The Doctor's Medicine Woman

by Donna Clayton

  Okay, so she found him handsome. Any woman would. His onyx eyes were appealingly intelligent, his long, neat hair glossy and inviting, his sexy mouth sent sensuous ideas flitting through her mind—

  She cut the thought to the quick. Her body was only reacting to his good looks. This was mere physiology. She was smart enough to know that.

  The steward ambled by, instructing passengers to return seats to the full, upright position and gathering used napkins and empty soda cans in preparation for landing. But Diana barely heard, so involved was she in her thoughts.

  The fact that she’d identified her attraction to Travis early was a good thing. She gave a mental nod. A very good thing. What she was experiencing was a completely natural response. Purely physical in nature…hence, totally controllable if she remained vigilantly cognizant of it.

  Diana glanced over at Travis, but saw only the back of his sleek, dark head, his broad shoulders and the full length of his back as he snapped young Jared’s seat belt securely into place.

  Controllable, she firmly thought. What I’m feeling is totally controllable.

  The boys were so excited. They had explored every inch of the house and yard as soon as they’d arrived home. Travis had been lucky several years ago in finding an old stone manor house on a large piece of property thick with trees. A perfect setting in which to raise children, although he hadn’t had that in mind when he’d purchased it. The last thing Travis had thought he’d ever have was a family of his own. He was a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor. And quite naturally, as a man without a wife, he’d never contemplated having children.

  Until six months ago.

  During one of his visits with the twins—a visit planned only to check on their medical condition, take them out for a meal and buy them some clothes and a few toys—Travis had heard murmuring among the staff at the state home. Phrases like “getting beyond adoptable age” and “special needs children” and “undesirable” kept popping up.

  The orphanage administrator had told Travis they were even thinking of splitting the boys up in order to find them homes. That thought had disturbed Travis, and it had got him thinking…about becoming the boys’ daddy himself, about taking them into his own home.

  His friends and partners, Greg and Sloan, had thought he was crazy when he’d first voiced his idea of becoming an adoptive dad to the Native American twins. But Travis had prevailed. Something about the rambunctious boys, something about what seemed to be turning into a dire situation for them, kept calling to Travis. Wouldn’t leave him alone. He had been meant to raise these boys. He could feel it in the very pit of his gut. He might not have been able to find the right words to make anyone fully understand his feelings, but he knew it in his heart. Thank the good Lord above, he’d been able to clarify his feelings to the Kolheek Council well enough that they had allowed him to bring the boys home with him to Philadelphia.

  And as he listened to the thumps and bumps coming from the upstairs bedroom, he smiled to himself and knew he hadn’t made a mistake. Jared and Josh belonged here with him. And having them here was worth every ounce of worry and apprehension he’d suffered to get them here.

  And the anxiety you continue to suffer, he thought, remembering the Kolheek Elder’s odd parting words about seeing what fate had in store. Had he fallen in love with these children only to have them taken away from him in a mere two months? The idea was too disturbing for him to even contemplate, so he closed the lid on it, shut it out of his mind.

  He climbed the stairs, and when he knocked softly on the closed door of their bedroom, the bumps and scuffling stopped. Travis turned the knob and stepped into the room.

  His eyebrows raised when he saw that the blankets and quilted spreads of both twin beds were mangled and twisted. Jared stood on one mattress, towering over his brother Josh, the pillow in his grasp drawn back for a playful blow.

  One look at Travis’s face had Jared’s grip on the pillowcase loosening. The pillow dropped to the mattress, bouncing once before coming to rest on top of the swirl of sheets and blankets. Jared slowly lowered himself until he was sitting next to his wide-eyed brother.

  “Sorry,” Jared muttered. “We was only playin’.”

  Scolding the boys hadn’t even crossed his mind, but the fear he read on little Josh’s face made Travis wonder what kind of trouble their roughhouse games had gotten them into at the orphanage.

  “I used to have pillow fights with my brother when we were kids.” Travis went to Jared’s empty bed and began to straighten the blankets.

