Good Medicine (12 page)

“My father was a logger, he worked out of town a lot.” She took a breath, wondering how much to reveal. “He—he was also a drunk.”

Silas waited.

“He couldn't take care of us, so he put my brother and me into foster care. We were supposed to be placed together, but of course that didn't last long.” She could hear the bitterness in her voice, feel it in her heart. “Toby was labeled difficult, and finally they split us up.”

“That's hard. It's happened to a lot of my people, too.”

Jordan nodded. “I only saw Mike a half-dozen times after he abandoned us. He didn't make it to any of my graduations, high school, university, med school. Eventually I heard that he'd left Vancouver.”

“Do you know where your brother is?”

“Yes. Toby had it rougher than me. I was finally placed with an older couple who couldn't have children. They wanted to adopt me, but Mike would never sign the papers. They paid for my education.”

“And your brother?” he said gently. “Toby?”

“He wasn't so lucky.” Jordan felt angry whenever she thought about her brother's childhood. “Toby got bounced from one foster home to the next. He quit school at sixteen, ended up in a juvenile detention center charged with break-and-enter. But his parole offi
cer took a personal interest in him and helped him find a job as a carpenter's helper at a shipyard. That fueled Toby's passion in boat building.” She was aware of the pride in her voice. Silas smiled at her.

“He has a business in Seattle designing and building small pleasure boats.”

“And your father?”

Jordan shrugged and turned her head. “I hear he's back living in Vancouver.” Her voice was hard. “I haven't seen him in years, and I don't intend to ever see him again.” She shot him a challenging look. “I suppose that seems hard-hearted to you.”

“No, not at all. It gives us something in common. Except it's my father who doesn't want anything to do with me.”

There wasn't any discernible emotion in his tone.

“How come?”

“He's an anthropologist, an academic. He had high hopes for me, envisioned us working together. When I chose to come and live in Ahousaht and study healing with my grandmother, Angus disowned me. He wanted me to forget that I was half First Nations.”

“But he and your mother were married. He must have cared about her, accepted her heritage?”

“I'm not sure about that. I think he thought that if he just got her to Vancouver, she could pass as white. I tried that for a while, but I was made to see how false it was.”

Jordan knew from experience that it took a powerful emotional event to instigate change. For her, it had
been the night Garry was brought to the E.R. She shivered, remembering.

“It began with the conflict between the government and my people over land claims and fishing rights,” Silas said. “My father was considered an expert because he'd spent time here. To him and the politicians, it was a matter of who owned the rights to the land. The First Nations understand that we are only caretakers of the land and water. No one can own them.”

“So you got involved?”

He smiled. “Oh, yes. I shot my mouth off a lot. My father got royally pissed.”

He was thoughtful, looking past her to the ocean. “I came back here out of rebellion against Angus, not from any deep-seated curiosity about healing methods. But when I got here, my grandmother outsmarted me. She'd decided when I was very little that I was born to be a healer, and nothing was going to change her mind.”

“So she taught you.”

“In spite of myself. Sandrine reclaimed my soul.”

Jordan shook her head. “I don't understand.”

“I was at war with myself, rejecting both sides of my heritage. She helped me see that I needed to go where my heart led. To please my father, I had denied the part of me that belonged here. She helped me past the guilt.”

“Sounds as if Sandrine was a gifted psychologist.”
You have to reclaim the part you gave away to Garry.
Helen had told her that. “Someone once told me it's not good to give your power away.”

“That sounds like something Sandrine would say.”
He stood and pulled her to her feet. “C'mon, let's go down to the next pool.”

Jordan shivered a little when they were once again settled side by side in the cooler water of the third pool. She could see the sun, sparkling on the surf, but the cliff walls were too steep for it to shine down this far. Silas was still holding her hand, his fingers laced between hers.

“So I gave my power to my father,” he said softly. “Who did you give yours to, Jordan?”

“My husband…my ex-husband,” she corrected herself. That wasn't technically true yet, but she hoped it would be soon. She wasn't comfortable, talking about Garry with Silas. The whole disaster was too recent, too humiliating, too painful. Before he could ask anything else, she added, “Have you ever been married, Silas?”

“No.” He tipped his head back and squinted up at the blue sky. White frothy clouds scudded along its surface. “It's not something I'd be good at.”

“You're a wise man to know that about yourself.” Too bad she hadn't had as much insight. This time it was Jordan who got to her feet and tugged at his hand. “Come on, three down, one to go.”

