by Diana Palmer
When he said nothing more, she ventured, “All right. I admit I was reluctant to see you. I think having a few misgivings would be the natural order of things, considering our past. It was bound to be awkward…this first meeting. It brought back memories.”
“Yes,” he said. “God, yes.”
The silence, the dark, the close confinement of the sports car crept over her like a warm cape.
“You’d better go in,” he said.
She didn’t want to go into the house, not alone. She didn’t think she could bear the silence.
Besides, she felt they might be on the verge of discovering something important about each other and about their time together before. Perhaps it was time she faced the past. “Would you like some coffee?” she heard herself ask.
He frowned as if he were going to refuse, then nodded. When he climbed out, she did the same. He removed his jacket and tie and tossed them onto the seat. They went into the dark house.
“You should leave some lights on when you go out,” he told her. “A lamp on an electronic timer is a good idea.”
“I will.” She turned on lights as they made their way to the kitchen. Once there, she started a pot of coffee. She noticed her hands were trembling when she stripped off her Windbreaker.
“Coffee cake?” she offered.
“No, thanks. I had dessert at the mayor’s house. He’s already started his goodwill campaign to win reelection.” The irony in Judd’s tone made her smile.
“Is anyone thinking of running against him?”
“Not that I know of.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” He gave her a puzzled glance, his expression once more guarded.
“You’d make a good mayor. You’re well known for your honesty. You get along with the city council.”
He gave an amused snort. “I don’t like the kind of politicking it takes to get elected. Even as sheriff, I find I can’t always say exactly what I think.”
“Yes, you’re a man of few words,” she said wryly.
She considered this statement. Judd had been a quiet man, especially about his feelings. Perhaps she should have pushed him to talk to her. Perhaps she should have made him listen when she’d wanted to explain her feelings. Perhaps…But it was too late now. As the Cheyenne said, the path of life is a one-way road.
She poured the coffee and took it to the table. He held her chair for her. He’d always been gallant. It was one of the things that had attracted her to him from the first. He was gentle with women and children, at ease with his fellow men.
When his hand brushed her shoulder, she felt a leap in her pulse rate. It was scary, the things he could still make her feel, or was that part of once having been as close as earth and air?
He sat opposite her. They drank the steaming coffee. He opened his shirt collar and rolled his sleeves back. She tried to think of something innocuous to discuss, but nothing came to mind. She wanted him, she realized.
“Why did you come back?” he asked suddenly. He sounded angry. “Why now, after all this time?”
She swallowed as emotion gathered in her throat. They’d met in June. Seventeen years…
“Frank Many Horses asked for me,” she finally said. “He wanted someone who would understand tribal ways and respect their ancestors and their customs.”
He studied her, as if wondering whether this was the truth, his dark gaze so penetrating it made her wonder at her decision to accept the case. Since she worked as a special agent, on a consulting basis only, she could have refused.
“I saw your father last summer,” Judd mentioned. “He said you were buried in your work. He was worried about you.”
This was news to her. “Why?” she asked in surprise.
“He thought you didn’t have a life outside of your studies. He said you didn’t go out much.”
“Oh.” She licked her lips. Her mouth seemed to have dried up. Little sensations spiraled off inside her. “Well, I have been busy. However, I do see friends occasionally.”
“Friends?” Judd questioned. His gaze seemed sharper.
“I do go out,” she said firmly. “Some.”
The clock in the living room ticked off the seconds as he silently absorbed this information.
Judd knew he should leave. It was dangerous to stay here in this quiet house with Tracy. She was the only female he’d ever met who could make him forget his good intentions. Hell, she made him forget the basic instincts of self-preservation.
“Some,” he repeated, hot anger going through him at the thought of the men who might have touched her. He fought the rising hunger in himself, the conviction someplace inside him that this woman belonged to him.
Not anymore, he reminded himself ruthlessly. Somehow that bright flaming passion had used itself up, like the fuel of the sun, burning itself out in a fury of intense heat.
A man would be a fool to trust those feelings again. When he’d first seen her, some gut instinct had said she was his. He’d believed it then; he knew better now.
He stood abruptly.
She did, too.
Her green eyes widened as she gazed into his. He knew what she saw. She’d always been able to read him like the front page of a newspaper when it came to passion. He cursed himself for wanting her, for thinking he needed her. He didn’t.
He didn’t need anyone. Hadn’t the last seven years proven that—eight if he counted the final, devastating year of their marriage before it fell apart? “I’d better go.”
She nodded.
Neither of them moved.
Her lips parted as if she would speak, but she didn’t.
He moved toward her. “One day,” he murmured. “One day, and I already wonder what you would taste like, how you would react to my touch if we were to kiss.”
“I—I…me, too.”
Her confession threw him further off balance. He’d expected her to deny the attraction. He’d wanted her to. Now the admission lingered in the air between them like gunpowder that might explode at any moment.
Slowly, he reached out. He almost wished she would disappear, the way a mirage would when a person tried to grab it.
