by Nina Bruhns
She clamped her jaw.
"Drive. They're getting away."
She clutched the wheel tightly.
"I'm a card-carrying Paiute, RaeAnne. Big Pine is a Paiute reservation. I can help."
It was true. Even though they'd both grown up on Rincon Reservation, one of the Luiseño settlements north of San Diego, Roman was Paiute. And his father was a certified Paiute hero, a man who'd died defending his people against the hated FBI. If anyone could help her case with the Tribal Council, it would be Roman.
She girded herself against the temptation. "I don't need your help. I've done this before. I can't—"
She snapped her mouth closed. Her fragile wall of self-control was starting to crack. She had to stop that dam from bursting. Because once the words started trickling out of her, she knew she'd never be able to stop the flow.
"Fine," she growled. "But don't say a thing. I can only deal with one crisis at a time."
He nodded, apparently taking her literally. Thank God. Buckling his seat belt, he leaned his head back against the headrest, a grim expression settling on his face as they sped toward the highway.
She tried not to look. Honestly she did. But against her will, when the tires rolled onto the smooth pavement, RaeAnne's gaze was drawn to the exotic angles of his cheekbones and jaw, to the fanned lines radiating from the corners of his tired eyes, to those lusciously sensual lips that had given her such dazzling pleasure when love was new and life was a splendid, unpainted canvas.
What had happened? They'd been so incredibly happy together. So totally, hopelessly, irrevocably in love. She had fallen hard for Roman Santangelo the first time she'd laid eyes on him, at the tender age of nine. He'd been eleven, new to the reservation where RaeAnne's mother taught high school, and an instant celebrity because of his father. It had taken him seven long months even to notice the skinny blond bookworm giving him moon-eyes, and seven even longer years to finally make love to her.
But in between those two memorable events, they had formed an unbreakable bond of friendship, sharing everything, hiding nothing, growing up and growing closer with each passing day of those turbulent years. He was going to be a veterinarian, and she wanted to be a teacher, until they had kids of their own. Theirs was the love of a lifetime, born in childhood, forged by the true, pure love of innocence, untouched by the sorrow and ugliness of the world. They would never part, mated for life.
At least that's what she'd thought.
Until the awful day when the sorrow and ugliness had closed in, squeezing the life, the love and the happiness from her forever.
Oh, God. She couldn't stand it a second longer. She had to know, even if it killed her. She screeched to a stop at the side of the highway, her foot trembling on the pedal, her knuckles white from gripping the wheel.
"All right. Explain it, then," she whispered into the wind. "Why did you leave me?"
* * *
Chapter 2
«^»
God help him, this was it.
Roman took a calming breath and glanced over at RaeAnne. Suddenly he wasn't prepared for this moment. He couldn't think what to say to make that sad, wounded look in her eyes go away. He desperately needed her forgiveness. Needed her to look at him the way she used to, back then.
The curtain of mountains drawn high against the sky seemed to move closer, leaning in with their bald, craggy pates as if to eavesdrop. He drilled a hand through the short strands of hair above his right ear.
"Do you have any idea how long I've been searching for you?" he began.
Crossing her arms over her chest, RaeAnne focused on a distant point, where the highway disappeared in a shimmering smear of black and yellow into the horizon. "No."
She wasn't going to give him an inch. Not that he deserved one. "Seventeen years," he murmured. "Almost eighteen. I came back for you that same fall, just a few months after I left. But you'd already gone. You're a hard woman to find."
With a snap of the seat belt, she slid out of the Jeep and leaned her hips against the hood, her back to him. "I guess I didn't want to be found."
He followed suit, but hung back at his door. "So I gathered: Nobody at Rincon knew what had happened to you. Not even Tanya or Cole."
He, RaeAnne, Tanya Proudhomme and her cousin Colton Lonetree had been inseparable in high school. Cole was still his best friend. Roman had been floored when she hadn't kept in touch at least with Tanya.
