Healing Trace

by Kayn, Debra

  "Oh, Trace." She wiped his face free of tears.

  "I slipped off of him, and he hesitated long enough to make up his own mind. You see, we'd bonded in a way I can't even explain but in the end, I knew I couldn't ask him to give up his life for me and I told him to go." He blew out his breath. "Before he reached the herd, a mare broke off from the group and ran to meet him. It was his mate. This whole time, he only fought me because he had someone to love waiting for him. He knew the best way to make his way back into her life was to conform to the rules I set."

  Trace stared down into her face. "I will battle my past, Joan, just like Thunderbolt. I'm seeking help, and I know I have a ways to go yet, but I want you in my life. I love you. I don't want the evil parts of my past to win over the humility, kindness, and truth that is inside of me. For the first time in my life, I want to be a better man. Not for you. Not for Thunderbolt. Not for some doctor who knows the right words to say. I want to be worthy of accepting your love and giving you my love in return."

  She remained in his arms. Her hands shook as she stroked his face. "Say it again."

  "I love you, Joan O'Hanlon." He kissed her lips softly.

  She sobbed. "Again."

  "I love you."

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him back deeply. "I love you too, and I'll spend every second making sure you know I do."

  Before she could manage to wrap her head around what was happening, he'd gathered her up in his arms and sat down on the edge of the bed. A slow, delicious ache fluttered to life inside her, and she ran her hands over his broad shoulders.

  He made a low sound and deepened the kiss, his mouth soft yet purposeful on hers, and she forgot about being shut in the room while the others were outside probably wondering where they'd disappeared. The frustrations of the last few weeks melted away with each swipe of his tongue.

  He was strong, gorgeous, and hers. She relaxed around him, leaning against the strong wall of muscles. She basked in the knowledge that their love would grow and blossom as they both let go of their insecurities and trusted in one another.

  Trace had her wet and wanting with one incredible kiss. She shivered as his mouth explored hers, caressed it, not missing a spot. He used exactly the right pressure to make her squirm for more, not too hard, not too soft, but persistent and in control, turning her bones to liquid, and setting her insides to fluttering.

  She'd been so worried. Positive they had no chance at a relationship. Instead he'd come to her with the sweetest, most sincere declaration of love she'd ever heard. Not only was he better than a knight coming to rescue her on a white horse, he was caring and good.

  So wonderful, he'd let his white horse go free, so he could come back to her.

  He knew how to touch her, and she readily lay down on the bed as he peeled her swimsuit off her. The air brushed her sensitive breasts, and she reached for him.

  "Hang on, beautiful." He kissed her and hurried into the connecting bathroom for a condom.

  He returned in seconds, and she helped him roll the protection on his hardness, and then pulled him on top of her. "I wish we had all night to love each other, but I've been without you for too long. I want you now, Trace. Love me."

  At last, when she thought she would explode from anticipation, he entered her slowly, sliding inside her inch by magnificent, wonderful inch.

  She clutched him to her and closed her eyes, wanting to burn every sensation into her memory. Heat cascaded through her. With a groan, he captured her mouth in a swift kiss, muffling her moan.

  Together they moved as one, touching, grabbing, holding, taking, and giving. She rose to meet him eagerly, as the room started to dip and spin and all she could do is wrap her arms around his neck and let him take her over the edge. She gasped his name, and climaxed. He quickly followed and found his own release.

  Neither of them seemed to want to get up from the bed. She loved the feel of his hard body against her, and she smiled at the sound of his racing heartbeat against her ear.

  Trace rubbed her back. "Thank you."

  She propped her head on her hand. "Thank you for everything you've done. I never expected you to go to such great lengths to show me how much I mean to you, but I'm glad you're feeling better about everything and I'm happy you've found a doctor you're comfortable seeing."

  "I had to do it for myself too." He kissed her nose. "You showed me that."

  The door rattled as banging filled the room. Joan jumped up, grabbing her swimsuit.

