Betrayed Birthright

by Sheri WhiteFeather

“We’ll figure something out,” he said.

  “We will?”

  “Sure.” He ventured closer to her. One, two, three steps and he was close enough to smell the lotion on her skin, the scent that never failed to linger in his mind. “People fall in love all the time.”

  “People who live over a thousand miles away from each other?”

  “So we’ve got an obstacle to overcome.” He smoothed a strand of her hair. “I’m good at solving problems.”

  She touched his hair, too, running her fingers through it. Within seconds they were locked in each other’s arms, kissing and caressing.

  And then she took his hand and led him outside. Together they stepped into the shelter of the gazebo, into the maze of plants and low-hanging vines.

  Without speaking, without words to clutter their thoughts, they undressed, dropping their clothes onto the deck. He brought her naked body next to his, letting the sensation arouse him even more.

  And as they slipped into the water, he decided there was nothing to worry about.

  All he had to do was ask her stay, to leave the reservation and move in with him. It was, he decided, the only answer. The only logical choice. And he would talk to her about it. But not yet, he thought.

  Not just yet.

  Hands questing, they touched. Everywhere. Skin to skin. Water swirled around their bodies, making steam rise to the surface. He could see her through the haze, as dark and exotic as the night. The sun had set, making way for the moon, for a soft, silvery glow.

  He lifted her up, placing her on the edge of the tub. She looked like a siren, he thought, an indigenous goddess from the sea, with her legs spread just for him.

  He took her hand and encouraged her to touch herself.

  Shy. Erotic. Daring.

  The woman he was falling in love with.

  He tasted her, licking and kissing between her fingers. She watched him, rubbing and purring, making sweet, naughty sounds.

  Walker feared he might explode.

  She climaxed, and he dragged her into his arms, desperate to fulfill his fantasy.

  To claim Tamra Winter Hawk as his own.

  Tamra’s head was reeling. From the aftermath of sex, she thought, from the hot, bubbling water and cool San Francisco air. But most of all because Walker Ashton admitted he was falling in love with her, too.

  He wrapped her in a towel, and she looked up at him through the chlorine-scented moisture dotting her eyelashes.

  Her pulse wouldn’t quit pounding.

  He grabbed another towel and dried himself off with haste, then secured the terry cloth around his waist. “Let’s go inside. I have a robe you can borrow.”

  She followed him into the condo. She liked the idea of wearing something that belonged to him, of letting it envelop her in warmth.

  She waited in the living room, and he returned with a navy blue robe that was thick and plush and far too big.

  “It’s perfect,” she said.

  For himself, he’d thrown on a pair of jeans. But his chest was still bare, and water dripped from his hair in jewellike rivulets. Already Tamra itched to touch him again.

  “Will you have a glass of wine with me?” he asked.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “So I can take advantage of you? You bet.” He gave her a devastating wink. “The lady found me out.”

  Her heart ricocheted, bouncing off the walls of her chest. “Okay. But just a little. I’m not much of a drinker.”

  “No problem.” He poured a small amount for her and gave himself a generous helping.

  She tasted the Pinot Noir, but since she wasn’t a connoisseur, she didn’t comment on the flavor. “Is this from your family’s winery?” she asked instead.

  “Absolutely.” He turned the bottle, where he’d placed it on an end table, so she could examine the label. “Nothing but the best.”

  They sat quietly for a while, and she snuggled deeper into the atmosphere.

  “I want you to move in with me, Tamra.”

  Suddenly a strong, cold dose of reality ripped through her veins. “Here?”

  “Yes, here. This is where I live. And I want to share my life with you.”

  Everything inside her went still. He was asking her to be with him, to stay him, yet how could she say yes? How could she live in the city? Pretend to be someone she wasn’t?

  Tamra clutched his robe. His scent was on it, she realized. The faded fragrance of wood smoke, of male spice.