  “You did?” Realizing that Travis wasn’t angry, Jared grinned like an imp.

  “Yeah,” Travis said. “It was a lot of fun.” He turned down the top blanket and smoothed his hand over it. “But it’s really late. You two need to get some sleep.”

  “But we ain’t tired.” Even as he said the words, Jared bounded off Josh’s bed and onto his own, sliding down onto the mattress and tucking his feet under the covers.

  “New situations have a way of getting you all worked up.” Travis picked up the forgotten pillow from where it lay on Josh’s bed, plumped it up and then tucked it behind Jared’s head. “But if you’ll lay still for a bit, I’m sure you’ll fall asleep soon enough.” Then he began to untangle Josh’s bedclothes.

  Josh just stared at him. Finally the boy said, “It’s quiet here.”

  Travis smiled as he drew the blanket up over Josh’s legs. He had no idea what the child meant by the remark.

  Then Jared spoke up. “At the home, Sammy cries. A lot. And Mrs. Basset turns up the TV really loud at night. She says we give her big pains ’cause she can’t hear her shows. She gets pretty mad. Her face gets all red.”

  Realizing that the boys were explaining the difference between bedtime at the orphanage and here, Travis nodded. “I see.”

  “Mrs. Basset yells.” Josh’s voice was tiny. “Jared couldn’t sleep with me. One boy to a bed. That’s the rule.”

  The state home had housed at least two dozen other children. The twins were probably used to constant chaos, noise and mayhem. Living here would be a distinct contrast for them. It would take some getting used to, Travis silently surmised.

  “You want Jared to sleep in your bed?”

  Josh swallowed, blinked in anxious hesitation, then he nodded.

  Travis looked over at Jared, lifted Josh’s blanket and swiped his hand through the air in a movement meant to stir things into motion. “Don’t worry,” he told them softly. “You’ll get used to the quiet. Silence can be a nice thing.”

  Jared scooted down onto the bed next to Josh. “B-but we ain’t tired,” he repeated his original complaint.

  “We aren’t tired.” Travis couldn’t help correcting the boy’s improper grammar. “Like I said, if you lay still—”

  “How about a story?”

  Travis directed his gaze toward the soft, feminine voice coming from the doorway.

  Diana was dressed in a simple white robe that was tied at the waist with a sash. Light glistened on the long, straight rope of hair that was pulled over one shoulder. The pristine fabric of the robe accentuated the coppery skin of her bare arms and legs.

  Legs. Travis couldn’t help but notice the shapely knees, firm calves and tiny ankles. Even her feet were cute.

  The thought startled him and he felt his eyes go wide for a millisecond, before he forced his gaze back up to her face. Damn it! Ogling this woman’s body was the last thing he’d meant to do!

  He was human. A human male. The testosterone pumping though his veins made appreciating the female form a most inherent act. But if he was going to eye the woman every time they were in the same room together, he was going to be in for a long and uncomfortable couple of months.

  “You—” His mouth and throat had gone dry at the sight of her and that made his voice sound gravelly. He shoved the awareness he felt aside, cleared his throat and started again. “You want to tell the boys a story?”

  She nodded, her wide, sensuous mout
h twisting wryly.

  Her very kissable lips made his heart thud against his ribs.

  “If I’m to get to sleep anytime soon,” she quipped lightly, “I think Jared and Josh need a little spirit-calming medicine.”

  He cast her a quizzical glance. “Medicine?”

  Her chuckle was velvety rich, like sweet cream, and the fine hairs on the back of his neck raised. Damn, but this woman was too…appealing.

  Control yourself! he silently demanded.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not suggesting drugs. I’m talking about good, old-fashioned entertainment. Entertainment designed especially for…” she then turned her attention first to Jared and then to Josh as she stole closer “…little boys at bedtime.”

  She sat down on the edge of Jared’s bed. Travis was conscious of how close she was. He could smell the warm, clean, lemony fragrance of her.

