Warrior's Embrace (45 page)

Her footsteps echoed across the wooden floor,
then faded. Motionless, he stood behind the curtains with his mouth
open in a silent scream of agony.

The door to her bedroom closed, and the house
grew quiet. Clayton stood until he felt the rising sun warm his
back; then he went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee.

It was only when he lifted the cup to his
lips that he tasted his tears. He was just wiping them away when
she came into the kitchen. Fresh and rosy from her bath.
Bright-eyed. As if she hadn’t spent the night in the arms of that
young warrior.

“Good morning, Dr. Colbert.” She pecked him
on the cheek.

“ ‘Morning, Kate.”

His hand tightened on the handle of the
coffee cup as she walked to the refrigerator to get a glass of
juice. Any faint hopes he’d harbored that Eagle wasn’t good in bed
were dashed: She walked like a woman fulfilled.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I was thinking
of a picnic—”

“Oh, Dr. Colbert—”

“Maybe down by the river,” he said, hurrying
on past the refusal he knew was inevitable. “We’ve worked every
Saturday since you came. The change will do us both good.”

“I promised Eagle. He called last night when
you were in the shower.” She flushed at her lie.

“Eagle?” As if he didn’t know.

“Eagle Mingo. He’s coming to take me
riding.”

As if he hadn’t already taken her riding. All
night long. Clayton was careful to set his coffee cup down without
unnecessary noise and motion.

“The Mingos have fine stables,” he said.

“I love riding.” She pushed her hair back
from her hot face. “I used to visit cousins up in Virginia and ride
with the hounds. It’s really a lovely way to relax.”

What other lovely ways would they use to
relax?

He might have made a complete fool of himself
and asked if the sound of hoof beats hadn’t saved him. Kate flew to
the window and drew the curtain aside.

Eagle Mingo—virile, handsome, young—came into
view, riding a black stallion and leading a snow-white mare. He
rode Indian-style, with nothing but bridle and blanket.

How could Clayton possibly hope to compete
with him?

Kate raced to the door without even saying
good-bye. Eagle dismounted and cupped his hands for her to swing
onto the back of the mare. When she was seated, he slowly ran his
hands the length of her leg.

Clayton didn’t hear what he said, but he
heard Kate’s reply,

“I can hardly wait.”

Moving swiftly, Clayton went into Kate’s
bedroom and lay upon her bed. Then he pulled the sheet that smelled
like her over himself.

o0o

“You ride like a Chickasaw, Kate,”

“I feel like a Chickasaw. Wild and free.” She
gave a war whoop, then bent low over the mare’s neck. “Race
you!”

Hooves thundered over the prairie floor as
Eagle took her challenge. The white mare was no match for the black
stallion, but Eagle let her lead for a distance in order to enjoy
the view. He enjoyed watching fine horsemanship, and Kate had a
firm seat and a sure hand.

His eyes darkened, then he put troubling
thoughts out of his mind.

“
Aiya
,” he urged his mount, and soon
he was beside Kate, reaching for her bridle. He drew the two horses
to a stop beside a deep bend in the river. A stand of silver maple
and elm created a natural shelter.

Scooping Kate into his arms, he waded into
the river. When they were waist-deep, with the river soaking his
jeans and the bottom of her shorts, he nudged her hair aside and
whispered, “I’m in need of being rescued, Kate.”

She cupped his face and looked into his eyes.
“You’re full-blood ...all the way back to Piomingo.”

“You’ve inquired?”

“Of Deborah Lightfoot. In a casual way.”

“This is not casual, Kate.”

“What is it?”

He unbuttoned her blouse, his fingers dark
upon her creamy skin.

“Fate,” he said.

All her years of study, all her lofty plans,
even the deep schism between herself and her father, were nothing
beside the reality of Eagle Mingo.

“Who can fight fate?” she whispered, reaching
for his zipper.

His jeans floated downstream and snagged on a
tree branch over the river, and her shorts landed atop a large
rock. Sleek as otters, they came together in the water. They rose
and fell upon the waves, as skilled as the water creatures in their
natural habitat. And when their need demanded a greater intimacy,
Eagle carried her from the river and spread her upon a carpet of
moss underneath the silver maples.

