The Doctor's Medicine Woman

by Donna Clayton

  “Those relationships were good examples,” he continued, “of what love isn’t.” He chuckled softly. “I guess we’re a little thick. It took us both a while to learn.”

  She wished she could join in with his laughter. But the pressure of knowing what she would need to do was weighing heavy on her shoulders.

  “Actually,” he said, “I probably wouldn’t have learned at all, if you hadn’t been here to teach me.”

  Did he have to be such a remarkable man? Did he have to be so kind and generous? How was she ever going to turn him away?

  The task would be easy, she suddenly decided. All she had to do was think of the humiliation she’d suffer if she didn’t. All she had to do was imagine the disappointment she’d eventually see in his eyes if she did anything other than renounce his idea that they were meant to be together. That they were soul mates.

  Soul mates.

  The phrase rustled through her mind like a warm, gentle breeze through silky hair.

  The mere idea that she’d found her great warrior would have to be enough for her. For living without him would be the only way for her to save face. She could live the rest of her life in peace, content in the thought that Providence had not completely shunned her.

  “Diana.”

  As he spoke her name, he reached out and touched her knee with an intimacy that clipped her breath to the quick. If she didn’t get away from him, away from his dangerous touch, surely she’d suffocate.

  “No, Travis.” She brushed his fingers from her, stood and walked to the window. “It cannot be. What you’re looking for from me, I’m not able give.”

  She reached out and drew back the sheer curtains and gazed out at the back lawn where she’d enjoyed hours of play with the twins. She’d made wonderful memories here. Memories that would have to sustain her for the rest of her life.

  “I don’t know why you’re saying this,” he said.

  Diana kept her eyes on the view of the yard and the trees beyond.

  “But I suspect it has something to do with your failed marriage. I think you’re suffering from some kind of residue left over from the hurt you received at the hands of your idiot ex-husband.”

  She sensed that he shifted his position in the chair.

  “Whatever it is, Diana,” he implored, “we can work it out.”

  Shaking her head, not taking her eyes off the horizon, she said, “No. This can’t be worked out.”

  Before she even realized it, he was behind her. His hands on her shoulders were like fire that blazed straight through the fabric of her blouse to blister her skin. However, rather than feeling the need to escape the heat of him, she longed to lean back, to be consumed in the flames they sparked.

  “What I don’t understand—” his mouth was close to her temple, the rich sound of his voice resonating in her ear “—is how you can blame yourself for the failure of your marriage.”

  The warm scent of him wafted all around her, enfolding, enveloping.

  “This man you married.” Derision was thick in his tone as he spoke the noun. “If his love for you wasn’t pure, as you’ve indicated it wasn’t, then the fault of the relationship’s failure lays on his shoulders. Not yours. I don’t understand how you can think otherwise.”

  She sighed. “It’s not as simple as that, Travis. Such things rarely are.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  Using gentle but firm pressure, he turned her to face him, and panic made her heart flutter, her stomach knot.

  “Help me to understand.”

  The pleading in his eyes wrenched her heart.

  “We deserve to be together,” he said. “I can feel it in my bones. I think you feel it, too. I know you do. We both have. From the very beginning. Tell me what happened to you. Tell me why you won’t…”

  His frustration was obvious. And as she looked into his handsome face, into his kind eyes, she knew she had to tell him. He deserved the truth. He’d grown so over these past weeks. Rebuffing him with no explanation simply wasn’t fair, or noble, or just. She knew she had to do right by him.

  Standing where she was, between him and the window casing, she felt too hemmed in to talk comfortably about this most uncomfortable subject. So she slipped away from him and went to stand near the dresser a few feet away.

  “I won’t say that Eric’s behavior didn’t hurt me,” she began. “But our marriage was falling apart long before the novelty he felt in having an Indian for a wife began to wear off.” She stopped long enough to take a slow, nerve-steeling inhalation. “And the divorce really was my fault.” A shadowy smile played across her lips. “Although I do appreciate your trying to make me believe something different.”

