The Spirit Path (18 page)

At first there was no passion in his touch, only an aching sense of need, of hopelessness. He was lost and alone and he reached out to her as the only familiar thing in an alien land.

Maggie held him close, wanting to comfort him. His eyes were filled with the same haunting sadness she had seen before and she longed to make him smile, to assure him that everything would be all right. But she had no words of comfort to give him, only the love in her heart.

He kissed her again, the pressure of his lips increasing as the kiss deepened and became more demanding. He locked his arms around her waist, drawing the length of her body against his own, letting her feel his need.

She never thought to deny him. She clung to him with all her strength, kissing him back, whispering his name as he caressed the clothes from her body, his lips kissing each exposed area of flesh, teasing and tantalizing, as they made love, there, in the shadow of the Black Hills beneath a blanket of stars. The wind was cool against her skin, but he quickly warmed her, covering her with his body, his hands fanning the embers of desire to flame, his lips kissing her until she was breathless, caressing her, speaking to her in soft Lakota as he made her his, vowing he would never love another.

She wept then, her heart breaking for fear he would keep his word and spend the rest of his life alone, with only his mother to care for him.

And then she wept harder because she was only a woman, and a jealous one at that, and she knew that he’d forget her once he returned to his own time, forget her and find a lovely Lakota maiden who would bear him beautiful daughters and strong sons. And she would be left with only the memory of his touch, a memory that would fade in time until she was left with nothing.

Her fingernails raked the length and breadth of his back as their passion crested and in some primal corner of her mind she smiled as she dug her nails in deeper, hoping to leave her mark upon him, wanting him to be forever branded as hers.

They lay locked in each other’s arms for long moments and then Hawk drew back, his gaze narrowed as he stared down at her.

“Mag-gie, why do you weep? Have I hurt you?”

She shook her head, unable to speak, ashamed of what she’d been thinking. She loved him and wanted only his happiness, and if he could not be happy here, then she would let him go and be glad for the time they’d had together.

A sob rose in her throat. It sounded so easy, so noble, but what would she do without him?

“Mag-gie, do not weep.” His voice was low and deep, filled with love, and yet she heard a faint note of sadness as he whispered, “I will not leave you.”

She blinked at him through her tears, not daring to believe.

“How can I go?” he asked, gently brushing a wisp of hair from her cheek. “I could not live without my heart.”

“Hawk, oh, Hawk!” She threw her arms around his neck, tears of joy coursing down her cheeks, even as a distant voice warned her that it could never be.

He held her close, praying he had made the right decision, knowing he could never leave her now. He had made her his woman and he knew he could not go back to his own people and leave her behind, not now, when she might be carrying his child; not now, when he loved her more desperately than ever.

“Mag-gie, I do not know how it is among the
wasichu
when a man wishes to take a wife, but…”

“A wife,” Maggie breathed. “You want to marry me?”

He nodded, confused by her reaction.

“But I’m older than you, and…and…”

He placed a hand over her mouth. “You are only a few years older than I, and it does not matter that you cannot walk. I will never want anyone else but you.”

“Oh.”

“What must we do?”

“I don’t know. Get a license, I guess. Blood tests. Oh, Hawk!” she said, and threw her arms around his neck again.

“Does this mean you will marry me?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling the laughter bubble up within her. “Oh, yes!”

She was getting married! It was incredible. Only a few weeks ago she had been resigned to the fact that she would never have a husband, that she would spend her whole life alone, living her life vicariously through the lives of the heroines she created on paper, and then Hawk had come into her life and everything had changed. She was in love with a wonderful man. And today she would be married.

Sitting in her wheelchair in the middle of her bedroom, Maggie hugged herself, laughing out loud. She’d never been so happy.

Once the initial excitement of Hawk’s proposal had worn off, she’d worried about the necessity of getting a marriage license, and the problems they might face where Hawk was concerned. He was a man from the past. He had no birth certificate, no identification of any kind. But that problem was easily rectified. She had called the Office of the Register of Deeds and learned that all Shadow Hawk needed was two people with valid identification who would sign a form swearing Shadow Hawk was who he said he was. With that in hand and twenty-five dollars in cash—no checks, the man stated firmly—they could obtain a license that was good for twenty days. No blood tests were required. Both parties had to be present to obtain the license. It was all so simple. The whole thing had taken less than thirty minutes.

All that had been taken care of three days ago. Maggie and Bobby had signed the necessary paper, the license had been issued and today was her wedding day.

Breathless, she gazed at her bed and felt her cheeks grow warm. Hawk had slept beside her every night since they’d made love beside the pool a week ago. They had not made love since that night, but it was wonderful to wake beside him every morning, to fall asleep in his arms every night.

This morning she had awakened to find Hawk watching her, his dark gaze so full of love it had brought tears to her eyes.

She heard his footsteps in the hallway, felt her heart quicken as he entered the room.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready.”

Her wedding dress, made of white satin and lace, was already in the truck, as was the dark suit that Hawk had agreed to wear.

