Heather Graham's Christmas Treasures

by Heather Graham

A cry tore at her throat. Just in time she swallowed it down, despairing that she might give so much to a man so determined to spend his nights away from her. She drifted down, down from the startling ecstasy, cloaked for long sweet moments in magic and mist.

  Then she swallowed hard, careful not to speak.

  Time passed slowly. She felt Shane's tension. Then he rose. And dressed.

  "I'm sorry, Kaitlin. No, damn you, I'm not sorry. You're my wife. And I want you to be more than a cook. I'll not be stopping at Nelly Grier's when I've a black-haired beauty at home, even if she has emerald eyes flashing nothing but hatred my way. Black-haired, and black-hearted."

  "No!" she cried. "No! It's not me, Shane MacAuliffe. You prove time and time again that you prefer the company at Nelly's to that at home—"

  "Damn! I prefer a spark of warmth!"

  Stark pain streaked through her. This afternoon, she had given to him...

  She picked up her pillow and threw it at him with a vengeance. "I hate you, Shane! I hate you!"

  The glittering passion in his golden eyes was deeper than she had ever seen it. She nearly cringed, certain that he meant to harm her.

  But he did not. He turned, and left her. The door closed with a loud slam.

  "No, no, that was a lie!" Kaitlin whispered. Too late. "I love you, Shane."

  She jumped out of bed, splashed water on her face, and dressed quickly. It had already grown dark outside, but she didn't care. She raced out to the stables.

  Chancey was there, working. He must have seen Shane come in and leave.

  "Chancey, where's Shane?" she demanded.

  "Why, I think he rode off to the north field. Said there was supposed to be some good hunting up that way." She barely heard him as he kept talking. "Course, what that fool man is hunting out in the dark, I don't know."

  Kaitlin didn't answer him. She was busy saddling old Henry.

  "Kaitlin, what do you think you're doing?" Chancey asked worriedly.

  "I have to talk to him."

  "Talk to him later."

  "No, no, I have to talk to him now. It can't wait!"

  Chancey kept calling after her. Kaitlin ignored him as she rode off. She pushed old Henry hard, racing a good twenty minutes into the night. There was a moon out to guide her.

  Old Henry was quickly lathered, and despite the tempest in her heart, Kaitlin reined him in after a while. She would reach the north field soon enough. Perhaps she'd need to be careful. Shane might well shoot at her if he were there.

  But he wasn't in the north field. Someone else was. She saw the horses before she recognized her danger.

  Then she realized that the numerous horses moving in a semicircle were mounted by strange men. Indians.

  Her heart began to pound. She stared at them, watching with an awful fascination. They were dressed warmly against the winter in their buckskins. She could dimly see that their faces were painted. She had seen sketches of Blackfoot war parties...

  And she had just come upon one. A scream rose in her throat. She tried to wrench old Henry around. He snorted, fighting her lead. He hadn't been treated so rudely in years, Kaitlin was certain.

  And he wasn't going to take it now. "Henry, damn you!" she cried, slamming her heels against his flanks. And he did begin to run. At a slow lope. "Please, please!" she cried. She felt the cold wind against her face, but not strongly enough.

  She looked to her side. The Indians were running her down. There was one to her left, and one to her right. Two of them had already raced their ponies ahead of her.

  She was going to die. She was trapped. Within seconds, steel would pierce through her flesh.

  But she didn't die. The Indian to her left brought his pony slamming against old Henry. He reached out, able to ride with only the tautness of his thighs keeping him upon his mount. He swept her up from her horse, and onto his own.

  And began to race away.

  * * *

  Shane hadn't been anywhere near the north field. He'd ridden Diablo out to stare at the moon, his heart and soul still in a tempest.

  I hate you, Shane...

  She had said those words, said them clearly. But hadn't he given her every reason to do so?

  Yet he hadn't believed it. She tried to hide things from him, but he knew her... better than she knew herself. And he believed with all his heart that he could please her. He knew exactly where he had taken her, and where they had been together when they made love.

  She was wrong about Nelly Grier's. Hell, he couldn't even go there anymore.

