The Spirit Path

by Madeline Baker

  She watched Hawk as he knelt before the fireplace, admiring the play of muscles in his broad back and shoulders as he took several pieces of wood from the box beside the hearth and arranged them on the grate. He still wore nothing but his clout and moccasins, and the sight of his bare back, though familiar, still did funny things in the pit of her stomach.

  The kindling caught with a soft crackle of flames, the firelight playing over his bronzed skin, and Maggie closed her eyes, imagining Hawk dancing around a campfire, perhaps boasting of his exploits in battle. She could hear the rhythmic sound of drumming, smell the smoke and the dust, hear his voice filled with pride as he recounted how he had counted coup against the enemy.

  Even with her eyes closed, she knew when he came to stand beside her. His presence was so strong, so vital, she was sure she could find him even if she were blindfolded in a dark cave.

  She opened her eyes as she felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder.

  “Come,” he said, “sit beside me.” Maggie nodded, unable to speak past the lump that rose in her throat as he lifted her from her chair. She put her arms around his neck, marveling anew at how easily he lifted her, as if she weighed nothing at all.

  But he didn’t put her on the sofa. Instead, he sat down holding her in his lap.

  It was suddenly hard to breathe and she lowered her gaze to the muscular brown arm lightly circling her waist. How dark his skin was! His hands were callused and strong, his legs were corded with muscle. Was there another man in all the world as tall, as handsome?

  His hand cupped her chin, encouraging her to look at him.

  “Aren’t you going to put me down?” she asked, her voice sounding uneven and strangely high-pitched.

  “Do you want me to?”

  Maggie shook her head, thinking she’d like nothing more than to be held in his arms forever.

  A million butterflies seemed to be trapped in her stomach as his gaze moved to her lips. He lowered his head toward hers, very slowly, giving her plenty of time to avoid his kiss if she desired.

  It was the furthest thing from her mind. She closed her eyes as his lips covered hers, felt his arm tighten around her waist as his kiss deepened. His tongue delved into her mouth, gently exploring.

  Desire uncurled deep within her, layer upon layer, unfolding like the petals of a rose. He kissed her for a long while before he drew back. His eyes, as black as ten feet down, smoldered with passion.

  Maggie swallowed hard, amazed that something as simple as a kiss could so quickly enflame her senses.

  “Ah, Mag-gie.”

  Hawk drew a deep breath, released it in a long shuddering sigh. Did she know what she did to him? Looking at her filled him with joy, touching her was the sweetest torment he’d ever known. He wanted to tear away her clothes and take her there, on the floor before the fire. He wanted to undress her slowly and arouse her with infinite care and tenderness. He wanted her.

  Maggie read the desire in his eyes, felt it in the pressure of his hands, and it filled her with a sense of wonder. Since the accident, no other man had looked at her with such yearning or made her feel like a woman instead of a cripple.

  “What will you do if you can’t get back to your people?”

  Hawk shook his head. “I do not know.”

  He didn’t speak of his people often, but Maggie knew he must be homesick, that he was worried about his mother and the welfare of his people. No doubt he missed his friends and the familiarity of his own way of life. It was selfish of her to want to keep him here when he so clearly belonged to another time and place. Selfish and uncharitable and no doubt impossible, as well, and yet she needed him so desperately.

  “You…you could stay here.”

  His dark eyes held hers in a long, measuring glance. “And take Bobby’s place?”

  “If you like.” She fidgeted with her skirt as she waited for his answer, knowing life would never be the same without him. He had become important to her. The house had taken on a new life since he’d been there. She had taken on a new life. He didn’t seem to care that she was confined to a wheelchair. When he wanted to go for a walk, he simply picked her up and took her along. It was the same when he wanted to ride. And she began to think maybe it wasn’t so bad being unable to walk. She liked being held in his embrace. She liked the warmth and security of having his arm around her when they rode the big black stallion. Maybe her life wasn’t over. Maybe she could have a husband, a family…

  “Please don’t go.” She hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud, but suddenly they were there, between them, demanding an answer.

