by Kayn, Debra
A mix of pleasure, pain, and tantalizing teasing, the massage turned out better than Trace expected. He closed his eyes, and focused on her hands and the way she'd turned him into a pile of mush.
The itching on his leg, inside of his cast, eased. Warmth seemed to come from his leg bone and spread outward to the surface of his skin. He sighed deeply, hoping she didn't plan to stop soon.
"How's your leg doing? No pain?"
He shook his head, unable to open his eyes. "It's good."
On and on, she worked. Trace found himself caught between confessing she was a witch with magical powers, and admitting how wrong he was. He could see how this would be good for his leg.
He opened his eyes and cleared his throat. "How often do we have to do this…massage?"
She shrugged. "At least once a day from here on out, although if you believe it helps your leg feel better, all you have to do is ask me and I'd be glad to do it more often. There's no harm in doing therapy more than once a day if it makes you feel good."
"Okay."
Joan continued ten more minutes, and finally sat back on her heels. He slowly came out of the euphoria she created for him. He rubbed the back of his neck and sat up straighter.
"Is your neck and back hurting you?" She pushed to her feet and stood.
"Huh?" He realized where his hand was, and lowered his arm. His thoughts came fast, and he was no more able to control his mouth, as he was his body around her. "Yeah, a little bit. Must have been when Thunderbolt slammed me against the fence."
"Here, let me look. Take off your shirt." She moved around the bench and grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt.
He didn't have time to protest before she'd worked his shirt up to his armpits. His body stiffened as he let her strip him of covering. He held his breath while she repeated the same technique she'd used on his leg. He flinched as she moved along his spinal cord.
"You're muscles are one big knot across your upper back. It's hard to work with you sitting up, but the bench isn't long enough to stretch out and support your leg. I'll just work out the tension, and tomorrow we'll have to plan another place in the house for you to get your therapy. That way I can do your back too." She dug into the thick cords going from his neck to his shoulder.
He remained silent. She'd stolen all thoughts. All he could process were the hands on his back, and they weren't hurting him. He was in heaven.
"Have you been injured by a horse before?" She spanned his lower back with her hands.
"Hm…" He roused himself enough to concentrate on her question. "Yeah, lots. Kinda goes with the territory of training horses. Not every animal is going to accept my teachings."
She ran her finger along his lower spine, toward the left and stopped at the side of his back. "I'd hate to meet the horse who left you this scar. It looks like it was painful, and deep."
He panicked and lunged for his shirt, slipping the material over his. He'd been so relaxed and appreciative of Joan's help making him feel better; hiding his scars from her fled his mind.
"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" Joan gazed in the mirror at him.
Not wanting to answer her, he stood and struggled with his crutches. "I forgot. I need to make a phone call." He hobbled toward the door.
"Trace?"
He didn't look back. When she was around, she made him forget who he was. He never let anyone see his scars from his childhood in the light of day. No one. Ever.
Chapter Twelve
Fifteen miles away from the ranch, Joan turned off the main two-lane road onto the Lakota reservation. The crew cab traveled the gravel road smoother than butter on hot toast, and with the air conditioning blasting Joan in the face, she thought it was the nicest vehicle she'd ever driven. She glanced at Trace. He'd kept his eyes shut most of the way, but he wasn't asleep.
She pulled to a stop. "Is your leg hurting?"
He ignored her question and pointed. "Go down the road about two hundred feet. You'll see the stables and a large delivery truck. That's where I need to go."
She'd tried to talk him out of making the trip and when that failed, she'd convinced him to let her drive him. Afraid if one of the guys took him and he had trouble getting around or he ended up handling the horses himself, he'd reinjure his leg. She also used the trip as an excuse to talk to him but so far, that wasn't working too well with Trace's choice not to communicate with her.
Dust swirled behind the truck as she pulled up to the front of the stables. "I'll let you out here, and go park the truck. When you're ready to go home, wave to me from the door and I'll drive the truck closer, so you don't have to walk so far."
