CHEROKEE

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Her name was Carol, and she was the divorced mother of two college-age daughters. Carol also appeared to find Adam attractive, but that didn't surprise Sarah because females of all ages and lifestyles were drawn to him. Unfortunately, Sarah found herself admiring him, too. He stood tall and broad-shouldered, his body hard and lean and muscular, the sun playing off his hair, highlighting various shades of brown.

  The horse he had chosen, a sorrel overo paint, was as striking as the man. And it was a mare. She had expected it to be a gelding, but Adam had bought himself a gentle-eyed female.

  "We call her Cee-Cee," Carol told her. "It was our nickname for Sienna's Pride."

  The mare, Sarah also learned, had belonged to Carol's oldest daughter and was primarily used as a trail horse, which was exactly what Adam wanted.

  "He'll take good care of her," she said.

  Carol motioned to the stall and smiled. "Yes, I suspect he will."

  Sarah turned to find Cee-Cee nuzzling Adam's neck like a long-lost lover. Even the horse had developed a crush on him.

  * * *

  Within three weeks, the kittens had grown into eight little balls of adorable fluff. Some were developing faster than others, and Sarah's favorite, of course, was the most independent one. She named him Groucho because he had black slashes above his eyes that looked remarkably like big, animated eyebrows. He was also the baby Adam had saved, and that made him even more special.

  Sarah and Adam sat on the floor in his room, the kittens stumbling around their feet. Groucho wandered in another direction, but Cameo latched onto him and dropped him back into the thick of things. The mama cat kept her eye on everyone, including the humans playing with her young brood.

  Adam glanced up and said, "Groucho could be a girl, you know."

  "No way." She reached for her favorite kitty. "Look at that face. This one's definitely a boy."

  He grinned. "It's got nothing to do with faces, sweetheart. It's the other end that counts."

  "Smart aleck." She turned Groucho over in her palm and rubbed his belly. The kitten batted his tiny paws in response. "Maybe it's time we tried to figure this out. Where's that book you bought?"

  Adam made his way to the nightstand and retrieved the book. When he returned, he flipped through the pages until he came to the breeding section. "Determining the Sex of Your Kittens," he announced, then read the paragraph to himself and regarded Groucho with a perplexed expression. "We're supposed to elevate his tail and view him from the rear. If he's a male, his … um … area is supposed to be lower than a female's, and it says you should be able to feel his—" he made a face only a man could make at a time like this and finished his sentence, "—testicles."

  Biting back a smile, she handed him the kitten. "Here. You can do that."

  "Gee, thanks."

  Groucho didn't seem to mind the examination. If anything, he looked amused. Sarah could have sworn his eyebrows waggled.

  Adam's expression didn't change. During the procedure, he kept that uncomfortable look on his face. Somehow that made Groucho's comical eyebrows even funnier.

  Sarah coughed to cover a giggle, and Adam shook his head.

  "I'm feeling around for testes, and you're laughing."

  "Sorry. Couldn't help it."

  "Yeah, well, I'm not getting this. I think I need to compare kittens. Maybe find a female first."

  Sarah lost the battle to remain serious, and soon her giggling had Adam laughing, too. But even through their silly fit, he finally figured out what he was doing. Groucho, he discovered, was indeed a boy.

  "Told you." Sarah beamed and kissed the top of the kitty's head. "He's a regular little stud."

  "Yeah, I guess he is."

  The mama cat decided the visit was over when most of her babies started bumping into her, insisting it was time to nurse. Adam and Sarah rounded up the kittens and placed them in the nursery box, leaving Cameo alone with them.

  "Come on," he said. "Let's go fix a snack."

  They entered the kitchen, and she leaned against the counter. "So what are we going to make?"

  He washed his hands and turned back to face her. "Fry bread."

  Sarah was startled. She had no idea Adam was familiar with fry bread. "I don't know how to make it," she said, which was more or less the truth. She had never actually prepared it herself. And just the smell alone would remind her of the intertribal powwows her mother had loved to attend. She wasn't up for a painful trip down memory lane.

  "I have a recipe," he said. "And I bought everything we need yesterday."

