Warrior's Embrace (36 page)

“Hawk...” Elizabeth took one more step, then
hesitated. “Once long ago I came to you.”

“In the summer, when the trees were green.”
He held his feelings on a tight leash, watching her, wanting
her.

She moved one step closer, her hand lightly
touching her abdomen. “We made a miracle together.”

“My son.”

Elizabeth stood for a long while with
moonlight on her face and the night wind in her hair. And then she
smiled.

“You claimed me and said I was yours.” She
came to him then and took both his hands. “Claim me again,
Hawk.”

“This time it will be for keeps.”

He pulled her into his arms and lowered her
to the hay.

Elizabeth Hawk sat at her desk in her
sprawling ranch home. Summer sunlight poured through the skylights
and the windows, unhampered by curtains.

She smiled as she sifted through the latest
correspondence. The governor of Mississippi wanted to honor her
husband for his contribution to the conservation of natural
resources in the state. Elizabeth noted the date on her desk
calendar. There was an invitation for Hawk to speak to a conference
of foresters on the Gulf coast, a request for Elizabeth to address
the Tombigbee Bluff Society for Clean Air, an invitation for both
of them to appear on the local television talk show to discuss
methods of recycling.

Elizabeth wrote a note of acceptance to the
Tombigbee Bluff Society for Clean Air, then put the rest of the
mail aside to consult with Hawk. She stood up and stretched, then
belted her robe tightly and went into the kitchen to check on
breakfast.

Her four sons were in the midst of a huge
argument about who would be introduced first at the day’s
activities. Fifteen-year-old Grant seemed to be winning.

“I’m the oldest son,” he was telling his
brothers between mouthfuls of cereal. “Naturally the mayor is going
to call my name first.”

Six-year-old Blackie curled his hands into
fists and gave his brothers a look so like Hawk that Elizabeth had
to cover her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“My name is the same as Daddy’s,” he said.
“I’ll be first.”

Michael, eight, and Jonathan, twelve, got
into the act. Soon the kitchen was resounding with the noise of
strong young male voices, each vying for supremacy and control.

Just like their father,
Elizabeth
thought, smiling.

“Boys,” she said, interrupting them. “I’m
going upstairs to get dressed for the ceremonies. Finish your
breakfast, then get ready. We don’t want to be late. This is your
father’s special day.”

“How come?” Blackie tugged the edge of her
robe. “Tell me again about Daddy’s special day.”

Elizabeth bent over her youngest child,
gathering him into her arms. “Your daddy is a very special man who
worked hard so that the citizens would have a place they could come
to be away from the noise of the city and close to nature.” She
ruffled his hair. “A long time ago, when you were just a baby, some
people in city government wanted to sell the park and build a shoe
factory on the land. Hawk worked hard to save the park.”

“So did you, Mother,” Grant added, pride
shining in his eyes. “I remember how hard both of you fought to
save the park.”

“Tell me about the shoe factory part,”
Blackie prompted. He had heard the story a dozen times, but he
still loved hearing it.

“Hawk realized that our city was growing
without a plan, that factories and industries were being built
everywhere without regard to the location. Hawk and a group of
concerned citizens—”

“You, Mother,” Grant added.

“Yes, I was one of them. We devised a plan
that would save our park and provide a separate place, an
industrial
park, for plants like the shoe factory and the
new furniture factory.”

“Tell the green part,” Blackie insisted.

“It’s called a green belt. Our group got the
city to pass a green belt ordinance so that neighborhoods and parks
were protected from the commercial part of the city by strips of
trees.”

“And everybody planted trees.” Blackie
clapped his hands. “And all the birds and little animals had
homes.”

“Yes. Everybody planted trees. And today
everybody in Tombigbee Bluff will come to the park for the
dedication ceremonies. The park will be called Hawk Nature Center,
and there will be a big statue of your daddy in the middle.”

“Oh his horse?”

“Yes, Blackie. On his horse.”

“I like that. Can I climb to the top of the
statue and sit with Daddy on the horse?”

“Ask your father.”

“You always tell us that.” Blackie
giggled.

