Close Proximity

by Donna Clayton

  “Oh? Where’d you go?” But before she could answer, he said, “I thought we’d agreed that if I wasn’t with you, you would come directly to the ranch. You probably shouldn’t even have stopped to see Susanna without me.”

  “We did agree. And I’m sorry. But…I just couldn’t resist.”

  He was bent over, placing the leftover roast beef into the refrigerator. But her hesitation had his back straightening, his gaze pivoting to her face.

  “I stopped at the little house on the road into Crooked Arrow,” she told him. “You know the one. There are blankets and baskets and pottery displayed for sale.”

  “Margo Redfox’s shop. Mokee-kittuun artisans pay her a commission for running the place.”

  “She’s got some beautiful things there.” Libby nibbled her upper lip. “She told me her grandson will have his naming ceremony this evening.” Before she lost her nerve, she asked, “Do you think we could go?”

  He closed the door of the refrigerator, searching her face for several silent seconds. Libby couldn’t tell what he was thinking. What if he refused? Worse yet, what if he suggested that their attending the ceremony would be an intrusion?

  Finally he said, “The gathering won’t be anything like the Spring Equinox celebration. This is going to be small. Very small. Cheyenne told me about it. She can’t be there, but Alex will be. Since Margo’s grandson is the only child being named, it won’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “But…” Her lips went dry and she moistened them. She hoped he didn’t think the eagerness she felt—that fairly quivered in her—was silly. “Do you think it would be okay? If we went, I mean?”

  His wide mouth was unsmiling, his gaze unreadable. She wished he’d say something.

  “Sure. If you want to go, we’ll go.”

  A thrill twittered through Libby.

  She’d successfully argued with the opposing counsel in front of the judge for more time to prepare for the trial. And she’d discovered today that the computer expert, Susanna, was making progress. These things should have excited her. Yet, Libby was most energized by the opportunity to attend a fifteen-minute ceremony on the reservation. For some odd reason, she didn’t feel the least bit ashamed by that.

  The fire in the middle of the cave floor was smaller than she expected. But this night, the cavernous room was aglow with what looked like a hundred flickering candles. The same cracks in the ceiling that let in light during the day, allowed the fire to vent and stirred a current of cool air. The flames on the end of each wick danced and threw shadows against the walls, against the faces of those attending the gathering.

  This ceremony might be small compared to the tribal gathering she’d attended, but Alex Featherstone was decked out in all his shaman finery. His impressive headdress flowed nearly to the floor with white feathers. Turquoise beads hung from narrow rawhide strips near the deep hollows of his cheeks. Time had wrinkled his skin, turned it tough as shoe leather. His black eyes reflected the soft, luminous light no matter what direction he turned his head.

  The only people present were the little boy’s parents, grandparents and a few friends and family members. Maybe a dozen, all told.

  Rafe and Libby had slipped into the room before the ceremony had begun. Margo Redfox had offered them a silent greeting in her gentle smile.

  The old shaman called the boy to him. With his spine rod-straight, the child stepped forward. Alex placed his leathery hands on the boy’s shoulders, closed his eyes, lifted his face heavenward.

  More beautiful words Libby had never heard uttered. She didn’t understand the Algonquian dialect, but she suspected Alex was praying. Every head was bowed, every eye closed. Except for hers. She was too fascinated to miss even an instant of what was happening. She was certain The Great One would understand.

  Breathless, she experienced what felt like a strong magnetic tide ebb and flow across every inch of her skin. She felt alive, glowing.

  When the reverent appeal was complete, Libby nudged Rafe and he dipped his head so she could whisper in his ear.

  “This place really is magical.”

  She sensed his smile. However, when she pulled back and gazed into his face, his mahogany eyes held a piercing, inscrutable expression. Her heart tripped in her chest, and she hoped he didn’t think she was being irreverent. She simply couldn’t help it. It’s exactly how she felt. She truly believed this cave was enchanted.

  Without responding, Rafe lifted his chin and watched the ceremony. Embarrassment had Libby hugging her arms across her chest. She should have just kept her mouth shut and paid attention to the scene before her.

