CHEROKEE BABY

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  "Can I get you something to drink?" he asked. "A soda? A cup of coffee?"

  Julianne folded her hands on her lap. "I'd prefer water, if that's all right."

  "Sure." He went to the minifridge, removed a plastic bottle and handed it to her. She seemed tense and he wondered how serious her illness was. How could someone be sort-of sick?

  She sipped the water sparingly, as if she was afraid to put too much into her stomach at once.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  She closed her eyes, opened them, then shifted her gaze to the floor. "I'm pregnant."

  His hand slipped off the desk. He didn't need to ask if the baby in question was his. If it wasn't, she wouldn't be here.

  Another Elk bastard. Another illegitimate mixed blood.

  Suddenly he felt like Cameron, like the irresponsible brother, the love-'em-and-leave-'em cowboy who didn't have the good sense to use a condom. "I thought you were sterile."

  She blinked and he feared she might cry. She looked so damned vulnerable, so frail. Like a broken-winged fairy.

  He prayed she wouldn't shatter, crumble right in front of his eyes. He could barely hold himself up, let alone keep her together. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so accusatory, but you told me you couldn't have children."

  "I didn't trick you, Bobby. I didn't do this on purpose."

  "I didn't say you did."

  "But that's what you're thinking."

  "No, it isn't." At the moment he wasn't thinking at all. His brain had gone numb. "All those years you tried to have kids and you turn up pregnant now. I don't get it."

  She glanced at the floor again. "Neither do I."

  Bobby went to the fridge and grabbed a water, needing to douse his anxiety, to give himself a minute to think. To breathe. To accept what was happening.

  If only he were Cameron, if only he could turn away and say that he couldn't handle being a father, that he wasn't ready for this.

  "I don't know what to do, Julianne."

  "You don't have to do anything. I can raise this baby by myself."

  He studied the stubborn rise of her chin, the body language that told him she intended to protect her child. To nourish it. To love it.

  With or without him.

  For a second he thought about Michael's mother. She'd been dying of cancer when he'd met her, but she'd done her best to raise her son, to love him, to protect him. To do all of the things Julianne would most likely do.

  But Michael's mother had suffered financially and her son had run wild.

  Maybe he could offer Julianne a settlement, enough to give her and the baby a good, safe life.

  That wouldn't be the same as walking out on his kid, would it?

  Bobby gulped his water. Of course it would. The child would know his money, but it wouldn't know him. He wouldn't be a father, not in the true sense of the word.

  He looked at Julianne, wondering about her. Where she worked, if she was content with the direction of her life. "What do you do?" he asked, realizing they'd never discussed her career. "What's your profession?"

  "I'm a retail manager. And I just landed a new job. I'm supposed to start in two weeks."

  "What kind of retail?"

  "Women's fashion." She lifted her chin again. "The pay is the same as my last job, but the benefits are better."

  He suspected she referred to medical benefits, the insurance that would provide the health care she would most certainly need.

  "Why did you switch jobs?" he asked cautiously. "Was it because of the baby?"

  "No. The last store I worked at closed. I was in transition when I came here last month."

  And she was in transition again, he thought. Unmarried and pregnant.

  He leaned against his desk. Suddenly he wanted to hold her, to make everything all right. To tell her she wasn't alone in this.

  But instead he remained right where he was, guarding his emotions, his reluctance to do the right thing.

  "How long will you be in Texas?"

  "Three days. I'm going to get a room at the motel in town."

  "You can stay here. And I don't expect you to pay the bill," he added, knowing she'd chosen the motel in town because it was considerably cheaper than the ranch. "After all, we need some time to discuss our situation. To figure it out."

  "Thank you," she said before they both fell silent.

  She glanced out the window and he realized that talking about their situation wasn't going to be easy. He'd never expected to see Julianne again, yet here she was, reminding him of the night they'd made fast, reckless love.

  The night using protection hadn't even crossed his mind. When the phone rang he leaped for it, grateful for the interruption.

