CHEROKEE

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  "I've been sober for eleven years."

  Somehow that didn't matter right now. What mattered was that she had become emotionally and physically involved with a man who had the same disease as her father. "How convenient that you waited until after I slept with you to tell me."

  "I tried to tell you last night. That's why I hesitated, that's why—"

  "Damn you." She gripped the armrest. Even his chivalry was fake. Somehow that hurt even more. "You had plenty of opportunities to come clean, long before last night." She had confided in Adam, told him things about her childhood she had never admitted to anyone. And he had listened, never saying a word.

  "I'm so sorry." He reached for his cup, set it back down again. "I couldn't bear to spoil what was happening between us, and I was afraid you would overreact. I'm not like your dad, Sarah. I'm sober, and I don't have the slightest desire to drink. It was just something associated with my youth."

  And he was in denial if he thought he was immune, that it could never strike him again. "The trigger could be out there, Adam. A reason, an excuse, that would make you want to drink again."

  "No way. It's not like that with me. It was a teenage addiction."

  She couldn't believe she was having this conversation with a man she'd made love with. She wanted to cry, to call herself a fool and him a bastard. All the sensuality, the warmth, the closeness from last night felt like a slap in the face.

  "I'm sorry," he said again. "I've been so guilty about keeping this from you. To some degree, I understand what you went through with your dad. My parents had a hell of a time with me."

  One of the cats mewled and stretched, then found its way onto Adam's lap. He stroked its fur absently. Sarah watched him, blocking out images of his hands, those strong, skilled hands, caressing her body.

  Unwilling to sit next to him, she took the chair opposite the couch.

  "It started during my sophomore year," he said, as she shifted in her seat. "We moved, so I had to switch schools."

  Sarah wanted to say she didn't care, but a part of her needed to hear the details, needed to hear him say them out loud. She couldn't walk away until she knew every last bit of the truth. He owed her that much.

  He continued, frowning as he talked. "It was a strange time for me. I had matured, you know, getting taller and broader. Better looking, I suppose, and girls at the new school noticed me." The cat slept on his lap, loyal and serene. "Popular girls," he added. "The really pretty ones the jocks usually claim."

  The betrayal stabbing Sarah's heart came back tenfold. Pretty girls. This wasn't what she wanted to hear. "So how did that lead to drinking?"

  "I got invited to the in-crowd parties, and I wanted to fit in. No one pressured me, but everyone else was doing it. And it felt good hanging out with the popular kids."

  "So you overindulged?"

  "Yeah. And it was so unlike me, such a contradiction to how I had been in the past. But I was overflowing with testosterone and going through a rebellious period. Suddenly I was tired of doing homework and abiding by my parents' rules."

  Sarah couldn't relate. Her teenage years had been spent trying to keep her father from adding vodka to his orange juice in the morning and blubbering lame apologies at night. She had craved the normalcy Adam's parents had provided, the parental discipline that had been their right.

  "At first I only drank on weekends," he said. "And I would come home after my mom and dad were already in bed."

  She took a long, aching breath. "When did your parents figure out what was going on?"

  "When it progressed. When I got caught swiping a pint of whiskey from a local market." He looked up from the cat. "My folks had been nagging me about my flippant attitude and the hours I was keeping, but they didn't know I was drinking before school." He rolled his shoulders, his voice tight. "But then I wasn't stumbling around drunk. Most of the time I was just catching a buzz to get through the day."

  The image he'd painted made her ill, but she continued to listen.

  "My parents threatened to send me away to one of those schools for troubled teens. But instead, I agreed to see a drug-and-alcohol counselor and participate in family therapy. I was sure I could con my way through that."

  "And did you?"

  "Not really, no. My counselor wasn't easily fooled. And by then, neither were my parents."

  She thought about all the times her father had duped her. "I'm glad your mom and dad didn't let you take advantage of them."