  Maggie held her breath, her pride withering under his steady dark-eyed gaze. She hadn’t meant to beg, but she couldn’t bear the thought of his leaving, of being alone again.

  “I will stay, Mag-gie,” he said. “If I cannot return to my own time and my own people, then I will stay here, with you, for as long as you want me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hawk stood outside, his gaze focused on the Hills rising in the distance.

  Bobby had called early that morning to say he had received the grant he’d applied for and would be leaving for college in a couple of weeks. He had asked Maggie’s permission to stay on with his family until then, and she had told him not to worry, she was doing fine. She had been happy and enthusiastic, offering to send Bobby money if he ran short and promising to write.

  Hawk had talked to Bobby too, amazed that the white man had invented such a marvelous thing as the telephone, hardly able to believe that he was actually talking to someone many miles away.

  Hawk had found a certain sense of satisfaction in taking Bobby’s place on the ranch. He enjoyed looking after the stock. There were three other horses on the ranch besides the big black stallion, a pretty little chestnut mare and a matched pair of bay geldings.

  The days had passed slowly. Caring for the stock and feeding the chickens didn’t take more than a couple of hours, leaving him a lot of time to think.

  Tonight, he found himself wondering about his people, hoping that most of them had survived the attack. He offered a silent prayer to Wakán Tanka in his mother’s behalf, clinging, as always, to Heart-of-the-Wolf’s promise that Winona was still alive and well.

  He drew his gaze from the sacred Hills and looked at Maggie’s house. It was strong and sturdy, made of stone and wood. Smoke rose from the chimney, light shone through the windows. He could not understand the white man’s need to own land, to build a house and stay in one place, but he thought he could get used to the idea if he could share this house with Maggie.

  He knew she was inside, sitting at her computer, writing the white man’s words. Slowly, he shook his head. The wasichu might not know where the center of the earth was, he might not know how to live in harmony with Mother Earth, but he had created some amazing things.

  Maggie had tried to explain how her computer worked, about the air waves that made television and radio possible, but it was beyond his comprehension.

  He stared at the dark blue truck parked alongside the house. A Ford pickup it was called. Bobby had once offered to teach him how to drive the huge metal beast, but Hawk had refused. Maybe someday, he had said dubiously, but not now.

  A faint breeze stirred the leaves of the pines and caressed his cheek like a familiar hand and he felt a sudden loneliness, an aching need for home. He missed his own people, missed the familiar sights and smells of the village, the sound of children playing outside his lodge. He longed to hunt the buffalo with Red Arrow and Lame Elk, to ride into a Pawnee camp in the dark of night and steal some horses, to sit around a campfire and listen to the old ones tell the ancient tales of the Lakota.

  He looked at the house again and in his mind’s eye he could see Maggie sitting at her desk, her slender fingers flying over the keyboard.

  Heat washed through him as he remembered the kisses they had shared, the press of her body against his when he held her close. His arms ached to hold her again, and without conscious thou
ght he found himself walking toward the house, opening the front door, walking down the hall to the den.

  His moccasined feet made no sound on the thick carpet as he crossed the floor and knelt beside the wheelchair.

  Maggie glanced at him uncertainly. “Hawk, what is it?”

  “I am lonely,” he said quietly. “I miss my people.”

  “Of course you do.” She laid her hand on his shoulder, her heart welling with compassion as she gazed into his beautiful black eyes. “You’ll be back with them soon.”

  “Perhaps. But then I shall miss you.”

  His voice washed over her like liquid velvet and she felt a catch in her breath, a pain in her heart at the thought of his leaving her.

  “Mag-gie.” He took her hand in his, his fingers gently cradling her hand while his thumb caressed her palm.

  The touch of his hand, the sadness in his eyes, went straight to her heart. “Do you have to go back?”

