Wildest Dreams

chapter 2

Luke was glad to be hunting for the wagon train. It gave him plenty of the kind of experience he would need to settle in uncivilized country. He was getting used to being in the saddle most of the day, becoming adept at stalking his prey, getting a good feel for the new repeating rifle he had purchased back in St. Louis. He suspected that where he was going, a man had better be able to hit his target, or expect to die of starvation, or worse.

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.

"She's a good girl, Luke," Mrs. MacBride told him. "She needs a man who can show her how to be a woman and not be afraid."

Luke stood there with rain pouring down his face, his hair soaked to his scalp. It was only then he realized he'd lost his hat somewhere. "I don't doubt that for a minute, ma'am. She thinks she's scared me away, but I don't scare that easy."

Lettie's mother smiled. "I didn't think you would, but it was up to her to tell you, not us."

Looking past Mrs. MacBride, Luke saw that one wagon had been destroyed. Someone began shouting, asking where Mrs. Nolan was, the young widow who had lost her husband to snakebite. She was nowhere near the wagons.

"I'd better go help with the cleanup," he told Mrs. MacBride, "but this isn't finished. Your daughter and I are going to have a good talk."

She smiled sadly and touched his arm. "I hope you do."

Luke glanced at the MacBride wagon once more, then left to help look for poor Hester Nolan.



The rain turned to drizzle, a fitting accompaniment to the sad burial. Hester Nolan had run out into the storm and shot herself in the head. No one had seen her run away, and no one had heard the shot above the sound of the wind. Hank Preston said a few words over her grave, after which everyone went through the young woman's belongings, to decide whom to notify back east of her husband's and her deaths. Preston rather callously explained how everything would be done. Personal belongings would be left at Jules-berg for relatives to claim. The wagon and oxen would be sold to anyone at Julesberg who might want them, or to a member of the wagon train, the money held with the personal belongings. A few other things would be divided up among the other travelers.

It seemed a cold and matter-of-fact way to dispose of everything, but Luke was fast learning that in this land there was little room for sentiment, little time for tears over what might have been. They had to keep moving or risk dying in the mountains. That was the way it was, and there was no getting around it.

While the others were still gathered over the Nolans' possessions, Luke pulled Henry MacBride aside. Lettie turned and gave him a discouraging look as though to warn him it was useless to say anything to her father; her answer would still be no. But Luke had already decided he would not take no for an answer, even if he had to forgo his plans to go to Montana for the time being and follow her all the way to Denver. He would keep after her until she gave in to what he knew were her true feelings.

"What is it, Luke?" MacBride asked him.

Luke drew in his breath, watched Lettie a moment longer before meeting Henry's gaze. "This seems like a strange time to tell you, but it won't be long before I'll be heading on north," he told the man. "I want to marry Let-tie, Mr. MacBride, take her to Montana with me. Do I have your permission?"

The man's eyebrows moved into a frown. He looked as though he had expected the question. "I'd say that was up to Lettie, son. She's a woman with a child now. It's her decision. But there are things you need to know."

"I already know about the rape. She told me during the storm while I was holding her." He felt a little embarrassed then, ran a hand through his hair and turned away. "Damn it, Henry, I love her. I told her so, and she burst out and told me how Nathan came to be." He looked back at the older man. "I don't care, Henry. It doesn't change my feelings for her. In fact, I admire her for her courage, and for keeping the boy and loving him like she does. Any man who would blame a proper young woman for something like that is wrong. All I see when I look at your daughter is a beautiful woman, capable of a lot of love, a woman of strength and courage and stamina. She's the kind of woman a man needs where I'm going."

Henry rubbed at his neck. "My Lettie is used to a very comfortable life, Luke. I imagine it would be anything but that where you're going."