  She closed her eyes, opened them, felt her body go numb. Was she making a mistake? Would she regret this decision for the rest of her life? Would she cry for him on those long, lonely South Dakota nights?

  “I can’t leave Pine Ridge,” she said, the words nearly sticking in her throat. “I’m meant to be there. To try to make a difference. To help our people.”

  “This isn’t about our people.” With her rejection blazing in his eyes, he downed his wine, swigging it like beer, his manners falling by the wayside. “This is about us. You and me.”

  “Why can’t you move?” she asked, the glass in her hand vibrating. “Why can’t you relocate?”

  “Me? Living on the rez? That would never work, and you know it. My background is in investment banking. That’s what I do. That’s what’s in my blood. How am I supposed to walk away from that? I don’t belong in Pine Ridge.”

  “And I don’t belong here.”

  “You have a degree in marketing,” he argued. “You’d do well in San Francisco. You’d fit right in. You’ve lived here before.”

  She shook her head, tears flooding her eyes. She couldn’t leave the land of her ancestors, the place she’d struggled to accept, to become part of. “Pine Ridge is my home.”

  His voice turned hard. “Then why did you tell me that you loved me?”

  “Because I wanted you to know how I felt.”

  “For all the good it did.” He refilled his wine, drinking it just as quickly, just as brutally as before.

  She set her glass on the end table, next to the bottle. She would never use alcohol to pacify her pain. She’d seen too many people on the rez fall into that trap. “Slow down, Walker. That won’t help.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.” He stood up, looking tall and dark and edgy. “The last thing I need is the woman I love treating me like a child.”

  She drew her knees to her chest. They loved each other, yet they couldn’t stay together.

  He crammed his hands in his pockets, shoving his jeans down a little, making them fall lower on his hips. “All I’ve been thinking about is how awful it was going to be to lose you. But I’m losing you, anyway.”

  “Me, too. But I didn’t expect a miracle,” she said, recalling the warning she’d given herself earlier. “Deep down I knew you’d never change your lifestyle for me. That you’d never move to Pine Ridge. ”

  “And you won’t move here. So what damn difference does it make?”

  He picked up the Pinot Noir again and frowned at the Ashton label, and for a moment she feared that he would throw the bottle, smash it against the wall. To just to hear it shatter, she thought. Just to release the tension she’d caused. But he held his temper.

  And when their eyes met, when he looked straight at her, she knew she would never be the same. No matter how many years passed, no matter how hard she tried to erase him from her mind, he would always be the man she loved.

  Walker and Tamra returned to Napa Valley a day early with discomfort humming between them. He’d dropped her at his apartment at the estate, claiming he had some local business to tend to.

  From there he drove to his sister’s house to talk to his mother. And now here he was, sitting next to Mary on a teakwood bench on Charlotte’s flagstone patio. In the garden setting, trees, flowers and potted plants flourished, with rolling hills in the distance.

  A fountain in the center of the yard drew his attention, making him frown. It looked like a wishing well, but Walker knew better.

 
He’d explained the entire situation to his mom, but she hadn’t offered to help. She hadn’t offered to do a damn thing.

  “I want you to convince Tamra to move to San Francisco with me,” he said, still frowning at the fountain. A family of finches was bathing in it, splashing and chirping, looking far too happy.

  “Oh, honey.” She tucked her hair behind her ears, smoothing the gray-streaked strands. “There’s no way I can do that.”

  “Why? Because you think she’s right? Because you think I’m the one who should relocate?”

  “This isn’t about who’s willing to move and where they should go. This is about two people who need to learn to compromise, to work through their problems together.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “No. This isn’t easy for me at all. I love you and Tamra. I want both of you to be happy.”

  “Well, we’re not. We’re making each other miserable.”

  Mary sighed. “When you were a little boy and you were sad, you used to put your head on my lap. But you’re a grown man now, and I don’t know how to make you feel better.”

  “I wish I was a kid. Life was simpler then.”

