Follow the Sun (30 page)

He jumped, knocked his bad knee on the table edge, and shot her a look of pain and exasperated shock. Water dripped from his eyebrows and nose; rivulets of water ran down the center of his sleek chest in a southward journey that ended in hair even blacker than that on his head.

To her amazement, the anger faded from his eyes. He sighed and shook his head. “This would have been a hell of a lot simpler two hundred years ago. I could have just kidnapped you.”

They gazed at each other while golden afternoon sunshine poured through a tiny window over the sink. It cascaded onto the table between them as if marking a common ground for friendship.

Erica was amazed at herself. She was calmly grinning at the most enticing man in the world, he was stark naked, and he was grinning back at her. Her life had certainly gotten more interesting in the course of one week.

“What are those marks on your chest?” she asked.

He glanced down. “Under my pecs?”

Somehow she hadn’t expected to get this detailed. Erica thought he made “pecs” sound very sensual. “Under them, yes.”

“Stretch marks. You get ’em from taking steroids. The steroids make your muscles grow faster than normal when you lift weights, and the skin can’t take the stress.” He paused, looking troubled. “In college we were proud of them.”

“You can be proud of them now,” she assured him gently. “Because you went through a lot of hell to do what you thought was right.”

There was a vigorous change in attitude low on James’s body. She couldn’t help staring. Really, it was impossible not to. Erica’s legs went weak, while a
languid heat made her belly feel hollow and ready to be filled.

Would his body have reacted to any woman who stared at him? Erica shoved that worry aside.

James glanced down at himself and murmured distractedly, “Looks like I’ve got my own
Uktena
.” Then he was silent, studying her reaction.

She whimpered silently as heat scorched the skin below her navel and moved higher, tightening her breasts until they ached, then finally warming her face with passion. Erica turned toward the sink and fumbled with some dishes there.

“Sorry about this,” he said softly.

“I’m not embarrassed. I’m a normal woman with a normal reaction to a man in your … condition.”

“I understand that. I’m just sorry, that’s all.”

She glanced back at him. He was scowling—if not at her, precisely, then in her general direction. He pursed his lips as if thinking, then turned and quickly limped out of the room.

“Would you mind bringing me some water when you get a chance, Red?”

“No problem.”

“Thanks, doll.”

Erica slumped in a chair and put her head in her hands. He didn’t want her, even when she couldn’t hide the fact that she was ready, able, and extremely willing.

Erica wiped tears from her eyes. “Water,” she said in a ragged, angry whisper. “There’s your water, Mr. Tall Wolf.”

W
RAPPED IN A
thin blanket, she sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed and listened to James tell stories. The bedside lamp cast cozy light on him, softening the planes of his face and making his hair look like polished onyx. He kept the bedcovers pulled up to his chest, which told her that he was politely avoiding another scene like that afternoon’s.

Erica sighed. He had a lot of kindness in him, and that made her want him even more.

Beyond the living room windows owls “Whoo’d” in the June night, and inside, the house still smelled delicious from the steak dinner she’d fixed.

Erica pulled her blanket more tightly around herself. They’d had a wonderful dinner, and he was wonderful company. She should be content with that.

“How did the Tall Wolf family end up in North Carolina?” she asked. “How did they avoid the Trail of Tears?”

“My great-great-grandfather lived in Tennessee. When the soldiers began rounding up the Cherokees, he escaped and hid in North Carolina. Here in the Smokies.” James smiled. “The
Tsacona-ge
. Place of the Blue Smoke.”

“So most of the North Carolina band came from refugees?”

“Some. Others had lived here a long time, and the mountains were so rugged that it was too much trouble for the soldiers to hunt them down.”

“Do you think your ancestor survived like the other refugees did, by hiding in caves?”

He nodded. “We have records made by a Quaker missionary.”

“What kind of records?”

“Aw, that’s not important. People nearly starved, hiding from the soldiers the first year, but then—”

“James, what kind of records?”

He looked annoyed at her persistence. “A family Bible.”

“But why would the missionary record anything about your ancestor in his
family
Bible? Unless—” Erica whooped. “Did the big red wolf marry a little white lamb in the missionary’s family?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then you’re part white. All right! We have something in common.”

James crossed reddish-brown arms over his chest
and feigned dismay. “Funny, I don’t feel like a Quaker.”

She rocked nonchalantly, smiling. “I understand that after you move back here for good you’re going to find yourself a nice Cherokee wife.”

“Hmmm. That’s always been my plan.”

“Keep the bloodline pure.”

His gaze was riveted to hers; she wasn’t certain what was going on behind those dark eyes, but she doubted it had anything to do with Erica Alice Gallatin’s bloodlines.

“Travis’s wife was white. Born and raised in Chicago. She left him five times. He always took her back. She made him miserable.”

Erica looked at James wearily. The bitterness in his eyes defeated her. “I’m sorry. I like Travis, and it’s too bad that his marriage didn’t work. But maybe it had nothing to do with his wife’s being white.”

“You’re right. It only had to do with her being an outsider.”

Erica tried to sound flippant. “So you’re just having fun with the palefaces until you find the right woman here at home. Hmmm, a practical attitude.” She looked around as if searching for a clock. “Well, heavens, it’s getting late. I must be off to my new bed. I’m so glad Tom’s Trader Inn had one more lime-green beauty to spare.”

