Love Forevermore (11 page)

The next few days passed slowly. At first, Loralee continued to wait anxiously at the schoolhouse each evening, certain he would come back, certain he could not just walk out of her life after what they had shared, but Zuniga never came to the school. She walked around the grounds at night, hoping he might seek her out, but he never did.

She cried copious tears, berating herself for her stupidity. Of course he would not come back. He had taken what he wanted and now he was through with her. But in her heart she knew that was a lie. She had offended his pride, and that was why he was no longer interested in her. If only she could have made him stay and listen. Yet what could she possibly have said? She had been ashamed; ashamed of the compromising position she had been in, ashamed of being in Zuniga’s arms when she had no right to be there. She had been ashamed, not of Shad, but of her own weakness.

But now that he was gone, she no longer cared what people would think or what was right. But it was too late. She had lost him.

She threw herself into her teaching, spent long hours poring over books and stories to make learning more interesting. She taught her students more than just reading and writing, she encouraged them to think, to paint, to sing, to dance, to let their imaginations run wild. And because she was genuinely interested in the Apache children, and truly fond of them, they began to respond. Yellow Basket had a flair for poetry. Young Deer had a talent for painting. Star Gazer could sing like a nightingale, while Little Hawk could tell the most amazing stories.

As the weeks went by, three of the older boys began to attend class. They came grudgingly, openly resentful of her because she was white, and a woman. Many times she was tempted to throw up her hands in exasperation and expel them from the class, but she stubbornly refused to admit defeat, and with patience and affection, she gradually won them to her side. When they complained about reading the same books as the younger children, she brought them newspapers and novels to read, and when she discovered how bright and intelligent the boys were, she demanded more of them. Mike complained that she was always preoccupied with teaching, but he could not deny the results. The children were learning, and liking it.

The days for Loralee took care of themselves, but the nights…oh, the nights when she was in bed, alone and unable to sleep. That was when she missed Zuniga the most. It was then that her body began to torment her, every fiber yearning for the touch of Zuniga’s lips, for the sweet magic of his hands on her too willing flesh, for the wondrous ecstasy that had filled her heart and soul as they became one.

Night after night she cried herself to sleep, hating him because he had deserted her, hating herself for wounding his fierce masculine pride, hating her body because it hungered for the pleasure of his caress.

One night when she could not sleep, she buried her face in the shirt Zuniga had left at the schoolhouse in his haste to be away from her. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. The shirt smelled faintly of tobacco smoke and sweat and of Zuniga himself. His voice, angry and accusing, echoed in her mind.

“You were ashamed, were you not, ashamed to think he might find you with an Indian?”

“Damn you, Shad Zuniga,” she murmured brokenly. “Why can’t I forget you?”

Time and again she saddled her horse and started toward his lodge, only to turn back. She could not go to him. What could she say? What would she do if she humbled herself enough to beg his forgiveness and he laughed in her face? She had to hold onto her pride at all costs. It was all she had left.

She spent more time at the fort and at the Agency office, hoping to hear news of him, but all she heard were the same old rumors, the same tired tales. Funny, she thought, the soldiers never seemed to grow weary of speculating about Zuniga, or about the number of weapons he was rumored to have secreted in Nachi’s lodge. To listen to some of the men, Zuniga had enough rifles and ammunition stashed away to arm every man, woman, and child on the reservation. One wag even claimed that Zuniga had an old Army howitzer cached away in the hills somewhere. Loralee would have laughed if she hadn’t been so miserably unhappy.

She rode to the Agency on ration day, hoping to catch sight of him, hoping he might show up just once for the beef or blankets that were his due. But he never did.

She took long rides in the hills, careful not to stray too near his lodge, but always hoping she might accidentally run into him on the trail. She wandered through hills and valleys, down cutbank arroyos and dry riverbeds, until she knew every tree and rock and path, until she was certain she had ridden over every inch of the reservation, but she never saw him.

