Warrior's Embrace

by Peggy Webb

“There will be temptations.”

  There had been many temptations: easy money, big cities, fast women. But always Eagle had kept his vision before him. His people needed the prosperity and progressiveness of the new ways as well as the purity and strength of the old. They needed the modern roads he knew how to build and the strong bridges he could construct. They needed the hospitals and schools and banks and factories.

  He could build them all. And he would ...on tribal lands for the benefit of his people.

  “I can’t argue with that, Mingo.” Marcus clapped him on the shoulder as the five o’clock whistle sounded and workers on the construction site began their noisy leave-taking. “How about a farewell match at the old dartboard in Sally’s Bar? Best three out of five. I need to redeem myself.”

  Eagle reached for his shirt, grinning. “Marcus, the thing I’m going to miss most about you is your eternal optimism.”

  “Prepare to lose your shirt, Marcus,” Jim said.

  “Does that mean you’re going to bet against me?”

  “I always put my money on the winner. Mingo hasn’t lost a game yet. It’s damned voodoo magic or something.”

  “It’s the Chickasaw motto. Unconquered and unconquerable.” Eagle was smiling when he said it, but Marcus and Jim didn’t doubt for one minute that he meant every word he said.

  Later that evening as Marcus consoled himself over his resounding defeat—he’d lost all five games—he saluted Eagle with his beer.

  “My mama didn’t raise no fools, and I can tell you one thing, I’d hate to get in a real battle with you.”

  “You’d lose, Eagle said.

  o0o

  Witch Dance

  Eagle stood on the bluff with his arms lifted toward the sky. A red-tailed hawk arose screaming from his nest and bands of Indian paintbrush nodded their scarlet heads in the wind that swept across the plains. Below the ridge he could hear the music of the Blue River.

  With his arms uplifted, he paid homage to four Beloved Things above—the clouds, the sun, the clear sky, and He who lives in the clear sky.

  “Loak-Istohoollo-Aba,” he chanted, addressing the Holy One above. “Alail-o.” The ancient words filled him with power, and he tipped his face upward so he could feel the welcome sun of his homeland. “I am come,” he said. “I’ve come home.”

  All the years he’d been gone melted away, and he was once again a native son, fully, passionately in love with the land. Soon he would exchange his car for a Chickasaw horse so he could ride wild and free, feeling the wind on his face.

  His mother would be waiting at home to greet him— and also his father, Winston Mingo, governor of the Chickasaw Nation. He’d see his twin brother, Cole, and Cole’s wife and children whom he’d never met. His younger siblings, his beloved sister, Star, and his brother, Wolf, would be so grown-up, he’d hardly know them.

  Eagle was eager to reunite with his family, but his most pressing need was to embrace the land, to bond once more with the mountains and the river and the sky that had spawned him.

  Leaving his car parked on the ridge, he made his way down to the river. The lone hawk sailed low, calling its plaintive welcome. A cottontail rabbit scrambled out of the bushes, studied him with pink eyes and twitching nose, then disappeared over the horizon. In the distance the mountains watched him with silent majesty. The only sounds were the music of the animals and the music of the river.

  He was alone, alone in the magnificent, far-reaching land he called his own.

  o0o

  The watchers were there again, standing on the hillside above the building site in a solemn, silent semicircle, their enmity evident in the set of their faces and the rigid lines of their bodies.

  Kate put down her hammer and wiped her face with a faded bandanna. Anxiously, she glanced at the intruders. Dr. Colbert poured two cups of water from the thermos and offered one to her.

  “Don’t worry about them, Kate. They’ll get used to you in time.”

  “How can I be their doctor if they hate me? How can I cure their ailments if they won’t even come near me?”

  He laughed. “You’ve been here only a week; the clinic is nothing more than a vision in our minds, and already you’re worried about the sick. Patience, Kate.”

  “You’re always saying that to me.”

  “Could it be that you need to listen?”

