by Donna Fasano
Lyssa sat there, ruminating on the truths her friend was revealing. Her own thinking had been so shallow in her early years. All she’d thought about was surviving economically. Matters of the heart weren’t of much significance. There was no way Dakota would have found that attractive. Not after what he’d experienced with his ex-wife. But Tori was right. She probably wouldn’t have appreciated Dakota had she not had to suffer through living with Rodney. And had she not felt forced into fleeing California, she’d have never contacted the abused women’s group that had put her in contact with Tori; Lyssa would never have moved to Vermont.
Tori stared into the fire before commenting further on the topic at hand. “To feel that depth of emotion, even for just a few weeks, would be more than some women could ever wish for.”
Lyssa felt the heat seeping through the ceramic mug, suddenly realizing that Tori’s special and secretive work here at the B&B must keep her feeling isolated. Alone and lonely.
Finally, she felt compelled to say, “I’m sorry, Tori. For leaning on you so heavily. I should pull myself up by my own bootstraps, I know. I should be stronger. I’m going to have to be, if my child is ever going to be able to rely on me.”
“Oh, now—” Tori tossed her a gentle smile “—stop being so hard on yourself. And you don’t need to apologize to me. I’m your friend. And being around when you’re needed is exactly what friends are for, right?”
Lyssa could only give a silent nod. And as she sat there sipping tea in Tori’s warm and welcoming living room, she took a moment to send up a silent prayer that her friend’s seclusion might be broken. She had no idea how or when or from where an answer might come, she only knew Tori deserved a man of her own. A saving kind of love.
The women talked for quite some time. Finally it seemed that Tori could hold back her yawn no longer.
“I’d better get to bed,” she told Lyssa. “I have guests arriving early tomorrow.” She grinned. “Real vacationers who expect to be pampered at my quaint little bed-and-breakfast.”
Worry nibbled at Lyssa’s mind. “Will I be in the way?”
Tori shook her head vehemently. “No. This house is big enough to accommodate all of us.” She reached up and tucked a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear. “But this situation does give me one more reason for that cottage I’ve been wanting.”
“A cottage?”
“Yes,” Tori said. “I’ve been thinking of having that old carriage house out back renovated into a little hideaway. Someplace where my special guests can have some privacy.”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Lyssa breathed. “But I don’t want you to worry about me. I promise to put on a brave face for your guests. I won’t spoil their vacation with my melancholy.”
Tori only smiled. “I know you won’t.”
Just then the evocative sound of a rich, deep timbre made both of them go completely still.
“What on earth…” Tori went to the front window and peered out into the darkness.
That voice was all too familiar to Lyssa. It was the same song she’d heard before. She couldn’t understand the words, but she knew who was doing the singing. Her heart pounded like a hammer against her ribs, and where just a moment ago she felt chilled to the marrow, she now felt flushed with a mingling of curiosity and panic.
She’d thought she was finished with trying to cope with the man she’d grown to love. The man she couldn’t have. Not to mention his all-too-thorough knowledge of her shameful past.
Tori bustled from the windows flanking the front of the house to the ones facing the back. She turned rounded eyes onto Lyssa.
“It’s Dakota,” she whispered.
But Lyssa hadn’t needed that information.
Spying between the curtain seams at the scene unfolding out in the backyard, Tori said, “And it looks as if he’s… well, I can’t really say for certain, but it seems that he’s… praying.”
This time when Tori directed her gaze at Lyssa, the woman’s eyebrows were knitted with puzzlement.
“Why would he…?” The remainder of Tori’s question was left unasked as something akin to enlightenment glittered in her eyes. A small smile played around the corners of her mouth.
“I’m going to bed,” she announced suddenly to Lyssa. “I have a strong feeling you’re going to need a little privacy. But before I go—” she retrieved a thick wool cardigan that had been hanging in the closet “—I want you to take this outside with you when you go. It’s chilly out there.”
