JESSE HAWK: BRAVE FATHER

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Raymond stepped forward, shame etched upon his face. "Your parents wanted to remain my friend. They begged me to understand, to give them my blessing. And I should have. They loved each other very much."

  "That means a lot to me." Jesse blinked back his tears. "I know so little about my parents."

  "They would have been proud of you." Raymond extended his hand, his eyes as watery as Jesse's. "I'm sorry. So incredibly sorry for what I've done to you and Patricia. Maybe if I'd known how you really felt about her. Maybe…"

  His voice trailed, taking the rest of his apology with it. For Jesse, it was enough. Raymond had wrestled with inner demons for far too long.

  He clasped the other man's hand, then leaned forward when he realized he was about to be hugged. It felt odd, wonderfully odd to be embraced by Tricia's father.

  Raymond stepped back a little awkwardly. "I have pictures of your parents. Would you like to see them?"

  Surprised, Jesse nodded. "You kept photos of my dad?"

  "Yes, but I can't explain why I felt compelled to hold on to them."

  Because, Jesse thought, Raymond Boyd was an overly proud, reclusive man who had mourned a lost friendship in the only way he knew how.

  Later that day Jesse waited at another door, nervous once again. He brushed at his clothes. There he stood, empty-handed, in old boots and worn denims. A man should propose in a romantic setting with a diamond ring and a bottle of champagne. What was he thinking, showing up like this?

  He glanced at the grass stains on his jeans. What if Tricia didn't want to marry him? What if she'd fallen out of love already? Maybe she hadn't missed him as badly as he'd missed her.

  She opened the door, and he stood like a scarecrow, afraid he'd trip over his own feet if he dared take a step. She looked soft and pretty in a pastel dress, a floral scent drifting around her.

  He hoped to hell he didn't smell like the hay he'd stacked that morning. Or, God forbid, like his horse.

  "Jesse," she said, "I don't think Dillon was expecting you. He's at a friend's house."

  "Actually, I'm here to see you," he managed, noting her polite tone lacked the warmth he'd come to bask in. "I was hoping we could talk."

  She touched the top button on her dress in a protective manner. "I've already said everything that I intended to say, remember?"

  Yeah, he remembered. The overwhelming loneliness had made him do strange things, like hug his pillow at night and wish the softness was her. "I just came from your dad's house, Tricia."

  Her eyes went wide. "Is everything…? You two didn't…?" She took in his down-home appearance as though checking for evidence of a scuffle. "What happened?"

  He studied the sweep of her hair, the curvaceous lines of her body, the anticipation on her face. "Invite me in and I'll tell you."

  Tricia stepped away from the door. He walked into the house and took her hand, felt it quiver in his. He decided she was nervous. Excited. Hopeful. The thought bolstered his courage.

  "Let's sit on the patio." To hell with champagne and diamonds. That could come later. He was going to make this woman his wife the Creek way, providing she'd have him.

  He chose the edge of a brick planter so they could sit beside each other, their shoulders nearly touching. Jesse turned to look at her. Elegant Tricia in her summer dress—flowing cotton and flawless skin.

  Her breath hitched. "Please. Tell me what happened."

  He held her hand and told her about the hawk at the cemetery, her father's confession, the embrace they'd shared, the emotion, the forgiveness, the burden that had been lifted from his heart.

  She listened, her eyes filling with tears. "You made everything all right. You made the hurt go away."

  "So did your dad. It wasn't easy for him." Raymond had opened a painful vein from his youth. It took courage, Jesse thought, for the other man to admit his mistakes, his loss and loneliness. "I think he really loved my mother. Letting his pain go after all these years must have been hard." He reached into his shirt pocket and handed Tricia a photograph that Raymond had given him, a gift he would treasure forever.

  "It's your parents." She touched it with reverence. "Oh, my. You look just like your father. They're beautiful, both of them."

  Yes, they were. Young and beautiful and madly in love. They stood side by side, their hair fluttering in a small breeze. His father's jet-black mane was banded into a ponytail, but several strands had blown free, indicating its length.

  "Your dad took this picture, Tricia. He's a wonderful photographer." Raymond had captured his subject, the innocence of Rebecca, the strength of Michael. The sheer radiance of love and friendship.

  Tricia dabbed at her tears. "This feels like a dream."

  He smiled. He hadn't asked her to marry him yet, hadn't told her that he'd already received her father's blessing. The dream, he hoped, was just beginning.

  Jesse tucked the photograph back into his pocket. "Wait here. There's something I need to do."

  He scouted her yard, frowned at the short-cropped lawn. He needed reeds, two tall blades of grass with jointed stems. He continued to scan the flowers and plants, and decided his ancestors would forgive him for the compromise. He chose two long, green leaves from an abundant foliage and returned to Tricia, who sat quietly with a curious expression.

  "I'm going to explain a Creek custom. It's simple, but extremely important." He pressed the leaves into the dirt, one in front of each of them. "When a Creek man chooses a bride, he builds a house and plants a new crop. I already have a home, and I intend to fill a garden with flowers that remind me of you." He swallowed his nervousness and met her gaze.

  Fresh tears glistened in her eyes. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

  He nodded, then motioned toward the leaves he'd pressed into the dirt. "All we have to do is exchange reeds. This gives the woman a chance to make her decision."

  Without the slightest hesitation, she blinked through her tears, lifted the leaf in front of her and handed it to Jesse, her acceptance true and clear. He smiled and offered her his.

