Forbidden Spirits (25 page)

"Which will probably be enacting out our fantasies a good part of the time," Rose said
, as Tyler placed a kiss behind her ear. "Won't that be a little embarrassing?"

"
Could be," Tyler said, "but if my mares all start smiling every time we're going at it, I'll close the blinds. And speaking of going at it, our first child's going to be a girl."

Rose looked at
the top of Tyler's head as he sent a trail of kisses across her chest. "What makes you think that?" she asked, in a breathy voice.

"A Steller's jay told me
." Tyler unbuttoned her top button and placed a kiss on the swell of her breast, distracting her momentarily.

"How did it do that?"
Rose asked, finding her thoughts becoming disconnected while trying to decide if Tyler was kidding about the Steller's jay.

"It was simple
." Tyler kissed her on the lips. "I was telling my ladies that we were getting married and might be having a foal in a year or so, and at that moment a Steller's jay landed on the fence post, so I figured it came with a message about the baby, so I told it to flap its wings if we were going to have a girl, and fly to the fir tree if it was a boy, and it flapped its wings."

"Flapped them, as in waving them up and down?" Rose asked, still skeptical about the whole thing, but from the look on Tyler's face, he was dead serious
.

"She didn't exactly flap them," Tyler said, "but she lifted them a little
and I knew what she was telling me. I want to name her Mary Claire." He planted a kiss on the side of Rose's jaw.

"
The jay?" Rose asked, still puzzling over the fact that Tyler truly believed in his heart, that spiritual beings existed. That was a miracle in itself.

"No, our daughter," Tyler said.
He took her earlobe between his lips.

Rose let out a little gasp,
sucked in a deep breath, and said, "Why Mary Claire?"

Tyler released her ear lobe, and replied,
"Mary's your grandmother's name, and Claire was my great-grandmother's name on my grandmother's side, so our little Mary Claire might be a genetic throwback too."

Rose turned around in
Tyler's arms so she was facing him, and said, "Honey, if all of our kids turnout to be dyslectic, genetic throwbacks, I'll feel like the luckiest woman in the world because I'll have you to help me raise them, and that will make all the difference."

Tyler kissed her
squarely on the mouth. "You've got that backwards," he said. "The difference will be
you
raising them with me because, as Othello said when he was trying to express his love for Desdemona,
'Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee! And when I love thee not, chaos is come again.'
And it's true. Without you in my life, chaos will return."

"You don't give yourself enough credit, so you need to cut yourself a little slack," Rose said, "And I need another
soul-binding kiss, followed by a shower." Shoving his leg down so she could sit on his lap, she covered his mouth with hers, but soon their tongues became entangled, and their breaths quickened, and Rose began to feel lightheaded and had to break the kiss for air.

Tyler
looked at her in amusement, and said, "'
You have witchcraft in your lips
.'"

"Oh, my gosh! I know that one
!" Rose exclaimed. "We studied
Henry V
in high school, but I can't remember which act that was in, only that King Henry said it to Kate."

"Act 5, scene 2," Tyler said. "Now
I want to set Shakespeare aside and write our own script, beginning with our own play entitled,
'Scenes from the Shower
.'"

"Scenes, as in… you'll be drawing pictures of
us in the shower?" Rose asked, feeling a little uncertain.

Tyler laughed.
"No, I have the hands-on memory now so I don't need those kinds of pictures anymore, but I could use a refresher about now so my memory doesn't fade."

"
That works for me too," Rose said. Pulling him up, she linked her arm in his, and as they were walking back to the stable, with six mares trailing along behind, the silence of the night was broken by a nearby
whoo-whodoo-whoo-who
.

"It's a Great Horned Owl," Tyler said. "It's been here the past few nights.
What does it mean?" He looked askance at Rose and waited.

Rose shrugged. "
I suppose that with Diana gone there are more field mice and meadow voles around here to hunt."

"That's it?" Tyler asked.

"Basically," Rose replied. "Not every animal around is bringing a message."

"
But the owl arrived the day the voices came back so there's got to be a deeper meaning."

Rose was thrilled that Tyler had taken the idea of animal spirit guides to heart, but
she hoped he wouldn't get so carried away that he'd start reading meaning into everything that crossed his path. But there could be something to an owl arriving the day the voices came back.

