Follow the Sun

by Deborah Smith

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t be so tough. Stop trying to walk on it or you’ll make it worse. Go for the sympathy shtick.”

  Kat sighed with defeat and leaned heavily against her friend. She blew kisses to the audience and wanted to cry because she knew what the stranger thought of her now.

  IT WAS ONE of the most beautiful places she’d ever seen, this hilly forested land with its wide valley and lazy, gurgling stream. And the amazing thing was, it was part hers.

  Hers. Kat Gallatin—the nomad, a woman who’d spent a great part of her twenty-eight years on the road or in cheap apartments, now owned a one-third interest in two hundred acres in Gold Ridge, Georgia. She felt very important.

  She limped along a trail through wild honeysuckle and rhododendron, using her crutch to push low-hanging dogwood branches aside. At the edge of the stream she stopped and inhaled the cool, earthy scent.

  Her great-great-grandmother Katlanicha Blue Song had been born on this land, and she’d made certain that it would stay in the family forever. The medallions had something to do with that, but they were still a big mystery to her and her cousins.

  Lord, it was so secluded here, the June day was sticky, and her ankle throbbed from too much walking. Kat eyed the stream for a moment, then sat down and removed everything but her bra and panties. She took the elastic tape off her ankle and waded into the stream.

  Kat sat down in a shallow part and leaned back on her elbows so that the water rushed over her lower body. Finally she lay down completely, with just her face protruding from the icy water and her hair floating around her like a black cloud.

  It felt so right to be here; she felt so close to something, to someone she’d never known, that her chest constricted with happiness and homesickness and the odd notion that she’d lain here like this before.

  Hah. Déjà vu. A chemical quirk in the brain. She’d heard it explained on a talk show once. There were no surprises in the modern world.

  Kat sighed, stretched, then reached behind her and unhooked her bra. She wound it into a ball and shot it to the grassy bank with an expert overhand pitch.

  It hit Pierced Ear right in the face.

  CHAPTER 2

  THIS WAS WHAT it felt like to burn up from the inside out, to die from embarrassment. She wanted to dissolve into the water and float away.

  He knelt on one knee, wearing nothing but khaki shorts and jogging shoes, his arm propped nonchalantly on his updrawn leg, her bra dangling coyly from his brawny hand. He looked like the kind of man who was used to having women throw their underwear at him.

  Even though her breasts were underwater, Kat draped an arm across them. He tracked her actions with a rueful gaze. She stared at him speechlessly.

  “Hello again,” he said without smiling, although there was a hint of victorious humor in his gray eyes.

  Finally her brain cleared. Had this man been following her since the other night? Had he followed her all the way from South Carolina? What did he want? Had he protected her before with the intention of harming her in some way now?

  “I have friends with me,” she lied through clenched teeth. “They’re at the end of the old trail with my car, but they’ll be here any minute.”

  He gave her a rebuking look. “No they won’t. I saw you drive in. You’re alone.”

  Dread filled her stomach. “Why are you following me? What do you want?”

  He tossed her bra onto a holly bush, then sat down and crossed his legs. His chest and arms were darkly tanned. Even at a distance she could see sun-lightened brown hair on his chest and patches of freckles on his shoulders.

  “Relax, Princess Talana. I’m not here to body-slam you.”

  He idly stroked a gold nugget that hung from a slender gold chain around his neck. The nugget nestled seductively in a patch of brown-blond hair at the center of his chest. Ropy muscles flexed around it when he shifted his position.

  “Why’d you follow me?” she demanded again.

  Kat would have bet money that this man hadn’t gotten his physique or his tan at a health club, and that the gold nugget hadn’t come from a jewelry store. Considering his attitude, the longish hair, and the pierced ear, he was probably a Hell’s Angel looking for a girlfriend.

  “I’m not following you,” he assured her. “I was here first.” He pointed over his right shoulder. “I have a camp in the bend of the stream back that way.”

  “This is private property. Did you know that?”

  “Yep.”

  “In fact, this is my property.”