  "I know. But I did change. Eventually I sobered up for good, and I began looking forward to college, to making something of myself. Holistic medicine was a natural transition. I needed to live a clean life, and I was already experimenting with herbal remedies." He trapped her gaze. "I haven't taken a drink in over eleven years, Sarah. And I'll never go down that road again. I'm not a rebellious teenager anymore."

  How could he be so sure? Plenty of alcoholics went through long periods of sobriety. There was no guarantee.

  "I have to go. I don't want to be late for work." She stood, wishing she wasn't wearing his clothes. She needed to wash his scent from her body, push away the lingering memory of his tenderness.

  Once again, a man she cared about had taken advantage of her heart. Only this time, it wasn't her father. It was Adam Paige. Her supposed friend. Her handsome, attentive lover.

  * * *

  Five days passed, and Sarah insisted she didn't care. She hadn't contacted him, either. She didn't want a relationship with a man she couldn't trust. And it wasn't as if she was deliberately staying home, sitting by the phone. She rarely went out after work. She hadn't changed her schedule, intending to be available for another I've-been-sober-for-eleven-years apology from Adam.

  Carrying her dinner into the living room, she picked up the remote control and turned on the TV. Since she couldn't concentrate on a program already in progress, she chose a music channel, hoping to immerse herself in pop tunes.

  The moment she cut into her chicken, the phone rang. She stared at it, debating whether to answer it. When she finally placed her hand on the cradle, she decided that if it was Adam, she would tell him she was busy.

  "Hello?"

  "Sweet Sarah."

  The nickname caught her off guard, but she did her best to hold her ground. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you. I was just getting ready to have dinner."

  "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you. I just wanted to tell you that Cameo had her kittens. God, Sarah, they're so amazing."

  Once again, she was caught off guard. He sounded like a proud papa, his husky voice filled with awe. "How many?" she asked.

  "Eight. They kinda look like little rats at this point, but Cameo thinks they're pretty special."

  And so did he. She suspected the cat had given birth in his room, maybe even on his bed. "Congratulations," she said.

  "Thanks. Will you come by and see them?"

  Suddenly, saying no didn't feel like an option. She wrapped her dinner in aluminum foil and slipped her feet into a pair of sandals. Who could refuse to visit a litter of kittens? Certainly not a woman whose empty apartment was crying out for a pet.

  Adam answered the door with a cautious smile, and seeing him again set off a primitive reaction, tightening her nipples beneath a simple cotton bra. His hair was banded into a ponytail, and a blue T-shirt clung to his chest, but she knew what he looked like naked with his hair flowing over his shoulders.

  "The kittens are in my room," he said.

  In spite of their awkward reunion, Sarah melted. A wooden box sat in a secluded corner. But not just any box. This one had been customized with a nest of cloth strips and a makeshift curtain.

  "I put this in the laundry room weeks ago, but Cameo wouldn't go near it until I moved it in here." They knelt in front of the box, and Adam opened the curtain a little more. "Sarah came to see your babies," he told the cat in a soft voice.

  Cameo meowed in response, and Sarah peeked in. The new mother lay on her side, and the kittens eith
er nursed or slept in a huddle. They came in a variety of colors, including black, white, gray and combinations thereof.

  "Were they born today?"

  He nodded. "I called you as soon as I knew they were all okay. I had to help a little. She had three of them so close together, that she seemed to be struggling to get to all of them in time. One of them didn't look like it was breathing, so I cleaned the membrane from its face and cut the cord." Adam sat back on his haunches. "I hated to intervene, but I didn't know what else to do. I was afraid she might reject it after that, but she didn't. She seemed grateful for the help."

  "Then apparently you did the right thing. You know, I was thinking about getting a cat. A kitten." And now she wanted the one he had saved. "My house gets pretty quiet. I could use the company."

  "That's great. I'd love for you to have one. In six weeks you can have the pick of the litter."

  "Thank you."

  So polite, she thought. So proper. His bed was a few feet away, but they were acting as though they hadn't made love, hadn't rubbed and kissed and put their hands all over each other.