  She laced her fingers at waist level, then unlaced them. “You see, I…I have a problem. I don’t enjoy…” Heated embarrassment flooded her face. “I don’t respond t-to normal…”

  Surprisingly, hot tears welled up in her eyes and her chin trembled with deep emotion. She didn’t want to say this. She didn’t.

  But he wouldn’t understand if she couldn’t force the words from her throat.

  Her gaze dropped unwittingly to his burgundy dress shoes and she barked out a harsh and humorless laugh. “As Eric so enjoyed telling me—I’m frigid. I can’t respond to a man the way a woman should.” She forced herself to raise her eyes to his. “I have…sexual inhibitions.”

  He looked shocked. Completely taken off guard. As though she punched him right in the gut when he wasn’t looking.

  Finally he said, “Diana, I—”

  “No.” She cut him off by spinning in a half circle, embarrassment cocking her head, hunching her shoulders. “I don’t want to talk about it, Travis. It’s…it’s utterly humiliating for me. You have to see that.” Her breath was ragged, but she managed to continue. “I only wanted you to understand. You deserve that much.”

  Movement on the periphery of her vision had her darting a glance at the mirror she now faced, and she realized she could still view him from where she stood.

  He stared off at a far corner of the room, his handsome face portraying nothing less than unadulterated astonishment. The emotion bit deep into his brow, paled his skin, tightened his jaw. The incredulity he felt seemed of such magnitude that it led him, silent, down the only path available to him.

  Shaking his head, he walked out of the room. Only then did Diana allow her pent-up tears to flow.

  Travis sat at his desk, staring with unseeing eyes at the files in front of him. He couldn’t believe what Diana had told him. He couldn’t fathom that she thought she was sexually inhibited. He’d kissed the woman. He’d touched her. He’d held her in his arms. Passion had fairly simmered in her. He’d felt it.

  The knock on his door was enough to startle him from his deep and troubled thoughts.

  “Hey, pal,” Sloan called to him, pushing his way into the office.

  Acknowledging his friend with a nod of greeting, Travis said, “Come on in. Is everything okay?”

  “I came in here to ask you that.” Sloan pointed over his shoulder toward the outer office area. “Rachel and the nurses…they’re a little worried. Something wrong at home?”

  Travis would have loved to confide in Sloan. Talking out his thoughts regarding Diana’s problem might make the idea easier to deal with. But he couldn’t help feeling her doubt about her sensuality was too intimate to share with his friend. It was clear that Diana hadn’t really wanted to tell Travis. She’d be mortified if she were to discover he’d revealed to anyone the things she’d said.

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

  Sloan nodded. “Okay. But if you want to talk…”

  “Thanks, buddy.” Thinking it best to change the subject, Travis said, “I haven’t seen the girls in a few days. How are they?”

  “Good.” Sloan’s broad smile revealed a lot about his love for his daughters. “We’re still arguing about the New Year’s Eve party they’ve
been invited to.”

  “You’re going to let them go, aren’t you?”

  The man shrugged. “I guess so. But I refuse to let them stay out half the night. What parent invites kids to a party that lasts until three in the morning? It’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s only one night,” Travis couldn’t help pointing out.

  One of Sloan’s dark eyebrows shot high. “I’ll remind you of that when your boys are on the verge of becoming teens.”

  Travis had to chuckle. Then thoughts of Diana—and her astonishing revelation—seeped into his thoughts, making his smile wane.

  His astute friend knew him too well not to notice. “You sure you’re okay?” Sloan asked.

  “Listen,” Travis said. “What would you do if someone…well, if someone thought something about themselves that you knew wasn’t true?”

  “Is this a patient we’re talking about? Or one of the boys?”

  Rubbing anxious fingers over his jaw, Travis said, “Let’s just say this is someone important.”

  Sloan only nodded, not pushing further. Travis knew his friend would discern and respect his need for privacy in the matter.