  Michael's voice came on the line. "Hey, I'm sorry I flaked on our meeting. I sort of forgot about it. But I can swing by the barn now if you want."

  "No, that's okay. I've got some other business to tend to." He glanced at Julianne, wondered if she was hungry, if she needed to fill her belly. "I'll hook up with you later."

  Bobby ended the call and watched Julianne sip her water. He didn't know a damn thing about expectant mothers, but he'd heard they were supposed to glow.

  Well, she wasn't glowing. The woman he'd impregnated looked downright ill.

  "Come on," he said. "I'll drive you to the lodge and Maria can check you into a room."

  "Okay."

  She gave him a halfhearted smile and guilt clawed its way to his chest. He'd been taught that a man should marry a woman if he got her in trouble. Of course, Cam hadn't followed that rule, and Bobby wouldn't, either.

  He couldn't bear to take a wife. Not ever again.

  * * *

  Julianne stood beside Bobby at the reception desk at the lodge, fighting a bout of nausea. She had soda crackers in her purse, but she didn't want to attract attention to herself by eating in front of everyone. So she remained quiet and still, praying the queasiness would pass.

  "Check again," Bobby told Maria.

  The Latina woman tapped on a computer keyboard, then shook her head. "There is still nothing available until next week, Señor Bobby. Nada."

  He cursed beneath his breath and Julianne realized what was happening. The ranch was booked.

  "I can get a room in town," she said.

  He turned to look at her, his gaze settling on her still-flat stomach. "No way. That motel is a dive. I'll figure something else out."

  They stood there for a moment, Bobby frowning and Julianne considering the crackers in her purse, wishing the queasiness would settle.

  In the years she'd been desperate to have a baby, she used to imagine pregnancy being magical and romantic. And she'd assumed morning sickness was contained to mornings.

  "You can stay at my place," Bobby said.

  Stunned, Julianne blinked. Maria seemed surprised, too. She fussed behind the counter, but it seemed obvious, at least to Julianne, that the receptionist was eavesdropping.

  "Thank you. That's a very generous offer." And it made her wonder why he was willing to share his home with her. He seemed so guarded, so distant, yet his offer spoke otherwise.

  She glanced at the bracelet he'd given her, at the shiny gold memory.

  Suddenly her stomach felt better. Calmer. She longed to be near him, to know more about him.

  She hadn't forgotten Bobby and he'd become even more important now.

  Because his child grew in her womb.

  A child she'd already begun to love.

  "I promise not to be a burden," she said.

  He shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I'll bunk with Michael while you're here. He's got plenty of space."

  Julianne flinched, instantly trapped in a myriad of emotions – disappointment, confusion, self-admonishment.

  Bobby shouldn't matter as much as he did. Images of him shouldn't be keeping her up at night. She shouldn't care if he chose to stay with his nephew instead of with her.

  Yet she did.

  "Where's your bag?" he asked, s
teering her away from the reception desk.

  "In my rental car." Her nausea returned and she gave in and reached for the crackers.

  Bobby watched her for a second. "If you're hungry, I can fix something for you at my place."

  "Crackers settle my stomach," she admitted, doing her best to steel her nerves, to pretend she was stronger than she felt. "Most of the time, anyway."

  He shifted uncomfortably. "Then I'll have room service send some saltines to my house."

  "Thank you."

  He moved closer, close enough for her to smell his cologne, the warm, woodsy fragrance she recalled much too intimately.

  "I'm sorry, Julianne."

  "For what?" Making her pregnant? Not using a, condom?

  "I'm just sorry you don't feel well."

  She sighed, grateful he was referring to her morning sickness. She didn't want to discuss the night she'd conceived. Not now, not while she was feeling emotional about him. "It comes with the territory. But I've been told it will pass."

  "I've heard that, too." He started toward the door, paused to wait for her. "You'll have to follow me to my cabin. It's a little off the beaten path."

  "That's all right."

