Follow the Sun

by Deborah Smith

  “Wake up, Kat Woman,” he said softly.

  Kat sighed and yawned. “I can’t. I was drugged with fried trout and biscuits covered in gravy.”

  “I think you ought to go put your foot in the stream. Cold running water would do it good.”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d like better than to stick my foot in ice water. Go away.”

  “Kat, it’s for your own good.”

  Suddenly she had no blanket. Suddenly two brawny hands were under her arms, helping her sit up. Her hair fell across her face and got sucked into her mouth when she inhaled. She sputtered and pawed at it.

  Nathan Chatham’s low chuckle only added to her problems. If he combined that rumbling sound with a scalp massage, she’d probably just dissolve into his arms like melted butter.

  “Here. Let me.” He pushed her hair aside and cupped her face between his hands.

  The feel of his calloused fingers and palms made her eyes open wide, banishing sleep. He gazed down at her with quiet, intense scrutiny. “Where’d you get those green eyes?”

  “I guess from my great-great-grandpa. He was the only white man in my branch of the family. I’ve heard that my father had green eyes.”

  “Didn’t you know your father?”

  “Nope. He and my mother were killed in a train wreck during a circus tour. I was only four. I was adopted by the Flying Campanellis.”

  “The what?”

  “The Flying Campanellis. Italian trapeze artists.”

  He groaned. “No wonder you don’t know anything about your Cherokee background. You’re Italian.”

  She grinned. “Si. Capisce?”

  Nathan looked at her sadly. “I apologize for making fun of your cultural ignorance.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured softly.

  “Wado,” he answered.

  “Hmmm? Wad what?”

  “It means ‘thank you’ in Cherokee. Say it.”

  “Wado.”

  “Now say this.” He reeled off a short, musical sentence.

  She echoed it carefully. “What did I say?”

  He smiled. “Something on a par with ‘You’re the best-looking man I’ve ever seen.’ ”

  Kat’s lips parted in a soft sigh, and his gaze dropped to them. She couldn’t think straight yet, and he was taking advantage. “I was duped. I meant to say, ‘Which way to the stream?’ ”

  He helped her to her feet, then scooped her into his arms again. Kat was very aware of his forearm nestling under her bare thighs. Her T-shirt had ridden up on her stomach to show her pelvis covered in a clingy black swimsuit cut high on the sides.

  At the risk of revealing her dismay, she tugged the bottom of her T-shirt down as far as it would go.

  He pursed his lips coyly. “An attack of modesty. Princess Talana?”

  “You were looking at my thighs like Colonel Sanders eyeing a chicken dinner.”

  “Make that a Cajun dinner. You’re covered in so much soot that you look like a blackened redfish.” He paused. “A blackened redskin, I mean.”

  She chortled and covered her lips, disgusted with his easy control over her humor. “You carry squaw to water,” she ordered.

  Nathan headed toward the stream a few yards away. “Don’t use words like that. ‘Squaw’ is insulting. Back in the old days Cherokee women were a powerful force in the tribe. They had complete control over the children and the households. They had a say on the councils. A Beloved Woman could free prisoners taken in battle. All she had to do was step forward and touch them with a swan feather.”

  “What’s a Beloved Woman?”

  “Someone special, someone the tribe respected. A wise counselor.”

  “So I shouldn’t say ‘squaw’ anymore, huh?”

  “Not if you want to show people that you respect your heritage.”

  “Okay. No more squaw.”

  He sat her down on the stream bank so that her feet dangled in the cold, rushing water. Kat shivered. “I feel the fracture healing in self-defense.”

  “Say this.” Nathan smiled ruefully. “We’ll use English so you won’t suspect me of being bad. ‘Listen!’ ”

  “Okay.”

  “No, say it. ‘Listen!’ ”

  “Listen!”

  “You have drawn near to me. Grandfather Moon.”

  She repeated the sentence obediently.

  “My name is Katlanicha. I am of the Blue clan.”