  “Was it?” she asked. “Are you sure about that?”

  “No.” His life had never been simple, especially after he’d lost his parents. He gazed into her eyes, tempted to lay his head on her lap, to go back in time and start over. He wished he could remember her, that his memories weren’t so scattered. He even carried the family photo he’d copied in his wallet, but that hadn’t changed him. It hadn’t renewed his identity. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

  She touched his cheek. “You’re the man Tamra loves.”

  “But it hurts, Mom.”

  “I know.” She traced the angles of his face, memorizing his features, skimming his unshaved jaw. “She’s hurting, too.”

  “And I promised her that wouldn’t happen.”

  “If you search deep enough, you’ll find a solution. Look at Charlotte and Alexandre. Look how they’ve managed to be together.” She lowered her hand. “Alexandre has vineyards and a home in France. But he’s content to stay in America until Charlotte is ready to move. And even then, they’ll still have this house. They’ll still have ties in Napa Valley.”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “Yes, it is. But you’re just too mixed up to see it. Give yourself some time. Think through it. Make peace with yourself. With everything and everyone around you, if that’s what it takes.”

  It was honest advice. Advice from the heart. But Walker didn’t know how to heed it. Although there were other disturbances in his life, they didn’t compare to what was happening with Tamra.

  Without thinking, he dropped his head to Mary’s lap. And this time, when she touched his cheek, he closed his eyes. “I don’t want Tamra to leave.”

  “She doesn’t want to lose you, either. But she’s as mixed up as you are.”

  “Then we’ll never figure it out.”

  “Yes, you will,” his mother said. “If you love each other enough, you will.”

  Eleven

  O n the day Tamra was scheduled to leave, she awakened at dawn with a fog-shrouded morning light filling the room.

  She rolled over and looked at Walker. He was still asleep. He wore a pair of boxer shorts, and his hair was tousled in restless disarray. One arm was flung over his face, and the covers, which he’d kicked away, were bunched below his hips.

  She wanted to move closer, to touch him, to hold him, but she kept her distance. Although they were still sharing the same bed in his Ashton Estate apartment, they hadn’t made love since that fateful night in San Francisco.

  The night she’d lost him.

  But she knew it was her fault. She’d rejected Walker’s invitation. She’d refused to live with him, to share his life.

  And now she was paying the price.

  He shifted in his sleep, moving his arm away from his face, exposing hard angles and handsome features.

  Tamra pulled her side of the covers against her body, trying to warm the self-induced chill in her bones. She knew she was making a mistake, yet she didn’t know how to repair the damage, how to stay with the man she loved.

  He stirred again, and when he opened his eyes, her heart nearly stopped.

  “Hi,” she said, for lack of a better greeting.

  “Hi.” He didn’t smile, but neither did she.

  Instead they simply gazed at each other. For the past few days they’d barely talked, barely communicated beyond forced conversations. Yet neither of them had suggested that they should sleep in separate rooms.

  It was insane, she knew, to stay in the same bed, but it was their choice. Their own personal punishment. A need they couldn’t deny.

  He broke eye contact, glancing at the clock. “It’s early.”

  She knew what he meant. Too early to get ready for the airport. “Do you want some coffee? I can make a pot.”

  “Sure, I guess.” He sat up and smoothed his hair.

  She noticed that he hadn’t shaved in days. That his jaw was peppered with a coarse texture. But not too coarse. Walker didn’t have a heavy beard.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “Not really. Are you?”

  “No. But I’ll probably make some toast. I don’t like to drink coffee on an empty stomach.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “Then I’ll fix some toast for you, too.”

  As she climbed out of bed, she could feel him watching her. The masculine scrutiny made her self-conscious. She wanted to grab a robe to cover her nightgown, but she didn’t have one handy. So she left the room with her pulse pounding in her breast.

  When she returned from the kitchen with coffee and buttered toast, Walker was still in bed, still wearing his boxers. She set their breakfast on the nightstand, and he thanked her in a quiet voice.