  "I love you," he said. The sentiment was in his gesture, but he knew she needed to hear those three special words. Suddenly loving her had become so easy, so right.

  She clutched the makeshift reed to her chest, her voice almost breathless—a soft feminine whisper. "Are you my husband now?"

  "In the old way, yes." He still had flowers to plant, and they would both want a legal ceremony, a license to seal their bond, but they had just made a private commitment—a cherished vow beneath the sun.

  He lifted her left hand, envisioning a ring there. "My brother and his wife are coming to visit in about six weeks. That's enough time to plan a wedding, isn't it?"

  "That's perfect." In their hearts they were already married, Patricia thought, but a formal wedding would unite family and friends.

  She touched his lips, felt them open beneath hers. Beautiful, rugged Jesse. Her Creek husband. Her lover. The father of her child. The world and all its glory was hers. He had just completed her life, her soul.

  "When did you know?" she asked. "When did you know that you loved me?"

  He closed his eyes as though savoring the aftertaste of her kiss. "I'm not sure I ever really stopped. I told myself I had, but…" He opened his eyes and took her breath away. "I couldn't let you go, not completely. I kept your hair in my medicine bag because I needed to keep a part of you with me even though it hurt."

  The way her father had kept Rebecca's and Michael's pictures, she realized. "You forgave my dad so easily because you understood."

  Jesse nodded. "Your mother and my parents died within months of each other. Can you imagine the grief he suffered?"

  And the guilt. A combination that had led to an overly protective nature. Patricia didn't blame her father for having loved Rebecca in a different way than he'd loved her mother. Love came in many forms, and she felt certain her dad had been a good, caring husband. "We're going to be okay. All of us."

  "Yes, we are. And D
illon's the link that binds your family and mine."

  Patricia smiled. He was right. Dillon belonged to all of them. She looked around, thought about the wonderful changes ahead. "I won't miss this house, and I don't think Dillon will, either." Jesse's house had the wooden porch, the herb garden, the menagerie of animals that brought warmth and comfort.

  His voice turned low and heated. "I'm going to put a stained-glass window in our bedroom, just like the one that's here. It's like making love to you inside of a rainbow."

  Her knees went weak. She unbuttoned the front of her dress and brought his head to her breasts. He nuzzled, his mouth moist against her nipple.

  "I want more children, Tricia. Sweet little babies."

  "Me, too."

  "Then don't take your pills anymore." He lifted his head and kissed her.

  A soft breeze feathered his hair. She captured a strand and let it slide through her fingers. He took her hand and led her to the room that contained their rainbow.

  She undressed before him, slipped the cotton off her shoulders and met his gaze, instantly losing herself in liquid silver.

  He lowered her to the bed, to the prism of sun-washed color. She arched her neck, felt him inhale the fragrance of her skin, touch and taste and relish the woman she'd become. There was no hurry, no anxious frenzy. His nakedness covered hers, and she smiled, welcoming his weight, warmth. The love she saw alight in his eyes.

  * * *

  Epilogue

  « ^

  Patricia Hawk. The bride tested her new name in her mind.

  No, no, no. Tricia Hawk. She would think of herself as Tricia now.

  Jesse's Tricia.

  She stood beside her husband in front of the chapel where they had exchanged public vows. A thick carpet of grass surrounded the quaint little building. Red bricks made up the entryway, while a steeple provided early-American charm.

  A professional photographer gathered family and friends, placing them just so, coaxing their smiles. Tricia wore her mother's wedding dress, a long, slim-fitting gown fashioned from white satin, pearls and lace. Her father had saved the dress for this occasion, a sentimental gesture that had brought tears to Tricia's eyes. Raymond Boyd had walked his daughter down the aisle as a proud but humbled man. That, too, had triggered tears of joy.

  Jesse and Dillon, dark and handsome in traditional black tuxedos, sported simple white boutonnieres. Tricia's bouquet was made up of exotic blooms—jasmine and hothouse orchids—flowers Jesse had suggested.

  A group photo was in the works, and Tricia watched as Jesse's brother, Sky, and his wife, Windy, were directed into place. Tricia couldn't help but admire the baby in Windy's arms, a delightful child with enormous blue eyes and ringlets of black hair.

  "Can I hold Shawna for this picture?" she asked, eager to cradle the tiny girl against her.

  Jesse smiled as Shawna was transferred into his bride's arms. "Practicing?" he asked in a hushed voice.

  Tricia inhaled the gentle scent of baby powder as she adjusted the child's ribbons and bows. "We might have a girl this time," she whispered back, laughing as Shawna grabbed hold of Jesse's lapel and flashed him a toothless grin.

  Dillon, who stood in front of his father, turned back to add his smile. Young Dillon Hawk had volunteered to announce his mother's pregnancy at the upcoming reception—a secret he couldn't wait to reveal. He was going to be a wonderful big brother, she thought, kind and protective.

  No stone in their lives had been left unturned. Tricia's father had seen to that. He'd purchased the trailer park where Jesse's parents had once lived, promising to restore it in their honor, offering the current residents, including Fiona, an environment of which to be proud. Elda, Dillon's former nanny, had expressed an interest in managing the park, hoping to put her organizational skills to good use.

  They were all there, everyone that Jesse and Tricia loved, gathered close for the photographer's critical eye. Tricia looked up and spotted a hawk gliding through the heavens. She whispered a prayer of thanks and smiled for the camera.

  Her husband's guardian angel, in all its glory, had just arrived, completing the cycle of beauty and love.

  * * * * *