CHEROKEE

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  "What should I do?" he asked the paint. "How do I get her out of my system?"

  Cee-Cee nuzzled him as he opened the gate, and he had to chuckle. "Offering to take her place, are you?"

  Why did he have to fall for a female who didn't want him? "They chase me," he told the horse. "Women actually chase me." But not Sarah. Whenever he tried to close the gap between them, she widened it even more.

  Unbuckling Cee-Cee's halter, he found himself being nudged. The mare poked and prodded, and he realized he was being patted down for carrots. "And here I thought you loved me." He reached into his pocket and handed her the last bite.

  When he exited the stall, Cee-Cee's neighbor tossed his head, sending his mane flying. The gelding was courting her, Adam thought, showing off proud and pretty.

  "Don't bother," he said under his breath, feeling cynical and hurt and much too male.

  Sarah stood right where he'd left her. She gazed at the sky, and he wondered what she was thinking. Maybe it was over between them. Maybe this was it. The subject that would pull them apart for good.

  Babies. The possibility of a future. Something deeper and more meaningful than friendship.

  Damn it. His heart ached something fierce. "Let's go," he said.

  They climbed into the Jeep without uttering a single word. The freeway was busy, so he concentrated on the SUV in front of him, shifting gears when the traffic came to a blinding halt.

  "Great," he muttered. He couldn't wait to get the hell out of the city.

  Sarah tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "There's probably an accident up ahead."

  "Yeah, probably." He couldn't see anything but a sea of cars and graffiti on an overhead pass. The concrete jungle on a typical day.

  They moved at a snail's pace, but once they reached the holdup, Adam's breath lodged in his throat. There was indeed an accident, a collision on the other side of the road. He caught a glimpse of flashing lights and mangled metal, emergency vehicles and clean white stretchers.

  Turning away, he thought about the plane crash that had taken his parents' lives. He wanted to reach for Sarah's hand, hold it tightly in his. Life was too short to lose what mattered. Adam missed his parents, missed the loving, caring people who had raised him as their son. They hadn't told him about the adoption, but they had seen him through the roughest time of his life.

  "It looks bad," Sarah said.

  "Yeah, it does."

  He was grateful when the traffic picked up and they left the accident behind. He didn't want to dwell on funerals and cemeteries and sympathy cards you wished you didn't have to open.

  Sarah's sprawling apartment complex sat in the heart of the Valley. Adam entered through the security gate and parked in a visitor's spot. He noticed a fenced playground beside the clubhouse. Kids were welcome and so were dogs, as long as they weighed under thirty pounds. There were two swimming pools and lots of restrictions. He wondered if Sarah ever felt stifled.

  "Do you want to come in?" she asked.

  He hesitated, simply because he hadn't expected an invitation. "Are you sure you're up for company?"

  She brushed his hand. "We need to talk, Adam."

  "All right." Something akin to fear gripped his belly. Was this it? he wondered. The talk that would end his chance of winning her over? The we-shouldn't-see-each-other-anymore speech? Our relationship is getting too complicated? I don't want to have babies with a guy who used to drink?

  They walked to her door in silence, activity stirring around them. Most of her neighbors either barbecued on their tiny patios or headed to the closest pool, towels and suntan lotion in tow.

  Once they were inside, Sarah offered him a cold drink. Still a little sweaty from grooming the horse, he accepted a tall glass of cranberry juice, finishing it in several long swallows.

  He sat at her dining room table, waiting for the ax to fall.

  She sat across from him, sipping her juice.

  He wanted to jump up, stretch his legs, roll his shoulders. His muscles were tight, his body on edge. He needed a shower, a therapeutic spray of warm water to take his mind off what was happening.

  "So?" he said, meeting her gaze head-on. The sooner this ended, the sooner he could go home, close his eyes and try to forget.

  "What you said earlier—" she paused to take another sip, ice cubes crackling in her glass. "It was nice, Adam. A nice thing to say."