  She got behind the wheel of her rented sedan and he climbed into his truck.

  The road to his cabin was narrow and rough. She jammed another cracker into her mouth and weathered the bumpy motion.

  Finally they reached a primitive log dwelling, cozied on the side of a hill. The wooden structure sat on a bed of grass, surrounded by trees and a rebellious, weedy spray of wildflowers.

  She exited her car and breathed in the clean, fresh scent, the beauty of the Texas Hill Country. A big, yellow butterfly winged by and she watched it flit from flower to flower.

  For an instant she imagined a little boy or girl with dark hair and copper skin chasing that butterfly, running through the grass, playing in the sun.

  Her child, she thought, touching her tummy. Bobby's child.

  The butterfly flew away and when she turned to glance at Bobby, she caught him staring at her.

  She had no idea what he was thinking. He didn't seem angry about her pregnancy the way she'd anticipated, but he didn't seem to be settling into the idea, either.

  If only he could feel the connection she felt to their unborn child. The tenderness. The love.

  Self-conscious, she broke eye contact and went to the car and removed her bag.

  He took the lightweight leather satchel from her. "What happened to the green suitcase?"

  "I didn't feel like lugging it around. Besides, I'll only be here for a few days."

  Enough time, she prayed, for Bobby to decide that he wanted to be part of their child's life. A long-distance father, a summer dad. Anything that showed he cared, that he didn't intend to abandon the baby.

  He unlocked the door and ushered her inside.

  The cabin reflected the man who owned it – dark and private. The walls were chinked log, the hardwood floors covered with Navajo rugs. The furniture ranged from polished antiques to homespun fabrics, and the hearth had been swept clean.

  In fact, everything was amazingly clean. Spotless.

  He didn't favor knickknacks, nothing that collected dust, nothing that added casual warmth. She got the saddened feeling that Bobby Elk survived rather than lived here.

  "It's one bedroom, one bath." He indicated the kitchen, an open space with butcher-block counters and clay-tiled floors. "There isn't much in the fridge, but I'll make sure it gets stocked."

  "Thanks, Bobby. I appreciate this."

  "Sure." He placed her bag on a cowhide chair in the living room. "I should pack a few things to take with me to Michael's."

  "Go ahead." Feeling like an intruder, she stepped back. She wouldn't dare follow him into his bedroom, even though she would be sleeping there over the next few days.

  While he packed, she went into the kitchen, but she didn't poke through the cabinets. Instead she sat at the small oak table and ate her crackers.

  He returned within minutes and she realized that he was used to throwing his belongings together, that he'd probably lived on the road for a good portion of his life.

  "Do you want to eat some real food?" he asked.

  "No. Not yet." She needed to give the saltines some time to digest.

  "You're going to waste away, Julianne."

  She smiled, touched by his concern. "I'll be getting fat soon enough."

  He looked at her stomach, then shifted his gaze back to her face. "It's so hard to fathom."

  She knew he meant the baby. The life they'd created. For a moment they watched each other, silent. Uncomfortable.

  Then he went about the task of making a pot of coffee. "I don't suppose you want any."

  "No, thanks. You wouldn't happen to have any tea, would you? It's easier on my stomach."

  He shook his head. "No, but I'll put it on the list." He made enough coffee for one cup, poured it into a sturdy mug and drank it black.

  As usual, his hair was plaited into a single braid that fell to the center of his back. His sideburns were neatly trimmed, his jaw clean-shaven.

  He wore a soft, well-worn T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. His knees were dusted with a little dirt and when she found herself looking at his legs, she quickly shifted her gaze.

  There were times she forgot he was an amputee. He was so active, so broad-shouldered and strong, it was difficult to picture him with only one leg.

  "I should go. I have to hook up with Michael." He finished his coffee, rinsed the cup and placed it in the dishwasher. Next he cleaned the coffeepot, dumping the used filter in a trash can below the sink and scouring the carafe.