"I'm not
really up on the meaning behind animal spirit guides," she said, "but I do remember Granna once telling me that if an owl comes into your life it's to tell you that you need to let go of some part of your life that's no longer needed and listen to your inner voice and be guided by it because it will lead you to your true path in life."

"
Oh man," Tyler said. "I'm really on a roll now with the inner voices because they brought me to you, they organized the clutter in my head so it's not so daunting, I finally know what my life plan is, and I'm ready to get started."

"Can we shower first?" Rose asked
, thinking she needed to bring Tyler down off his high.

Tyler laughed.
"Angel, we can do whatever you want because my inner voice is telling me my life is completely in your hands." He took her by the shoulders and turned her around, and the long, soulful kiss that followed left no doubt in Rose's mind that their love would last forever.

###

AUTHOR'S
NOTE
: In this story, cultural and spiritual issues are involved. However, my goal is not to convert anyone to anything, but to convince readers that Tyler and Rose belong together. A special thanks to Renee, whose personal story with a wild red-tail hawk, and her description of her spiritual awakening while in the presence of the hawk, and which she believes saved her life when it was out of control, helped me to understand the phenomena that takes place during such an experience.

Thank you!

Thanks so much for reading
. I hope you enjoyed
Forbidden Spirits.
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: I appreciate all reviews because I want to give readers the best possible read I can. Here's the link to
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Sweet Promised Land
.

STORY DESCRIPTION
:
Eskauldun fededun
—the Basque is faithful. Words Zak de Neuville engraved inside the ring he gave Tess O'Reilly when he promised to love her forever then disappeared without a word. Now, Zak is back in Baker's Creek. He's also the father of a boy who had to have been conceived shortly after Zak left. Tess too has returned to Baker's Creek to help her ailing father. After a long estrangement from him because of Zak, she's come home to rebuild the relationship they once had before it's too late, and she has no intention of getting involved with Zak again. The problem is, time has done nothing to temper the white-hot flame that's once again building.

PROLOG: BROKEN PROMISES

Baker’s Creek, Oregon; Timber West Logging camp

"With this ring I promise to love you, and cherish you, and be your soulmate throughout eternity," Zak de Neuville said, as he slipped the small gold ring onto Tess's finger.

Tess O'Reilly peered up at a face that would change as the years passed, but be no less handsome, and into eyes that were offering her the world, and said, "And I promise to love you, and cherish you, and be your soulmate throughout eternity."

Zak kissed her then, and Tess knew their love would be forever. The words engraved inside the ring said as much:
Eskauldun fededun
, the Basque is faithful. And she had no doubt it would be so. "I wish I had a ring for you," she said, in a wistful tone. "I wanted to get something, but I never got to town."

"It's okay. When you're eighteen we'll make it real," Zak said, while adjusting the garland of columbine and wood Sorel and blue chicory, interlaced with maidenhair ferns that he'd strung together for her to wear around her head for the occasion.

Tess smiled at the memory, although it had only been a half hour since Zak had woven together the garland of flowers they'd gathered in the surrounding woods. But the sight of him sitting cross-legged on the mossy floor of the cavern-like hollow, the secluded place they'd named the
Grotto
, while his big fingers wove the dainty flowers into a garland, seemed almost comical at the time, but she loved him all the more for it.

"I know exactly what I want to call our house in Navarre," she said. "Is there a Basque word for
Garden of Eden
?"

"There's a Basque word for everything," Zak replied, "but right now I want to consummate our marriage."

Tess giggled. "We've been doing that all summer."

"Officially," Zak said. He tugged her down onto the mossy forest floor, and she nestled against him, and after they'd made love, she looked into eyes holding the afterglow of passion and sparking with excitement, and said, "Carve our names on this tree." She reached out and touched the oak hovering over them.

Zak playfully nibbled at her breast, mumbling, "I'll leave my mark here first." Then he rolled away and slipped the knife from off the belt he'd left lying on the ground with the rest of their clothes and walked over to the tree and started scraping away a patch of bark.