  "Trace!" Devon's voice boomed.

  "Hang on." He stood and scooped his shorts off the floor.

  "Hurry…its Savannah. She needs you."

  "Oh, my God." Joan snapped her straps up on her shoulder and ran to the door, but Trace beat her there.

  "What's going on?" He ran down the hallway, following close behind Devon.

  Devon grabbed the truck keys off the end table. "All I know is Joe called here and said there was a huge explosion at Savannah's house. The whole place went up in flames. He said you'd wanted him to call if anything happened, and then he said he had to go help and hung up."

  Brody shoved a pile of clothes and boots in Trace's arms, while Katie handed Joan the sundress she'd packed in her bag to use as a coverup. She squeezed Katie to her.

  "I've got to go with Trace. Stay here." She threw the dress over her head.

  "I'll stay with her, Joan." Devon put his arm around Katie, who started to cry. "Call us when you can."

  Joan turned to Trace. His mouth set in a hard line. She waited for him to slip on his boots, and then grabbed his hand, and ran toward the front door.

  "Do you think she's okay?" She ignored the stones in the walkway digging into her barefeet.

  "I hope so." Trace lifted her into the truck, and climbed in afterward. "I hope so," he murmured again.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Devon negotiated the road at top speed, but the twenty-minute trip from Lakota ranch to the reservation seemed to take hours to Trace. The truck squealed around the corner, barely missing the fence at the entrance into the reservation. Sirens warned him that the fire trucks were already at the scene of the explosion.

  Then he saw the black billowing smoke wasn't coming in the direction of the abandon house Savannah stayed in when she sought safety, but came from the east, in the direction of her father's home. He let go of Joan's hand and leaned forward.

  He had never felt his heart pounding so hard as when he leaped out of the truck and ran for the burning house. Someone grabbed him, but he pushed the man aside and continued toward the structure until the heat drove him back.

  "Savannah!" He paced back and forth trying to see through the smoke and flames.

  The fully engulfed house crackled like dry cedar. He yelled Savannah's name again. Answer me, dammit!

  A small explosion rocked the area. Trace heard Joan scream from somewhere nearby.

  Seconds later, she was there beside him, pulling him back. "Come on, the fireman are carrying someone out the back."

  He ran around to the side of the house. Scared and in shock, he blindly fought through the crowd. Why were they all standing around? Savannah needed help.

  Three firefighters carried a charred body to a nearby stretcher. Trace slammed to a stop, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees. The contents of his stomach rose.

  He reached out, trying to stop the men from taking the gurney. "No. No. No."

  Joan tugged at his shirt, pulling him back. "Trace. Look! It's not Savannah. It's too big."

  The bundle, blackened beyond recognition, was the body of a full grown adult. Hope rose in Trace. It wasn't Savannah.

  He grabbed the heavy coat of one of the firefighters. "There's a little girl…did she make it out?"

  The fireman shook his head. "We didn't find anyone else."

  "You've gotta go back in there. She might be hiding. She's small, and likes little spaces where no one can find her."

  The fireman handed the casualty
to someone else and blocked Trace. "No way, mister. It's a furnace in there. The last explosion swept through the entire house. We're going to get control of the fire, and let it burn out. Then we'll investigate. Right now it looks like the house was being used as a meth lab."

  "Shit." Trace fisted his hair.

  He stared at the scene in front of him. Blocking out the sirens, the commotion, and the noises from the community as they stood back and speculated on what happened. He turned to Joan.

  "I need to go check the abandoned house. Maybe she wasn't home." Trace held her hand as they ran for the truck.

  They left the crowd, and sped down the bare back streets. He slammed on the brakes in front of the shack, jumped out of the truck, and approached the house at a run.

  "Savannah! Open up. It's me Trace." He banged on the door and waited. "Iyokipi Ayu Pte Miye!"

  When no one came to the door, he let himself in. He wanted to recoil from the smell. With no running bathrooms, the children used whatever was available. Afraid Savannah hid, he searched every spot. Nothing.

