Hannah's face lit up. "There are. John Riddle makes beautiful pottery, and his wife weaves baskets in the authentic Lenape fashion. There's a woman who still makes hide clothing — dresses, capes, trousers. I don't know if that's considered art, but I fear that'll someday become a lost skill. My cousin, Lisa Johnson, paints. So does Harold King. I'm sure there are others, as well."
At some time while Hannah spoke — Jenna couldn't be certain exactly when — Gage had slid his hand across the table and rested it on her forearm. The warmth of him slowly permeated her consciousness, and her gaze swung to his.
There was something unreadable in his eyes. An expression that made her breath hitch in her throat. Her mouth suddenly felt dry.
"I think a Web site is a wonderful idea, Jenna," he said.
"Oh, I think so, too." Hannah babbled on about how Jenna's project would benefit the people on the rez, evidently unaware that the temperature of the diner seemed to have increased by ten full degrees in as many seconds.
Jenna's mind had been filled to the brim with plans one moment, and completely empty and incapable of reason the next. Gage's strong, tapered fingers on her skin consumed her, and an unexpected delight flooded her being. She smiled at him, an errant thought making her wonder if he'd found her brainstorm so amazing that he'd forgotten his declaration about not wanting a relationship with her.
Just then, the bells connected to the front door jangled, signifying that a new customer had arrived.
Jenna swiveled her head and watched Hoo'ma enter the diner. The elderly woman nodded toward Jenna and Gage, approval glittering in her wise eyes.
"Hoo'ma! Welcome!" Hannah greeted the elderly woman. "You've come for lunch?"
Hoo'ma nodded, her papery eyelids fluttering in a blink.
Hannah looked at Jenna. "May I tell her about your idea?"
"Of course," Jenna told her, still wrestling with the immense internal emotions swimming in her chest, pounding in her head.
Hannah crossed the room, chattering brightly about the Web site and Jenna's inspired idea to introduce the world to Broken Bow's artists.
"I'm . . . sorry," Gage murmured, leaving his hand on her forearm but staring at the spot where his skin made contact with hers. "I saw Hoo'ma coming across the street through the front window. I thought it would be a good thing if she were to see us, you know ... as an affectionate couple."
"Of course," Jenna murmured a second time. It took her a moment to figure out just what was happening. But the instant she did, huge disappointment crashed over her.
Just a few seconds ago, she'd been unable to decipher the expression on his handsome face. But now she could clearly recognize his apprehension, his reluctance, his uncertainty. Why hadn't she been able to see it before?
"I thought this . . . demonstration —" his gaze darted again to the place where his hand rested on her forearm "— would be a good thing." Then he leveled anxious eyes onto her face once again.
"Of course," she repeated. She felt like an idiot who had only two words in her vocabulary.
"I hope I did the right thing."
He was a good guy. Hannah had said it, and she'd silently agreed. He'd been putting on a show for Hoo'ma in order to make their sham of a marriage look more legitimate. For her to have imagined there had been anything else motivating him had been stupid of her. Especially after he'd come right out and told her at the storage building that an intimate relationship didn't interest him. Well, he might not have proclaimed those exact words, but that was what he'd meant. How could she have so quickly forgotten? Why did she feel such disappointment?
He was a good guy. Jenna needed to remember that. That and that alone was the force driving his words and actions.
His being a good guy wasn't a bad thing. She wouldn't want it any other way, would she? Besides, hadn't she decided that an intimate relationship would only complicate her life?
"Of course," she whispered, uncertain if she were responding to Gage, or to her own silent, taunting questions.
Chapter Seven
Several days later, Gage suggested they pack a lunch and take a gentle horseback ride out to the far meadow. At first, Jenna had balked, fearing the idea of Lily on one of those huge animals.
"Don't worry," he'd assured her. "I have a cradleboard. And I'll carry her. She'll be fine." Then his dark eyes had narrowed. "You're not afraid to ride, are you?"
Jenna had chuckled. "Maybe a little."