  "As far as I know, fry bread is a Navaho dish," she said. "So if you're looking for a Cherokee experience, this isn't it."

  "Really? Well, I got the recipe from a Cherokee newspaper, so that's good enough for me. Come on, Sarah. You know what a lousy cook I am. I can't do this without you."

  Further argument was pointless. Adam was already gathering the ingredients. Sarah washed her hands and dried them on a paper towel, telling herself it was only a snack. It didn't have to remind her of lost dreams and faraway powwows. She could separate the past from the present.

  A persistent cat meowed at the back door, so she answered the summons while Adam searched for an appropriate frying pan. She knelt on the tiny porch and placed a bowl of dry cat food on the bottom step. The feline was a war-torn tom who never came into the house. He wouldn't let anyone touch him, but he wasn't too proud to accept a free meal now and then.

  She watched him, wondering if he was the father of Cameo's kittens. The tom's bluish gray coat was the color of a rain-shrouded sky. Secretly she called him Storm. The name seemed to fit this wary stray.

  He looked as though he had been in a fight recently, but she knew he wouldn't allow himself to be doctored. Sarah understood his need to be alone, to choose solitude over the emotion and turmoil that came with being part of a family.

  The tom studied her with knowing green eyes, and she smiled. He seemed to understand her, too. To respect her for keeping her distance, for not trying to lure him with pretty words and promises of forever.

  I should have been a cat, she mused, leaving the hungry tom alone.

  Going back into the house, she saw that Adam waited for her.

  "Who was it?" he asked.

  "The gray tom."

  "How did he look?"

  "A little battered. Like he's been in another fight."

  A frown creased his forehead. "I know cats are independent, but that one worries me."

  Trust Adam, she thought, to want to stitch the cuts, heal the bruises, give the tom a warm place to sleep. "He appears to be able to take care of himself."

  "Not if a car gets him."

  Sarah met Adam's gaze. Those tender brown eyes could melt a woman's heart, leave her as warm and molten as wax. He protected everyone—the dragon slayer who took in strays. Deep down she knew Adam hadn't intended to hurt her. But as much as she valued his friendship, being intimate with him still frightened her.

  "Have you named him?" Adam asked, referring to the wary tom.

  She tucked her hair behind her ears. This conversation was going in a direction that made her uncomfortable. She would never say Storm's name out loud. To do so would lay too much claim. "No," she lied. "Have you?"

  "No, but if he knew where you lived, he would visit your house, too. They all would."

  "Groucho's coming home with me, remember?" And Groucho was probably Storm's son. That gave her an attachment to the roaming tom, a bond she couldn't deny. They were almost like family. Her and Adam and the cats.

  Sarah glanced at the stove. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't suppose to feel this way. "I thought we were making fry bread."

  He smiled and reached for her hand, drawing her closer. "We are."

  The recipe was simple—flour, salt, water, baking powder and powdered milk. They measured the ingredients and mixed them into a bowl. While the oil heated, they shaped the bread. The recipe claimed size was a matter of preference, so Adam's palm-siz
e mounds came out bigger than Sarah's.

  Standing side by side, they flattened the dough into disks, then placed them in the oil, turning each one as it browned.

  Adam had flour on his chin. Sarah gave him a motherly "tsk" and brushed him clean. He grinned and rewarded her with a playful hug. He seemed so happy, so incredibly pleased to have her in his kitchen, sharing a simple but important moment of his life.

  The fry bread, she supposed, made him feel more Indian. Adam wanted so desperately to belong, to be accepted into a culture that had yet to recognize him. He wasn't registered with the Cherokee Nation. Officially he wasn't a member of the Western or Eastern Band. He didn't have an enrollment number linking him to his ancestors. All he had was an aging document stating his mother's name and heritage.

  "It's almost ready," he said.

  Sarah turned back to the task at hand. The recipe produced four servings. Adam drained their bounty in a brown paper bag lined with napkins, and she inhaled the fried aroma.

  Tea steeped in the dragon pot. It smelled wonderful, too. Man, mint and fry bread. It was, she thought, a heady combination.

  A combination that seemed to wrap itself around her reluctant heart.