  Stunned, he blinked, losing sight of her for an instant. "Really? I thought it upset you."

  "It scared me. And it still does. We're not supposed to have these kind of feelings for each other. We're not supposed to fantasize about what our children will look like."

  "Why not?" He leaned into the table, wishing he could touch her. "We're young and healthy and single. It's normal. Men and women get attached. That's what life is about."

  "But it won't work." She shook her head, and he wondered if she was trying to shake off her emotions.

  "Why won't it work, Sarah?"

  She pushed away her juice, leaving a streak of moisture across the glass tabletop. "I promised myself a long time ago that I would never get involved with an alcoholic."

  "And I promised myself I would never drink again. It's not a problem in my life anymore, and it shouldn't come between us."

  "You're obsessed with Oklahoma," she countered.

  He gave in to the urge to stand, to stretch his legs and roll his shoulders. "It's not an obsession. I might have family there. And I've been asking you to come with me."

  She set her jaw. "I can't go back there."

  "Yes, you can." He sat down again, only this time he took the chair closest to hers. "You need to go back. For yourself. For us. For your dad."

  "My dad?"

  She flinched, and he knew he had hit a raw nerve. "Yeah. The man you haven't seen or spoken to in over six years. It's time to face him, don't you think? Tell him what a mess he made of things."

  Her jaw was still set, stiff and tighter than a drum. "And what good would that do?"

  "It might give you some peace of mind. And it might restore a little pride in your heritage. You've been blaming a whole nation of people for one man's mistakes. Your dad ruined it for you. And now you're ruining it for us." He inhaled, let the air out slowly. "Didn't you see that accident today? Damn it, life is too short to waste. Your mother is gone. My parents are dead. Who do we have left?" He answered his own question, his heart aching for both of them. "I'll tell you who. The people who gave me up for adoption and the father who disappointed you. They're it. They're all we've got."

  She didn't respond. Instead she just stared at him, her eyes watery. And when her mouth finally moved, her words came out soft and broken, like a jagged whisper. "He sends me letters."

  Adam didn't need to ask who she meant. He knew she was talking about her dad. Reaching for her hand, he felt it tremble in his. "What do they say?"

  Her fingers curled around his. "I don't know. I've never opened them."

  "Oh, Sarah." Sweet, confused Sarah. "You have to read them."

  "They're probably full of phony promises."

  "It doesn't matter. You still have to read them."

  "I will," she said. "But I don't want to do it alone. Will you stay with me? Be here when I open them?"

  "Of course I will." He moved closer, breathing in the scent of her hair. They might be two lonely people, adults struggling to survive without a family, but today, they had each other.

  She closed her eyes, and for the longest time, they sat in her dining room, simply holding hands. For now, he thought, it was enough.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  Sarah squeezed his hand. It frightened her to need someone so badly, yet she couldn't deny that at this life-altering moment, she needed a companion.

  Adam. She needed Adam.

  How many times had she stared at those letters, trying to garner the courage to read them?

  She took a deep breath, knowing there was no po
int in prolonging the inevitable. "They're in my closet." Rising, she invited him to join her.

  They entered her room, and he sat on the edge of her bed. Hesitating, she stood by the door and looked at him. His jeans were slightly soiled, his hair matted from the hat he had worn earlier. A faint sunburn marked his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

  "Is it because I'm Cherokee?" she asked.

  He cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

  "Is that why you haven't let me go? Being Indian is so important to you. And I'm the only Cherokee you know."

  A frown creased his brow. "How can you say something like that? How could you even think it?" He pounded on his chest, then spread his hand over it. "I haven't let you go because you live inside me. Right here, all the time."

  Dizzy, she teetered, then held onto the doorknob for support. What he described sounded so tender, so passionate. So real. "The Cherokee have a saying—" she met his gaze, her pulse quickening. "They say that when you care about someone, that person walks in your soul."

  "Is that what's happening to me?" he asked.