“I’m not going out there.” Lyssa heard the stress in her voice.
Tori didn’t argue, she simply draped the sweater over the back of nearby chair.
Dakota’s singing continued and Lyssa’s panic flared into alarm. The chanting was a clear invitation. But she wasn’t going out there.
While her mind engaged in the taciturn debate, Tori had slipped out of the room, leaving Lyssa all too aware that she really was ultimately on her own. Her feet felt heavy with dread as she set down her mug of tea, picked up the cozy sweater, and made her way to the French doors that led out to the deck.
His words sure sounded a lot like the prayers he’d sung when he’d made atonements for having judged his mother so harshly. Only this song had a distinctively joyous ring to it.
The man was probably thanking his lucky stars he was rid of her!
But why perform his ceremony here? Why prolong the agony of their parting any further? Well, she’d never discover the answers standing here inside the house when he was out there on the lawn.
Light from the living room shafted into the darkness, casting her long shadow across the wooden deck and onto the grass where Dakota sat cross-legged, his arms extended to the heavens, his long blue-black hair spilling down his back, across his shoulders.
A strange heated chill coursed over her. He was so beautiful. So utterly beautiful.
She realized that, although he was once again speaking in his native language, whatever ritual he was enveloped in—whatever ceremony had him swathed in that amazing and mysterious aura of spiritual grace—was slightly different from the prayer song she’d witnessed before. For one, there was no fire. And secondly, he was fully clothed—the memory of seeing his corded bare chest glowing bronze in the firelight flashed in her mind and caused a heated desire to bud to life deep inside her. The agony of wanting what she couldn’t have had a powerful regret soughing through her anew.
Suffering with this oh-too-pleasant pain would be the bane of her existence. For all eternity.
She stepped out onto the deck, closed the door behind her and went to stand at the railing. The Algonquian words Dakota sang were lush and harmonious. His song was calming. Curing.
The man was a true healer. In every sense of the word.
Silently, she slipped her arms into the sweater, tucking it securely around her, and then settled in to listen.
Too quickly, it seemed, Dakota fell silent, his arms lowering to his sides. But his eyes remained closed, his chin tipped high, his torso expanding as he took a deep breath. Lyssa got the distinct impression that he was reluctant to depart from this mystical haze that spiraled and swirled like glowing forest wraiths dancing around him on the night air.
Finally, he leveled his head—and his gaze zeroed in on her. She reached out and curled her fingers over the smooth railing for support. He rose to a stand in one fluid motion, emphasizing the force in his jean-clad muscular thighs. Like a hawk homing in on prey, Dakota trekked toward her.
Helplessly, she found herself admitting, “That was beautiful.”
“It was a demonstration of thanksgiving.”
Ah, so he was thanking his lucky stars he was rid—
“I was praising The Great One for bringing the woman of my heart into my life,” he said, pausing at the bottom step.
She stood there, breathless, silent.
“I was also sending up prayers of gratitude that I was able to find you before you left Misty Glen altogether.”
> He reached his hand out to her, palm up.
Lyssa stared at his tawny fingertips, fear gripping her. She shook her head, whispering, “I can’t. I just can’t.”
“Trust me, Lyssa.” His jaw tightened, his hand lowered as he admitted, “A very wise man told me this isn’t about me. You see, I nearly got lost in feeling hurt by the fact that you don’t seem to have much confidence in me. Even after all that we’d been through together.” He paused. “But Grandfather helped me to realize it’s not me you distrust. It’s your experiences. You’ve suffered through a lot, Lyssa. And the manner in which you’ve been treated in the past has you feeling doubtful and suspicious.”
He moistened his lips, and Lyssa’s gaze riveted on the path of his tongue.
“What I’m asking of you now,” he continued, “is to put aside all your negative feelings. To judge me only on what you’ve experienced—since we met.” Again, he reached out his hand to her. “If you don’t,” he added, his tone brimming with earnest emotion, “I fear we’re going to be missing out on something spectacular. Something that was meant to be.”
