Maybe it was okay to feel safe with someone, she thought, to love a man the way she loved Adam. He made Tahlequah seem like a magical place. When she was with him, she didn't dwell on the pain from her past. Even the prospect of seeing her father again wasn't so frightening.
"Look at these." Adam displayed the books in his hand. "Cherokee medicine. Can you believe it? This one is filled with natural plant remedies."
"That's great." Suddenly emotional, she reached for his arm and held tight. "Everything's going to be all right, isn't it?"
"Of course it is." Studying her expression, he kissed her forehead. "We have each other, don't we?"
She breathed in his scent, the herbal soap he used on his skin. "And we're going to find your mom. Maybe not on this trip, but eventually we'll find her." They had to, she thought. Because Adam needed a connection to his roots. He needed to know who he was and where he had come from. Now that she was home, she knew how important that was.
"This means a lot to me," he said. "You being here, helping me look for my mom."
"I know."
He paid for his books, and they headed to a restaurant Sarah recommended. It was a small diner, but the food had a hearty, home-cooked quality. They scooted into a vinyl booth and scanned their menus.
"I've had a good time today," he said.
"Me, too. I wish yesterday had been more productive, though." Their search for Cynthia Youngwolf had led nowhere. No one seemed to remember her, and the tribal office wasn't able to accommodate them. There were over 200,000 enrolled members of the Cherokee Nation. Locating a woman who had given her son up for adoption nearly thirty years before wasn't a simple task.
"How many Youngwolfs are on the final rolls?" she asked, referring to the data Adam had found on the Cherokee enrollment compiled between 1898 and 1914.
"Eleven. But there's no way to link me to any of them." That was true. The only way for Adam to receive a Certificate of Indian Blood was to provide birth records that proved he was related to someone on the final rolls.
"We should start bright and early tomorrow," Sarah suggested, knowing they couldn't give up hope. "Maybe go to the library first. See if they have any old high-school annuals."
Adam sipped his water. "That's a great idea, but I wish I knew how old she was when I was born. I have no idea when she went to high school."
"We'll just have to cover a couple of decades. And since Youngwolf doesn't appear to be a very common name around here, that should help."
If they found a picture of her in an old yearbook, then they might be able to locate some of her classmates. Someone must have kept in touch with her, Sarah thought. People just didn't fade into oblivion. News about Cynthia would turn up sooner or later.
Adam sat across from Sarah thinking how beautiful she was, how vital she had become to him. He couldn't imagine living without her, but now wasn't the time to tell her how he felt. The diner was noisy and crowded, hardly the right atmosphere for a man to spill his heart.
"We should check out the private schools, too."
He blinked and picked up his fork, pulling himself back into their conversation. "For information about my mom?"
She nodded. "I know of a Christian academy that's been around for quite a while. She could have gone there."
"I hadn't thought of that." And he couldn't begin to express his gratitude. Sarah finally understood how important this was to him.
He cut into his turkey and watched her do the same. They had a lot in common, he thought. They enjoyed the same foods, the same kind of movies. And they were more than compatible in bed. Every time they made love, they clung to each other afterward, as if neither could bear to let go.
He still wanted to make a baby with her, to see her tummy swell with his child. It would be the ultimate connection, a bond that could never be broken.
"Adam?"
"Hmm?"
"What are you thinking about?"
You, he wanted to say. Us. Our future.
"Family," he told her, deciding it was close enough to the truth. "I keep wondering who my dad is and if he still lives around here. He could have gone to high school with my mom. Or he could have been her college sweetheart." And since arriving in Oklahoma, Adam had looked at strangers with interest, realizing they could be his biological parents.
"It's too bad you don't have a copy of your original birth certificate. Your father's name was probably on it."
"Believe me, I tried. I contacted the hospitals in the area, but they couldn't help. I also checked with the Department of Health Services. The records in cases like mine are sealed. The only birth certificates available are the ones that have been amended."