  “Look, I was named after my great-great-grandmother Katherine—”

  “Who’s the doctor here, you or me? Her Cherokee name was Katlanicha, so your name is Katlanicha.”

  Kat huffed with mock disgust. “My name is Katlanicha. I am of the Blue clan.”

  “You have come to carry my pain away, Grandfather Moon. And now relief is here. Listen!”

  She repeated everything he’d told her.

  Nathan nodded with approval. “Say that formula each time you soak your foot in the stream.”

  “Oh, I see. You’re just like every other doctor. Take two formulas and call me in the morning.’ ”

  Nathan shot her an amused, exasperated look. “Are you going to be difficult to teach?”

  “Who said you’re teaching me?”

  “You want to feel that you belong on this Cherokee land?”

  “Yeah.” Her teasing attitude faded. “More than anything,” she whispered.

  He took her hand and kissed it jauntily. “Then hang around with me, Katlanicha Gallatin.”

  Kat smiled. That was the best invitation she’d ever heard. Shrugging, she said, “Sure. I guess I can put up with a Chatham.”

  THEY SAT SIDE by side on the stream bank, not talking, but not uncomfortable with the silence. It was an amazing thing, Kat thought, for two people who’d known each other only a few days to be able to do this.

  He fished, and she read one of her history books. At least, she tried to read. She kept a large part of her mind tuned to him since he was only a foot away and wearing only his hiking shorts.

  “Says here,” she murmured softly, “that the Indian Territory was a pretty wild place.”

  He flicked a hook baited with corn into a new spot and said something in Cherokee. When she looked at him quizzically he winked and explained, “You’re supposed to apologize to the fish for trying to catch them. That way they won’t get mad and leave.”

  “I’ve known men who tried to get dates that way.”

  “Did they?”

  “Nope. I swim pretty fast.” She cleared her throat. “About the Indian Territory.”

  “Yeah, it was rough, especially on the border between the Nation and Arkansas. Lots of bandit gangs, not much law. But then there were real nice places in the Nation, too—big farms, towns, schools.”

  “The Nation?”

  “Sure. You call it Indian Territory, but it was made up of separate nations—Cherokee, Creek, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Seminole. The Cherokees had their own government, their own courts.”

  “Then my great-grandpa should have been caught and tried by his own people, if he was so bad.”

  “Well,” Nathan said in a skeptical tone, “it wasn’t that neat. For one thing, he was a Keetowah, and the Cherokees had a lot of respect for them.”

  “What’s a Keetowah?” she asked, fascinated.

  “Traditionalist. Secret society. Cherokees who wanted to keep strictly to the old ways. They refused to speak English or go by English names. They wanted all whites kicked out of the Nation.”

  “But wouldn’t that have made Holt an enemy of his own family, since his father was white?”

  “Nope. Not unless his father was against Indian ways. Ol’ Justis wasn’t like that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Well, I …” he paused, thinking as his skilled hands slowly cranked the fishing reel. “I figure any man who married a Cherokee, raised his children in Cherokee ways, and led Cherokee troops in the war must have been Cherokee at heart.”

  “You know a lot about him.”

/>   “Not really. Only what I read in the book my great-uncle wrote. Justis and Katherine had a big farm before the war. Didn’t own slaves though, and most of the biggest Cherokee farmers did.”

  “But Justis was a Confederate officer during the war?”

  “Hmmm. A major. Got wounded in the arm when my great-great-grandpa caught him. He got away, but I’d bet gold that he was permanently crippled in that arm. The ammo they used in those days did a nasty job.”

  Kat slammed her book shut. “Well, no wonder Holt had something against your family!”

  “Now look, Kat Woman, my great-great-granddaddy lost two sons who fought for the Union—killed by Confederate troops made up of Cherokees. My relatives got scalped, so don’t turn self-righteous on me, okay?”

  “You hate my family and I’m trying to defend them.”

  He shook his head, the chocolate-brown hair shagging forward over his forehead. “I don’t hate people I never knew.”