"Fine." He gathered his crutches, a file, and hobbled by himself to the door and disappeared inside.
"Fine," she muttered, and pulled away to park. "Fine. Okay. No. Oh, he makes me so mad."
Sitting in the parked truck, she gazed around at the activities going on around the reservation. There were families working in their yards, children running around, and an occasional car roared to life. Lakota wasn't much different from her neighborhood, except the houses all appeared the same.
Same shape, same color, same condition.
If she understood correctly from the guys on how the community ran, every family was given a home to call their own and then handed a percentage of whatever income they earned as rent to the Lakota council. Those who were unemployed were still offered a house and had a roof over their heads. Homelessness was not a problem inside the reservation, because everyone benefited by a government funded program.
The sun beat down on the top of the truck, warming the inside and making her sleepy. She turned the ignition switch far enough to work the electric windows. The smell of horse manure wafted in with the slight breeze.
She tried to imagine Trace, Brody, and Devon running wild along the dirt road as children. The happy scene never came. Instead, she imagined Trace crying and nobody stopping to ask him what was making him sad. She laid her head back. She'd tried to talk to him a couple of times about his days on the reservation, hoping he'd confide in her about his past but he'd cleverly changed the subject.
An hour later, her bladder threatened to explode inside the truck. Unable to wait any longer, she locked the doors and ran inside the rundown building. She didn't know much about stables, and hoped they had a bathroom somewhere nearby.
Not finding Trace, she asked for directions from a shirtless man who was shoveling out one of the stalls. He pointed down the aisle without saying a word. She hurried forward and found the bathroom. It wasn't the cleanest she'd ever seen, but she was at the point of having a real emergency on her hands.
Upon leaving, she went in the opposite direction, down a corroder away from the animal part of the barn, and hoped to make it outside before Trace finished his meeting. He was doing so well lately, but even with his leg not causing him problems, going out and keeping his leg off the ground still added stress to his body. It'd give him one more thing to grumble about, even though he'd never admit how much moving around on crutches with a heavy cast put strain on him.
Loud, masculine voices came from further ahead, and she slowed to a normal walk. As she ambled past the open room, she spotted Trace's back. He was standing on his crutches near the door, and she decided to wait for him.
"I'll come out to your place next week, and drop off the roster for the next shipment. Are you sure you don't want me to bring back that damn horse that wants to kill you? I talked with Brody the other day, and he agreed there was no hope to make a stud out of him. He'd kill any mare he tried to mount, not to mention anyone who tried to handle him."
"No. He stays." Trace's low voice told Joan he was not changing his mind.
"Okay. It's your life."
Trace turned, saw her, and frowned. "You shouldn't be in here."
"I had to use the restroom. Then I heard your voice. I thought I'd walk you out." She shrugged. "I can see you don't need my help, so I'll go get the truck."
She walked ahead of hi
m at a normal pace. If he overdid it, he could pay the price of aching muscles tomorrow. Maybe then, he'd listen to her more often.
A young girl around seven or eight years old ran through the door, her dark hair flying behind her, and a giant smile on her face. Joan couldn't help turning to watch her run…right at Trace. Before she could catch the child and save him from getting hurt, Trace dropped his crutches and pulled the child into his arms.
"Toniktuka hwo." Trace held the child to him, his hand stroking the child's head.
Joan couldn't hear the girl's reply, or understand what Trace was saying. She stayed back, shocked at the delighted smile on Trace's face. It was obvious to Joan that he knew the girl and was genuinely happy to talk with her.
"Ah-ghwah-wea-lah" Trace pointed at the ground and shrugged.
The child gathered his crutches, helped him situate them under his arms, and gently hugged him around the waist again. Trace murmured in his own language to the girl, who nodded before running off. Captivated by the peace she viewed in Trace's lax jaw and warm gaze, Joan stared.
