The Doctor's Medicine Woman

by Donna Clayton

  Her smile was beautifully content.

  “And lots of things I didn’t,” she continued. “I’m very blessed. Very loved.” Seeming to steel herself with a deep inhalation, she said, “My grandfather passed away while I was at college. I miss him.” After a brief pause, she murmured, “I loved him so much. He was the father I never knew. I think I married Eric with some subconscious hope that he could replace my grandfather.” She shook her head. “What an awful mistake that was.” After heaving a sigh, she said, “And then there’s my grandmother…”

  Deep affection and devotion were clearly expressed in the twinkle of her dark chocolate gaze.

  “Well, you met her,” Diana said. “She’s quite a character.”

  Travis barely had time to chuckle in agreement before Jared came barreling down the stairs. Josh followed close on his heels, playing the wooden flute Diana had given him as a gift. She’d wrapped one for each of the boys.

  “Would you show me how this game works again?” Jared asked, handing Diana the other present she’d given them.

  Like the normal children that they were, they had tossed aside what they had initially perceived as hoe-hum strings of hole-ridden beads in favor of the more flashy electronic gadgets they had opened. But now both boys were evidently curious. Josh put aside the flute and crowded close to watch.

  As she demonstrated how they were to swing the beads and attempt to catch them on the blunt-tipped needle, balancing as many beads as they could, one on top of another, Travis paid close attention to the three of them. Diana patiently explained that this was a game of skill that was hundreds of years old and how it was meant to develop a young warrior’s eye-hand coordination and balance.

  Incredibly she somehow got the boys to challenge themselves rather than each other. Competition was a good thing, Travis thought, but the twins were too young to be comparing their rudimentary skills to anyone else’s just yet.

  Josh and Jared giggled gleefully with each failed effort. Then Josh caught the second bead on his needle, balancing the first one on top of it.

  “Wow!” Jared congratulated his brother. “How’d you do that?”

  Josh beamed with pride. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  “It takes practice,” Diana told them. “Lots of practice.”

  Reclining into a couch cushion, Travis sipped his coffee. And he marveled at the warmth that filled his chest. Not from the hot coffee he was enjoying, but from the joy and gratitude that filled him to the brim as he looked at his boys.

  His life would never be the same.

  And not just because of Josh and Jared. His life had been changed by Diana, as well.

  She’d diligently guided the boys. She’d shown them things they might never have seen, taught them things they might never have known, had she not taken the time to come into his home and instruct them. But she’d influenced him, too. She’d reshaped some of his thoughts and opinions.

  And for that he was thankful. And just as soon as he could, he planned to show her just how thankful he was.

  The boys were tucked into bed, their first Christmas in their new home having been a day filled with new family, friends and loads of fun. A bright red fire engine sat on the floor by Jared’s bed. He’d have had it under the covers with him had Travis allowed it. Josh was clasping the bead and needle game that Diana had given him. He’d had great fun in showing Sloan’s daughters how he could catch the beads. Of course, he’d failed more times than he’d succeeded, but he hadn’t lost interest in the challenge.

  Travis gently took the beads from Josh’s hand and lovingly tucked the blanket around his shoulders. He planted a gentle kiss on the forehead of one of his sons, then the other. After pausing for one last look at what he’d decided were his two greatest blessings, he closed the door and went back downstairs.

  Toys were scattered here and there in the living room. He went to the tree with the intention of straightening up the mess. But first, he surrendered to the urge to have a little fun himself.

  He held the needle of Josh’s bead game and flipped the beads with a small jerk of his wrist. Stabbing at the holes in the beads while they were in midair, he grinned when his needle came up empty. Again he swung the beads, and jabbed. And again he caught nothing. He chuckled.

  “It really does take practice,” Diana said. She came closer. “This was originally called the Needle and Bone Game.”

  “Bone?”

  She nodded. “Deer toe bones were hollowed out and then holes were drilled in them before they were strung. The needle was made of either bone or wood.” She grinned. “I almost told Sloan’s girls about the toe bones when they were playing the game this afternoon. But I decided it wouldn’t be nice to make them squeal in disgust.”

  Travis laughed softly. “Oh, but the boys would have loved to hear them shriek.”

  Setting the beads down on the coffee table, he looked up at the white lights winking on the tree. “This has been the most fantastic day of my life.”

  He’d had the thought several times throughout the day. Again, the tranquillity Diana presented made him feel at ease about repeating it.

  “Those two little boys are a wonderful addition to your life,” she said. “Each and every Christmas, from here on, will be just as fantastic.”

  Reaching up, he rubbed the back of his neck. He hated to doubt her. But there was something off about what she said. He’d have the boys for each and every Christmas, that much was true. But for some reason, he couldn’t help but feel that no holiday would turn out as good, as deep-down-soul-satisfying, as this one had.

  Chapter Seven

  “I want to thank you,” he said. “For…everything.”

  Travis’s onyx eyes held an intensity that nearly made Diana weak. That awkward time of the evening had arrived, she realized. The time when their lesson was over, and they both seemed to get caught by the net of strain that invariably ensnared them.