Her thoughts and feelings ran riot. Her insides trembled with trepidation. Tainted by a past so ugly she’d strived desperately to keep it hidden from everyone around her, Lyssa felt terrified that Dakota hadn’t thought of all the ramifications involved in his offering to—
Heck, she didn’t even know what it was he was offering!
Something that was meant to be. His words echoed through her mind.
She looked at this man whose face was so striking it could steal her breath away, and she couldn’t help but thank the good Lord above that he wanted anything at all to do with her after learning about her past.
Whatever it was he was seeking… whatever he was offering, Lyssa felt that the “spectacular something” he’d mentioned was well worth the risk he was asking her to take.
Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her hand and slid her fingers into his warm palm. He gripped hers firmly, and Lyssa found it freeing. And secure.
His smile was so bright, she was surprised that it didn’t light up the night.
He led her down the stairs, and the two of them turned to face the mountains. The thick forest was majestic, a formidable presence against the backdrop of the starry sky. Moonlight dusted the scene with a radiant glow.
Dakota guided her along and she didn’t give a single thought about where he might be leading her. She’d have followed him anywhere.
However, no amount of sanctuary could have curbed the anxiety from tumbling off her tongue. “I’m afraid. I’m fighting the urge to run. I-I’m afraid you’re going to be sorry that you—”
“Shh,” he hushed her. “The time for running has been over ever since you arrived here. One thing you can be sure of, Lyssa. I’ll never be sorry for anything we’ve had.”
He led her into a tiny garden area, urged her to sit on the bench.
“I have something I want to tell you,” he said. He eased himself down beside her. “It’s important that you know why I’ll never be sorry… That I’ll be forever grateful. To you.”
Lyssa allowed the confusion she felt to express itself on her face. Softly, she asked, “How could you feel grateful toward me, Dakota? All I’ve done is bring one big fat mess after another for you to deal with.”
“Oh, no,” he disagreed. “You helped, Lyssa. In a way no one else could. I’m talking about the fact that you urged me to find out the truth about my past. About my mother. About my biological father.”
He hadn’t told her much about his discovery, but she did understand he’d found some solace. That the answers he’d received had given him some peace.
“You see,” he continued, “the fact that neither of us knew our biological fathers was a commonality between us.” He frowned. “But the only offense your father made was that he paid for sex.” He paused long enough to sigh. He looked into her face, his gaze penetrating. “Mine was a rapist.”
Lyssa felt the color drain from her face. Reaching up, she placed gentle fingers on his cheek.
“Oh, Dakota, I’m so sorry. Your poor mother.” She swallowed, looked away, let her hand fall to her lap, and then lifted her eyes to his. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
He told her all that he had discovered, and she was amazed that he didn’t seem more distraught.
“So you see,” he continued, “you and I have much to commiserate about if we choose to do so.” He smiled. “But I hope we won’t.”
He reached up and smoothed the backs of his fingers down the curve of her jaw. “My first reaction,” he said, “was wanting to curl up in a ball and just… fade away. But my grandfather, wise man that he is, helped me to put it all into perspective.” He paused to take a deep breath.
“I am not—” he stopped suddenly and corrected “—you and I are not defined by the circumstances of our births. And I firmly believe, Lyssa, that Kit-tan-it-to’wet, The Great Holy One, brought us together because no one could teach us that lesson better than each other. Don’t you think?”
It was a rhetorical question.
His tone was feather soft as he declared, “We were meant to be. To face the past, the present, and the future. Together.”
Her heart soared with hope. She was so tired. Running from the secret of her past had been exhausting. Fleeing the disaster she’d made of her life had left her feeling drained. But sitting here in the moonlight with the love of her life, she suddenly had the stamina of a marathon athlete, ready to sprint toward her future. A future with Dakota.
