9 Ways to Fall in Love

by Caroline Clemmons

  "Silver, where is my daughter?"

  Shaking her head, Silver took a step back. Wolf remained squatting before her, not wanting her frightened or intimidated. He'd do that if needed, but now wasn't the time for scaring her.

  "I promised . . ." Her voice trailed off and a single tear stole down her cheek. Fear gripped his chest, squeezing around his heart.

  His daughter? His baby girl—what had happened?

  "I promised, too, Silver. To always keep you and my daughter safe. She needs me now, doesn't she?"

  Silver Dawn's eyes searched his face, long tortuous moments passing before a barely perceptible nod.

  "Take me to her. Please." Rising to his full height, he held out his hand to the girl before him, all the while praying to the All-Father for his daughter's safety. A flood of relief spilled through him as Silver Dawn slid her tiny fingers into his.

  "Come, I'll take you to her." With her hand firmly enclosed within his, he accompanied her. They walked together in silence, traveling away from the village, heading deeper into the woods. Surrounding trees grew thicker and denser, casting eerie shadows across the landscape. Even the forest creatures held their silence as they journeyed toward his daughter.

  Silver stopped, squatted low to the ground beside a pile of branches with pieces of bark and leaves. Tearing aside larger branches woven together with clumped foliage, an opening barely big enough for a child to crawl through came into view. The haphazard structure was obviously man-made. The girls must have built it as a place for them to play together, he realized.

  A small whimpering sound came from within and he battled his impulse to push Silver Dawn aside, every instinct screaming at him to hurry. He wanted to tear the entire structure asunder to get to his daughter. For he knew his daughter was inside—and hurting.

  Methodically tossing aside branches, Silver paused. "She looks bad. Do not be alarmed. There is some blood . . . most is not hers."

  The vice around his heart tightened. Blood.

  "Move aside, little one." Wolf reached for the next branch covering the opening.

  "No, I must do it." Determined, Silver continued tossing aside each broken branch and clump of leaves until the opening was big enough for her to fit through. Turning, she stood at her full height and reached upward, taking his face between both of her hands.

  "I will bring her out, but you must not show your anger. She is hurt and afraid and very . . . fragile. Please do not be mad at her. It is not her fault."

  With her words echoing in his ears, she went down on her hands and knees and shimmied her way into the little dwelling. He heard whispered words though he couldn't make out anything clearly. A muffled sob nearly broke his heart, realizing it was his daughter's cry of pain, yet here he stood, forced to stand aside and wait.

  Though he was a shaman for his people, Wolf was also a warrior. Warriors did not stand idly by while children led. Hands fisted at his sides, he struggled to remain calm, though his mind refused to stop playing scenes of horror and pain and blood.

  Silver Dawn's small compact body backed out of the rugged opening in their makeshift playhouse, every movement slow, her murmured words of comfort and encouragement a balm to his lacerated spirit. She comforted his daughter, his only child. One of the branch segments caught against her cheek, scratching the pale golden skin, blood welling up bright red, yet no sound of pain left her lips, only the continued whispered words of encouragement for her best friend.

  Once fully freed from the branches, another small dark head appeared at the opening close to the ground. Silver Dawn's hands tugged on a ragged worn blanket, pulling his daughter from within their makeshift dwelling. She's so badly hurt she cannot come out herself? Oh, this is bad, worse than he had feared.

  Wolf could contain himself no longer, rushing forward to pull his daughter free from her hiding place. The glow from the bright sunlight highlighted the dark gleam of blue-black sparkles in her hair, but in places it was matted and covered with mud and something else—dark red and viscous—blood. This close to his beloved child, the bitter scent filled his nostrils, cloying and heavy.

  He pulled her close against his chest, striding forward with her wrapped in his arms. As gently as he could, he placed her on a bed of pine needles, beneath the trees of his beloved forest, where the dappled sunlight shone around her like a light from the All-Father. Head bowed Wolf fought back the screams racking his body, tearing up from deep within his being. Screams for the pain she suffered. Screams for the pain reflected in her young battered face; what he could see through the bruising and the blood. And screams for the person who'd dare hurt his daughter.