  Not since she had entered his life. Fulfilling every promise. His home was beautiful. Francesca was the happiest that Shane had ever seen her. They had everything...

  If only they had one another.

  He looked up at the sky and closed his eyes, a slow smile curving his lips. Maybe he should tell her. Just come out and tell her. Maybe it had happened slowly. Maybe it had happened at the very beginning. It didn't matter when. He didn't mean to ever hurt her, he didn't mean to ever force her into anything. He didn't even really care if they ever had a child, not if she didn't want one.

  He just loved her, that was all. And he needed her.

  Maybe if he just spoke to her, they could call a Christmas truce once again.

  He turned Diablo and rode back toward home. At the stables he dismounted, but Chancey came hurrying out from the barn.

  "Shane, Kaitlin's still out."

  "Out? Where?"

  "She come tearing out here right after you left. She said that she had to speak to you right away. She went on out to the north field. And she hasn't come back yet."

  He felt as if his heart had jumped up into his throat. He leapt up on Diablo once again and spurred the horse into a gait like the speed of the north wind.

  And yet he came to the field too late. There was no one there. He heard the sound of the wind in the trees, and nothing else.

  Kaitlin was gone. He dismounted and walked the field. He knelt down.

  There was one black eagle feather on the ground.

  He cried out his agony, thundered it to the night. It didn't matter. There was no one to hear.

  At length he gritted his teeth and rose, his hands clenched at his sides. He couldn't battle Black Eagle alone. Well, he could stage a one-man war against the Indian, but he wouldn't win. They'd kill him, and then they just might kill Kaitlin, too.

  Jesu, he had to get Kaitlin back. He had to. She'd come like a Christmas gift, in truce, and she'd turned his life around, and now, he knew, he would have no life without her.

  Shane exhaled slowly, then mounted Diablo once again.

  There was a chance. There was a chance...

  Black Eagle didn't celebrate Christmas, but maybe, just maybe, Shane could call a Christmas truce with the Indian, too.

  He rode hard back for his house, praying that God would grant both him and Kaitlin the time that he needed.

  Please, God, for Christmas...

  * * *

  Three... four... five...

  Twenty-one... twenty-two... twenty-three...

  Kaitlin stared at the last number etched into the skin of the teepee.

  It was Christmas Eve.

  "Dear God, please, for Christmas. Let him live. I'll never ask for anything again, I promise. Just let me see him again, let me tell him that I do have a gift for him this Christmas. Let me tell him that he's going to have his son. Oh, please, let us leave here together!"

  Kaitlin whispered the words out loud. She continued to pray fervently.

  Outside the teepee, the night wind howled.

  Chapter 5

  Kaitlin was startled by the sound of the buckskin flap rustling as Black Eagle entered the teepee. In the flickering shadows created by the small fire in the center, he appeared large and foreboding, menacing.

  Her heart seemed to stop. He had killed Shane.

  "Dear Lord!" she breathed. The world seemed to be spinning around her. A blackness reached out. She would have welcomed it. Anythi
ng other than accepting the fact that Shane might be dead. Her throat was dry, her eyes were filling with tears, blinding her.

  "Come, Kaitlin," Black Eagle said.

  No, she would never follow him anywhere. He could kill her right there, right where she waited.

  "Kaitlin!" This time, a different voice. She brushed at her eyes, and stared toward the entrance. Shane was there. She leapt to her feet and went bounding the few steps toward him.

  But Black Eagle stood in her way, dragging her back to his side. "I've not yet received my Christmas gift," Black Eagle told Shane.

  Kaitlin stared at her husband, fear running along her spine. What was Shane up to? What was he trying to do?

  Shane's eyes were on hers reassuringly as he spoke to Black Eagle. "That's right. You have not received your gift. Come, and I will bring you to your gift."

  Shane left the teepee. Black Eagle set a hand upon Kaitlin's arm, dragging her along.

  They came out into the snow-covered day. The sun was already falling. Pinks and oranges flared across the sky in dramatic streaks. The Blackfeet teepees, lined up against the horizon, appeared like a set of near-perfect, A-shaped hills in the soft pastel shadows that were beginning to form.