Hawk kissed her gently before they left the house, his dark eyes filled with promise. Bobby was waiting for them in the truck. Maggie smiled at him as Hawk lifted her into the cab and closed the door. After folding Maggie’s wheelchair, Hawk placed it in the bed of the truck, then slid behind the wheel.

Veronica was waiting for them in Rapid City. Her husband was still in the hospital, but he was out of intensive care and the prognosis was hopeful.

Veronica smiled at Maggie as Hawk lifted her out of the truck and placed her in the wheelchair. “You look radiant,” she whispered.

“I feel radiant,” Maggie replied.

Veronica’s two sons took Hawk and Bobby into the church and showed them where to change clothes while Veronica and Maggie went into the bride’s room.

“Ed sends his best,” Veronica said as she helped Maggie into her wedding dress.

Maggie squeezed Veronica’s hands. “I’m sorry he can’t be here, but I’m so glad to hear he’s going to be all right.”

There was a soft knock on the door. “Are you ready in there, Ma?”

“Yes, Jacob. We’ll be out directly,” Veronica called. She handed Maggie a bouquet of white daisies. “You’re on,” Veronica said. “Shall we go?”

Maggie nodded, too filled with emotion to speak.

Hawk stood beside the altar, fidgeting a little in his new suit as he waited for Maggie. He had never worn so many clothes in his life and he felt warm and uncomfortable. He had looked at himself in the mirror and thought his own mother would never have recognized him. The shoes were the worst, pinching his feet like bear traps. But he would wear them this once, for Maggie, and then never again.

Bobby stood beside him, dressed in a dark gray suit that also looked new.

There was no one else in the church save for the minister, clad in long black robes, Veronica’s two sons, Jared and Jacob, and Sheila Goodman, dressed in a dark green skirt and matching jacket and sitting in the front row.

The organist began to play and Veronica walked down the aisle. She wore a dress of pale pink and carried a bouquet of lavender flowers. She sent Hawk a warm smile as she took her place at the altar.

Moments later, Maggie came down the aisle toward him and Hawk forgot everything else. Never had she looked more beautiful. Her gown was long and white, the perfect complement to her curly black hair and dark blue eyes. White orchids and ribbons adorned the arms of the wheelchair, white ribbon had been wound around the spokes.

As she drew near him, the sun cast its light on the stained glass window behind the altar so that her face seemed to glow with a soft golden fire. “Spirit Woman.” He murmured the words, unaware that he’d spoken them aloud.

And then she was beside him, her hand in his, while the Black Robe spoke the white man’s words that made Maggie St. Claire his woman, his wife.

There was a long silence while Hawk stared down at her, his heart filled to overflowing, his only regret that his mother could not be there, that he would never see her again.

The Black Robe cleared his throat discreetly, then said in a loud whisper, “Young man, you may kiss the bride.”

Dropping to one knee, Hawk cupped Maggie’s face in his hands and kissed her softly, gently, with all the love in his heart.

And Maggie threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back, overcome with love and gratitude for the man who was now her husband, the man who had shown her what love was, who had given her a reason to live again.

Vaguely, she was aware of a cough, a snicker, a muffled laugh filled with happiness. Only then did she realize that she and Hawk had been kissing for quite some time and remember that they weren’t alone in the room.

Her cheeks were flushed when they parted, and then Veronica and Bobby crowded around, giving her hugs, shaking Hawk’s hand.

Sheila Goodman stood nearby waiting her turn, grinning broadly when she hugged Maggie.

“My dear,” Sheila gushed, her brown eyes flashing with admiration, “we’ve got to use Hawk on the cover of your next book. Think of the publicity!”

Maggie nodded, but publicity was the furthest thing from her mind. She felt a twinge of jealousy as Sheila kissed Hawk full on the mouth.

Veronica had baked them a small wedding cake, chocolate, of course. Sheila offered a toast to the bride and groom, Veronica and the boys wished them well, Bobby said Jacob was going to drive him out to the reservation.

“Veronica said the two of you would probably want to…ah, be alone for a while,” Bobby said, turning away so they couldn’t see the heat climb in his cheeks.

Soon it was time to go.

Jacob put the wedding presents in the back of the truck along with their street clothes and Maggie’s wheelchair. There were more hugs and more farewells, and then Hawk and Maggie were alone in the truck, driving out of town toward home.

“You look very handsome,” Maggie said, smiling as her husband ran his finger around the inside of his collar.

She was tempted to tell him to remove his coat and tie, but he looked so wonderful and she wasn’t sure she’d ever get him into a suit again.

“And you are very beautiful.”

His words washed over her like sunshine and she thought how wonderful it would be to spend the rest of her life with Hawk, to hear the sound of that voice, so deep and soft, speaking her name.

“Very beautiful,” he repeated, and taking Maggie’s left hand in his, he raised it to his lips, kissing her palm and then the tip of each finger. And each touch sent little shivers of pleasure, of anticipation, racing down her spine.

