Runaway

by Heather Graham

  “My God. What—”

  “We found her in the forest. She had been thrown from her horse. My mother-in-law is a healer; she knows every root and herb to be found here. She did everything that she could, but Lisa and the baby died. The baby never drew breath. Lisa bled to death.”

  “Oh, God!” Tara whispered. Her eyes were burning. Such a terrible accident. She could imagine poor Lisa here, perhaps knowing that her child had perished, that her own life was fleeing from her body.

  “She was—broken inside,” Naomi said very softly. “No white doctor could have saved her, but she did die here, and you can imagine how those who hate us to begin with could twist such a story.”

  Tara sat in silence, feeling numb and cold. She wondered what it had been like for Jarrett to come back, to find his precious Lisa dead.

  And his unborn child.

  Mary said something. She spoke long and passionately. Tara couldn’t understand her words, but they were earnest and pleading in their tone.

  Tara looked at Naomi.

  “She says that you must not be afraid of us. That Jarrett is like her son, and she would have gladly died for Lisa.” Naomi smiled. “She was absolutely furious yesterday when Jarrett arrived and decided that you must worry about what you had done for a while. She said that you didn’t know us, so how could you trust us? But Jarrett”—she paused and shrugged—“Jarrett didn’t want you wandering alone into the forest. It is true, these are troubled times. And then there was Lisa. But she wants you to know this is home. It is yours as well, always, and you are welcomed and loved here. She prays that you will see through the boundaries of race and color, and love us as well. If you can.”

  If she could …

  Life was so very strange. Not twenty-four hours ago she had been terrified of Seminoles—of Indians, in any shape or form. How quickly lines blurred, things changed. Men were not all red or white or black, or mixed in shades between, and if a man’s skin was not pure, it was quite true that his heart could be.

  As her own.

  Impulsively she set her plate down and stood and knelt by Mary McKenzie. She set her arms around the Seminole woman and felt herself enveloped in a gentle hold as well.

  At length she sat back, meeting Mary’s wise dark eyes. She smiled. “Tell her,” she said to Naomi, “tell her, please, that it has been years and years since I have felt so welcome, as if—as if I have come home.”

  And when she spoke the words she knew that they were true.

  She was glad to have met Mary and glad to discover that Naomi was a friend. She spent much of the day with them. Sara and Jennifer, the two little girls who had come upon her last night, came to be with them, and with some surprise Tara realized that she was their aunt. They were both precocious, and their English was excellent—James had insisted they learn the language and learn it well, since in future they must try to survive in a world where English-speaking whites were continually encroaching upon them. As the afternoon wore on, Tara realized that they were not Indian children, but children. It seemed that they were much the same anywhere, so eager to trust, so quick to smile, anxious to play. Sara was the older of the two, and Jennifer the younger. Jennifer had a bit more of the devil in her, and Sara was much more aware of a woman’s responsibilities and able to explain to Tara that women were not necessarily the lesser of the two genders in Seminole society. “My grandmother abides with us here, for her family has been greatly torn over the years. But it is really my mother’s family we live with, and when I marry, my husband will come live with our family.”

  Tara nodded at Sara and looked to Naomi, who smiled. “We usually take our clan names from the maternal side, and a husband comes to his wife’s family. Usually,” she added softly. “Wars change things.”

  “What happens when a man takes two wives?” Tara asked, smiling and intrigued.

  “The second wife joins the first wife’s family,” Naomi said. “And often she is a younger sister, perhaps a widow, perhaps a relative. And then sometimes, as I have said, things change. Sometimes we just run with whoever we can.”

  Tara thought about her sister-in-law’s words later when she was alone in Jarrett’s cabin. She was very tired that afternoon, and when Naomi had brought her back, she had been content enough to lie down on the furs and reflect about the things that she had learned.

  She was still angry with Jarrett. But though they were words she would never say to him, she did love him, and she was more intrigued by his life than ever, and more touched by it as well.