"We should still go the hospitals and question the staff. There might be a doctor or a nurse who remembers Cynthia."
Adam had no idea if he was born in the Tahlequah City Hospital or in the Indian Hospital, but he was willing to talk to whomever would listen. "You're right. I mean, how many unwed mothers could there have been in those days? Of course, it's been almost thirty years."
"True, but someone might direct us to a retired employee."
Lifting his water, he smiled. "Thanks for helping, Sarah."
She smiled back at him. "You're welcome. Do you want to go for a drive after we eat? There's still some historic sites you haven't seen."
"Sure." He glanced out the window and saw the town where he had been born, the streets and sidewalks, the parks and rivers. He had parents out there somewhere. And he had Sarah. He wasn't alone anymore.
"Do you know when abortions were legalized?" he asked, wondering about the past.
"I'm not sure, but I think the Supreme Court ruling was in 1973."
"So what were women doing before then?"
"Going to Mexico, I guess." She tilted her head, sending him a curious look. "Why?"
"I'm just glad my mom didn't do that. I'm glad she chose to have me."
"Me, too." Her eyes turned a little misty, but she kept eating, the buzz of the diner swirling around her.
It was a strangely intimate moment, Adam thought. Noisy yet quiet.
Thirty minutes later, they finished their meals, then climbed into the SUV. She drove this time, taking him on a private tour of her hometown. She pointed out sites of interest, historical homes and buildings, the architecture ranging from Victorian to more modern styles.
When they stopped in front of a cemetery, he turned to look at her.
"My mother is buried here," she said. "Do you mind if I visit her grave?"
"Of course not."
She opened her door. "Will you come with me?" He nodded, then walked across the lawn with her. His adoptive parents were buried in a place just like this one—grass and trees and marble headstones. He knew how it felt to grieve, to kneel on the ground and blink back tears.
Sarah stopped in front of a stone marker, and Adam read the inscription: Nancy Lynn Cloud. Beloved Wife and Mother.
"Someone left flowers." A fresh bouquet spilled onto the grave like a rainbow of love and remembrance.
"It must have been my father." Her voice broke a little, and Adam put his arm around her.
"She knows we're here," he said, certain he could feel Nancy Cloud's spirit.
"Do you think she knows what's happening between us?" Sarah asked.
"Yes." He touched her cheek as she turned to face him. "I'm sure she's watching over us right now."
"It doesn't scare me so much anymore." She looked directly into his eyes, the sun shining on her skin. "I like the feeling."
"So do I." He knew they were talking about love, making a declaration in front of the woman who had given Sarah life. It seemed fitting somehow. "I want to marry you. I want you to have my babies."
She leaned into him, soft and warm and beautiful. "I want that, too."
They didn't talk on the way back to the motel, but he didn't mind. They had already spoken from their hearts. And Sarah had just agreed to become his wife.
The world was a pe
rfect place, he thought, and life couldn't get much better. Love was everything Adam Paige had always hoped it would be.
* * *
The following morning was warm and quiet. Adam breathed against Sarah's hair, and she wondered how long they had slept in this position. Spoon-style, she supposed it was called, his front to her back.
She moved her bottom deliberately, then smiled when he groaned. Apparently he was awake, too. Awake and aroused. She could feel him through the lightweight pajamas he wore.
She turned to face him, to brush his lips. He looked gorgeous, his eyes sleepy, his hair loose and just a little messy. A night-tousled male. Rumpled and sexy.
Was this really happening? Had she really agreed to marry him?
Yes, she thought, tasting his kiss, she had. And she wasn't sorry. She loved him so much, she actually hurt inside.
He nibbled her jaw, and she imagined mornings like this for the rest of her life. And now, she wanted all of him, every powerful muscle, every hard, virile inch.
"Adam?"
"Hmm?"
"How come you've never asked me to—" she paused and toyed with the drawstring on his waistband, "—you know?"
