Renee Simons Special Edition (57 page)

"Like I was a wounded deer or some poor motherless calf."

She chuckled. "An injured mule is more like it."

He tried to keep from smiling, failed and winced when the gesture strained the cut at his upper lip. A sudden gust of wind lifted the hair from her face. He touched a damp strand that clung to her heated skin and noticed the flush accenting her high cheekbones and the sheen of moisture above her lip. "You're beautiful, you know?"

"You're delirious." She sat back on her heels. "Can you walk to my car if I help?"

"Where is it?"

She pointed over her shoulder. "Over there."

"No problem. I'm in good shape for a hike."

"C'mon, Marine, it's not nearly as bad as all that." She gave him a smile. "Of course, if you feel weak, I could bring the car to you. . . ."

Alert to the goading, he chuckled under his breath. "I had a drill instructor like you."

"Did you?"

"That D.I. was the meanest s.o.b. I ever met."

She laughed. "Bet he got you moving pretty quick."

"Never had a choice."

She took him under the arms and supported him as they walked to her car. Every part of his body hurt and drawing breath had become difficult. The last time he'd felt this rotten had been in boot camp on
Parris Island
.

"I think you should go to the hospital," she said. "For x-rays, just to make sure there's no concussion or broken ribs."

"We have a doctor and a clinic in the village. Just get me back there."

He slid inside and jammed his long legs catty-corner against the dashboard. He watched her as his head rested on the back of the seat.

"What is it?" she asked.

"You're a cop, aren't you?"

"I thought you knew that."

"Mac never told me, but there was something about the way you handled yourself and . . . did I hear Winter call you 'Officer'?"

"I'm on recuperative leave from the Job. Pretty soon, I'll have to decide whether or not to go back."

"Don't you want to?"

Did she? She'd joined the McLaren "family business" as a way to make a contribution. Most of the time, she felt good about her job. Every so often she wondered if there was a better way to go than butting heads over a gun barrel. That same concern had forced her out of the FSA. At least that's what she told herself when she tried to rationalize why she'd left the Agency as suddenly as she had. How would she rationalize leaving the force? 

"I had a close call . . . too close . . . I don't think I can hack it anymore."

"What happened?"

"I got caught in a shootout while answering a call to a break-in. Things were pretty dicey for a while but, as you can see, I'm still alive and kicking." She searched both sides of the road and saw only prairie. "How about pointing me toward the clinic?"

"Two rights, a left, then a mile to the next right."

"What did I interrupt back there?" she asked.

"That should be pretty obvious."

"Then let me rephrase the question: what provoked the testosterone trio to hammer you head first into the ground?"

"Have I ever told you I admire your way with words?"

"I think so. Answer the question."

"Showing up at the powwow was just too confrontational to suit them. They decided to show me the error of my ways."

"Do you want to press charges?"

"Not my style," he said. "I'll handle them my own way." He pointed to a low building. "There's the clinic."

The sign on the door indicated that the staff had set up shop at the campgrounds. "I should have thought of that," he said with a groan. "My brains must be scrambled. Take me to my mother's house."

"Isn't it your house, too?"

"In the old days, the tipi belonged to the wives, because they tanned the skins for the covers and cut new poles if their men weren't around. And they set up the tipis in each new camp."

She smiled. "Very enlightened for the time and place."

"My forefathers were never the savages yours thought they were."

"I'll never understand their narrow-mindedness."

Despite the bruises and swelling, Stormwalker's eyes had remained fixed on her, but his gaze sharpened as he examined her even more closely. The intensity of the look sent a tremor of excitement through her. As a distraction she concentrated on her driving. "Since we're talking about traditions, mind telling me how you got your name?"

"The holy man saw it in a vision."

"It fits."

"So I've been told," he commented dryly.

"You don't agree?"

He lowered his head to the back of the seat and closed his eyes. "I'm just trying to get from here to there in one piece, that's all."

"You might have a shot if you took fewer chances."

"No lectures, please. I've about run out of tolerance."

She pulled up alongside the house and parked. Stormwalker made it up the steps under his own power. Zan followed him into the kitchen, where he eased into a chair by the table.

"Is there a first aid kit around?" she asked.

He nodded. "In that cabinet behind you, but you don't have to repair the damages. I can handle things."

With a sideward glance she ordered, "Indulge me," then filled a bowl with cool water. She found the box with the red cross on the top and a clean dish towel in a drawer near the sink and set everything on the table.

"Since you're determined to play Nancy Nurse, you might as well open the refrigerator. There's a clay pot on the top shelf. It contains one of my grandmother's remedies."

She removed the cover and dipped a fingertip into the glistening gel. "Is this aloe?"

"And some other ingredients I've never had the courage to ask about. The stuff's awesome in its power to heal."

After she'd done what she could for his face, she turned her attention to his hands. "I hope these made contact with someone's jaw."

"And a couple of noses and some teeth." He grinned despite his injured mouth.

She gently swabbed away the dirt and treated the bruises, taking extra care where the skin had been broken.

He watched her, hardly aware of any discomfort, so intent was he on the scent of her perfume and the silky red-brown hair that hid her face as she bent to her work. When she touched his wrist, his pulse jumped beneath her gentle fingers. She lifted her face, the look of a startled doe in her warm brown eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Am I hurting you?"

