The Doctor's Medicine Woman (5 page)

Strange, he thought. She, too, had obviously been unable to come up with a word to describe the fever from which they both suffered.

It,
she’d said.

That would have to do, he thought. If they were lucky, they’d never have to put a name to it. They could acknowledge its presence, yet refuse it power over them.

If they were lucky.

“Like you,” she continued, “I’m not interested in a relationship. Of
any
kind. Serious. Frivolous. Physical. Whatever. I’m just plain not interested. In fact, I’ll do everything in my power to avoid becoming involved. With you, or anyone else for that matter.”

His eyes widened a fraction at the surprising resolve he heard in her tone. But he quickly nodded in the dark. “Good.” Again he nodded. “I’m glad we agree.”

“Oh, yes. We definitely agree.”

His head continued to bob. As if its up and down motion somehow lent more credence to their decision.

The silence grew awkward.

He said, “Okay, then. We’re in agreement about this.”

She said nothing. But he knew their thoughts were unified.

“Then I’ll go on up to bed.” He moved past her, taking care not to touch her. “And let you get yourself a little something to eat.”

But as he walked out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the stairs that would take him to his room, something nagged at him like the irritation of a poking stick.

Travis had explained the motives behind his decision not to become involved with Diana. Well…maybe not all of them. But his parents’ divorce, and his brother’s, too, were powerful reasons for him not to want the entanglements of a relationship. However, Diana had only expressed her aversion to relationships. And a stern aversion it had been, too.

As he climbed the stairs, a question whispered across his brain.

What had caused such hardness in her?

Saying that the restaurant wasn’t much to look at from the outside was an understatement. It was a dive. A hole in the wall. But it was clean and off the beaten path, so the majority of the diners were urban residents rather than Christmas tourists seeking fancy city lights and holiday shopping that Philadelphia had to offer. Besides that, the cook had nearly fifty years of experience. The good food and the battle stories were what brought Travis, Sloan and Greg to the place for lunch at least twice a week.

“Would the two of you just grow up,” Sloan said. “Travis, you’re a big boy. You ought to be able to control your hormones. And, Greg, stop baiting the poor man.”

Sloan indicated Travis with a jerk of his head.

“But you heard what he said,” Greg complained. “The woman is driving him crazy. I’m just suggesting
that he quit fighting it and dive headfirst into sexual dementia.”

“Now, there’s a new disorder for the psychology journals,” Sloan murmured with a chuckle. “Keep this up, Greg, and you’ll make into the annals of medical history, yet.”

Greg’s head bobbed, his face plastered with pride. “I’m working on it.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Travis glanced off toward the far corner of the room. These men might be his best friends, as well as his business partners, but sometimes their good-natured ribbing could rub a man the wrong way. He sunk his chin down onto his fist as he turned back to them, murmuring softly, “But Diana really is driving me nuts.”

“The two of you have talked about this…this…” Sloan paused, then continued, “About what’s going on between you?”

“Only to the point of agreeing that it’s not something we want to get involved in,” Travis told him.

“Well, why don’t you just take my advice?” Greg’s palms lifted upward. “Why don’t you just engage in one, good make out session?”

Of course, Greg would hand out that advice, Travis silently surmised. The man was in love. He’d found the woman of his dreams. In fact, he was going to marry Jane Dale on Christmas Eve.

Greg continued, “You know, even a single kiss might get the whole thing out of your system.”

“Tried that,” Travis said. “Last week. Nearly melted the darned soles off my shoes.”

Of course, when he and Diana had shared that hotter-than-the-sun’s-surface
kiss he hadn’t been wearing any shoes. But the phrase got his idea across. That’s all that was necessary.

“You kissed the woman?” Greg’s green eyes sparkled with interest. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Sloan frowned and gave Greg a nudge with his elbow. “What’s wrong with you? He’s not one to kiss and tell.” He shook his head, his expression twisting with what could only be described as mild censure. “You’re acting like a gossipy woman.”