  “Long ago,” she began, “before there were such things as paper and pencils, The People kept their history through stories. They sat around a fire at night with the stars winking at them high above, and they taught their children where they came from. They recounted tales of brave warriors and hunters. They told of times gone by. They told of their hopes and dreams to come. The children heard about floods and fire and acts of nature that formed the tribe into what it was. Through the Shaman’s words, battles were relived. Wars with other tribes over hunting rights disputes. Wars with the Europeans. The children learned of the good times, when crops and hunting were bountiful. And they heard about hardships, when blizzards came, and stayed, and made hunting impossible. The Shaman would also tell of brave leaders and great chiefs…”

  Travis looked at the faces of the twins, saw that Diana had caught them up in the web she was spinning. Easing himself down to sit on Josh’s bed, Travis was extremely careful not to allow his knee to touch hers. She was so close. He looked at her face, at her expressive eyes, and found himself quickly pulled into the past right along with the boys. Her soft voice was lulling, mesmerizing, and he clearly understood what she meant when she’d said that storytelling was spirit-calming medicine.

  “One such chief,” she continued, “was called Half Moon. He got his name from the pale, crescent-shaped scar he had here.” She reached up and gingerly touched her face high on the left cheekbone. “When he was a small child, he wandered into a pen of wild horses. His mother watched helplessly as the animals stampeded. They reared and bolted and bucked. They thrashed and finally broke the fence. Half Moon could have been killed. Should have been killed. But instead he walked from the pen all on his own. He’d been kicked in the face, the horse’s hoof leaving a curved gash on his cheek. The whole tribe knew that Half Moon had survived what any normal child would not have. The People knew that Half Moon would be a great man when he grew. He would be smart. And brave. And he would lead The People toward wonderful things.”

  Her words were like magic, drawing them deeper and deeper into the moment. Her eyes danced with emotion, her tone rose and then softened for the greatest impact. It was clearly evident that she’d told this tale many times. That she herself reveled in the history of her tribe. And that in this verbal tradition—whether the story was myth or reality—she was celebrating her proud heritage.

  Travis tore his eyes from her beaming face and looked at the boys. They, too, were held entranced by the enchantment she conjured. This connection to the past was a good thing for Jared and Josh. Of that he couldn’t be more sure than he was at this moment, seeing the fascination in their eyes.

  “And Half Moon did grow to be a great man,” Diana said. “He was all the things The People knew he would be. He was a great chief. Wiser than many others. Half Moon was the man who made the Big Negotiation. He knew the Europeans were in our land to stay. He knew they would soon outnumber The People. So he made it possible for us to have a place. A home. He gathered his tribe and moved them to what is now known as Vermont. The Kolheek, People Of The Smoke—your people—survive today because Half Moon knew when to talk peace rather than engage in war.”

  Pride seemed to emanate from her. Her spine was straight, her slender shoulders square. There was no conceit or arrogance in the way her chin tipped upward; however, there was a good measure of old-fashioned self-respect. And Travis couldn’t help but admit that he found it alluring. Highly alluring.

  Movement at the periphery of his vision had him darting a glance down the length of her body. Gravity tugged at the hem of her robe, parting the bottom facings to reveal a slice of her bronze-hued thigh. The sight of her finely honed muscle caused heat to curl in the bottom of his belly, his abdomen tensing with a sharp but pleasant pain. The sudden discomfort was a shock and the urge to suck in a lungful of air was overwhelming, but he successfully restrained it.

  As inconspicuously as possible, he pressed his balled-up fist to his diaphragm, hoping to quell the constriction. Never before had he reacted to a woman in such a…a physical manner.

  Women are trouble, a shadowy voice in his head warned.

  Averting his gaze to the far corner of the room, he clenched his jaw. He didn’t need any dark warnings. He knew all about women. Knew the kind of wounds love inflicted. Had seen it in his parent’s marriage. His brother’s. Hell, he’d even experienced the pain firsthand back in college.

  He wasn’t interested in becoming trapped in any woman’s web, no matter how beguiling it might seem.

