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Cobblestone Press
www.cobblestone-press.com
Copyright ©2007 by Shonna Brannon
First published in 2007
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Author's Bio
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Falcon Hunter
Copyright© 2007 Shonna Brannon
ISBN: 978-1-60088-156-5
Cover Artist: Melissa Findley
Editor: Melissa Darnell
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Cobblestone Press, LLC
www.cobblestone-press.com
Dedication
I dedicate this book to my daughter, Cheyenne Rose. She was born the day after I learned this book was bought. I also want to dedicate it to my son, Schuyler, and my other two daughters, Ariana and Alinna. If not for their patience with me, this book would've never been completed.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter One
The midmorning sun beat down on Christina Rainwater's back. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she grimaced as it trickled down her nose to plop in the soil of her herb garden. Dirt smudged her hands; her fingernails were caked with it. She swiped the sweat from her brow before it dripped into her eyes, scraping grit across her skin as she smudged her forehead with damp soil.
"Damn weeds,” she mumbled. “I'll teach you to try and take over my garden.” She yanked another bundle of clover from the bed and tossed it on top of the ever-growing pile in the bucket beside her.
A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Turning her head to get a better view, her gaze fell on the stunning falcon perched on her birdbath. The wind ruffled his feathers, and he blinked, focusing his gaze on her. His loud screech split the quiet afternoon air, making her jump. It was as though he were acknowledging her.
She assumed it was a male. She'd never seen him mating or watching over a nest. He only seemed to watch over her.
"Well, hello to you, too.” Shaking her long hair out of her eyes, she studied the bird. If she hadn't known better, she'd think he was laughing at her. “What are you up to today? Do you like watching me work?” Christina turned back to her gardening. Every day since she'd turned sixteen—nine years ago—he'd visited her birdbath and watched her tend the garden.
She glanced over her shoulder at him to see another gentle breeze ruffle the bird's downy feathers. He cawed, as if in response to her question. He sat majestically on his throne, as though the world was his court. Head cocked, he looked her over. If he'd been a human, she'd think he was flirting with her. Shaking her head at the thought, she turned back to her plants.
An hour later, tired from her labors, Christina sat back and admired her work. “Finally done.” Sighing, she glanced back over at the falcon. His gaze never wavered as he stared at her.
"Looks good, doesn't it?” She couldn't believe she was talking to a bird. If her neighbors saw her, they'd probably think she'd gone crazy. Then again, she'd been doing it for so many years they most likely already thought that. Shaking her head, she picked up the bucket of weeds and dumped them in the garbage. “You sure are an unusual bird.” Watching him, curiosity won over caution.
Their gazes locked, and a tingle of familiarity tugged at her, making her heart race so fast she thought it might jump out of her chest. Why did she feel as though she'd just made love all night long? “What is it about you?"
What was it about him that made her feel as though she already knew him? She couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew him ... somehow. She was sure of it.
For as long as she could remember, he'd allowed her to touch him. After he'd been hanging around her for about four months, she'd tried to touch him for the first time. She'd never been so shocked in her life than when he'd sat quietly and allowed her petting.
She walked over to him and slowly lifted her hand, running her finger along the jagged white marks on his right wing. Soft feathers tickled her fingertip. They weren't the same color as his other feathers and almost looked like a scar. The falcon sat still, gazing at her with interest. An ageless wisdom reflected in his golden brown eyes.
"Why aren't you afraid of me?” Whenever she approached him, he never backed down or flew off. Any other bird would never let her near. Why was he different?
A shrill ringing rent the air, breaking the spell the bird seemed to hold over her. Christina sighed. “Duty calls.” She took one last look at the majestic bird as she headed toward her house, pulling her cell phone from her pocket and answering it on the way.
Falcon Hunter watched Christina go inside. No matter how many times he saw her, he still marveled at the uncanny resemblance she bore to his long-dead wife. They could almost be twins if not for Christina's burnished red hair and lighter skin tone.
What he wouldn't give to tell her the truth. But he'd learned his lesson when he'd tried that the last time she'd been reincarnated. The woman he'd loved for seven lifetimes had laughed in his face. His heart had broken when she'd rejected him that way. He didn't think he could take another rejection from his beloved, no matter how much he wanted to be human and feel her love again.
I wonder if she'd laugh if she knew she was the reincarnation of my precious Running Doe.
Hopping from his perch, he took flight and soared high above the trees, over the hills, and into the mountains where what was left of his people resided, their tiny homes woven from flexible twigs and cane, barely big enough to hold their families. No matter what they had to do to survive, his people retained their heritage and pride.
Gliding down, Hunter came to rest on an old stump in the middle of the reservation. Children raced around, chasing each other, enjoying being young. Their laughter filled the village with a little joy. A few adults gathered in the vegetable garden, tending to the plants there. His people, once a rich tribe in every way, were now poor.