  “Like a bright star in the night sky directs the weary and uncertain traveler—” the shaman’s rich voice reverberated against the walls of the cave “—this child will grow to be a leader of men. Wisdom will be his companion. Strength of character will be his brother. He will guide those who do not know the way. One who has such a tremendous responsibility must have a strong and dependable name.”

  Pride gleamed in the eyes of the child’s parents, and Libby felt her throat swell with emotion when a tear spilled down the mother’s cheek.

  “From this day forth, this child will be known as Tipaakke Hongiis. Night Star.”

  Then the old man began to sing. The lyrics and tune were poignant, like invisible fingers reaching far into the soul to pluck at the strings of one’s heart. Libby found it difficult to swallow. Her chin quivered. Tears burned her eyes.

  There was silence, then everyone began to file out.

  “It’s over?”

  Rafe nodded. “I told you there wasn’t much to it. That the ceremony would be short and sweet.”

  How could he say that? she wondered. Wasn’t much to it? Yes, the ritual had been short. Ah, but the sweetness of it had been breathtaking.

  The old shaman had given that child a purpose in life. Alex had offered that boy hope. A noble goal to reach for and attain. The child’s parents had seen that and reacted to it with pure loving emotion.

  A chilly breeze blew off the ocean, and even though they were more than a mile from the Pacific, Libby could smell the salty tang as they trudged home.

  “Fog is moving in,” Rafe said.

  For several minutes, they walked in silence. The sky was overcast. The air cool. Libby turned up the collar of her jacket.

  “Rafe?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “What predictions did the shaman make about you? During your naming ceremony, I mean. Why did he give you the name Dark Wind?”

  She heard him inhale, sensed his chest expand. Then he blew out the breath between parted lips.

  “I don’t remember his actual words,” he began. “I was too young. But many times my mother talked to me about it.”

  His whole body seemed to tense.

  “Every time something bad happened to us, she would remind me of what Alex said on the night of my naming.”

  Although her eyes were narrowed on the dim ground in front of each step she took, her ears—and her heart—were sharply focused on Rafe’s story.

  “Darkness is like a protective blanket that shields, she’d tell me. And the wind that blows brings change. Alex apparently assured me and my parents that, in the light of day, better things were to come.”

  Libby frowned. “It sounds like some sort of cryptic message.” What she couldn’t bring herself to say was that the motive behind Rafe’s name didn’t seem to have the same uplifting message as what the shaman had given tonight.

  “Your mother reminded you of Alex’s message when things were bad,” she said. “Tell me. In the light of day, did the wind blow in better things?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  She looked up at him then, but the night obscured his features. A strange sadness seemed to pulsate from him.

  “I can’t because…” His voice grew hushed. “I’m still waiting for the sun to rise.”

  Her heart ached, hating the thought that Rafe felt he was living
in the dark. Oh, how she would love to help him enter into the daylight. But if he wouldn’t talk to her, wouldn’t allow himself to get close to her, she simply didn’t know how to help him.

  Emotion burned her throat and she found it difficult to talk. But she forced herself to reach out and touch his arm.

  “Thanks for taking me tonight. It was wonderful.”

  He must have heard the warble in her tone for he placed his arm around her shoulders. Snuggled in his warm embrace, Libby felt the night wind cool the trails of her tears.

  “Come on now,” he said softly. “I saw you welling up back there in the cave. It’s okay.” He grinned. “All women get emotional at naming ceremonies. They think of the children they’ve had or the children they’re going to have. Before you know it, every female nearby is crying like a forlorn mama wolf.”

  So, he thought she was weeping because of the ceremony they had attended. Well, the gathering had stirred her emotions. But she wasn’t crying for that little boy who had received a Mokee-kittuun name tonight. And she wasn’t crying—as Rafe suggested—over the children she might one day birth. She was crying for Rafe. And for whatever dark wind soughed through his memories.

  “I know just what we need.”