“Okay, but just remember, this was your idea.”

They had just settled in the lowest pool when a gigantic wave came rolling in, forcing its way into the narrow opening at the bottom of the gorge and foaming up until it spilled icy ocean water over both of them.

Silas laughed as Jordan screamed, sputtering and gasping.

“You sadist,” she accused him when she got her breath. “You didn't even warn me.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he said with a grin, as another wave dumped more icy water over them. This time, he let out a wild yell and half dragged her back up the steps.

“Don't surprise me again, I may not live through it,” she cautioned. Shivering, they scrambled back up to the top pool, immersing themselves in the water, which now felt hot in comparison.

Panting, Jordan relaxed beside him, and gave herself up to the warmth and the peacefulness of their surroundings. They sat silently, up to their shoulders in water, for what seemed a long time.

After a while he held her fingers up and studied them. “You're puckered. Maybe we should get out now? I brought lunch. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” Reluctantly, Jordan stood up. “I hate to move, but you're right, I'm totally waterlogged. Shriveling up as we speak.”

He studied her deliberately. “Just a little wrinkled around the edges. Nothing a kiss won't fix.”

Touching only her hand, he gently touched her lips with his. He tasted of salt and the sea. Both wild and familiar.

J
ORDAN SHUDDERED
. The blood-warm water and hot summer sun enhanced a raw sensuality between them.

“Come,” he said. “I know this private dining room.”

“Is this a shirt-and-shoes sort of place?”

“Shoes, yes, the ground's rough. And you might want to pull on a T-shirt over your bathing suit, your skin's so fair it's going to burn.”

In the clearing at the top of the springs he led the way into the woods. There was no path, and he was careful to hold back the foliage so it didn't scratch her bare arms and legs. The evergreens were taller here, and he led her along some invisible track, deeper and deeper into the forest, turning this way and that until Jordan was thoroughly lost.

“Here we go.” He pushed through what appeared to be an impenetrable mass of vines and branches, and suddenly they were in a small clearing. Silas slipped off his pack and set it on the ground, crouching to open it.

Jordan admired his strong back before looking around. The earth was cushioned with pine needles, and it was absolutely quiet. There was a small pile of stones
underneath the largest tree, the top stone flat and darkened by fire.

“What's that?” She pointed at it.

“It's an altar. We call that tree a cedar, but actually it's an alpine fir. The needles are burned to help clear energies that inhibit visions.” He was setting out food—smoked salmon, bannock, blueberries—and plastic bottles of water. “This is a sacred place.”

Nervously, Jordan glanced around again. “Should you have brought me here? If it's sacred?”

He laughed. “Somehow I don't see you bringing busloads of tourists.”

“Gee.” She widened her eyes and pretended to think about it. “Well, the thought did cross my mind. But I was born without a sense of direction, so I might have a hard time finding this spot again.”

“There you go. It's safe.” He spread out a small blanket and motioned to the food. “Come and sit. Eat.”

She did. She was ravenous. “Mm. This fish is so good.”

“Indian candy. It's our special, secret recipe for smoking.”

“Did you smoke it?”

“No, I traded for it. I pretty much run on the barter system. I help somebody out and they pay me with what they have. Harold gave me the fish in return for helping him get better after a car accident.”

“I envy you. No government forms to fill out.” She chewed and swallowed bannock, and they ate in silence.

What was it about simple food and fresh air that
was so intoxicating? What was it about Silas that was so intriguing? Besides his killer body. And his strange, clear eyes.

Sometimes, like right now, she had the feeling he could see straight inside her head. She hoped not. Her thoughts would definitely betray her.

When they'd both had enough to eat, Silas crumbled the remaining bannock and scattered it for the birds. Jordan leaned back on the blanket, watching him, entranced by the focused attention he paid to whatever he was doing. What would it be like to have that intense concentration aimed her way?

She shut her eyes, letting the sun warm her skin, blurring images inside her closed eyelids.

She felt him kneel beside her. His shadow blotted out the sun as he put a hand on either side of her shoulders, and leaned down to kiss her.

“Jordan Burke. Beautiful Falling Down Woman.”

She opened her eyes and squinted up at him. His hair, still damp from the water, hung down on either side of his face, tickling her skin. His cheekbones were sharp and high, his nose straight, his jaw angular and firm. And those clear green eyes were like laser beams, staring into hers.

