He moved, and she moved with him, taking him deeper.
Sex. Sensation. Incredible lovemaking.
It felt different this time. Warmer, wetter, even more intimate.
And then they looked at each other and realized why. They were completely naked, joined with no protection between them.
Adam groaned, then withdrew, even though he ached to stay right where he was.
"Maybe I should get on the Pill," she said.
He stroked her hair. It was still wet and clinging to her skin. "That isn't natural. It isn't good for your body."
She arched against him. "Then what?"
"A holistic method."
She kissed the side of his neck. "They're not foolproof."
"Nothing is." He turned his head and captured her lips. They were discussing birth control, yet they couldn't stop touching. "I wish we could forget about it."
"We can't."
"I know." He knew, but he wanted to lose himself inside her, spill his seed and make a baby. Now. Right now.
The urgency should have stunned him, but it didn't. He was beyond analyzing his feelings. When she was this close, all he could think about was keeping her, holding on and never letting go.
"We need a condom," she reminded him.
"Later." He pushed her down and buried his face between her legs. She gasped on contact, and he tasted her, over and over, delving into warm, wet heat.
Her stomach quivered, her hips bucked. Half crazed, she panted his name and tugged on his damp hair.
Yes, he thought. If he couldn't make a baby, then he wanted it wild.
Slick and sweet and wild.
He reveled in her reaction. Dark-eyed, smooth-skinned Sarah. In that climactic moment, that hot, sexy moment, she belonged to him. Flesh and blood and soul.
She needed him.
When he tore into the condom, they were more than ready. She straddled his lap and impaled herself, riding him until the rest of the world shattered and disappeared.
* * *
The sun had yet to rise, but Sarah was awake. She sat up in bed, and Adam stirred beside her.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice groggy.
She squinted at the clock. "It's later in Oklahoma." And that meant it was daylight there. "I should call my dad and get it over with."
He turned on the lamp, illuminating the room in a pale glow. "Have you been up all night?"
"More or less." She couldn't lie, not with Adam watching her through concerned eyes. She had lain awake, listening to him breathe. Everything was moving too fast. Her feelings for Adam, her fear of going home. She had made promises, and now she couldn't turn back, no matter how much she wanted to.
Sarah studied her companion. His hair fell loose about his shoulders. He looked sleepy and tousled, a rumpled male wrapped in mauve-colored sheets. Her room wasn't overly feminine, but it was still a little too girlish for a man like Adam.
"I can make some tea," he said. "It might help calm your nerves."
"Okay." Anxious, she watched him climb out of bed.
Sarah felt as if she were tumbling down a hill, her heart sliding straight into her stomach. She eyed the phone and wished she could turn off the light and forget this was happening. She didn't want to talk to her dad, and she didn't want to need Adam so badly, either. But, damn it, here she was, unable to stop the spiral of emotion suddenly consuming her life.
Being alone all these years had been so much easier.
She picked up her father's letters and paged through them again. When Adam re-entered the bedroom, she met his gaze.
"I was looking for his number," she said.
He placed her tea on the dresser. "I'll wait in the living room. I'm sure you would rather do this by yourself."
"No, I wouldn't. Truthfully, I'd like you to stay." She lifted the tea and took a small sip. It contained just the right amount of honey. They had already gotten to know each other's habits. "I'm going to ask my dad about your mom. See if he's heard her name before."
Adam sat on the edge of the bed. "Thank you. I know how difficult this is for you."
"I'll be okay." She dialed the number and listened to the rings. They sounded lonely and faraway. The voice that answered had her gripping the receiver. She recognized her father's graveled tone instantly.
"Hello?"
"Dad, it's me."
"Sarah? I hadn't expected… I can't believe…"
His words drifted, and she envisioned him drinking a cup of strong, black coffee—a brew much more potent than her chamomile tea. Did he have a hangover? Was his skin sallow? His eyes swollen? She wanted to picture him sober but couldn't quite manage it.
"I can't believe you actually called," he said finally, forming a more coherent sentence. When she didn't respond, he asked if everything was all right.
No, she thought, it wasn't. Her heartbeat was racing out of control, her imagination battling scenes from the past.
"Everything's fine."
They talked, but not deeply. Their conversation was strained, both unsure of how to communicate with the other. It became a little easier when she mentioned Adam.
"He's a friend," she said. "And he's looking for his biological mother. He doesn't know much about her. We were hoping you could help."
Sarah's father didn't know anyone named Cynthia Youngwolf, but he promised to question some old acquaintances, ask around the Cherokee community.
When the call ended, she glanced at Adam. He sat quietly, watching her with a gentle expression. It was a look she had come to know well.
"I did it," she said. "I talked to him."
"How did he seem?"
"The same. Different. I don't know. I couldn't tell if he was sober."
"I guess we'll find out soon enough." He skimmed her cheek. "You must be beat. Do you want to try to go back to sleep?"
"I don't think I can."
"Then how about some breakfast?"
Sarah glanced at the window. "It's still dark out."
"I don't mind. Do you?"
"No." She reached for her robe, wondering when she would stop relying on Adam.