  His tone took on a false jocularity and she knew he was attempting to lighten her mood.

  “How does a mug of mulled wine sound? It’ll warm us up and calm you down.”

  She chuckled. “Mulled wine sounds delicious.”

  Later, they sat in front of the fire, both of them cradling mugs of warm and spicy wine. The fire in the hearth sizzled and popped as flames feasted on wood. Libby felt haloed in a rosy glow. Several different things were responsible for the feeling, she was sure. The wine, for one. Another was due to the wonderment of the ritual she’d witnessed earlier. And the other was Rafe.

  Her tears had affected him. Since they had arrived home, he’d been so gentle with her. So protective.

  Darkness is like a protective blanket that shields.

  Libby remembered commenting that Rafe’s Mokee-kittuun name was a little gloomy. But now that she thought about it, maybe Alex’s premonition regarding Rafe’s future hadn’t been so far off the mark. He was a protector.

  Her protector.

  “I saw Holly Lamb today,” Rafe said.

  “Todd’s daughter?”

  “Umm-hmm. I went to visit Blake at the ranch. Holly works as his secretary.” A chuckle vibrated deep in his chest. “I got the distinct feeling that something is there.”

  He grinned, and warmth curled all the way to Libby’s toes.

  “A spark,” he continued. “Or something between the two of them. Blake and Holly. But the funny thing is, it’s clear that Blake doesn’t have a clue.”

  “Men can be quite thick when it comes to matters of the heart.”

  Their gazes locked. She hadn’t meant to get personal; however, apparently she had. Nevertheless, Rafe remained stubbornly silent.

  “I was going to warn Blake,” he said. “Regarding our suspicions about Todd Lamb.”

  Her eyes widened. “You didn’t, though, right? That would be a terrible mistake.”

  Dark clouds gathered in Rafe’s brown eyes. “Holly’s going to need help in dealing with this mess when the truth about her father is revealed.”

  “But what if she tells her father? He could leave town. He could leave the country.” She set her mug on the coffee table and stood up. “You didn’t say anything, did you?”

  “Not to Blake. I didn’t get the chance to.” Setting his mug on the end table, he admitted, “But I did tell Joe.”

  “My God,” she breathed. “Of all the stupid things to do. Now Joe Colton knows that we suspect Todd Lamb of the DMBE dumping. I don’t get it. You told Joe, but you refused to go to the police with our suspicions.”

  Rafe stood now and moved closer to her. She felt dwarfed by him. But she’d be damned before she backed down.

  “I don’t trust the police. But I trust Joe implicitly. And I told Joe he shouldn’t say anything just yet.”

  Their voices raised with each response.

  “But he might tell Blake and you just said there’s something between Blake and Holly. What if he tells her?”

  “Joe won’t say anything,” Rafe said. “He’ll respect my wishes. I have no doubt about that.”

  “But what if Joe doesn’t respect your wishes?” Fury had the words rolling from her before she had time to even contemplate what she was saying. “What if he tells Blake? What if Blake already told Holly? What if Holly is with her father right this very minute? It was a stupid thing to do, Rafe. A stupid thing.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Don’t do what? Tell you the truth? Someone has to.” Then she repeated, “It was a stupid thing to do.”

  He swooped toward her and was in her face before she had time to draw a breath.

  “I’ll tell you what’s stupid.” The words sounded like the growling of a hungry panther. His fingers bit into her upper arms. “The fact that I can’t conquer this need.”

  His mouth angled down over hers, hard and vicious.

  He meant to be cruel. He meant to be brutal. She knew it. But the only result of his kiss was that every devilish craving in her was released.

  Her desire for him rushed to the surface, welling, disgorging, and Libby slid her hands around his neck. She reveled in the scent of him. In the spicy, heady taste of him. In the hard mass of him.

  He nipped at her bottom lip, and blood swam in her head, dizzying and giddy. He thrust his tongue, deep and plundering into her mouth. But rather than recoil from the harshness of it, she gently sucked. His groan only fueled the fire burning in her. In them both.