Anger followed on the heels of despair. Who did he think he was, to purposefully avoid her? She had willingly given him her most priceless possession, the most precious token of her love, and now he had no further use for her. Damn him! She would hate and despise him until the day she died. He was exactly what everyone said he was, and she had been foolish not to listen. He was nothing but a heathen savage, after all, and she was well rid of him! She had simply fooled herself when she had thought that she loved him. It had just been infatuation and lust, nothing more…

Shad Zuniga sat on his horse atop a hill, screened from Loralee’s sight by a tangled mass of shrubs and cactus as he watched her follow a narrow deer trail up into the foothills. He had seen her several times, always from a distance, always careful to stay out of sight. He had been a fool to think she had learned to care for him. She had wanted him in the way a woman wants a man, but she did not love him, he saw that now. She had been ashamed of him, ashamed of her desire for an Indian. Zuniga laughed bitterly. Perhaps it had been the fact that he was an Apache, and therefore forbidden, that had sparked her desire for him in the first place.

He swore a vile oath. He would never forget the look on her face that night in the schoolhouse when she thought they were going to be discovered. She had been ashamed, not because they were almost caught, but because she had almost been caught with him. It had cut his heart like a knife, wounding his fierce male pride, killing the love he had felt for her. And perhaps it was better so. He had always known she could never truly be his. Perhaps it was better that it had ended now, before it had really begun, before it became impossible to let her go.

With a rueful grin, he admitted he still desired her. For all that she had never known a man before, she had quickly learned how to please him, to arouse and excite him, to satisfy him as no other woman ever had.

As he watched from the hilltop, his eyes lingered over the swell of Loralee’s breasts and the feminine contours of her hips. She sat her horse well, moving with the animal, not sitting stiff and tense in the saddle the way most whites rode. The sun made her hair glow like a golden halo, and he remembered how soft it had felt in his hands and against his face and chest.

Damn! He was sorely tempted to ride after her, to make love to her one more time, but he did not follow her, only sat there watching her until she was lost from sight. Then he turned for home.

Loralee looked at the stack of papers on her desk, but she was not in the mood to grade exams. It was a Saturday afternoon, bright and clear and beautiful. Much too nice a day to sit inside.

Shoving the papers into her desk, she went outside and saddled Lady and rode up into the hills. As always, her thoughts turned to Zuniga. Where was he? What was he doing? Did he ever think of her?

Lost in thought, Loralee almost rode past the boy lying in the shallow ravine. But for his faint moan of pain, she would have ridden on by, unaware of his presence.

At the cry, she reined Lady to a halt, her head cocked to one side. Was she imagining things? But no, there it was again, a hoarse sob.

Determining the location of the faint cry, she dismounted and picked her way to the edge of the ravine, her heart pounding with anxiety. Was the cry human, or that of a wounded and therefore potentially dangerous beast?

Peering over the side of the ravine, she gave a gasp of recognition as she saw Short Bear huddled on the ground below.

Loralee called his name as she started down the side of the ravine, leading her horse.

Short Bear glanced up, his handsome young face a mask of pain. For a moment, he felt a surge of gratitude that help had arrived at last. Then recognizing Loralee, he grimaced with displeasure.

Loralee knelt beside the boy, frowning. “Where are you hurt?”

“My leg,” Short Bear replied stiffly. “It’s broken.”

She could see that now. His right leg was twisted and swollen, a grotesque shape beneath his buckskin trousers.

“Can you stand up if I help you?” Loralee asked.

“I don’t need your help.”

Loralee was about to argue, then thought better of it. “Very well.” She stood up, waiting for him to get up on his own.

Short Bear took a deep breath, then tried to stand up. He gasped with pain as he accidentally put pressure on his broken leg. Sweat popped out on his forehead and he felt suddenly sick to his stomach. That would be the final humiliation, he thought in anguish, to vomit before a woman.