He'd promised to saddle his most docile horse for her. And he'd been true to his word. With their lunch packed in saddlebags and Lily safely stowed on the cradleboard secured to Gage's broad back, they set out across the green meadow.
Riding a few steps behind him, Jenna couldn't help but notice how the worn denim of Gage's jeans molded to his thighs, or how his hips undulated in the saddle in conjunction with each step his horse took, or how he carried Lily on his strong back as if she were featherlight.
Because she understood his wish not to act on the attraction that tugged at them, Jenna had been determined to ignore it.
Sometimes, ignoring temptation was easy. Those were usually the days when Gage was busy in the stable or one of the other outbuildings. But even when he was out of the house, she found herself peering out the window, hoping for a glimpse of him even though she knew full well she shouldn't. On other days, the attraction was so strong that Jenna ended up exhausted trying to act as if it didn't exist. As if the kinetic energy between them hadn't turned the very air into a giant vortex bent on carrying them toward its mysterious yet alluring center. Unfortunately, today was one of those days.
She wondered what it would be like to smooth her palm over the hills and valleys of muscle on his bare back, skim her fingers down his spine —
She wasn't able to stifle the gasp that had lodged in the back of her throat.
"Everything okay back there?" he asked, glancing quickly over his shoulder.
"Fine. I'm fine. How much farther?"
"Not far." He reined his horse until they were side by side. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yes. I'm a little tired, and I can tell my legs are getting quite a workout."
"See the tree by the stream?" He indicated a spot ahead with a gentle jerk of his Chin. "That's where we're headed."
At the end of the twenty-or-so minutes it had taken to ride what Jenna estimated to be another mile, her thighs and buttocks were screaming. She dismounted clumsily and couldn't hold back the tiny oof that escaped her lips when her feet hit the ground.
If Gage had attempted to restrain his chuckle, he failed. He swung his leg over the saddle and descended to the grassy meadow so smoothly that Lily barely stirred. The gentle motion of the pinto had rocked her to sleep.
"I'll need some help with this." He unfastened the buckle at his chest and turned so Jenna could ease the baby off his back. "Loosen up the lacings," he suggested, "and lay her down in the shade."
While Jenna untied the rawhide cords and pulled back the soft doeskin cover that held Lily to the cradleboard, Gage busied himself unloading the food and picnic essentials from the saddlebags.
Jenna placed her niece on the blanket he spread out. "This contraption —" she leaned the cradleboard against the tree "— is just marvelous."
"Indian women in the past would use them to carry their babies around as they tended their chores or worked in the fields. It left their hands free." He unbuckled the second saddlebag and started emptying the contents. "That one was made for me by my father. I got to use it when Skye was born. Not many people continue the tradition, though. The plastic and canvas carriers they make these days are much lighter, and a lot less expensive."
"Not to mention easier to get," Jenna said. She handed him a prepackaged moist cloth. After cleaning her hands with one herself, she placed a sandwich and napkin in front of him and then served herself. "All you have to do is visit the baby department at your local variety store. How long does it take to make a cradleboard, anyway?"
"Weeks, I
'm sure. But I've never made one. My dad is very good with his hands. He can make anything."
The lightness in his tone made her want to smile. Gage liked his dad. That was clear.
Sunlight streamed through the leaves overhead, dappling the ground beneath. The brook gurgled over and around smooth stones, making delightful and calming music. He'd chosen a lovely spot for their picnic.
She poured them each a glass of cool juice from the thermos. "Speaking of family, do you mind if I ask what's going on between you and your grandfather? Hannah said the two of you weren't talking." She pinched off a corner of her bread and popped it into her mouth.
Gage unwrapped his sandwich. "I don't mind talking about it. I'm upset with Grandfather because he made my parents feel guilty for moving to Arizona. He wanted them to stay here. On the rez. But my mother's got arthritis, and the dry, warm climate there is better for her."