At home, Hawk parked the truck beside the house and Maggie felt suddenly shy as he lifted her out of the truck, placed her in the wheelchair, and pushed her up the ramp to the front door.

When they reached the door, she knew a moment of regret, wishing Hawk would carry her over the threshold.

She was wondering if asking him would ruin the moment when he swept her into his arms, his dark eyes shining as he opened the door.

“Veronica told me,” he remarked, answering the unspoken question he read in Maggie’s eyes. “She told me it is the custom of white men to carry their women into the house after the wedding.”

Maggie’s breath caught in her throat as Hawk lowered his head and kissed her before carrying her inside.

He gazed down at her, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “What do the
wasichu
do now?” he asked, his voice suddenly husky.

“Probably the same thing the Lakota do,” Maggie replied innocently. “They change clothes and wash the breakfast dishes.”

Hawk laughed out loud and Maggie thought she’d never heard anything more wonderful in her life.

“We will start our own custom, then,” he said, his tone as solemn as a judge pronouncing sentence, and carried her quickly down the hall toward her bedroom.

Inside, he placed her on the edge of the bed and then, with great deliberation and reverence, he began to undress her, removing her veil and laying it aside, reaching around her to unfasten the small buttons at the back of her dress, sliding it slowly over her shoulders, kissing her neck and each exposed shoulder before removing her silky undergarments, her satin pumps. His hand slid down the length of each leg, marveling at the feel of silk beneath his hands before he slowly removed her stockings.

Maggie sat there, her mouth dry, her heart beating fiercely, her whole body tingling and warm under his ebony gaze, the look in his eyes making her feel more beautiful, more desirable, than she’d ever felt in her life.

“My turn,” she murmured when he had finished undressing her, and he obligingly knelt before her so she could remove his coat and tie.

Her fingers trembled a little as she unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders, revealing a broad expanse of flesh. She insisted he sit on the floor and put his feet up on the bed so she could remove his shoes and socks, then watched, a little breathless, as he stood up, his movements lithe and graceful, the muscles in his arms and shoulders rippling beneath his copper-hued skin.

She removed his belt, unfastened his trousers and watched them fall to the floor at his feet. A rueful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she gazed at the sight of her husband, gloriously naked and fully aroused, leaving her to wonder what he’d done with the T-shirt and black bikini briefs.

But the whereabouts of his underwear quickly faded from her mind as his hands delved into her hair, moving softly, gently, sending shivers down her spine.

Maggie gazed into his face, saw the love that swelled in her own heart mirrored in the depths of Hawk’s fathomless black eyes.

Filled with warmth and wonder, she drew him down beside her on the bed, letting her fingertips move over the face she adored, letting her hands thrill to the feel of his taut bronze skin. He drew her close, molding her body to his like satin to steel, and she thought she’d die from the sheer pleasure of it.

“Spirit Woman.” He murmured her name, lost in the magic of her nearness, in the fierce intensity of his need for this one woman above all others.

Maggie basked in his embrace, in the knowledge of his love, returning kiss for kiss and touch for touch until he rose over her, his hand gently parting her thighs, his eyes dark with desire. His hair fell over his shoulders like a curtain of black silk, whispering against her breasts. She locked her hands behind his back and drew him close, closer, a soft sigh of ecstasy escaping her lips as she welcomed him home. He was her husband, her hero, a man from another time and place who had captured her heart and soul.

She whispered his name, speaking to him in Lakota, telling him of her love as Hawk possessed her, two hearts and two worlds now made one.

They spent the next week and a half seeing the sights in and around Sturgis. It was amazing, Maggie thought. She’d lived here two years and had never been anywhere. But then, before Hawk entered her life, she hadn’t had much interest in anything but her writing. They toured Fort Meade, rode to the top of Bear Butte, visited the Black Hills National Cemetery and the Ute burial ground.

And then it was on to Deadwood, only thirteen miles from Sturgis. After checking into the Adams House Bed and Breakfast, they went out to see the sights.

Deadwood was situated in a narrow gulch. Houses were built on the steep-sided hills on either hand and the roads that led to the houses formed terraces. Near the upper end of town the gulch divided and buildings followed both valleys, the business establishments below and the houses above.

Walking through Deadwood was like taking a giant step into the past. Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane had walked these streets. Poker Alice had resided here before moving to Sturgis. Other characters with colorful names had lived and died here: Potato Creek Johnny, Preacher Smith, Jack McCall, and Charlie Utter, who guided a dozen “soiled doves” into Deadwood in 1876, accompanied by Calamity Jane and Wild Bill Hickok.

They traversed historical Main Street, passing the Dakota Territory Saloon, the Bodega Cage, the House of Roses Museum. They stopped at the Franklin Hotel and Gambling Hall for lunch. A brochure stated that the Franklin had once been considered the finest hotel between Chicago and San Francisco, and Maggie had to admit the atmosphere was wonderful, the lobby beautifully restored.