  “Yep. I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You’re Kat Gallatin. You have two distantly related cousins. The three of you just inherited this land from a nearly full-blooded Cherokee woman named Dove Gallatin, up in North Carolina. This land has been in the Gallatin family for at least a hundred and fifty years—probably a lot longer than that, since it belonged to your great-great-grandmother’s people, and they were Cherokees of the Blue clan.”

  Kat gaped at him. She couldn’t help it. He knew almost as much about her family history as she did. “Who are you?”

  “Does the name Chatham mean anything to you?”

  She shook her head. “Should it?”

  He stared at her hard for several seconds. “I’m with Tri-State Mining.”

  “Oh. Oh!” Still, she frowned at him in bewilderment. “What are you doing here? We haven’t signed any agreement to lease the mining rights.”

  “Not yet, anyway.”

  “I don’t think we’re going to, either. At least not until we learn more about our different branches of the family.”

  “Hmmm. Well, I’m just a geologist. Doing some studies for the company. Harmless stuff. Soil samples, nothing to worry about.”

  Kat looked down at the icy water rushing over her body. She was beginning to shiver, both from the water and his provocative stare. The man was used to looking at naked women through those droopy bedroom eyes of his. He didn’t seem the least bit eager to stop enjoying her situation.

  “This is ridiculous. I’d like to get out of the water.”

  “Go ahead. I didn’t think you were the modest type.”

  “I’m not the immodest type, either,” she said grimly. “Look, you’re confirming my suspicion that you’re a stuck-up jerk. And a dirty-minded jerk, too. And whatever your name is. Chatham, I want you off this land.”

  “Nope. You’ll need your cousins’ agreement to kick me off, and I heard that your cousin Tess is out of the country.”

  “Jeez, you’re a regular fountain of information about us Gallatins. Did Tri-State have us investigated?”

  “Yep. I know that you and your cousins were all born on the same day, different years. Very interesting. Some people might say it means something. You’re twenty-eight. Erica’s thirty-three, and Tess’s twenty-six. Erica lives in Washington, D.C. Tess lives in Long Beach, California.”

  He smiled wickedly, enjoying himself. “They’ve got money; you don’t. You drive an old Mustang which you bought used five years ago, and you have a cheap apartment in Miami. If you’re late with next month’s rent, you’re going to be evicted. I’d say you need the deal Tri-State’s offering.”

  Kat shook with anger. She felt invaded, violated, and more naked than ever. How dare a man who owned cashmere sweaters and wore a gold nugget poke fun at her poverty!

  “Get the hell away from me.”

  He stood up. “The name’s Nathan Chatham. Geologist. In the mining business I’m called a gunslinger.”

  “In my business you’re called a pain in the backside.”

  “Speaking of pain,” he said sweetly, “you’re a great actress. That limp was perfect the other night. Pitiful. You really looked pitiful. The injured Indian maiden. What a hoot.”

  Her eyes burned. “Don’t be surprised if I don’t visit your camp.”

  “So what are you doing here? Studying nature?” He drew himself up and looked around solemnly, as if imitat
ing her. “Hmmm. Heap pretty. Trees. Water. Where fast-food restaurant?”

  She understood why her people had once gone around scalping white men. It must have been great fun.

  “I’m camping here, too,” she told him.

  That brought the first honest look of surprise to his face. “You’re camping? Can’t afford a motel?”

  That’s right, wise guy, she told him silently. “I was born in a circus tent, sweetcakes. I’ve spent most of my life on the road. I can outcamp you any day.”

  He laughed richly. “I doubt it. Where are you setting up?”

  Kat thought if she didn’t get out of the water soon her smaller body parts would freeze and fall off. Fingers, toes, nipples—the only thing saving them now was the heat generated by anger at Nathan Chatham.

  She tilted her head and smiled widely, without any trace of sincerity. “Naaah, I don’t want you to tell the cavalry where to find me after I loot and pillage you.”

  “It’s ravish, loot, and pillage. Don’t forget that part of the attack. I’ll be disappointed if you don’t ravish me.”

