by Jane Porter
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
“Does the S in Sean S. Finley stand for Swan then?”
“Possibly. But maybe not.” He saw her expression and added, “The name was changed on my birth certificate, so I have my original name given to me at birth, and then the name on the amended birth certificate.”
“Who changed your name?”
“According to Montana records, my parents. Their names and signatures are on the petition.”
“What did they change?”
“My last name.”
“Why?”
His lips curved but there was no warmth in his eyes. “That is the million dollar question.”
“You have no idea?”
“I have an idea, but no supporting evidence.”
“So your pen name, is it the name you had on the original certificate?”
“Not exactly. But it’s a variation. My grandmother did not read or write well. She could do basic math but reading and writing were quite difficult for her, and so when she’d take me to the doctor, she’d give them my name but would never check or correct the spelling. So if you looked at my various medical records you’d see that my name is different on each—Sean. Shane. Swan. Finley.”
“What did your grandmother call you?”
“Shane. Sean. Swan. Finley.” He smiled faintly. “I think I was all of those. But usually Shane Swan or Sean Swan.”
“Who was Swan?”
“That was my grandmother’s maiden name. She was a member of the Salish and Kootenai Tribe. The reservation is near Flathead Lake.”
“I’m not familiar with the tribe.”
“Not many people outside Montana and the Pacific Northwest are.”
“Did she live on the reservation?”
“Yes.”
“But you weren’t born on the reservation?”
“No. I was born in Marietta, at their hospital over by the rodeo and fairgrounds.” His smile turned grim and he turned his spoon over. “But I never went home with my birth parents. There was a complication at birth so my mother and I were both kept at the hospital for a week, and then my mother went home while I remained for another week, and then her mother came for me—supposedly because my mother was too weak to care for me.”
Jet waited for more but he said nothing else. “You’ve clearly learned the art of cliff-hangers.”
He laughed once, deep and low. “My grandmother took me with her back to Flathead Lake. She raised me until I was four years old.”
Jet tried to hide her shock. “And you never saw your parents again?”
“Apparently my mother used to come see me once or twice a year. She had a small cabin at Cherry Lake—” He broke off. “Are you familiar with Cherry Lake?”
She shook her head.
“It’s a little town on Flathead Lake, just south of Big Fork, before you come to Polson. Apparently my mother would come to the cabin with the other children and sneak away to see me.”
“Do you remember her?”
“Barely.”
“What do you remember?”
“I’m not sure if I remember her, or the pictures I’ve seen of her. She was very striking. Long, dark hair, high cheekbones, hazel eyes with these incredible black eyelashes that were so dark and thick, I think they had to be fake.” He paused. “She was supposed to come back for me. That’s the part I remember clearly. I refused to be adopted, would never even consider it, because she was going to come for me.”
He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to. Jet knew the rest. His mother didn’t return, and he grew up without a home, his childhood spent waiting for this fantasy mother to claim him. “I’m sorry.”
His mouth tightened. Creases fanned from his eyes. “Me, too.”
“And your father?” she asked, not certain she should probe but wanting to know the answer.
“Who knows? He is part of that million dollar question.”
“He wasn’t Native American?”
“No.”
“Where is he now?”
“Dead. Both my parents are gone.”
“You said your mother would bring the other children with her to Cherry Lake. That means you have brothers and sisters.”
He was silent so long she didn’t think he was going to answer, and then he looked up, right into her eyes, his expression shadowed. “Brothers, yes.”
She suddenly saw a glimpse of the boy he must have once been—quiet, dark-eyed, introspective, and probably quite sensitive. “Have you tried to find them? Do they know about you?”
“Yes, and no. It’s complicated. But life is full of mysteries. Sometimes we get lucky and find the answers, and sometimes we don’t. Maybe that’s why I write.”
“It makes sense.” Jet paused to take the menu from the waiter but she didn’t even glance at the options, too interested in Shane. “How old were you when you knew you were a good writer?”
He was looking down, his gaze skimming the menu. “I don’t remember,” he answered, sounding almost careless.
She didn’t believe him, not for a minute. “Really? No idea at all?”
His dark head lifted and he gave her a piercing look. “You sound like a teacher again.”
“Good. I am one.”
This earned her a reluctant smile. “Apparently, I learned to read early and seemed to always be writing. I wrote my first story the year after I went into foster care.”
“Do you remember the story?”
“The Raven and the Swan.”
His tone was sharp and mocking, as if he was somewhat embarrassed of the boy he’d been. She hated that, as he must have been absolutely lovely…lonely, but lovely. “What was it about?”
His dark eyes met hers and held. “You’re very persistent. Are you always this curious about everyone?”
“If it’s someone I’m interested in. And I am interested in you. Not because you’re Sean S. Finley, but because you’re Sean Shane Swan Finley.” She smiled at him to hide the fact that her chest felt tender and a funny little lump was growing in her throat. He had not had an easy life and yet he’d achieved so much. It really was remarkable. He was remarkable. “So tell me about your story, The Raven and the Swan. What do you remember about it?”
“It was a story of a little bird taken from his nest and told he could no longer be a raven anymore.”
Oh. Jet swallowed hard. The lump in her throat grew.