  Where could she have gone? He left the house. He couldn't allow himself to believe Savannah was caught in the explosion. Not Savannah. She was a survivor.

  Joan stood in the yard, hugging her waist. "She's not there?"

  "I don't know where she would be, unless…" He shook his head.

  He couldn't even make himself say the words. Savannah trusted him, and he'd promised her he'd help keep her safe. He should have been here. If I'd never left the reservation…

  Before heading back to the scene, Trace left the truck parked outside the rundown house and scoured what was commonly called Poverty Lane. At one time or another, each house had occupants that neglected the upkeep or left the reservation entirely. He didn't stop until he stood in front of the overgrown mess that used to be his father's house. Long ago abandoned, and crumbled from the prairie winds.

  There was something else pulling him toward the house, something dark and heavy that took him back to when he was a boy, and the evil wanted to hurt him. Trace didn't move.

  For some reason, he thought of Joan as he stared at the shattered front window. He remembered the first time she'd placed her hand so gently inside his. That small, simple human contact had broken the shield he'd placed around his heart so many moons ago. She reminded him of a deep need he'd buried when he was six years old and lived in a house of terror.

  He blindly reached out to his side without taking his gaze off the house, testing to see if she was here with him now. Her fingers slipped inside his hand and anchored him to the spot. He shuddered. His father couldn't hurt him anymore. Joan was here.

  Even now, he couldn't get his head around the kind of vindictiveness, the malice that it would take for someone to harm an innocent child. He never understood the cruelness in his own father. Even as an adult, he still couldn't understand the motives behind the abuse. Was it hate? Resentment? Control?

  It was beyond him. He simply couldn't comprehend the mind of any man possessed with evil.

  "Let's go back to the house. Maybe someone can tell us more." Joan tugged his hand and pulled him back down the street. He climbed into the passenger side of the truck.

  She started the engine. "Until we know anything, let's be positive. She's used to running around unsupervised. She might not have been home."

  Arriving back at the scene and viewing the devastation again, Trace had a sinking feeling he'd never see Savannah again. He walked around the crowd, questioning, demanding answers, and curbing the desperation flooding his thoughts. Everyone he spoke with at the scene had no idea where the little girl could be, but in the house where she belonged.

  Joe had told him that Savannah's dad had come home yesterday, and even Joe hadn't seen Savannah running in the shadows of the reservation. Trace ran his hand through his hair. Joe was his backup when he wasn't at the ranch. He would know if Savannah had needed help.

  "That's it. We're marking off around the house. Back up." The fire chief tossed a roll of yellow banner tape to one of the firemen. "This area has being quarantined until we're able to get a hazmat team in here to clean out the house, and start an investigation."

  Trace stood in the road. He wanted to kill Savannah's dad. Wake the bastard up from the sleeping, and choke the life out of his evil body again. He balled his fists. Trace had no idea the guy was making meth in the house that Savannah lived in.

  "Trace?" Joan tugged him out of the way. "Let's go to the clinic and sit down. I'll get you something to drink, and we'll think about what needs to be done next."

  He allowed her to drag him up the road to Hope clinic. Numb and grieving, he sat in the waiting room with his head in his hands. He should have done more. He'd promised Savannah he'd always be here, and he let her down.

  ***

  "I'm going in the back to get you some ice water." Joan ran her hand over the back of his head and then slipped down the hallway, afraid of leaving him.

  Her heart was breaking for Savannah and Trace. Even in the small amount of time she'd spent around Savannah, she'd fallen in love with such a resourceful and caring girl. Savannah reminded her of Trace in so many ways, and she'd be the first to admit she agreed to take the job at Hope Clinic in the belief that someday she could help Savannah escape her abusive childhood.

  What happened today should never have happened. Savannah was an innocent, beautiful kid in an ugly world, which no one could ever understand.

  She stood beside the sink and cried, for a lost hope, and for everyone touched by Savannah's plight.