Greg’s whole face scrunched up at what he obviously took as horrendous criticism. “Men don’t gossip.”

Sloan and Travis shared a sidelong glance. Finally Travis couldn’t stop the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sloan broke out in a snicker.

Greg only glowered at them.

“Maybe you should try talking to her about it again,” Sloan suggested to Travis.

“No way.” Travis shook his head adamantly. “I don’t dare bring it up again. I can’t.” A sigh burst from deep in his chest. “But I can tell you that every time I’m even near the woman, I feel like I’m going to climb right out of my skin.”

Every look, every word they exchanged since their late-night kiss seemed charged with some kind of heated current. A couple of times over the past week they’d accidentally touched, once when they’d cleaned up the dinner dishes together, another time when she’d backed into him, not knowing he was behind her, and each time he’d thought his heart was going to go into fibrillation. His pulse would go all
erratic, and blood would whoosh through his ears. He was turning into a complete and total wreck.

Travis was disgusted with himself. He refused to allow his truant testosterone to get the better of him.

Just then, Greg’s fiancée, Jane Dale, entered the restaurant and approached the table.

“Hey, guys,” she called cheerily.

She leaned over and gave Greg a full-on-the-mouth kiss. Immediately, Travis was reminded of Diana…of the kiss they had shared…of his desire to kiss her again…

“Just stopped by to say hi,” Jane said.

“Want something to eat?” Greg asked her.

“No, thanks,” she said. “I have a thousand errands to run. And some shopping to do, too.”

“How did the fitting go?” Greg asked Jane.

Jane’s smile brightened up the whole room. “The dress is going to be beautiful. And the seamstress making the alterations is doing a fabulous job. Quick, too.”

Travis just smiled, hiding his true thoughts. Greg and Jane were getting married in four short days. They had only met last month. Travis wanted to warn Greg that he was in for some heartache. Two people just couldn’t stay together without hurting each other. Sure, Greg and Jane might be happy now. But give them a few months—a few years, if they were lucky. Then the hurting would begin. It always did. Eventually.

But he knew his friend wouldn’t listen. Greg was drowning in the sentimental, lovesick emotions he felt for Jane. The poor guy was just going to have to learn the hard way.

“Travis,” Jane said, attracting his attention and his gaze, “Greg told me about Diana. A Medicine Woman? That’s fabulous for the boys.”

Nodding and smiling, Travis couldn’t help but feel Diana’s presence in Philadelphia was a double-edged sword. She was wonderful for the boys. But she was hell on him.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy getting things ready for this wedding,” she said. “I’ve wanted to come meet the twins. But you’ll bring them to the wedding, right? Oh, and Diana, too.” Jane’s smile widened. “She can be your date.”

“Great!” Travis’s eyes rolled heavenward. “Just what I need. A date with the very woman I’ve been trying to avoid.” He got up and tossed some money on the table to pay for his sandwich. “I’ll meet you guys back at the office.”

“What?” Jane looked from Greg to Sloan and back again. “What did I say?”

“Nothing, honey,” Greg told her. “The poor man’s just having some hormone problems.”

“You’re sick?” Jane asked.

Travis heard honest concern in her question, but he didn’t turn back around. He simply continued toward the door knowing full well that Sloan and Greg wouldn’t miss the opportunity to clear up the matter for her and in doing so make him the object of some joke or other that they would think hilarious. Sure enough, his friends didn’t disappoint him.

“He’s sick, all right.” Greg cast forth a boisterous laugh.

“Yeah,” Sloan chimed in. “He’s suffering from sexual dementia.”

Travis only groaned under his breath, his face flaming red, as he shoved his way out the door and onto the sidewalk. Hormone problems? Sexual dementia? Had his friends completely lost their minds?

He wanted to deny it. Vehemently. But he couldn’t. He was afraid his friends were as sane as could be. He was also afraid they had correctly diagnosed his situation.