"I wanted a clean break, after … everything. First you left, then Mom died."
Of their own volition, his legs carried him to her side. Her sad eyes pooled, and he had to physically restrain himself from reaching out to her. He could only imagine what she'd gone through at such a young age. Guilt scaled down his body like strips being flayed from his flesh.
"I heard about your mom. I'm sorry. She was a great lady."
A shudder racked through her, and she swiped at her eyes. "Yeah."
"You get married?" he asked, striving for a neutral voice. Inwardly preparing himself for the blow.
"What?" She glanced at him uncertainly.
"Your name's Martin now." He shrugged with false detachment, jamming his hands in his pockets. "I figured you'd gotten married."
She returned her gaze to the horizon. "Martin was my grandmother's maiden name. At seventeen it's easy to become someone else. There were few records, hardly anything to change, except the name on my college application."
Total, irrational relief swept through him. He had no business being glad she hadn't ever married. Just because he'd never found anyone else to fill her place in his heart…
"Well, you did a damn good job of disappearing. You could give the FBI lessons." He leaned his butt against the hood, too, feeling the heat of the engine through his leather pants. It had been a source of supreme frustration that he'd not been able to track her down. Over the years, he'd tried everything in the book, to no avail. She'd been thorough.
"How'd you find me?"
"High school reunion committee." The corner of his mouth lifted at the irony. It was always the most insignificant details that nailed the bad guys. And they'd caught her, too.
She stared at him, scandalized. "Reunion committee?"
"You requested high school transcripts last year. The secretary routinely sends names and addresses to the committee. The address was fake, but the name turned out to be real enough."
She took two strides away from the Jeep and let out a sigh. "Unbelievable."
"Was the thought of seeing me again so terrible?" The silence stretched out so long he had plenty of time to brace himself for her answer. But it was still like being gut shot when she softly said, "Yes."
"I guess I deserved that."
"So, what was it that drove you away?" she said, chin lifting as she turned to face him. "Got tired of me? Or maybe there was another woman?"
"No! How could you— God, no." He took a step toward her, but she backed away. "There was no other woman. And you know I could never get enough of you."
"What, then? What did I do to deserve you leaving like that?" She looked at him and his heart simply broke in two.
"Nothing," he whispered. "You did nothing. It was my—" He rubbed a hand over his face. "Do you remember that last night, when I dropped you off after—"
After the most incredible night of his life. The prom had ended hours earlier. It was nearly dawn and they'd spent the whole night—
Ruthlessly he cut off the memories. It would do him no good to go there. To recall the warmth of her body cradled against his, the smell of her hair fanning over pale shoulders in the moonlight, the crinkle of her stiff formal as it was crushed beneath—
Damn! He swallowed heavily and forced himself to go on.
"After your prom."
She nodded at the ground between them, face awash in her own memories.
"Do you remember hearing about a car crash that night out on route 76?"
Her gaze slowly lifted and focused on his. "Yes. But what does th
at have to do with anything?"
"It was awful. I saw it happen. A car full of teenagers was hit by a drunk driver. Thank God they were okay, but the drunk guy was in bad shape. There was blood everywhere, and he was trapped, unconscious, hardly breathing. I could tell he needed help or he'd die."
"What did you do?"
"Broke out a window. Sliced my arms up pretty badly in the process, but I never even noticed, what with all the blood." He fingered the thin rope of a scar that cut clear across his forearm. "Pulled the guy out. Gave him mouth-to-mouth and CPR until the ambulance arrived."
"Did he live?"
"Yep." Roman's whole body went weightless, his vision tunneling to a single, spinning image of RaeAnne, much as it had that night, when he'd learned—
"I don't understand. Why are you telling me this? What did it have to do with us?"
"He had AIDS, RaeAnne. They told me at the hospital, the man was dying of AIDS."
* * *
RaeAnne stood there, feeling like a jackrabbit in a flash flood. Deluged by unexpected emotions, bombarded with unforeseen confusion. A thousand times she had played this scene with Roman in her mind, and in not one of them had she ever imagined this explanation.