He blinked those sleepy eyes, but she knew he understood the question. Oral sex. An image of the act danced between them like firelight. He did it to her, but she had yet to reciprocate.
"I'd never ask you to do that," he said, his voice shy yet crackling with heat.
It was a stimulating combination. The sound of sandpaper over sun, coarse and warm all at once. In response, she skimmed her hand up and down his belly, making his muscles quiver.
"What if I offered?"
He moistened his lips, then looked at her mouth, studied it with a very quiet, very masculine longing. When he lifted his gaze, they stared at each other. "That's different. I mean, well…"
Sarah couldn't help herself. She had to ask, had to hear him admit it out loud. "So, do you want me to?"
He looked at her mouth again, and her nipples ignited into red-tipped sparks. "Yeah," he said, his sinful voice even raspier. "I do."
With a small, feminine smile, she kissed his chest, moved her hands slowly down his body. And as she tugged on his pajamas, his breath rushed out.
He seemed anxious, maybe even a little nervous, and that thrilled her. She ached to create a new moment between them.
A slick, sensual journey. An erotic awakening.
He was perfect—bronzed and naked and unbelievably hard. His chest narrowed into lean hips, and his legs were long and muscular. A line of hair grew from his navel to his sex. Fascinated, she followed it with her finger.
Adam watched her, knowing his heart pounded much too fast. She was teasing him, making him wait, making him want so badly he could barely breathe. Her lips, warm and tender, cruised over his belly. And then her tongue. So wet, so stimulating.
He was dying. And soon, he thought, soon, he would slide straight into heaven. He fisted the sheets and lifted his hips. Or was it hell? he asked himself, as her hair, that long, luxurious curtain, caressed his thighs. She was an angel, a devil, a vixen who had captured his soul.
Nothing mattered but her.
He was desperate to be touched. Loved. Laved. He chanted her name, over and over in his mind. Sarah. Sweet, sweet Sarah. Her mouth was on him now. There, right there.
He struggled to control the urgency, struggled to keep himself from falling too far, but he knew he was losing the battle.
Sensation slammed into sensation, as fast and violent as a storm. His breath crashed in his lungs, his blood pumped heat through his veins
He had to stop her. Now.
Fighting the fury, he gripped her shoulders and pulled her up. Her nightgown was in the way, so he grabbed the fabric and nearly tore it in his haste.
They tumbled over the bed, and he yanked open the drawer and fisted a condom. And then he tried, damn it, tried to tear the package, but he couldn't quite manage it. Sarah was stroking him, milking him with those smooth, skilled hands.
"You shouldn't do that," he rasped. She still wore her panties, and his climax was ebbing, rising like a wave.
"It's okay."
"But I can't … not yet … not…"
"I want you to." She pressed her stomach to his and held him, giving him permission, encouraging him to spill, warm and wet, onto her skin.
And when it happened, he shuddered in her arms and let the moment, the incredible closeness, sweep him away.
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
Three days later, Sarah and Adam sat at the table in their motel room, sharing a makeshift breakfast of fresh fruit and granola bars. They'd showered, but had yet to dress. Both wore terry-cloth robes. Like a happy couple, she thought, lounging on a quiet morning.
Peeling an orange, she glanced up at him. He lifted an apple to his mouth and smiled. Perfect Adam. It was difficult to picture him as a rebellious youth, a teenage boy stealing whiskey and lying to his parents. He was so grounded now, so centered.
"I can't believe we haven't found out anything about your mom," she said.
They had searched, but there was no sign of Cynthia Youngwolf, not one single clue. No one at the hospitals remembered her, nor did the library in town have any old high-school annuals available. The librarian had suggested checking with the schools themselves, but that hadn't panned out, either. Both high schools were closed for the summer.
"We haven't gone to the university yet. She might have been a student there. There's still a lot of ground to cover."
He was right, of course. Their search wasn't over.
