Healing Trace (24 page)

"You
don't talk much, do you?" he said.

She
ducked her chin and hid her smile. He'd remembered. His first few days after
she'd started working with him were made up of one-syllable answers, and she'd
done everything she could think of to get him talking more.

"How's
your leg doing?" She pressed her hand against her chest, trying to tamper
down the hope that came with him talking to her.

Her
heart beat too fast, and she fought the urge to reach across the table and hold
his hand. She missed their connection when they touch, where it was only the
two of them and everything was perfect.

"Good."
His lips tightened over his teeth. "Thank you for everything you've done
for me. I didn't…" He glanced away and sighed. "I didn't get to tell
you that. I appreciate what you did for me, more than I told you. With
everything."

 "Trace."
She blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the moisture gathering in her vision.
"I've missed you."

They
stared across the table. She saw his breath catch, and his eyes softened. A
tear tickled her cheek, but she was scared to move and break the moment.

"Hey
Trace, did you hear what Joan named the clinic?" Brody wiped his mouth off
with the napkin. "Hope Clinic. I think it's fitting, and describes our
vision for our people."

Their
intimate moment shattered like broken glass. Trace stiffened at the
announcement. Joan held her breath, afraid every little inch they'd gained
tonight had evaporated with the announcement. Instead, he stood.

"If
you all will excuse me, I've got chores to do." He nodded at Katie.
"It was nice to meet you, Katie."

"Nice
to meet you too," Katie mumbled, glancing from Joan to Trace.

"Dinner's
on me." He handed Devon a credit card. "Good night."

Trace
walked through the room with his back straight, his head held high, and his
long hair hanging down his back. Joan quickly wiped underneath her eyes. She
recognized that proud Lakota strut for what it was, he was hiding his hurt.

She'd
seen the same walk when his leg pained him and didn't want her to find out,
when she dared to reach out to him, and when he'd told her to leave the ranch
for the last time.

"Excuse
me." She threw her napkin on the table, and followed Trace's exit.
You're
not leaving this time Trace. Not until I have my say.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The
standing room only crowd waiting for tables to become available parted at the
front of the restaurant as Joan approached. She stormed across the room and
pushed through the swinging glass doors. She was tired of feeling sorry for
herself, and refused to hang in limbo relying on Trace to get over himself.

"Trace…wait!"
She jogged through the parking lot.

He
stopped at the truck and turned around. She held onto the truck's door, not
wanting him to leave. His blank expression said it all.

"Why?"
She held her hand to her chest. "Why won't you let yourself love me
back?"

Seconds
stretched into a minute. Trace finally turned and climbed up into the cab. She
stepped forward, not allowing him to shut the door.

She
needed closure. Going on wondering every day without any answers, believing
what they had together would somehow return, left her an empty shell of her
former self.

"Trace?
Please. The least you can do is explain to me what I did wrong. I thought
everything was okay between us. You were there with me, in bed, at the ranch,
and enjoying yourself. I know you were." She waited, and when he still
didn't say anything, she continued on, "You're making me mad. Would it be
so hard to acknowledge me?"

His
fingers curled around the steering wheel, and he stared straight ahead. "I
hear you. I just don't know what to say."

"Say
something. Don't you have any feelings? Aren't you hurting too?" She laid
her hand on his thigh. "Please…talk to me. Don't shut me out."

Trace
lowered his arm, and laid his hand on hers. He curled his fingers around hers.
She sagged against the door. She'd missed the way a simple touch put her world
back in proper order. The connection they shared stole her breath.

"I
have to shut you out." Trace's muscles along his neck constricted. "I
want to protect you, and it's the only way I know how. I wouldn't do anything
to hurt you, and if that means staying away, that's what I'll do."

"But,
you are hurting me. Every day that goes by without you, is another day I've
missed sharing with you, loving you," she whispered.

Laughter
behind her made Trace let go of her hand. She glanced over her shoulder and found
Devon and Brody walking toward them with Katie smack in the middle of them. Her
sister was talking, her hands animated, as she smiled up at them.

She
turned back to Trace. "Can we talk…somewhere?"

"Go
on with your life, Joan. Be happy." He started the truck.

Joan
stepped back, and Trace shut the door. Angered and raw from his lack of trying,
she stepped forward and slapped her hand against the side window.

"It's
not over, Trace. I love you." She walked beside the truck, until he
stomped on the gas pedal and pulled away from her.

Furious,
she planted her hands on her hips and stared after his truck.
Damn you,
Trace.

"Joanie!
Guess what?" Kate pulled Joan's arm, spinning her around. "Devon said
he'll pick me up this weekend and I can spend all day Saturday helping him with
the horses. He's going to show me how to run a horse through its paces."

Joan
chewed her lip. If Trace wanted to lie to her, he could take a flying leap.

"Joanie.
What's wrong?" Katie shook her hand. "Did that ass say something mean
to you?"

She
swiftly inhaled and forced a smile. "No, he didn't say anything and you're
right, he is an ass."

Brody
cleared his throat. "Joan—"

She
held up her hand. "Don't you defend him to me. What he's doing is wrong,
and I'm not dealing with him anymore. I'm done." She turned to Katie.
"Now what's this I hear about Saturday?"

Katie
glanced between Devon and Joan. "Um, Devon asked me to come out to his
ranch but I'll stay home. I can go another time."

"Nonsense.
You'll love visiting the Lakota Ranch, and I know you've wanted to ride since
you arrived home. Go. It'll be fun." Joan nodded. "More than fun.
You'll see."