  For four nights in a row, they had met together after the boys had gone to bed. She’d begun his instruction by explaining tribal organization.

  The basic Kolheek family unit, she’d explained, usually consisted of a father, a mother and their children. Although it was not uncommon for men of wealth to have more than one wife. Both father and mother treated their children with great love and attention. Corporal punishment was rare. Rather, when a child misbehaved the parents would reason over the problem and guide their offspring toward better conduct. The entire village took great interest in the raising of children, chastising misconduct whenever it was witnessed.

  With ties of either blood or adoption, clans were members of elite families. Clan members of the Kolheek were descended through the female line. All members of a clan were considered brothers and sisters, so intermarriage was forbidden. Mates were chosen outside the clan. Each clan was ruled by a subchief. An insult to one member was considered an insult to all, and members of a clan would take to the warpath together.

  A tribe included several villages made up of three classes of people. Nobles were members of clans and people of royal blood. Sannops were common people who made up the bulk of the community. And outsiders, or the lowly ones, who were little more than slaves, acting as servants to the two other classes. The Chief Sachem, always a member of the noble class, governed the tribe.

  Travis, like most males, had been fascinated by her stories of combat. And she’d spent the past two evenings explaining war traditions. Just as the needle and bead game she’d given the twins was meant to develop certain skills, other games Indians played were intended to emphasize a warrior’s best battle qualities: daring, self-reliance, agility, strength, endurance and bravery. The center field of any village became a proving ground for a brave’s future war glories.

  Although all young men were allowed to witness the war dance, they could not actually participate until they were sixteen. And even then they had to prove their maturity and self-reliance by surviving a test. Led blindfolded into the wilderness in the dead of
winter, the young man had to survive armed only with a bow and arrows, a hatchet and knife. The following spring he would return to the village and his appearance would determine his success or failure.

  Tonight she had explained how any minor provocation between tribes could trigger a war. Insults were instant fuel to spark the fire of battle. Cruelty and lust for bloodshed had nothing to do with it, she’d stressed. Honor was key in any war.

  The night before a battle there would be a war dance. Large bonfires would flicker against the night sky as excitement rippled through the crowd of gathered warriors. A hush would fall as the war chief stood to address the group. If the war party was large enough, the Chief Sachem himself might lead the event. Small parties were headed by an inferior chieftain. But no matter who addressed the men, the speech would be heartfelt as the leader asked for volunteers and spiritual guidance to ensure success.

  Following strict tradition, the attacking tribe would forewarn the enemy with arrows planted near the target village, and the attack was usually made at dawn. Prisoners were occasionally adopted in place of a slain warrior. Once accepted, he would take the place of the deceased, whether son or husband. If a prisoner wasn’t adopted into the tribe, he faced death by slow and terrible torture.

  She’d finished up the lesson on warring by describing the spears, arrow points, knives and clubs used for battle. She’d showed him some of the books she’d brought with her from the reservation, and he’d marveled over the drawings of New England Indian weaponry.

  Diana stared at Travis, feeling, as always, very awkward at his effusive gratitude at the end of each lesson.

  “I wish you wouldn’t keep doing that,” she said.

  “Doing what?”

  “Thanking me…” Then she added, “Like that.”

  He frowned, his ebony eyes shadowing. “Like what?”

  “You know.” Nerves had her chuckling and averting her gaze. “So…I don’t know…copiously. It makes me uncomfortable. I enjoy talking about our heritage. You don’t need to…” Self-consciousness got the best of her and she let the rest of her sentence die away.

  They had gotten along so well since she’d offered to instruct him, to educate him about his heritage. They had laughed together. And she loved that he was so interested in his ancestry. He’d asked interesting questions and made intelligent observations. The time they spent together was a joy. She really wished they didn’t have to suffer through these few stiff-as-a-board moments each night before they parted.

  “Making you uneasy wasn’t my intent,” he said. Out of the blue, he slid his palm over her hand. “I just need you to understand how very important all this is to me.”

  Heat spiraled in her stomach. His skin was warm against hers. Protective. And that feeling made her feel panicky.

  No, she realized, it wasn’t really his touch that made her feel so suddenly anxious. It was the words accompanying his touch. The intimation that his gratitude and his touch suggested.

  Her thoughts were suddenly one big jumble, pieces of a puzzling idea flying hither and yon in her mind. Something momentous was happening in her head. Something she needed to work out, but she sure didn’t want to do it here in front of Travis.

  “I’m tired.” She blurted the announcement as she stood up. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

  Without giving him a chance to reply, she rushed from the room, up the stairs and into her bedroom. And it wasn’t until the door was firmly closed behind her that she felt safe enough to examine the chaos that had welled up inside her so unexpectedly when Travis had reached for her.

  They had acknowledged the attraction they felt for each other. But they had also professed determination to ignore the lure they experienced.

  Why, then, did Travis continue to look at her with such focus? With such intent? His dark eyes seemed to hold some mysterious meaning. Some strong purpose.

