NIGHT WIND'S WOMAN

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Kelly placed the baby in the portable crib, tucking a blanket around her. What Brianna needed was love and tenderness. Jason's money wouldn't give her that. "Mom," she said, lifting her gaze to study Linda's pained expression. "This isn't really about Brianna, is it? It's about you and me, and the things you think I missed out on. The things you couldn't buy."

  The older woman blinked, her eyes turning watery. "When you were younger I wanted to give you pretty dresses and fancy dolls, all the finery a little girl should have. And then when you were older, I wanted to send you to college."

  Saddened by the catch in her mother's voice, she sat down beside her. "I never mentioned college. I never even considered it."

  Linda sniffed. "That's because you knew we couldn't afford it."

  Kelly tilted her head. "That's not true. It's because I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. What would I have majored in? I'm not the brainy type."

  "You could have majored in art," Linda said, stunning her speechless.

  Art? Her mother thought her drawings were that good? Good enough to plan a career around? Parents didn't encourage their kids to study something as risky as art, did they?

  She glanced down at Brianna, at the tuft of blond hair and tiny fingers curled around the blanket. Sweet, perfect Brianna. If her daughter were gifted in music or theater, would she support those gifts? Kelly's eyes misted. Of course she would.

  She lifted her gaze. "Thanks, Mom."

  Linda met her misty stare. "For what?"

  "For loving me."

  They both cried after that, cried softly in each other's arms, woman to woman. Kelly closed her eyes and took comfort in the feeling. "I'm going to stay in Texas for just a while longer. I can't explain it, Mom. It's just something I need to do."

  Linda stroked her hair. "Then I'll try to understand. Do you forgive me for nagging you all these months?"

  "Yes."

  The shrill ring of the telephone pulled them apart. Linda, closer to the nightstand, grabbed the receiver before the sound woke Brianna.

  "Hello?"

  Kelly watched her mom and realized the person on the other end of the line was Tom. Her mother sat a little straighter, spoke a little softer.

  "I … um … suppose we could," she said. "Of course, we'd like the chance to get to know her, too. All right, then. We'll be there at two." She paused and said goodbye.

  "What's going on?" Kelly asked.

  "That was Tom." Linda twisted her hands in her lap. "I accepted an invitation for us. I hope you don't mind."

  "We're going to Tom's house?"

  She gave a tight little nod. "For lunch. Shane's mother wants to get to know us. She was disappointed that we didn't stay longer last night."

  Kelly pasted a smile on her face, hoping to appear more relaxed than she felt. Was Grace Night Wind curious about her or her mother? Or both?

  "Lunch sounds fine." But what in the world were they going to wear? All Kelly had were maternity clothes – big, clumsy dresses. "After Brianna wakes up, do you want to check out the emporium in town? Maybe buy a new blouse or something?"

  "Why not?" Linda gazed around the room. "We're in Texas. One of those fancy Western shirts might be a nice change of pace."

  Kelly's smile turned real. It felt good to have her mom nearby. Really good.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  «^»

  Shane sat at the table with Kelly, Tom and Linda, waiting for his mom to serve lunch. She insisted on handling the meal herself, refusing the help that had been offered.

  "Did I mention my boyfriend is a musician?" she asked, directing the question to no one in particular.

  Shane shifted in his chair. "Yeah, a flute player, right?" His mom had brought her boyfriend into the conversation at least three times, and Shane was getting a wee bit tired of hearing about David Midthunder.

  "Boy, is he handsome," she went on. "Young, too." Wonderful. Couldn't she find a man her own age? Someone with crow's feet and graying temples? Shane didn't like the idea of his mom dating a guy young enough to be his brother.

  Grace placed a mixed-green salad in the center of the table, then studied the seating arrangement. "Whose chair is this?" she asked, indicating the empty seat between Tom and Linda.

  "Yours, Mom," Shane answered. She did happen to be the only person standing. Why was she acting so weird? Or weirder, he should say. His mom had always gone her own slightly eccentric way. She didn't walk to the beat of a different drummer. She was the drummer. Or was it bongos she played when he was kid?