  "Do you want a male or a female?" he asked.

  "I'm not sure," she said, wondering about the one he had saved. "I guess I can decide later."

  "That's fine with me." He sent her a lopsided grin. "Because I don't have the slightest idea how to sex kittens. It's not real obvious, like with puppies."

  "Or humans," she said, feeling warm.

  "Yeah, them, too." His smile faded, and they stared at each other.

  The secluded corner was much too confining. Their knees brushed, an innocent touch that had Sarah fumbling for something to say.

  The windows were open, but nothing stirred. Nothing but the tender sounds coming from the nursery box. Kittens mewling and suckling.

  "I should go," she finally managed, pulling herself to her feet.

  He followed suit, but they didn't get far. They made it to the hallway before they stopped, their eyes drawn like magnets. When he moved closer, she had to tell herself to breathe.

  "I thought about calling you so many times," he said, his voice tinged with emotion. "I wanted to go to your house, visit you at work. Tell you over and over again how sorry I am."

  Her heart pummeled her chest. "Then why didn't you?"

  "Because I was trying to give you some space." There was less than an inch between them now, and the air she struggled to breathe was as thick and humid as a summer night. The hallway was dim and narrow, but suddenly it seemed like the most sexual place on earth. How could this be happening? How could she still be attracted to him?

  "Don't ever deceive me again," she said.

  "I won't."

  He moistened his lips, and a shiver streaked down her spine.

  "Sarah?"

  "Yes?"

  "Are we still friends?"

  She knew she should say no. Erasing Adam from her life was the safe, sane thing to do, but she couldn't let him go.

  Not completely. "Yes."

  "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

  He skimmed her cheek, her jaw, the curve of her neck. They were close, so close their lips were nearly touching, nearly meeting in a kiss that would melt like honey and sizzle like fire.

  Drawing strength from the ache in her chest, from the memory of being wounded, Sarah stepped back, away from Adam, away from the warmth, the heat, the sensuality of his caress.

  No matter how much he stirred her blood, she couldn't take the chance of losing her heart, of letting him hurt her again. His past made him too much of a risk.

  "We can be friends," she said. "But not lovers. What happened between us was a mistake."

  No, it wasn't, Adam thought, as Sarah crossed her arms. Making love, holding each other, feeling warm and tender—that wasn't a mistake.

  "I understand," he told her, knowing he couldn't push the issue. Sarah struggled with intimacy, and he had blown her trust by deceiving her. And now, he supposed, he seemed dangerous in her eyes. A Cherokee with a history of alcoholism. He had two major strikes against him, but damn it, he couldn't change his past or the Native blood running through his veins.

  At least she had agreed to remain friends. Adam couldn't bear losing her for good. And if they spent enough time together, Sarah would see him for the true person he was. Wouldn't she?

  "Do you want to cheat?" he asked.

  "What?" She blinked, then stared at him with a confused expression.

  "Cheat. You know, eat something sweet. I bought some chocolate éclairs yesterday."

  "You did?" She tilted her head. "Why?"

  "Just in case you decided to forgive me." And because he had fantasies about her mouth, about watching her eat something rich and creamy. He couldn't seem to get her out of his system, and his urges had been going from sinful to soft in a heartbeat.

  Sex. Summer seductions. A house in the country. Dark-eyed, dark-haired babies.

  All of it involved intimacy, and all of it involved making love with Sarah. The idea of needing her so badly scared him, but he couldn't let go. They deserved a chance to explore the emotions that had begun to unfold, the attachment that could make a difference in their lives.

  He reached for her hand, breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't pull away. "So, are you up for a chocolate binge, sweet Sarah?"

  She gave him a nervous smile. "I guess so. I mean, you already bought the éclairs. There's no point in letting them go to waste."

  "Good." He led her to his kitchen, and when she stood near the window, he saw a beautiful, beguiling woman.