  By the teepee, Black Eagle's people were lined up. Some were warriors, stripped of their paint now, yet standing just as proudly.

  And the women were there. Beautiful Yellow Flower who had been the kindest to Kaitlin, heavy-set Cries Like the Wind who had mocked her with the most vengeance. Even the children flocked around, watching Black Eagle and Shane, the curious white man who had come among them before, and came among them now, despite the warnings that he might well be killed.

  Diablo waited before the teepee. Black Eagle called out an order, and another horse was brought up. Kaitlin was surprised when Yellow Flower came forward, speaking softly to Black Eagle. She wondered if the chief's temper would flare at such an interruption, but Black Eagle paused, listening to the woman. Black Eagle grunted, then he actually seemed to smile. But he liked Yellow Flower, and Kaitlin was convinced that Yellow Flower was in love with Black Eagle. She didn't understand why the two were not man and wife, but standing there, shivering in the cold and waiting, she didn't really care. All that she could care about was Shane.

  He had mounted Diablo, and he waited. Watching her.

  So intently. His gold eyes blazed, and she longed so desperately to run to him. But his gaze warned her, too. He was still in the middle of negotiations.

  "Kaitlin!" Yellow Flower said. Kaitlin spun around and gasped softly. Yellow Flower had gone for Genevieve. Her little mare stood before her, decked in an Indian rope bridle and an Indian saddle. Kaitlin stared at Shane, hesitating.

  "Black Eagle has had her brought out for you."

  Kaitlin caught hold of a handful of the mare's mane and swiftly leapt up on the horse. Black Eagle had mounted his paint, and the three of them were ready. One of the warriors said something to Black Eagle. Black Eagle laughed and answered in English.

  "This man keeps his word, and his bargains. He will not injure me. Nor is he a fool. If he were to do so, you would kill him and his woman. Slowly. You are aware of this, MacAuliffe, right?"

  "Very aware," Shane replied politely. "Shall we go?"

  Black Eagle nodded and Shane urged Diablo forward. Kaitlin's mare followed at a brisk trot. Black Eagle kept pace behind them.

  In a few moments, the A-line hill of teepees began to fade behind them as they left the winter village of the Blackfoot behind. They must have ridden for about twenty minutes before Shane reined in at last. Kaitlin couldn't begin to imagine where they were, and the shadows of night were beginning to fail around them. Then she heard a rustling and strained her eyes toward a group of trees. There had been some kind of a lean-to built there. And as she stared at it, a man suddenly appeared. Her eyes widened in surprise. It was Chancey.

  "Shane?" he said cautiously.

  "Yes, it's me," Shane said. "And Black Eagle is with us. He has brought my Christmas present, but I must now give him his before I am allowed to keep mine."

  Even in the shadows, Kaitlin could see Chancey's broad smile. "Fine, Shane. That's mighty fine."

  Shane dismounted and trudged through the snow toward the lean-to. He disappeared inside it.

  Black Eagle waited in silence.

  Then Shane reappeared carrying a little black-topped bundle wrapped in doeskin. For a moment, Kaitlin wasn't sure what it was.

  Then she gasped as the bundle moved. Shane set it down. The bundle squealed and began to run.

  It was a child. A baby really, Kaitlin thought, a little boy of no more than three or four.

  Black Eagle answered the squeal with a hoarse, glad shout. He flung a leg over the neck of his pony and leapt gracefully to the ground, then ran to the boy, arms outstretched.

  The boy was in his arms. Black Eagle rose and spun around in the shadows, cradling the boy against him.

  Kaitlin looked at Shane. She could wait no longer. She ran to him, floundering a bit in the snow, nearly falling, but was then caught up in the strength of his arms.

  "Kaitlin..."

  She heard his whisper. Felt the warmth of it against her cheek. She wound her arms around him, not willing to be parted by the fraction of an inch.

  Black Eagle did not come between them again. It was Shane himself who set her aside as the Indian walked up to him, still cradling his son.

  "Your Christmas present is yours," Black Eagle said, "and mine... is mine. This is a good thing, this exchange of gifts."

  "I think so, too," Shane said softly.

  "It is an old custom? Part of your Christianity?"

