much worse. Getting through to Montana along the Bozeman Trail was almost impossible, for Red Cloud had announced he would kill every white man who set foot upon the Sioux hunting grounds, and he was doing a very good job of keeping his word. With the Civil War finally over, more soldiers were being sent west to build up the troops for a new war—with the Indians. She made her way up the wooden steps at the front of the officer’s quarters, stomped the mud and slop from her feet, walked along the porch to the door to Dan’s living quarters, and tapped on the door.

She waited a moment until a supply wagon rattled by; then she tapped again. A soft voice responded, “Come in.” She opened the door and peeked into the small room. Dan sat in a chair, staring at the wall, a bottle of whiskey on a nearby table and a small glass of it in his hand. Bonnie frowned in confusion, for his hair was uncombed and he wore uniform pants but only his cotton undershirt. The buttons at the top were undone,
revealing a good part of his chest, and his feet were bare. She reddened slightly and stayed in the doorway. “Dan?”

He turned red, tired eyes to meet hers. “Bonnie!” He smiled a rather drunken smile. “Come on in.” He poured himself some more whiskey. “Want a drink?”

She closed the door and walked cautiously toward him. “You told me you … had a drinking problem once, Dan, but you’ve not touched whiskey since I’ve known you. You’d better put that stuff away. … You’ll get arrested, or kicked out of the Army.”

He chuckled and slugged more down as she sat down across from him on the edge of a cot. “If I wasn’t so dedicated to the damned Army, I’d not have to drink!” he anounced. “I’d have been home … in the place my wife called home … St. Louis … in bed with my wife where I belonged.” Bonnie reddened again, then felt a strange stirring as his eyes roved over her body. “I should have married someone like you,” he said quietly, “someone of strong, sure, sturdy stock.”

Their eyes held; then she looked at her lap. “You make it sound like picking a horse.”

His snicker of response became an all-out laugh. “I guess I do, don’t I? Well”—he stopped laughing—“I didn’t mean it that way.” He sighed deeply and swallowed. “Bonnie, she’s … dead. My Emily … is dead.”

He threw down the glass of whiskey and hung his head, weeping like a child. She reached out and touched his hair. “I’m so sorry, Dan. But… how? She’s so young.”

He cried for several more minutes before he could speak. “The doctor’s letter said it was her … heart. Said she’s probably had some kind of heart condition … all her life … and that was why she was always so … frail and weak. And all these years I
blamed her for not being strong enough … or brave enough to come out here with me.”

She stroked his hair. “Dan, you can’t blame yourself for that. Apparently no one knew, not even Emily. I’m so sorry, Dan. So sorry. I came over here to ask if you’d heard anything more about Zeke. I didn’t expect this, but I’m glad I came when I did.”

He began breathing deeply for control. “I haven’t … heard. God, Bonnie, it seems like everything … is going to hell. Zeke’s poor little girl taken off by Comanches, little Lillian dead. Zeke probably doesn’t even know that yet. I just got that news, and now I find out… my own wife is dead.” He ran his hands through his rumpled blond hair. “And I can’t find Wolf’s Blood anyplace to tell him any of the news. God only knows if he’s still alive. The Indians are making war everywhere … and Zeke’s people are being shipped off to Kansas. And my little girl… is sitting in St. Louis all alone.” He took out a handkerchief to blow his nose, then put it away and started to pour himself another drink. His hands shook when he reached for the bottle, and Bonnie reached out and grasped his wrists.

“Don’t drink any more, Dan. Don’t you realize you have all the reason in the world not to drink? You just said it. Your daughter is still in St. Louis. You must send for her, Dan. Bring her to Fort Laramie.”

He met her eyes. “How can I? With all this business with the Sioux, and with no wife, how can I take care of a little girl?”

“I’ll take care of her for you.”

He frowned. “I can’t ask that of you. You have your hands full with Joshua and the mission, and you’ve been doctoring soldiers’ wounds. You’re busy all the time.”

“I can fit her in, Dan, and I can teach her right here.
She’d have all the schooling she needs. She should be near her father, Dan. You’re all she has now. She must be so lonely and frightened. Have her sent out here. It will be different and exciting for her. The change will help her forget the pain of losing her mother. And it will be good for you. Surely you miss your little girl.”

