She lifted one shoulder a fraction. "And to tell you the truth, I didn't, either. But soon they were sending cookies and cakes and bread to places all over the U.S., not to mention Japan and England and Germany. Delicious Desserts is still one of my clients. I'm proud to say that I've built a pretty lucrative business."
However, the lessons she'd recently learned were heavy enough to round her shoulders. "But it came at great cost."
His raised eyebrows were a clear sign that he was curious for more information.
"Amy and I had done without for so long," she continued, "that once I started making money, all I wanted to do was make more. When I wasn't on the computer building sites or learning how to create even more intricate graphics, I was networking and querying, always trying to increase my clientele. It seemed that, in the blink of an eye, Amy had grown up and then she was gone. But I never slowed down. My engine was stuck in high gear, and I kept my nose to the grindstone."
She rolled her eyes and quipped, "Mixed metaphors. Anyway, I thought I had forever to fix my relationship with Amy. Although we did see each other a little more often once she returned to Montana — especially after Lily came along — it seemed that everything still took second place to my business." She shook her head. "I have to admit, I had worried about finances for so many years that it wasn't so much building the business as earning money that had become important."
"I think that's a normal reaction, Jenna. You grew up worrying about having your basic needs met. It's quite natural to want to see to it that you have enough income to survive."
Although she appreciated his commiseration, she turned away and said softly, "Yeah, well, in one brief phone call from an E.R. nurse I learned that I didn't have forever with Amy."
His eyes were on her. She didn't have to turn her head to know. She could feel the intensity of his gaze almost as if it were a tangible thing.
"That's why getting custody of Lily was so crucial to me." She couldn't say why she was explaining the motivation behind her actions in such detail. It could be that after two weeks with little to no adult company, she was itching for some conversation that didn't necessitate a cutesy baby tone. Then again, it could be that she simply wanted Gage to know her a little better.
The implications of that surprising thought filled her with a strange, almost giddy excitement.
But whatever the reason, it seemed all-important for him to understand what drove her to make a marriage bargain with a perfect stranger, to pick up and move to Broken Bow Reservation, to change her whole existence for one tiny child.
"I've learned a very hard lesson," she continued. "Life can change in the blink of an eye." She was well aware that fate had taught him that same lesson, as well. "Family is more important than a career, or money, or anything else. And I want to spend every day showing Lily what I made the mistake of not showing Amy. That I love her and care about her. Above all else."
"She can't help but know that." His voice was as sultry as the summer night. "It's obvious that you're dedicated to her."
The discomfiting feeling of being scrutinized swept over Jenna. She'd talked about herself enough.
"And you're mighty dedicated to this ranch and those horses out there," she observed. "You put in really long hours."
Two weeks ago, she never would have made a comment so blatantly geared toward getting him to talk about himself. However, since the night he'd offered Lily the use of the nursery — and told Jenna why he'd been so reluctant to invite the baby into his home — he'd been more laid-back, more open. Visibly so, actually. He still had moments that were tough for him, Jenna could tell. But he was reaching out more and more to Lily.
"I have some really big shoes to fill," he said. "My dad started the pinto breeding business. And he worked extremely hard to build something for his children. He was married to his first wife for nearly fifteen years. When no children came along, the woman divorced him. So my parents were in their early forties when they met and married and had me." He grinned as he added, "At least once a year I hear the story of what a great blessing I am to them . . . usually on my birthday."
"Family stories can get old after a while, but I don't believe that one would," Jenna said.
He chuckled. "You're right. Anyway, when Mary Lynn and I married three years ago, Dad and Mom were ready to retire. They bought an RV and spent a good year traveling. They've visited every state in the continental U.S. They fell in love with the Arizona desert and because the dry climate was good for Mom's arthritis, they decided to settle there.
"I could never leave. I love this place too much. The ranch, the horses." His gaze meandered toward the stable. "I knew from the time I was a boy that I'd make this my life's work."
The moment stretched and Jenna thought he'd revealed all he meant to. But then he leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees.
"I nearly lost the place when Mary Lynn and Skye were killed," he said. "Before then, I had twice as many horses and I had a couple of hired hands working full-time to help me take care of things. After the accident —" He dropped his head, the thick curtain of his hair falling over his shoulder. Jenna marveled at how the moonlight reflected, blue-black, against it.
"I just didn't have the same ... I don't know . . . initiative, or energy, or something."
"You were dealt a mighty blow, Gage."
His spine straightened. "I could say the same for you." He turned his head then, and captured her with his gaze. A tingling sensation started low in her belly and spread outward into her limbs. Her muscles felt as if they were reaching some sort of melting point, and she was so glad she was sitting down. A potent force emanated from him, a formidable energy that drew her to him.
Dear Lord! She was attracted to Gage Dalton.
It wasn't as if she had no experience with men. Okay, so she didn't have a lot. And at twenty-six, she just might be the oldest virgin in the entire state of Montana. But she had dated some. Okay, she had a repertoire of exactly three. But two of the relationships had lasted several months, and one had lasted off and on for nearly a year.