  “I need more information,” Sloan said. “What is it this person believes about himself?” He quickly added, “Or herself, as the case may be.”

  “I, ah, I really can’t say.” Without thinking, Travis reached out and snagged a pen from his desktop, rolling it nervously between his fingers. “Let’s just say someone you knew to be quite intelligent thought she wasn’t. Or…or she thought she wasn’t pretty when you knew damned well she was not only pretty, but…quite striking.”

  Sloan came closer to the desk and lowered himself down into the empty wing chair. “Look, I’ve talked to Diana. I know she’s an educated woman. And she’s self-assured, and she’s—”

  “Who said we’re talking about Diana?” The defensiveness in his tone nearly made Travis cringe.

  With his mouth drawn into a straight line, Sloan only stared. But Travis refused to break Diana’s confidence.

  Reining in his misplaced irritation, Travis said, “If you don’t want to help me out—”

  “Of course I want to help you out.” Sloan sighed. “Okay, if I found myself in the situation you just described, I’d do whatever I could to convince…this person…that—” he paused, evidently considering his words carefully “—well, that she is smart and beautiful. No matter what misconceptions she might have about herself.”

  A ray of light seemed to shine on Travis. What a perfect idea!

  He murmured, “Convince her…”

  Sloan nodded. “That she is what she thinks she isn’t.”

  Travis was ready. After dinner, he’d scoured the books Diana had provided him, and he’d been able to come up with just the right questions to lead the conversation the way he wanted it to go.

  Sure, manipulating the dialogue might not be considered a decent thing to do, but his motives were more than honorable. He planned to help Diana see that she was a beautiful, desirable woman who was filled to the brim with passion. Before this evening was over, she’d realize she was nowhere near inhibited where sex was concerned. She’d also be forced to realize that the two of them definitely were soul mates.

  After he’d closed the bedroom door on his sleeping sons, Travis stopped in his room for the two books he’d been reading. He went downstairs in search of his Medicine Woman. He found her enjoying the lights on the Christmas tree.

  “I guess we’ll have to dismantle the tree soon,” he said softly.

  She tensed visibly the instant she realized he’d entered the room.

  “The needles will soon be drying out and falling off.”

  She barely nodded in response.

  “I’ve been reading the books you gave me.” He moved toward her and he was taken aback when she actually sidled a half step away. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought. “Could I ask you a few questions?”

  “I’m not sure I’m up to it tonight, Travis.”

  He gently caught her arm as she passed. “Just give me a few minutes of your time. Please?”

  There was a frantic instant where he was certain she meant to refuse him. Then the determination in her gaze seemed to hover as her indecision wavered. And when it waned, he sent a silent prayer of gratitude heavenward.

  Shrugging her arm from his grasp, she said, “Okay, but just a little while. I—I’m really tired this evening.”

  He was terribly disappointed when she sat in the chair flanking the couch.

  Moving around the coffee table, he said, “It would probably be best if you sat over here next to me. That way, we could both see the book.”

  Again, her face clouded with hesitation. Sitting beside him was the last thing she wanted, that much was clear. But, again, she yielded to his request, and he felt jubilant, as if he’d won the first of what might prove tonight to be many battles.

  He spread open the book on his lap to the page he’d thought would make a good opening to his planned conversation.

  “I was surprised,” he said, “to learn that not all Indians lived in tepees.”

  The picture depicted a beautiful cone-shaped tepee, the tanned skin covering decorated with boldly colored symbols; rainbow stripes and a buffalo head.

  “That’s a stereotype we can thank Hollywood moviemakers for,” she said. “Although, most of those old John Wayne movies did take place in the Old West.”

  Her smile warmed his heart. The moment she began to talk about her favorite subject, she began to relax.

