by Kayn, Debra
Latching the door quietly, she stepped to the left and sat down in the rocker without disturbing him. She admired the strength in Trace's body. He balanced on one foot, eyes closed, and his arms hung over the crutches and loose at his sides.
His shorts hung low on his hips, and she sighed in appreciation. She counted down the remaining days she had left working here. Anything to distract her from the way her body tingled and the urge to go to him, to connect, and get back the closeness they'd found together yesterday while braiding each other's hair.
He was a gorgeous male. She was a healthy woman with sexual desires that she'd never explored fully. In any other setting, she would've taken any attention he threw her way and enjoyed every second of it. She raised her gaze and concentrated on his face. If not for the way his jaw muscle flinched in pain, she'd think he had found his utopia.
Her phone vibrated. She removed the cell, gazed at the screen, and warmth filled her. Katie.
Katie: Luv U.
She smiled and texted back. Luv U2
Katie: Fingers crossed. Can't wait to go home.
She glanced at Trace, and then set her fingers to typing. Don't worry. Soon! Miss U.
Katie: Miss U1 doh U2 LOL BYE
BYE She waited and when no more messages came, she put her phone away.
Every day without Katie seemed harder. She tried to keep positive, but straightening her life out seemed impossible. One thing at a time. Today, she was being paid to take care of Trace.
Not wanting Trace to strain his leg, she approached him. When he didn't open his eyes, she rubbed his arm. Trace startled, pitched forward, and grabbed the railing to steady himself. He turned his head and glared at her.
"What?" he snapped.
She ignored his attitude. "You're in pain. Please, come inside and I'll help you prop your leg up."
He clamped his lips together and hopped out of her reach. "I'm fine."
"No you're not. You need to rest and make sure the swelling stays down." She reached for him, but he shrugged her off.
He pinned her to the spot with his gaze. "For once, can you leave me alone?"
"Fine." She planted her hands on her hips. "You obviously don't need me. You're perfectly healthy…it's not like it's my job to make sure you follow the doctor's orders."
"Joan…" He turned his head away from her.
She waited, but he didn't finish his thought. "What? You want to tell me off, go ahead. I shouldn't have kissed you. Is that what this is about? You've had me running all over this ranch doing the stupidest things, so you don't have to deal with me. When all you had to do is talk to me, and you'd realize what happened between us was no big deal. I'm an affectionate person, there's no crime in that." She crossed her arms. "Maybe you can't recognize when someone wants to thank you. It didn't—"
"Don't say it." He swiftly inhaled. "Look. I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you to come out here. I wanted time to think, to relax, and for some reason when you're around I find myself…forget about it, it's not important. I'm going inside."
He hopped away on his crutches. She followed him toward the door. She was beginning to think her six weeks couldn't come soon enough.
One minute he was snapping at her, and the next he was welcoming her attention. It almost sounded as if he did want her around, which she found interesting. Even more interesting was that it bothered him. Why?
Inside the living room, Trace sat on the couch. Joan went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of ice water. She didn't say a word, just handed him the drink and quickly left. If he wanted to stew in a bad mood, he could do it without her help.
She had enough problems in her own life without worrying if he was ever going to stop being mad at her.
***
Trace guzzled all the water, lay down, and closed his eyes. Earlier, he'd tried to find that empty space where nothing bothered him. The pressure of business, the stress of helping his people, and the turmoil of having Joan around twenty-four/seven boiled inside of him, and he wanted to escape. If he could tap down his emotions, the dreams that ruined the night for him would go away.
Somehow, Joan made him feel again and doing so left him vulnerable. He had to make her stay away.
"Trace?" Brody said. "Are you sleeping?"
"No." He opened his eyes.
Brody stood beside the couch. "What's wrong with Joan?"
Trace sat back up. "What do you mean?"
"I passed her in the hall. She looked steamed, so I asked her if everything was all right and she said to ask the dumbass in the living room." Brody cocked his brow. "I figured you were the dumbass she was talking about."
"Damn," he muttered.
He'd known he hurt her feelings. She was too good of a person not to feel the sting of his words. She nurtured people. That was her job.
He picked up his crutches. "I'll go talk to her."
"Listen, Trace." Brody held up his hand. "She's trying to help. She doesn't know what you've gone through. Cut her some slack."
He nodded his head once. "I know. There was no excuse for how I treated her."
Brody reached out to clap him on the shoulder, and pulled his hand back before making contact. "It's time for dinner. She's pacing in the foyer. Try to get her to eat with us. We'll all bring a smile to her face again, and you two can start off on the right foot…again."
He walked out of the room, wishing he could be the type of man to put a smile on Joan's face himself…but he wasn't. The less she hung around him, the better for everyone involved.
Chapter Seven
A loud rhythmic banging echoed throughout Trace's wing. Joan sat up in bed, rubbed her eyes, and threw off the covers. It sounded as if Trace was listening to his stereo on full blast.
The vase on the dresser rocked in place to the deep booming. She scrambled out of bed, opened the door, and peeked out into the hallway. The sound only grew louder, and she shut the door.