  Death—he would become the bringer of death to a monster who through these actions cost him the right to live.

  Wolf became aware of Silver Dawn's small hand patting his back, offering consolation as only a youngster could. With trembling hands, he straightened his daughter's clothing, taking note of every rip, every tear. Bright red scratches matted with blood and dirt her bared arms and legs. It seemed no matter where he looked, patches of scrapes and bruises marred her skin. Worst of all, breaking his heart, was the blood on the inside of her thighs.

  "I told you," Silver Dawn's voice whispered in his ear, "Most of the blood is not hers." He took a shuddering breath, inhaled through his mouth to block out the stench of blood. Hands shaking, he brushed back River's hair from her forehead, tucking the loose strand behind her ear. Her dark brown eyes stared blankly, as though she didn't see him at all. Great injury could damage even the strongest warrior's mind and she was a child. Children were a treasure, a gift from the All-Father and for anyone to do such damage to a young one . . . words failed him. Bending forward, Wolf brushed his lips against her forehead in the gentlest kiss before straightened.

  "Who did this to my daughter, Silver Dawn?"

  She'd been so strong until now, standing up to him, yet now she'd brought him to his daughter she seemed to deflate before his very eyes, shrinking down, shoulders hunched, her posture reminded him of a whipped puppy. Head bowed, she no longer met his gaze directly but stared at the ground. Realizing she'd been as traumatized as his daughter though in a different way, he squatted down in front of her, tilted her chin up with one finger.

  "You are not in trouble, little one. It is good you came to me. Tell me who did this and they will pay."

  She hiccuped as she began crying, as though the dam holding her emotions in check cracked and broke everything began to pour forth.

  "We'd gone to gather berries for the evening meal. Our baskets were not full, so we walked further, where we found more. We picked many berries and got ready to go home. I had to . . ." Silver Dawn stopped as words choked her and he waited, though it nearly killed him.

  "I needed to go and she didn't, so she kept walking while I took care of my business. I hurried, I swear it, but all I found was her basket on the ground. She wasn't there—I couldn't find her!" She looked at her friend, lying beside them, still and unmoving except for the rise and fall of her chest, her eyes staring blankly off into space.

  "I looked and looked but she wasn't anywhere. So I stood really still and listened, like you taught me. Everything was very quiet. No birds sang in the trees. No squirrels or rabbits moved in the bushes. I put my basket on the ground and closed my eyes really tight—then I heard a noise. It seemed far away but I followed it. I ran and ran but I couldn't find her."

  Silver Dawn's voice broke as tears tracked down her cheeks, and Wolf reached up, wiping them away. Time was racing away. Then everything around him froze as he remembered her words of earlier. She'd killed him. The monster who'd done this to his precious baby was beyond his reach. Vengeance escaped him at the hands of this little female.

  As shaman, he was a healer of his people, but he was also a father and a strong warrior. His baby, his sweet little River, needed physical healing but Silver Dawn needed emotional and spiritual help.

  "Tell me, wahi, what happened next?"

  Silver Daw
n sniffed but continued. "There was a loud thump and cursing. A man yelped and I followed his voice. I thought maybe he could help me find River. But he had River—he slapped her and . . . she fell down. He did bad things to her, Opa. Bad."

  Roiling fury poured through him, scouring his spirit with the agony of knowledge of what his daughter had endured. But he needed her to finish. He'd grieve later for his daughter's lost innocence—for he knew even without the words spoken.

  "He didn't hear me. River screamed but he slapped his hand against her mouth. She screamed and screamed until there were no screams left."

  A pitiful mewling sound emerged from his baby and he crawled to her, clasped her delicate hands in his. So tiny. Fragile. Her eyes stayed unfocused, staring but not seeing him. Head bowed, Wolf felt the screams building deep inside but fought them back. Not now, let her finished her tale first.

  Silver Dawn's hand rested on his shoulder, attempting in her own way to comfort him when he should be comforting her. This child, barely twelve summers, knew the depravity of man now firsthand.

