The Doctor's Medicine Woman

by Donna Clayton

  “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.
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  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.”

  “Wow,” he breathed. “You’re kidding.”

  She shook her head.

  A chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest, and helplessly, Diana found her gaze dipping to his shirt-front all on its own. Oh, how she would have loved to press the palm of her hand there, to feel the vibration of his laughter.

  The sudden, out-of-the-blue urge made her breath catch in her throat and she gave a little choked cough. To cover the heat flooding her face, she lifted her glass and took a sip of wine.

  “That custom sure would simplify things,” he said. “And divorce rates would be through the roof.”

  “The casualness of Indian divorce did shock the Christian missionaries.” The outside of the crystal glass felt cool against the heat of her fingertips. “But try to understand, early Kolheek marriages were not expected to be love matches. A young woman’s mate was usually chosen by her family. It was a social contract made for economic reasons. A young woman might be married off to an older man to ensure her well-being.”

  From the intensity of his black gaze, he was completely engrossed.

  “There is one tale of a young woman,” she continued, “who was being pressured to marry a man who had done her father a great favor. Knowing that her daughter didn’t want the union, the girl’s mother consoled her by telling her that when she was older and knew better, she could marry whomever she pleased.”

  Travis was silent a moment, then he said, “See there. Even my own ancestors didn’t believe in lifelong relationships.”

  “Oh, yes, they did,” she rushed to say. Then she actually winced as she remembered the story she’d just related. “Early marriages were a sort of…test. You know, for…experience. And sometimes merely for survival.”

  After a moment, she said, “You see, in great Kolheek tradition, young girls are taught that for every woman there is a man. One man. A great warrior who will love her. Protect her. Care for her. Provide for her. Each girl is determined to find her great warrior. Her soul mate.”

  This time, his laughter had a bitter edge. “That sounds a lot like the stories of white knights and damsels in distress. I guess every society has their fairy tales. Their cruel jokes and tall tales that set their children up for failure.”

  Driven by the overwhelming need to disagree, she said, “Oh, but the idea of having a soul mate isn’t a cruel joke. And it isn’t a fairy tale, either.”

  Diana was surprised by the vehemence with which she had spoken. She hadn’t really realized the depth of her conviction about this belief until that very moment.

  His dark eyebrows shot high. “So, you’re looking for your great warrior, are you?”

  Quietly she admitted, “I thought I had found him.”

  The words had slipped from her lips without thought. It was ironic that her goal had been to make him talk about his past, yet here she was on the verge of divulging more about herself than she ever meant to.

  “You were married?”

  Diana didn’t see any harm in answering his question. It was the reason behind her divorce that she didn’t want him—or anyone else for that matter—to discover.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Softly, he guessed, “But you’re not now?”

  “No. I’m not now.”

  He waved to the barkeep for another drink. When the young man came to refill his glass, Travis pointed to her wine. “More?”

  “No, thanks,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  Leaning his weight on one elbow against the bar, Travis said, “I have to admit, I’m surprised. Most people who have been married and divorced exhibit a little more…angry negativity. Toward marriage, I mean. Divorced people are usually more angry. Blaming. Both my parents sure are. And my brother. What I’m wondering is why you’re not.”

  Diana hesitated before speaking. He was exploring her past. Well, she’d take one more step toward making him understand, then she’d refuse to go any further.

  “It’s hard to blame my ex,” she told him, “when I know that I’m the reason the marriage failed.”

  Okay, she silently told herself, she’d revealed far more than she’d expected to; however, she couldn’t help but believe that it was necessary if she wanted him to confide in her the events surrounding his own experiences.

  Her statement made him more curious than ever, she could tell, but before he could ask her any more about her past, she said, “You admitted your surprise over my optimism. Now, I have to admit something. When I brought up the subject of Kolheek divorce customs, I was hoping to get you to tell me why you’re so…well, why you’re so adamantly against relationships.”

  It was clear that the directional change in the conversation made him uncomfortable.

  “I told you,” he said, at last, “my parents went through a terrible divorce. My mother was angry. She’s still angry. My father was shattered. And then my brother’s marriage broke up. He was devastated by his wife’s greed. It sure doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that…love stinks.”

  Again, the depth of his bitterness shocked her.

  “Maybe.” She sipped her wine. There was more. She knew it. Was certain, right down to the marrow of her bones. “But—” her voice grew hushed as she speared him with her gaze “—what I want to know is, how and when were you hurt by love?”

  Clearly she’d stunned him with her question.

  He murmured, “Did your training as a Medicine Woman include Mind Reading 101?”

  Diana knew he wasn’t looking for a response. He was simply biding time. Gathering the shards of his wits that her question had evidently shattered like delicate glass.

  He studied her. Hard. And she identified several different emotions as they crossed his expression. The first was resistance. Opposition. Like a stubborn mule, he clearly considered digging in his heels. He didn’t want to reveal what he’d gone through.

  Well, seeing that she was hiding a secret herself, she could certainly understand. But if she were to help him let go of his anger, she needed to know what was going on in his head.

  Then she saw a spark of irritation. This, she knew, was a simple defense mechanism, and as she expected, it quickly passed.

  Finally his dark eyes softened with surrender.

  “Okay,” he said, “so I’ve lost at love. I wasn’t the first, and I sure won’t be the last. But I pity the fools who still play the game. All they’re doing is setting themselves up for heartache. And I want no part of it.”

  “Travis, can’t you hear how sad that sounds?”

  “Maybe so. But that’s the way it is.”

  She felt as if she were fighting a losing battle, and as is the habit of any underdog, she began grasping at straws.

  “If you experienced the downside of love,” she rushed to say, “then you must have encountered the upside.”

  “Not very much
of it.” He lifted his glass to his lips, swallowed. “And I’ve come to the conclusion that whatever upside I encountered was…all in my own imagination.”

  Diana expressed silent bewilderment, desperately hoping he’d elaborate.

  He sighed. “I fell in love. I thought Tara loved me, too. But when I asked her to marry me, she laughed. Harshly. Right in my face. And then she proceeded to, ah, um…”

  His words caught, then trailed as he swallowed. This was clearly difficult for him. After gulping in a breath, he continued, “She proceeded to divulge the names of several other medical students she’d been dating—sleeping with, actually—while she was seeing me.”

  “Oh, Travis. I’m sorry.” She uttered the words in a horrified whisper. “That was cruel.”

  How awful for him. No wonder he harbored such anger in his soul.

  “Well, you must have someone in your life who is a role model for healthy relationships.” She looked up toward the front of the room where the bride and groom sat at the head table, laughing with guests. “There’s Jane and Greg.”

  “And I’ve already told you exactly where I think they’re headed.”

  His tenacity was frustrating.

  “What about the relationship Greg had with his daughter’s mother. Surely they must have had some good times—”

  “Joy was the product of a one-night stand. Pricilla was, and still is, an angry woman who wanted nothing but to abandon her child. Greg agreed to raise Joy.”

  Diana’s shoulders sagged. Then she decided to grasp at one more straw.

  “What about Sloan?” she asked. “You said he’s a widower. He and his wife…did they share a happy union?”

  Something—humor or disgust, Diana couldn’t tell which—tugged at one corner of Travis’s mouth.

  “Only if guilt, condemnation and self-reproach are healthy ingredients to what you call a happy union.”

  Unwittingly she found herself glancing over to where Sloan stood talking to his three daughters.

  “Guilt and…?” She let the rest of her whispery question trail as confusion and curiosity churned in her brain.

  When she gazed into Travis’s face, he was shaking his head.