Bittner, Rosanne (3 page)

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the west as he sat on a rise watching the wagon train in the distance. All morning it had been miserably hot, but now a cool breeze met his face, carrying with it the scent of rain. He headed his horse away from the wooded ravine where he had shot a deer, the animal now tied over his horse's rump, along with three rabbits. It was easy to spot the MacBride wagons among the others because of the post showing the red flag. In the seven weeks they had been on the trail, he had eaten with Lettie and her family often, brought them meat, played with Nathan. He was sure he'd seen romantic interest in the way Lettie Dougan looked at him but she had not done or said a thing to betray that interest. Was it because they would soon go their separate ways? Or was she still mourning her husband, after two and a half years?

He halted his horse, took a thin cigar from his shirt pocket. And how did he feel about Lettie? At first he had not even considered the possibility of taking a woman and child to Montana. But in just another week or so they would reach the point where the North and South Platte branched off in different directions. He would continue on with the wagon train into Wyoming, then go north into Montana from there. Lettie and her family would head south into Colorado. He could hardly stand the thought of leaving Let-tie MacBride Dougan behind. He was even becoming attached to Nathan. Sometimes when he wasn't hunting, he had kept the boy with him on his horse to relieve Lettie and the others from having to carry him. They did not want the child inside a wagon, for he was too active, and they were afraid he might fall out.

Nathan was easy to love. The hell of it was... so was the boy's mother. Yes, he loved her. And he thought maybe she loved him too. But lately she had been more distant; she seemed angry about something. And she'd started refusing to let Nathan ride with him.

He lit the cigar, urged his horse, a strong, roan-colored gelding, forward at a gentle walk. "What should we do, Red?" he addressed the horse, patting its neck. The animal shuddered and tossed its head. "I don't know either, boy, but I think it's time Mrs. Lettie Dougan and I had a good talk, whether she wants to or not."

He wondered just how bad the Indian situation was up in Montana. He'd been warned that was where the Sioux and Northern Cheyenne, the last of the truly rebellious natives, roamed. Most others were on reservations now, although there was still trouble with the Southern Cheyenne. Even here, some Indians still roamed free, but so far the only ones they had seen were the few who hung around the forts and towns along the trail, begging for handouts. He couldn't help feeling a little sorry for them, imagining how proud they must have been at one time, what fierce warriors they had been, riding free in this big country. But things had a way of changing. It had been like that since the beginning of time, and there was no stopping it.

At least now he understood them a little better. One of the scouts for the wagon train was a Pawnee Indian who spoke English. He'd had nothing good to say about the Cheyenne, but then the two tribes had always been enemies, according to Hank Preston, the wagon master. Still, Luke had asked a lot of questions and learned a lot from Standing Bull about how Indians think, how they fight, how to dicker with them. The Pawnee was even teaching him a little of the Sioux and Cheyenne tongue, and the most common form of communicating with any Indian—a universal sign language. He could only hope that what Indians he might come across in Montana would be
willing
to talk instead of wanting his scalp.

Other whites had settled in Montana and were surviving. He could do it, too. He wasn't going to let Indians or the tales he'd heard of Montana's harsh winters stop him. And once he'd built the empire he dreamed of, maybe he would invite his father and brother for a little visit and let them see what he'd done all on his own,
without
Fontaine money.

"Big sky country," that's what Preston called Montana. Before resorting to leading wagon trains west, he had been a rugged scout who had lived out west most of his life, had taught Luke a lot about what to expect out here. As far as Luke was concerned, everything west of the Missouri River was big sky country. He'd never seen such wide-open land. Out here a man felt free; he could dream. He could be anything he wanted to be, and nobody gave a damn about his past.

A loud clap of thunder interrupted his thoughts, and he rode closer to the wagons, noticed they were passing several graves. Apparently this was an area where emigrants from other wagon trains had died. Some of the graves looked old, and it was obvious that in time they would be completely lost to the wind and the sand. This trail had been heavily traveled for a good fifteen years now, and everyone had read plenty of stories about the disasters others had encountered along the way. So far they had all been lucky, except for young David Nolan, who had died from a rattlesnake bite two days ago. As Luke got closer, he could hear the man's young widow, Hester, still weeping bitterly inside her wagon, which someone else had agreed to drive for her.