  "Opa, he's gone now. Dead. He will never hurt River or anybody else ever again." Throwing her long hair back over her shoulder, he saw the reddened marks encircling Silver's throat she'd hidden before.

  "Wahi, did he hurt you?"

  "I hit him really hard." She pointed to a large branch and he noted dark red wetness coated part of the underside of it.

  "When I hit him, he fell off River, onto the dirt. She wouldn't stop crying. There was blood on her legs and he had blood—down there." She stiffened as though relieving the memory.

  "He got up and grabbed me around the throat. The things he said, Opa, what he would do to me, to River . . ." Silver stopped her words trailing off. Wolf reached up and lifted her chin with a finger, meeting her eyes. He nodded for her to continue, his visage grave.

  "River wasn't the first girl he hurt, Opa. He's done this before. Remember last summer when Saria was attacked?"

  Wolf did remember. All warriors banded and searched for the man who'd raped and beaten the young girl, but no one was found.

  "He laughed when he talked about her. Said he'd hurt me too. Then River made a noise and he turned to look at her. I kicked him." Silver pointed between her legs. "Right here. I kicked really hard and he fell down. I hope it really hurt." A vicious snarl crossed her delicate face, anger radiating off her child's body.

  "I grabbed up the stick again and hit him over and over until he stopped moving. He will never hurt anybody, ever again."

  "Who did this, Silver? Tell me now!" There was no solace in these woods he loved so much. Their silence mocked him, feeding the rage building deep within. The monster who violated his daughter, stole her innocence—dead—Silver said he was dead. It wasn't enough! How do you make a dead man pay for his crimes against another?

  "It was Spotted Snake, Opa."

  No, it was impossible. How could this be? Spotted Snake grew up with him. They'd shared everything as blood brothers of the tribe.

  "Where is he, wahi?"

  "Opa, he's not important. He will never hurt anyone every again. River needs you, help her." Silver's whispered words slapped at him. Yes, his daughter needed him and he'd help her, physically and emotionally, but now he needed to find Spotted Snake, ensure he no longer drew breath on this plane.

  "Silver, where is Spotted Snake?"

  Head down, Silver pointed to a rock cropping a short distance away. Looking closer to the ground, he could see the drag marks Silver tried to cover by brushing branches across the trail. Small drops of blood decorated the ground.

  Wolf laid a kiss on River's cheek and stood. He strode past the pile of branches and sticks the girls used to cover the hidey-hole, determined to see the monster who'd destroyed his baby. Silver had pushed the body into an arroyo just past the rocks. Wolf stood looking down at Spotted Snake. Saw the blood on his head and face. The loosened breechcloth stained with blood. He also saw the shallow breaths, the rise and fall of his chest.

  He was not dead!

  Victory danced inside Wolf Who Walks. Wolf rejoiced that Silver Dawn didn't have to carry the guilt of death on her young soul. She'd saved her friend, his daughter, at great risk to herself.

  Retribution would be swift, justice served for the great family—Wolf would see it happen. First, he needed Silver Dawn and River safe.

  Wolf walked back to the two young girls, his heart heavy. A monstrous injustice to his family, his people, had been allowed to walk among them, unnoticed. Stopped by one small girl with the courage and protective instincts of a grizzly. At the risk of great personal harm, she'd protected his child from harm the best she could and with her actions prevented more children from becoming prey to the man he'd considered a brother. Much as he wanted vengeance, he'd let the warriors of the tribe exact his punishment.

  Kneeling, Wolf gently lifted River in his arms and led Silver Dawn back home.

  Chapter 1

  Denver, present day

  It's your turn, Jake.

  Cryptic words on buff-colored letterhead. The only writing other than a bold black signature scrawled across the bottom.

  Damn, even his handwriting's arrogant.

  Jake flipped over the cardboard envelope Quinton Chase had sent overnight from Destiny's Desire Lodge. Another one of Chase's infamous challenging letters along with a set of paid-in-full reservations for the upcoming weekend.