She knew the moment he learned she was witnessing the exchange, because his chin came up and his mouth hardened. Reminding herself that his private life was none of his business, she turned and hurried to bring the truck around.
Once settled in the truck, Trace directed her to drive past a few rows of houses and turn down the last street on the left. She'd barely made the corner, and he ordered her to stop.
Weather and time painted the row houses with a coat of poverty and desperation. It seemed in this area, the houses were set apart from the others. Dogs ran wild, and litter tumbled in the wind. Sadness washed through her. Unlike the active and populated roads she'd gone through upon arriving on Lakota land, no one worked outside or tended their yards here. Most of the houses appeared abandoned and in disarray.
"Honk the horn." Trace lifted himself off the seat, dug in his back pocket, and removed a money clip.
She chewed on the inside of her cheek. The area appeared deserted, but she followed his directions and pushed down on the middle of the steering wheel.
The loud sound seemed to alert the inhabitants in the shack and the door opened. The same girl from the stables came out and ran straight toward the truck. Trace opened the door. Joan leaned forward, and watched him pass a handful of cash to the girl. She frowned as the child wadded the bundle of bills up in her fist.
The child beamed, leaned inside the cab of the truck, and kissed Trace's cast. "Ah-kee-shnee."
Trace waited for the girl to run back inside the house and shut the door. She'd hate to assume anything, but what other reason would Trace have to give the child money than he was her father.
"You can go now." Trace closed his eyes, let his head fall back on the headrest of the truck, and deliberately ignored her.
Trace's silence gave her more time to try and put the pieces of this new puzzle together. Had Trace been married before, or was the little girl back on the reservation a child from a relationship he'd had in his past? Why wasn't she living with him? How could he allow his child to live in such poverty when he was snug and happy in a home big enough for twenty children?
Half way home, Trace still feigned sleep, ignoring her every time she cleared her throat or sighed loudly in her attempt to rouse him. Fed up with his cold shoulder treatment, she decided on her own to stop in Durham and pick up her mail without asking his permission. If he wanted to pretend she wasn't in the truck with her, she'd pretend that it was all right to drive his vehicle the two extra miles out of their way.
She turned down First Street and followed the road down into the old business district. At one time, the buildings were a work of popular architecture and class but today, maybe because Trace was with her, they appeared run down and half of them were vacant. She rubbed her forehead. The similarities between the road where the little girl lived on at the reservation and the street she lived on weren't lost on her.
She slowed down, and searched for an open parking spot along the curb. Finding one in front of the bakery, where she lived upstairs in the one-bedroom apartment, she pulled off the main road and shut off the engine.
"What are you doing?" Trace gazed out the window. "Sudden urge for a donut?"
"I'll be right back." She exited the truck.
He wasn't the only one with secrets, and the way he was acting gave her no reason to share anymore of her life than she already had. She ran down the alley to the steps that led to the upstairs. Glad that he wouldn't be able to follow, she slowed down and took the stairs at a normal pace.
The sweet, vanilla smell of donuts wafted out of the bakery downstairs. Her stomach growled. She'd missed home. Although, she didn't have to worry about gaining weight living out at the ranch the way she did buying the day-old pastries from her landlord three times a week.
Unlocking the door to her apartment, she let herself in and scooped up the mail lying on the floor. Shuffling through the stack, she groaned. The electric company had sent the final notice while she'd been gone. She glanced at the clock radio. The display was unlit. Crap.
Unable to do anything about the lack of electricity, she shoved the mail in a paper bag to take back with her and relocked the front door. She descended the steps slowly, putting off returning to the truck. It hurt to know Trace didn't care enough about his daughter to see to her welfare. She'd expected more from him, knowing how much he gave to the other guys and the people of his tribe.
When she got down to the street, Trace was standing outside the truck, leaning against the fender.
He motioned with his hand. "Let's grab a bite."