  “The plains Indians of the Midwest lived in traditional tepees,” she continued. “They were portable, so the tribe could move to find food or to escape enemies. Indians of the southern plains, the Sioux and Cheyenne, used three foundation poles. Crow and Blackfeet Indians lived further north and used four poles. The hides of buffalo were tanned and smoked so that they’d be waterproof but still remain soft, and the hides were wrapped and laced with pins carved from willow wood. Willow is flexible.”

  When she leaned closer to the book, a long lock of her glossy black hair fell across his thigh. His gut tightened.

  She pointed to the buffalo head. “Those are symbols of the Blackfeet,” she told him. “They were meant to protect the family living in the tepee from sickness and bad luck.”

  Her eyes lifted to his, and all trace of the awkwardness she’d been feeling was gone. Her dark gaze was clear and glistened with keen interest.

  “You see, Native American dwellings came in all sizes and shapes.” Absently she tucked the strand of hair behind her ear. “Cones, domes, triangles, squares, rectangles. And their names were just as varied—chickees, hogans, igloos, tepees, longhouses, lean-tos, wickiups. Being part of the Algonquians, the Kolheek lived in wigwams. Shaped like an oval dome, it was constructed of saplings that were placed in holes made in the ground. The new wood was malleable enough to be bent at the top and tied together. More saplings were placed around the sides and top to reinforce the structure. The frame was covered with mats woven of cattail rushes.”

  “That sounds fine for summer. But wouldn’t that make for chilly living in the winter?”

  “During the coldest part of the year, the outside walls would be covered with bark.” Again, she leaned toward the book, turning a page or two. “Birch was used whenever possible. Birchbark is lightweight and could be rolled up easily if the tribe had to move.”

  The warm-lemon scent of her wafted around him. “Fascinating.” And if asked if he were commenting on the information she was providing or simply on her, he’d have no trouble telling the honest-to-goodness truth.

  She looked up from the pages and smiled. “I think so, too.” After only a moment’s pause, she said, “I thought this book had a picture of a wigwam, but it doesn’t look like it. I could go upstairs—”

  Placing her fist on the cushion between her thigh and his, she made to rise, but he stopped her with a light touch.

  “That’s okay,” h
e told her, the pressure of his fingers urging her to remain where she was. “I can see it later. I have other questions.”

  Focusing on the book, he turned to a particular page. A male and female were dressed up in wedding finery.

  “We’ve talked about clans and families,” he said. “And how marrying within the clan was forbidden. So…how did men and women meet? And once a man had his eye on the woman of his choice, how did he go about wooing her?”

  Diana gave a tiny shrug. “All the tribes and bands would gather together fairly often for powwows, or seasonal celebrations. I’m sure the young men and women spent a great deal of time during those gatherings in search of a suitable mate. I would guess even older men and woman, widowers and widows, would have done the same thing. Having someone to spend your life with was important. Just as it is today.”

  Seeming to suddenly realize the topic, Diana’s gaze took on a tentativeness, an uncertainty that brought out in her an unmistakable vulnerability. Travis’s protective instinct stirred to life.

  “Once a man and woman felt a mutual—” she paused long enough to swallow, her speech coming slower “—a mutual attraction, they would visit together outside the female’s wigwam. They’d pull a blanket over their heads so they could talk with some semblance of privacy while still being chaperoned. I—I can imagine they didn’t like being stared at by others.”

  “I can easily understand that, too.”

  Their gazes seemed riveted, locked tightly together. She moistened her lips, and he could tell she wanted desperately to look away. But, evidently, she couldn’t.

  Neither could he.

  “Another courting ritual…”

  Her voice was sweet and vibrant as warm honey, and it flowed over him, through him.

  “…involved the playing of love tunes on a flute. In the dead of night, the young man would creep outside his love’s wigwam and he’d serenade her.”

  Suddenly her luscious, full lips contracted into a wry smile that struck Travis as the sexiest sight he’d seen in ages.

  “Of course,” she added, “if he had no musical ability, he could always give her a gift. A basket he’d woven. Or a necklace of beautiful beads he’d strung.”