She didn’t vanish.
Instead, with a sigh, she settled into his arms when he enclosed her in an embrace. Some part of him wondered what he was doing. An experiment, he decided. It was an experiment. But he had no idea what he was trying to prove.
And then it didn’t matter. His lips met hers. She made a little choked sound in her throat. He held her tighter.
The kiss burned through him, driving out everything but the need for her, fed by eight long years of starvation.
She moved her head from side to side, as if trying to deny the kiss. He slipped his hands into her hair, which felt cool on the surface, but was warm, so warm, underneath. He held her face up to his. She stopped the restless movement and stared at him.
“You mustn’t,” she whispered.
“Don’t tell me no,” he growled. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear from her. He wanted acquiescence, acceptance…response.
Tracy thought she might faint, she was so light-headed. When he framed her face with his long, sensuous fingers, she felt the tremor in them and was afraid for both of them.
They were becoming enmeshed in something neither could control. She knew she should push him away, but her hands spread over his chest. The warmth of his skin under the white shirt radiated into her cold fingers.
It seemed she’d been cold a long time.
“No,” she said, but it was a whimper of need.
His hands tugged at her T-shirt, pulling it from her jeans. Then they slipped under the material and caressed her back. His hands were large compared to her slenderness. They felt strong and capable on her flesh. And gentle…so gentle.
She’d instinctively trusted him and his touch from the first moment they’d met. It was like that all over again.
“Touch me,” he growled low in her ear, his mouth raining h
ot kisses all over her face.
She obeyed mindlessly, reaching for the shirt buttons, opening them, pushing his shirt aside so she could reach the bare flesh underneath. She pressed her nose into the rough diamond of wiry hairs on his chest and inhaled deeply.
Judd groaned helplessly. When she touched her lips to his chest, the caress was as hot as a branding iron. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her from the floor, bringing her into searing contact from lips to chest to stomach to thighs.
He placed her on the counter. She opened her legs, letting him come close, tacitly giving him permission to explore further, whether she knew it or not.
His heart leapt like a jackhammer in his chest, and for the briefest second he wondered what he was doing. And then her tongue touched his nipple, causing flames to shoot through him, burning out all other thoughts.
Tracy felt the spasm that went through Judd and experienced the wild thrill of triumph. He still went crazy in her arms. As she did in his.
He pushed her T-shirt up and unfastened her bra. The cool night air hit her breasts, then was gone, shut out by his hands as he cupped her against his palms.
His lips sought hers when she lifted her head. She saw his eyes close, felt his breath blow across her mouth, and then his mouth was on hers, demanding, exploring, seeking the passion that she’d thought was dead.
She felt his hands move, pulling his shirt free, brushing it to either side, then the controlled weight of his chest settled against hers. Flesh against flesh. Hot and wonderful and wild.
A throb started between her thighs as the hard length of his arousal pressed there. He moved against her, again…and again.
Once during the embrace—after a minute or an aeon, she wasn’t sure which—he said her name against her mouth, and his lips trembled on hers before he slipped his tongue inside.
The smooth thrust of it was a wanton replay of the many times their bodies had plunged together until she’d cried out in ecstasy.
A moan tore its way out of her, from deep inside where she was vulnerable, where emptiness demanded fulfillment, where love dwelled, all alone and in darkness.
She turned her head, her breath panting from her body. She was afraid to feel this passion, afraid of what feelings might come after….
“Trace,” he said.
There was no choice. She had to look at him.
He shook his head, and she knew he, too, was fighting the needs that drove them. She looked away.
He eased her bra into place, his hands shaking as badly as hers, and pulled her T-shirt down over her bare skin. Then he fastened his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
That surprised her. “It was both of us,” she insisted, taking her share of the blame.
She put her hands on the counter, preparing to jump down. He caught her by the waist and lifted her, setting her on her feet and making sure she was steady before he let her go.
“You’re shaking,” he said. “So am I.”
He gave a snort of laughter. The bitterness of it cut into her. She didn’t know what to say. Everything was confused.
“We overreacted to the tension,” she finally offered by way of explanation. It was the best she could come up with.
“Tension? That’s a new name for it.”
She pressed her fingertips to her temples, where a headache now throbbed mercilessly. “Don’t,” she pleaded. “Let’s forget it happened. It’s late, and we were…our defenses were down.”
He spun away from her. “Why the hell does it have to be you?” he demanded. He tucked his shirt into his dress slacks.
The harshness had returned to his face, and he looked ready to destroy something. With a low curse, he reached out and twisted the faucet handle. The steady dripping stopped.
The inane thought came to her that she probably wouldn’t be able to turn it back on.
“I’ll fix it,” Judd said. He looked around the kitchen, but apparently didn’t see anything to vent his fury on. He rubbed a hand over his face and pressed his fingers against his eyes.
