by Kayn, Debra
The other night she'd wanted him with a passion she'd never experienced before. If he had asked, she would have taken him to her room and made love. It was that simple. She never questioned why or needed to know what would happen the next day. Deep down in her heart, she knew being with Trace was right.
"I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone," she whispered.
She stepped away, and he grabbed her hand. "Why did you say that?"
Not wanting him to see how his rudeness had her close to tears, she lifted her chin. "I won't bother you anymore. I won't try to draw you into a conversation, and I won't spend time alone with you, unless we're working on your exercises. When your doctor deems you well enough to continue on your own, I'll leave and you won't have to put up with me anymore."
"Joan, I—"
"Don't say it. Don't you dare say it." She shook her head, and kept her voice low. "I don't regret one moment of the time I've spent with you at Lakota ranch, and that includes all the flirting and the kisses we shared. So, don't apologize."
"You don't understand," he whispered.
"For some reason, you don't see yourself worthy of a woman's attention. That makes me angry, because all I see is a man who is stronger than anyone I know. You put those you love before your own happiness, and protect those who need protecting. But, who's going to protect you? Who's going to love you, Trace?"
The muscle in his jaw twitched, and he didn't answer her. He simply stared down at her with eyes darker than the black abyss.
She spun around and walked away. Losing herself in the crowd, she searched for an exit. She would not allow herself to fall apart anywhere near Trace, and give him another excuse to find something wrong with her.
The fine line between patient and friend no longer existed. After all these weeks, the boundary she'd set had faded away, under no control of her own. She knew better. How could she turn off her heart?
She'd gone into nursing, because she cared about people. Her main goal was making their pain tolerable and seeing to their comfort. The satisfaction of having helped a person feel better compared right up there with seeing small miracles happen every day.
Not every person she cared about would survive. Trace's leg would heal completely, thanks to her regime of exercise and making sure he pampered himself. The only person who could heal his shattered heart was Trace.
Outside, she rushed to the Lakota ranch truck and found the door locked. She smacked her hand against the window. Pain ricocheted up her arm, and she leaned against the vehicle, groaning. How could he not see what he's doing to himself?
A small movement from the rear of the truck startled her. She sniffed, wiped her cheeks, and stepped toward the back. Looking down on the ground, she gasped. Oh, my God.
The young girl from the last time she visited the reservation with Trace sat on the ground. Her legs drawn to her chest, and her arms wrapped around the bruised and dirty limbs. Joan kneeled down in the grass. Reaching out, she pulled her hand back before making contact. The last thing she'd want to do is frighten Savannah or make her run off without someone helping her.
"Savannah? I'm one of Trace's Friends. I'm his nurse, and helping him with his broken leg." She lowered her head to peek at Savannah's face. "Are you able to understand me?"
Blood ran from Savannah's nose, and she gave a slight nod.
"Can you do me a favor, and hold your head up a little more? We need to slow down the blood flow."
Savannah appeared in shock, but followed Joan's instructions. Joan grabbed the end of her dress and ripped enough material off to hand over to Savannah. "Press this on your nose, and hold really still. Try not to move your head, sweetie. I'm going to go back in and find Trace. He'll know what to do. Okay? Will you stay here, and not run off?"
Savannah nodded, her eyes dry, unblinking, and void of emotion. Joan had seen the same expression in Trace's gaze when he thought she wasn't looking. At Savannah's age, it was important to work fast before she slipped further into herself.
Unable to stop herself, she rubbed Savannah's arm. "I'll be right back with Trace."
She ran through the field, across the road, and spotted Trace and Brody standing outside the doors of the hall. Not wanting to attract attention, she slowed down to a fast walk and approached Trace from the rear. The quieter she could keep what was happening with Savannah private until they figured out what happened to the girl, the safer.
"Trace." She panted, grabbing his hand. "I need your help."
He turned and his mouth hardened. "What happened? You've got blood on your cheek."
