Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance)

by Simons, Renee

  “Good evening, Martha. I was just about to when you anticipated me, as usual.”

  “Well, come on in. I got coffee waitin’, and a little somethin’ to eat.”

  Koehler ushered Abby in ahead of him, and they followed the older woman into her kitchen. Abby took in the room: the creamy white walls; the warm golden oak cabinets and floor; the simple wooden chairs; and the table covered with a homespun oatmeal-colored cloth.

  When Abby turned to Martha Tallman the woman was openly examining her. Abby found herself doing the same. In her fifties, Martha was tall and slender, much like Abby herself, although Martha’s figure was more girlish, with small breasts and slim hips that barely filled out her faded T-shirt and jeans. Martha’s black hair was caught in a single thick braid that fell over her right shoulder. Gray frosted her temples, but above her wide, strong cheekbones, deep brown eyes sparkled with a youthful gleam. And her generous mouth smiled with a mischievous quality that caused Abby to smile in response.

  Abby waited for Martha’s appraisal of her to end. One eyebrow arched as if to question the result. The answer came as the woman put out a hand to her.

  “Welcome to my home, young woman.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Tallman.”

  The woman waved a hand in denial. “None of that. You call me Martha.” She looked at Abby owlishly. “What do I call you?”

  “Abby.”

  Martha nodded and pulled out two extra chairs, motioning brusquely. “Sit, sit. Might as well get to business.”

  Confused, Abby looked at Arthur Koehler, who explained. “Martha is about to offer to put you up here until you can get your place ready.” He watched Martha set down a plate of cold chicken and what looked like a home-baked loaf of bread, then slide a trivet under a pot of hot coffee. “Am I right?”

  Martha eased herself into her seat. “They got a house for you next to the school. The teachers always use it. I cleaned it up myself. Got furniture inside, curtains, linens, utensils and such. The last teacher, he didn’t care how things looked, but when I heard they were sending out a woman, I figured you’d want to do some things to make it more homey. Now, we have nothin’ around here, but in town there’s a secondhand store, and you could fix the place up for a few dollars, if you’re of a mind to. And you could stay here, meantime.”

  “You’re very thoughtful. Are you sure there’s room for me?”

  Martha sighed. “Sad to say, yes. My two oldest girls are married now and livin’ in Oklahoma. My two youngest have a place of their own a few houses down. It’s just me and my son, and he is gone a lot of the time.” Abby saw a faint trace of regret in the woman’s eyes. “You’ll be doin’ me a favor if you stay.”

  Abby gave her a soft smile. “Well then, how can I refuse?”

  Satisfied, Martha motioned to her guests. “Well, go on and eat, you two. You got to be hungry after that long ride.”

  Martha and Mr. Koehler kept the conversation going during the light meal; Abby listened silently, taking note of names and situations for future reference. They talked openly, and although she asked no questions, she appreciated their apparent acceptance of her.

  As Martha poured a second cup of coffee all around, the door behind Abby opened, causing a draft in the warm room.

  “Evening,” a deep, velvety male voice said.

  Cat walked around the table and placed a kiss on top of Martha’s head, his straight black hair falling forward over his forehead. “Evening, Mother. How are you?” He stood up and combed back the heavy strands with his fingers.

  “Fine, son, just fine.” Martha placed her hand on his arm. “We’ve got guests.”

  “I can see that.”

  Without a greeting, he turned smoothly and took a cup from the cabinet, then poured some coffee and leaned gracefully against the edge of the sink, crossing his legs at the ankles. Aware that she was staring, Abby tried to look away, but his eyes locked with hers, daring her to break the contact.

  When she felt sure of having met his challenge, Abby pulled back, inspecting his face as she had been unable to earlier. Deep-set eyes of such a dark brown as to be almost black stared back at her as she mentally traced a finger down his aquiline nose, across the high, oblique cheekbones, so like his mother’s, and along his jaw line to a stubborn chin. A smile played about the corners of his generous mouth, exposing a disarming dimple.

  Finally he broke the silence. “Well?”