  Shane smiled. "Well, yes. You see, Christ was our god's gift to us. And on the night when he was born, wise men saw a star in the sky to follow, and they did so, bearing gifts for a newborn king. In honor of his birth, we bring gifts to one another."

  Kaitlin felt a smile curve her lips as she watched Black Eagle. She had never imagined that such a man could be so tender, so gentle.

  But all men, she realized, loved their children. Black Eagle was really no less—or no more—than any other man.

  He looked at Kaitlin, then smiled at Shane. "You've given me a very fine gift."

  "And you, sir, could have given me none finer," Shane replied.

  Black Eagle stretched out a hand. Shane clasped it. Then the Indian turned with his little boy in his arms and mounted back up on his big paint. He glanced back.

  "Kaitlin!"

  "Yes, Black Eagle?"

  "The mare is your Christmas gift."

  She smiled. "Thank you. Thank you very much. I don't have anything for you. If—"

  He interrupted her with his soft laughter. "Maybe you have given me a gift. I am going home now. I am going to tell Yellow Flower that she will be my Christmas gift. I have my son returned to me. His mother is dead a long time now. He will have another."

  Black Eagle waved, and kicked his pony. Then he was swallowed into the shadows of Christmas Eve.

  "Oh, Shane!" Kaitlin breathed.

  Chancey cleared his throat. "I think we'd better be heading back now. Maybe we've got Black Eagle into the Christmas spirit, but I'd hate to count on the sudden conversion of his whole tribe."

  "Right, Chancey, we'd better head back." But Shane was still holding Kaitlin, and Kaitlin was still looking up into his eyes. Neither of them could really care at the moment if they were surrounded by the entire Indian nation. "Chancey, you go on. You ride ahead and tell them all that everything is all right. That Kaitlin and I are coming home."

  "I shouldn't be leaving you alone out here," Chancey muttered. "You're like a pair of babes in the woods right now, you are!"

  He grumbled more as he drew his buckskin from around the side of the lean-to and mounted up. He was still grumbling when he cast his heels against the horse's side and started off through the snow.

  They were alone. Alone in the white wilderness, with the last of the light fading fas
t, and stars beginning to appear above them, even as the light faded away.

  "Oh, Shane..." Kaitlin whispered.

  He kissed her at last. A kiss fueled with both passion and tenderness, a kiss that robbed the last of her breath away and set her heart to pounding fiercely.

  She kissed him in return. With all barriers fallen, with all the warmth and desire and love he could have wished. They stood there, barely aware of the soft pelting of snow that began to fall upon them.

  Then Kaitlin finally broke away, barely able to stand, so glad of his arms around her. "Oh, Shane, I do love you! I was trying to find you, trying to tell you—"

  "And you found the Indians instead," he said softly. He cradled her fiercely against him. She was reminded of the way that Black Eagle had held his child, and she had never felt more loved, more protected, more cherished.

  "Oh, Shane, it's true! You did find me in a New Orleans sewer. And I did come from an awful home, and it was torn to shreds by the war. And I wanted—material things. I never knew how little those things meant until I became so certain that I lost you. And I didn't mean to be so horrible, except that I was afraid. Shane, forgive me, please?"

  "Kaitlin!" His arms swept around her again. So fiercely. "Kaitlin, I was horrible to you from the moment we met. But you see, I was fascinated with you then. I think that I was very afraid myself. You see, I risked love once. And I didn't dare believe in anything good."

  "We were all wounded," Kaitlin whispered. "You, me—even Black Eagle. Maybe we've started to heal one another."

  Shane smiled. A broad, tender, crooked smile. "Maybe," he agreed. "Did he—hurt you?"

  She shook her head. "I think he meant to. But he saw your ring on my finger, and he refused to touch me because of his respect for you." She started to tremble. "Oh, Shane, even the Indians knew you better than I did!"

  He laughed. "Not so, Kaitlin, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore. I've got you back. And it's beginning to snow harder. Think we'd best head home."

  She shook her head, her eyes dazzling as they met his. "No. I can't let you go."

  "Then we'll ride Diablo together. I'll tie Genevieve to him so she can follow us home."