  "I don't know." Maybe it was happening to both of them. Maybe they walked in each other's souls. Walked so deeply, there was no way out. "I shouldn't have brought this up."

  "It's okay." He watched her with intensity. "It scares me, too, Sarah."

  Were they talking about love? The emotion she'd feared all along? "I was just feeling insecure. You know, about the Cherokee thing. I had no right to accuse you of being so shallow." She glanced at the top of her closet. The door was open, beckoning her to come closer. "It's those letters, I guess.

  He nodded. "I understand."

  She stepped forward, reached for a small box. Removing the envelopes, she placed them on the bed beside Adam. Her father's handwriting caught her attention. She closed her eyes, then opened them, knowing she couldn't blink away this moment. The letters were bundled together with a rubber band. Adam picked them up and studied them.

  "How did he get your address?"

  "I kept in touch with a high-school friend for a while. She must have given it to him."

  He removed the rubber band. She knew the oldest postmark was from two years before, the most recent just several months ago. There were six letters in all.

  Adam indicated the return address. "I've never heard of this town."

  "Hatcher is a small community, between Tulsa and Tahlequah. It's quiet, a little off the beaten path. I've passed through it, but never stopped."

  "And that's where your dad hives now?"

  "So it seems."

  He handed her the oldest letter, suggesting she read them in chronological order.

  She took it and tore the seal, feeling like Pandora opening that box. What if this turned out to be a mistake? What if it just ended up drawing her back into a world of pain?

  Dear Sarah…

  The text was short and fairly simple. He apologized in the first sentence, told her he had stopped drinking in the second.

  "I've heard all of this before." She finished reading it and gave it to Adam. Opening the next envelope, her heart sank. In this note, her father admitted that he had slipped up and taken a drink, but he was going to try harder.

  From there, the letters continued in the same tone. He continued to apologize, telling her how sorry he was for letting her down, for being an irresponsible parent. He loved her, he claimed, loved her so much.

  "He seems sincere." Adam rebundled the stack. "And it appears he's been sober for almost two years now. He only screwed up that once. Plus he's been attending meetings ever since."

  "So he says." Sarah fingered the rubber band. It could have been fastened around her heart, constricting the beats. "I want to believe him, but these letters don't prove a thing. He's lied about being sober before." And he'd told her that he loved her before, too. So many times. "They're just words."

  "No, they're not. They're his feelings. His struggle. He misses you, Sarah. He wants to do the right thing."

  "You're so trusting."

  "I've been there. I remember what it felt like to disappoint the people who loved me. Your dad deserves a chance to prove himself."

  She gazed at Adam. His adoptive father was dead. And his biological father was a nameless, faceless man he hoped to meet someday.

  "I have to go to Oklahoma, don't I?"

  He smoothed her hair, brushed a strand from her cheek. "It's the only way to know if he's telling the truth. If he really is sober."

  Forcing air through her lungs, she fought to temper the rising panic. "And if he isn't?"

  "Then we'll deal with it. Together."

  Together. The word melted over her like a balm. She leaned into Adam, and he held her. Close. So very close. He understood how much she needed his support.

  She nuzzled his neck, and he stroked her back. "Will you stay here tonight?" she asked.

  He leaned back to look at her, to touch her cheek. "You know I will."

  They stared at each other, and while silence engulfed the room, Sarah told herself she couldn't keep punishing Adam for his teenage rebellion. Eleven years of sobriety was a long time.

  "I have to go to my place to get a change of clothes," he said finally. "And I could use a shower, too."

  "You can shower here."

  He sent her a seductive smile. "With you?"

  "Yes." She wanted to hold him, feel his nakedness against hers.

  They made it to his house within twenty minutes. He opened the front door and a wall of "meows" greeted him. One eager tabby jumped straight into his arms. He laughed and stroked its mottled coat. "I guess everybody's hungry."

  No, Sarah thought. It wasn't food they were after. It was him

  And she couldn't blame them. She wanted to be near him, too.