Erica uncurled her legs and started to get up. James’s broad hand latched on to her ankle.

“Not so fast. You owe me a story in return.”

She had to get out of that room before her smile broke. Not only wasn’t she sexy enough for him, she wasn’t Cherokee enough.

“Well, let’s see, I know a story about the great Boston Harbor sewage monster, but I don’t think it’s as charming as your stories about
Uktenas
and
Utluhtus
and other native things that go bump in the night.”

“I want to know about your marriage.”

“Ah. No way. You might have a tendency toward
diabetes, and the story’s too darned sweet to be safe.”

“Red, quit stalling,” he said softly. “I can keep a secret. Come on. Give.”

“Really, it’s a ridiculous story and I don’t want to—”

“Erica Alice, I’m not letting go of your ankle until you talk.”

“I was a nerd; he was a nerd. We dated all through high school. It was a terrific nerd romance. Then I went to Georgia Tech to study civil engineering and he went to UCLA to study world arts and cultures.

“We hardly saw each other for four years, but he wrote lots of long letters full of deathless prose about making the world into a better place. Then he got a chance to visit the Middle East on a year-long study program. On his way out of the States he met me up in Boston. He made me feel as if no one would ever love me more in my life. We were married an hour before he got on an airplane.”

She picked at the blanket for a second. “And that was the last time I ever saw him in person.”

James stroked her ankle. “What happened?”

“He disappeared. The State Department confirmed that he’d been kidnapped by some political faction. I saw photographs of him over the years, so I knew he was still alive.”

“So you waited,” James murmured. “For eight years before you found out that he was dead. My God, you’re incredible.”

“I’m a dolt,” she retorted, and chuckled harshly. “He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even kidnapped. He’d joined a terrorist group and married a Lebanese woman. At last count, they had three kids.”

She sat in awkward silence, toying with a string on the blanket. James’s hand tightened around her ankle as if he wanted to stamp his fingerprints permanently on her skin. Erica avoided looking at him even when he shook her foot lightly.

“What’d you do when you found out?” he asked
in a husky voice that played havoc with her emotions. This forceful giant of a man might growl and snap at her sometimes, but he could be as sweet as a puppy, too. A wolf puppy, but a puppy, nonetheless.

Blinking back tears, Erica could only manage to repeat, “I was a damned dolt. What a boob. Eight years.”

“Sssh. You ought to get a medal.”

“An idiot award.”

“Hush. When did you find out about him?”

“About two years ago. I got an annulment and tried to think of myself as a free person, but it hasn’t worked real well. I guess eight years of martyrdom turned me into a creature of habit. And I’m not exactly self-confident around men … except in business.”

“Dammit, you can’t waste any more time.” He cursed again, this time less politely. “What a story. The guy ought to be barbecued.”

She almost smiled. “I’ve often thought about which parts I’d like to roast first.”

James looked at her shrewdly. “So what are you going to do? Let that bastard ruin the rest of your life?”

“No, but—”

“What are you waiting for?”

“I—I guess it’s a who, not a what.”

“No, no, no. You can’t sit around waiting for Mr. Perfect and ignoring everyone else. You’ll never get anywhere that way.”

Erica looked at him hopefully, her heart filling her throat. Was he making an offer?

“I don’t need romance,” she said eagerly. “I mean, I know I’m not the type that men get mushy over. Guys just don’t pamper big women. We don’t look delicate. If I could find someone who’s experienced but not too cynical, someone who could be a good friend, someone who, you know, would teach me things, I’d be happy.”

James frowned at her. “You need a lot more than sex education. You need a new self-image. Don’t worry about being too tall to attract men. Take me,
for example. I’m such a hulk that you look delicate to me.”

Happiness bubbled up inside her. He
was
making her an offer. “You’re good for my ego,” she said, and laughed merrily. “I feel like Eliza in
My Fair Lady
. Make me a new woman, Henry Tall Wolf Higgins.”

“Let’s see, let’s see.” He squinted thoughtfully, his fingers tapping on her ankle.

“Tell me what to do, and I’ll give it a try.”

“Hmmm. Okay, I’ve got it.” He didn’t look particularly happy, but he did seem satisfied.

Erica leaned forward, waiting breathlessly. “Anything.”

He patted her ankle. “I know a great guy up in D.C. Used to play for the ‘Skins. He’s divorced, but it was nothing ugly. He’s real clean-cut, a little shy, not nearly as bookish or smart as you are, but he does read a lot. He’s a liberal Republican. I think you’d like him.”

For a second Erica could only stare at James, her mouth open in disbelief. Her chest constricted with stunned bitterness. After years of idiotic martyrdom and self-denial she’d been forced into close company with this man, this incredibly provocative man, and all he wanted to do was get rid of her.

She clambered off the bed and stood at the foot of it, her hands clenched around her blanket, her feet braced apart in a stance of pure defiance. “I don’t need you to pimp for me!” She turned and marched from the room, her dignity in tatters around her.

CHAPTER 6

T
HE NEXT MORNING
at six
A.M
. he pounded on her bedroom door and called, “Wake up,
kamama egwa.
”

Erica refused to ask what the name meant. She sat up wearily, still angry and tense. “Yes?”

“I’m going out. Meet me at the museum at twelve.”

“Why?”