“I love you, Lyssa. You’re not just the woman of my heart. You’re the woman of my soul. I’ve been stubborn about the lesson, but I’ve finally learned that I would be incomplete without you.”
The tremulous emotions raging within her were overwhelming. Overpowering. Desire smoldered like glowing embers in the deepest part of her being.
Dakota slid his hand over her belly in a most intimate fashion. “I want us to raise your baby—our baby— just as I was raised by my father, Will Makwa. I want to love this child as I was loved. Wholly. Unreservedly.”
His unconditional acceptance of her and her baby had an awesome impact on her. Tears welled and spilled with each blink.
“Oh, Dakota,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”
The trust she’d held prisoner for so very long finally broke free. Dakota knew all her secrets, and still he loved her. Her heart, her very soul, opened to him like the petals of a delicate flower.
She fell into his arms, ready to race toward all their tomorrows.
Epilogue
February roared over the mountainous Vermont landscape like a lion. Two days of icy snow and wind had everyone feeling blue about being trapped indoors for days at a time… everyone, that was, but Lyssa.
She’d relished the lazy afternoons spent reclining by the fire with her husband. She’d never been happier in her life. Yes, the end of her pregnancy was approaching and the baby was growing to the extent that she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Still, she met every day with a contented smile.
The rich scent of beef and vegetables filled the kitchen. A loaf of freshly baked bread sat cooling on the counter. Lyssa stirred the stew and then went to set the table. Dakota should be home any minute.
A series of storms had dumped nearly a foot of snow on Misty Glen Reservation and the surrounding area. Cell phone reception all over the rez had been spotty most of the day, and Dakota had gone over to check on his grandfather. He and Mat were planning on shoveling the snow so that Grayson could more easily get to and from his home.
Lyssa had taken advantage of this time alone to prepare Dakota a nice, stick-to-your-bones meal. They would eat together, share a little conversation, then… they’d enjoy dessert in bed.
She grinned, her face flaming as desire coursed throughout her swollen body. Most women spent the final stages of pregnancy feeling fat and ugly, but thanks to Dakota’s effusive affection, Lyssa felt beautiful, glowing, and
happy. She couldn’t help but think she was the luckiest woman in the whole world.
The first pain seemed to come out of nowhere, knifing across her stomach and her lower back at the same time. The magnitude of it was such that she dropped the bowls she’d been carrying to the table. The ceramic dishes smashed to the floor, shattering into several chunky pieces.
Gulping in a lungful of air, she realized that the contraction had hit her so hard that she hadn’t even thought to utter the groan that had gathered in the back of her throat.
She clutched the chair back until the wave passed. Then she waited, frightened and shaking. Never had it entered her mind that bringing her child into the world would bring so much pain that it couldn’t be tolerated. Women gave birth every day and survived the experience just fine. But the enormity of that surprising contraction had packed such a wallop that doubt filled her thoughts with clouds. Ominous ones.
The pain faded. Seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. And when the first spasm wasn’t followed by a second, Lyssa heaved a sigh of relief.
“False labor,” she whispered to herself, gently rubbing her round belly for good measure.
She looked down at the clutter of broken stoneware and grimaced. Just as she bent to pick up the pieces, she was hit with another monstrous contraction. This one brought her to her knees.
The moan she emitted sounded so traumatic to her own ears that her fear escalated. Suddenly dizzy, she sank onto her bottom, panting as she was hit with concentric surges of gripping pangs. Moisture slowly spread into a puddle around her on the tile floor and her eyes widened. Her water had broken. There was nothing false about this labor. The baby was coming.
Soon.
The next forty odd minutes that passed seemed like hours. All Lyssa knew was that she had to hang on. She tried desperately not to pass out from the agony of what nature was doing to her body… and she prayed for Dakota to arrive.
And he did.
Almost as if he knew she was in need of him, he pushed his way through the front door, tapped the snow off his boots, and called her name. She frantically shouted for him and he was at her side in an instant.