  Adam gave the cats canned food. He spoiled them, she supposed, but all of them had come from the streets. They deserved to know that someone cared. As a youth, Sarah had often felt like a stray herself, a tattered girl who had lost the comfort of home.

  Could she really go back to Oklahoma and see her father? And what about forgiving him? She wasn't sure if her heart was capable.

  While Adam packed an overnight bag, Sarah visited with Cameo and the kittens. Groucho peeked over the box at her, his eyebrows quirked at a curious angle. She decided he was contemplating his escape, anxious to develop the skills that would enable him to climb out.

  "You're going to be a handful," she told him.

  Cameo meowed and sent her a look that said he already was. Sarah grinned and reached for the fluffy little monster. She couldn't wait to take him home. Glancing back at Adam, she cocked her head. He sat at his computer, punching keys.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Just getting online for a minute."

  "What for?"

  "To check my e-mail." He studied the screen. "Plus I thought I'd see what kind of airline rates were available. Maybe I can get us a deal." Turning to look over his shoulder, he met her gaze. "You're not going to have any trouble getting time off in August, are you?"

  "No." Her schedule was more or less her own. She leased a treatment room from the salon, booking her own hours. "Do you really think we need to get our tickets so soon?"

  "Why?" His gaze turned suspicious. "Are you thinking of backing out?"

  "No." Yes. Maybe. She wasn't sure. "I've never been on a plane before."

  "Really?" The look in his eyes softened. "How did you come to California?"

  "On a bus." Which made her feel unsophisticated and poor. Of course that was exactly what she was at the time. A down-and-out Indian with an alcoholic father.

  "I can do this tomorrow." He shut down the computer and came toward her, clearly sensing her mood. "Don't change your mind, Sarah. I don't want to go to Oklahoma without you. We both need this."

  When he gazed directly into her eyes, she thought about how kind and caring he was. "Okay." She made the vow quietly, her heart fluttering on a wing and a prayer. Somehow she would summon the st
rength to go home.

  * * *

  Adam stood beside Sarah in her sunny bathroom, shedding his clothes. She turned on the water and adjusted the nozzle to accommodate his height. The shower stall was separate from the tub, barely big enough for one person, let alone two. That made this more stimulating. When he joined her in the confined space, skin brushed skin.

  They managed to share the water and the soap. He used her shower gel, lathering his body. She scrubbed, too, washing away the emotion and exhaustion of the day. He could almost see her muscles relax.

  She ducked under the spray and saturated her hair. It clung, wet and ropy, to her breasts, like twines of licorice. He imagined putting his mouth there.

  He knew he could make love to her, but he wanted to wait. He wanted to fantasize while she touched herself, while she soaped her arms and belly, the V between her legs.

  There was nothing more beautiful than a naked woman, especially one who had no idea how exquisite she was.

  She washed her hair, and he stood, fully aroused, watching her. Sarah's shampoo smelled sweetly of carnations, the aphrodisiac that had become her signature.

  Minutes later, he lathered his own hair with the same shampoo, and even that felt erotic. Her sexual scent was on him now, spicy and fragrant.

  She turned, and her nipples grazed his arm. He made a rough sound, but it couldn't be heard above the pounding water. When she looked up at him, trapped him with those dark eyes, he struggled to breathe.

  She reached for him, and he knew he was lost.

  Sleek and slippery, they rubbed and kissed, like otters splashing in the sea. He licked moisture from her skin, opened his mouth and let rivulets run onto his tongue.

  She brought his head to her breasts. He latched onto a nipple and sucked. Hard. So hard, she clawed his shoulders and moaned.

  Soaking wet, they stumbled from the bathroom to her bed, desperate for each other. Sunlight spilled into the room, bathing them in a late-afternoon glow. Still kissing, they shoved the quilt away, finding the sheets cool and inviting.

  He wanted to crawl all over her, devour every luscious curve. Taut and erect, he spread her thighs and penetrated her, heat flooding his loins.