  Julianne usually let her dishes pile up for a while before she loaded them into the dishwasher, and she didn't clean the coffeepot each time she used it. She would have to tidy up after herself while she was here, try to live the way Bobby did.

  "I'll come back later."

  She nodded. "Okay."

  He wrote something on a tablet beside the telephone. "I'm leaving a few numbers for you. The front desk, the barn office, my cell phone. Call if you need anything."

  "I will."

  He left the cabin with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a pair of crutches in his hands.

  He didn't turn back to look at her, and she sensed his discomfort. The crutches were a blatant reminder of the leg he'd lost. She supposed he needed them when he wasn't wearing his prosthesis. Why else would he have taken them, calling attention to his handicap?

  Julianne just sat for a minute, staring at the walls, wondering who Bobby Elk really was.

  Finally she stood and headed for his bedroom, then stopped when she saw the bed. The mahogany frame was dark and masculine, the quilt a rich shade of blue. She envisioned him sleeping there, with the windows open, stars lighting up the night.

  She wanted, so desperately, to rummage through his drawers, to solve mysteries about him. Did he keep a picture of his wife anywhere? Was there a photo album tucked away?

  Feeling like a thief, she gave in to her curiosity and snooped, finding nothing but neatly folded clothes. The top of his dresser held an old Louis L'Amour novel, a slightly melted candle and an abalone shell containing a bundle of a half-burned dried herb tied with red yarn. His closet didn't reveal anything but a selection of Wrangler jeans and Western shirts.

  The bathroom, however, spoke of his disability. The toilet had metal rails beside it, like the safety device in handicapped stalls in public rest rooms. The tub had rails, as well, with a flexible showerhead and a waterproof chair in the center. Which, she assumed, meant that Bobby didn't shower with his prosthesis on.

  Suddenly claustrophobic, Julianne rushed outside to breathe in the summer air.

  She was having a baby with a man she hardly knew, a man who kept himself sheltered in a small, secluded cabin.

  A place, she thought, for him to hide.

  Julianne gazed at the wildflowers thriving in the sun. She kne
lt to pick one and within minutes she had a fragrant bouquet in her hand.

  Returning to the cabin, she took the flowers with her, determined to add a spot of color to Bobby Elk's dark, isolated world.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  «^»

  Bobby couldn't find Michael. He needed to talk this through, to confide in someone, but his nephew had taken off, Lord only knew where.

  So Bobby had spent hours alone, pacing his office, knowing he didn't have any choice but to go back to Julianne.

  And say what? That he was scared? That the idea of being a father petrified him?

  No, he thought. Because deep down that wasn't true.

  Bobby had intended to have children with his wife. He'd always thought he was meant to be a dad. But that dream had died with Sharon.

  So many tangible dreams had died that day. So many joys he'd been looking forward to.

  But he couldn't stop living. Not completely. It wasn't the Cherokee way.

  He'd been taught to give thanks, to honor life. It wasn't easy, not after what he'd done to Sharon, but he did his best to wake up every morning and say a Cherokee prayer.

  He gazed out the window and reflected on his youth, on the spiritual lessons that still guided, him.

  Some Cherokees believed that an infant didn't receive a soul until it was born, but Bobby had been taught otherwise.

  He believed an infant's soul entered the womb from the moment of conception. Which meant his son or daughter was already a spiritual being.

  A tiny soul that was meant to be. A life he'd helped create.

  Yet he was fighting its existence, practically denying his own flesh and blood.

  Why? What did he have to fear?

  The woman, he thought. The child's mother.

  "What does Julianne expect from me?" he asked out loud, looking for answers. Did she want him to marry her? Was that why she came to Texas?

  Bobby turned away from the window. He couldn't marry Julianne, not even out of duty, out of respect and honor to his child.

  And that shamed him.

  The baby deserved better.

  But God help him, he couldn't do it. He couldn't ask Julianne to be his wife.

  Maybe that wasn't what she wanted. Maybe she—