Rain Dance

by Rebecca Daniels

  He smiled. “This is very corny, but it was my pleasure.”

  She breathed out a small smile. “I hope it was—pleasurable for you.”

  He gathered her close, letting her feel his body’s response to her nearness. “What do you think?”

  She hesitated for only a moment. “I think I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

  The small smile had faded from her lips and he saw the uncertainty in her eyes.

  “None,” he whispered with earnest. “Never.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He leaned down, placing a small kiss on the tip of her nose. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

  She sank down, pressing her face against his shoulder.

  “But what about you?” he asked, wondering for a moment if she was laughing or crying. “How do you feel?”

  She lifted her head, smiling up at him. “I feel wonderful.”

  Joe felt his heart swell in his chest. “Wonderful?”

  “Really wonderful,” she laughed.

  “No regrets?”

  She shook her head. “Not a one.” Suddenly her gaze shifted then and she pointed to a spot on the front of his shoulder. “Well maybe just one.”

  In an instant, everything changed and his entire body tensed. He knew what was coming and braced himself. He’d been through it once before. “Yes?”

  “It is with some regret that I’d never noticed this before. What is it?”

  He glanced down to the spot on the front of his shoulder where her finger rested, to the small sun face surrounded by a moon and stars tattooed into his skin.

  “A mistake,” he confessed, remembering that night as a naive young sailor exploring his first foreign port after too many months at sea. He and five of his buddies from the ship had drank too much and thrown out one too many challenges. All six had awakened on-board the next morning hungover and tattooed.

  She ran a finger over the design. “You don’t like it?”

  Her touch was light but it sent a jolt through him like an electrical shock. He’d been so caught up in the moment, so swept away by the emotions he’d completely forgotten about it, forgot about covering it or hiding it from her. He remembered all too well Karen’s revulsion when she’d first seen the tattoo and how she’d made him promise to never let any of her family see it. Growing up on the reservation, he’d learned about prejudice and injustice, but it wasn’t until he’d seen Karen’s face when she’d looked at his tattoo that he’d learned about shame.

  “A reminder of a momentary lapse in judgment that unfortunately I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life,” he said, glancing away. He didn’t want to see the disgust in her eyes, didn’t want to feel the shame.

  “When you were in the navy?”

  He nodded. “Young and stupid.”

  “I think we all do stupid things when we’re young,” she said philosophically, her finger tracing the outline of the tattoo again. “I’m sure I did.” Grinning, she reached for his chin, turning his head until he looked at her. “And when I remember them I’ll tell you all about them.”

  There was something so honest in her face, something so endearing and sincere it was all he could do to stop himself from taking her again. No judgment in her eyes, no disgust. It was only then that he realized just how tense and rigid he’d been holding himself. He’d been waiting for the other shoe to fall, for her to realize just what had happened and just what a mistake she had made.

  “It—it doesn’t bother you?” he asked, pulling her up to him.

  She made a face. “Your tattoo? Why should it?”

  He shrugged, feeling foolish now. “I don’t know. I just thought maybe…you’d think it was…disgusting.”

  “Disgusting?” she repeated, pulling back and slipping down to look at the tattoo again. “Is there something nasty there I’m not seeing?”

  Despite himself, he had to laugh. “No.”

  “Then why would I think it was disgusting?” She looked up at him and wiggled her brow. “Actually, I think it’s kind of—” with her gaze still on him, she lowered her lips to the pigmented skin, slowly tracing the outline with her tongue “—sexy.”

  By the time he grabbed her up to him, he was trembling. With her simple act, she had torn away years of shame and regret and he realized what a fool he had been. It didn’t matter that he had a tattoo. It was meaningless and unimportant. What was between them went beyond such trivialities.

  “Thank you,” he whispered after he’d kissed her long and deep.

  “Now you’re thanking me?” she murmured with a slow blink and looking just a little dizzy from the kiss. “What for?”

  He shrugged. How did he tell her? How did he explain how much her oneness and acceptance meant to him, how much she meant to him?

  “For being you,” he said after a moment.

  She started to say something, started to smile, but he stopped her with another drugging kiss. They made love again, their bodies melding together. There was nothing rushed now, nothing overlooked. Joe moved slowly and deliberately, taking time to touch, to savor, to explore and to cherish. Afterward, when they drifted asleep tangled in each other’s arms, Joe floated on the clouds and dreamed of moons and stars and a sun with many faces.

  The moon rose high in the sky, sending its milky glow spilling over the carpet and across the bed. Joe felt her body twitch, felt the perspiration bead along her skin.

  “Logan.”

  The name was like an avalanche, destroying everything in its path, pulling him down from the cloud, back to the truth—a truth that was easier to ignore in the darkness. He was convinced that Logan was the key to all of this, that once he unlocked the mystery of Logan, all the pieces of Rain’s puzzle would fall into place. But despite his best efforts, too many of those pieces lay scattered and lost.