  He was just going to have to snuff out these feelings of attraction he felt for Diana. He could do it. Anytime—every time—he felt something even remotely resembling desire, he’d simply squash it. Like an irritating gnat.

  Simple plans were the easiest to accomplish. And this plan couldn’t be more simple. He could do it. She wasn’t going to be here for long.

  Apparently she’d finished her story. She was standing now, smiling at Jared and Josh. Then Diana turned that gorgeous smile on Travis, and it was as if he’d been struck between the eyes with a ball peen hammer.

  “I’m going to say good-night,” she told him.

  Her voice flowed over him—through him—like the mellifluous notes of some haunting melody. Again, his gut tightened.

  This is crazy, he told himself. Damned crazy!

  “I’ll leave you to tuck in the boys.”

  And then she was gone.

  You can fight this. You’re stronger than these idiotic feelings. Ignore this ridiculous attraction. Just ignore it.

  But even as the thoughts marched drill-like through his brain, he unwittingly turned his head to inhale the faint, citrusy scent she’d left behind.

  At last the house was quiet. Diana had brewed a pot of her own herb tea and was sitting in the all-season sunroom, looking out at the darkness, listening to the muffled quiet of the silent, wintry night. Pale moonlight cast a beautiful mélange of deep shadow and pearly glow among the thicket of pine and bare hardwood trees.

  When she’d left Travis and his boys, Jared and Josh were both sleepy-eyed and ready for the sandman to take them on whatever dream adventure was in store for them this night. They were great kids, full of energy and imagination. They had delighted in the story she’d told of Half Moon, that much had been clear to Diana. But then, they were bright, inquisitive children. She knew she was going to enjoy spending time with them, aquainting them with their Kolheek heritage.

  Travis had paid close attention to her story, too, Diana silently mused, lifting the mug to her lips and taking a small swallow of tea. Well, she hoped it was the legend that had held him so enthralled. His onyx eyes had latched onto her, making her feel as if he were staring into the very depths of her soul, and she’d had a hard time concentrating on the storytelling. She’d wanted to reach up and smooth her hair, fidget with the sash of her robe, but she’d forced her hands to remain in her lap. She hadn’t liked feeling like a silly, squirming schoolgirl. Thank heaven she’d been able to quell the nervousness Travis’s intent gaze had provoked in her. Soon, the training she’d received in the nearly lost art
of storytelling had kicked in and she’d become engrossed in the past herself.

  Still, when she thought about how his gaze had been riveted to her face, his attention focused on her every word…The memory caused shivers to careen down her spine like an icy mist, and she curled her hands around the heated ceramic mug to ward off the imagined chill. She tucked her bare feet under her on the padded seat of the wicker chair.

  His interest had been in nothing more than the story, she firmly told herself. She refused to think anything else. He’d been captivated by Half Moon’s experience. Anyone would be fascinated by the history of such a great chief’s life.

  But Travis’s gaze was so dark, so…She couldn’t quite put a name to what she saw in his eyes. Like secret windows. Seemingly filled with something deep and profound. Something mysterious. Haunting her. Calling to her.

  Huffing out a frustrated sigh, she looked toward the ceiling. Why was she so intent on conjuring fantasies around this man? Her thoughts had seemed to have a mind of their own ever since she’d first laid eyes on Travis.

  Head shaking slowly, she tried to clear her mind. She simply refused to allow her imagination to get the better of her.

  But the thoughts persisted, refusing to be banished. What was it about him that provoked these sensuous notions running through her head? She’d had no trouble whatsoever deflecting the approaches made by other men since her divorce. She’d easily turned down all offers of dates, and she’d done so politely and tactfully so as not to hurt a single living soul. Yet here she was fancying that Travis Westcott—a man she barely knew—was staring at her…desiring her.

  Desiring her? Is that where her thoughts were heading?

  No. No. No. She couldn’t have that. She wouldn’t allow herself to be undermined by her own ridiculous imaginings. Travis had become caught up in her story. That was all—