  “Who, me?” She did an elaborate pantomime of the innocent, with widened eyes and rounded mouth. Then, laughing, she sank onto the ground and crossed her moccasined feet. Deborah at the general store had sold her the moccasins. She’d tried to sell her a hat too, insisting that Kate would burn her fair skin in this hot country, but Kate loved the wind in her hair. There would be no hats for her.

  “You’re too generous with me, Dr. Colbert. I’m not sure that I have the temperament to carry on all this.” She waved her arms to encompass the clearing in the trees, the studs that would soon be walls of a clinic, and the watchers on the hill.

  “I chose you for the job because you are perfect.” As always when they had these discussions about the clinic, Clayton Colbert kept his darker motives hidden. No one would be served by the truth—least of all, Kate Malone.

  She gazed at him with such luminous trust that he had to turn his back.

  “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” He busied himself by filling his carpenter’s apron with nails. Soon, soon he’d have to leave, or all his dreams would go up in flames. “Go sight-seeing. Take a picnic. It’ll be good for your soul.” And perhaps the salvation of his own.

  “Doctor’s orders?” she teased.

  “Doctor’s orders.”

  She needed no further urging. A stop at the general store to buy wine and cheese, then a quick run to Dr. Colbert’s house to rinse the sawdust off her face and put her purchases in a picnic basket, and she was all set to explore.

  Soon she was striding along the wide open spaces, basket in hand. She scooped her hair off her neck with her free hand, then let it go flying about in the wind as she released it. White clouds were piled as high as cotton candy in a sky so relentlessly blue, it hurt her eyes. She’d brought her bird-watching book and her binoculars, but the thing she wanted to do most was get to know the land she now called home.

  It was a beautiful land in a raw, exciting kind of way, and Kate was already in love with it. A wilderness, her father had called it. But it was her wilderness, far away from the jurisdiction of the senator from South Carolina.

  She skipped along the way she had when she was fourteen and her two younger brothers thought she was the next best thing to buttered popcorn. Since there was no one around to cover their ears, she opened her mouth to sing ...and that’s when she saw the man in the river.

  Mesmerized, she stood on the bluff, gazing down at him. It wasn’t his nakedness that held her enthralled, but the sheer beauty of it, the glorious perfection.

  He was standing with his face tipped skyward and his arms outstretched, every well-toned muscle and finely tuned sinew clearly delineated by the sun. The artist in her swooned, but the doctor in her exulted. He was a magnificent specimen, exuberantly male, passionately Chickasaw.

  She didn’t drop to her knees and try to hide behind the small scrub bushes, but stood tall on the bluff, watching him with unabashed pleasure. He looked as if he not only belonged to the land around him, but was a part of it.

  He spoke strange and beautiful words in a powerful voice that sent shivers down her spine, then waded deep, where the water became swift and turbulent.

  Unconsciously, Kate clenched her hands on the handle of the picnic basket. The water was chest-high on him now. With one last look at the sky he plunged under.

  Kate held her breath, waiting, watching for him to resurface. Overhead, a large bird screamed. Hairs along the back of Kate’s neck stood on end.

  “Come on,” she whispered. “Come on.” She shaded her eyes, straining for a glimpse of his dark head rising above the rushing river.

  Coul
d she have missed it? Was he too far downriver for her to see?

  Clutching her basket, she began to make her way down the side of the bluff. There was still no sign of the Chickasaw.

  He’d gone under and he wasn’t coming back up. Kate began to run, blood roaring in her head ...and memories filling her mind, always the memories.

  “Kate, Kate.” A pair of hands clutched at her, glanced off her swimsuit, then disappeared. She couldn’t see. Wind and rain whipped the ocean into a frenzy. Where were they? Where were they?

  She must not panic. She must not. Brambles tore at her shorts and scratched her legs as she raced down the bluff.

  “I’m coming,” she screamed. “Hold on. I’m coming.”

  Her picnic basket hit the ground as she let go, bounced once, then overturned.

  The sailboat was overturned. She couldn’t get it to stay upright. The wind had been too strong ...and the waves. She fought the panic that made her arms and legs heavy. Couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop swimming now. She had to find them. Where were they?