  She nestled close to him, the dreams that had disturbed her sleep over now, leaving her peaceful and still. He had no idea what time it was. Lying together, it was as if the world had stopped for them, as if time had ceased to exist and he wished it were in his power to make it stay that way. He wished the night would never have to end, wished the sun wouldn’t come up and they would never have to face all the truths of the morning.

  Tonight she belonged to him. Tonight they were just man and woman, Joe and Rain. She was in his bed, in his arms and under his skin. In the darkness they could pretend that nothing else was important, that there were no mysteries to be solved, no questions to be answered, and if he had the power to move heaven and earth, he would like to keep it that way.

  If only there was a way things could stay the way they were right now, if it could always be unaffected and uncomplicated between them. But even as he felt her body stir beside him, he understood just how impossible that would be.

  The sun would be up in a few hours and with the daylight would come the outside world and all its harsh realities. In the darkness, the outside world didn’t matter; in the darkness he could pretend they belonged together, but soon that would all change.

  She was a lost soul, a wandering spirit. Her past, her memories, her entire life had been snatched from her. It had been important to him from the first to find out what had happened to her and to restore her to her rightful life, but now, after tonight, it was more important than ever.

  It was all right to dream, to fantasize and to make believe things could always be the way they were right now, but sooner or later he would have to face the dawn. With the sun came the realization that she couldn’t remain his Rain forever. She needed her life back, needed questions answered. As long as Logan haunted her dreams, there would be no peace for either of them.

  Chapter 11

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

  Rain smelled the aroma of coffee and cinnamon even before she opened her eyes.

  “What’s all this?” she asked, squinting from the sunlight streaming in from the window to Joe standing in the doorway holding a huge silver tray in his hands.
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  “It’s supposed to be breakfast in bed,” Joe explained, carefully making his way toward the bed. “It’s not very fancy, but at least you’ll have something in your stomach.” He set the tray down on the mattress beside her. “And we both know how cranky you get when you have an empty tummy.

  Rain scooted up against the pillows, emotion feeling thick in her throat. His long hair fell loose around his shoulders and his broad chest rising above his flannel boxer shorts looked like carved mahogany. Rain didn’t think she’d ever seen anything so beautiful.

  “When did you do this?” she asked, clutching the sheet up tight as she moved farther up to a sitting position. The morning paper leaned against the glass coffee carafe, which steamed with the fresh brew. A checkered napkin lined the small wicker basket, which brimmed with oversize cinnamon rolls.

  Her entire system reacted to the smell of the coffee, helping her shake off the morning grogginess. But what had the lump of emotion in her throat swelling was the small vase filled with a few of the scrappy flowers that grew wild around the back doorstep.

  “I didn’t even hear you get up.”

  “Navajo,” he said as he lowered himself to the bed. Leaning across the tray, he brushed a light kiss on her forehead. “We move like the wind.”

  She smiled up at him. “You’re wonderful.”

  He rolled his eyes, reaching for the basket. “Here, eat something,” he said, offering her a cinnamon roll. “I think you’re getting light-headed.”

  She laughed, taking one of the rolls. But just as she started to take a bite, she caught sight of the clock beside the bed. “Oh, my gosh, look at the time,” she shrieked, sitting straight up. “We’re late!”

  “Relax, it’s Friday,” he said, settling her back against the pillows. “You’re taking a day off.”

  She looked up at him and blinked. “I am?”

  “Yes, you are,” he said firmly. Sitting down beside her, he reached for a cinnamon roll and took a bite. “And I am, too.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  He reached out, giving the tip of her nose a pluck. “Yeah.”

  She took a bite of her cinnamon roll, too. “Then how about pouring us a cup of that coffee?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said dutifully.

  Rain leaned back and watched as he dutifully poured the coffee. Was it possible she’d ever been this happy before? Could she have known this kind of contentment, this kind of joy and forgotten it?

  She thought back to their night together, of their long hours of lovemaking, the touching, the tenderness, the…

  She swallowed, the bite of cinnamon roll landing in her stomach like a rock. It was hardly a realization, hardly a surprise. It was something she probably would have been aware of weeks ago if she’d dared to be honest with herself. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it, hadn’t wanted to believe it could be true. But after last night it seemed foolish for her head to keep denying what her heart already knew to be true. She had fallen in love with Joe Mountain.

  “Cream and two sugars, right?”

  “Right,” she said, taking the cup from him.

  He watched as she took a sip. “Okay?”

  She smiled. “Delicious.”

  He leaned forward, plucking a quick kiss from her lips.

  “You’re right,” he said with a grin, smacking his lips. “Now, what do you want?” He reached for the newspaper and leaned back against the pillows beside her. “Please, just don’t tell me it’s the sports page.” He turned his head, giving her a wicked look. “I’d have to fight you for it.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not interested in the sports page,” she assured him. “Or at least I don’t think I am.” She sat up, peering down at the paper he held. “Let me take a look.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Here’s your front page.”

  They both laughed as she took the paper and cuddled up next to him. The morning passed relaxed and lazy as they indulged themselves with all the things busy people are normally far too busy to do in the mornings. They pored through the newspaper, finding and reading quirky or interesting articles to one another, they poured second cups of coffee and nibbled slowly at their breakfasts, and they even flipped on the television, watching a morning talk show and then a soap opera, laughing and giggling as they tried to figure out the story line.