He bit into the ham and cheese sandwich, chewed and swallowed. "I understand that Grandfather is our shaman. And it's his job to —"
"Chee'pai?" Astonishment made her sit up straight. "Chee'pai is your grandfather?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you say something before? You knew I was butting heads with the Elders."
He only shrugged. "Wouldn't have done any good. It didn't surprise me, though, to learn that he was the main reason the Council was refusing to give you custody of Lily. He is very concerned with the tribe. He wants to keep us together. He wants things to remain the same. And although it's a noble cause, I fear it's impossible. This isn't the old days, and the old ways don't work for everyone. He hurts people with his harsh words, even though his intentions are pure."
Jenna remembered her arguments with the Elders. Chee'pai hadn't really hurt her feelings. But he'd certainly ruffled her feathers and frustrated her to no end.
"Will your grandfather attend the celebration on Saturday night?"
Gage nodded. "He will be part of the storytelling. As hard as he is, I have to admit he is a gifted orator."
"If you'd rather not attend —"
"No, no," he said, swiping his mouth with the paper napkin. "I'll go. Like Hannah said, I have to make amends sometime. And it's not as if Grandfather changed my parents' minds. They're happily settled in their new home. It's high time I set things right with him, I think."
Lily showed great timing by sleeping until Jenna had swallowed the final bit of her juicy apple. But once the baby opened her eyes, she let everyone know she was hungry and ready for some attention.
Jenna sat her niece on her bottom, opened a jar of strained peaches and started spooning the fruit into Lily's mouth.
"It's so easy to make her happy." Jenna shifted her position, stretching out her legs.
The muscle cramp in her calf made her suck in her breath. "What is it?"
"A charley horse, I guess," she said. She rested the spoon in the jar of baby food and reached down to rub her leg. Lily fussed.
Gage came to her rescue. "You feed. I'll rub."
The feel of his hands on her knotted muscle was both heaven and hell. His fingers were warm even through the fabric of her jeans, but the pain of the spasm made her frown as he massaged deeply.
"It'll go away in just a second," he assured her. "I promise."
She managed to smile through a grimace, and he chuckled. Jenna resumed feeding Lily, guiding the spoon into the baby's mouth, again and again, until she scraped the bottom of the empty jar. Lily gleefully snatched the spoon, waving it in the air like a baton and then tapping it against the sole of her sneaker. Jenna set the empty jar aside, sighing when — true to his promise — Gage finally kneaded away the knotted cramp in her calf.
"Oh, my," she breathed, "that's much better."
She leaned back, resting her weight on bent elbows. She glanced down the length of her body and their gazes didn't just connect, they melded. Desire blazed in his expression, in every tense muscle of his body.
His hands spanned her calf, although his fingers were now still. The heat of him was amazing. Even the rays of the summer sun beating down on her weren't as hot.
Her breathing quickened. So did her heart rate.
There was nothing mysterious about what tightened the air. He wanted her. That was as clear as the cloudless sky above.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
Jenna couldn't stop herself from asking, "Why do you see it as something wrong? What we're feeling is completely natural. We may not want to feel it, but we're feeling it just the same."
His features went taut.
"I should be able to control myself."
He shot to his feet then, and walked away from her. He stood at the bank of the creek and scrubbed his hand across the back of his neck.
Jenna marveled at how a fabulous day could turn bad so quickly.
It couldn't have been more obvious that he didn't want to want her. And he didn't want to talk about it, either.
Well, she'd do what she could to accommodate him.
"Gage," she called, "come on back over here. This is no big deal." That was a whopper of a lie if she'd ever told one. But if he was determined to ignore the fire between them, she would, too. "Let's clean up this mess and go back home."
The evening of the Stomp Dance, Gage made a quick stop at the outbuilding he used as a workshop before heading toward the house to shower and dress. The boxes he carried contained gifts — one for Jenna, one for little Lily. He felt self-conscious about giving them, but he intended to give them, nonetheless.
Having Jenna and her niece in his house for the past three weeks had changed his life. Changed his outlook. Changed him.