With fingers laced and eyes locked, they
loved until their cries mingled and joined his namesake circling
the sky.

“You will come to me, Kate, at night, at my
campsite beside the river.” She lay still, watching his eyes. They
were both beautiful and terrible, filled with passion and the
desperate knowledge that they could never be more than lovers,
stealing moments in each other’s arms.

“You will come on the white mare . . .”

“I won’t . . .”

He put his hand over her lips. “Her name is
Mahli. It means the wind.”

The power of him made her tremble. He touched
her as no man ever had, touched her in all the secret places of her
body and in that shining place known as the soul. How could she
deny him anything?

“I will come ...but only because I
choose
to.”

Smiling, he began to move in her once
more.

As Kate spiraled upward, she thought it was
appropriate that she would fly to him on the wind.

Anna’s baby kicked inside her as if she
already knew the sound of her father’s voice. Anna placed her hand
over her protruding stomach.

“Yes, my precious one. You know him, don’t
you, Mary Doe?”

She’d named her little girl, although she was
careful not to use the name in front of Cole. He was thoroughly
convinced that he’d fathered yet another son who would carry on the
Mingo name.

Anna hid the tiny dress she was embroidering
underneath the balls of yarn and the knitting needles in her sewing
basket as Cole came through the door with Bucky riding on his
shoulders. Clint trotted along beside Cole, swinging his daddy’s
hand.

“You should have seen them, Anna. Bucky’s
going to be a quarterback and Clint’s going to be a fullback.” Cole
set Bucky on a kitchen stool, then patted Anna’s stomach on the way
to the refrigerator to pour four glasses of milk. “Pretty soon
we’re going to have our own football team.”

“I saw you out the window. All three of you
were marvelous.”

“Drink your milk, sweetheart.” Cole pulled
out a chair for her. “We want to make that little linebacker you’re
carrying big and strong.”

She sank into the chair and lifted the glass
to her lips. Anna knew the value of prenatal care. When Mary Doe
was born, she’d have strong bones and a head start on growing fine,
white teeth. She’d have Cole’s straight nose and glorious
cheekbones and Anna’s full lips. Her little Mary Doe was going to
be the most beautiful girl in Witch Dance.

Smiling a secret smile, Anna pictured herself
and Mary Doe, mother and daughter, best friends, cuddled together
in a room decorated with pink curtains and a frilly bedspread,
talking girl talk. She’d tell her daughter to dream big dreams and
not be afraid. She’d tell her that women could do anything men
could. She might even use the new medicine woman as an example.

Mary Doe would have a wonderful life, full of
encouragement and opportunity. She would know that she could be
more than a wife and mother, or a secretary or a schoolteacher on
the reservation.

Not that Anna was complaining. Her life was
grand. She had her sons and a beautiful house on the ranch ...and a
magnificent husband. Cole was good to her. He loved her and
pampered her and treated her with great respect. Sometimes, though,
she wished he’d listen when she talked about her ambition.

“My wife has no need to be in politics and
wear pants like a man,” he’d say when she mentioned that she’d like
to be on the school board. “My wife is too busy making babies.”

And they were. Cole was an unselfish, caring
lover, passionate about her, even in her third trimester of
pregnancy. The night before, he’d brought her to a fast, hard
climax with his tongue.

“Sweet
lhokomuk
,” he murmured as she
returned the favor. “My little nectar seeker.”

Lhokomuk
. Hummingbird. He’d first
called her that the night they met at the drugstore in Ada, where
she sold perfumes. He’d come to get a prescription filled for his
little brother. She’d fallen instantly, madly in love. But Cole had
taken longer. Three days longer, as a matter of fact, days he spent
digging into her family tree.

She cringed to think what would have happened
if her bloodline hadn’t been pure. How could she have lived with a
broken heart?

“Daddy, look. It’s Uncle Eagle.” Clint
pointed out the window.

“Unca Eaga.” Bucky flew across the room and
pressed his nose against the windowpane, “On a big horse.”

“Come on, Bucky. Let’s go meet him.”