When he'd been a child, no one had gone to bed hungry. Gardens were bountiful, and there'd always been more than enough food. Now, looking at the sad garden before him, pain for his people burned through him.
It saddened his heart that they lived like this. How could the government have reduced them to this? Forcing them to live on reservations had almost been the death of them. It had nearly killed him to watch all the nations of Native Americans being marched on the Trail of Tears. He wished there were some way he could bring greatness back to his tribe, especially the children. They deserved to grow up the way he had, among a proud and rich people, not a struggling nation.
Christina drove up twe
nty minutes later in her Jeep, grabbed her pouch, and raced to one of the homes on the far side of the village. Who could be sick? From a very young age, Christina had shown a talent for healing. Knowing the woman he loved was vital to their people's existence filled Hunter with pride. Her father had once been the tribe's healer, until he'd died from a fall. What she knew about healing, she'd learned from her father and grandmother.
Whenever someone was sick or about to give birth, they called on her, although they did so reluctantly. His people still weren't ready to accept a female healer, much less a half-breed female. Some would rather die than let her take care of them. Those who did allow her to treat them gave her small baskets of food or gifts they made with their own hands as payment.
Falcon jumped from his perch and flew to the windowsill of the house Christina had entered. Glancing inside, he saw an elderly man lying on a small bed, his skin beaded with sweat. Fever racked his body. Barely moving, the man was in no shape to refuse treatment.
Handing the small, herb-filled bag to the elderly Indian woman hovering by the man's bed, Christina mouthed something to her. Her muffled instructions on how to prepare the medicine came through the window. The woman wrung her hands as she listened to what Christina said, then hobbled from the room only to come back a short time later with a bowl of water and a cup of steaming liquid. Christina instructed the woman to help her raise the man so he could drink without choking.
The fevered man attempted to push Christina away, his weak efforts pointless. “I ain't gonna be treated by no damn half-breed woman.” Pain darkened Christina's eyes. Every time she came out to treat someone, she dealt with the same prejudice. He hated that she had to go through any of the ridicule. Why couldn't they accept her for what she was?
Many of the people didn't think she truly was a gifted healer. Some didn't believe she deserved to have the gift.
After the man had tossed his head and clamped his mouth shut like a spoiled child, he finally realized she wasn't going to give up. That was one of the many things Hunter loved about her. The way she cared for her people ... his people ... without giving up and giving in to the bias against her.
Relief flooded through him as the elderly man finally gave in and took what Christina offered. A grimace pinched his face as the first sip slid down. Once he'd drunk the entire mug, she placed a damp cloth on his forehead. She gave the woman some last instructions, making sure she understood everything, then left the house.
Falcon Hunter flew around the house in time to see the children rush at her and flank her sides, each begging for her undivided attention. Although she had to struggle to be accepted by the adults of the tribe, the children always saw her for what she truly was. A wonderful woman, healer, and friend. The kind of woman he knew he would love forever.
Shaking his head to rid himself of the painful thoughts that he'd never be with her again, he watched as the chief's son shared in the joy of her presence. For a moment, the pain of almost being rejected disappeared from her eyes. Christina patiently spoke with each child while her smile brightened the dreariness of the place they called home.
Reaching into her pocket, Christina pulled out some hard candy and handed one to each child. She never came without bringing the children some sort of treat. The kids, giddy from getting her gift, ran back the way they'd come. Christina looked after them with a wistful smile before getting into her Jeep and driving away.
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Christina couldn't get her falcon out of her mind. Although she'd tried to ignore it, the fact that he'd been perched outside the window at Running Wind's house hadn't gone unnoticed. No matter how many times she saw him hanging around, it still warmed her heart to know he'd taken up with her for some reason.
For years, she'd wondered why he'd stuck around, but if he left now, she'd be lost without him. Just thinking about him being gone for good started an ache in her heart that radiated through her body. She'd gotten used to having him around her all the time. She didn't want to lose him now. He'd become her constant companion, her best friend. Other than her grandmother, father, and mother, he'd been the only one to accept her for who she was and not see her as a mere half-breed.
She pulled her Jeep to a stop in front of Spring Rain's Herb Shop, her grandmother's establishment. The bell over the door tinkled, signaling her arrival and bringing back a flood of memories. Memories of a less stressful time in her life. The aroma of various herbs assaulted her senses, giving her a sense of peace, bringing her home ... back to her childhood. To a place where her race and the fact that she was a female didn't matter. Her grandmother smiled a warm welcome, letting her know she'd join her as soon as she finished with her customer.