“Tell me that you want me.”

Her heartbeat accelerated. “I want you.”

“Making love here in this sacred spot must be a committed act by both of us,” he said. “Otherwise it transmits negativity to the earth.”

“The earth is safe with me.”

With that, Silas pulled her T-shirt up and over her head. In that concentrated, unhurried and intense fashion she found so seductive, he kissed her mouth, her nose, her eyes, her chin.

He ran his tongue along her jawline, tasted the hollow at the base of her throat, growling in low approval when she shivered, using her hands to learn the shape of his back. She moved her splayed fingers down the smooth slide of his backbone, long bones, long muscles, relishing the sun-warmed skin that led to firm buttocks, narrow hips. There she traced his ribs, found his flat nipples, teased them erect with her fingernails.

She felt the tremor that ran through him. She heard him catch his breath, intensifying the desire that had been simmering since—when? Five minutes after she'd first met him?

“This suit just slides down?” He was peeling the straps from her arms, using his mouth on every inch of newly exposed flesh as if there'd be a penalty for missing a single scrap.

“Lycra's amazing that way.” She felt the tremor in her throat as she spoke. When the suit cleared her breasts, he paused and his mouth covered her right nipple. She couldn't have articulated two sane words if her life depended on it. Her body bucked in sharp reaction, and a moan of pleasure escaped.

God, he was slow. It drove her nuts. He was thorough, rolling the suit with maddening patience down and down, marking territory with his lips and tongue and teeth as he went. He made her entire body sing—
fingertips, toes, but most of all, between her legs. She'd almost forgotten how powerful it was, this drive to completion.

His tongue circled her belly button, lapping at her stomach for what seemed forever, and she couldn't stand it another instant. Taking handfuls of his hair, she pulled him up. She wriggled out of the bathing suit and then slid fully beneath him and wrapped legs and arms around him. Hunger. Anticipation.

“I need you inside me,” she said, holding his eyes with hers. “I need you now, Silas. Please?”

He wasn't the least bit slow about getting rid of his own swimming shorts. He balanced above her, blocking out the sun. And when he lowered himself to her she felt the shocking heat of him, the way his bare skin seemed to burn hers wherever it touched.

“Jordan.” The way he said her name was a song that touched her heart. And then in one long, smooth glide, he was exactly where she needed him to be.

Lust and intention came together in an explosion that ricocheted from her core, bringing life to a part of her that had been sleeping. And when she arched and shuddered and cried out, he lost gentle and civilized. He became savage, pinioning her arms over her head and driving himself into her in a frenzy that caught her in its wake, pulling her with him up into orgasm that left her stripped of all but sensation.

T
HEY LAY SIDE BY SIDE
, spoon-style, half on the blanket and half on pine needles. Sunlight filtered down and
birds chirped in a syncopated chorus. In the warmth and stillness, Silas's hand was curled around her breast, the long-fingered hand so familiar to her now.

“So where do we go from here?” His voice was low and rumbling, close to her ear.

“Back to the village, I'd say.” She deliberately misunderstood him, because she absolutely didn't know. “It must be getting late.” She squirmed out of his embrace, rummaged in her pack. Yanking on her panties and cutoffs, she said in a phony chipper voice, “At least my cell phone hasn't rung.”

He was watching her, not moving. The man had a gift for stillness. It made her nervous. The sheer raw force of their joining made her nervous.

“So that's how you want it, huh? Mindless sex.”

She pulled her blue sports bra on and then let her shoulders slump in defeat.

“No,” she said with a sigh. “That's not what I want.” But maybe it was. All of a sudden she was so confused she couldn't figure anything out.

“L-look,” she stammered, trying to work it out as she went along, “I haven't been with anyone for a long time. No dates, no one-night stands, nothing. Before I was married, I wasn't exactly a party girl. And even when I
was
married, sex wasn't—well, very satisfactory. I have to say, this—” she waved a hand at him, at the blanket “—this totally blew me away.”

Helen wouldn't have let her get away with that. She would've forced her to examine her emotions.

Yes, but how does that make you feel?

Not the sex, but Silas himself. How did Silas make her feel?

Confused came to mind. Overwhelmed. “Like you said, the energy is powerful between us. And I guess it sort of…the truth is, it scares me, Silas.”

“Sex with me scares you?”