“That’s because Black Hawk is the wisest man
I know.” She patted his head. “Now finish your breakfast.”

Elizabeth hurried up the stairs to dress for
the ceremonies.

o0o

Black Hawk finished his early-morning ride,
which doubled as an inspection of his ranch, then tended his
stallion and headed toward the house. His eyes shone as they always
did when he knew he would be seeing Elizabeth.

He passed by the kitchen to greet his boys,
then hurried up the stairs. He could smell his wife’s exotic
fragrance, drifting down the staircase. If he were lucky, she’d be
emerging from her bath, damp and shiny and fragrant.

“Elizabeth,” he called, pushing open their
bedroom door. She was standing beside her dressing table, wearing a
blue silk dress and pinning up her hair.

“You’re dressed.”

She laughed. “You sound disappointed.”

“I am.” His eyes lit with laughter, and he
started toward her. “But I know a way to change that.”

“If I weren’t such a decadent woman, I might
remind you that we’ll be late for the ceremonies.”

“And I would remind you that I’m the guest of
honor and they wouldn’t dare start without me.” Hawk pulled his
wife into his arms and nuzzled her cheek. “You smell good.”

“And you smell like leather and hay... and
horseflesh.”

He laughed. “Are you complaining.”

“Never.” She laced her hands behind his neck
and pulled him down to her. “Where’s Sophie?”

“Still riding.” Hawk took her hand and led
her to the window. Their firstborn, Sophie Elizabeth Hawk, sixteen
and full of the joy of youth, was racing across the pasture on
Black Star, the stallion that had been a gift from her father the
day she was born. “Look at that seat. Look at the way she handles
the stallion.”

“She’s brave and strong and proud, just like
her father.”

“She’s spirited and beautiful, just like her
mother.” With his arms around his wife, Hawk watched his firstborn
a while longer, pride and love swelling his chest and almost
bringing tears to his eyes. Without Sophie’s help he might never
have won the hand of the woman at his side. If his secret liaison
with Elizabeth McCade had not resulted in her pregnancy, they might
never have acknowledged their love. If he hadn’t fallen into
Elizabeth’s cellar in the first place...

“Hawk, a penny for your thoughts.”

He turned from the window and began to move
in the direction of the bed. Reaching up, he took the pins from
Elizabeth’s hair. When it was loose, he gathered it in his hands
and watched the sunlight catch the gleaming strands as they drifted
through his fingers.

“I was thinking of a secret passageway and a
dark cellar, and young woman who faced me with a nickel-plated .44
Magnum with an eight-inch barrel.”

“Almost seventeen years ago.”

“I love you now more than I loved you then,
if that’s possible.” Hawk reached around her and unzipped her
dress. Then he slid it from her shoulders. “I never look at you
without wanting you; I never see you without longing to hold you,
to touch you.”

“It is the same with me.”

“What would you say to having our own private
celebration and being fashionably late to the public one?”

“I’d say yes to both.”

He lifted her into his arms, and they left a
trail of hairpins all the way to the bed.

-The End-

PEGGY WEBB

Chickasaw Tribal Lands, Oklahoma

Winter 1993

The village lay snug under a blanket of snow,
somnolent and peaceful in the early morning light as if it had
never known violence. Kate Malone knew better. She stood on her
front porch, clutching her coat high around her neck,
shivering.

The previous day’s fan mail had been slipped
silently under the door of her clinic and still lay open on her
bedside table.
Your tormentor watches you, pale face doctor
witch. Repent or burn in hell.

Coward. Hiding behind his mask of anonymity.
She would never back down, for the lives of a people she had come
to love were at stake. Threats of hell didn’t scare her. She’d
already been there ...twice. And she’d survived both times.

Her boots sank into the snow as she started
across her yard to the clinic. The cold air whipped her coat and
set her adrenaline flowing. Five hours of sleep was not enough, but
it was all she could allow herself. A dreadful sickness was
stalking the Chickasaw children, and she was the only one who could
save them.