The changes were both good and . . . not so good.
He awoke each morning feeling that the day held promise. He felt bright. Eager. Content. He actually looked forward to getting up and experiencing all that was in store. He guessed what he was feeling was hope.
He hadn't felt that in a very long time. He'd once dreaded the idea of having Lily around, fearing that her presence would stir his grief for his own little girl. Instead, what he'd discovered was that Lily awakened some extraordinary memories — of hearing Skye's bubbly laughter, seeing her wobbling on all fours for the first time, smelling the baby powder-fresh scent of her after her bath, feeling her chubby little fingers curl securely around his.
In mere weeks, Lily had unearthed a treasure chest of precious moments spent with Skye that had been buried beneath a mountain of heartache and anguish. So Gage planned to give Lily a small gift to honor what she had done for him. To show his appreciation. Being so small, she wouldn't understand it, of course. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he offered her the tribute she was due.
Jenna deserved a tribute, too. For she had unearthed something in him, as well. She had exhumed a raw need in him that he'd thought he would never again experience. Not reacting to it — to her — was probably the most difficult thing he'd ever done. But he was determined to ignore the desire she sparked in him. Because he just wasn't ready.
However, the gift he carried to the house for Jenna was motivated by gratitude. The day he'd lost his family, his soul had been crushed. For a year, he'd wallowed in self-pity, in anger, in a multitude of dark emotions. Without his even realizing it, Jenna had been coaxing him out of the darkness. And for that he was thankful.
He heard music playing before he reached the house. He smiled, anticipating Jenna's excitement about tonight's celebration. She'd been looking forward to experiencing a tribal gathering. She was also eager to show the Elders her willingness to learn and participate in the culture.
He wiped his feet on the mat, pushed open the door and saw Jenna dancing around the kitchen with a laughing Lily perched on her hip. So caught up in the music and the steps, Jenna didn't even know he'd entered the house.
Her auburn hair hung loose about her shoulders, and happiness pulsed off her. Lily giggled. He stood there watching them, waving at the baby.
&nbs
p; In his mind's eye, he easily conjured an image of Mary Lynn dancing in a similar way with his precious Skye. He smiled. His heart pinched, but at the same time the memory brought him immense pleasure. It was nice being able to think about the past without being swallowed by despair.
With all his heart, he believed Jenna and her niece had made all the difference. "Hey," he greeted.
Jenna actually yipped, her eyes widening in surprise as she spun to face him.
"I didn't hear you come in," she said.
"That's obvious," he commented with a laugh. He glanced down at the boxes in his hands, then took a step forward, intent to offer the gifts before he lost his nerve. "I have something. Something for you. And Lily."
Unmitigated delight brightened her already flushed and joy-filled face. His entire body responded to her beauty; his chest went tight, his muscles tensed, and he was inundated with an amazing and permeating heat.
He looked away from her, sucking in a cooling breath as inconspicuously as possible. The instant he felt that he'd garnered control, he lifted his gaze and offered her both boxes.
Jenna accepted them, sliding her palm beneath them, but they proved too unwieldy for her to manage with one hand. She tipped her hip toward Gage and Lily automatically reached out her hands to him.
He took the toddler and Jenna took the boxes in one smooth exchange.
Immediately, Lily curled her fingers in his hair. She seemed fascinated with it and played with his hair whenever she got the chance. She was always gentle. And he didn't mind. In fact, he enjoyed feeling her tugs and twirls.
Jenna opened the smaller box, the one sitting on top, and gasped. "They're so cute," she breathed, pulling out the tiny moccasins. "Lily, look!" She lifted the doeskin booties for the baby to see. Lily clapped and then reached out for what she determined was a new toy.
"We're going to put these on your feet, sweet stuff," Jenna told her, setting the larger box on the table so she could tug off her niece's tiny sneakers and slip on the moccasins.
"I hope they fit," Gage said.
Automatically, Lily began kicking her feet joyously and peering downward to stare at her new shoes.
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