  “You know me!”

  “Well, I sure don’t hate you.”

  The fervent way he said that, as if hate weren’t even in his vocabulary where she was concerned, made Kat stare at him wistfully. “I don’t hate you, either.”

  An electric silence settled between them as he met her gaze and held it. “Katie,” he said in a soft, gruff tone. “I don’t think we could ever hate each other.”

  In her rational mind Kat knew that two people who’d met less than a week ago shouldn’t use such certain words, but with his somber gray eyes pouring affection into her all she could think was. He’s right

  “Would you—” she began.

  His fishing rod jerked wildly and he faced forward, struggling with it.

  Kiss me, she added silently.

  “Got a big one, Kat Woman,” he shouted. “Sharpen your claws!”

  Sighing, Kat reached for the net behind her. She made a great pal for Nathan, but not much of anything else.

  SHE PEERED OUT of her tent the next morning to find the fire burning and a covered pot sitting in the center of it. Sniffing at an unidentifiable but delicious smell, Kat peered around but saw no sign of Nathan. She gazed at his teepee, trying to see inside the dark triangle where the flap was pulled back, and concluded that he wasn’t there, either.

  Quickly she tugged her sleeping bag outside and sat down on it to do some stretching exercises. Her discipline, developed during years of work with the trapeze performers, had now become a form of meditation. It was difficult to meditate when Nathan was around.

  She felt decently covered in a long, loose T-shirt and panties. If Nathan came back from wherever he was, he wouldn’t see anything compared to what her Princess Talana getup had revealed. She wasn’t certain what he thought of her, but she didn’t want to look like a tease, especially when the teasing didn’t seem to do any good.

  With a low sigh of delight, Kat spread her legs in a wide split and leaned forward from the waist, feeling well-trained muscles loosen and slide as she flattened herself to the ground. She rested the side of her face on the edge of the sleeping bag and extended both arms in front of her.

  She was still in that position several minutes later when she heard the rustling sound of footsteps. Kat propped her chin on one hand and watched as Nathan strode into the clearing, water dripping from his body, his dark hair slicked back, a towel wrapped low around his waist.

  All her muscles went on alert. He really knew how to ruin a good meditation.

  He halted the second he saw her in her strange contortion on the sleeping bag, and one end of his mustache lifted under a lopsided, devilish smile. She had the notion that he might growl lecherously and head straight for her. The man was full of mischief.

  “I have to stretch,” she explained firmly. “Or I get cricks.”

  “Let me see what I can do to help.”

  Before she could protest he was beside her, kneeling on the sleeping bag, his hands pushing her hair off her back so that he could massage her shoulders. Kat was very aware of how she must look from his angle—her legs spread almost straight out from her body. her rump sticking up a little, covered only by panties and the tail of her T-shirt.

  “I didn’t figure on this,” she muttered.

  “Relax, I’m not gawking,” he said cheerfully. “I saw more when Lady Savage was holding you over her head.”

  “Gee, thanks. Hope you got your money’s worth.”

  He patted her shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about me, kid. I’m not gonna scare you again.”

  “Thanks,” Kat said grimly. What he really meant was, he wasn’t interested in tangling with her.

  He molded his hands to her back and stroked them down both sides, kneading her with the tips of his fingers, rubbing small circles on her spine with his thumbs. “You know,” he said calmly, “a lot of times our society calls other people primitive because they run around without any clothes. But it seems a hell of a lot more primitive to go around covered up on a pretty summer day like this.”

  “What did Cherokees wear, before they turned white?”

  He chuckled, his fingers still working their magic through the cotton of her T-shirt. “They never turned white. They took up a lot of white ways, but underneath it they were always different.”

  “Which way?”

  “Well, like your great-grandfather. If his own people had arrested him, they wouldn’t have put him in jail to wait for trial. He’d just go on about his business and come into court the day he was due. The old ways were based on personal honor.”