She hurried and brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her hair, slapped on some mascara and went back into the bedroom to get dressed. Wide awake and curious, she walked out into the hall and followed the music. The tempo changed, and she hurried. She didn't recognize the song, but the beat was cheery and welcoming.
Making her way through the sitting room, she found an opened door. More curious than ever, Joan dashed forward. She'd never been this deep into Trace's living quarters before.
At the entrance, she spotted Devon behind three drums. Not regular drums, but large tubs with what appeared to be suede stretched over the tops and tied with leather straps. She stood in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt. The music settled over her, and she found herself tapping her foot.
Trace sat in an oversized chair playing a flute, while Brody leaned against the far wall with his eyes closed, nodding with the music. Devon hummed a low guttural sound. Together, the music spoke volumes.
Not wanting them to stop playing, she stayed where she was and listened. The soft trill of the flute fluttered around the beat of the drums, and reminded her of being a child and skipping through the field next to the school she attended. The song took her back to a day when picking daisies for her mom was the most important part of her plans, and her parents would always be there to protect and come to her rescue.
Slowly, the others noticed her and the music died away. She stepped into the room, shaking her head in amazement.
"That was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard." She blinked, realizing her eyes were wet. "Very soulful and personal."
"Maybe you have a little Lakota in you." Devon motioned for her to take a seat beside Trace. "The music speaks to your soul and heals, caresses, and sometimes can even make you laugh."
Trace scooted over, making room for her. She smiled at him, and breathed a sigh of relief when he mustered a polite half grin back. He'd apologized last night for making her job harder than it should be. Nothing more was mentioned about the kiss they shared, but that was probably for the best. If he could put it out of his
mind and go on working together, so could she.
"You've explained how you all left the reservation, but do you have family still living there or have they left too?" Joan leaned back.
No one answered, but their gazes darted across the room at one another. Joan wished she could take back her question.
"Sorry. That was rude of me." She laid her hand on her cheek. "As you know, I often don't think before I open my mouth."
Brody cleared his throat, taking the attention off her. "I have a whole passel of relatives who have always lived on the reservation, two sisters, aunts, a couple of uncles and at last count, two nephews, and three nieces."
"I no longer have relatives on the rez." Trace threw the chair cushion at Devon. "Your turn."
Devon feigned throwing the pillow back and then picked at a loose strand of thread at the corner. "My Uciwayeki, grandmother, still resides on Lakota land."
The way Devon spoke and the way his smile fell, she could tell something painful came along with the mention of his grandma.
"Okay. One more song and I have to get out of here." Brody clapped his hands. "Which one should we play for Joan?"
"Let's play her, wee-shday chay wee –yahn." Devon stepped back behind the drums.
"Dev…" Trace shook his head. "Pick a different one."
"No. She'll like it." Devon laughed. "I'll start us out."
Devon's hands came down and softly tapped the top of the drum. He wiggled his brows and grinned. Joan clasped her hands in front of her, delighted at the playful show. She glanced at Trace, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled, and seeing him relaxed with his friends pleased her.
He deserved to forget about his leg and have fun for a change.
Devon sang low in his native language. She listened carefully, not understanding a word but impressed with the fluid sounds. She had no idea the men could talk in the language of their people.
Devon's voice rose and fell, and his facial expressions became more animated as he sang. From what she could gather, he was singing about a silly person or a happy one.
When Trace's flute began, she turned to him. The tune, haunting and low, set the mood. She leaned forward, straining to understand. Before she could wonder what would cause such sadness, Trace performed a solo on the flute. The more Devon sang, the louder Trace played, until Joan laughed for a no reason but because the music called for it.
Experiencing the foreign song, and feeling the emotions behind the sound, was something new to her. Without comprehending the language, she let her interpretation to the music dictate her enjoyment. Devon's added comic relief also helped.
The song ended, and all the men grinned. Joan stayed where she was, leaning against Trace's shoulder. She envied the close friendships in the room. Their relationships went beyond gathering together for dinner once a week. They were family, and a functioning one at that.
"I had no idea you could converse in your native tongue." Joan gazed around the room. "Do you all speak Lakota? What did the song mean?"
"Yeah, we've made it a point to keep our heritage alive when we're together. Times have changed, and most Lakota kids being raised today don't even know a few simple phrases." Devon pointed at Trace. "I taught Trace, and together we finally have Brody up to talking like he was born knowing the language."
"Who's going to tell me what the song meant?" She turned to Trace. "I thought the part you played started out sad, but quickly changed to something happy through the rest of the song."
He passed a look to Devon before turning to her. "It's a story of a bashful woman, who long ago was courted by…well, the most popular man in the tribe. One day, he flirts with her and because other people have picked on her all through her life, she thinks he's being cruel and doesn't take him seriously."
"That's sad," she said.