  And why did he have to thank her each night? His gratitude seemed sincere, but it sparked all manner of chaotic emotions in her.

  Somehow, someway, the fact that Travis continued to look at her with longing and his effusive appreciation were connected. She could feel it. However, hard as she tried, she wasn’t able to splice together the link that would make it possible for her to solve this unsettling quandary.

  Early the next morning, Travis found Diana in the kitchen fixing herself a cup of tea.

  “Morning,” he said. A thrill ran though him at the sight of her. Still, after days and days he’d spent with her, he was amazed at how he was affected by her. Even with her hair sleep-tousled, her face devoid of makeup, she looked lovely to him. Just lovely.

  He was nervous. He hadn’t slept much. The problem that had oh-so-slowly presented itself since Christmas day still had him confused, and he’d decided in the wee hours of the morning that he wouldn’t find peace until he discussed these amazing thoughts running around in his head with the person responsible for planting them.

  Diana.

  Just looking at her made his gut grow all tight and knotted. He continued to have this tremendous physical reaction to her even after all the mental lectures he’d given himself, even after they had openly come to the decision that neither of them was interested in a relationship. And now he finally thought he’d figured out why.

  This relentless corporal response—and the connection it had to something she’d said on Christmas day—was what he felt the tremendous need to discuss.

  “You’re up early.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I wanted to get the coffee ready for us. Maybe I’ll whip up a little breakfast.”

  She set the used tea bag onto the saucer beside her cup. “Sorry, but I don’t really feel like breakfast at the moment. I didn’t even feel like coffee this morning. Tea will do me just fine.”

  He noticed for the first time that she looked pale, her face strained. “Are you feeling ill?”

  “No. Just tired.” Without explaining further, she picked up her teacup. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take this up to my room. The boys won’t be up for a while yet—”

  “They won’t,” he agreed in a rush. “And I was hoping you’d be up. So we could talk.”

  Some emotion flashed across her face, and for a moment he thought she was going to refuse him.

  “Please, Diana,” he said before she could withdraw from the conversation completely. “I have something I want to tell you.”

  The sigh she expelled was small, resigned, and she took her cup and saucer to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down.

  His nerve endings danced and jumped as he was walloped with anxiety. She was sitting there waiting to hear what he had to say. How could he make her understand all that had been churning through his mind for days now when he hadn’t even been able to work it all out for himself yet? Well, he’d worked it out. At least, he thought he had. Although he still couldn’t quite believe the conclusions he’d finally reached.

  He’d decided just hours ago that he needed to confront Diana with his thoughts. Tell her about his change of opinion. His change of heart. However, he was worried about how she was going to respond.

  “Just give me a second to get the coffee brewing.”

  The few moments it took to measure out the ground beans and water then flip on the switch of the electric coffeemaker gave him just enough time to calm his thoughts a little.

  With one deep and bracing breath, he went to the table and slid down into the chair nearest her. He didn’t dare touch her, although he wanted to. However, he didn’t want to frighten her with the magnitude of all he was thinking and feeling. Instead he folded his hands on the table in front of him.

  “The first thing I want to say,” he began slowly so as to keep his wits about him, “is that I’ve never in my life met a more extraordinary woman. You’re helping my boys. You’re helping me. And no matter what the future might bring, I want you to know I’m grateful.”

  Was that suspicion narrowing her gorgeous cinnamon eyes? he wondere
d. How could she possibly have trouble believing him? He was speaking with the utmost candor. With his heart wide-open.

  After a moment of silence, she seemed weary as she said, “You thanked me last night, Travis. And the night before that. And the night before that. I told you last night that this isn’t necessary.” She slid her chair out an inch. “If that’s all you wanted to talk about—”

  When she started to stand, he reached out and gently touched her sleeve.

  “No,” he said, “that’s not all.”

  Although she remained seated, she tensed. He could feel it in the muscles of her forearm, in the very air around them. Reluctantly she lifted her gaze to his.

  “You said something on Christmas day that started me thinking,” he told her. “What you said…well, it’s changed everything for me.” He didn’t understand the stress she so obviously felt, but he quickly decided that his own nervousness was probably triggering her tension.

  “We were talking about my childhood holidays,” he continued. “About how my parents fought and argued.”

  “I remember.” Her tone was whisper-soft.

  “What you said was that my parents didn’t belong together.”

  Mild alarm had her mouth forming a small circle. “Oh, but I certainly wasn’t passing judgment on them, Travis. You must believe me. I was simply making an observation.”

  “I’m not upset by what you said,” he told her. “How could I be when all you did was speak the truth?”

  It was clear to him that she had no clue where he was going with this conversation. He had so much he wanted to say. But he didn’t dare attack her with his awesome conclusion just yet. He had to work up to it. So she’d understand.

  “You said at the wedding reception that…” He stopped long enough to take a breath. “You said that the Kolheek teach their little girls that there is a great warrior, a man who is meant only for them.”

  There it was again, he thought. That suspicion that clouded her gaze.

  “And you promptly told me that was hogwash.”