  “If I can. I must know if my people survived, if my mother is still alive. Heart-of-the-Wolf is dead. My people will need me.”

  “I need you.” She had not meant to speak the words aloud.

  “Ah, Mag-gie,” he murmured, and rising to his feet, he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the house and into the moonlit night.

  The air was warm, fragrant with the scent of pines as he carried her toward the porch swing, then sat down, still holding her in his arms. Slowly, wordlessly, he rocked her back and forth in the swing, his heart hammering at her nearness. He had never been in love before, and he was afraid, so afraid, that what he felt for Maggie was more than compassion, more than affection.

  He let out a deep sigh of helplessness. He could not love her. They were worlds apart. Years apart. But love her he did. Knowing that, how could he ever leave her?

  He turned his head and gazed into her eyes, eyes as deep and blue as the quiet pool behind the house. Eyes that were haunted by old hurts. Eyes filled with the first stirrings of hope.

  Ah, Mag-gie, he thought. How will I ever leave you now?

  “Hawk.” His name was a sigh on her lips, a whisper filled with longing.

  She was watching him, waiting, and he could not deny her any more than he could deny himself. He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close as his mouth slanted over hers. He felt her hand caress the back of his neck, felt the softness of her breasts against his chest as she turned more fully toward him, her arm wrapping around his waist. Their breaths mingled, became one, as his tongue explored the sweetness of her mouth.

  Maggie shuddered with pleasure, her fingers curling in his hair. She never thought to object as he pressed her down on the swing, his big body covering hers as he continued to kiss her, savoring the taste of her lips. His hand moved restlessly along her ribcage, barely stroking the curve of her breast.

  Her gasp of pleasure and his groan of desire rose on a single breath, and then Hawk sat up, shaken to the depths of his being by how desperately he wanted to make love to her, frightened by the hot blood running through his veins, by the equally hot thoughts running through his mind, thoughts of taking her then and there, willing or not.

  Closing his eyes, he drew a long shuddering sigh, reminding himself that she had been hurt before, that she was alone and vulnerable, that making love to her would be madness. She was a white woman and he was a Lakota warrior. Loving her would only cause them both pain. And sooner or later, he would have to leave her…

  He felt her hand on his thigh, heard her voice low and afraid as she whispered his name.

  Opening his eyes, Hawk looked at her, saw her arms reaching for him, and knew he was lost.

  He gathered her into his arms again, kissing her deeply, desperately, tasting the salt of her tears as she melted in his embrace. He covered her face with kisses, let his hands learn the softness of her skin, the fullness of her breasts, the length of her thighs.

  And she was touching him in return, her hands exploring the width of his shoulders, the firmness of his flat belly ridged with muscle, the hard contours of his chest and arms.

  Her fingertips traced the line of his fine straight nose, the planes of his cheeks, the sensual fullness of his lips, the curve of his jaw.

  Cheeks flushed with pleasure, she gazed into his eyes, felt their heat encompass her even as the warmth of his breath caressed her.

  “Hawk, I…”

  He nodded, knowing what she wanted, what she couldn’t say. He kissed her again, and again, felt the tension building within him. And knew he had to let her go before it was too late.

  He stood up, lifted her in his arms and walked down the porch steps, his long strides carrying them around the house to the quiet pool located in the backyard. The water shimmered in the moonlight, its surface like dark glass.

  Gently, he lowered Maggie to the ground, and then, in a fluid motion, he stripped off his clout and moccasins and plunged into the cold water, seeking relief for his heated flesh.

  Maggie caught a brief flash of small firm buttocks and long bronze thighs before he disappeared into the pool. She wished, oh how she wished that she could join him there, that she could swim with him in the stillness of the night, that she could play and splash in the shallows near the water’s edge, feel his skin, cool and damp next to her own…

  He surfaced in the center of the pool, his hair and skin dappled with moonlight.