Even without many disasters, the trip was hard and sometimes miserable. They had encountered cold rains, mud, mosquitoes, and unbearable heat. Two weeks ago nearly everyone had come down with something that brought on a rash of vomiting, but luckily it had not been fatal. By now, many of them were irritable—women angry with their spouses for bringing them out here, some begging to go back. Through it all, Lettie did not complain. She and her family had apparently left a relatively comfortable life back in St. Joseph, but they were not soft and whining. They had the stubborn strength of the Irish. Henry MacBride had suffered famine and hardship back in Ireland so this was nothing new to him. His children seemed to have inherited his stamina. Lettie was strong, quiet, brave, uncomplaining... just the kind of woman he would need where he was going. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn't want to go to Montana alone after all. If he was going to build something of his own there, he needed a woman to share it with, children to inherit his land. Who better than someone young and strong like Lettie, and beautiful to boot?

Yes, by God, he was going to talk to Henry about asking for Lettie's hand in marriage. The man probably wouldn't want his daughter to leave the family and go to a place like Montana, but then it was really up to Lettie in the end. He'd do this the proper way and approach her father first. He stuck the cigar in his mouth and rode a little faster, relieved to have made the decision.

Dark clouds were moving in fast now from the west, and lightning was shattering the sky, followed by more cracking thunder. Luke noticed Hank Preston riding frantically up and down along the line of wagons.

"Get to the ravine up ahead!" he was shouting. "Hurry it up! Get yourselves to the lowest place possible! Could be a twister coming!"

The wind suddenly picked up to almost violent proportions, and it was icy cold, almost a shock compared to the oppressive heat they had felt all morning. Huge drops of rain mixed with hail began pelting Luke as he kicked Red into a fast run then, heading for the MacBride wagons.

The ground quickly turned white from hail. Luke barely had time to tie Red to the back of one of the MacBride wagons and grab his slicker before the hail became even larger. He grabbed Nathan from Lettie's arms, then pushed her under the wagon, which her brother had managed to get to the ravine. It was really more just a slight dip in the earth, but Preston had insisted they would be better protected there. Luke handed Nathan to his mother, then helped MacBride and his wife get the other two wagons to the low spot, praying none of the animals would go out of control because of the storm, dragging wagons with them, maybe hurting someone or wrecking a wagon.

The hailstones hurt as they pummeled him. Luke and the others scrambled under their wagons then, and women's screams were drowned out by the deafening wind, thunder, and torrential rain that was now mixed with the hail. Luke moved to lie over Lettie and Nathan, spreading his slicker over them. "Keep your heads under my body," he shouted. "If that wind blows the wagon apart, pieces of wood and iron will go flying everywhere!"

A few people did not make it to the low spot, but there was no time now to worry about that. Luke remained huddled over Lettie and the child, and it was impossible to know what was happening to the others. For the next several minutes there was nothing to do but lie there and wait for the worst of the storm to pass. Little Nathan turned on his back and looked up at Luke, showing not a bit of fear from the terrible thunder and roar of the wind. Lettie remained on her stomach, keeping an arm around the boy. She grabbed him a little closer when they heard a crashing sound. The rain came down so hard that the little gully in which they lay began to fill quickly with water and turn into a stream.

"I've heard how raging creeks can appear in minutes out here after a hard rain," Luke shouted to Lettie. "Be ready to climb out of here if we have to!"

The little trickle began turning into a bigger stream, until Lettie was forced to turn on her back to keep her face out of the water. She met Luke's eyes. Such a beautiful blue. She saw the love there, felt the trust. Did he feel the same about her as she did for him? She knew it would be better if he didn't. She would only have to turn him away. It was the only right thing to do, wasn't it? So why did she feel so safe here, with his strong shoulders hovering over her? Why wasn't she afraid? Why did she desire this man, when she had no right to desire any man?