While he carved, Tess laughed at the sight of him, so intent on his task while standing buck naked, and when he finished, she stood in the curve of his arm, and read,
Adam Loves Eve
.

Zak kissed her on the temple. "We'll call it our Adam and Eve tree," he said, "and the Grotto will be our Garden of Eden until we get our house in Navarre."

Tess snuggled closer to him and wondered if she could ever be as happy as she was at the moment just knowing that in less than six months
Adam
and
Eve
would legally be Mr. and Mrs. Zakhra Bertsolari de Neuville, and nothing, or no one, would ever be able to keep them apart...

CHAPTER 1

Navarre, Oregon - seven years later

While Zak de Neuville listened to his father's tirade, following a call from a neighbor informing them that Gib O'Reilly had cut four trees on their land adjoining Timber West, he watched his six-year-old son, Pio, who was guiding a small truck along a pattern in the rug, the boy's youthful face taking the edge off Jean-Pierre de Neuville's angry words.

"...and furthermore, I'll see O'Reilly rot in hell. This time he's gone too far," Jean-Pierre said, his voice rising with impatience as he paced between his desk and the window.
"Gratianne!"
he bellowed down the hallway to his wife. "Call Bill! I'm taking O'Reilly to court!"

Gratianne de Neuville appeared from the hallway, her gaze shifting between Zak and her husband. "That's absolute nonsense, Jean-Pierre," she said. "It's only four trees. All you'll get from a lawsuit is more white hair and high blood pressure?"

"My blood pressure's more likely to go up if I do nothing," Jean-Pierre said, pounding his fist on his desk. "O'Reillys been a thorn in my side ever since we bought that piece of land."

Zak eyed his father with annoyance. "You forget you bought the tract out from under him. Maybe he has a legitimate gripe."

Jean-Pierre's eyes narrowed. "He came out pretty damn good with the logging contract I gave him."

Zak eyed his father's angry face. The only time he ever him use profanity was when Gib O'Reilly was the subject. "It's only four trees," he said, "hardly worth paying an attorney."

"There's a principle involved," Jean-Pierre insisted. "O'Reilly will regret the day he cut those trees." He dismissed the subject and left the room.

Gratianne looked at Zak and shrugged. "You've seen it at the festival. Two old rams go head to head, butting until one finally drops. He'll get over it, but he has to chew on it awhile." Dismissing the incident with a nonchalant wave of her hand, and headed for the kitchen.

Zak relaxed his grip on the armrest some. The feud between his father and O'Reilly triggered the same reaction it always had. He felt like cursing the father he loved for the intolerance accompanying his pride, and Gib O'Reilly for his stubbornness. "He'll chew on it until Vince walks in and stirs things up," he called after his mother. His younger brother refused to accept their father's resolve to cling to the old ways, and with the issue of the trees pending, Zak was glad he'd accepted the position at the wildlife park near Baker's Creek. Not only was his new job satisfying, and his work with threatened and endangered species rewarding, but it allowed him to stay at the cabin instead of his father's house. He'd had his fill of pointless arguments between his father and his brother, and he didn't want to be around for more of his father's harangue about Gib O'Reilly. "I'd better get going," he said.

Pio stopped what he was doing and went over to Zak, who picked him up, and said, "Work hard in school this week and listen to Grandmama and Grandpapa, and remember I love you."

Pio wrapped his arms around Zak's neck and said, "I don't want you to go."

"I don't want to go either, son," Zak replied, "but I'll be back next weekend, and before you know it you'll be staying with me at the cabin." When that didn't lift Pio's spirits, Zak added, "When Lily has her kittens you can pick out one to keep."

Pio squirmed from Zak's arms, dropped to the floor, and raced toward the kitchen saying, "Grandmama, Papa says I can have one of Lily's kittens..."

With Pio's happy face in the forefront of his mind, Zak climbed into his truck and left.

An hour later, Zak pulled into Spencer Wildlife Park and stopped in front of a concrete-block building housing offices for park administration, storerooms for veterinary supplies, and cages for sick and injured animals. When he stepped into the building, his assistant poked his head from behind a partition between cubicles, and said, "You'll have to put off the nest flight for a week or so. I just got word that the plane's in for servicing, an engine overhaul."