However, she hadn't gotten close enough to any of her boyfriends to entrust them with any kind of true intimacy. And not a single one of those men had stirred in her the physical reaction that Gage had with just one look.
Self-consciousness forced her to lower her gaze. "I — I guess it's s-safe to say we've both been wounded." She hated that she'd stammered. "But we're survivors, right?"
She bolstered the question with a small smile, but still she couldn't bring herself to look him in the face again just yet. She needed to regain her composure first. She needed to deal with the realization that he roused in her some incredibly compelling corporal responses.
"If that's what you want to call what I've been doing for the past year."
The pessimism in his statement took her aback. Lifting her chin, she made direct eye contact. "That's exactly what I'd call it." Her tone was resolute. "People survive the best way they can. You've kept the ranch going. And I've put every ounce of my energy into Lily. We just have to hold on. Gage. We have to trust that things will get better. Easier. That the night won't be so dark. We have to have faith that the sun will rise, and that a new day will come."
Her face flamed when she saw that her corny spiel had him grinning. His chuckle only increased her embarrassment.
He splayed his hands on rock-hard thighs. "Now you sound like one of the Wise Ones."
"The who?"
"The Elders. They're famous for diminishing one's troubles with encouragement. And they usually have a great folktale to go along with it. That kind of thing is a fundamental part of the Lenape culture."
Her embarrassment quickly turned to discomfort. "I would never profess to being wise. But there's nothing wrong with encouraging someone when he's down, is there?"
"No," he said. "Not a thing."
She loved the rich resonance of his voice.
"Since you've raised the issue of the Lenape culture
," she said, "I'd like for you to tell me a little about your history. As a tribe, I mean. If, that is, you're not too tired."
"I'll tell you anything you want to know."
"I have to admit," Jenna said, "I don't know very much about Native American history. I remember learning about the Trail of Tears in high school. I understand that Indians were forced off their land when the Europeans arrived in droves. But other than that..." She lifted her hand, palm up. "It's kind of embarrassing, actually. That I'm not more knowledgeable about American history. But after my mother died, I was too busy after school doing laundry and cleaning and cooking to do much reading."
Understanding softened his black-as-midnight eyes, affecting her in a way that made her avert her gaze.
"The Lenape weren't involved in the Trail of Tears," he told her. "That event marked the displacement of our Cherokee brothers. In 1838, the entire Cherokee Nation was made to march a thousand miles from their home in Georgia to the government-decreed Indian Territory in Oklahoma. The conditions of the trip were deplorable, and over four thousand Cherokee died before they reached their destination. The actual Cherokee translation for ilie trek is 'Trail Where They Cried.' "
Chagrin once again heated her face, supplanting the sadness the story stirred in her.
"I'm sorry if it sounded as if I was lumping all Indians together. I wasn't being rude. Not consciously, anyway. I do realize there are different Nations of Indians. Even different tribes within each Nation. I know that Montana alone is home to Blackfeet, and Sioux, and Crow, and Cheyenne —"
"It's okay, Jenna. I wasn't insulted."
She clamped her lips shut, hoping the awkwardness she felt would pass.
"The Lenape's westward move began just under a hundred years prior to what you know as the Trail of Tears."
"A hundred years before?" She couldn't keep the surprise and indignation out of her tone. "Those early settlers didn't waste any time taking what they wanted, did they?"
She suspected his smile was in appreciation of her righteous anger on the behalf of the plight of all Native Americans.
"I think our suffering came because we happened to live on the land closest to the first colonies. It took longer for settlers to filter north into New England and south to Georgia, the Carolinas and Florida.
"In all fairness," he said, his tone a smooth baritone, "our oral historians have always claimed that William Penn dealt fairly with my ancestors. But after Penn returned to England, his agents began to sell land in order to pay their debts. Unfortunately, the land they were selling was home and hunting ground to the Lenape."
He inhaled, and Jenna couldn't keep her eyes from lowering to his broad chest.
"You have to understand," he continued, "Indians had no concept of owning and selling land. The idea was as ludicrous to them as selling air. Land belonged to the Great One."
Jenna offered, "Kit-tan-it-to'wet."
He nodded. "The Creator provided land for his children to hunt and fish. My ancestors simply didn't understand the notion of possession. And they were taken advantage of because of that.
"Penn's men cooked up a crooked deal as a means of convincing my forefathers to give tip the land. The agents found an old, unsigned deed and presented it to the Lenape leaders as a legal contract. They claimed l hat fifty years before, our ancestors had signed this agreement handing over to the government as much land as could be covered in a day-and-a-half s walk. It became known as the Walking Purchase."
"The document was completely bogus?"
"It was. But not knowing that, the Lenape felt honor bound to respect the deal made by their ancestors."
Jenna murmured, "The crooks lied."
"The story gets worse. The Lenape leaders agreed to allow the area to be 'walked’, thinking that Penn's agents wouldn't be able to cover more than two or three miles. Instead, the agents had a straight path cleared. And they hired three runners. By the time all was said and done, the so-called walker who had covered the most distance had gone fifty-five miles."
The unscrupulousness made Jenna shake her head.