  Hell, no. There's no bloody way I'm going up to his hotel. I'm not some puppet whose strings he can pull any damn time he wants something. Jake had no intention of going to Destiny's Desire. Ever.

  Quinton Chase demanded a favor a couple of months earlier and Jake did it, but only because it helped his best friend, Ryan, deal with the pain, guilt, and grief of losing his brother. Whatever Chase did or said, it worked. Ryan returned from his stay at the lodge changed, refreshed, and more at peace than Jake had seen him in the previous two years.

  So, yeah, doing a one-time favor for Quinton Chase, sure. But what the hell does he mean, it's my turn? Could the man be more mysterious?

  Jake tossed the cardboard envelope with all its contents onto the hallway console table and strode out his front door, intent on spending the next four days doing the same thing he'd done every weekend off from the fire station; work on the renovations at the house he'd bought. A rundown fixer-upper, most decidedly in need of a lot of tender loving care, the four bedroom, nearly three thousand square foot house called to him the first time he'd driven past. He'd returned again and again over the next few weeks, unsure what to make of the pull of the house but feeling down in his gut it belonged to him. Something about the bones and architecture of the older home awoke his inner urge to create, build, and renovate the rundown place. In this depressed housing market and in its beat-up condition, the price had been too good to pass up. Jake put in an offer which the sellers accepted in a flash.

  Working on the place gave him purpose, kept him from dwelling on the past, and provided a rock solid goal for his future. Outside his work at the fire station, he felt adrift, stagnating and restless. It was past time to put down roots, make a life for himself. Seven years was a damn long time. Everything deep within him screamed it was time to start living again.

  The drive between his downtown condo and the ranch house in the suburbs of Denver took roughly fifteen minutes, and the entire way Jake's mind strayed to that damn letter from Quinton Chase.

  No, I'm not going. There's too much work to do on the house. He'd replumbed two of the three bathrooms, and was about to gut the master bathroom. Ripping everything out to the studs, the physical exertion plus the feeling of accomplishment kept him going. Hard labor kept him from driving himself insane with thoughts of what might have been.

  Why can't I get that letter out of my head? It was like a compulsion, a constant pick, pick, pick at his subconscious.

  "Damn it. Stop thinking about that freaking letter already." Grabbing his heavy duty work gloves, he slid them on and yanked har
d on the ragged drywall. Huge chunks ripped free from the framing and white dust clogged the air.

  Wait a second—what's this?

  Jake squinted, trying to make out the letters written between the wooden framing. Didn't look like measurements, or typical construction directives. It was one word. A name.

  Cassandra.

  Her name sent a chill to his bones.

  He took a step back before he caught himself, his heartbeat racing. Breath sawed in and out his lungs as if he'd just run a three minute mile. Cassandra.

  The letter he'd gotten at Christmastime mentioned her name, too. How had Chase known about Cassie? So many nights as he lay on his bunk at the fire station, he'd pondered Chase's knowledge of Cassandra. She was lost to him, gone, and he wasn't ready to open new wounds on top of the scars of the past.

  Here and now though, her name drew forth memories long buried, unfulfilled desires and wishes and dreams. He reached into the toolbox and grabbed the flashlight. Cautiously he moved to the exposed wall and shone the light through the opening.

  Written in red crayon—"Cassandra." Further down, in printed block letters was scrawled "it's my birthday, February 14, 1957" and bracketed in parentheses, "I'm seven years old today."

  Not his Cassandra. His precious Cassie. A coincidence. It wasn't an uncommon a name, after all. Tossing the flashlight back into the toolbox, he pulled free another chunk of drywall. Dust and debris floated in the air around Jake. He worked furiously, pushed himself harder and harder, using the manual labor to erase the feeling of emptiness always lurking beneath his calm façade.

  Why had Chase sent that letter?

  Jake could go for days at a time now without thinking about Cassandra and everything he'd lost when she disappeared. Seven years and everything still felt the same. The same loneliness, the overwhelming knowledge some important piece of his soul was missing. Why did the mention of her name bring everything pouring back, pulling the scab off a never healing wound?