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly?"

"You're the first woman I've been near in more than five years. That brings both pleasure and pain."

"Do you want me to stop?"

He wanted to maintain the contact, to hold onto her warmth and the waves of yearning that shuddered through him, letting him know that buried feelings had been reborn. His mind questioned whether this was the need of a man for a woman, any woman, as he had implied. Or something very different, something that had begun the first time they met.

He eased his hand away. "I don't want you to stop, but you'd better." He rose and started to leave.

Zan held an elastic bandage. "Shouldn't I do something about your ribs?"

The golden lights in his eyes flashed. His chest rose and fell with a heavy, in-borne breath as he seemed to consider her question. Finally, he said, "I don't think so," and continued into the living room.

Zan understood his mixed emotions. She felt both disappointment and relief when he vanished into the darkness. The sofa creaked as he settled down to rest, leaving her free to return the kitchen to order.

If only she could do the same with her confused feelings. When she'd felt the weight of his arm around her shoulder, she'd wanted him to stay close. She hadn't considered why they'd been thrown together. And she hadn't remembered Dar.

She closed her eyes and struggled past the image of black hair, hypnotic eyes and burning intensity to the place where memories of Dar lived. Despite her effort to concentrate on him, she felt herself slip away, drawn irretrievably to the man in the next room.

She returned to the unfinished chore and glimpsed herself in the glass pane of a cabinet.

"Stay away from this guy," she whispered to her reflection, dragging unsteady fingers through her tousled hair. But like a parent lecturing a recalcitrant child, she feared the warning would go unheeded.

In the living room, Stormwalker had fallen asleep with one arm draped over the back of the sofa. She covered him with an afghan, then curled up in a leather chair from which she could watch him.

In a fitful sleep, he tossed about and muttered unintelligibly. His restlessness drew her to him but when she touched his forehead with the back of her hand she found it cool and dry. She straightened the shawl and went to the window where she perched on the deep wooden sill.

Darkness ruled, inside and out. The rising moon gave the clouds a stormy, silver-edged drama. Through the open window an occasional breeze carried the faint sound of drums and sometimes, chanting. How sad, she thought, that he'd been made to feel unwelcome by people like Billy Winter.

How sad, or how fitting? He betrayed the country Dar gave his life to protect. He's getting what he deserves.

Even as the thought formed she discarded it. If she still believed he'd committed treason she would have let Billy finish what he'd started, no matter what Mac had ordered. If her feelings about him hadn't changed, she wouldn't have chosen to use the .38 to protect him when she'd sworn never to fire it again.

An old memory washed over her in a wave of icy dread. She heard again the shot from the robbery suspect's gun that had slammed into her body and the answering round from her service revolver as it brought down the perpetrator, who'd turned out to be no more than a frightened boy. She began to shake.

She shook so hard her teeth chattered, forcing her to bite down on her tongue. She knew the reaction would pass. It always had before. Something would rekindle the memory of that night and the months of physical and emotional rehabilitation. Then the shakes would begin until sheer willpower controlled them.

Stormwalker’s voice cut through the turmoil of emotion bombarding her. "Why aren't you watching the dancing at the powwow?"

"Someone should be here with you," she whispered, trying to add steel to her voice and to pretend more confidence than she felt. She cleared her throat. "Just in case."

"I'm okay, but you're not. I can feel it even at a distance."

"I'll be fine."

She heard him shift position on the sofa. "Come here."

"No. I've got to go." Control hovered just out of reach.

"What are you afraid of?"

His voice caressed her senses, adding a new kind of torment.
Of what you make me feel. And want.

"Nothing. It's late. I have work to do."

She slipped from her perch and went to the door. By the time she turned the knob, he was at her side with his hand resting gently on her arm. The warmth of his touch on her bare skin found an echo in the deepest part of her, where a damp heat sprang to life. This is ridiculous, she thought, unacceptable, to react this way to this man.

"Are you sorry you helped me today?"

She was grateful for the darkness hiding a guilty blush. "No, of course not. I just have to go."

"Then go. No one's stopping you."

"Will you be all right alone?"

He gave a short, bitter laugh. "I've been alone before."

"I know," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Hell, lady, it's probably no more than I deserve. Right?"

She shivered. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. I know what you're thinking."

"How convenient," she said. "That will save us a lot of unnecessary conversation."

Forget her prideful claim that she would never back down. She needed to get away from him. Now. She heard his steps behind her and left him standing on the porch as she got into her car and drove off into the night.

Chapter 6

Stormwalker sat on the steps of the general store and watched Zan and the Banner girl talk outside the younger woman's house. Finally, Zan took her leave and started up the street. She walked gracefully, like a dancer. Her hair glowed in the sunlight, adding to an aura of warm light that seemed to surround her.

He cursed softly under his breath. "You dumb bastard - you've been alone too long. Look at her," his inner voice demanded. "She's too damned tall. Those curves won't last forever, and you know she's got a temper that will slice you in two if you cross her." He rose and went to meet her. She might make his life a torment, he thought with a grin, but it would never be dull.

"Can we make peace?"

Her dark eyes went soft. "We can try."

"You have any plans?"

She shook her head. "Just more time at the computer."