Thunder on the Plains (56 page)

He let out a whistling sigh of amazement, setting his chair back on all fours and rolling himself a cigarette.
Twelve
years
, he thought.
I've loved her all that time
. What a fool he had been. Loving Sunny openly had led right smack into the disaster everyone had warned him it would. He lit the cigarette, finding it incredulous how much could happen to a man in twelve years, loving and losing a wife and son, living among the Cheyenne, fighting in that hideous war, spending time in a southern prison, going to work for the Union Pacific.

He could hear another train rolling in now, its whistle sounding throughout the city and to the mountains beyond. He took a deep drag on the cigarette, thinking how for two short days he had thought that maybe, just maybe, he had found the happiness for which he had searched for years, had finally won the love of his life, would be rid of all the loneliness and the one-nighters with whores who didn't really give a damn about him, except for Billie.

He smiled sadly, leaning back in the chair again and thinking what an unusual wife Sunny would have made if they had ever been able to marry. She would certainly not have been the conventional woman who would be waiting for him in a cozy little house every day, bread baked, clothes scrubbed. But then, what the hell? He could have lived with the businesswoman Sunny Landers, because the woman who came to his bed at night would have been completely different, as giving and loving and open as the best of them.

He angrily rose then, chiding himself for thinking about her. She had loved him with fiery passion, almost violently; but she had hurt him just as violently. Did she realize how shattered he had been, how empty his life had been since then, how hard it was for him to take an interest in another woman? There she was, lying in Blaine O'Brien's bed, and he was still visiting prostitutes, waking up with just as empty a feeling as when he fell into their beds the night before.

He leaned against a support post and watched the street with experienced eyes and ears, always ready for trouble. He had learned early on that a lawman couldn't be too careful. In spite of the growing civilization, most men figured it was all right to take the law into their own hands, something he still believed himself in some respects. He could think of one man he would have killed if he could have gotten him somewhere out in those hills beyond town. Killing Vince Landers slowly would have been a pleasure.

He swatted a fly, scowling at the fact that it existed at all. He thought it was too early in the season for flies. There would be enough of the pesky things around once the real heat of summer set in at the stockyards on the other side of the railroad tracks. He watched the same two young women coming toward him again, packages in their hands. They stopped to ask how his wound was healing.

“I'm doing fine, thanks,” he answered.

“Did you see the fancy train that pulled in at the depot a while ago?” the banker's daughter, Elaine Byron, asked him. “Three of the prettiest train cars I ever saw. Mrs. Herrod was at the depot, and she said they must belong to someone very rich.”

Colt's smile faded some. “That so? Maybe I'll go take a look.”

“Are you going to the dance Saturday, Mr. Travis?” the other said, quickly reddening with embarrassment that she had asked at all.

Colt folded his arms, towering over both of them. He allowed himself a closer look, both girls plain, but pretty just from their youth, young breasts untouched, innocent eagerness in their eyes. “I expect I'll try to make it.”

“Then we'll both save a dance for you,” Elaine answered.

Colt grinned. “I'd like that.”

They smiled bashfully. “Have you really done all those things that writer is saying in the newspaper?” Elaine said, moving her eyes over him suggestively.

Colt had to grin at her youthful attempt at being seductive. “I haven't been reading those stories,” he answered. “The man has pestered me to death. I hope he's been telling the truth.”

“Oh, that you were once a mountain man, that you've lived with Indians and hunted buffalo, all sorts of exciting things,” Elaine answered. “Are you really from Texas?”

“I was pretty young then. I've even lost most of my drawl, but people tell me it's still there sometimes. I can't ever tell myself. What do you think?”

“Oh, we can still tell,” the blacksmith's daughter answered. Her mother called to her from across the street then, and the two young women gave Colt their best smiles before leaving him, giggling all the way across the street. Colt laughed lightly, shaking his head and putting his cigarette back to his lips to take another drag. He watched them cross the street, scanned others across the way.