Clint took his little brother by the hand,
and they raced down the driveway toward their uncle.

Cole set his half-empty glass on the bar and
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His face was set in
terrible lines.

“Cole. Don’t be too hard on him.” Anna left
her chair and put her hand over her husband’s. “He’s your brother.
You love him.”

“It’s because I love him, Anna . . .”

“Invite him to dinner, Cole.”

“He doesn’t have time for dinner. He’s too
busy with
her
.”

“He must have his reasons.” She put an
imploring hand on his arm as he strode toward the front door. “Just
listen to him, Cole. Please.”

Cole didn’t like his wife to be upset, and
more than that, he didn’t like to be the cause. He snaked his arms
around her and rested his cheek on her hair.

“
Lhokomuk
, sweet
lhokomuk
.
If my brother weren’t riding up the driveway, I’d make you forget
about everything except me.”

“You’ve already made me forget, my
darling.”

Cole kissed the top of her head, then put two
fingers under her chin and lifted her face toward his.

“He’s my brother, Anna. Nothing will ever
change that.”

She was smiling when he went through the
door, exactly as he’d intended. He hadn’t lied to her. He and Eagle
had started in the womb together, and nothing would destroy that
bond.

He stood beside petunia beds Anna had planted
around their front porch, watching as Eagle dismounted and greeted
Bucky and Clint. The reserve they’d first shown him quickly
vanished, and now his boys cavorted with Eagle as if they’d known
him forever.

“Catch, Unca Eaga.” Bucky scooped up the
football they’d been playing with and tossed it to his uncle.

Eagle caught the ball and raced without
effort toward an imaginary goal line while his nephews yelled their
encouragement.

“Go, Unca Eaga! Go!”

“Yeah, Uncle Eagle. Run for the
touchdown.”

His sons’ voices faded as voices from the
past echoed in Cole’s mind.

“Ea-gle ...Ea-gle ...Ea-gle.”

The crowd was on its feet, screaming for
their favorite quarterback. Even in his football uniform and
helmet, Eagle stood out from the other players. It might have been
his habit of lifting his arms toward the sky as he entered the
field, or perhaps it was the way he ran, without seeming to touch
the ground.

With the roar of the crowd in his ears,
Cole blocked for his brother. It didn’t bother him that they
weren’t yelling his name. Teamwork. That’s what winning a game
required, and Cole would do anything to win the game.

Eagle would always be the hero, for he’d
come from the womb first, bearing the mark of greatness on his
thigh, a perfect print of the talons of his revered
namesake.

Cole accepted Eagle’s greatness, accepted
the role he played in his brother’s destiny: He was the prophet,
the forerunner, the voice crying, “Make way. Make way,”

Eagle glided over the goal line, then
lifted both arms toward the sky.

“Ea-gle ...Ea-gle ...Ea-gle . .
.”

Cole was the first to offer his shoulder
to carry his brother across the field in victory.

“You have fine sons, Cole.”

Eagle’s voice brought him back to the
present.

“Yes. I have fine sons.” He handed the bridle
of the stallion to his oldest. “Clint, you and Bucky go down to the
barn and take care of Uncle Eagle’s horse.”

“Can we ride, Daddy?”

Eagle nodded his assent, and Cole gave his
boys a leg up.

“You’ve taught them well,” Eagle said,
admiring the way the boys handled the big black.

“I have. Bucky’s a natural. Clint’s more
methodical and takes longer, but he never backs down from
anything.” Cole propped a foot on the porch railing and nodded
toward a chair. Eagle glanced at the rocker as if it affronted him,
then joined his brother. “We haven’t seen much of you since you
came home.”

Ignoring the implied criticism, Eagle studied
the ranch.

“You have a great place, Cole.”

“Anna makes it beautiful and I make it
successful.”

Cole’s idea of the proper order of things was
not lost on Eagle, but again he refused to be lured into
argument.

“Well, it
is
lovely. I’ll tell her
when we go inside.”

Suddenly at a loss for words, Eagle watched
Cole’s horses canter around the perfectly kept paddocks. The
silence between them grew heavy. Cole shifted his other foot to the
railing.

“Is this a social call or a business
call?”