  Tamra reached for her cup, then tasted her drink, trying to think of something to say. “It’s a gloomy day,” she managed.

  His voice turned rough. “It fits my mood.” He paused, his gaze searching hers. “It’s going to feel strange after you’re gone.”

  “For me, too.” She let out the breath she was holding. “Why don’t you come back to the rez for the powwow next week? Your sister and Alexandre will be there, and—”

  “I can’t,” he interjected. “I can’t take any more time off from Ashton-Lattimer, at least not so soon. I’m behind as it is.”

  “I understand,” she told him, her heart sinking to her stomach.

  He glanced at the window, at the fog drifting across the glass. “Maybe I shouldn’t go to the airport today.” He dropped crumbs onto the sheet, but he didn’t bother to dust them off. “Charlotte and Alexandre offered to drive you and Mom, and that might be easier. I don’t think I can handle a long goodbye.”

  Her heart remained in her stomach. “It’s okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she said, even though she wanted him to be there, to walk her as far as the airport security would allow, to pretend that he was traveling with her. “It’s fine, Walker. You can stay home.”

  Three hours later Tamra was packed and ready to leave. Or almost ready, she amended. Lilah had insisted that everyone gather in the dining room for a breakfast-style brunch.

  So the Ashton family and their departing guests socialized, with eggs, bacon and strawberry crepes on their plates. Mary, Charlotte and Alexandre spoke to Paige and Trace, while Lilah added champagne to her orange juice.

  Tamra didn’t eat much. The toast and coffee she’d consumed earlier had been more than enough. Walker didn’t appear to have an appetite, either. He simply moved the food around on his plate.

  Finally, the meal ended, and Alexandre announced that it was time to leave for the airport.

  Soft-spoken farewells were exchanged. Lilah did the best she could, trying to ease the tension. After she gave Mary a peck on the cheek, Spencer’s widow offered Tamra a c
heck, a donation for the Oyate Project. Tamra thanked the dazzling redhead, realizing Walker must have told his aunt about the Lakota charity.

  Walker said goodbye to Mary first. He embraced her, holding her gently in his arms, promising her that he would keep in touch as often as he could, proving how far he and Mary had come. They were, without a doubt, mother and son.

  Tears welled up in Tamra’s eyes, but she kept them at bay, refusing to cry in front of everyone.

  When Walker turned to her, she waited for him to make the first move, to touch her.

  And then time stopped. He brushed his mouth across hers, and suddenly they were the only two people on earth.

  She melted against him, her knees going girlishly weak.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, apologizing for not making their relationship work, for not finding a way to be together.

  “I’m sorry, too,” he said.

  She put her head on his shoulder, asking the Creator to give her strength, to let him go without dying inside. But her prayer didn’t work.

  They separated, and he stepped back, leaving her empty inside.

  But that didn’t change what was happening. Within seconds it was over. They said goodbye, and Tamra walked out the door and climbed into Alexandre’s car, sitting next to Mary in the backseat.

  Battling the ache in her chest, she glanced out the window, wondering if Walker had followed them. But he was nowhere to be seen.

  He’d disappeared. Just like the morning fog.

  A week later Walker sat in a San Francisco bar, waiting for Trace to arrive. He’d asked his cousin to meet him, but Trace hadn’t shown up yet.

  He checked his watch. He’d been nursing the same beer for twenty minutes. Not that he cared. He’d chosen a rowdy bar with billiard tables and a blaring jukebox because he needed to be around the activity, to blend in with the noise.

  Walker had been working a grueling schedule, putting in even longer hours than usual, but once his day finally ended, he couldn’t bear to go home to an empty condo.

  He glanced up and spotted Trace coming through the door. His cousin seemed irritated, as if he’d been stuck in traffic.

  They made eye contact across the wood-grain room, and Trace approached him, the scowl on his face making him look tough, which was exactly what he was.