  "Hello?" A soft voice came from behind her.

  Joan turned around in the lunchroom. She covered her mouth and muffled her cry. Sitting on the floor between the filing cabinet and the wall was a dirty, but very alive, Savannah.

  Not wanting to frighten her, Joan walked slowly toward Savannah and kneeled down in front of her. "Oh, Savannah, am I glad to see you," she whispered. "Are you okay?"

  "Trace…said t-to come to h-his woman." Her chin dropped to her chest. "I don't want my father to find me."

  "Oh, honey." She sat on the floor in front of her, wanting to touch her, stroke her hair, and crush her to her chest but knowing she couldn't. "You're safe here. You did a very, very smart thing by coming and finding me."

  Savannah's expression never changed. Despite the dirt and grime covering her clothes and face, Savannah sat hunched, staring at her bare knees, a ghost of the child Joan saw smiling with Trace on occasion. Joan stroked Savannah's arm lightly, testing her reaction.

  "In fact, I know Trace is going to think you did a brave thing today." Joan sucked her lips between her teeth and bit down to keep from crying. "Would it be all right if I carry you to Trace? I really think you'd both enjoy seeing each other right now."

  Savannah nodded, and Joan's breath hitched in her chest. How many times had Trace remained silent during all her questions, and merely nodded his head. You're going to be perfectly fine now, Savannah. I promise you.

  With Savannah clinging to her neck, Joan walked back to the waiting room. She stopped in the middle of the room, but Trace still sat with his head in his hands staring into nothing. Lost in his grief, he didn't hear her approach.

  "Trace," she whispered. "There's someone here who would like to see you."

  She sat Savannah on her feet, and Trace slowly raised his head. Shock and disbelieve covered his face. He opened his arms, and Savannah crawled up in his lap. He sat silently, holding Savannah tight while gazing up at Joan with all the love in the world shining in his eyes.

  She nodded her head, and let the tears fall silently. Sometimes words were unnecessary.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The little bit of food Trace managed to eat at lunch warred inside of him. He inhaled another deep breath in an attempt to still his upset stomach. In the last week, he and Joan had gotten married by the judge at the courthouse in Durham, blessed by the chief of the Lakota, and filed adoption papers with the elder council members in t
heir attempt to bring Savannah home to Lakota Ranch.

  He'd barely been able to settle down into some sort of routine at the ranch again, when Devon announced the final meeting with the elders was in two hours. Bile burned his throat. So many hearts were on the line. Trace wasn't saying much, but he suspected everyone knew his feelings about leaving Savannah at the reservation.

  Katie talked nonstop about having a little sister, and a bond had been created instantly when they met, despite the age gap. Joan reached out and smoothed Katie's hair over her back, and he wanted to gather them both up in his arms and keep them safe.

  For all the excitement and nerves floating around the room, he was glad they were all together. He'd fallen apart, and without the wonderful support system on the Lakota Ranch, including his wife and sister in law, he found the strength to stand strong.

  "Are we done yet?" Trace stretched and laid his arm across Joan's shoulders.

  "Not quite." Devon passed another paper across the counter. "One more paper to sign, and then we'll have everything documented."

  "Do you think we've done enough?" Trace scribbled his signature and passed the sheet to Joan.

  She wrote her name. "What happens if the elders decide Savannah's better off living on the reservation?"

  "Then she'll go to a family that has room for her. The Blacktails have already stated that Savannah is welcome to stay with them until another family can take her permanently. They have no plans to adopt Savannah, and it's only right…they are getting older." Devon stood.

  "Dumbasses," Katie mumbled. "Who could tell a child they weren't wanted?"

  "Please don't cuss once we get to the reservation." Joan handed the paper back to Devon.

  "You okay, Trace?" Brody squeezed Trace's shoulder.

  "Yeah." He fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. "I just want today to be over."

  "We're all going to be there for you both." Devon picked up the car keys from the middle of the table. "No matter what happens."