He smiled sadly. “She’s almost nine,” he told her. “The prettiest little thing you ever saw, with her mother’s red hair and green eyes. But she’s a strong, sturdy child, not weak like her … her mother.” His eyes teared anew. “It’s strange, Bonnie. We were apart so much, it’s almost like I was never really married to her. I don’t even know why I married her—because she was so damned pretty, I guess. She tried to be a good wife, but Emily didn’t really know how to care about anything but Emily. Her mother died at an early age, and her father spoiled her terribly. Then he died, and …” He studied Bonnie’s soft blue eyes. “Would you really help me take care of her?”

Bonnie blinked back her own tears and nodded, fighting the terrible desires she was having for this man who was so much like Zeke. He looked so lonely, sitting there, half-undressed, his hair disheveled. She looked down for a moment to gather her thoughts. “Of course I would,” she told him, meeting his eyes again. “Dan, I’m a very lonely woman. Having Joshua is wonderful, and having your little Jennifer would be even better. I enjoy children, and you’re Zeke’s brother. I’m always happy to help anyone Zeke loves.” She smiled nervously then. “Isn’t it strange? I have a child that Zeke brought to me many years ago to care for, and now his brother is asking me to do the same. I have a way of collecting children, yet I’ve had none of my own.”

Their eyes held, and on impulse he leaned forward suddenly and devoured her lips in a hungry, drunken,
lonely kiss, one that soon became demanding; for he was full of alcohol and grief, angry that his own wife hadn’t come out to help soothe his manly needs as well as his emotional needs. Bonnie pushed against him, but he was too drunk and too powerful. He pushed her backward onto the cot, groaning as he lay on top of her and prolonged the kiss. Finally his lips left her mouth and moved to her neck. She drew in a deep breath, refusing to let wanton passion make her do something sinful and foolish, unwilling to let this man have her out of sheer drunken loneliness. She pushed at him again.

“Dan! Dan, stop it! You’re drunk!”

“Sure I am,” he replied in a voice husky with need. “And we’re both lonely and you’re the finest woman I know.” His lips moved farther down and she pushed at his face, yelling his name loudly. He met her eyes, then rolled off of her.

“My God!” he groaned, rolling onto his stomach. “Damn!”

She quickly got up, moving back from him and pulling her shawl close around her. “It’s all right, Dan. I understand what you’re going through.”

“It’s not all right!” he growled. He moved to a sitting position. “What a damned rotten thing to do. That’s a hell of a way for a man to show his grief, isn’t it?” He ran a hand through his hair. “God, I’m sorry, Bonnie.”

She touched her lips with her fingers. The fire was still there. No man had kissed her that way, except one—once—in a moment of similar need. Zeke. Would she ever really get over loving him? Perhaps Dan … but no. She must not think of him that way. This had been a momentary fit of need and loneliness. It had been painful enough loving Zeke and never being able to have him. She must not let herself have feelings for this man, for surely when he was sober he would see her
differently. He liked pretty little china dolls like his Emily. But how did a china doll handle that much man?

She swallowed. All her love and desire for Zeke Monroe had been reawakened, and it hurt. Here in front of her sat his handsome brother, and her thoughts and emotions were confused. Dan stood up and breathed deeply. He walked over to stand close to her, towering above her.

“I’ll never be able to apologize enough, Bonnie,” he told her. “The combination of alcohol and grief—”

“It’s all right,” she told him, wondering if that was all it was … just alcohol and grief. Probably so, which was why she must not have any feelings for him. Surely next to his Emily, she was as plain as plain could be. “I fully understand, Dan. Nothing has changed.” She put a hand on his arm and managed to meet his eyes, but she had to look away again for when she looked directly into those deep blue eyes she wanted him. The memory of the feel of his body crushing hers, the thought of what it would be like to be one with him rushed through her in painful waves. How many times had she thought of Zeke that way? Too many times for God to forgive those sinful thoughts. “Please do send for Jennifer, will you? Your daughter should be with you, Dan.”

He put a big hand to the side of her face and forced her to look back up at him. Then he held her chin and rubbed a thumb across her lips. “Give me some time, Bonnie. It wasn’t just the whiskey.” Her heart tightened. “But right now I’ve got to get myself together, get over Emily, see my little girl again. What’s hard is that I can’t even go to the funeral. I’d never get there in time. Some good friends of Emily’s family are taking care of everything. It’s all just… such a mess. I’m a mess … everything is a mess.”