D
iana felt a little like an outsider at the small wedding reception. It was clear that Travis held Greg and Sloan in great esteem. The three men were more like brothers than friends. They razzed one another, hugged one another often during this special occasion and laughed with each other frequently, just as family is wont to do.

Jane, the new Mrs. Greg Hamilton, was gorgeous in her full-skirted white wedding gown. Her honey-blond hair was upswept in an elegant French twist and her short, pearl-studded veil floated around the back of her head like a tiny tulle cloud.

When Travis had explained that Jane had planned the wedding in less than a month, Diana could hardly believe it. However, with the way the bride’s blue-gray eyes danced with joy, not to mention the fact that she and her new husband touched and kissed at every opportunity, it was clear that Jane and Greg
had fallen for each other hard and fast, whatever the circumstances of their short courtship. The two of them were deeply in love.

Diana only hoped that their wedded bliss lasted longer than her own had.

Bliss? Had she ever experienced overwhelming happiness while she’d been married to Eric? Even on the day they had exchanged vows?

Looking at the rapture Jane was so obviously feeling, Diana came up feeling empty inside.

No, she and her ex had never encountered anything resembling the kind of wedded bliss that Greg and Jane were feeling. Diana was certain.

The mere thought of the months she’d spent as a married woman made her chest fill with emotions that were dark and thick and viscous. Sometimes the recollections—and the self-blame—became so strong, they swirled and rolled around her, catching her up and tossing her to and fro as if they were mighty hurricane winds. This time, she successfully pushed her way out of the memories before they could take hold of her and pull her into their sordid and ugly vortex.

At that moment, Diana watched as Greg and Jane danced together, both of them holding close a redheaded toddler that Travis had said was Greg’s baby daughter, Joy. The three of them made such a sweet family. Diana offered up a quick and silent prayer for the Hamiltons’ happiness.

Glancing around the small banquet hall, Diana again felt an acute twinge of being out of place here. She’d protested when Travis had asked her to attend the marriage celebration. The last place she needed
to be was in a confined room with Travis dressed to the nines in that dark tuxedo and crisp white shirt. The midnight-black jacket matched his eyes to a T, his long, straight hair was tied back in a neat queue. Shivers coursed over every inch of her skin as unbidden images invaded her mind…images of what it would be like to have his long, satiny hair loose and brushing against her naked flesh. Her eyes went wide at the startling vision, and she forced herself to look away from him.

Ever since that night in the kitchen, when they had shared that soul-wrenching kiss, Diana had become more aware of him than ever. If that were possible. And Diana had quickly discovered it was.

His every word, his every move, intruded on her senses, encroached on her day-to-day activities, violated her dreams. It was getting to the point that, when they were together, thought rushed out of her head, the words in her mind turning to smoke she couldn’t quite grasp.

She hated to lay down at night to sleep, for images of his face, his lips, his hands, his body, would torment her in disjointed, erotic apparitions. Every time she closed her eyes, her subconscious conjured Travis as some sort of nocturnal specter who teased her with kind words, taunted her with his warm, silken fingertips. Sleep had become agony for her.

So when he’d suggested she come to the wedding, she’d declined. But he’d been so full of rationale meant to convince her to change her answer. This gathering would be a great opportunity for Diana to meet his friends, he’d said, the people who would be close to the boys as they grew into adolescents and
then adults. Besides that, he’d continued, the twins might have some questions regarding Native American marriage customs that he wouldn’t be able to answer.

Diana had silently but seriously doubted that. The boys were too young to think about such things; however, in the end she’d agreed to come, thinking that any opportunity to talk to them about their heritage would be good. And she
had
been curious about Travis’s friends and their children.

She smiled now as she spied Jared and Josh being herded around the room by Sloan’s triplets, the girls introducing the boys to various people in attendance. Travis’s sons would surely flourish in this friendly and loving environment.