Christina looked around the shop. The warmth of the walls’ desert red-orange color infused her, giving her energy, but at the same time giving her a sense of coziness in her surroundings. It made her want to find a corner and curl up with a good book, or maybe a warm man. Bookcases filled with books on the healing effects of herbs lined the walls. Lavender incense burned on a silk-covered table beside the front display window. The smell of it brought her peace.
The memories of spending hours in the back room, pouring over every herb book, flooded her soul. She'd begged her father every chance she got to go with him to treat the sick at the reservation. Eventually he'd given in and allowed her to accompany him. She smiled as she thought about how annoying she'd become in her begging. But he'd never lost his patience with her. He'd only smiled at her antics and patted her on the head. Those trips had given her hands-on experience she'd found invaluable over the years. One of the main reasons she was able to do what she did now, despite how her people regarded her.
Her sentimentality toward the place was the main reason she'd decided to invest money in her grandmother's store. It had needed rebuilding after a tornado two years ago. Remembering that day ripped at Christina's heart. It had been like the one place ... the one thing ... she'd come to count on had been taken away from her. Helping her grandmother to rebuild had helped heal the hole that the tornado had left behind. The investment also allowed her to help her people without worrying about how the bills would get paid.
The bell above the door jingled, signaling the customer's departure. The hair on Christina's nape rose, and a tingling sensation raced down her spine. She knew her grandmother stood behind her before Spring Rain placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Hi, Nana.” Christina reached up and patted the elderly hand. Turning around, she embraced the older woman. “How are you today?"
Spring Rain was a beautiful woman, even in her advanced age. Her long silver hair was held together in a single braid that hung past her waist. Due to her daily hike through the mountains, she still had her youthful figure. It didn't surprise Christina when men would glance in interest at her Nana. Even younger men. Yet, in all her twenty-five years, she'd never once seen Spring Rain show any interest in a man. Not since her grandfather, Eagle Talon, died. It saddened her that her grandmother was spending her life alone, but she knew her grandparents were soul mates and there was no one else for her.
"I'm fine, dear. What brings you here today?” Spring Rain moved to sit behind the counter, reached to the table beside her, and picked up her knitting, continuing her tiny stitches where she'd left off.
"I used the last of my sumac this morning at the..."
Spring Rain stopped knitting, worry lines etching her face. “Who's sick?"
"Running Buffalo has a high fever. I think he's caught the viral infection that's been going around. The kids probably brought it back to the reservation from school.” Christina patted her grandmother's shoulder with a comforting hand. “He'll be okay, Nana. I left him in the hands of his wife, with instructions to call me if he gets any worse."
Spring Rain took a deep breath and nodded. She'd never doubted Christina's abilities. Her grandmother's never-ending faith kept Christina going when things got rough. Pointing to the third shelf from the top, Spring Rain said, “There sho
uld be some sumac behind the jars of catnip. How did it go at the reservation?"
"Same as it always does.” The sadness she'd managed to leave behind at the reservation darkened her heart again. “He fought my treatment at first, but when he saw I wasn't going anywhere, he gave in and took it."
"I'm sorry, u-s-ti sa-wu.” Spring Rain shook her head. “I wish the tribe could see past the fact that you're half white and a woman to the healing heart within. Maybe it will get better soon."
Christina sighed. “I hope so.” Moving to the shelf, she pushed aside a jar of catnip and pulled out the herb she needed. “Thanks, Nana. What do I owe you for the sumac?” She pulled out a few bills from the pocket of her jeans.
Her grandmother waved her hand at her. “Go on, girl. You don't owe me anything."
"I came prepared to pay. I'm just like any other customer who comes in here. So how much?” She searched the package for a price but couldn't find one.
"I don't want your money, Christina. By providing you with the supplies you need, I'm giving back to my people. If it helps them, then I don't want your money.” Spring Rain sat back with her knitting, in her own way dismissing Christina. “Besides, if it weren't for your help after that tornado, I wouldn't have a shop to run. And you do enough chores around here that I should be paying you..."
Christina grinned. They'd had this same argument many times. “And I refuse to let you pay me, so I guess we're even. Speaking of chores, I have some time, so where's the paint? I want to finish up that last stretch of soffet and fascia along the left side of the store."
Spring Rain laughed. “By the back door. Ladder's in the storage room. Be careful."
"I will, Nana.” Christina pushed open the door, welcoming the warmth of the sunlight on her face.
Children played in the park across the street, their laughter dancing across the road to Christina. She couldn't help but smile. There was nothing like the sound of a child's laugh to bring a light to even the darkest heart. Gathering the supplies, Christina went to work on painting the storefront. She leaned the ladder against the wall and, as she ascended, the falcon circled overhead. He seemed to caw a greeting to her, watching her again.
Falcon Hunter Page 1