  Grace squinted. "Linda should sit here," she said, placing her hands on the back of the empty chair. "That way Tom and I can both get to know her."

  Linda turned toward Grace. "That's fine. I don't mind moving." She scooted onto the empty chair and placed her hands in her lap. Beside her, Tom picked up his water and took a huge gulp.

  Shane glanced at Kelly. She sat staring into her empty salad bowl, a smile quirking one corner of her lips.

  Shane raised an eyebrow. Lord have mercy. His own discomfort about his mother's boyfriend had blinded him from the obvious. Grace was playing matchmaker, pushing Tom and Linda together, letting the other woman know that Tom was no longer her type. These days Grace Night Wind had a young musician to tease her fancy.

  Satisfied with the current seating arrangement, Grace went back to the stove, her bracelets clanking. Within minutes, she served meatballs in a sour cream sauce with fettuccini noodles, stuffed bell peppers on the side. Her cooking methods were as eclectic as her wardrobe, but Shane appreciated the variety. Her creative meals beat the simple stuff he and his dad normally prepared.

  Grace took her seat and said a blessing, thanking the plants and animals, the living, growing things that had made their lunch possible. An old-fashioned Comanche custom, Shane realized, that his modern-day mother hadn't outgrown.

  "Tell us about the upcoming fund-raiser," she said, looking across the table at him.

  He shrugged. "What's there to tell? We're having one of those big ol' Texas barbecues like we always do."

  Grace snorted. "Can't you spice it up somehow?"

  Shane frowned. "What do you mean? With like a chili cook-off or something?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Spicy, Shane. Artsy, exciting. Different."

  "What about an art auction?" Linda said. "There must be wildlife artists who would love to have their work showcased at the rescue."

  As Grace clasped her hands together, sterling bangles chimed a merry tune. "Now you're talking. That's a wonderful idea. Isn't it, Tom?" she coaxed, encouraging him to praise Linda's suggestion.

  "Yes, it is." He smiled at Kelly's mother, then asked. "Do you know much about art?"

  "No, but my daughter does."

  All eyes turned to Kelly, and she froze, a fork midway to her mouth. "I … don't," she stammered nervously. "Not really."

  "Yes, you do," Shane protested gently, admiring her appearance. A peach-colored blouse highlighted her complexion while a cloth belt cinched her already trim waist. Her hair, fastened high upon her head in a deliberately messy ponytail, made him yearn to touch the loose tendrils framing her face. "You're a terrific artist. The sketches you did of Puma are outstanding. So good, in fact, that I'd like to reproduce them on T-shirts and coffee cups for the rescue. We've got to get the gift shop stocked before the fund-raiser."

  Kelly met his gaze. "I'm honored, Shane. Those drawings mean a lot to me. Puma's very special."

  And so are you, he wanted to say.

  Suddenly the conversation buzzed around them, with Grace putting Kelly in charge of the art auction and herself as head of a jewelry sale that would accompany it. "I'm a jewelry designer," she told Kelly. "That's my expertise."

  In one afternoon, the fund-raiser had gone from a West Texas barbecue to a West Texas festival, a blend of color and brilliance, the participants eager to bring it to life.

  Shane noticed Linda and his mom sat with their heads together, Linda admiri
ng Grace's emerald necklace, an unlikely friendship dawning.

  When Brianna's cry echoed from the guest bedroom, Kelly excused herself from the table and removed a baby bottle from the refrigerator.

  Shane studied her through confused eyes. He knew Brianna was being breast-fed. He had lain awake that first week, listening to Kelly nurse her daughter. Night after night, he had immersed himself in the sweet, suckling sound, wishing he could watch.

  "Did you wean Brianna already?" he asked, blinking away the fantasy. Thoughts such as his didn't belong in a crowded, noisy kitchen.

  "I'm only giving her an occasional bottle," Kelly answered. "Dr. Lanigan said it would be okay. It's easier in public-type places, and by the time I go back to work, she'll be used to the bottle."

  So she breast-fed when she was alone with the baby and bottle-fed around other people. It made sense, he supposed. Of course he wasn't an expert on the subject since Evan had been bottle-fed from the start, something his traditional grandmother and career-minded wife used to argue about.