  She wondered what Lisa had been like, and she thought that she would probably have liked her very much. She was able to put her jealousy of her predecessor to rest at last. She could also imagine how rampantly rumor must have run when word went out that Lisa McKenzie was dead, and that she had died in a Seminole camp.

  She thought that Jarrett’s ties to his brother and his people must be very strong indeed, and that he would never have doubted the truth himself, only mourned the tragic loss of life. His wife, his child.

  She must have dozed on the furs, for when she awoke, she found that a low fire was burning in the hearth, and that she wasn’t alone.

  Jarrett was at her side, cross-legged on the ground, watching her.

  She started up. “What is it?” she murmured groggily.

  He smiled, shaking his head. “I was just watching you sleep.”

  “Do I do it oddly?” she asked.

  He shook his head again. “No, you do it rather beautifully,” he said softly, but then added a brusque “Tired?”

  “I had a rough day yesterday,” she informed him flatly, causing him to smile again. He reached out and took her hands. She tried to snatch them away, but he held them firmly. “Ah, yes, I do see a blister or two.”

  This time, when she snatched her hand away, he freed her. “I’ve had a blister or two before,” she assured him.

  A black brow shot up. “Have you? And everyone is convinced that you’re such a great lady! How would a lady come up with such blisters? That is, if you are one.”

  She sat very still and stiff, her head high, her voice cool. “And would it matter to you if I wasn’t?” she inquired.

  He leapt to his feet. “Not a whit,” he told her, reaching both hands down to capture hers and draw her to her feet. “Come on, I said that I had something you might enjoy later. And I do.”

  “What?” she asked him.

  He shook his head. “You’ll see. You’re not in such poor shape that you cannot take a walk, are you?”

  “No. I can walk. Whether you choose to—”

  “No choice,” he assured. “I’ll carry you.”

  “Even if I were to yell and scream all the way?”

  “Then we’d have quite an audience,” he told her with a grin.

  She freed her hands and started toward the door. He followed behind her and slipped an arm around her back. “Remember, I am your buffer in this land of savages,” he told her.

  She sniffed. “McKenzie, what would I fear from any other savage when I have married you?”

  He laughed softly. “Good! Keep that in mind,” he told her.

  As they passed through the camp again, she found herself incredibly curious about it. There was something established here, a community, and within it people lived and worked. Again today there was a communal fire. A calf had been killed; it roasted over the blaze. Men were about, cleaning rifles, honing knives. Children ran about and played underfoot. Skins were stretched out on frames, and women and girls worked with the razor-edge shells upon them, preparing them for clothing and blankets.

  Farther off, in a circle, another group of women worked hard grinding meal from koonti root. Someone tended a patch of pumpkins and other vegetables. They chatted, they talked, they laughed. They greeted Jarrett, and they stared, unabashedly, at Tara. She stared back. Jennifer and Sara were out, kicking a ball made of wound cabbage palms. They rushed to Jarrett and Tara. He plucked up Jennifer, causing her to squeal with deli
ght as he threw her in the air. Tara felt a pull at her skirt. She reached down as well for Sara and smiled at the little girl’s joy at being spun around.

  Next thing she knew, there was a whole lineup of children, most of the little boys in breechcloths and the very small ones in dresses, while the girls wore clothing amazingly similar to that of the older women. Tara hadn’t the strength to spin all the children, but she wound up laughing and directing the crowd of urchins into a line in front of Jarrett. Finally, the last child had been swung and sent back to play or work, and Tara found that Jarrett’s hand was on her elbow again, and that he was leading her away from the camp and down a trail through the cypress and palms.

  They came to a stream where the water seemed to bubble along at a slow and inviting pace. A huge cypress jutted out over it, letting fall a tangle of vines. The sun was just beginning to set. Its rays remained hot while its color became magical, filling the sky with deep reds, mauves, vibrant yellows, and golds. In the midst of the color various birds strutted through the low march bordering the deeper water, cranes, snow-white egrets, and beautiful, blue herons. Tara gasped at the sight of them, standing very still.

