Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance)

by Simons, Renee

  Everyone was excited by the idea, and before the children left she had made the arrangements with her friend Sherri.

  “We’ll get together in a week or two and see what kind of progress you’ve made,” she told them and they went off in high spirits.

  Abby often spent her mornings sketching, and one day Cat surprised her with a visit. As a shadow fell across the pad on her lap she heard a softly spoken, “Hi.” He hunkered down in front of her, examining her face. “You look great,” he remarked with a smile.

  She studied him. His hair had grown long during the weeks since she’d last seen him, and it glistened like a raven’s wing in the sun. The dun-colored crew-neck T-shirt he wore brought out the warm amber lights in his eyes and clearly defined the taut muscles of his chest and upper arms. He seemed relaxed. His eyes were soft and almost dreamy, and his copper skin had darkened with the sun.

  Abby cursed the schoolgirl that still survived within her, whose heart beat in double time just because he smiled at her, whose pulse raced shamefully each time she looked at his rough, handsome features and remembered the feel of his powerful body against hers. She wished she could ignore the memories that surged through her, awakening every cell, till her whole body was alive and trembling with desire. She wished she could stop loving this man who obviously didn’t love her.

  She wanted to cry out to him and tell him how she’d missed him, how her body had missed him, how she’d lain awake nights wishing for the warmth and comfort of his arms. She wanted to ask him, “Why can’t you return my love?”

  Instead she said only, “You look good, too.” She ran a hand down the side of his head. “You need a haircut.”

  He gave her a look of mock disappointment. “Don’t you like my new look?”

  She nodded. “I like it, but you seem...I don’t know... savage.”

  His eyes went black and heavy lidded, and his features hardened. “I think that goes with the territory.”

  He lifted her and carried her to where his jeep stood, then helped her into the back seat. “Relax back there. We’re going to see Dr. Courtney and have that knee checked.”

  “I wondered why you were here.”

  “Just want to make sure you’re healing okay.”

  “My, aren’t we the responsible leader,” she said sarcastically.

  He ignored her.

  Dr. Courtney’s examination showed the knee to be healing nicely, and they were soon on their way home. While Abby waited in the jeep, Cat bought the makings of a picnic lunch, which they ate in the shade of a small grove of cottonwoods halfway between Crossroads and Twin Buttes.

  Her hunger satisfied, Abby leaned against a tree stump and watched Cat as he moved around, cleaning up the debris of their lunch and burning it in a small, tidy fire. Finally, chores completed, he came and sat beside her.

  “It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you,” she finally said to break the silence.

  “I had some thinking to do.”

  “About...?”

  “About my people... and yours...”

  “But they’re your people, too,” Abby reminded him.

  “Only if I want them to be. And I’ve worked very hard to wipe out that part of myself, to prove that I’m worthy of the trust that’s been given me. You know, we’ve always been a tolerant, trusting people. That’s why your ancestors were able to get a foothold on this continent in the first place. But we’ve learned to be suspicious. We’ve been taught prejudice, and now we trust very few people, and even fewer whites. Some traditionalists say that mixed families are too easily influenced by the white community, too ready to compromise. I’m just trying to prove to my people that they have no cause to worry with me, that unlike an apple, which is red on the outside and white on the inside, I’m red through and through.”

  “And that means denying your father, and the part of you that is his, and everything else that reminds you of him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  He shut his eyes, as if that would make it easier to call up his memories. “He was a big man, and massive, the way Hank is, but just as gentle. He never seemed to get angry like I do, or impatient. You could talk to him and know he heard not just what you said, but what was too deep to put into words. Everybody here loved him and trusted him, almost from the very beginning. When he first came out here it was to do mining surveys for the government. When he was through he spoke to my uncle and told him what was in his report, what he would have to tell the government: that the area was moderately rich in lignite and something called bentonite.

  “There was a council to decide whether or not the people wanted to sell mineral rights. They agreed that the most important thing was the need to protect the land, because our people believe that the land is our mother. We choose not to exploit that which gives us life, nurtures us, sustains us and holds our bones through eternity. Balanced against that were the mining interests, who would have stayed only as long as the ore held out. Once it was played out they’d have left behind a land that was devastated, and would be for generations to come. Any money we got would only have lasted a little while, just long enough to whet people’s appetites for more, with no way of earning any, because the land would have been ruined.”

  “But couldn’t they have pooled the profits to invest in some other venture to support the community?”

  “Yeah, maybe. But I guess they decided it wasn’t worth the gamble. They never changed their minds, even though the tribe was approached on several occasions. Anyway, that’s how he came here. And along the way he met my mother and after that there was no chance of him going back.

  “When he died, I remember thinking that he should have been buried like a chief, on a raised platform, with the head and tail of his horse on either end, and his shield and lance resting on top of his body, like they used to in the old days. He was the most masculine man I’ve ever known, but for years I’ve refused to let myself think about him, and how much I loved him.”