She fought to keep from trembling. “I understand,
Dan, more than you know. We won’t think about today. It’s forgotten, all right? You just send for your daughter. I’ll be more than happy to help you care for her.”

He ran his hand from her cheek over her neck to her shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “Thank you, Bonnie Lewis. My brother knew what he was doing when he asked you to take Joshua. Not many women would agree to care for a crippled half-breed boy.”

She smiled sadly. “It wasn’t just… for the boy’s sake,” she answered quietly. “It was partly because … because Zeke asked me to take him.”

He kept hold of her shoulder. “And you love Zeke.”

She reddened deeply and looked down.

“Did you think I didn’t know?” he asked.

She sighed deeply. “Well… we all have our burdens to bear, don’t we?” She looked up at him then. Their eyes held, and he bent down to kiss her lightly.

“Maybe somehow they can be shared,” he answered. “Maybe that way the burden is a little lighter.” He held her arm and walked her to the door. “I’m glad as hell you happened by, Bonnie. I’m sorry for the bad news.” He stopped at the doorway. “I’d better wash up and sleep this off. Then I’ll see about sending for Jennifer.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right? I hate to leave you alone. Promise me you won’t drink any more today.”

He smiled, a soft, handsome smile. “I promise. Luckily I’m not on duty today. I’ll be all right. In a way I’m grieving more over our crazy, messed-up marriage than over Emily. We were never truly close, Bonnie, but I sure as hell did love her.”

She took his hands and held them tightly. “I know you did. God bless you, Dan. I’ll pray for you.”

She turned and quickly left and Dan stared after her, watching her trudge through the slippery mud toward the mission, wondering at how lonely she must be. But
with the heaviness in his heart over the news of Emily’s death, he couldn’t quite put together the realization that they both were lonely, yet neither of them had to be. He closed the door and went back to flop down on the cot, curling up into a pillow and pretending it was Emily. Sweet Emily! He would never hold her again. Yet sometimes it seemed he had never held her. The only proof that he had was Jennifer.

Abbie scraped snow and ice from the little stone at the head of Lillian’s grave. It seemed the bulk of Colorado’s snow came at a time when other parts of the country were enjoying a hint of spring, and now this early March snowstorm was bringing a new whiteness to the Colorado Plains. She wished that at this moment Tall Grass Woman was close by. She would enjoy talking to her friend; she needed to talk to another woman. Margaret had been the closest friend she had, but Margaret was gone. Perhaps she would never see her again. They had been unable to find her. She had paid one of Sir Tynes’s ranch hands to take her to Pueblo—paid both money and, to Abbie’s horror, her body. Sir Tynes had sent men to search all over Pueblo for the girl, and he had promptly fired the man who had taken her there. But no trace of Margaret had been uncovered, and Abbie didn’t dare leave the rest of the children to try and find her.

Now she knew the “option” Margaret had meant. The young, confused girl apparently had lost all pride and dignity, and in her hurt, bitter state she had decided that she was only good for what white men had told her Indian girls were good for. Abbie wondered if she had somehow failed the girl. Surely she had. There had been so much to think about, so much on her mind, that she had not noticed the changes Margaret was
going through, had not acted on her suspicions of Sam Temple. How could she tell Zeke when he returned that his eldest daughter had run off to some unknown place, probably to sell herself to men? What terrible news she would have for him when he returned … Lillian dead and Margaret gone. If he returned without LeeAnn, the news could kill him. At that moment she wondered how she had kept going herself. How she missed Lillian! Sweet, quiet Lillian. If only she could hold the girl once more, tell her once more she loved her. If she could change places with any of them—Margaret, Lillian or LeeAnn—she would do it.

Someone called out her name, and she turned to see Edwin Tynes trudging through the snow toward her. “You shouldn’t be out here!” he called. She watched him with mixed emotions. He had been good to her, and a little voice told her he loved her very much. But she didn’t want to think about that. They, at least, could be good friends, and that was what they had become. She had grown to be grateful that she was at the Tynes estate rather than Fort Lyon. Zeke had made a good choice. The fort was full of confusion and strangers, even dangerous. Here she had peace and quiet and comfort, at a time when she needed all of those things desperately. Tynes came closer, taking her arm. “What are you doing out here alone?” he asked her. “I’ve told you not to pine away by yourself, Abigail.”