“It was a very simple little story,” he added lightly, the mockery back. He had no patience for the child he’d been. “Not much to it. The raven just wanted to go home.”
His impatience with who he’d been bothered her, almost as much as the aching innocence of his story.
She blinked, eyes hot and gritty. “You’re going to make me cry.”
“Don’t. The raven eventually became a swan. It all worked out fine in the end.”
She reached across the table and touched his arm. His skin was so warm she felt a crackle of energy race through her. “You don’t like being a swan?”
His gaze was on her hand where it rested on his wrist and she drew her hand back, fingers balling, still able to feel the sizzle of heat.
“I am who I am,” he said. “I can’t dislike being Shane Swan, just as I can’t dislike the childhood spent as a raven. They are all me…good and bad.”
“I admire you.”
“Not sure I deserve that.”
“I am.” She studied him a moment, seeing past the long, black hair, the dark beard, the hard handsome features, and realizing he was very much a self-made man. “I don’t know if you get asked this all the time, but would you be willing to come talk to my students before you leave Marietta? I think it’d be so inspiring for them to hear you talk.”
“And what would I say?”
Her shoulders shifted. “Whatever you wanted to say. You could talk about your past, your books, your life as a writer…the fact that you were born right here in Marietta at the hospital,
just like most of them were.”
He glanced from her hand up into her eyes. “I don’t know that that would be such a good idea, the Marietta part. It’s probably better to leave my convoluted past in the past.”
“But you’d consider coming in to the school?”
“If you don’t think I’d bore the kids too much.”
“Impossible. There’s nothing boring about you. They’ll love you.” She smiled. “They’ll be fascinated by you and will probably have a ton of questions for you. But to be honest, they might ask you more about your tattoos than your writing.”
“I’m happy to come in. I’d love to see you at work. I have a feeling you’re a great teacher.”
“Average—”
“Not average. Not in any way.”
Her heart skipped a beat and her stomach did a little somersault. She could still feel the tingle in her fingers where she’d touched him. Her body seemed to light up around him.
Not true.
It wasn’t just her body. She lit up around him. There was something about him that made her feel very aware…very alive. “Teaching wasn’t my first choice,” she said, drawing a deep breath, trying to slow her rapidly beating pulse, trying to stay levelheaded. Even though she’d tried to keep her guard up, he was getting to her…getting under her skin, and making her feel. Making her care. Not for the author but the man. Shane Swan. Raven.
“I wanted to study film,” she said briskly, thinking a change of subject would be good about now. “It was my passion in school. But my parents wouldn’t hear of it. They’d send me to college, but I needed to study something worthwhile, not something frivolous.”
“Film isn’t frivolous.”
“It’s not going to save the world.”
“And you’re supposed to save the world?”
“Well, I’m supposed to do my part.”
A black eyebrow lifted. “What about your sisters and brothers? Are they missionaries or something?”
Jet grinned. “No. My brothers are dairy farmers. One of my sisters married a dairyman. And, well, you know Harley.”
“What did Harley study in school?”
“Ag-business. And then she married a dairyman, too.”
He grimaced. “So you’re supposed to teach until you marry a dairy farmer and have babies of your own?”
Her nose wrinkled. He’d pretty much nailed it, but she didn’t want him to thinking badly of her parents. They were good people, kind, hard-working, self-sacrificing. They’d passed on their values, and taught her the importance of tenacity and self-reliance. “It’s not a bad life.”
“No. If that’s the life you want.” He paused. “Is it?”
She glanced away, looking out across the restaurant, which was beginning to thin out. Many of the tables were empty. Waitstaff was clearing dishes off other tables. It must be getting late. “No.”
“What do you want?”
Her shoulders lifted and fell. It was her million-dollar question. Once upon a time she had an answer—she wanted to marry Ben and have a family and be happy. And then she thought she was pregnant—obviously not a good thing—but Ben’s reaction had shocked her. Instead of calmly discussing options, he’d given her an ultimatum—she could pick him, or the baby, but not both.
She was devastated.
He loved her enough to make love to her, but not enough to stand by her when his birth control failed.
When her period came ten days later, she was relieved, but still crushed. Ben was not the man she’d thought he was.
Ben, for his part, didn’t see the problem. He hadn’t wanted a baby, and Jet wasn’t pregnant, so why all the drama?
I told you from the very beginning I didn’t believe in abortion, not for me. She’d told him, fighting tears, still so hurt and disappointed and angry. Yes, angry. He’d lied to her. He’d agreed with her, he’d told her he’d never ask that of her…
Jet drew a slow breath now, and looked up into Shane’s dark, watchful eyes. “I don’t know what I want anymore. I just know what I don’t want.”
“And what is that?”
“Liars. Cheaters. Scoundrels.” Her lips curved and she ground her back molars to keep the tears at bay. “And dead-end jobs without creativity or adventure.”
His expression turned thoughtful. “And now you’re here in Montana.”
“I’m here in Montana,” she agreed. “And I like my job. I’m glad I’m here. No matter what happens in June, at least I had this adventure.”
“What happens in June?”