Adam took a swig of bottled water. "I'd still like to buy some ranch property around here, Sarah. Are you okay with that?"
Suddenly nervous, she filled her lungs with air, then let it out slowly. "Yes." She wanted to make a life with Adam and that meant coming to terms with her past, with making some kind of peace with her father. "I haven't spent much time with my dad. I should go see him today. I think it's his day off."
"That's a good idea." He reached for her hand, squeezed it. "Everything's going to be fine, sweetheart."
"I know," she said, even though she felt a niggle of fear. But with Sarah, there were always little jabs of worry. It was her nature, she supposed.
Abandoning breakfast, Adam shed his robe. "We can meet here later."
"Are you going to the university?"
"No. I'd rather wait for you to do that."
"Then what are you going to do?"
He grinned. "Go see a Realtor. They've already got a list of properties to show me."
"We only have one car," she pointed out.
"I can walk. The realty office isn't far from here."
Adam was dressed before Sarah, but it was easier for a man to throw himself together. All he needed was pair of jeans and a T-shirt to look gorgeous. Her ritual consisted of quite a bit more.
He buckled his belt and reached for his shoes. "There's a nice seafood restaurant down the street. How about some swordfish tonight?"
"Sure." She curled a mascara wand around an eyelash, doing her best to prevent it from clumping.
"Feel free to invite your dad."
"Okay."
After lacing his ropers, he patted her bottom. She laughed and nearly poked herself in the eye. "You better get out of here before I end up with an injury."
"Yes, ma'am." He faked an Oklahoma twang. "I'll see you back here around five."
She watched him go, feeling like a schoolgirl. Her heart was fluttering in her chest. Just like the patter of little feet, she thought. Someday she was going to have his babies.
And there was nothing to worry about, she told herself as she dialed her father's number. This wasn't a dream. She wasn't going to wake up and find everything gone. They had already picked out names for their children. And Adam was meeting with a Realtor, looking for a home.
What could be more stable than that?
Her dad's line was busy, so s
he went back to her makeup. When she called again, he answered.
"Hi," she said. "It's me. I was wondering—"
"Oh, God. I was just going to call you."
Her fluttering heart skipped a beat. "Why? What's going on?"
"Nothing. I mean, I don't want to talk about it over the phone."
He's been drinking, she thought. His voice sounded shaky, his words unsteady. How could he do this? And what excuse would he come up with to ease his conscience?
"Can you come over, Sarah?"
She wanted to say no. She wanted to tell him to go straight to hell. "Yes," she said instead.
"Will you come alone? I don't want Adam—"
"He isn't here." But she wished he was. She didn't know how she was going to handle this without him.
The drive to Hatcher took forever. The roads to her father's house were long and dusty, and in spite of the air-conditioned vehicle, her palms were sweating.
He met her on the porch, reaching out to take one of her clammy hands.
He looked distressed. And with her father, that meant a shot or two. Or three, she thought, releasing a pent-up breath. "How many have you had, Dad?"
"What?" He backed away, releasing her hand. "Is that what you think this is about?"
She crossed her arms. The sun was beating down on her back. She had prepared herself for the heat, worn a sleeveless shirt and fastened her hair in a single braid, but the humidity stuck to her like glue. "Isn't it?"
"No. This has nothing to do with me. It concerns Adam."
Skeptical, she tilted her head. "Really? How so?"
"I found out about his mother, honey. And his father, too."
Her knees nearly buckled. "I'm sorry. I thought—"
"It's okay. Come inside and we'll talk."
She sat on her dad's old-fashioned sofa and waited for him to sit beside her. But instead, he paced the floor, then stopped to drag a hand through his hair. It must be bad, she thought. Really bad.
"Are they dead?" she asked.
William frowned. "His father is."
"And his mother?"
"She's in Tulsa."
Then it can't be that bad, Sarah told herself. As long as Cynthia Youngwolf was alive, there was hope. "Is she sick?"
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