  He went quiet, and Abby used the opportunity to watch his face unobserved, as she had on other occasions. His eyes were still closed, and his lashes lay like black fans against his dark skin. He was more relaxed at that moment than she’d ever seen him; the worry lines had disappeared, and his full lips were parted slightly as he breathed slowly and evenly. His eyes opened suddenly and she found herself staring into their depths, wondering at the warmth that glowed there.

  “I’m glad you’ve reclaimed your memories. I can see a change in you already.”

  Silently he reached out and caressed her cheek, then rose and lifted her from her place, carrying her to the jeep. “Time to get you home.”

  They were quiet during the ride home, and by the time Cat carried Abby inside she knew she’d lost him again. After he’d helped her to the couch and turned to leave, she asked, “What’s wrong? You seem so different suddenly. Are you afraid you’ve said too much?”

  “Not yet,” he replied cryptically, then left without looking back.

  Chapter 10

  School began again, and the weeks that followed were busy. Although the students worked well together, Abby found that it was difficult to handle such a wide range of students and still give each one the personal attention she considered important. One day it finally occurred to her that maybe she didn’t need to carry the entire burden herself.

  After consulting with Terry Tallman, Abby contacted Arthur and in due course received another grant for the school. With those funds she was able to hire Cat’s younger sister as a school aide. Using Abby’s study plan and under her guidance, Terry was able to handle the youngest of the children, while Abby concentrated on the upperclassmen. As the school year progressed Terry became more and more capable and sure of herself; she had a natural, relaxed quality that reached the children at once, and both she and they blossomed.

  Martha was grateful for the change she saw in her youngest child and made a point of telling Abby as much. Even Cat seemed compe
lled to notice. He stopped Abby in the street one day as she was returning from a visit to his mother and he was coming off a day at the building site. Abby saw him walking toward her and would have taken off in another direction if she could have done so without looking foolish.

  Instead she hardened herself, determined to stave off her body’s reaction to him. But it was difficult to ignore his appeal as he stood before her, dirty and sweaty and utterly, gloriously male. How I hate him, she thought. How I want him!

  “I’m glad I saw you,” he said casually. “I wanted to thank you for what you’ve done for Terry. She’s feeling really good about herself these days.”

  “She should. She’s a bright kid with the ability to make a real contribution to her people.” Then she looked at him coldly and, without another word, walked off toward her house.

  She missed Cat’s gaze as it followed her down the dusty street, taking in her long legs and graceful, easy stride, the subtle swing of her hips encased in tight jeans. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for his imaginings.

  They saw each other often, in passing, as they went about their business, but always Abby remained cold and distant as she taught herself not to care, not to want. Cat was by turns relieved, annoyed, angry and then perplexed. He’d wanted her out of his life and she was out. Why, then, did the days have so little meaning? Why did the nights go on forever?

  One evening Abby came back to her house after a late walk and found him sitting on her steps. She didn’t want him there, didn’t want to be close enough to pick up any signals from him, intended or otherwise. She was still too susceptible to him, too vulnerable to her own body’s demands.

  “What do you want?” she asked icily, afraid to hear his answer.

  He rose and followed her as she walked past him toward the door, then stopped. I mustn’t go inside, she thought. He’ll follow me, and I’ll be trapped. She turned and stood with her hands against the wood behind her, staring up at him.

  The eyes that stared back at her were haunted, defeated. “I want you,” he said, his voice hoarse and filled with agony.

  She knew what he was feeling, and she was glad he was feeling it, damn him.

  He reached past her and turned the knob. The door swung open behind her, and he took hold of her waist to keep her from tumbling backward. His other arm swept beneath her and he lifted her up and carried her inside, then kicked the door closed with a booted heel.

  He didn’t put her down until they stood in the center of her bedroom. “Where are your crutches?” he asked irrelevantly.

  “I don’t need them anymore.”

  He stared at her as she stood in a pool of frosty moonlight pouring in through the window; her hair seemed to shimmer, and her eyes glowed golden green as she looked up at him. He felt his blood run hot in his veins, and his heart pounded maddeningly against his ribs. After weeks, months--years, it seemed like--of denying his feelings, keeping her at a distance, he wanted to crush her in his arms, wanted to let her feel the full bruising power of the passion he felt. But the hands that reached out and cupped her face were gentle, and his lips on hers were soft.

  One hand went to the neckline of her warm-up jacket and slowly undid the zipper that ran to her waist, his fingers brushing her warm flesh, starting a tremor coursing through her. His body responded in kind when he realized that she was wearing nothing underneath. He looked at her with some surprise and she chuckled.

  “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “I’m glad,” he responded in a voice made gritty by longing. “I want to look at you.”

  He peeled back the fabric from her shoulders and slipped the jacket off. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes finally saw what his mind had dreamed. Her body was strong and beautiful as he’d known it would be, as his hands had felt it would be. She had a healthy tan, except for the triangles of velvety white where a bathing suit had covered her taut, full breasts.

  For a brief moment he caught her eyes and saw the tiniest glint of pleasure, as if she knew how her beauty had haunted him and had waited for this moment. Then it passed, and she swayed toward him. He held her at arm’s length, and her glorious eyes fluttered closed.

  “No,” he whispered. “Don’t close your eyes.”