  Her cheekbones caught the light, and her hair cascaded to her waist, as sleek and compelling as nightfall. Everything about her looked exotic, especially the shape of her eyes. They tilted at the corners, giving her a bewitching quality.

  Yes, Adam thought. That was the description that fit the way he felt.

  Sarah Cloud had bewitched him, lulled him into a quiet, confusing enchantment.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  Sarah agreed to spend Sunday afternoon with Adam. It was their day off, and the sun shone bright and pretty. He hadn't told her what they'd be doing, but he'd said it would be a casual outing.

  She sat across from him in his Jeep, the wind blowing through her hair. He drove like most Californians—fast and aggressive. There was a time when freeways made her nervous, but she had gotten used to the quick lane changes and congested traffic.

  He exited on a winding off-ramp that took them into an area showcasing equestrian shops and exclusive ranch homes.

  "Come on, Adam. Where exactly are we going?"

  He stopped at a red light and grinned. "To look at the paint I'm going to buy."

  "You ride?" She didn't know why that surprised her. He certainly looked the part with his sexy-fitting denims and golden skin.

  "I've been riding since I was a kid," he said. "I had a horse up until I got into trouble. And then, well, things sort of changed after that."

  With silent understanding, she nodded. His drinking had interfered with the simple pleasures of life. "Where did you board your horse?" she asked, knowing he had grown up in a suburban neighborhood.

  "At a facility not far from here."

  "And is that where you're going to board this new horse?"

  "Yep. For a while, anyway." He turned onto a street that led to the hills. "Eventually I plan to buy my own place. As many acres as I can afford. I've always wanted to have horse property."

  They passed a fancy stylized home, displaying an attractive barn, a riding arena and a hot walker. Sarah raised her eyebrows. "You don't plan on buying around here, do you?"

  Her question made him laugh. "Are you kidding? I have same money, but I'm not rich." Soon his laughter faded, his voice serious. "I inherited a fair amount from my parents. But even with the investments I've made, it's not enough to buy a ranch in this area. We're talking millions to live here."

  A gust of warm air tousled Sarah's hair. She pus
hed the flyaway strands away from her face and reached for the bottled water they had brought along. "Then where are you going to go?" She knew there was more affordable acreage in California, even if most of it was desert.

  He turned to look at her. "I was thinking Oklahoma."

  A knot formed in her stomach. "You've never even been there."

  He stopped in front of a large estate and killed the engine. "I know, but it seems like the only thing I have, the place where I'm supposed to be. California hasn't felt like home for a long time, Sarah. I've stayed because I didn't know where else to go."

  "What about your job?"

  "I can always find work. I'm good at what I do, and there are people who follow the holistic path everywhere. There has to be a clinic in Oklahoma that would bite me." He leaned his head against the seat. "I just don't think I can handle living in California much longer."

  Not now that he knew he had been born in Tahlequah, she thought. Knew that he might have family in Oklahoma. "I guess taking that trip will help you decide."

  "Yeah, especially if I find my mom." He skimmed her hand. "I wish you would agree to come with me. I don't want to go alone. I really need you there."

  "I—" Panic welled in her chest, hard and fast and shaky. Her heartbeat stumbled and tripped, then bounced back with thundering beats. Going home scared her, and so did the fact that he had just told her that he needed her. "I can't think about this now."

  "Okay." He turned to gaze out the window, his profile strong and strikingly chiseled. "It's still over a month away. I won't push you."

  Because her heart was still thundering, she drank small sips of water, battling jittery nerves. "Why are we parked here? Is this where your new horse is?"

  He nodded. "I gave the current owner a deposit."

  "So you're paying off the balance today?"

  "Yep."

  He turned toward her, and she wondered if he would actually find his mother in Oklahoma. And if he did, would he discover that his alcoholism was genetic?

  They exited the car and headed toward the barn. The woman who greeted them was tall and fashionably slim, with short blond hair and an aristocratic face that had been aged a little too early by the sun. She looked wealthy and well bred, a lady born to the California equestrian set.