Tracy realized how very tired and vulnerable he looked. She felt the same. Her throat was tight and achy now. She feared she might cry at any moment. She swallowed a couple of times. The feeling passed, but the terrible sorrow lingered inside her. She felt sorry for both of them.
“I’m going now.” He dropped his hand from his eyes and studied her. “Will you be all right?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe we’ll solve the case soon, and you can leave.”
She nodded, too weary to answer. They walked to the door.
He paused before going out into the night. “I’m sorry,” he murmured again, so low the words might have been the sighing of the wind.
Three
Judd held the door for her the next morning when he came by. She climbed into the truck. He didn’t touch her. She was grateful for that. They were both subdued, careful of each other. It was just as well. They had to maintain a distance.
During the night she had made up her mind to ignore the storm signals between her and Judd. She wasn’t nineteen anymore. She could control herself. After all, she’d had no trouble doing so in the presence of some very attractive men in California.
After a few minutes of stilted conversation they gave up talking. Tracy watched the passing scenery. In less than an hour they arrived at the reservation. Judd drove along the main road to the tribal headquarters.
At the council offices, they went inside and were directed to the conference room. A carved wooden box sat on the conference table. Sara Lewis, who, according to Judd, worked at the Native American Museum, stood on the other side of the table.
Tracy smiled and nodded to the younger woman, who returned her greeting cautiously.
A few elders of the tribe stood around to observe what would take place. At the end of the room was the tribal chairman, Frank Many Horses. The attorney, Jackson Hawk, also a tribal leader, was with him.
“Jackson!” Tracy exclaimed in pleased surprise. He was the same age as she was. They had played together when they’d both been free of the demands of education—she from public school in Missoula, he from the BIA boarding school he’d been forced to attend. “I heard you had returned.”
Jackson was as tall as Judd. His hair and eyes were black as obsidian. He wore braids tied with rawhide strips which to her looked perfectly natural with his suit and tie. His jutting nose and prominent cheekbones proclaimed his Cheyenne ancestry.
He’d gone to college on a basketball scholarship and earned his law degree after that. His lithe body proved his athletic skill; his alert gaze indicated his mental acuity.
The attorney came to her, his smile bright and warm. His welcome lifted her spirits, which needed all the help they could get, she admitted ruefully.
“Tracy, daughter of the professor who goes around asking personal questions,” he teased. His smile disappeared. “Now you’re here to ask your own questions.”
“Yes. Do you have the bones?”
He nodded. “My uncle wishes to speak with you.”
Jackson took her arm and led her to the old man, who stood at the back of the room by the council table. Judd fell into step behind them. Tracy noted the way his gaze darted from her to Jackson, as if he were assessing the situation between them.
The tribal attorney introduced her to Uncle Frank as if she hadn’t known the old man all her life.
She stood quietly, waiting for him to speak. When he did, she realized he was much older than he’d seemed the last time she had talked to him. A second heart attack had taken away some of the inner strength she had always associated with him.
The thought made her sad, as if a way of life would go with the passing of the man.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“Your father?”
“He sends you greetings. He has to finish the book with the new oral histories this summer. He’ll bring you a copy, he said.”
The thick brows, almost white now, pulled together. “Good,” he said. “That’s good.” He looked around as if tired.
A young tribal policeman pulled a chair into position. “Here, Uncle,” he said, using the honorary title. “You must rest. Dr. Hunter said we were to make sure you do.”
“Kane,” the elder snorted. “He’s an old woman.”
Tracy saw the old man was pleased at the care.
When he was seated, he motioned for the young man to bring a chair for her. When she faced him, their chairs placed so that their knees almost touched, he spoke again. “Kane needs to find a wife, as his cousin has had the good fortune to do.” He looked at his nephew in affection.
“Jackson?” Tracy inquired.
“Yes. Just last week.” The attorney smiled. For a second she glimpsed the quiet joy in his eyes. He gestured toward his uncle. “He’s turned into a matchmaker in his old age.”
Her eyes were drawn to where Judd had taken up a position against the wall while he waited for the greetings to be over and for them to get down to real business. She couldn’t tell if he was impatient with the proceedings or merely resigned.
“I wish you happiness,” she said softly.
Jackson nodded his thanks.
“You know the story of the bones?” Uncle Frank asked.
She waited a few seconds before answering in order to give the question and her response the consideration they deserved. Her summers on the reservation had taught her it wasn’t polite to jump into speech without prior thought.
“I’ve been told a little. Would you tell me again so that I may have the facts clear in my mind?”
Uncle Frank recounted the story she had learned from the initial report to the FBI and from Judd. The sequence of events was the same. After the tribal elder fell silent, she thanked him. She waited, then asked to see the evidence.
“It isn’t proper for the remains of ancestors to be despoiled by the white methods,” he said, giving her a frown that would have sent her scurrying if she’d still been a child.
“The forensic investigation,” Jackson clarified.
Tracy gazed at the floor while she reflected on this. “No test will be undertaken without tribal permission,” she promised.