"Why
don't you come too, Joan? We won't force you to go riding, but you can relax by
the pool and take a day off for a change." Devon's eyes softened.

She
shook her head. "Another time, maybe. I need to go grocery shopping and
run a few errands…catch up on everything I've put off around the
apartment."

The
jovial mood from dinner turned somber. Joan and Katie hugged everyone, and
walked to their car. Joan was aware of Katie watching her, and she shoved her
emotions away. She would not cry another tear over Trace.

A
person could only try so much before they realized they had no say in the
matter. She'd at least tried.

***

Trace
drove down the two-lane road home. The hay fields on each side of the street
waved in the breeze as the truck blew down the gravel road.

He
kept his eyes glued to the front, running through everything Joan spoke of
tonight. The grass reminded him of Joan's eyes, bright with frustration. He'd
reached an all-time low. Even worse than the times he'd slept on a bare floor,
crying for someone to find him after his father beat him within an inch of his
life.

His
gut burned with fire when he thought of losing Joan. He'd spend the rest of his
life paying the price of his weakness. His hands itched in anger.

He
wanted to hurt something, punch his hand through the windshield, and that alone
scared him to death. He was his father's son, and he'd tried hard up to now to never
let his anger take control.

Since
kicking Joan out of his life, he lived on a ledge with a fear of falling.

It
was over for him and Joan. Truly over.

It
should never have begun in the first place.

He'd
tainted everything good about her, and he'd regret that for the rest of his
life.

Tears
rolled down his cheeks, and fell in his lap. He hadn't cried in years, only
when he was little, Savannah's age. He remembered the belt strap looming above
him, and the whistle through the air as the leather strip came down, striking
him across his bare back.

Joan
had nursed the scar he still carried during the massages she'd given him. She
hadn't wanted him to notice, but he had. She'd used a different lotion, and he
realized that the area had softened under her care. He no longer felt the pull
as he worked with the horses.

His
breath left his lungs and he dragged air into his mouth. Joan was not backing
down. She wanted answers, but he couldn't waver in his decision. He'd wanted to
keep his hand pressed against hers earlier, but it would have only hurt her
more. She wasn't getting the man she thought he was. He wasn't worth all her
love.

Pulling
into the ranch, he drove straight to the stables, and jumped out of the truck.
Without thinking what he was doing, he stormed down the aisle, roped
Thunderbolt, and led him to the round pen. Thankful he'd been able to train the
horse to accept that much from him; he let Thunderbolt loose inside the fence.

Trace
settled outside the pen, trying not to think about everything he'd done wrong.
Maybe he should have waited until they'd both calmed down and explained things
to Joan, but he couldn't bring himself to lie to her.

The
stallion stood stock-still. Trace could feel the energy vibrating through his
body. The horse was a loaded gun, ready to go off at any moment.

He'd
wait him out.

An
hour later, the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Trace and Thunderbolt
hadn't moved from their respected corners. They hadn't taken their eyes off
each other. He could bet Thunderbolt was struggling on how to keep his dignity
too, when deep down he only wanted acceptance.

Some
horses could consent and forgive, and others learned quickly never to trust.
Thunderbolt had never had to rely on a human for the simplest things before.
He'd rationed the horse feed on the ranch to teach Thunderbolt to rely on
others.

The
stallion moved closer, one step, but it was a beginning. Trace kept his
attention on the direction of Thunderbolt's eyes, even though his mind kept
edging back to Joan's green eyes and how they looked when he let go of her
hand. Trace relaxed, his mind again beginning to go a different direction, but
he caught himself.

Waste,
Wakiya Hotop.
Good boy, Thunderbolt.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The
freshly mowed lawns around the Lakota Ranch house, spackled with color from the
many flowers planted around the perimeters was a familiar and welcoming sight
to Joan, and a magical new place to Katie. Joan fought past the excitement of
being back in the folds of the men, and reminded herself she was only coming
over to go through the recommendations on the three physicians who had signed
up to serve Hope Clinic with the guys today.

"They're
so freakin' rich." Katie leaned out the passenger window. "Can you
imagine living like this, with a hundred horses living right outside your door
and a billion acres to ride?"

Yes.
"Nope." Joan turned into the circular drive in front of the house.
"Looks like Devon's already waiting for you up on the porch."

"Oh
God, how do I look? I wish I had something new to wear, instead of these old
jeans." Katie flipped the sun visor down, leaned forward, and checked her
hair in the mirror.

Those
old jeans had two rips strategically ripped below her butt and were too tight.
Joan sighed. She'd have to find a day to take Katie shopping before school
started. There's no way she could send her looking like a model in a men's
magazine, no matter how cool Katie thought she appeared.

"Okay,
listen." Joan turned off the car. "I don't know how long my meeting
with Brody will take but if I'm gone by the time you're done for the day, Devon
said he'd drive you home."

Katie
stared up at the house. "I think Devon is the cutest one of them all.
Don't you think?"

"Katie."
She rubbed her temples. "They're all in their early thirty's. You're
seventeen."

"So,
Daddy was eleven years older than mom when he married her." She raised her
brows. "I'm almost eighteen."

Donna
O'Hanlon had died six months after giving birth to Katie when a truck driver
crossed the yellow line on her way home from work one evening. Joan smiled
sadly. Her dad had spoken highly of their mother, but Joan barely remembered
her and she knew Katie could only go off any stories passed down to her.

"Just
be yourself and remember you're a guest." Joan got out of the car, waved
to Devon, and gave Katie a pointed look before walking toward the house.