  Devastating, she thought. Aloud she said only, “You’ll do.”

  He had been examining her also, seeing what his mother had but from a different perspective, one he didn’t want to admit existed. Instead of the instant dislike he had anticipated, he found himself looking with admiration at a damned attractive woman who possessed a seemingly open mind and a playful sense of humor to balance her no-nonsense attitude. He knew instinctively that it would be difficult to remember that she was an enemy.

  Her head, with its short, dark curls, was held high. Blue-green eyes flecked with gold and rimmed by thick, black lashes sparkled in a tanned face and looked at him candidly and with confidence. She would not be easily intimidated, this one, even by the strongest adversary.

  Faint shadows above her high, shallow cheekbones indicated her fatigue, but a firm chin and stubbornly set shoulders added to the picture of strength. Only her full lips, parted sensuously and trembling ever so slightly, gave any hint of vulnerability; he wondered if she knew how her mouth gave her away, or how it added to her appeal.

  She caught her tongue between her teeth and, with a hint of laughter, asked, “Well?”

  Unwilling to give her any edge in the battle, he nevertheless found himself responding with a grudging smile. “Likewise.”

  He took a step forward and reached out to Abby with his right hand. “Before the hostilities progress any further, let me welcome you to my mother’s house.”

  Abby felt a tremor of anger that was quickly becoming a familiar reaction to the man. “You’re determined to turn this into a battle, then?”

  “These will probably be the last civil words we’ll exchange, Miss Colton.”

  “All right, but I warn you, you’ll know you’ve been in a fight.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but in the end I’ll win.”

  “Cat!” Martha was visibly angry. “This is not right. I will not have rudeness in my house.”

  “You’re right, of course. Besides, I can say what I have to at the board meeting.” He turned and nodded, first to Arthur and then to Abby. “See you tomorrow.”

  Abby watched him head for another part of the house, feeling inexplicably sad as well as indignant. Then she felt Martha’s eyes on her and turned back to face the other woman.

  “I am sorry for what he said. He knows better.”

  “He knows what he feels. I think I can understand that.”

  “You’re not angry?”

  Abby chuckled. “I didn’t say that. I just said I understood.”

  “He can be a very hard man, Abby. Watch out for him tomorrow.”

  “Why are you warning me about your own son, Martha?”

  “I don’t mean to sound like a bad mother. I love my son, but somethin’ tells me you could be a help to us, and I don’t want his anger to spoil that. You understand me?”

  Abby nodded. “I’ll be careful. And thank you.”

  “You about ready to turn in?”

  “I’d like to help you clean up first.”

  Martha shook her head. “This one is on me.” She turned to Koehler. “You stayin’ over, Arthur? I got a spare bedroom.”

  “No, thanks, I’m stopping in Crossroads. But I’ll be back for the board meeting tomorrow.”

  Martha walked the man to the door, then led Abby upstairs to a room at the far end of the hallway. A small lamp shed its warm glow over the room and blotted out the black night beyond the windows. Twin beds flanking the night table were covered in patchwork quilts. Folded at the foot of each was a gray Navajo blanket patterned in earth tones.
A vanity table stood beneath the window opposite the beds, and a rocker and chest of drawers provided the balance of the furniture; a closet filled the space adjacent to the door.

  “This was Connie and Sharon’s room. My oldest girls. It’s yours for as long as you need it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Martha patted one bed, and Abby sank down gratefully. The older woman sat facing her on the other bed.

  “Arthur told me you’re from New York.” Abby nodded in agreement. “How come you left to come out here?”

  Abby considered the question for a moment. “Well, it’s an exciting city, a good place to live, really, but not for me.”

  “Why?”

  “Not enough sky, or green, or open space. Too many people, too much noise and bustle, and now...” She paused and took a breath to put down the feelings that threatened to escape. “Now there are too many bad memories.”

  “Maybe someday you will tell me?”

  Abby shrugged and smiled sadly. “Maybe.”

  “You got folks?”

  A look of pain darkened Abby’s eyes and tightened her lips, but she said only, “No.”