“No.” She gave an impatient wave of her hand. “Not just sex. This whole complicated thing, the whole man-woman thing. I'm not good at it.”

“Maybe you just need some practice.”

His matter-of-fact assessment made her laugh. “It's a lot more complicated than that.”

“It doesn't have to be. The only thing we have to bring to each other is honesty. How long were you married?”

“Two years.” He'd told her what she'd wanted to know about his life. She owed him some insight into hers in return. “Garry was a lawyer, I met him when a patient decided to sue the E.R. staff for negligence. His firm was hired to represent the employees.”

“And you fell in love?”

She hesitated. “I thought so at the time. Although it was probably as much Garry's family as him. His mother and father welcomed me with open arms, treated me like a daughter.” She shuddered, remembering how they'd accused her of not trying hard enough when they found out she'd left their son.

“Garry was—weak.” Even now, even though she knew he'd understand, she couldn't bring herself to tell Silas about the drugs. She was too ashamed—she still
couldn't believe that she'd written Garry prescriptions for drugs for as long as she had. It showed such poor professional judgment on her part. She knew Silas would think so, too—and above all she didn't want him to think her a fool.

“He had a car accident. He…he got better physically, but emotionally he never really recovered.”

“And so you went from being wife to being caregiver?”

That damned, unnerving
focus
of his made her uneasy.

She nodded. “Pretty much.” It was so much more than that, but for the moment, it was as much as she felt comfortable talking about.

“How long have you been divorced?”

“Not long enough.” The truth would require an entire new set of explanations.

“Do you still have feelings for him?” His voice was so casual. She glanced over, gauging his expression. It was neutral.

She struggled to put her complex feelings into words. “I feel sorry for him. I pity him, I guess.” And she was angry with him. Angry? Hell. She was bloody furious. She resented the things he'd done, the scenes he'd created, the private and professional embarrassment he'd caused her. It had taken some time for her to unearth that rage, but with Helen's help, it had surfaced, frightening Jordan with its magnitude.

Helen said it was healthy. Jordan, on the other hand, hated feeling so out of control. Anger frightened her, it
always had. Again, she didn't feel she could tell Silas about it.

“And now you're afraid to trust someone again?”

God, the man was worse than Helen, picking away at her psyche.

“I wouldn't say that.” But she wasn't sure. “I'm just a lot more cautious than I used to be.”

“That's probably a good thing.”

He got up and started pulling on his clothes. Pants first, no underwear. Then he thrust his arms into a gray T-shirt, pulled it down over his head, scooped his dark hair out from under it. She watched, fascinated. She'd seen more than her share of naked male bodies, but not one of them had been this perfectly formed.

“Do you trust me, Jordan?”

“You ask really tough questions, you know that?”

“Being honest is something that was hard for me to learn. I try to practice it so I never forget how it goes.”

“Trust is a complex thing,” she said slowly. “It has a lot of layers. For the most part, yes, I do trust you.”

“But there are gray areas?”

She hesitated and then nodded. “It's because I don't know you that well yet, I suppose. It takes time to really know someone.”

“Ahousaht's a small place, and I'm not going anywhere. You say you'll be around for a year. I'm available if you want to know me better. While you're here.”

He reached out a hand and pulled her up. “Let's get back to the boat before the tide changes. And then I'll show you where I live.”

“I'd like that.” She understood. He was offering what he had to offer, what he was willing to offer, a place to be with him away from the village, a friendship that included sex. A time limit so she knew exactly what the rules were.

It suited her, she decided. It suited her very well.

S
ILAS'S CABIN
, like the man himself, was fascinating. A little mysterious, multifaceted.

It was built from logs in a small clearing amid tall evergreens. The main floor consisted of one large room, with a tidy corner kitchen that contained the inevitable wood-burning cookstove and a small refrigerator. There was a bathroom with a sink, a shower and the strangest looking toilet she'd ever seen. There was no flushing mechanism, and amazingly, no odor, either.

“It's a composting toilet,” Silas explained when she asked. “I don't like to be dependent on anything. It doesn't need water, and it's environmentally friendly. It does need electricity, but I use solar collectors on the roof to provide and store enough energy for the toilet, my hot water—and to recharge the battery for my laptop.” He pointed to a corner opposite the kitchen where an old door on two sawhorses formed a large desk. It was cluttered with books, loose papers, a computer and printer. “I have a generator for backup, but I don't use it much. Only when it rains for days on end in the winter.”