Without a word, Loralee stepped forward and took Short Bear’s arm to give him support. A cry of pain escaped his lips as he struggled to his feet, and he flushed with embarrassment. An Apache warrior did not show pain, especially in front of one who was not of the People. It was galling, having to rely on a woman for help. What would his cousin say when he found out? The other boys would tease him unmercifully when they learned that Miss Warfield had found him lying helpless in a ravine.

With Loralee’s help, Short Bear managed to climb into the saddle. He was perspiring heavily by then, his face pale, his breathing labored.

“Hang on,” Loralee said encouragingly. Taking Lady’s reins, she started up the ravine.

It was slow going. The dirt was soft, and Loralee slipped several times, her steps hampered by her long riding skirt. Thankfully, the mare had no trouble navigating the steep slope. Once, glancing over her shoulder, Loralee saw that Short Bear’s eyes were tightly closed. His hands were white as they gripped the saddle horn, and she knew that each step the mare took was causing the boy intense pain.

At the top of the ravine, Loralee paused to catch her breath and get her bearings. The reservation was some distance away, but Nachi’s lodge was just over the next rise. Still, she hesitated. How could she go there? How could she face Zuniga?

A muffled whimper of pain dissolved her doubts. Short Bear was hurting. He needed help, and he needed it now. Her own personal feelings were of no importance at the moment. It took almost three-quarters of an hour to reach Nachi’s lodge. Tying Lady’s reins to a bush near the wickiup, Loralee rapped on the lodgeflap, praying that the old man was at home and Zuniga was not.

The lodgeflap lifted immediately and Zuniga stepped into the sunlight. He was naked save for a brief clout and knee-high moccasins, and for a moment Loralee could only stare at him, the reason for her presence at his lodge forgotten. Here was the man she dreamed of at night, the man whose touch she longed for. Her eyes drank in the sight of his broad shoulders and lean flanks, even as her nostrils filled with the scent of tobacco and leather and man. Her stomach fluttered wildly.

“What do you want?” His curt greeting was like a slap in the face, but it served its purpose, quickly reminding Loralee why she was there.

“Short Bear broke his leg. I brought him to you for help.”

Zuniga’s dark eyes swept past her to where Short Bear sat slumped in the saddle. The boy’s eyes were closed, his body rigid with pain.

Mouthing a vague obscenity, Zuniga went to Short Bear’s side. With ease, he lifted the boy from the saddle.

“A snake spooked my horse,” Short Bear muttered.

“Later,” Zuniga admonished. “You can tell me what happened later.”

“It was a big snake. Sun Dancer bucked and shied and I fell over his neck and down the hill.” Short Bear gritted his teeth as pain knifed through his leg. “Stupid horse bolted for home.”

Zuniga nodded as he carried Short Bear into the lodge and carefully placed him on Nachi’s sleeping robes. The old man had gone down to the reservation to visit a friend and would not be back for several hours.

“Water,” Short Bear husked.

Zuniga held a clay bowl to the boy’s lips. “Only a little,” he warned.

Short Bear drank greedily in spite of Zuniga’s advice, then fell back, his face sheened with sweat.

“Just lie still,” Zuniga said. Drawing his knife, he slit the boy’s trousers along the seam, exposing the injured leg. It was badly swollen and discolored around the break.

Loralee lingered outside the lodge, irritated by Zuniga’s brusque attitude. He hadn’t even bothered to thank her for bringing Short Bear to him, she mused sourly, but then, what could you expect from such a man? She wished she had the nerve to march into the lodge and tell him what she thought of him. Instead, she took up Lady’s reins and prepared to mount.

“I need your help,” Zuniga’s voice called to her from within the lodge.

Loralee’s eyebrows went up in surprise. Needed her help, did he? Well, he could whistle for help for all she cared, she thought in a huff, but then she thought of Short Bear. She couldn’t just ride off if the boy needed her.