“You’re sitting over here all alone.”

Travis’s unexpected appearance made her flinch.

“I’m sorry.” He frowned. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I—I was just—caught up in my thoughts. I’m okay, here.” She offered him a small smile, hoping to put his mind at ease—and make him go away.

Far away.

“You’re not okay according to the bride.”

There was tension in his tone. Diana heard it.

“I have orders to get you out on the dance floor,” he said. “Jane said you’re a guest at her wedding, and she didn’t want you to go home feeling as if you hadn’t had a good time.”

“B-but…I wouldn’t think that at all,” she rushed to assure him. “I am having a good time.”

The idea of being held in Travis’s arms, swaying to slow music had her desperate to get out of dancing
with him. “I’ll smile more,” she continued. “I promise. I’ll go over and introduce myself to…to…” Searching the room, she pointed to the first people she spied. “To that other couple over there.”

“Won’t do.” Travis held out his hand to her. “Come and dance. Make the bride happy.”

She knew her eyes expressed the panic she felt.

Softly he admitted, “Diana, I don’t want to do this any more than you do. But—” he shrugged “—I don’t see any way around it.”

Looking from his handsome face to his outstretched hand to his face again, Diana thought to protest further. But in the end, she figured he was right. She certainly didn’t want to upset Jane on her wedding day. Diana knew her grandmother would tell her to do whatever it took to be gracious, grateful and hospitable. To give utmost respect to both the occasion and those being honored. It was the way of the Kolheek.

Sliding her fingers over his, Diana rose from the chair and allowed herself to be guided to the dance floor, all the while feeling as if she were being led straight to the gallows.

Think of other things,
she told herself. Think of walking in the woods. Think of staring at the stars. Think of how, once this dance is over, you can march right up to the bar and order a stiff drink to steady your nerves.

Diana nearly groaned when Travis swung her around to face him. One strong hand settled on the small of her back, sending sparklike heat shooting up her spine, while the other one gently but firmly grasped her fingers.

He moved easily for a tall, broad-shouldered man. With sure steps never leaving a doubt as to who was leading, he steered her around the outskirts of the dance floor.

Diana focused on the other dancers, on the wedding guests who had chosen to sit this one out, on the children as they played near the front door of the banquet hall. She forced herself to direct her attention on anyone and anything other than the man who was holding her close.

Close enough to feel the heat of his body. Close enough to smell his cologne.

The heady scent of him brought to mind sensual images of romantic evenings. Of passionate kisses shared in the heat of the night.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Diana fought to swim her way out of her carnal musings. They were only going to get her into trouble. The thoughts swelled like a rising tide, threatening to drown her there and then.

Suddenly she sensed his attention on her, and helplessly she raised her gaze to his.

The need expressed in his dark eyes was brazenly unmitigated. Enough to steal away her breath. She felt captured. Mesmerized. And although their bodies didn’t stop swaying to the beat, moving around the dance floor, she felt as if they stood stock-still. As though they were the only two people in the room. In the whole, entire world.

Diana clearly saw that he must have been suffering from his own arousing notions. The sweet misery of them was expressed in the tension of his jaw, in the slight flare of his nostrils.

It was as if their lips were connected by some
invisible elastic band that drew them, ever so slowly, closer and closer. She could feel his warm breath on her face, and the desire he felt was etched into every plane and angle of his ruggedly handsome face.

The moment seemed to hang in some kind of suspension of time. Hovering. Throbbing. Enticing.

Her heart fluttered like the wings of a frightened hummingbird, and her knees felt weak. Their lips were going to meet. Right here in this public place. In front of all these people. In the midst of all his friends. And there wasn’t a single, solitary thing she could do about it.

The music ended. And the ceiling lights brightened a bit.

Still, Diana and Travis stood as if they were riveted to the floor. Riveted to the moment.

The lead singer announced that the band would be taking a short break.