It was then he noticed someone standing and watching him—a woman who even from this distance he could tell had a beautiful shape to her and was elegantly dressed. He felt as though the blood were draining out of him as she stepped off the boardwalk and started across the street, looking hesitant, almost as though she might not make it all the way on her own. He knew that body, that walk, that air of dignity and wealth, but he could hardly believe it could be who he thought it was.

A wagon clattered past, and she waited, then kept coming. She was dressed in black, the bodice of her dress tightly fitted to her slender waist and hips, then flaring out slightly just below the hips and flowing into a short gathered train at the back. The high neck of the dress was adorned with a necklace of purple gems set in gold, and a row of purple buttons down the front added the only color to the dress. Her gloves and boots were a matching purple, the black velvet hat on her head trimmed in purple ribbon and displaying small purple feathers.

She was all elegance and beauty, her blond hair pulled back at the sides and coiffed into a cascade of curls. She carried a little purple handbag, but when she came closer Colt noticed none of the accessories. He saw only the face, thinner, the blue eyes showing deep tragedy—and there was a thin scar on her left cheek. Where had that come from? Where had
she
come from?

She came closer, watching his eyes, the usual bright smile with which she used to greet him gone. There was only a look of deep remorse, and her lower lip quivered slightly when she stepped up onto the boardwalk to stand only a few feet from him, holding back as though a bit afraid. “Hello, Colt.”

Colt took the cigarette from his lips and dropped it, stomping it out. “Sunny,” he managed to say when he finally found his voice. “What in God's name are you doing here?”

Sunny could not help admiring his powerful build, the way his denim pants fit him, the snakeskin boots, the gun slung low on his hip. He wore a blue shirt and a leather vest, a leather-strung turquoise stone at his neck, the first few buttons of his shirt undone. His hair was short now. She could see a few dark waves from under his wide-brimmed hat.
Still
so
handsome
, she thought. He would be thirty-two now, and here she was twenty-seven. Maybe for a man like him she didn't even compare anymore to the sweet young things with whom he had just been flirting. Maybe he was even interested in one of them. Maybe she was a stupid fool for coming here at all and butting into his life again.

“I…we have to talk,” she told him, wondering if it was really her speaking. She felt removed from herself, felt as though she were floating in some kind of unreal world, could hardly sense the boardwalk beneath her feet. After all these weeks of searching, it seemed incredible she could walk across a street and find him so easily. She had looked for the sheriff's office, and here he was. Somehow she had thought it would be harder than this, and there had been times when she felt like he was some kind of distant dream who didn't exist anymore.

But he did exist, and he stood in front of her. To her devastation she saw his first look of surprise and the hint of lingering love quickly replaced by something else. Yes, there it was, the hurt, the hatred.

“
Talk?
” His eyes moved over her. “What the hell about? It's a little late for talking, isn't it?” He looked past her. “Where is your beloved husband?”

A few people were beginning to stare. Sunny closed her eyes and grasped a railing. “Please, Colt. Is there someplace where we can be alone?”

He let out a bitter snicker. “No, thanks. We've
been
alone before, remember? It was the biggest mistake we ever made. What the hell is this, Sunny? Do you actually
enjoy
doing this to me? You wait until I just begin to think I can go on with my life without you, and then you show up again! Jesus, Sunny, I'm a man with more than a little
pride
,” he nearly growled. “How did you find me anyway? I suppose a woman of your wealth can hunt down anyone she wants and bandy him about like one of your damn tennis balls. Where's Blaine? Did you decide
he
couldn't be a part of your life either?”

“Colt, stop it!” She put a shaking hand to her face, as though to cover her scar. “Blaine is dead. He drowned at sea last September.” She clung to the railing, looking away from him.

“Dead!” Colt felt light-headed from a myriad of emotions. A soldier came out from the jail and spoke to him for a moment, and Colt struggled to keep his composure until the man left. He stepped closer to Sunny then, wanting to throw her out into the street, yet wanting to hold her. Could a man love and hate the same woman with equal passion? “Don't tell me that just because Blaine is dead you think you can come running to me and pick up where we left off! What the hell kind of man do you take me for, Sunny?”