  * * *

  The following Sunday, Adam invited Sarah to Mason Ranch, the boarding facility that housed his horse.

  Sarah exited Adam's Jeep and looked around. Ancient oaks offered shade and scenic trails led to a hilltop view. A roping arena sat on one side of the property, wash racks and lockers on the other. Mason Ranch was an urban-cowboy facility, catering to boots, buckles and well-worn denim.

  And today, Adam fit the bill. Gorgeous Adam in a pair of slim-fitting Wranglers. Just the sight of him made her blood tingle.

  He entered Cee-Cee's stall, and the paint greeted him with friendly eyes and a bobbing head. Sarah stood on the other side of the gate and watched them.

  "She probably thinks we're going for a ride," he said. "I've been taking her into the hills nearly every morning."

  "You come here before work?"

  He nodded and pushed against Cee-Cee, who was nudging him for attention. "You should see this place at dawn, Sarah. It's incredible."

  "I'll bet it is." She pictured the sun rising over the hills like a ball of fire. "Do you hit traffic on the way back?"

  "A little. But it's worth it." He lifted Cee-Cee's halter and slipped it over her head. "I cut it close, though. I have just enough time for a quick shower before I go to work." Buckling the halter, he spoke to the mare now, his voice deep but gentle. "It's not going to be like this forever. Someday we're going to have our own ranch. Aren't we, girl?"

  A place in Oklahoma, Sarah thought uncomfortably. She was going to lose Adam to the world she'd left behind. Lose him? He was only supposed to be her friend, not a man she hoped to keep. "You're not moving for awhile."

  "Actually, I might find a place this summer." The mare's neighbor, a big bay gelding, poked his nose over the rail. Adam smiled at the curious horse and led Cee-Cee out of the stall. "I've already contacted a Realtor in Oklahoma. They're going to show me some property while I'm there." He paused, looked over at her. "I wish you would agree to take that vacation with me."

  Sarah closed the gate, and they fell into step, with Adam leading the paint. She didn't want to talk about this. The day was much too nice to ruin.

  They continued on the path that led to the lockers, passing a picnic area rife with benches. She decided the best course was a silent one. Rather than respond to his comment, she let it drift between them, float until it disappeared.

  Cee-Cee didn't shy away from the wash rack. She allowed Adam to hitch her to a post without the slightest fuss. Sarah had pictured the mare dragging her hoofs like a stubborn child. Cee-Cee, with her gentle eyes and flashy coat, was a bit on the spoiled side.

  "She really is a good horse," Sarah said.

  "Yeah, she is." Turning on the hose, he let the water run for a moment. "How long has it been since you've ridden?"

  "Years. Since I was a kid. Some of my friends had horses."

  "Do you miss it?"

  She studied the paint. "Yes, I suppose I do." It was a difficult admission to make, but she chose to be honest. Sarah had stopped riding after her mother died, and there were moments she longed for the simple pleasure of a dusty trail.

  They soaped down the mare together, their clothes taking a good portion of the dirt. Cee-Cee had decided to dance after all, whinnying as she did. Sarah had to laugh. The horse wasn't spooked. The big overgrown baby was singing in the shower.

  While Cee-Cee basked in the sun, Adam and Sarah dried themselves with the same towel. Watching him tackle his damp shirt, she had to tell her hormones to behave. With a Western hat dipped over his eyes, he looked sexier than lust-driven sin. All denim and all male, she thought. Muscles bunched in his arms and a buckle glinted at his waist.

  "Adam?" a man's voice said. "Is that you, Paige?"

  They both turned, and then Adam grinned.

  "Hey, Dan. What a surprise." He clasped the other man's hand in a friendly shake. "Do you board here?"

  "Sure do."

  Dan was lanky and blond, with hazel eyes that crinkled when he smiled. Beside him was a young Mexican woman, very pretty and very pregnant. A little boy held her hand, his skin a light shade of brown. Sarah assumed they were a family.

  Dan turned to the woman. "Angie, you remember Adam, don't you?"

  She nodded and smiled. "From the league, right?"

  "Yes, it's nice to see you again."

