Healing Trace (7 page)

Katie:
Miss U1 doh U2 LOL BYE

BYE
She
waited and when no more messages came, she put her phone away.

Every day without Katie seemed
harder. She tried to keep positive, but straightening her life out seemed
impossible. One thing at a time. Today, she was being paid to take care of
Trace.

Not wanting Trace to strain his
leg, she approached him. When he didn't open his eyes, she rubbed his arm.
Trace startled, pitched forward, and grabbed the railing to steady himself. He turned
his head and glared at her.

"What?" he snapped.

She ignored his attitude.
"You're in pain. Please, come inside and I'll help you prop your leg up."

He clamped his lips together and
hopped out of her reach. "I'm fine."

"No you're not. You need to
rest and make sure the swelling stays down." She reached for him, but he
shrugged her off.

He pinned her to the spot with his
gaze. "For once, can you leave me alone?"

"Fine." She planted her
hands on her hips. "You obviously don't need me. You're perfectly healthy…it's
not like it's my job to make sure you follow the doctor's orders."

"Joan…" He turned his
head away from her.

She waited, but he didn't finish
his thought. "What? You want to tell me off, go ahead. I shouldn't have
kissed you. Is that what this is about? You've had me running all over this
ranch doing the stupidest things, so you don't have to deal with me. When all
you had to do is talk to me, and you'd realize what happened between us was no
big deal. I'm an affectionate person, there's no crime in that." She
crossed her arms. "Maybe you can't recognize when someone wants to thank
you. It didn't—"

"Don't say it." He
swiftly inhaled. "Look. I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you to come out
here. I wanted time to think, to relax, and for some reason when you're around
I find myself…forget about it, it's not important. I'm going inside."

He hopped away on his crutches. She
followed him toward the door. She was beginning to think her six weeks couldn't
come soon enough.

One minute he was snapping at her,
and the next he was welcoming her attention. It almost sounded as if he did
want her around, which she found interesting. Even more interesting was that it
bothered him.
Why?

Inside
the living room, Trace sat on the couch. Joan went to the kitchen and returned
with a glass of ice water. She didn't say a word, just handed him the drink and
quickly left. If he wanted to stew in a bad mood, he could do it without her
help.

She
had enough problems in her own life without worrying if he was ever going to stop
being mad at her.

***

Trace
guzzled all the water, lay down, and closed his eyes. Earlier, he'd tried to
find that empty space where nothing bothered him. The pressure of business, the
stress of helping his people, and the turmoil of having Joan around
twenty-four/seven boiled inside of him, and he wanted to escape. If he could
tap down his emotions, the dreams that ruined the night for him would go away.

Somehow,
Joan made him feel again and doing so left him vulnerable. He had to make her
stay away.

"Trace?"
Brody said. "Are you sleeping?"

"No."
He opened his eyes.

Brody
stood beside the couch. "What's wrong with Joan?"

Trace
sat back up. "What do you mean?"

"I
passed her in the hall. She looked steamed, so I asked her if everything was
all right and she said to ask the dumbass in the living room." Brody
cocked his brow. "I figured you were the dumbass she was talking
about."

"Damn,"
he muttered.

He'd
known he hurt her feelings. She was too good of a person not to feel the sting
of his words. She nurtured people. That was her job.

He
picked up his crutches. "I'll go talk to her."

"Listen,
Trace." Brody held up his hand. "She's trying to help. She doesn't
know what you've gone through. Cut her some slack."

He
nodded his head once. "I know. There was no excuse for how I treated
her."

Brody
reached out to clap him on the shoulder, and pulled his hand back before making
contact. "It's time for dinner. She's pacing in the foyer. Try to get her
to eat with us. We'll all bring a smile to her face again, and you two can
start off on the right foot…again."

He
walked out of the room, wishing he could be the type of man to put a smile on
Joan's face himself…but he wasn't. The less she hung around him, the better for
everyone involved.

Chapter Seven

A
loud rhythmic banging echoed throughout Trace's wing. Joan sat up in bed,
rubbed her eyes, and threw off the covers. It sounded as if Trace was listening
to his stereo on full blast.

The
vase on the dresser rocked in place to the deep booming. She scrambled out of
bed, opened the door, and peeked out into the hallway. The sound only grew
louder, and she shut the door.

She
hurried and brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her hair, slapped on some
mascara and went back into the bedroom to get dressed. Wide awake and curious,
she walked out into the hall and followed the music. The tempo changed, and she
hurried. She didn't recognize the song, but the beat was cheery and welcoming.

Making
her way through the sitting room, she found an opened door. More curious than
ever, Joan dashed forward. She'd never been this deep into Trace's living
quarters before.

At
the entrance, she spotted Devon behind three drums. Not regular drums, but
large tubs with what appeared to be suede stretched over the tops and tied with
leather straps. She stood in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt. The music
settled over her, and she found herself tapping her foot.

Trace
sat in an oversized chair playing a flute, while Brody leaned against the far
wall with his eyes closed, nodding with the music. Devon hummed a low guttural
sound. Together, the music spoke volumes.

Not
wanting them to stop playing, she stayed where she was and listened. The soft
trill of the flute fluttered around the beat of the drums, and reminded her of
being a child and skipping through the field next to the school she attended.
The song took her back to a day when picking daisies for her mom was the most
important part of her plans, and her parents would always be there to protect
and come to her rescue.