  “Got a man?”

  At that question her smile returned, bitter to be sure, but a smile nonetheless. “Not any longer. Why?”

  Martha shrugged. “Just wanted to know if you got ties back there.”

  “Some friends, a professional contact or two, that’s all.”

  Martha rose and walked to the door. Turning, she said, “Bathroom’s at the other end of the hall. The day starts early around here--breakfast anytime after five. If I’m gone, help yourself to what you see, or cook what you want.”

  Then she left Abby alone.

  Too tired to do more than change into a T-shirt and baggy sweatpants, Abby slid beneath the covers and fell into a dreamless sleep, never waking until the following morning, when the smells of bacon and coffee wafted upward to the second floor.

  Chapter 2

  The world outside was still dark when Abby walked down the unlit hallway toward the bathroom, towels slung over one shoulder and a change of clothes dangling from her fingers. Her sleep-fogged eyes missed the figure just leaving the bathroom until they collided. Her forehead smashed into the bottom edge of a square chin, and as she attempted to steady herself she inadvertently landed on a booted instep and stumbled backward, cracking the back of her head against the doorframe. More embarrassed at her clumsiness than truly injured, Abby leaned against the door for a moment to collect herself before doing further damage.

  “Are you okay?” came an impatient query, and before she had a chance to answer strong arms lifted her and carried her back into her room, then set her down on the bed. “Lie back,” he directed curtly. “I’ll get a cold cloth.”

  Abby did as she was told, and he returned only moments later, the chill in his tone matched perfectly by the ice-cold compresses he placed at the back of her head and on her forehead. But when she began to shiver he lifted her gently, freeing the covers, which he then tucked around her, waiting until the warmth calmed her.

  “Better?”

  Hoping to ease the tension between them, she teased, “Much better, Dr. Tallman. Thank you.” After a pause she asked, “Is your chin okay?”

  “I’m fine. And just call me Cat, please. The flattery is unwarranted... and futile.” Abby felt herself flush at the rebuke, but he chuckled. “That brought some color to your cheeks, didn’t it?”

  “You have a way of doing that to me,” she answered ruefully.

  “I’ve noticed.”

  He checked her pulse, grateful that only he knew how his own was racing shamefully at her nearness. Then he removed the cloth to look at her forehead and check the bump rising at the back of her head, his fingers pressing lightly on the bruises.

  “Sorry,” he said, as Abby winced. “Didn’t mean to hurt you. You’ll have some swelling for a day or two, I’m afraid, and a black-and-blue mark for a few more beyond that. It can’t be helped; you broke some blood vessels.”

  “Actually, I think it was your chin that broke them.”

  He looked up sharply, saw her smile and responded with a small one of his own. “Let’s say we both contributed something.”

  “See what we can accomplish when we put our heads together?” Her eyes sparkled, and her smile was open and friendly despite her discomfort.

  Too open, and too friendly, Cat thought. “Don’t waste your time trying to cultivate me, Miss Colton. I’m not that easily manipulated.” The smile faded, and the sparkle dimmed. “See you in court,” he tossed off casually.

  Then he was gone. He’s a lost cause, Abby thought. An objective that needs more patience, more energy and more desire to attain than I have to expend.

  She swung her legs slowly off the bed and very carefully stood upright. Deciding that everything was in order, she picked up her towels and clothes and made her way back to the bathroom.

  At eleven o’clock, Abby and Arthur Koehler walked into the council building and down a short corridor to the office of the school board. She had dressed simply in a silky, off- white man-tailored blouse and a softly pleated beige wool skirt topped with a tweed jacket. Her brown pumps added a good two inches to her already considerable height, but she’d honestly felt the need to present an imposing image, if only to bolster her self-confidence for this first meeting with her new employers.

  Outside the closed door she paused to gather herself together. Under one arm she tucked the envelope she was carrying; then she ran her damp palms down the sides of her jacket, took one deep calming breath and nodded to Arthur, who rapped softly.