Maybe never, she thought, with a flicker of warmth and a twinge of fear. Whatever was happening between them felt right. Scary, but right. Maybe being alone wasn't all that great after all. At least now she was alive, her blood crackling with energy.
They walked into the kitchen together, Sarah wrapped in a terry-cloth robe and Adam half-dressed, his pajama bottoms riding just below his navel. They looked like a couple, she thought, two people who slept in the same bed, shared the same chores.
"Sarah?"
"Yes?"
"What's his name? You've never told me your dad's name."
"William," she said, sensing her life, as well as Adam's, was about to change. But whether those changes were good or bad, she couldn't be sure. She took a deep breath and opened the refrigerator. They would have to go to Oklahoma to find out.
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^ »
August was hot, particularly in Oklahoma. But Adam didn't mind. He enjoyed the heat, the land, the place that was part of his history. Sarah sat beside him, quiet one minute, chatty the next. They were headed down a narrow dirt road, passing crooked wood fencing and fascinating old farmhouses.
This was their second day in Oklahoma. Their first had been spent battling jet lag and two delayed flights. By the time they had checked into a motel room in Hatcher, all they cared about was a half-way decent meal and a reasonably comfortable bed.
"Do you think they're okay?" she asked.
He knew she meant the kittens they had left behind. "Sure. Babette will take good care of them." Babette was Adam's landlady, an eccentric old woman who had been a Hollywood starlet in her heyday. She was a little strange, with her thinning bleached hair and fake eyelashes, but he trusted her. She had cats of her own.
Sarah shot him a teasing grin. "Do you know what Babette said about you?"
"What?" h
e asked, wincing a little. From the expression on Sarah's face, it had to be something embarrassing.
"That she rented to you because you have a great butt."
He kept his eyes on the road and tried not to envision his landlady checking out his backside. "Please tell me you're kidding."
"Sorry. It's the truth. She even asked me about your performance in bed. Wanted to know if you were as good as you looked."
Mortified, he felt his cheeks burn. "I hope to God you didn't answer her."
"Of course I did." Sarah laughed. "I told her you were even better. The poor old woman nearly died on the spot."
Adam shook his head, letting the ridiculous remark go. He figured Sarah was camouflaging her anxiety with humor. The road they traveled led to her father's residence, and he supposed William Cloud waited just as nervously for their arrival.
Following the directions written on a scrap of paper, he turned onto another dirt road. In the distance was a small, rough-hewn house.
"This is it," he said.
Sarah nodded, her breathing audible. She looked suddenly vulnerable, with her flowing black hair and dark, deep-set eyes.
Adam wanted to make this moment easier, but he knew there wasn't anything he could say or do that would change her past. She had to face her father, take control of the hurt and betrayal.
He steered the vehicle toward the graveled driveway. The house appeared old but well kept, the land surrounding it flanked by hills.
It was a simple country setting—a wooden porch, a large bed of grass and scattered trees reaching for the sky. The tiny town of Hatcher was dusty yet charming, a world rife with farmers, ranchers and blue-collar workers.
They knocked on the door, and a medium-built man answered the summons. His graying hair was cut short, his eyes as dark as midnight. He looked as if he had lived a rough life, the lines in his face premature. Adam had no doubt he was William Cloud.
"Dad," Sarah said quietly, making no move toward him. William lifted his hand to touch her cheek, but dropped it before making contact. "You're all grown-up," he said.
"Yes, well … this is my friend, Adam." She offered an introduction quickly, and the men shook hands.
William's grip was strong and steady, and Adam prayed Sarah's father was as sober as he appeared.
"Come in." The other man stepped back, and Sarah and Adam entered his home. The living room was tidy, with paneled walls painted white and hardwood floors polished to a slick shine. The furniture bore slightly worn cushions and a few scars, but it looked inviting.
"I have pop," William said. "Would you like one?"
Sarah didn't respond, so Adam accepted a soda to be polite. They gathered in the kitchen, around a table with mismatched chairs. It made the old-fashioned room seem sort of art deco, although Adam doubted that had been William's intent. The furniture had probably come from a flea market and had been purchased out of necessity rather than style.
William pointed to a multi-paned window. "See those hills? That's where the rich people around here live. Society types who drive luxury cars. I work at a garage up there." He glanced at his daughter. "They're decent folk, and they treat me right."
Adam assumed that was William's way of saying that he was a respected citizen, a man who had battled the bottle and won. Sarah didn't look impressed or convinced by her father's words, but he understood why. She had been through hell and back with her dad, much in the same way his parents had struggled with him. Trusting an alcoholic wasn't easy.
William turned to Adam. "So you're looking for your biological mother."
"Yes, I am."
"That's good. Family is important." He drew a breath. "I've been doing what I can, asking some old friends if they've ever heard of her. I haven't had any luck, but I'll keep trying."
"Thank you. That means a lot to me. It feels a little strange, being born into a culture I don't know much about."
The older man cocked his head, then chuckled. "As long as you don't tell anyone that your great-grandmother was a Cherokee princess, you'll be fine."