  Kelly left the room to tend to her daughter, and Shane scrubbed his hand across his jaw. What kind of man would ask a new mother about her nursing practices? He glanced down at his plate, his appetite suddenly gone. The kind who missed being a father. Missed it in the worst way.

  * * *

  Four days later Kelly stood in front of the beveled glass. The antique mirror reflected her anxious image.

  "You look pretty," her mother said from behind her. "You've got your figure back."

  Kelly smoothed her dress. It was new, her second purchase from the Western emporium in town. She had even charged a pair of inexpensive cowboy boots to match. When in Rome … she thought, studying herself critically. "How could I have gotten my figure back when I never had one to begin with?"

  Linda smiled. "Well, you've got one now, sweetie. Hips and breasts, too."

  But not nearly as much as the bombshells Jason normally dated, Kelly noticed. Of course, Jason wasn't taking her to dinner, Shane was. Kelly tilted her head. What kind of women did Shane like? She frowned as the appropriate word popped into her head. Willowy. Long, lean, lithe. Nothing like herself, she supposed.

  But then Shane's preference in women shouldn't matter. This wasn't a date, not in the romantic sense of the word. He just thought she deserved a night out. Kelly turned away from the mirror. As much as she appreciated the gesture, leaving Brianna alone for the first time made her jittery.

  "If Brianna cries, Mom, promise me you'll pick her up, even if she isn't hungry. I don't believe in letting babies cry themselves to sleep."

  Linda laughed. "I wouldn't dream of letting that baby cry. I'm a grandma now, remember? Besides, she'll get plenty of attention from Grace and Tom, too. I asked them to stop by for some dessert. They've been entertaining us almost every night, so I thought it was time to return the favor."

  "That's fine," Kelly said. She had seen the way Shane's mom and dad tripped over themselves to get to Brianna. The more doting grandparents the baby had, the better.

  Shane arrived before his parents. Linda answered the door and invited him in. Kelly stood back a little awkwardly. Suddenly this felt like a date, especially since Shane wore something other than denim. His pants and shirt were black, separated by one of those fancy Western belts garnished with silver. His hair, combed back into a ponytail, left the angles of his face unframed, displaying raw-boned masculinity and flashing amber eyes.

  Linda excused herself and went into the kitchen to check the pie she was baking. Kelly and Shane stood staring at each other. The smell of the warm pastry filled the air, giving the rustic cabin another layer of charm.

  "This is for Brianna," he said.

  Kelly stepped forward and took the gift bag from his outstretched hand. She removed the toy and squealed with delight. A stuffed cougar. Now Brianna had her very own wildcat. "This is adorable. Thank you so much."

  The gold in his eyes deepened. "Sure. Where is Sunshine? She's not asleep, is she?"

  "No. She's just sort of cooing in her crib, making those little bubbling noises. Come on." She invited him to the bedroom, where he leaned over Brianna's portable bed.

  "She's such a happy baby," he said, his husky voice wistful.

  "Yes, she is." Kelly placed the toy cougar beside her daughter, realizing how much Shane missed Evan. It wasn't fair, she thought, that he had been denied visitation rights.

  They left the cabin ten minutes later, both in a quiet mood. The drive into town was peaceful, Kelly thought, and the steak house where they now sat filled with Texas magic. The tables were split-log booths, the walls covered with animal skins and Western relics. It was neither fancy nor plain. An establishment that belonged right where it had been built – in the lone-star state, on the edge of a tiny town.

  The owner's daughter, who also served as their waitress, took their order with a friendly "How y'all doin' tonight?"

  When the young woman departed, Shane asked Kelly about the art show.

  Being on a fund-raising committee both scared and thrilled her. She had never been involved in anything quite so cultural before. "I've been calling galleries that specialize in wildlife art, and most of them seem eager to get involved." Which made her proud as a peacock. "Of course they understand a portion of the proceeds will go to the rescue, but I assured them the exposure would be well worth it." Shane had a wealthy following, animal activists who appreciated the natural habitats Jungle Hill provided. "I've been in touch with some local artists, too. Nobody famous, just the up-and-coming." But she found it exciting nonetheless.