She leaned into him and struggled for breath. "I-It's not mine. I'm okay. You need to come with me. Someone hurt Savannah, and she's hiding by the truck. Oh, Trace, we have to help her."
Trace turned to Brody. "Did you hear?"
Brody stepped closer. "What do you want us to do?"
"Make sure Savannah's father doesn't come outside looking for his daughter. Joan and I'll help Savannah, and make sure she's safe for the night."
Brody handed the truck keys to Joan, but continued looking at Trace. Whatever passed between them remained unspoken, until Brody spoke in Lakota. Trace nodded tightly, and grabbed her hand.
Together, they went to help Savannah.
Chapter Seventeen
Joan led Savannah up to the house they'd stopped by the other day. "Trace, we can't leave her here."
"We have to. Taking her off the reservation would be kidnapping, and would bring even more trouble down on her. Trust me." Trace opened the door to the shack and hopped back out of the way. "Go on, Savannah. We'll make sure your dad doesn't come looking for you tonight. You hang out here until it's safe. Promise?"
Savannah nodded, turned to Joan and tried to give her back the now blood-soaked scrap of material from Joan's dress. She tilted Savannah's chin, looking into her bruised nose. "It looks like its stopped bleeding. You're a very good patient, Savannah. You did excellent."
An empty gaze stared back at her. Joan swallowed and whispered, "Take care of yourself, Savannah."
The little girl dragged her feet as she walked into the house. Joan peered inside, but there were no lights on. In all probability, she'd be surprised if the house had electricity at all.
A rotten stench like nothing she'd ever smelled before wafted out, and she covered her mouth. Her throat constricted, and she fought to keep from gagging. It smelled of death, worse than the morgue and autopsy room when she did student training.
"Let's get to the truck before we draw anyone's attention to where Savannah's staying." Trace waited for her to start walking.
She glanced behind her at the house, waiting to hear yelling, or Savannah crying out for help. But only silence came. Her heart went out to the child, to the life she was forced to live, and wished there was something more she could do.
Inside the truck, Joan's hands shook so much she couldn't get the vehicle in gear. Trace stretched across the seat and maneuvered the shifter into first gear for her.
"Go slow. We'll park on the outskirts of the field and wait for the others to come and tell us when Savannah's father has given up for the night. I'm betting the asshole has already found someone to give him more alcohol and he'll slink away into the dark before too long. The guys will wait until the coast is clear, and there's no sign of him finding out which house Savannah is hiding in." Trace's voice held an edge she'd never heard before.
Once parked, she leaned back and let her arms fall to her sides. Exhausted and raw, she felt the emotional upheaval of the night throughout her whole body.
Out here, away from everyone, she let herself absorb what had happened tonight. Tears rolled down her face, and a painful sense of helplessness choked every breath. When Trace pulled her across the seat, she willingly went into his arms, and clung to him.
Trace spoke to her in his native language, soothing her, comforting her, and she didn't worry about what he was saying, but held on to him. She cried for Savannah, she cried for Trace, she cried for K
atie.
"I-I don't—she hiccupped—understand why. What would make a father do that to the one person they're supposed to love unconditionally?"
She pressed her fingers to her lips. Trace glanced down at her, his expression tortured.
"I wish I knew." He remained set in his rigid posture, unable to give her the secrets.
Joan slid both her arms around him, pressed her cheek against his chest. His shoulders lifted as he took a deep breath. The muscles beneath her hands remained tense, and she held him even tighter.
***
The smell from the safe house stayed with Trace, clung to his clothes, his skin. A piercing pain in his gut stabbed him. He drew a shaky hand down Joan's back, and stared out into the darkness eating up the day and bringing the nightmares he could never outrun. The same monsters chased Savannah and many more children on the reservation that were neglected, beaten, and told they were not worthy.
He wanted to run. To escape the place he grew up on, and hide away from it all back at the ranch.