"Do you— Are you—" The words leaped out, her immediate distress over his health overriding all else.
"No." He shook his head, almost reluctantly. "It's a miracle, but I'm still testing negative."
"Thank God." Her profound relief belied every homicidal thought she'd ever entertained about him … and over the years there had been many. If only she had known…
That's when the anger began to percolate through her. Slowly at first, then overwhelming in its speed and extent.
"Cara, wait—"
His hand reached out, but she shrank from his touch, and from the sound of his favorite endearment, adopted from an old Italian movie they'd seen together. Her anger was like a living thing, consuming in its outrage the brief moment of horror and sympathy she'd felt for him.
"You bastard! Why didn't you tell me?"
"I couldn't—"
"Couldn't what? Be honest? Be fair? Give me a chance to support you? Or at least a chance to say goodbye!"
"Baby, I—"
She slapped him. She'd never raised a hand to a living creature in her life, but it just burst out of her like an explosion.
"Don't you dare 'baby' me, Roman Santangelo." The word almost choked in her throat, so great was the pain it caused her to say it. "You have no idea what you did by walking away."
"Rae—"
Spinning on her heel, she stalked to the Jeep. "Get in." Barely giving him time to jump in, she jerked it into gear and tore down the highway toward Big Pine. "Of all the selfish, arrogant…"
"I thought I was a dead man, Rae. Worse, I thought if I saw you again, you'd be dead, too."
"That's ridiculous."
"I know that now. But in the mid-eighties, nobody really knew what caused AIDS or how you got it. I was sure if I so much as kissed you, you'd be infected."
She rolled her eyes.
"How could I say goodbye without kissing you? Or touching you? I couldn't face it. Couldn't face the pity in your eyes. Couldn't face what others would think of me. Couldn't put you through it all. It just seemed better to disappear."
"It wasn't."
"Yeah. I figured that out pretty quickly. But by the time I did it was too late. Only six months, but you'd already left."
She'd often imagined him filled with regrets and remorse, going back to Rincon to find her. And instead, finding her gone without a trace. She'd savored that thought. She'd worked hard at not leaving a trail, and for eighteen years it had paid off.
So why did the triumph of her success taste so bitter now? "You should have trusted me," she said, stubbornly clinging to that bitterness.
"I know. Can you ever forgive me?"
Suddenly everything was all mixed up, upside down. She didn't know what to think anymore. She remembered those first, scary days of AIDS—the fear, the prejudice, the myths. Could he really have had a justified reason for abandoning her the way he had? Not to her—for her, nothing would ever justify what he'd done. But maybe to himself?
No. She refused to consider that possibility. It would mean she understood. It would mean she had to forgive him. And that was one thing she could never do. Because of the baby.
But there was no time now to dwell on the past. More immediate concerns loomed, such as salvaging her career. She skidded into a parking spot at the Big Pine tribal offices and grabbed her purse. Roman shadowed closely behind as she shot through the door. No sign of either Toby or the boxes. Great.
"Was Toby Benson just here?" she asked the receptionist, taking pains to be polite, despite her inner roiling.
"I'm not allowed to give out that kind of information," the woman informed her.
Politeness flew out the window. "Look, a bunch of—"
Roman grasped her arms and gently set her aside. She sputtered a protest, but he commandeered the receptionist's attention by introducing himself in the Indian way, giving the names of his people as well as his own, and letting her know he was born here at Big Pine. When he mentioned Hector Santangelo was his father, the woman's eyes widened. Even after thirty years, the name of the local hero made an impression.
As Roman explained the situation and schmoozed his way into the receptionist's good graces, instead of the gratitude she should be feeling for his help, RaeAnne only felt even more angry.
Roman had no right to waltz back into her life and take over like this. Philip O'Donnaugh regularly barged into her life and took over, too. It annoyed her to no end. She'd thought it was just because he was a sheriff and used to taking charge. Apparently not. What was it with men, anyhow, that they all thought women were helpless?