“The teacher on maternity leave could return. The school board might decide to close the school. Or… I might be offered an extension of the contract.”
“Would you want an extension? Do you like teaching at a one room schoolhouse that much?”
“I don’t have anything else lined up, and it is interesting. And challenging.” She grinned and the shadows in her eyes disappeared. “And when I’m not stressed out of my mind…fun.”
It was that moment her expression lit up, light dancing in her eyes that Shane realized he just might be in trouble.
He hadn’t wanted to like her, but she was impossible to dislike.
She was, to be precise, rather irresistible.
Manhattan was filled with sleek, smart, gorgeous young things, but Jet had something he rarely encountered.
Sincerity, coupled with magic. It was a rather dazzling combination, and it lit her up, made her shine, making him think of fairy lights strung in the limbs of a gnarled oak tree. She had roots and strength and yet she also had light…a pure, shimmery light, and right now, sitting across from him, she sparkled and glowed in the night.
If she wasn’t Harley Sheenan’s sister, he would have leaned across the table and kissed her.
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to feel her mouth and breathe her in and taste her. Her lips were full and soft…the darkest pink…and he wondered how her lips would feel against his.
He didn’t want to use her, either. Didn’t want to.
He wished he could protect her. From himself. As well as the rest of the dangers in the world.
She didn’t know he was a danger. He hoped she didn’t trust him. He hoped her small-town upbringing had prepared her for wolves in sheep’s clothing.
“Who was the liar and cheat?” he asked.
The light in her eyes immediately dimmed. Her lips compressed, her expression shuttered. “And the scoundrel?” Her tone was mocking. “My boyfriend. Of two years.”
He hadn’t planned on asking the question. It just popped out. But maybe it was the right thing to say. She was leaning back now, her shoulders rigid, her guard back up.
“So he cheated on you?” he asked.
“Worse than that.” She looked past him, gaze fixed on a distant point across the restaurant. “He knew what I believed. He knew how I felt about something. We’d both agreed.” Her head turned and she looked Shane in the eye. “But it was a lie. He didn’t mean it. He had no integrity. None whatsoever.”
“Had he promised to marry you?”
She laughed out loud. Shaking her head, she tucked a long tendril of glossy brown hair behind her ear with the delicately beaded hoop earring. “No.” Still smiling she reached for her water glass, took a quick sip. “We’d been together, as I said, two years, and I thought I was pregnant. I told him. And before I could even go to the doctors and get it confirmed, he gave me an ultimatum. It was him, or the baby, not both. I had to pick.”
Her lips curved up, high, even as fire blazed in her blue eyes. “And that would be fine, if he hadn’t agreed before we ever slept together that abortion was not an option, at least, not for me. He knew how I felt, and he said those were his same beliefs.” She drew a quick breath, cheeks pink, eyes still flashing. “Thankfully it was a false alarm. I wasn’t pregnant. But it showed me who he really was, and I was crushed. I loved him. I’d thought we were going to be together forever.”
“And then what happened?”
“We broke up, and I decided to take a year off, and go have an adventure. Here I am.”
“Here you are,” he murmured, chest tight, body aching, thinking her boyfriend had been a fool. And not just a fool, but a liar. A cheat. A scoundrel. She was right on all accounts. “How’s your heart doing now?”
She smiled faintly. “Still a little banged up. But better. Stronger.”
“Good.” It was all he could do not to keep his hands to himself. He wanted to kiss her badly. He was hard and hungry and restless in a way he hadn’t been for a very long time.
He signaled to the waiter. The waiter approached quickly. “The check?” he said to Shane.
“No. The dessert menu.” Shane glanced at Jet. “Feel like dessert?” he asked, wanting her to say yes, if only to keep her in a public place, out of arm’s reach and relatively safe.
“Not really,” she answered. “Not unless you want something.”
He did want something. But it wasn’t on the menu. “Check is fine,” he told the waiter, blood thrumming through his veins. He was so hard he was uncomfortable, his jeans now far too tight.
Outside, he walked her to his rented car. He unlocked the passenger side door for her and swung it open but before she could climb in, he reached for her, one hand cupping her cheek, lifting her face to his. His head dropped and his mouth brushed hers, once, and then again. Teasing. Tasting.
She was wearing a light floral scented fragrance that made him think of spring just before it turned to summer, and he breathed her in…lilacs…gardenias…something delicate and fresh…
She tasted just as fresh and sweet. He wanted more. Shane deepened the kiss, the pressure of his mouth parting her lips ever so slightly. He stroked the seam of her lips and her mouth parted wider. She gave a little sigh of pleasure as his tongue explored her mouth and he pulled her closer, an arm low on her waist, his hand in the small of her back. They were standing between patches of dirt and ice-crusted snow and yet the night blazed, hot and bright.
He held her against him, a hand tangling in her thick, glossy hair. His kiss drank her in. Her taste was intoxicating…addictive. He couldn’t remember when he last wanted anyone this much.
When he finally lifted his head, she was clinging to the lapel of his coat, her blue eyes cloudy, expression dazed. “Um, wow,” she whispered, dropping her hands to bury them in her coat pockets. She took a step back. “Not bad. Apparently you’re quite good at a couple things.”