  Smiling, he strode off through the woods—her woods, dammit—as if he owned them.

  KAT LOVED THE dawn, with its magical light, its stillness, its slow slide into sunshine. She’d always had to keep night owl hours because of the circus routines—most days started with an afternoon show and ended after midnight—and wrestling schedules were just as bad.

  But after she moved here for good she was never going to miss another dawn. When she settled down. Some day. The story of her life. Some day.

  But today she was going to take another shot at enjoying the stream. Kat trudged along wearing a Wild Women of Wrestling T-shirt over a black swimsuit. Across her shoulder she carried a cloth tote filled with a towel, soap, and shampoo.

  She managed without the aid of her crutch, catching low tree branches for support. Finding a spot where the stream bank was flat and sandy, she kicked her Reeboks off and carefully set them in the fork of a tree.

  Good running shoes were her one indulgence, and for all she knew, wild critters might like the taste of them.

  A deep, musical voice cascaded through the quiet. Kat gasped, looked around, saw nothing, then stood rock-still, listening intently. The voice was Nathan’s … but he wasn’t speaking English.

  The words were soft and rolling, the vocal equivalent of water bubbling over rocks in the stream. It was the most ethereal sound she’d ever heard, and it made her shiver with emotion.

  Was it some native language? And if it was, where had he learned it? And where the heck was he?

  She edged onto the sandy bank and craned her head around a huge laurel bush which hung over the water. Peeking through the small, oblong leaves, she saw Nathan upstream, his back turned toward her, his hands raised to the sky, his body newborn naked.

  If he was some sort of nature worshipper, he certainly had a head start on being natural.

  Kat stepped back from the stream, her heart pounding. Whatever he was saying, it appealed to her on a subconscious level that wouldn’t let her walk away. Listening to it there in the midst of the land her Cherokee ancestors had loved for centuries, she felt as if she’d slipped through a gateway in time.

  A bird sang sweetly nearby. For a second Kat was certain that she had only to look around to find her great-great-grandmother smiling at her.

  She trembled and didn’t look. Kat shook her head, a little frightened by the intensity of her imagination. Abruptly Nathan stopped talking, and the morning returned to normal.

  Kat stood there, wide-eyed, and debated her next move. Oh hell, she might get in trouble, but she couldn’t leave without taking another look at him. She inched forward.

  He was washing, legs braced apart, arms lifted as he scrubbed each armpit with cheerful vigor. He threw the soap into the air, then whooped as he leaped up and caught it before splashing back down.

  Next he bent over and dunked his whole head in the icy stream. Slinging his dark brown hair lustily, he whooped again. Good heavens, he made washing an athletic event.

  And she was certainly ready to cheer.

  Ordinarily Kat thought naked men looked too vulnerable, like newly hatched chickens who’d been happier before they left their shells. Growing up, she’d glimpse a few bare male essentials, but they belonged to circus performers who were hurrying from one costume into another without caring who watched.

  Naked men with names like Blinko the Clown had not exactly been heart-stopping.

  Of course, she’d seen her husband naked, but he’d never seemed comfortable either. Without clothes he always seemed to be tiptoeing, even when he wasn’t moving. He didn’t feel important without his designer underwear and custom-made suits, she’d decided.

  But Nathan Chatham looked not only important, he looked positively thrilled to be stark naked in the middle of a stream. Speaking of which—what was that on his right cheek? Some sort of tattoo? Yes!

  Kat leaned forward, peering intently. She couldn’t make it out, but it was at least three inches long. Wasn’t putting a decoration on that fantastic male fanny a lot like gilding a lily?

  She’d give anything to know what the tattoo said. Then he turned around and she made a soft squeaking sound of admiration.

  All men were not created equal, and the tattoo probably said, “Satisfaction guaranteed.”

  He was now lathering his hair forcefully, with great white suds falling on his chest and slithering downward, until all Kat could think of was a tree in the middle of a snowbank. A giant sequoia.