It was her dig that had been sabotaged and her artifacts that had been stolen. She was perfectly capable of handling the situation herself.
"Excuse me…"
The receptionist ignored her, bestowing a smile on Roman. "I'm really not supposed to say anything," she said in a confidential hush, "but since you're one of us, I guess it's all right to tell you. When the boys came in earlier, I called the Tribal Chairman and he felt this was a matter for the Board of Trustees. The boxes of artifacts have been taken there."
"To Bishop?" RaeAnne groaned. "If anything is broken, I'm holding the tribe responsible."
"Thanks very much," Roman said as he ushered her toward the door. "We appreciate the information. Come on, let's go."
* * *
RaeAnne did not look forward to driving another fifteen miles to the Bishop Reservation where the Paiute-Shoshone Board of Trustees' offices were located. Not with Roman filling up the Jeep with his … with his … obnoxiously compelling presence. His legs were so long his knees crammed into the bottom of the dashboard. His damn shoulders were so broad they barely fit in the small confines of the front seat.
He'd always had ridiculously broad shoulders. At a traffic signal she shifted gears, accidentally bumping up against him, and was thrown headlong into the memory of the very first time she'd bumped up against those broad shoulders.
It had been on a school bus, on a field trip. Roman was late as usual, the last to climb onboard, and the only seat left was next to her. She could still feel the burning of her cheeks as he'd slid in beside her, delivering one of his meltingly sexy smiles as his shoulder brushed hers. It was one of those perfect, elusive moments a young girl lived for. Her heart beat wildly, and she could scarcely believe her luck. Her complete and utter thrall must have shown on her face, for he'd turned and looked at her then, for the very first time really looked at her. And for the remainder of the trip his shoulder had rested nonchalantly against hers, quietly sending her into a paroxysm of young girl's fantasies.
All of which had come true.
"Don't worry, we'll get them back."
Roman's words startled her out of the memory, and for a moment she grappled with a sting
ing disappointment that he wasn't talking about lost fantasies.
"I've got my doubts," she mumbled, the artifacts the least of her worries. What she really wanted back was her righteous fury. The fury that had given her the strength to get through the past eighteen years. Where had it suddenly gone? There was no way she'd be able to deal with Roman without it. Without the fury, there was only pain. Pain, and shattered fantasies.
* * *
Roman and RaeAnne managed to make it to the Board of Trustees' offices on the Bishop Reservation without drowning in the silence, but to Roman it felt like the punishing silence of the condemned. He'd surely been tried and convicted in her mind, and this was the sentence. Eternal silence.
She'd never forgive him. This whole idea had been folly. He didn't know what he'd been thinking. He let out a soundless snort. If it had been her who'd run out on him, would he accept such a lame excuse? Would he ever forgive her? Just because she asked?
In a heartbeat.
He sighed. Big tough FBI agent. Able to haul down the bad guys and take a beating without blinking, but one woman's wordless judgment sends him to his knees. What a wuss.
As they parked and walked up the sidewalk, he fought the urge to grab her and pull her into his arms. Demand she listen. Somehow convince her of his unbounding repentance and contrition. He stuck his hands into his pockets and glanced over at her.
She was still so beautiful it made his throat ache. Others might think her straw-colored hair too plain and unruly, but to him it was a mass of spun sunshine, making his fingers itch to sift through its golden drifts. And her body. The lithe, subtle curves that had sent him into countless throes of rapture as an insatiable youth had matured into the lush and alluring body of a woman. Watching her walk, hips gently swaying in her tight jeans, breasts bouncing softly under her T-shirt, made his fingers itch in a completely different way—one he hadn't felt in years.
Whoa, boy, don't even think about it, he sternly admonished himself. All he needed to do to blow any chance he might have left was to come on to her sexually. That would be a brilliant move. Not.