  She waved to him, a wistful smile playing over her lips. And suddenly he was there beside her, removing her caftan and underwear, taking the slippers from her feet, lifting her in his arms.

  She squealed as the cold water closed around them. And then he was swimming beside her, his hands easily supporting her weight in the water. It was wonderful to drift there beside him, to feel the water move across her skin. His eyes were as dark as the sky, as warm as the touch of his hand.

  They circled the pool once, twice, before Hawk lifted Maggie in his arms and carried her out of the water.

  He stood at the pool’s edge for a long time, her body cradled against his.

  Maggie remained quiescent in his arms, afraid to speak for fear of spoiling the intimacy of the moment. It felt so good to be in his arms, to feel his skin, cool and damp, against her own. She didn’t stop to think of right or wrong, refused to think of the future, of what it would be like when he was gone. She wanted only this night, this moment, to treasure for the rest of her life.

  She gazed up into his face, pleased with what she saw. He was beautiful, she thought, so beautiful. There was a wildness about him, a hint of violence, of untamed passion, that appealed to a part of her that she had never realized existed, something earthy and primal that lurked deep within her being.

  She wanted him. Perhaps she had wanted him from the first moment she’d seen him. No matter that she was too old, that he was a man from another time, that he might disappear in the twinkling of an eye. She wanted him.

  “Hawk.”

  She put all her wanting into that one word. For a moment she thought he would take her there on the damp ground. He kissed her once, briefly, and then gazed into her eyes.

  “Have you ever been with a man?”

  “No,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks grow pink, “but it doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.”

  “Please, Hawk.”

  “No, Mag-gie,” he said, and his voice was ragged and weary, as if he’d been waging a hard-fought battle. “I cannot.”

  “Why?” She heard the desperation in her voice and hated herself for it.

  “It is not right. You are not my woman. I do not know how long I will be here. I do not want to hurt you. I do not want you to hate me when I am gone.”

  “I could never hate you.”

  “Think of how much you hate the man Frank.”

  “That’s not the same thing.”

  “If I make you my woman and then leave, you will hate me much more. And I would hate myself for hurting you.”

  “It’s because I’m a cripple, isn
’t it?”

  “No.

  “It is, I know it is! All those pretty words don’t mean a thing. The truth is, you can’t bear the thought of touching me!” She wriggled in his grasp, wanting to be out of his arms, hating herself for the tears that were stinging her eyes. Why had she thought he was different? He was just like Frank, just like every other man, wanting a woman who was whole.

  “Mag-gie.”

  She heard the pain in his voice but she was too steeped in her own misery to care. She had practically begged him to make love to her and he had refused. And now she couldn’t even get away from him.

  With a sigh, Hawk sat down on a white wrought-iron bench in an arbor a few yards from the pool. Maggie remained stiff in his embrace, her face turned away from him, her shoulders shaking with the force of the silent sobs that rose in her throat.

  “Mag-gie, do not make this any more difficult than it is. I do not wish to shame you or myself. I have never defiled a maiden. Do not ask it of me now.” He gazed deep into her eyes. “And never think that you are less of a woman because you cannot walk, or that I would desire you more if your legs were strong and healthy.”

  His words, softly spoken, and the heartfelt expression in his eyes washed over Maggie like a healing balm.

  Sniffing back her tears, she rested her head against his shoulder and basked in the joy of knowing that he cared. What a man he was. Strong. Proud. With a deeply ingrained sense of honor. No wonder she loved him. She, who had vowed never to risk her heart again, had given it to a man who was as elusive as a will-o’-the-wisp. But she didn’t care. Be it a day or a lifetime, she would make the most of each precious moment.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hawk avoided being alone with Maggie for the next couple of days. He spent long hours outside, exercising the horses, brushing the animals until their coats were smooth as glass and their manes and tails flowed like silk.

  Needing more to do, he moved to the woodpile and began chopping firewood, finishing the pile Bobby had started. He watered the front lawn, raked the leaves, mucked out the stalls in the barn.