Her shoulders jerked in a sob, and Colt sensed she was nearly ready to pass out. “It isn't…like that. I have to…tell you something. Please, Colt, where…can we talk?”

“Jesus,” he muttered. She felt him move away from her, heard him tell someone inside he would have to be gone for a while. He grasped her arm, and she felt the old fire move through her but sensed only coldness and anger on his part. He walked so fast that she had to hurry to keep up. He led her to Dancer, lifting her as though she weighed no more than a child. He plopped her on the horse and mounted up behind her, reaching around her to pick up the reins. He turned Dancer and headed out of town.

***

“I've been looking for you for nearly three months,” Sunny said, for the first time in her life feeling awkward in his arms.

“I don't want to hear it,” he answered. “Just wait until we get someplace where we can stop.”

Sunny wondered if he knew how badly she was shaking—to see him again, looking so wonderful; to have his arms around her, arms that once held her so lovingly; to be so close…If she turned her face, it would be only inches from his own. It was all as horribly painful as she feared it would be. He was so angry, so untouchable. In all the years she had known him, in all their other encounters, never once had he been like this, so cool and distant.

Colt headed Dancer toward a cottonwood tree near a stream, wondering in turn if she realized what it did to him to have her suddenly appear out of nowhere, to have to sit with her almost smack in his lap, to want to hold her and shove her off the horse both at the same time. Was this another torment, another short encounter that would leave him reeling? He halted Dancer and climbed down, wincing slightly from the lingering pain in his side. He reached up for her, and their eyes held as she let him lower her. He could feel her ribs, thought how terribly thin she was, noticed again the scar on her cheek.

“Are you all right now?” she asked when he set her on her feet. “I read you were wounded.” She turned away. “That's how I found you—an article in the Omaha newspaper about some big shootout over water rights.”

He turned and tied Dancer to a low tree branch. “My luck,” he grumbled. “Yeah, I'm fine.” He turned, but her back was to him. “I probably should say I'm sorry about Blaine, but I can't. I just wish he would have died a little sooner, like before you
married
him! You wanted to talk—so talk.” He reached into an inside vest pocket and pulled out a cigarette paper. Sunny turned, watching him prepare a cigarette as she had seen him do in happier times.

“You shouldn't be sorry for Blaine even if you wanted to be. He's the reason for the scar on my cheek.”

Colt stopped what he was doing and met her eyes. “How?”

She reddened a little, turned away again. “He beat me—not just a few slaps like some men might do, although even that much is unforgivable as far as I'm concerned. This was fists, my face, my stomach, my ribs. I was bedridden for weeks. I almost died from internal bleeding, and I…I lost a baby—a baby he knew nothing about.”

Colt sealed the cigarette but didn't light it. He walked a few feet away from her, and for a moment there was nothing but the sound of a soft wind and birds singing. “Why?” He finally spoke up, their backs to each other.

“Tom Canary,” she answered. “You probably remember him from that day we returned and met with U.P. men about the Indians. He told Blaine I had gone riding alone with you before Blaine and I married. He said…you had won after all…called me several names I don't care to repeat…made it out to be something dirty and sinful, just like—” Her voice choked. “Like…Vince did.”

“
Dammit, Sunny!
” Colt turned and walked closer to her. “Why in hell didn't you
come
to me! Why didn't you trust me to help you? For God's sake, I've faced every danger there is! If you had told me Vince threatened my life, I could have been on the lookout. Jesus Christ, I've been taking care of myself in dangerous situations since I was fourteen years old!”

“It wasn't just that,” she answered, turning to face him. “It was what he said he'd tell you about my mother and grandmother! Do you know how I felt when he told me that? Right after I spend two days with you, being intimate with you while engaged to someone else, my brother tells me what my
mother
was! Vince made me out to be hardly better than a harlot! He said you'd think of me the same way if you knew! He said others knew about my mother, that others were just waiting for me to show myself to be like her and the gossip about her would start all over again if I brought you into the family. He said you probably already thought of me that way, that you were probably laughing about how you got under Sunny Landers's skirts!”