"Bad timing," Zak said. "If we put the flight off too long the young eagles will have fledged, and an empty nest won't do us much good. What about the airpark? Can't we get a charter?"

"I already checked. Nothing's available for at least another week."

"Then check some more," Zak said, knowing timing was critical. If he didn't check the nests before the young birds fledged, he'd have to wait until spring to complete the project. They were already running late, and he'd hoped to have the eaglets moved by now.

Gathering his topographic maps, he left for the cabin.

As he was heading down the highway, a Jeep driven by a woman passed him going in the opposite direction. He'd only had a moment to glimpse the woman's face, and even then her features were blurred… He looked in the rearview mirror again, but the Jeep had disappeared over the crest of the hill. Still, it left him wondering...

A few minutes later he turned off the main highway. A couple hundred feet down the dirt road, he passed Gib O'Reilly's cabin, noting the split wood stacked on the porch. He clenched his jaws. It hadn't been there the day before, so obviously O'Reilly was staying there. Until now, the cabin looked unoccupied. The thought of O'Reilly only a couple of hundred feet through the woods didn't sit well. Just ahead, he wheeled his truck alongside his cabin and headed inside.

Two hours later, he rolled up the topographic maps scattered on the table in his cabin and slipped them into a tube. The afternoon had been a wash. His mind hadn't been on eagle nests or the Grizzly Mountain Wilderness Area. His thoughts kept returning to O'Reilly, and he knew he wouldn't be able to focus on nests until he'd checked out his father's allegations about the trees.

Rolling out a survey map, he studied the area where the trees were supposed to have been cut, noting that it was near a small concealed hollow he knew well. It had been seven years since he'd been there, and he wondered if the names he'd carved in the old oak were still legible. That was the summer he went to work for Gib O'Reilly. A summer that changed his life forever.

Taking one last look at the survey map, he grabbed the machete and headed up the logging road toward the northeast boundary.

***

Tess O'Reilly pulled her Jeep off the red-dirt logging road and came to a halt in front of the trailer that would be her office. Her gaze moved over the once familiar surroundings. The logging camp seemed the same after seven years, yet somehow different. The silvery boards on the cook shack looked more weathered, the moss on the roof of the woodshed, thicker. Even old Harvey looked older. She stared at the aged truck with TIMBER WEST LOGGING written across its door. It was still parked beside the water tower where it had been when she'd left, but now weeds reached through the grille and thrust from under a hood that remained ajar. She smiled at its crooked mouth. Harvey, as her dad named his truck, brought many a belly laugh as it belched and bucked over the rough roads. The sight of Harvey brought fond memories.

Her eyes were drawn to the men ambling toward the cook shack, all of them unfamiliar except Ezra Radley the camp cook, who scurried around the pack, a sack of flour slung over his shoulder. As the last of the men funneled into the building, Tess twisted her dark hair into a rope and coiled it into a knot on top of her head, then shoved on her hard hat to hold it in place. The men wouldn't welcome a lady boss, but at least she'd look the part.

At the entrance to the cook shack, she paused to listen to the boisterous voices coming from inside. Then drawing in a long breath to quiet the hammering of her heart, she swept open the door. The guffaws and bellows of the men tapered into silence as eyes raked over her. Parking her hands on her hips, she said, "I'm TJ O'Reilly, and I'll be taking over for my father. I want the equipment moved to the north plateau near the ridge this afternoon so we can start cutting pole timber on Monday."

A man with hair the color of straw squared his shoulders and said, "Gib doesn't log that area until later."

Tess held the man's gaze. "And your name is?"

"Broderick. Curt Broderick."

"You operate the dozer, right?" Tess said.

Curt straightened, and replied, "Uh, that's right."

"Okay, Curt. Gib's not running this operation now, I am, and we will be cutting pole timber there." Although her father wanted to wait until the price inched higher, she made the decision to cut now for much needed operating capital, otherwise Timber West was apt to fold, and one thing she vowed when she offered to take over her father's failing business: she'd see Timber West back on a firm financial foundation by the time her father took over again.

"We won't be doing anything until we get a tire for the skidder," Curt challenged.