  She didn’t know how, but the buttons of her blouse came undone, his hot hands roving over the lacy fabric of her bra, his lips and tongue tasting the flesh high on her breasts. She pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. Libby dragged frayed and jagged breaths into her lungs through parted lips, feeling smothered, deprived of oxygen. His hands kneaded her breasts, his thumbs roved over her nipples. His touch was rapturous, and her thoughts whirled, her desire burned, raging out of control. Shrugging her arms out of the sleeves, she let the fabric fall, unheeded.

  His hair brushed against her shoulders, her chest, her arms. Not letting the filmy buffer of her bra deter him, he took her nipple between his lips and suckled right through the lacy fabric. Libby’s body came alive. Arching her spine, she offered him more. And he took it. His hot, moist kisses scalded a trail up her neck, then he ravaged her mouth once more.

  He slid his hands up her back, pulling her tight against him. There was no mistaking the hardness of his desire pressing low against her belly, and this set off a chain reaction in her. Her heartbeat hammered. Her blood whooshed through her ears. The desire pulsing through her electrified every nerve ending in her body.

  “Oh, Rafe,” she whispered helplessly. “I love you.”

  Those words were like the shock of cold water splashed on hot skin. Her eyes went wide. And then she blinked.

  Rafe’s head remained buried in the curve of her neck. Her breast filled one of his palms. His other hand tangled deep into her hair. His teeth raked against her flesh, and Libby teetered on the very edge of sanity.

  Evidently he hadn’t heard her profession. He pulled away from her, straightening his spine until she was forced to look up into his face.

  Passion clouded his mahogany gaze. He looked drunk with it. Drugged. And for an instant, Libby wondered if he even knew who she was.

  He reached up and cupped his hands on either side of her face. But when he moved toward her, a spark of fear flashed in her gut.

  She planted her palm on his chest. “No. No, Rafe.”

  Her words did nothing to stop him. And his mouth crushed against hers.

  Libby struggled, pushing at him, attempting to wriggle out of his embrace.

  “No. No!”

  From the first day she’d met this man, sh
e’d felt utterly safe with him, protected. But not now. Now she was besieged by pure panic.

  As if awaking from some stupefied sleep, Rafe lifted his head and studied her face.

  “I don’t want this,” she rushed to say. “Not like this, Rafe.”

  A deep frown scored his forehead. And as his eyes cleared, his expression became more and more disconcerted.

  He stepped away from her, his eyes scanning her from head to foot. Standing before him, without her blouse, she felt nude. She didn’t fight the need to cover herself. Instead, she lifted her arms and crossed them over her chest, acutely aware of her rock-hard nipples, the now clammy dampness of the fabric of her bra.

  As the silent moments passed, Rafe became more agitated. Horrified, even. Finally, he whispered, “What the hell have I done?”

  The question wasn’t for her. Libby knew that and didn’t try to answer. Her own mind was spinning. For the life of her, she couldn’t fathom how a simple argument could have escalated into this…frenzy. It was frightening. How had they lost control to this degree?

  Maybe because, all along, their power over the passions raging inside them had only been tenuous at best.

  Libby hadn’t realized she’d been staring at the fire until sudden movement caught her attention. Rafe had bolted for the front door.

  “Rafe! Wait!” She reached for her blouse, fumbled to cover herself with it, fastening the one button located between her breasts. Then she raced across the room.

  The fog was like a heavy velvet curtain, cloaking everything that lay beyond the front porch. The night air wasn’t just chilly anymore, it was biting. And she worried that Rafe had left the house without a jacket.

  “Rafe.” The thick moisture muted her voice. She called again.

  But all she heard was silence, and then the muffled sound of horse hooves fading as he rode away from the house. Away from her.

  Seventeen

  She came awake slowly, not realizing at first where she was. Feeling the heat radiating from the embers dying in the hearth, seeing the dim glow of the lamp on the table, she remembered she’d been waiting for Rafe to return. She must have fallen asleep on the couch. The clock on the mantel told her it was nearing three-thirty in the morning.