With her head bent against the wind, Kate
hurried along. Suddenly the wintry silence was rent by a sharp
crackling sound. Kate froze. If it was her tormentor, she was fair
game, for the nearest neighbor was two miles away. There was nobody
to hear her if she screamed.

She balled her hands into fists and took a
karate stance, ready to fight. The sound came again, and a pine
bough dumped its heavy burden at her feet.

“Nerves,” she muttered, disgusted with
herself. She couldn’t afford a case of nerves.

She’d rammed her fists into her coat pockets
and started forward once more, when another sound tore the silence
...a high-pitched wail of terror. Fear bloomed in Kate’s chest, and
her own scream rose in her throat. The sound came again, shattering
her nerves and the spell that bound her.

“Deborah!” Her head up, her heart riding high
in her chest, Kate raced toward her clinic. The screaming had
stopped, but a new terror presented itself. Smoke curled from the
roof and an unearthly glow lit the windows.

“Please, God ...please, God,” she chanted as
she ran, not knowing what she asked for, knowing only that prayer
was necessary.

The toe of her boot caught on a root, and she
toppled like a felled tree. Scrambling in the snow, praying and
swearing at the same time, Kate lurched upright and started running
once more. Snow clung to her lashes, blurring her vision. The acrid
smell of smoke burned her nostrils.

She knew she was making progress, for she
could hear the vicious crackle of wood catching fire, but the
clinic seemed to be receding rather than advancing. Her lungs
burned and her eyes stung.

There was movement behind the clinic, and she
saw a shadowy form racing toward the cover of trees. Kate tried to
pick up her speed, but roots hidden in the snow threatened to trip
her once more. As she fought for balance a million possibilities
went through her mind, all of them terrifying.

When she finally reached the clinic, she was
so weak with fatigue and fear, she leaned against the door. It was
already warm from the fire inside.

Struggling against panic, Kate pushed it
open. Smoke billowed from the examining room in the back, filling
the waiting room with a thick black cloud. She flung one arm over
her nose, then dropped to all fours and crawled forward.

“Deborah!” she screamed. There was no answer
except the hissing of flames.

The smoke was so thick, she couldn’t see. Her
head bumped into the receptionist’s desk, setting stars in her eyes
and sending the telephone flying. Disoriented, Kate crawled
backward. Her foot connected with the bookshelf, and books cascaded
around her.

Choking on smoke and sobs, she clawed her way
out of the book pile and inched blindly toward what she hoped was
the back of the clinic. Her hands landed in something slick.
Splinters from the old wooden floor tore at her skin and ripped at
her nails as she clawed for purchase. Her knees hit the slippery
puddle and she sprawled forward.

Soft flesh cushioned her fail ...and
luxuriant dark hair and the starched front of a nurse’s
uniform.

“Deborah,” Kate called, terror reducing her
voice to a scratchy whisper.

She levered herself onto her elbows, trying
to see through the blanket of smoke. A burst of flame illuminated
the room. Deborah Lightfoot lay in a pool of blood, her eyes
staring blankly at Kate and her throat slit from ear to ear.

Keening like a wounded animal, Kate bent over
her. She caught the wrist, knowing there would be no pulse, leaned
her head against the chest, knowing there would be no
heartbeat.

She was too late, too late.

“Deborah ...Deborah!” she screamed, trying to
staunch the flow of blood with her scarf, refusing to believe death
had claimed her best friend. “Oh my God, I won’t let you die. Not
you, too.”

Tears streaked through the grime on her
cheeks, and smoke stung her lungs as she abandoned the futile
effort to stop the bleeding and pushed with all her strength
against the silent heart. Suddenly the entire west wall went up in
flames.

Stricken, Kate stared upward as the roof
buckled and began a slow, fiery descent. She cradled her arms over
her head and pressed her face into her dead friend’s chest.

o0o

Eagle Mingo saw the flames as they leapt over
the treetops. He urged his horse forward, refusing to give in to
the terror that clawed his gut. If he’d been a praying man, he’d
have called on the Great Spirit to spare him mercy and grace, but
he’d ceased praying five years earlier, when he’d traded his heart
and soul for a mantle of duty.