She clutched the bag to her chest. "Here?"
"Why not?" He challenged her with his eyes.
She shrugged, and followed him inside the bakery. He plunked down at the nearest table, and gave her a twenty-dollar bill. She raised her brow in question.
"Whatever you get, make sure it has chocolate on it," he said.
She tilted her head, studying him. "O…kay."
Bruce Cahill smiled at her from behind the counter. Besides being the owner of the shop, he was also her landlord. She stood between Bruce and Trace's line of vision, hoping Bruce wouldn't mention her living situation.
"About time you showed up." Bruce placed his elbows on the glass case and leaned forward. "Where have you been, Joan? I haven't seen hide nor hair of you and that sassy little sister of yours lately. I'd almost believe you skipped out of town, except I did receive your rent payment this month."
Joan glanced behind her, before pointing at a row of donuts and holding up two fingers. "I've got a new job, but it's temporary. I should be back in a couple of weeks."
"Is Katie coming home too?" Bruce grabbed a napkin, and gathered the donuts. "I miss her stopping by and entertaining me with all her stories."
"Not quite yet." She forced a smile. "I hope before too long. I miss her."
"I bet you do." Bruce passed her the order, took her cash, and stepped over to the register. "Your daddy doted on you girls. You've had a rough time lately, and I worry about you both."
"Thanks, Bruce." She lifted her chin. "We'll be fine, once we get back together."
She said her goodbye to Bruce and returned to the table. She handed Trace the two chocolate éclairs. Trace handed her back one. Sitting across from him, she tried desperately not to attack the donut in a raving fit to appease her addiction. She moaned as the sugary treat hit her tongue.
"You do like donuts, don't you?" Trace leaned across the table and wiped the corner of her mouth, then licked the chocolate off his thumb.
She licked her lips and gazed away from him, not liking how her body betrayed her when she wasn't sure if she should be mad at him or not. "I'm starving."
Trace indulged in a bite of his own donut, swallowed, and then frowned. "I should have had you stop on the way to the reservation, and we could've grabbed a proper lunch. I'm sorry. All I was thinking about during the ride was how far behind I'm getting with w
ork, and I need to figure out how to make up all the time I've wasted being laid up."
"You needed to do whatever it is you do." She set her treat down and sighed. "Can I ask you something?"
He nodded once.
"This is probably none of my business, but why don't you let your little girl live at the ranch with you." She shuddered, remembering how pathetic the house was that they visited.
Trace's brows rose. "She has a house."
"Yes, but you have to see how bad the living conditions were there. Wouldn't she have more opportunities if she could live where it's safe and warm? It must be terrible in the wintertime. You can practically see through cracks in the outside walls." She leaned back in her chair.
It bothered her that he wouldn't take care of his child, and want to give her the best possible childhood. Throwing some extra money at the girl only went so far. Nothing could be better than a father's love. She knew that personally. She'd give anything to have her own father back, and she was a grown adult.
If she had money, nothing would keep her from bringing Katie home. For her to struggle with her own failure over not finding a job and not doing better for Katie, she thought Trace's lack of doing something better for his daughter as irresponsible.
Most of all, Trace disappointed her. She thought better of him and learning differently made her mad.
"You don't know what you're talking about." Trace polished off the rest of the éclair.
"Oh, but I do." She stood up. "Every child should have a father, a family. To deny her that is un…it sucks, Trace."
Her appetite gone, she tossed her napkin on the table and left the donut shop. Pacing the sidewalk, she grew angrier. If he expected a child to live through hardships, maybe it would do a world of good if she stopped babying Trace. She turned around, spotted Trace coming out of the store, and approached him.
"I can't believe you. All this time, and you really had me fooled." She clamped her lips together and muffled her scream of frustration. "Oh, never mind. I quit. I can't do this anymore. You can find someone else to fight with you every time your therapy is due or you want to sneak outside. I give up."