"Ah, but she turns the tables on him. She agrees to meet him by the river at dark, intending to put him in his place for ridiculing her. It is there, in the dark, that she can hide from her insecurities and stand up for herself. But, the spirit has different plans and when her admirer arrives, she sheds her clothes and seduces him under the moon to get back at him for making fun of her." The corners of his mouth softened. "The spirits cast a spell around him and from that night on, he turns into her love slave, and they have many babies."
They both laughed. A little twinge low in Joan's belly sparked to life as she looked into his relaxed face. Brooding and aloof, Trace was attractive. Laughing, he left her breathless.
Joan leaned into him and gave him a nudge. "Did you make that up?"
He shrugged. "You'll have to learn our language to find out, I guess."
The men put away the musical instruments, and followed Joan out to the main part of the house. Trace headed toward the kitchen on his crutches, and the other guys headed outside. Joan poured herself and Trace a cup of coffee.
"What's on your agenda today?" She sat down at the bar and slid his mug to him.
He rubbed his hands over his lower face. "I'm going to work on some paperwork for the reservation. Joe, who works at the stables, faxed the papers I needed last night, and I should be able to schedule the next load of horses so they'll be ready for delivery."
She added a spoonful of sugar in her cup. "While you do that, I'll go ahead and take a shower. Would it be okay if I put a piece of outgoing mail in your box later? My landlord doesn't believe in online bill paying, and since I don't have a way to get to Durham, I don't want this month's rent payment to be late. He's a stickler for paying on time."
"Sure." He took a drink of his coffee. "Although, if you ever need to go into town, Devon or Brody could take you or you could borrow my truck."
"I wouldn't want to do that. You know what happened to the last car I drove." She rolled her eyes.
"Still…it would be no problem." He grabbed one of the muffins off the plate and held one out for Joan.
She peeled the paper off, and picked off one of the blueberries. "Can I ask you something?"
"No reason to ask, you'll do it anyway." His lips twitched.
"I understand why your dreams led you away from the reservation, but each of you have jobs or relatives you're still connected to there. Brody even said your property backs Lakota land. I'm curious about why you all didn't go back after you became successful. You could have built this house anywhere, right? Or, is it not allowed?" She brushed off her hands.
"There are reasons why I won't live on the reservation." He popped the last bite into his mouth.
She raised her brows and waited. "You're doing it again."
"What?" He stood up and dragged his crutches under his arms.
"Closing yourself off." She sighed and looked away. "Not that you have to answer, so if I brought up something you don't want to talk about, it'd be easier just to tell me it's none of my business."
Letting the subject drop, she wiped off the counter. Trace sat back down and was studying her. She ignored him.
"Don't get me wrong, I respect our beliefs, our way of life for my people." Trace's voice was low, and he stared down at the counter. "I want to see our people prosper and better their lives, but I don't want to live there on a daily basis. I can't."
She laid her hand on his. "Trace. It's okay. You don't have to say more. I shouldn't have asked. I'm nosy, if you haven't noticed."
He nodded and stood. "I'll go work."
"I'll check on you in a couple of hours and we can do your toe exercises." She leaned her hip against the cupboard.
He never answered her, but kept crutching out of the room. She turned and gazed out the window to the pool in the distance. What would cause Trace to feel uncomfortable in the place he called home?
Everything about him showed how proud he was of his heritage. He kept the stories, the pride continuing in his life even though he'd separated himself. She shook her head. It really wasn't any of her business.
If she was going to make a career out of being a nurse, she needed to learn how to distance
herself from her patients' private lives. She drained the rest of her coffee in the sink, placed the mug in the dishwasher, and headed to her room.
Chapter Eight
Joan stood in front of the counter at the front office of the private clinic where Trace had his doctor's appointment. "Excuse me, could you tell me where I can find the list for the job openings that are available?"
"Of course." The woman stood and pointed to her left. "Go out this door, turn right, and take the first elevators down to the basement floor. Once the doors open, follow the hallway down to the cafeteria. You should see a green bulletin board on the right side before the double doors. You'll find everything you need there. If not, come back and I can find someone to help you."
"Thank you very much." She stepped over to Brody's side. "I'll be right back. If Trace comes out early, go ahead and take him to the truck and I'll meet you there. I don't want to make him sit in here waiting for me."
He gave her hand a squeeze. "Good luck."
She followed the woman's directions and found her way to the basement. Running her finger down the list, she sagged in disappointment. Even the jobs she was over qualified for were now filled and unavailable. Figures.
Every nurse wanted to work in a private practice. The hours were shorter and the benefits bigger than those offered at the two county hospitals in the area. It was a long shot to think she could attain a job here. In the health care business, she expected to start at the bottom and work her way up the ladder like everyone else and that meant going to the county hospitals and nursing homes.
Deciding to take the stairs back up to the office, she used the extra time to convince herself not to let her disappointment ruin her day. She still had time to acquire full time employment. Her job taking care of Trace wasn't over yet.
She opened the door to the third floor, cut across the plush carpeted hallway to suite 305, and found Brody pushing Trace across the waiting room in a wheelchair. She hurried forward, glancing from Trace to Brody. Her patient did not look like he received good news from the doctor.