  “Blue herons,” Jarrett told her.

  “I know, I’ve seen them.”

  “You’ve seen them?”

  “They had some work on display at a show once, paintings by a Mr. Audubon.”

  “Ah …” Jarrett murmured. “Indeed, he’s quite a hunter.”

  “He hunts these birds?” She gasped.

  “He hunts everything,” Jarrett told her with a smile. “And when he can’t bag a bird he wants himself, he hires other men to do it. He stuffs them, and paints them, giving life back to them.”

  “You know him?”

  Jarrett nodded. “Know him and like him. He’s insatiably curious, and though he is a hunter, he loves the creatures as well, and sees the tremendous beauty in them. He’s quite an adventurer; he has traveled the wilderness.”

  “You like him because he loves this savage wilderness of yours!” she accused.

  He shrugged. “Maybe. Well, I didn’t come just to stare at the birds.”

  “Then—” she began, frowning, but she broke off quickly and went silent with amazement as she realized that he was stripping. Boots, socks, doublet, shirt, breeches, peeled off.

  “Come on,” he told her.

  She drew her gaze from his naked body, fire and copper against the setting sunlight, and stared into his eyes.

  “What?”

  “The water is beautiful, trust me. The sun has held all day.”

  “But—”

  “For a woman so quick to dive into the Gulf of Mexico in winter, you are incredibly slow now.”

  He took a step and she caught her breath, her hand flying to her throat, certain that he meant to strip her himself and throw her into the water.

  But he stepped by her, agile as ever as he balanced upon the cypress roots, caught hold of the vine, went flying over the center of the stream, crying out some sound as he released the vine, and went falling into the water.

  He disappeared. A few moments later she heard a wild cry, and a dozen birds suddenly winged their way up in a panic. Jarrett’s head appeared, sleek black hair wet and long down his neck.

  He was a little more than waist deep in the water. “Coming in?”

  She wet her lips, surprised by the smile upon them. “There could be nasty things in there. Like snakes.”

  “I thought that I was the nastiest thing you had managed to come across.”

  “You are—but I don’t like snakes and alligators, and I warned you about that from the start!”

  “There are no gators around.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Everyone uses this watering hole. The gators know not to come here. They are hunted and killed here. They stay away.”

  “What about the snakes?”

  “What about God throwing down a bolt of lightning!” he asked with impatience.

  “Is the weather going to be bad as well?” she asked.

  “Tara …”

  “I’ll just watch,” she said, smiling and taking a seat upon the bank, soft with its layers of cabbage palm leaves. “I’d thought for a moment that you were going to strip me and force me in,” she said. “But the scenery is beautiful, and I’m glad—” she broke off.

  He was up, striding out of the stream, heading toward her with water sluicing from his body.

  “What—”

  “My way failed. Yours sounds better.”

  “What way? What are you talking about—”

  This time she broke off with a shriek, for damp and dripping, he reached down, catching her hands, pulling her up. Before she knew it she was spun around and his hands were deftly on her hooks.

  “What are you—” she began, trying to twist around.

  “Stripping you and forcing you in.”

  “You can’t—”

  “But I can, and you know it,” he told her. “Stand still, will you? I’m trying to preserve what I can of this dress and it’s already in a worn state.”

  “Oh, and I wonder why!”

  “Behave. You don’t want to walk back naked, do you?”

  “Oh!” she cried out in aggravation, just as the gown was drawn over her shoulders. He wasted no time with the ties to her corset and all but tripped her to bring her back to the ground where he could free her from shoes, pantalettes, and stockings.

  Naked, she found herself in his arms. She clung for balance as he walked precariously out on the roots. “If there are snakes in here …”

  “There aren’t.”