Only at the sound of the man’s voice did they breathe, and blink. It was almost as if they both awakened simultaneously from some strange, erotic trance.

“Damn,” Travis whispered as he stepped away from her.

His Adam’s apple bobbed in what looked to be a painful swallow. Diana thought that surely his throat must be as dry as her own.

She watched as his head swung around to survey the people closest to them. Evidently he was anxious about who saw what, and what those watching might have thought about the intimate encounter they had witnessed.

“Come on.” His tone was gruff as he took her by the hand. “Let’s go get something to drink.”

At the bar, he asked her what she’d like, and she said, “A glass of white wine would be nice,” not really surprised by the rusty quality of her own voice.

She didn’t hear what he ordered for himself, but the highball glass he was served looked to contain something strong and straight. He took a gulp of the amber liquid. The huge breath he inhaled made his chest expand, and Diana’s gaze watched his shirt-front tighten.

In an instant, an unbidden query arose in her mind as she wondered what his bare chest might look like, what it might feel like under her fingertips.

Stop!
she commanded herself.

The wine barely seemed to have any taste at all when she took that first tentative sip. However, after the third taste, her knees felt less shaky and some of the giddiness had left her stomach.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “I feel sorry for them.”

Diana knew Travis was speaking about the bride and groom, about Jane and Greg, even without looking up from her glass.

“They’re so damned happy right now,” he continued. “But it won’t be long before that’ll change. And the change will take them by surprise. Before they realize what happened, they’ll be bickering and fighting. They won’t know how it happened, or why it happened. But it’ll happen. It’s inevitable.”

“It’s sad,” she told him.

“It is.” He nodded, then tossed back the rest of his drink.

She knew he thought she was agreeing with him. But in reality, she was expressing her opinion over the anger that was so obviously bottled up inside him. The hopelessness he harbored against love. Against relationships.

Diana knew she couldn’t become involved in a loving relationship, that she had a problem that forbade her to allow a man to get too close to her. But that didn’t mean she didn’t believe in love. For others.

Helping Travis to believe, too, would be a wonderful gift she could give him. However, talking about man-woman relationships, discussing the beauty of love, without revealing her own unique problem might prove to be a little tricky.

If she were to put on her counselor’s hat and remain uninvolved, she thought she might be able to succeed.

Remaining uninvolved would be the hardest part. She found the man physically attractive. Overwhelmingly so. But she could remain detached. She was trained. She could do this.

She shoved away the shadow of doubt that crept in to cloud her enthusiasm.

She could do this, her mind silently bolstered.

First, she had to discover the root of his problem. He had used his parents’ divorce and his brother’s broken marriage as reasons for not wanting to become involved himself. But Diana knew that people usually drew from their own experiences—their own
personal
experiences—when they made life decisions for themselves.

Sure his parents’ divorce had impacted him. His
brother’s unhappiness had, too. But rarely did individuals allow the problems and grief of others to influence them to the degree that Travis seemed to be affected.

There was more to Travis’s determination than he was letting on. In order to make any kind of impression on him and his opinions, she needed to know the whole story behind what motivated his thinking.

She had to get him talking. About his past. Soon, he would reveal the entire truth behind his convictions against relationships. She decided that confronting the subject of divorce would be the best place to start.

“Sometimes,” she began, not hindering the small smile playing across her lips, “I believe it might have been better to live a couple of hundred years ago.”

He looked at her, curiosity sparking his gaze.

“Divorce was so much simpler back then.”

Growing interest creased his brow, but he remained silent.

“For as far back as anyone can tell, the Kolheek was a matriarchal society.” Her fingers slid up the stem of the wineglass. “The woman owned everything. There was no fighting over property. Or custody of the children. If a woman wanted a divorce, all she need do was set the man’s only possessions—his moccasins, bow and quiver of arrows—outside the door of the teepee. He knew he was no longer welcome in her home.”