She had tried so hard not to want Luke, not to care about him. She had even quit letting him take Nathan. It wasn't good for the boy to grow so fond of a man who would soon be leaving them.

All around them the storm raged, people screamed, horses whinnied, and mules brayed. The water deepened, soaking Lettie's hair and dress. But she felt no fear as long as she could look into Luke Fontaine's eyes. Don't feel this way, she told herself. Yet she remained immobile as he came closer then, and it felt like fire was surging through her veins when his mouth met her own in a savage kiss that both of them wanted, needed. He parted her lips, his tongue slaking into her mouth hungrily, his arms around both Nathan and her.

How could she let him do this? And why was she enjoying it? Never had she felt like this. Never since the night of the raid had she even dreamed she could feel this way for any man. But this man had dark hair, blue eyes. He looked nothing like Nathan's father, and there was something in his eyes that told her she could trust him, that he was not just using her, that he loved her.

But just as she was enjoying the feel of his powerful body against her own, the hardness against her thigh reminded her of what she had been so cruelly introduced to three years ago.

She tore her lips away. "Luke, we can't—"

"Why? I love you, Lettie. You've known it for weeks, and I know you love me. I've seen it in your eyes." He grasped her hair, made her face him. "What is it you're not telling me, Lettie? Your husband has been dead for a good three years. Don't tell me you're still mourning him, because I don't believe it! Nathan needs a father, and I already love him as if he were my own child. Is it Montana? Are you afraid to go there?"

"No." She was crying now. He let go of her hair and she looked away again. "It's no use, Luke. You wouldn't love me if you knew."

"Knew what?
Tell
me, Lettie! Give me a chance to decide for myself."

She met his eyes again. The wind roared, and thunder exploded all around them. "I never had a husband!" She had to yell so he could hear her. "Nathan's father raped me! It was during the raid! His friends held me down while—"

She couldn't go on. The roar of the wind became deafening, and they knew a tornado was ripping past them. Let-tie screamed and buried her face in Luke's shoulder. He held tightly to both Nathan and her, praying the tornado would somehow miss them. It lasted only a few seconds, before the wind began to calm. Moments later the storm had turned to a steady downpour. Luke pulled Lettie out from under the wagon and out of the deepening stream.

"You'd better get in the wagon and get on some dry clothes," he told her. "You and Nathan both. You'll be sick if you don't."

Lettie took hold of Nathan and turned to climb into the wagon. She had not met Luke's eyes since her confession. He grasped her arm. "We'll talk."

"There is nothing to talk about," she answered.

"There's
plenty
to talk about, like why in hell you think you have to be ashamed of what happened! Did you really think it would keep me from loving you?"

Lettie looked up at him in surprise, her eyes brimming with tears. "No man back in St. Joseph would have me. I couldn't stand the looks any longer. That's part of the reason we left. We were just going to tell people Nathan's father was dead, but I love you too much to lie to you, Luke Fontaine." There! She had said it. She loved him. "Now let me go. And stop coming around and playing with Nathan. It isn't fair to him."

She turned and climbed into the wagon. Luke stood there for a moment, feeling numb, then angry. He wanted to kill the man who had raped her and left behind a shamed, shattered woman and a bastard son. How well he knew the feeling of being branded like that!

He realized then that Lettie's mother was standing nearby. She had heard their argument, and the look of tragedy in her eyes told him of the hell she and her husband had been through over what had happened to their daughter. There was no time now to talk about it, but a lot of things were more clear to him now. He realized that the married name of Dougan must be fake; he understood why Lettie had been afraid to show any love for him, why she seemed to cringe whenever a discussion of the border raids came up. He knew now why Nathan didn't look anything like the MacBrides, and why Lettie was afraid to let him get too close. She feared Luke would be repulsed by Nathan once he knew the truth, and she didn't want her son to be hurt.

He could not hate her or the boy. He could only love Nathan more, knowing firsthand how a son needed a father's love; and he admired the quality and stamina of the boy's mother. She had kept her baby, seemed to love the boy as much as any mother loved her child. She was a strong, brave young woman who had protected an innocent child from the ugliness of his conception. That took courage, and an immense capacity to love.