Suddenly his life overwhelmed him. He turned toward Joan with a fierce neediness, his arms wrapping around her and holding her tight against him. His body shuddered, and he dragged deep, choppy pockets of air into his lungs.
He closed his eyes to hide away from the helplessness of the situation. Inside, he yelled a child's cry, erupting out of a man's soul. His chest ached for all the years of hurt and guilt he'd endured.
Somewhere deep in his conscious he was aware of Joan, holding him, never letting him go.
Progressively, his heart rate slowed to normal and he became aware of Joan's arms still around him. He leaned his head down and inhaled the sweet strawberry fragrance of her shampoo. It reminded him of innocence.
Innocence he'd never experienced.
She'd done what others ignored and reached out to a poor child, helping Savannah and wanting to keep her safe. Joan was special, and her unique ability to create a safe haven for him went beyond being a nurse. She saw past the pain and humiliation, to the person in need.
Around her, he benefited from all those emotions he held at bay and wouldn't allow himself to feel. She'd planted herself in his life, and he didn't want to lose her. Tonight, before she'd walked out, he'd recognized the hurt he was responsible for and he wanted to chase her and apologize. He wanted to be the man in shining armor who she wanted in her life.
He was holding her too tight, and he relaxed, cradling her in his arms. He wanted to keep her here and never let anyone hurt her, to protect her from the dangers that happened everywhere in the world.
She stirred against him and lifted her head. A shiver went through her as he realized she'd fallen asleep from crying and found herself in the dark, alone with him.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be on your leg." She pushed up, but he pulled her back down on him.
"My leg's fine." Trace kissed the top of her head. "Please…just stay here, with me."
Minutes ticked by. They were safe. He was safe.
"My mother died giving birth to me." He swallowed, surprised that he spoke out loud.
Joan's fingers linked with his, and she squeezed without saying a word. She accepted him, for whatever crazy reason, and he found himself wanting to share more in a hope she'd understand that nothing was her fault. It was him.
"Another woman, I don't even remember her name, but she was one of the women my father used over and over again, lived with us until I was four. One night, after my father came home drunk and beat the shit out of her, she left," he said.
Joan didn't move.
"From then on, I became his sole punching bag. If he couldn't afford his drink, he hit me. If he couldn't find a woman to have sex with, he'd kick me around. Sometimes I think if I breathed too loudly, he'd use the excuse of me being alive to smack me around."
"The only thing that saved me was starting school when I was six. I met Brody and Devon. I don't know how they found out about my home life, or when, but they started bringing extra food to school and giving it to me at lunchtime because my father didn't think I needed food to live on. Later, when we hit our teen years, they'd hide me in their bedrooms or stay with me, hidden in an abandoned house or out in the fields. We spent many nights huddled together to keep warm, and they never asked me why I couldn't go back home." He wrapped the end of a strand of Joan's hair around his pinky. "They just stayed."
"The other guys have their own story to tell, but early on we knew we wanted to escape the reservation. We wanted to take everything good from our people, and recreate our own area where it was safe, and we'd be together. I think they did it more for me than for themselves, and I'll never be able to pay them back for everything they've done." Trace lifted his shoulder and rubbed his cheek against his shirt. "I'm not worth their love and loyalty, and if it takes all my life, I'll never be able to pay them back for keeping me alive. There were many times I would have rather died than walk back into my father's house, but I did because I knew Brody and Devon would come looking for me the next day."
Joan sat up, but didn't leave his lap. She cupped his face. He closed his eyes, unable to see the disgust and pity on her face.
The shame of what he'd lived through killed him. He wanted to be that hero she waited for. But, he wasn't a hero. Heroes were brave, strong, and unscarred.
"Open your eyes, Trace." She waited. "Look at me."
He blinked rapidly against the pain it took to do what she asked of him. Gasping for breath, he fought to look into her eyes and prove he was man enough to have her sitting on his lap, holding him.