  "You've done all that in four days?" He lifted his water and toasted her. "I knew you deserved this dinner."

  "Thank you." Laughing, she clanked her glass against his.

  Their salads arrived, so they adjusted their napkins and picked up their forks, still smiling at each other.

  "My mom invited your parents over tonight," Kelly told him.

  "Yeah, I know." He studied his lettuce for a moment. "But I have a feeling my mom won't make it. She started complaining about a headache before I left."

  "Oh." Kelly frowned. "I'm sorry she isn't feeling well."

  Shane raised an eyebrow, a wicked slash above his candlelit eyes. That's okay. I think she's faking it."

  The reason behind Grace's feigned headache made Kelly fidget. "She's giving Tom and my mom an opportunity to be alone."

  "Yep."

  She wondered if Tom was going to kiss her widowed mother. Good heavens. A middle-aged couple kissing while they baby-sat. "It's a little embarrassing," she found herself saying. "They're our parents."

  "No kidding. And what about my mom? Miss matchmaker herself."

  Grace's bulldozing had them both grinning, then laughing like foolhardy kids. They looked away to curb their adolescent fit, but only ended up laughing harder when they stole a quick glance at each other's silly, tight-lipped expression, knowing it mirrored their own.

  By the time dinner arrived, they quit giggling and enjoyed their food, the steaks and company just right.

  An hour later Shane paid the bill. "Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked, glancing at his watch. "It's still early." And he wasn't ready to let Kelly go yet. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spent an evening out with a beautiful woman.

  She smiled. "A walk sounds nice."

  He offered his arm, and when she moved closer, he could smell the fragrance that seemed uniquely hers. The scent of watermelon and woman – a fresh, thirst-quenching combination.

  As they exited the restaurant and stepped onto a crooked sidewalk, a thousand stars winked from the sky. The simple town of Duarte looked prettier with Kelly nearby, the paved highway and street-front businesses giving way to nature, flowers bloomed and leaves rustled while streetlights and a fairy-tale moon competed for brilliance.

  "It's so old-fashioned here," she said. "Like a Western movie town. Or maybe the real thing." She leaned against him. "I almost feel like I've been zapped back in time.
"

  He understood. He felt it, too, touches of the Old West, especially on the corner where they stood, in front of the expansive feed store that served the community.

  She pointed to the emporium across the street. "I bought my dress there."

  "You look pretty," he responded, turning to study her. "So pretty."

  Her voice quavered. "I wasn't fishing for a compliment."

  "I know." He touched her hair. She wore it loose, spilling over her shoulders and down her arms. The night loved her hair. A gentle breeze blew it around her face, each long, silky strand bathed in moonlight. She could have been a painting, he thought. An artist's conception of nocturnal beauty.

  They glided toward the shadows, both knowing what came next. He lowered his head, and she parted her lips. The kiss was tender, a little shy. A test, he thought, each wondering how far the other was willing to go.

  Shane moved closer and deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue past her teeth. He wanted to go as far as she would let him. He wanted to sip from her mouth, then devour it.

  Their tongues danced. A mating ritual, he thought, as his body hardened in response. She tasted like the night, like moonbeams and moist flowers. Shane caught her hips and pulled her tight against him. He wanted more than just a taste. He wanted to feed, fuel the fantasy that she had become.

  She made a breathy sound, and he felt her fingers skim his face, her breasts press his chest. He imagined them full and creamy, the tips pink and aroused.

  They continued to kiss, their mouths fusing then coming apart, over and over. Tender nibbles, little bites, deep tongue thrusts.

  Finally they drew apart and stared at each other. A sexual stare in the dark. A vibration.

  He brought his hand to her dress and brushed lightly over her breasts. "Do they hurt?" he whispered. Did they ache for his touch, his tongue?

  She nodded, and he nuzzled her neck. "I hurt, too," he said, his groin throbbing.

  They stayed like that for a long while, in each other's arms, aching for relief.

  "Ice cream," he finally managed to say against her hair. "We should get some ice cream." Something cold, something to douse the fire.