  He rubbed her lower back, pushing down with the palms of his hands, brushing the curve of her hips with his fingertips before he retreated up her spine again. Kat quivered as her body loosened in a way that wanted to welcome him inside.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Hmmm. Yeah, no problem. The, uhmm, the personal honor. More.”

  Oh, yes. More, Nathan, more.

  “Cherokees didn’t like to order other people around. Everybody was supposed to know the basic rules of the tribe, but then do their own thing. Not a bad way to live—share what you have, do what you want as long as you don’t break the important taboos, respect your elders, be polite to your family.”

  “What taboos?” Kat asked languidly. She was liquid with heat inside and so mesmerized by his voice and hands that she could barely think.

  “Marrying into your own clan, murder, ignoring the mourning rituals after a relative died. And a man, for instance, could get into deep trouble if he abused a woman or child.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Women from the victim’s clan would beat him up.”

  Kat laughed softly. Oh Lord, Nathan was rubbing the back of her head now. “Cherokee women must have had a lot of power.”

  “Sure did. They weren’t second-class citizens.” His voice dropped to a teasing rumble. “But then, women who run around half-dressed can get just about anything they ask for.”

  This was her chance. Kat raised her head. “Then I’d like—”

  “Dammit, my frogs are boiling over!”

  He leaped up and ran to the fire. Dazed, Kat pushed herself into a sitting position and stared as he plucked the lid off the pot and stirred the contents with his bowie knife.

  “Frogs?”

  “Yeah. Bullfrogs. I caught ’em this morning. See, you parboil ’em, then roast ’em. Best frogs legs you’ve ever tasted.”

  Kat groaned softly and went back in her tent. Between frogs and fish, she’d never get anywhere with Nathan.

  They’d been alone together, not having seen another human soul for over a week now. They’d watched hawks, deer, possums, raccoons, rabbits, squirrels, and owls, and they’d discussed most of them in detail as to Cherokee name and legends. They were happy without other company.

  At least she was happy, Kat corrected herself. And she guessed Nathan was—he never got very far away from her, and he was always concerned about her ankle, and he asked lots of polite questions about her hobbies and
ideas. But he didn’t flirt very much, and that was making her more miserable with each passing day.

  Did she want to get herself in deep water with this man? Yes, deep water in the stream, nekkid, and she wanted him to run his hands through her hair and later on show her exactly what was tattooed on his rump.

  She sat one afternoon and watched him draw the Cherokee alphabet in the sand for her, with the sunlight glinting on his hair, his body clothed only in those damned sexy buckskin breeches, his muscles flexing under the freckled, richly tanned skin of his back.

  His voice was smooth as warm liniment. He was kind and patient, the best teacher in the world. When she asked questions or offered some comment he sat very still and listened, really listened, without making fun of her for being uneducated.

  Oh Lord. This was terrible. She was falling in love with him.

  CHAPTER 4

  HE HAD HIMSELF a neighbor, a student, a patient, and a very big problem since he didn’t think of Kat as the enemy anymore. In fact, after knowing her for only a week, he wanted to run up the white flag, sign a peace treaty, and give her any territorial right her sweet little heart wanted.

  She might talk like a wisecracking truckstop waitress and act as if she didn’t care to be sophisticated, but there was a sharp lady under all that fast talk. Her grasp of national and world events would put most people to shame.

  Her mind was very quick and as inquisitive as a child’s, as a result, he believed, of growing up in the circus. She always had been traveling, always meeting new people and living in new places. Unlike most adults, she’d never fully lost a child’s fascination with the world.

  She was sincere about learning Cherokee lore, and they spent a lot of their time sitting at the campfire while he talked and she listened, her head tilted to one side, her chin propped on one hand.

  She listened the same way whenever he played one of his six harmonicas or his flute or the small guitarlike instrument he’d gotten in South America. They traded stories about his travels as a geologist and her circus experiences and the wrestling tour.

  On the other hand, they spent many silent hours together, usually by the stream.