  She was beside the river now. Sharp rocks bit into her moccasins as she hit the shallows running. Hoping the water was deep enough, praying she’d be strong enough, she arched her body into a perfect bow and sliced the water.

  There was no one to save him except her.

  There was no one to save them except her. She was the oldest. She was responsible.

  Swimming hard, she fought the water. She couldn’t let it win. Not this time. She went under, searching, searching ...and saw a leg.

  “Brian,” she screamed. Bubbles rose to the surface. “I’ve got you, Brian.”

  She couldn’t hold on. He was struggling against her. She was losing him, losing him in the darkness and the rain and the winds that howled over the ocean.

  “Stop!” Panic billowed through her as she fought to hold on to his leg. “Stop struggling, Brian. I have to save you ...I have to save you.”

  Brian cried as he fought her, screamed as he clawed her face. She couldn’t hold him. He was pulling her down. And where was Charles?

  “Charles! Charles!” Tears streamed down her face, and water, so much water. She gasped for air. “Oh, God. I can’t find Charles.”

  Hands grabbed her shoulders. Panic filled her, and such soul-searing agony, she wanted to die.

  Charles was there now, and Brian, clinging to her, crying ...Help me, Katie. Help me. Praying and crying, she swam. But which way was the shore? She couldn’t see. Brian was pulling her under ...and Charles was too heavy. They would all drown.

  “No!” she screamed. “I won’t let you die.”

  “I won’t hurt you. Stop fighting.”

  “No. You can’t die.”

  But they did. First Brian slipped away, his little face contorted as he called her name, his hair floating around his head like a pale halo. Then Charles. In slow motion he drifted, always beyond her reach, until at last she couldn’t see him. She couldn’t see either of them. The sea swallowed them, swallowed her brothers, then spit her out onto the cream-colored sand. She hadn’t been strong enough. She hadn’t been good enough.

  She closed her eyes, wanting to die. Why hadn’t she died?

  Strong arms held her close. “Are you all right?”

  That voice. It was the same one she’d heard moments earlier, the voice of thunder that beseeched the sky in a strange and wondrous tongue.

  Coward that she was, she lay against his sun-warmed chest with her eyes shut. It was easier than looking into the face of the man she’d saved from the river.

  “Are you all right?” he asked again as he lowered her to the ground. Oh, God, she remembered how he’d looked standing in the river, gloriously naked. He probably was a marathon swimmer who could take on the English Channel without ever getting winded, and here she was, wallowing around in his arms, getting goose bumps listening to his voice ...and getting ideas besides.

  “Of course I’m all right.” She sat straight up, intending to act efficient and intelligent as befitted someone who had earned the right to be called doctor. But then she saw him close up. And she nearly swooned.

  He was more man than she’d ever seen. And every gorgeous naked inch of him was within touching distance.

  For all he seemed to care, he could have been bending over her in a Brooks Brothers suit.

  “What impulse sent you into the river?” He squatted beside her with both hands on her shoulders, and she’d never felt skin as hot in her life.

  “I thought you were drowning.”

  His laughter was deep and melodious, and as sensual as exotic music played in some dark corner of a dimly lit café where lovers embraced.

  “I am Chickasaw,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  “Well, I’m human and I made a mistake.” She pushed her wet hair away from her face. “Why can’t you just admit you made a mistake, staying under the water so long, I thought you were going to drown?”

  “You were watching me?”

  “No ...Yes . . .” His legs were powerful, heavily muscled, bent in such a way that the best parts of him were hidden. He leaned closer, intent on answers. How did he expect her to think straight with his leg touching hers like that? “Not deliberately,” she said. “I was on a picnic. How did I know you’d be cavorting about in the river without any clothes on?”

  He searched her face with eyes deep and black. Then he touched her cheeks, his strong hands exquisitely gentle.

  “I’m sorry I ruined your picnic.” Ever so tenderly his hands roamed over her face. Breathless, she sat beside the river, his willing captive. “You’ve scratched your face ...here ...and here.”