Luke leaned closer, towering over the much shorter Irishman. "You have my word that I'll give her everything she could want, just as fast as I can manage it. Yes, it will be rough at first, but I think Lettie has the strength for it. In time I intend to be a rich landowner, Henry. I'll build her a nice, big home. Some day she'll be one of the wealthiest women in Montana, I promise you that. We'll write as often as we can—maybe not at first, because I don't know where we'll settle, how easy it will be to get word to you. But we'll find a way, so you'll know she's all right. We'll write the general post office in Denver. You can check there until you get settled yourself and send us a proper address."

Henry sighed, putting his hands on his hips, his cotton shirt still soiled from the mud under his own wagon during the storm. Luke also still had not changed out of his damp denim pants, but he kept a canvas slicker around his shoulders.

"It isn't just the danger in Montana I'm thinking about, Luke. It's Lettie herself." Henry rubbed at his chin. "What happened... well, she was a virgin. A thing like that is horrifying enough for any woman, but at fifteen, knowing nothing about men—"

"I don't intend to push her into anything, if that's what you're thinking. I'm not a fool, Henry. I've seen the fear in her eyes, but there's love there, too. I kissed her under that wagon, and she wanted me to kiss her. I think it surprised and scared her. Once she learns she can trust me and realizes how much I love her..." He sighed. "I'd never hurt her or do anything to bring back that terror. Surely you know me well enough to trust my word by now."

The old man's eyes teared. "We love her so much, Luke. The thought of being parted from our Lettie hurts, but considering her circumstance, maybe you're the best thing for her now. The boy takes to you like a bear to honey, and he needs a father. He's got too much energy for this old man to keep up with." He grinned. "You don't need my permission, Luke. You just need to get Lettie to say yes. She thinks she's not good enough for any man now."

Luke shook his head in exasperation. "She's too good for most men as far as I'm concerned, probably too good for me."

Henry put a hand on his arm. "You talk to her, tell her how you feel. And if you expect her to tell you all of it, then you've got to be straight with her, too, Luke. Something tells me you haven't told us everything about your own past, the truth about the trouble with your father. She has a right to know all of it, just the same as you have the right to know everything about Lettie. You don't have to tell me if you don't want, but you tell Lettie. I want your promise on that."

Luke nodded. "I'll tell her."

Henry glanced at the lonely grave. "I don't want my Lettie to end up like that, Luke, buried up there in Montana in some nameless grave."

"That won't happen. I'll make sure of it."

Henry studied the sincerity in Luke's eyes. "I like you, Luke. I know you'll do your best, and I think you have what it takes to do everything you set out to do. I see a burning desire in those eyes, a hunger to be a man of wealth and importance some day. Whatever is driving you, and I think it's some kind of hurt your father has set on you, it will take you far. Just don't lose sight of what is really important along the way, like your wife and children. I've seen it happen."

Luke shook his hand. "I love her too much for that, the boy, too. They'll always come first."

In the distance Lettie looked around from behind a wagon to see her father and Luke shaking hands. She grasped her stomach, anticipation and apprehension both fighting a war inside of her. She knew what that handshake meant. It would be up to her now, and somehow she would have to find a way to tell Luke Fontaine no. It didn't matter that she had enjoyed that kiss, that it still lingered on her lips. It didn't matter that she felt safe and protected when Luke Fontaine's arms were around her. It didn't matter that she had fallen in love with the strong, handsome, skilled descendent of a French trapper, whose touch sent fire through her blood.

She was not worthy of him, not worthy of any man. She could never belong just to him. She had been robbed of the most precious gift a woman could give her husband, and it had left her tainted. How could he say that what had happened could not keep him from loving her? It didn't seem possible. Maybe he wasn't even asking for her hand.

Maybe he was explaining to her father why he had decided to go his own way soon. He had surely decided he could never marry her. Besides, the thought of marriage and what it meant frightened her, even though a part of her wanted to throw her arms around Luke and tell him she would follow him to the end of the earth; and God knew a place like Montana was as close to that as a man, or woman, could get. He might as well ask her to go to Australia or Africa. Montana seemed just as remote, and that was just one more reason to say no.