  She tried to obey, keeping her gaze on him as his hands caressed the smooth column of her throat and the wide expanse of her shoulders, then passed lightly over the velvety smoothness of her breasts, awakening her, sensitizing her, causing her skin to quiver and her nipples to harden. She kept her eyes open as he slowly worked her jeans down over her hips, covering each newly exposed area of her firm flesh with tiny kisses that left her throbbing and on fire, bathing her navel with his warm moist tongue and caressing her gently rounded belly with his smooth cheek. She obeyed though he felt her body tremble and knew her legs had grown weak, and he loved her because of it, because she would meet him as an equal in passion, as in everything else.

  He stripped away her silky bikini panties, helping her to step out of them, one long, lovely leg at a time, and lost himself in the dark triangle where her inner thighs met. He heard her gasp and knew she’d finally closed her eyes to concentrate on feeling, just feeling, his warm breath and the cool wetness of his tongue, and his fingers caressing the softness of her inner thighs. A small agonized moan that was his name escaped her lips, and she clutched at his hair, forcing him to straighten and look at her, to see the passion and the uncertainty on her face. He rose and his mouth came down on hers; then he pulled back and smiled.

  “All right,” he whispered. “We’ll wait.” He took her hand and steered it toward the top button of his shirt. “Now me,” he commanded softly, and she obliged. But when she reached between them to touch him, he caught her hand as he had once before. “Not yet, sweet, not yet.”

  He led her to the bed and lay down, pulling her with him to lie against the length of his body, her head cradled on his shoulder, one leg draped across his muscular thigh. The tip of a firm breast burned against his chest, and his heart beat wildly beneath her hand. Wisps of warm breath fanned his cheek, and he felt her tremble.

  “What’s wrong?” She remained silent, her face buried in the angle between his neck and shoulder. He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Tell me.”

  “I’ve waited so long, it seems, and wanted you so badly, and now I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “What if I... don’t please you?” A sudden smile lit her eyes. “What if you don’t please me?”

  He chuckled softly. “If past experience is any indication, your fears are utterly groundless.”

  She laughed with him. “You’re sure about that?”

  “Want me to prove it?” he asked against her mouth. “Oh, yes,” she responded, suddenly insistent.

  He eased her onto her back, examining her face, tracing the clean, strong lines of her eyebrows with the tip of a finger. He continued down her nose to the cleft in her upper lip, and she reached up to kiss his finger, nipping at the hardened cushion and licking it with her tongue. He stopped her with his mouth, hard on hers, but not cruel, only insistent, demanding. She moaned and parted her lips, and he savored the taste of her, the feel of her tongue, with its rough- smooth upper surface and liquid, satiny underside, then sampled the slickness of her strong, straight teeth, and felt their sharpness as she playfully nipped at the inside of his bottom lip. He chuckled and bit back.

  “No violence, sweet,” he whispered fiercely.

  Her eyes laughed at him, and he closed them with kisses, caressing her face, her ears, her throat, with kisses, as light and tentative as the first scattered drops of an early spring rain. His lips moved to her breasts, enjoying their firmness, then closed around one hardened nipple, laving and suckling, biting gently, bringing it erect and sending an electric shock wave to her very core. She arched her body as the sweet pain stabbed at her, and moaned, clutching his shoulders. Then it subsided and she quieted, a smile touching her lips, her eyes filled
with a lovely, soft, loving light. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “That you make me feel so good,” she sighed.

  He laughed with pleasure, thinking. Not as good as you make me feel. “As good as Ghost?”

  “Better,” she whispered as she pulled his head down. “Much, much better.”

  Her lips were sweet and warm as they moved over his, and then insistent, curious, demanding, speaking without words of her need for him. He took his mouth away, beginning his exploration once more in the hollow between her breasts, following it down to the gentle concavity of her belly and beyond, raising pools of tingling liquid warmth that flowed together and fed on each other until her body was alive and trembling, and his only slightly less so, because he forced his mind to think about her need and not his own.

  Once more he buried his mouth in the springy mound of curls that guarded her most secret place, lingering for only a moment before moving to her sensitive inner thighs and down her strong legs until he felt the pulse in her ankle against his lips. Gently he nudged her over onto her stomach and retraced his path, his sweetly hungry mouth nuzzling, caressing, nipping at the smooth flesh of her firm bottom, discovering new mysteries, heightening her awareness of her body and its capacity for feeling and for pleasure.

  His lips traveled up her spine, much as his hands had on other occasions, and with gentle pressure completed the circuit until every sensitive spot on her body, every nerve, every muscle, quivered, ached, craved. Then, and only then, did he turn her onto her back again to cover her face and throat and breasts with more searing kisses, more cooling strokes of his tongue, more gentle pain with his teeth.

  She trailed her hands over his back and shoulders, enjoying the play of muscles beneath the velvety smooth cover of his skin, marveling that such power could be tamed to the gentleness that he showed her. Her hands moved to his hips, pressing him to her, as she welcomed the pressure of his rock-hard body against the softness of hers, adding his strength to her own. She felt his body tremble and shudder as he struggled for control over the waves of passion that swept through him.