"I never, ever, want to hear you say you're not worth receiving love. You are the most caring man behind that hard shell you wear. You hide it well, but I can see the gentleness inside of you, the goodness that shows in the quietest of ways." Joan kissed his lips softly. "Yes, you've lived through hell, but that's your father's sin he'll have to carry. Not yours. You were a little boy…like Savannah. I am so glad the guys helped you, and you're paying it forward by helping Savannah. She will always remember that there was one man, one very special man, who thought she was worth loving."
He wasn't sure he believed her, but he took her words and buried them deep inside of him. No one could take those words away, because he'd never allow a person to get that close to him again.
"Thank you," he mouthed.
"You're a special man, Trace LaBatte," she whispered. "Don't ever forget that."
Her head tilted as his moved closer and captured her lips. She tasted sweet and sexy at the same time. He had a clear memory of the other kisses they shared, but his soul was open and raw tonight, accepting her, believing her words.
At the exact point when his tongue touched hers, he wanted to show her the all-consuming acceptance she'd shown him. To give her the security of knowing he cared, and that he was falling for her. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to say the words, so he showed her in his kiss.
He continued to hold on to her because if he didn't, he'd crumble. When she broke away and nibbled her way down his neck, between the open V of his shirt, he lost all thoughts.
"I hope you know what you're doing." He trembled.
"Trace, I know exactly what I'm doing. You can't scare me away. I've watched you sleep, made sure you eat, and helped you to the bathroom." She kissed him on the lips. "Now, I want to see the other side of you. I want your kisses, your touch, and to know the man you don't share with anyone else."
"You won't like that part of me." He hugged her to his chest.
She curled against him, burying her face in his neck. "I already do," she whispered against his skin.
He trembled on an exhale. "I want you. Never wanted someone the way I want you."
"Then have me." She tiled her head back and gazed into his eyes. "All you had to do is ask."
He kissed her forehead and held her tight. "Later. Tonight. I don't want our first time together to be in a truck, or at the reservation."
"Okay," she whispered.
He collecte
d himself and helped her scoot off his lap. She peered into the darkness. "Most of the cars are gone. I hope Savannah is okay…"
"Devon and Brody will make sure she is. They're good at watching out for others," he whispered.
Chapter Eighteen
Joan stared into the black sky with its gazillion twinkling stars. She knew Trace well enough to know he struggled moving forward with their plans to have sex tonight. Out here, away from the house, she knew beyond a doubt that coming together with Trace was exactly what she wanted. It was only her and Trace, nothing else mattered.
"I wish I didn't have this cast on…"
She leaned up on one elbow and turned toward him. They lay side-by-side out in the lawn, away from the lighted pool, on the blanket without any clothes on. She ran her fingers over the sculpted lines of his body. His hair hung loose casting his face in shadows. So many times, she'd dreamed of what it would be like to lay with him.
"I'll be gentle." She teased. He made her feel sexy, letting her explore his body at whim.
He rubbed his lips together but didn't say a word.
She splayed her hand across his breastbone, feeling his heart beating wildly against her palm. Unrushed, curious, and wanting to remember every little detail, she discovered every inch of Trace's body in the moonlight.
"Our bodies are so different. You're midnight and I'm sunshine." She trailed one finger down his hard stomach. His skin was smooth, almost hairless, and warm.
She replaced her finger with her lips and he groaned, cupping her head and pulling her up to him.
"Straddle me." He'd spoken in a thick whisper full of passion.
Joan kissed his lips, and moved over him after he rolled a condom on his hardness. "I'm shaking, I want you so much."
His hands still cupped her face and he took her lips with a passion she'd never received before. Their bodies meshed together, her breasts pressed into his chest. The night was an erotic dream, and she never wanted to stop.
"You're beautiful," he spoke between her lips.
Trace trailed his hands down the curve of her back. She arched against him. "Please, Trace…I want you."