  Once all of the introductions were made, Sarah learned that Adam and Dan had played basketball on the same city league six years before. She was also told that Dan and Angie had been married forever and had named their son Jordan because Dan was a die-hard basketball fan.

  Adam knelt to greet the boy. "Hey, partner. Do you ride?"

  Jordan bobbed his head, tipping the cowboy hat he wore. "I ride with my daddy, and I get to hold the reins."

  "Pretty cool. How old are you?"

  The child held up three fingers, but said, "Four."

  "He'll be four in September," his mother clarified.

  "Yep." Jordan's hat teetered again. "And that's when I'm gonna be a big brother. My mom's havin' another boy. We know 'cause the doctor took a picture of him inside her tummy." The child made an expressive face and leaned into Adam. "It showed his pee-pee and everything."

  "Oh, yeah?"

  Adam broke into a grin and glanced up at Dan, who flashed a that's-my-kid smile back at him. Sarah and Angie just laughed.

  "Do you got a horse?" Jordan asked Adam.

  "Yeah. She's right over there. Do you want to meet her?"

  "Sure." The three-year-old reached for Adam as if they were life-long buddies. "What's her name?"

  He balanced the child with ease. "Cee-Cee. And she loves carrots. We can feed her one, okay?"

  Sarah could only stand back and marvel. Jordan clung to Adam's neck while the boy's parents watched with proud smiles. Jordan already knew how to feed a horse, so Adam praised him for being such a good cowboy. Cee-Cee cooperated as well, reaching for the carrot with a delicate nibble.

  They looked right together, Sarah thought. The man, the child and the big, flashy paint.

  Dan finally told Jordan it was time to go home. The boy whined but agreed that his pregnant mom should take a nap. Sarah suspected Jordan would be napping before long, too. He insisted he didn't need one, but heavy eyelids indicated otherwise.

  "You should barbecue with us one weekend," Angie said, extending the invitation to both Sarah and Adam.

  Before they could respond, Dan chimed in. "Yeah, that would be great, except I'll bet Adam's still a health-food nut."

  "That's right, I am. But I have been known to cheat." He bumped Sarah's arm and grinned.

  They bantered a little more, laughing and joking. Sarah joined in, even though she felt a little strange. The other couple acted as if she and Adam were living together, as if they were on the ve
rge of a major commitment.

  But they were just friends, she thought. Friends who had been one-time lovers.

  A few minutes later Jordan waved goodbye as his dad carried him to their car. The little boy's hat bobbed, as big and floppy as his grin.

  Adam returned the child's wave, then leaned against a hitching post. "He's quite a kid, isn't he?"

  "Yes, he is." Sarah squinted into the sun. Jordan was no longer visible. He was strapped in the back seat, tinted windows shielding him from view.

  "He looks like us."

  Blinking, she turned. Adam stared at her, his eyes intense. How many times had he watched her like that? So tender, so earnest.

  "Us?" she all but stuttered.

  "Like he could be our son."

  This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have. Friends didn't imagine what their children would look like. Couples did that, people in serious relationships.

  "Adam—"

  He touched her cheek, his fingertips gentle. Whatever she intended to say was lost. The world stilled. She couldn't see anything but him. And the face of a dark-haired, dark-eyed child.

  Their child.

  "I think about it, Sarah. I think about having babies with you."

  Closing her eyes, she fought the image. His words, those romantic words, pierced a part of her that already ached—the part that knew it wouldn't work.

  "I think it's time to go," she said. "It's hot, and I'm tired. And…" She couldn't bring herself to talk, not here. Not beneath a blue sky and a bright yellow sun. Not with giant oaks offering quiet shade and horses whinnying for attention. It was all too beautiful to spoil.

  * * *

  Masking a tight expression, Adam stepped back. He should have kept silent, kept his feelings to himself. Sarah would barely look at him, and damn it, that hurt.

  "I'll take Cee-Cee back to her stall."

  "That's fine. I'll wait here."

  Untying the horse, he led her across the dirt and down a tidy row of pipe stalls. In the distance, the hills rose to the sky, edging the heavens in a wash of color, a setting that seemed almost surreal.