"Penn's agents acquired twelve hundred square miles of Lenape homeland that day," Gage continued. "An area about the size of Rhode Island. And for the next one hundred and thirty years we moved time and again, our clans broken up and scattered like wheat kernels on the wind. My ancestors ended up here, on Broken Bow Reservation."
"I think it would be wonderful to know where I come from as well as you obviously do," Jenna said. "I mean, I know my mother's parents were Dutch and my father's were Irish. But that's all I know." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I like the way your tribe keeps its traditions and holds on to its culture.”
Gage twisted his body to rest his back against the porch post. Jenna was well aware that now he didn't have to turn his head to look at her. That should have bothered her, made her feel exposed. But she realized she liked having his undivided attention.
"Traditions are good things, don't get me wrong," he said. "But we'd be foolish not to take full advantage of all the technological advances that have come along. Still, forgetting where you come from is never a good thing. We do our best to remember our past. There are powwows and other celebrations that feature traditional music and songs and food —"
"Are any of those things happening soon? I'd love to go."
He went still.
"What is it?" she asked. "What did I say?"
"It's nothing." He reached over and plucked a long blade of grass that grew by the porch step. "It's just that it's been quite a while since I've attended any of the tribal gatherings."
Since he'd lost his family. Jenna didn't have to ask. She just knew.
"Maybe it's time for that to change."
There it was again. That amazing — nearly overwhelming — energy pulsing from him, drawing her in like invisible fingers plucking and pulling at her.
"Maybe." Leisurely, he wrapped the long blade of grass around and around his finger.
"I — I mean," she stuttered, suddenly nervous as a rabbit caught in the crosshairs, "I'd really like to attend. So I can show the Elders that I'm taking care of things. You know, that I intend to do what's right . . . learn what I can about your tribe. And I don't know that I'd feel comfortable going without you."
For some odd reason, that statement only made her all the more anxious. Her tongue darted across her cottony lips. This man shoved her off-kilter even during casual conversation. "Of course, we'd be going for Lily."
His eyelids lowered in a slow and deliberate blink. "Of course," he said. "For Lily."
Chapter Six
The door of the self-storage unit creaked as Jenna opened it. A breath of dry heat smacked her in the face. Nerves jittered in her belly like tiny fingers of dread tinkling out sour notes on piano keys.
"You sure you're ready for this?" Gage asked.
"Don't know," she admitted honestly, grateful to have him with her. "But I do need to look around. At least a little."
Having left Lily with Arlene for a couple of hours while she and Gage took a look around die storage facility, Jenna propped open the door allowing the summer sunshine to stream into the dark recesses. She stepped inside and searched for the light switch.
The bare overhead bulb cast stark light down on the stacks of cardboard boxes all neatly taped and labeled.
"Looks organized," Gage observed.
"It does, doesn't it?" She inched along the narrow aisle that ran through the piles of boxes. "The Elders took care of cleaning out the house. They asked me if I wanted to do it - - and I did - - but they wanted it done immediately.
"The tribe owns the house?" he asked, evidently realizing the situation.
Jenna brushed a smudge of dust from her trousers. "Yes. Amy and David rented from the tribe. And from what Amy told me, the rent was nominal."
"There are many such houses on the rez. It's my understanding that the waiting list to get into one is long."
Jenna nodded. "I was an
noyed that the Elders were pushing me to make a decision about my family's belongings. They were rushing me, I felt. I was going through so much. Fighting for Lily. Planning the funerals. David's parents are both frail and pretty much left both burials to me."
"You had a lot to deal with."
The deep concern in his tone made her halt her forward movement and she glanced at him. Empathy softened his features. She smiled, feeling less alone than she'd felt in a long time.
"Not that I'm complaining," she said. "I was happy to be able to honor my sister and her husband's life together." Memories of the day she buried Amy and David crowded into her mind. "I planned a very simple service. I don't have any real family to speak of, and David's parents didn't say how many people they expected to attend. I probably should have asked. But I was amazed at how many people came to the service. Apparently, some of them traveled long distances to attend."
"That doesn't surprise me. Remembering those who have returned to the ancestors is an important part of our culture."
Absently, Jenna smoothed the pad of her thumb along the edge of a cardboard box. "Before the caskets were closed, David's mother covered my sister and her son with these gorgeous blankets she'd made. It's something I'll never forget.
"And at the cemetery, people offered the most beautiful gifts. Jewelry, a perfect white feather, a silver mirror, a stuffed animal. One young man actually left money."
"Offering gifts is our way."
"But money?" She couldn't rein in her astonishment. "As we left the cemetery, I saw faded bills tucked next to many of the headstones. It's a wonder the cemeteries aren't looted."
"No one would ever dare disrespect the dead or the gift givers. Those offerings are made out of honor and love and remembrance."
"It was all so touching. And afterward —" she shook her head in wonder "— I couldn't believe the meal that just seemed to materialize. We'd gone back to David's parents' house, and it seemed like close to a hundred people were milling around inside and out. Tables and chairs appeared. And plates laden with chicken and ham and roast beef. Casseroles of every vegetable imaginable. I hadn't planned any of that. It just . . . appeared."
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