  A voice spoke from within, and he opened the door, letting her precede him into the room. He closed the door behind him, and with a hand ushered her forward to stand directly in front of the long table behind which sat four men and one young woman, who seemed to be about Abby’s age. In her nervousness, Abby found it impossible to focus on individual features, and one face merged into another. She knew this would pass, though, and concentrated instead on the things that were being said.

  The man in the middle rose and extended a hand, first to Arthur, then to Abby. “Good morning, Arthur, and hello to our new teacher.”

  Abby acknowledged the greeting and before long found herself deep in a discussion of her plans for the children. The board members were surprisingly receptive, and for the first time she dared to hope for eventual success.

  “I’m sure you all realize that problems will arise, but I’ll work very hard to make something good happen. And I’ll be grateful for your support and your patience.”

  She handed the envelope to John Hunter. “These are my credentials. I thought you might want to examine them for yourselves.”

  Just then a short rap shifted everyone’s attention to the opening door. Abby wasn’t surprised to see Cat Tallman enter. After all, he’d promised to attend the meeting.

  It was obvious that he’d come straight from some dirty job and had cleaned up on the run. A jacket was slung over one shoulder, and his shirt was damp at the collar and carelessly tucked into the waistband of his jeans. The hair at his temples was wet where he’d washed his face, and there was a charm about his disheveled appearance that, under other circumstances, might have elicited a smile from Abby. Instead she kept her features expressionless.

  “Sorry I’m late. There was a problem at the building site.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Did I miss much?”

  “Not much,” John Hunter assured him. “We were having a talk about the problems Miss Colton expects to meet. And we were looking at these.” He held up Abby’s certificates and recommendations. “Want to see them?”

  “Pieces of paper to me, nothing more. Her credentials have to be passable, at least, or Arthur wouldn’t have brought her here. That’s not what’s bothering me.”

  Here it comes, Abby thought, and she steeled herself for the attack she knew was imminent.

  The man who had been introduced to her as Lu
ther Eagle leaned forward. “Why don’t you folks sit down. Now, Cat, you ain’t a board member, of course, so you can’t vote. But we respect your opinion, so why don’t you speak your mind?”

  “With all her talk about problems, I’ll bet there’s one she never even thought of, and you’re all too polite to mention it. But I’m not bothered by either convention or blindness. As far as I’m concerned, the biggest problem we have is that she’s a white woman. Her people exiled us to the reservations in the first place, and we were left here to die without dignity. When we somehow managed to survive, her people took our children away from us, to schools where it was hoped they would forget their own culture and adopt that of the white man, where they were punished for speaking their own language, where they were expected to look and behave and live like white people.

  “A century later, when it was obvious that exile hadn’t worked, they lured hundreds of thousands of us to the cities with promises of jobs and a better life, then set us adrift, hoping we’d disappear through assimilation. And many of us did, some to live like the white man, some to live in poverty and isolation, without the strength that our religion and culture could give them.

  “Her people have written textbooks, made movies and aired television shows that depict us as mindless savages without conscience who raped and murdered innocent white people, that insist we are men without honor, and drunkards and thieves. She’s part of the society that refuses to recognize us as humans with dignity and pride, as moral men, as people with rights and justifiable claims to our own homeland.”

  He’d been sitting motionless, leaning forward with his arms on his knees, his hands clasped before him. Now he rose and began to pace slowly, as if physically venting some intense emotion that threatened to explode.

  “That’s the legacy she’s brought with her. And don’t tell me that she’s worked with Indian kids before. I know that. But they were urbanized kids, whose parents are more interested in assimilation than preserving an ethnic identity. We have a whole other set of problems out here that she can’t begin to deal with, because she’s never had to. We’ve got to teach our kids what they need to make their way in the world without sacrificing the Lakota way of life. I don’t see how she can help us do that, especially when she doesn’t know how we think or what we feel. She comes from a different world, a different culture. She’s not one of us, and I’d prefer to see someone like Emma, here, teaching our kids, over some outsider, and a white outsider at that.” He perched on the windowsill and went silent.