  It was sometime after noon that Joe finally turned out of bed, grabbing Rain by the hands and pulling her up beside him.

  “You know what I’d love to do this afternoon?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  “What’s that?”

  He tightened his hold, drawing her close. “I’d like to saddle up Sycamore and head for the boonies.”

  Rain’s eyes widened, remembering Marcy’s cryptic warnings of Joe’s rustic mountain cabin. “The boonies! I’ve heard of that.”

  Joe grinned down at her. “From Marcy, I bet. She spent a pretty unforgettable Christmas there once. Did she tell you about that?”

  “She’s promised to tell me the whole story someday.”

  He lowered his head, brushing a kiss along her lips. “Come with me? We’ll spend the night, have dinner, sit in front of the fire, come back in the morning.”

  “The boonies?”

  He nodded.

  “On a horse.”

  He nodded again. “You can ride Biscuit. You know how mellow he is.”

  She gave him a wary look. “How far is it?”

  “We can be there in a couple hours.” He jostled her in his arms. “Come on. You’ll love it.”

  “The boonies on a horse,” she repeated, as if saying it would help convince her.

  He bent down and kissed her again. “We’ll make love in a feather bed that’s in the loft.”

  Apparently that was all the convincing she’d needed. “Okay,” she said with a resigned sigh.

  “Who knows,” he said, kissing her again. “We just may end up staying the weekend.”

  Rain’s eyes widened, hearing Marcy’s warning in her head. “Okay, but I’m packing my own clothes.”

  If a few second thoughts crept into her brain as she neatly folded one of the new sweaters she’d bought and slipped it into the backpack Joe had given her, Rain did her best to ignore them. The day had been too perfect, being with Joe too wonderful for her to start questioning things now.

  She knew better than most people just how uncertain life could be. What you had one minute could be snatched away the next. Like everyone, she faced an unpredictable future, but unlike the rest of the world, her past was just as unpredictable. Her road was a fragile one, her life a war between the past and the future. She couldn’t afford cautious contemplations and long, drawn out designs. For her there was only here and now. With so much uncertainty, so much unknown, she didn’t want to take any chances. She was determined to make the most of every moment of her time with Joe—now, while she could.

  “Listen.”

  Joe lifted his head off the pillow, straining to hear. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “There, listen,” she whispered, her eyes widened. “Did you hear it?”

  He listened again. His small, rustic cabin was remote, miles away from anyone or anything else. “Is that a bird?”

  “An owl,” she corrected.

  He shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like an owl.”

  “Trust me, it’s an owl,” she stated again.

  They both froze as the sound broke the silence again.

  “No,” he insisted, pushing himself up against the pillow. “That’s not an owl. That’s more of a cooing.”

  “An owl,” she said again. “A Burrowing Owl to be exact.”

  The song floated through the night again, sounding lonely and forlorn in the darkness.

  “That’s a dove,” he insisted. “A mourning dove.”

  They looked at one another, the small loft lit only by the moonlight coming in from the skylight above.

  “That’s a Burrowing Owl,�
�� Rain said, listening to the gentle sound.

  “I’ve never heard an owl coo.”

  She turned to him and grinned. “Well you are right now. The Burrowing Owl can make a monotone cooing sound that sounds very much like a mourning dove.”

  “Okay, Miss Smarty Pants,” he said, plucking the top of her nose with his fingertip. “If it sounds just like a mourning dove, how can you be so sure it’s an owl?”

  “The pitch,” she explained. “It’s higher. Listen.” As if on cue, the call sounded once more. Turning to him, she shrugged. “See?”

  He was no expert on birds, but he did know what the coo of a mourning dove sounded like and she had a point—this did sound higher and had a harsher tone.

  “An owl, huh?”

  She nodded, letting him pull her close. “A Burrowing Owl.”

  He leaned down into the deep folds of the feather bed, pulling the quilt up around them. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

  She looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

  “First I find out you’re practically an expert horse-woman, riding Biscuit up here like you were born in a saddle.”

  She made a face. “Oh, yes, just me and my saddle sores.”

  “Now it sounds like we’ve got a bit of an Audubon buff here, too.” He leaned down and plucked a kiss along her mouth. “How did you get to know so much about birds?”

  Looking back on it, he realized what a thoughtless thing that was, to ask such a pointed question and the look on her face when she realized she wasn’t able to answer him was one he knew he would never forget. She looked up at him, her eyes round and tormented.

  “Rain, please, I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for her. “That was stupid. I wasn’t thinking—”

  “No, it’s okay,” she insisted, but the look on her face told him it was anything but okay. “It’s—it’s the strangest feeling. I mean, that’s the call of a Burrowing Owl—I know that.” She looked at him, gesturing wildly with her hand. “I mean, Joe, I know that. There isn’t a doubt in my mind.” She stopped, drawing in a shaky breath. “The only problem is, I just don’t remember how I know.”