Slowly,
the others noticed her and the music died away. She stepped into the room,
shaking her head in amazement.

"That
was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard." She blinked, realizing her
eyes were wet. "Very soulful and personal."

"Maybe
you have a little Lakota in you." Devon motioned for her to take a seat
beside Trace. "The music speaks to your soul and heals, caresses, and
sometimes can even make you laugh."

Trace
scooted over, making room for her. She smiled at him, and breathed a sigh of
relief when he mustered a polite half grin back. He'd apologized last night for
making her job harder than it should be. Nothing more was mentioned about the
kiss they shared, but that was probably for the best. If he could put it out of
his mind and go on working together, so could she.

"You've
explained how you all left the reservation, but do you have family still living
there or have they left too?" Joan leaned back.

No
one answered, but their gazes darted across the room at one another. Joan
wished she could take back her question.

"Sorry.
That was rude of me." She laid her hand on her cheek. "As you know, I
often don't think before I open my mouth."

Brody
cleared his throat, taking the attention off her. "I have a whole passel
of relatives who have always lived on the reservation, two sisters, aunts, a
couple of uncles and at last count, two nephews, and three nieces."

"I
no longer have relatives on the rez." Trace threw the chair cushion at
Devon. "Your turn."

Devon
feigned throwing the pillow back and then picked at a loose strand of thread at
the corner. "My Uciwayeki, grandmother, still resides on Lakota land."

The
way Devon spoke and the way his smile fell, she could tell something painful
came along with the mention of his grandma.

"Okay.
One more song and I have to get out of here." Brody clapped his hands.
"Which one should we play for Joan?"

"Let's
play her,
wee
-shday chay wee –yahn
." Devon stepped back behind the drums.

"Dev…" Trace shook his head. "Pick a different
one."

"No. She'll like it." Devon laughed. "I'll start us
out."

Devon's
hands came down and softly tapped the top of the drum. He wiggled his brows and
grinned. Joan clasped her hands in front of her, delighted at the playful show.
She glanced at Trace, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled, and seeing
him relaxed with his friends pleased her.

He
deserved to forget about his leg and have fun for a change.

Devon
sang low in his native language. She listened carefully, not understanding a
word but impressed with the fluid sounds. She had no idea the men could talk in
the language of their people.

Devon's
voice rose and fell, and his facial expressions became more animated as he
sang. From what she could gather, he was singing about a silly person or a
happy one.

When
Trace's flute began, she turned to him. The tune, haunting and low, set the
mood. She leaned forward, straining to understand. Before she could wonder what
would cause such sadness, Trace performed a solo on the flute. The more Devon
sang, the louder Trace played, until Joan laughed for a no reason but because
the music called for it.

Experiencing
the foreign song, and feeling the emotions behind the sound, was something new
to her. Without comprehending the language, she let her interpretation to the
music dictate her enjoyment. Devon's added comic relief also helped.

The
song ended, and all the men grinned. Joan stayed where she was, leaning against
Trace's shoulder. She envied the close friendships in the room. Their
relationships went beyond gathering together for dinner once a week. They were
family, and a functioning one at that.

"I
had no idea you could converse in your native tongue." Joan gazed around
the room. "Do you all speak Lakota? What did the song mean?"

"Yeah,
we've made it a point to keep our heritage alive when we're together. Times
have changed, and most Lakota kids being raised today don't even know a few
simple phrases." Devon pointed at Trace. "I taught Trace, and together
we finally have Brody up to talking like he was born knowing the
language."

"Who's
going to tell me what the song meant?" She turned to Trace. "I
thought the part you played started out sad, but quickly changed to something
happy through the rest of the song."

He
passed a look to Devon before turning to her. "It's a story of a bashful
woman, who long ago was courted by…well, the most popular man in the tribe. One
day, he flirts with her and because other people have picked on her all through
her life, she thinks he's being cruel and doesn't take him seriously."

"That's
sad," she said.

"Ah,
but she turns the tables on him. She agrees to meet him by the river at dark,
intending to put him in his place for ridiculing her. It is there, in the dark,
that she can hide from her insecurities and stand up for herself. But, the
spirit has different plans and when her admirer arrives, she sheds her clothes
and seduces him under the moon to get back at him for making fun of her."
The corners of his mouth softened. "The spirits cast a spell around him
and from that night on, he turns into her love slave, and they have many
babies."

They
both laughed. A little twinge low in Joan's belly sparked to life as she looked
into his relaxed face. Brooding and aloof, Trace was attractive. Laughing, he left
her breathless.

Joan
leaned into him and gave him a nudge. "Did you make that up?"

He
shrugged. "You'll have to learn our language to find out, I guess."

The
men put away the musical instruments, and followed Joan out to the main part of
the house. Trace headed toward the kitchen on his crutches, and the other guys
headed outside. Joan poured herself and Trace a cup of coffee.

"What's
on your agenda today?" She sat down at the bar and slid his mug to him.

He
rubbed his hands over his lower face. "I'm going to work on some paperwork
for the reservation. Joe, who works at the stables, faxed the papers I needed
last night, and I should be able to schedule the next load of horses so they'll
be ready for delivery."

She
added a spoonful of sugar in her cup. "While you do that, I'll go ahead
and take a shower. Would it be okay if I put a piece of outgoing mail in your
box later? My landlord doesn't believe in online bill paying, and since I don't
have a way to get to Durham, I don't want this month's rent payment to be late.
He's a stickler for paying on time."