  “But if there are …”

  He paused, arching a brow at her. “Then what? You’re already going to slice me up and remove my hair and scalp.”

  “I’ll do it with a great deal more pain and anguish if there’s a single snake in here!” she promised.

  He smiled. “And to think! I was so very convinced that you were the one who loved a good swim.”

  “I—”

  The water cut her off. He had caught hold of the vine, they had swung out.

  And he had let go.

  It was beautiful. It was no more than fifteen or twenty feet deep, and amazingly clear. The sun had heated it, and the water was actually warmer than the air.

  Freed instantly from his hold, she kicked out and streaked swiftly through the water, delighting in the clean, temperate feel. She shot back to the surface. He was nowhere to be seen.

  She felt a tug on her legs. It brought her under, and he was there. His body slid up against hers and the feel was deliciously erotic in the water.

  They broke the surface. He treaded water perhaps a foot away. “Well?” he asked. His black eyes met hers for a moment, diamond bright from the water’s reflection.

  “Well?” she murmured.

  His eyes had fallen. The cool water had hardened her nipples to round red peaks, she noted with a blush, and that was where his gaze had gone.

  His eyes met hers again. There was humor in his voice. It was husky as well. “Near—perfection.”

  “The water is—warm,” she agreed.

  His smile deepened. “Very. Damned hot, I’d say.”

  He reached out for her, drawing her with him as his bold strokes and hard kicks brought them to a point where he could stand. He stood still but continued to draw her toward him. Against him. Her breasts brushed hard against his chest. He caught hold of her buttocks, lifting her against him. His hands embraced her thighs, lifting her higher. Pulling her downward upon the shockingly hard shaft of his desire.

  She gasped something, her head falling, her face against his neck, her arms around him. He gripped her buttocks tightly, moving her first at his leisure, then to his more frantic pleasure. Arms and limbs locked around him, she felt the heat inside of her grow until she seemed to radiate like the warmth of the sun, searing against the cool of the water. She arched wildly, felt his hands caress her. Her lips pressed agains
t his shoulder, her fingers dug into his back. Then she gasped, stunned by the fiery splendor that erupted within her so very quickly, dizzy with the strength of it. She was still aware of his force, of the molten heat that suddenly seemed to fill her, and of the then gentle power of her hold, as her arms continued to cling to him, as their bodies remained locked together in the cooling water.

  “It really can be paradise,” he murmured to her softly, a hand upon her wet hair and nape.

  “Umm—” she began, but was instantly rocked from her aftermath of pleasure as something touched her from behind. Something that could not be a part of Jarrett’s body.

  She pushed from him with a wild, fierce force, spinning in the water, trying to find the danger.

  “Tara—”

  “It’s a big snake!”

  “What?”

  “It’s huge! Oh, you’re wrong, maybe it wasn’t a snake, maybe it is an alligator, a huge one—oh!” She screamed, again, now all but jumping atop him as the massive thing went sliding by her feet.

  “Tara—”

  “Get me out!”

  “It’s not a snake!”

  “Then it’s a gator!”

  “It’s not a gator, I swear it!”

  Even as he said the words, he seemed to come thrusting forward, as if he, too, had been shoved by something huge from behind.

  “You see! Oh, my God, Jarrett!”

  “Tara, it’s a sea cow! It won’t hurt you.”

  “What?”

  “It’s just a sea cow. It’s—it’s like an ugly river dolphin! It won’t hurt you. It’s accustomed to the kids playing here; it just wants to be stroked.”

  “What?”

  He released her—left her!—to dive beneath the water. She could see him—and it—swimming out to where it was deeper. Slim and straight, he ran his hands over the creature as he swam alongside it. Tara caught her breath. He was right that it wasn’t a snake or an alligator.

  And he was right, as well, she thought after a moment, that the creature did look something like an ugly dolphin. Only, bigger. She thought that it was somewhere around ten or twelve feet, round and awkward. Yet it could swim with a strange grace.