Adam grinned. Sarah had already explained that myth. It seemed just about everyone claiming to have Cherokee blood also claimed they had descended from royalty. But the fact was there were no Cherokee princesses, at least not in the true definition of the word. In years past, Cherokee men had used an endearment for their wives that roughly translated to princess. The royalty fable had become a long-running joke in Indian country.
"Sarah's name means princess in Hebrew," Adam said, smiling at William.
"That's right, it does." The other man quirked an eyebrow. "I guess that means my daughter is a true Cherokee princess."
"Very funny." Sarah looked at her dad, and they both sputtered into nervous laughter.
When their laughter faded, silence engulfed the room. Adam decided it was time to go for a walk. Expressing an interest in the landscape, he rose from the table, leaving father and daughter alone.
He stepped onto the porch, hoping they would take this opportunity to talk.
* * *
Sarah sat in silence with her dad, barely meeting his gaze. She didn't know where to begin, what to say, even where to look. Everything in his house had changed. There wasn't one stick of furniture she recognized. Even her father seemed different. Older, she supposed. The lines around his eyes were more pronounced, the shape of his face more angular. His hair hadn't thinned, but it bore an abundance of gray.
How was she supposed to do this? How could she speak her mind when her mind was in a fog? She wanted to hate William Cloud, to shout at him, but another part of her wanted to lean against him and cry.
"Maybe I should check on Adam," she said, searching for an excuse to escape.
"Why? Is there something wrong with him?"
She twisted the hem on her blouse. "No … I just—"
"He's more than a friend, isn't he?"
Blinking, she stilled her hands, clasping them on her lap. "I don't think that's any of your concern." And she didn't want to admit that she was falling in love, at least not out loud, and certainly not to her wayward father.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. It's just the way you look at him. The way he looks at you." William's voice turned soft. "It was like that with your mother and me. I still miss her."
"I miss her, too."
"She knew I was an alcoholic."
Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. "What are you talking about?"
"I was a drinker when I met her. I've been fighting this practically all of my life."
"And she married you anyway?"
"She loved me."
Sarah's heart lurched, stunned by the frightening pattern, the parallel between herself and her mother.
No, she thought. It wasn't the same. Her situation with Adam was different. He was sober. He wasn't fighting the addiction anymore. "So the whole time you were married to Mom, you were drinking?"
He shook his head. "No. I was on the program. I messed up a few times, but she was there to help me through it."
Betrayal gripped her stomach, twisting it into a painful knot. "And neither one of you ever thought to tell me?"
"I didn't want you to know. Your mother was always talking about the old ways, a man being a warrior and all that. I didn't want to spoil that image for you."
Sarah's eyes burned, but she refused to cry. Lifting her chin, she swallowed the lump in her throat. "But you did spoil it. After she died, you ruined everything."
"I know. I'm so sorry."
He met her gaze, his dark eyes filled with apology. And something else, she thought. Shame? Sorrow? Loneliness? She couldn't be sure. She had seen the look before, given in to it so many times in the past.
William picked up his soda, drank from the can and placed it back on the table. "I know what it's like to live with an alcoholic. My mother … your grandmother … I don't think she was sober a day of her adult life."
And she had died when Sarah was just a toddler. "You never
talked about her. I just assumed that it made you sad, that you missed her."
"My mother was a miserable woman. Bitter. Dirt poor. My father wasn't any better, but he didn't stick around long enough to matter." He glanced out the window. "I was ashamed of where I came from, of who I was."
She followed his gaze to the hills. A part of her understood all too well. "You daydreamed about being rich. And white."
He nodded. "I didn't have any pride in my heritage, not until I met your mother. She was my salvation."
The way Adam is mine, she thought, aware of the irony once again. "Adam's the one who talked me into coming here."
"Are you glad he did?"
"I don't know." Adam had a way of making everything seem all right, but she wasn't sure if it was. "Are you really sober, Dad?"
"Yes. Do you believe me?"
"Not really, no."
"I can't say as I blame you. I've lied before."
"Yes, you have." And she knew how it felt to have him abuse her trust. She couldn't let her heart go, not this time, not so easily. "Why did you move away from Tahlequah?"
"Too many memories," he responded. "And you weren't there anymore. I didn't want to live in that house without you."
"I like California. I've made a life for myself there."
"So you don't miss Tahlequah?"
She missed the way things had been before her mother died, the parental bond, the sense of belonging. "I'm taking Adam there tomorrow."
"I hope he finds his family."
"I hope so, too," she said, turning to look out the window again.
* * *
Sarah glanced at Adam, who paged through books at the museum gift shop. They had spent two days in Tahlequah. Yesterday they'd searched for information about his mother and today they'd toured the Cherokee Heritage Center.
She knew the Tsa-La-Gi Ancient Village had fascinated him the most. It was her favorite part of the tour, too. A living museum, the village recreated the lifestyle of the Cherokee during the sixteenth century, a time when being Indian seemed beautiful and romantic. As the "villagers" had gone about their daily routine, Adam and Sarah had envisioned their ancestors preparing food and making arrowheads, weaving baskets and playing stick ball.
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