  She pressed her hands to her mouth to keep from grinning ridiculously. It was only fair that she enjoy this show, after the show he’d had yesterday. Oh, she’d pay for this later in unfulfilled fantasies, but at least her fantasies would be a heck of a lot more exciting than usual.

  Nathan bent forward, doused his head so long that she was afraid he might drown, splashed water all over himself, then stood up and looked straight at her laurel bush.

  “Good morrrning, Kiiitty Kat,” he called in a quaint voice.

  She almost lost her balance and fell into the laurel. There was no point in pretending that she wasn’t there, so she confronted this humiliation head-on, the way she handled most problems.

  “Hi.” She stepped into the stream and waved. “Turn on the hot water, would you?” He put his hands on his hips and confirmed her impression that he was totally comfortable being naked. In fact, he was a lot more comfortable naked than she was in her T-shirt and swimsuit, at the moment.

  And he’d accused her of being an exhibitionist!

  “It’s not nice to spy on Mother Nature,” he called sternly. “Next time either walk away or join me.”

  Kat wished she knew some obscene Cherokee sign language. “This is my stream and my woods and if you want to act like a waterbug, I guess I can stand anywhere I want to and watch you.”

  “Peeking through leaves is not the most mature thing to do.”

  “Any man with a lick of sense wouldn’t expose himself like some sort of pervert when he knows a stranger might be watching.”

  The dark brows shot up. “Pervert?” he echoed grimly. “You put on a leather bikini and wrestle women in front of an audience and then call me a pervert?”

  He waded to the bank, snatched a big white towel off a tree branch, slung it around his waist, and started downstream with long, purposeful strides. “If you really think I’m a pervert, then run.”

  Kat stared at him in horror. Old memories stirred an irrational amount of fear inside her suddenly. What did she know about this man? Practically nothing.

  He was at least a head taller than she, and that body had much more than an average share of muscle, stamina, and quickness. Plus, she could barely walk. much less run to save herself. If he weren’t trustworthy, if he took her banter as an invitation …

  She dived for the sandy bank with a force that sent tremors of agony through her ankle. Kat scrambled upright and pushed into the undergr
owth blindly, overcome by a panic that numbed her senses.

  She didn’t know where Nathan Chatham was; she hardly knew where she was, and she didn’t care what she might be doing to her fractured ankle. She grabbed a spindly tree for support and went down in a heap when the sapling snapped.

  A hand latched on to her shirt. She screamed, twisted onto her back, and looked up into Nathan’s severe frown. He held the towel around his waist with one hand; the other let go of her T-shirt and grasped her wrist firmly.

  She realized that she was holding both hands up in a desperate and pathetic attempt to ward him off. Stars burst in front of her eyes because she was hyperventilating badly. “Don’t,” she gasped out, “Please, don’t.”

  He got down on his knees, still holding her wrist, still frowning. She scrambled backward, digging her heels and elbows into prickly vines that a small part of her mind recognized as briars. He wouldn’t let go of her wrist.

  “Don’t, okay? Please?” Kat begged, and burst into tears. That release of energy cleared her head a little, and she finally realized that he was talking to her.

  “Dear God. It’s all right, Kat, it’s all right,” he was crooning. “I’m not going to do anything to you. Sssh. I’m not going to attack you. I swear.”

  She was breathing so raggedly that air barely seemed to be getting past her throat. “Really?”

  “Really,” he said in a gruff voice. “I never thought you’d suspect me of—Katie, relax. Relax, gal, it’s me. You know I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  Katie. What was so calming about that nickname? And about the way he said It’s me, as if she’d known all along but simply forgotten?

  Kat cried harder. What was happening to her? Was she so stressed out from the odd turn her life had taken lately that she was imagining things?

  “Kat, calm down,” he murmured. He let go of her wrist and held his hand up in a soothing gesture. “Breathe. Breeeathe. Slowly. Slooowly. There. Breathe.”

  He coached her for at least a minute, his hand poised over her as if he were pressing air into her lungs with gentle insistence. The world came back to life. She stopped crying and her chest no longer felt like a bellows being pumped by a maniac.