  Until that moment she hadn’t known that every nerve in the body could tremble. Now she could attest to it as a medical fact.

  “...and your legs.” He gave her legs the same tender attention he’d given her face. She would have sold her soul to feel his hands on her forever. “I have remedies for your injuries.”

  Oh, God. Would he kiss them and make them well? She almost said it.

  “I can fix them....” How? She could barely breathe. “I’m a doctor.”

  “You came to Tribal Lands to practice medicine?”

  “You doubt my word?”

  “No. Your commitment.”

  “Is it because I’m white that you think I’m not committed, or because I’m female?”

  “Neither, Wictonaye.” In one fluid movement he stood before her, smiling.

  And in that moment her world changed. Colors and light receded, faded until there was nothing except the bold Chickasaw with his glowing, polished skin and his seductive voice that obliterated every thought, every need except the most basic ...to die of lust. Sitting on the hard ground, looking up at her nameless captor, she wanted to die in the throes of passion.

  She stood on shaky, uncertain legs. Clenching her fists by her side, she faced him.

  “If you’re going to call me names, use English, please.”

  “Wictonaye ...wildcat.”

  “I’ve been called worse.” Would God forgive her if she left right now? Would He give her the healing touch and allow her to save lives if she forgot about her lust and focused on her mission?

  She spun around, then felt his hand on her arm.

  “I’ve been rude. It’s not my way”

  “Nor mine.” She grinned. “Except sometimes.”

  “You tried to save my life, and I don’t know your name.”

  “Kate Malone.”

  “Thank you for saving my life, Kate Malone.” His eyes sparkled with wicked glee. She’d never known a man of such boldness ...nor such appeal. “I’m Eagle Mingo.”

  “Next time you decide to play in the river, Eagle Mingo, be more careful. I might not be around to rescue you.”

  She marched toward the bluff, thinking it was a good exit, until he appeared beside her, still naked as sin and twice as tempting.

  “You forgot your shoe.” He held out one of her moccasins.

 
“Thanks.” Lord, did he expect her to bend down and put it on with him standing there like that? She hobbled along, half shoeless.

  “And your picnic basket.” He scooped it off the ground and handed it to her. Then, damned if he didn’t bow like some courtly knight in shining armor.

  If she ever got home, she’d have to take an aspirin and go to bed. Doctor’s orders.

  “Good-bye. Enjoy your” —her eyes raked him from head to toe, and she could feel her whole body getting hot— “swim.”

  She didn’t know how she got up the bluff, but she didn’t draw a good breath until she was safely at the top. He was still standing down there, looking up. She could feel his eyes on her.

  Lest he think she was a total coward, she put on her other shoe, then turned and casually waved at him. At least she hoped it was casual.

  And then he waved back. Facing full front. She might never recover.

  o0o

  “Did you enjoy your picnic?” Dr. Colbert asked when she got back.

  “Hmmm.” It was the best she could do.

  “I’m glad. There are some wonderful sights around here.”

  “I’ll say.”

  Dr. Colbert picked up her bird-watching book and thumbed through. “We have magnificent birds here too. You’ll soon learn all their names.”

  All she needed to know was one name. The name of the most magnificent of them all. Eagle.

  Chapter 4

  Home.

  Eagle sat quietly on the redwood bench under a silver maple tree and took it all in. Nothing much had changed. The sprawling house with its wide verandas and tall windows was still the domain of Dovie Mingo. It had been Winston’s wedding present to his wife. Built of cypress and glass with an eye for the view, it faced the mountains, which were stained pink and purple now by the setting sun. The house was grand in scale and built to endure because Winston had said that’s how his love for Dovie was, magnificent and sweeping with an endurance that would last their lifetime and beyond to the Great Spirit world of Loak-Istohoollo-Aba.

  The ravages of wind and rain and time had not dimmed the house’s grandeur, and it sat now, weathered and graceful, in its wide sweep of pasture in the shadow of the mountains.