Tess looked directly at him. "Just get the rest of the equipment moved. I'll worry about the skidder tire," she said, annoyed that the tire hadn't arrived. She'd deal with the tire jobber in Baker’s Creek... after she finished with these men. "Any other problems?" she asked, scanning the faces of the men before returning to Curt Broderick.

Curt looked at her with undisguised resentment—a woman moving into his turf and telling him what to do. But she'd worked crews of men before, and she'd learned early on that spotting potential troublemakers and confronting them often earned their respect. Curt Broderick, she suspected, was a man who needed individual attention. "Curt?" she asked. "Any other problems?"

Curt's eyes bored into her, then he shook his head, and said, "No, just the tire."

"All right then." Turning from Curt, she said, "Which one of you is Jed Swenson?" She scanned the faces, searching for the big man her father described as woods boss. When she got no response, she looked at Curt. "Didn't Swenson see the notice I posted about this meeting?"

Curt scratched his chin. "Yeah. Maybe he's in the bunkhouse."

Muffled laughter spread, then died.

Tess propped her hands on her hips. "I don't intend to go looking for Swenson in the bunkhouse," she said. "You tell him to be in my office at noon."

"I will if I can find him," Curt said, with irony.

"What do you mean, if you can find him?" Tess asked. "He is woods boss here, isn't he?"

A man in the back of the room muttered, "You're boss lady, you should know."

Suppressed chuckles rustled through the group.

"I see." Tess studied the amused faces. "Okay then, if you don't find Swenson, we'll start moving equipment without him."

"Gib doesn't work us past noon," a man leaning against the wall challenged.

Tess eyed the man goading her. "What's your name?"

"Dempsey."

"Mr. Dempsey, if you find the hours here too long, maybe a rest would be appropriate."

He eyed her, dubiously. "Rest?"

"Away from here, where the hours aren't so long."

Dempsey straightened up. "Well, sometimes Gib does work us longer."

"I know how Gib O'Reilly runs this camp," Tess said. "I also know he keeps logs on the dock, and they won't get there by quitting at noon."

Dempsey's scratched his jaw like he needed something to do, but said nothing, so Tess knew he'd give her no more trouble. She looked from face to face. "Does anyone have any questions?"

"You married?" someone called out. A burst of laughter erupted.

Tess held the gaze of the man who'd spoken, and a hush fell over the room. Looking around at the men, she said, "Any questions about the job?" Heads swung from side to side. "Then we'll start moving equipment up to the north ridge. Dempsey, you gather the saws and take them up in the pickup. Herring? Is Herring here?"

"Right here."

"You bring the tools, grease units and gas tanks in the small service truck. Curt, you move the Cat. And if anyone sees Swenson, tell him I'll expect him in my office."

"Good luck," someone quipped.

Tess ignored the man and left the cook shack. As she passed the old splitting stump, she paused to study the hatch work of ax marks on its wide, flat top. The sight of them brought back bittersweet memories. It was here she first saw Zak, the year the timber carnival was held at Timber West. That was ten years ago, when she was fourteen and Zak was eighteen, but she still remembered how his lean body glistened beneath the sun as he swung his ax while practicing for the wood-splitting contest. She'd stood watching, impressed by the play of muscles in his arms. Then she noticed he wasn't holding the ax the way her father taught her.

He'd just propped a log on end and gripped his ax, ready to swing, when she called out while walking toward him, "Hey, mister, you're holding that ax wrong."

Zak looked at her in amusement and lowered the ax. "My name's not mister," he said, "It's Zakhra Bertsolari de Neuville."

Even in her thoughts Tess stumbled over the long Basque name, just as she had when she'd tried to pronounce it, finally giving up and saying, "You're either putting me on or that's a very weird name."

Zak threw his head back and laughed. "It's not weird if you're Basque."

At the time, all she knew about the Basque living in Oregon was what she'd learned when her father took her to the Basque community of Navarre for their yearly festival. It had been like stepping into another world. She'd seen old women in long dresses and men wearing berets, many of them not dressed for the festival, but maintaining their old world culture and dress. And in the hills surrounding Navarre, she'd seen men in baggy pants herding strange looking sheep with curved horns, and patrician noses, and curly wool that hung like blankets.