Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance) Read online

  Chapter 9

  The next morning Abby woke to the smells of bacon sizzling and coffee brewing. Just as she was beginning to wonder where he was, Cat walked through the mouth of the cave.

  “Morning, sleepyhead. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us. I went home and got the jeep, so you can ride back in style.” A short while later he carried her out to the jeep, helping her into the back, where she stretched her leg out along the seat. Before going to the reservation, however, he took her to County General Hospital to have the orthopedic surgeon x-ray her ribs and examine her knee.

  “Well, young lady, you did quite a job on yourself, didn’t you?” Dr. Courtney was examining the pictures of her ribs as he spoke. “Three clean breaks, but they should be fine in four or five weeks, if you pretend you’re Miss Sally-Sit-By- The-Fire. Can you rest your body for a bit?”

  Cat snorted. “You don’t know who you’re talking to, Doc. She hasn’t got a quiet bone in her.”

  The doctor peered at Abby over the rims of his glasses. “That true?”

  She blushed. “I can be lazy, if I have to.”

  “Well, you have to. And the knee injury will help you stay put.”

  “How bad is it, Doc?” There was concern in Cat’s softly spoken question.

  “You did a good job on this, Cat. I couldn’t have done better, myself.” He pulled out a second set of X-rays and set them up for viewing. “The cartilage is intact, and so are the ligaments. However, there was some stretching and tearing of the fibers. There was also a dislocation of the kneecap, which you corrected very nicely, and a small amount of tissue damage. For the next few weeks the knee has to be kept immobilized so the tissues can repair themselves naturally. Therapeutic exercise after that will bring back elasticity and movement.”

  “No surgery?” Cat asked.

  “I’d rather see nature do the work for us, especially since the damage is relatively minor.” He looked at Abby. “Very painful, to be sure, but it could have been much worse.”

  He bandaged the knee, just as Cat had done, and enclosed it in a lightweight splint that fastened with Velcro straps. “No riding, running, swimming, tennis or anything else until I see you in three weeks, Ms. Colton. Use the crutches I’m giving you, and keep the leg elevated whenever possible.” He patted her on the shoulder, and she and Cat started for Twin Buttes.

  When they arrived at the Tallman house Martha was waiting on the porch, and after some gentle hugging and much kissing, Abby was soon settled on the sofa. Martha insisted that Abby recuperate there, despite the difficulty of negotiating the flight of stairs to her bedroom.

  “We’ve got Cat to help you up and down.” She looked from one to the other and smiled. “He wouldn’t mind. Not a bit.”

  For days after Abby’s return, the house was filled with visitors from midmorning until well after dark: a regular contingent from the H-M-R, complete with rollicking youngsters; Abby’s students, singly and in groups; their parents and the school board members, especially Emma. Abby was pleased that Dorrie and Slow took the time to visit and express their thanks for the help she had given their kids. Their gratitude pleased her, because she had never been sure that they’d understood her motives.

  Martha was kept busy, and loved every minute. The bandages came off Abby’s hand and forehead within days, and she was becoming adept at the use of the crutches supplied by Dr. Courtney. Even the pain from her ribs seemed to subside more with each passing day.

  One Sunday after lunch she moved to the sofa to enjoy a visit with Emma, Hank and Jacinta. At Abby’s insistence Martha joined them. Cat lounged against the door frame, observing the scene and smiling at Abby’s animation and renewed strength. He laughed along with the others as she gaily recounted her adventure in the storm and afterward, somehow managing to find humor in a near tragedy.

  The hall phone rang and Cat answered it, then came into the room. “It’s long distance, Abby, for you.”

  She looked startled. “Who is it?”

  He shrugged. “They didn’t say.”

  Abby reached for her crutches and went into the hallway. She put the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Abby. It’s Brendan.”

  Cat watched as her face went pale and she swayed on her crutches. She sensed his approach and waved him off. “How did you find me?”

  “I asked around, kept digging till I got Mr. Koehler’s number. His secretary directed me to you.”

  “I may have to get her fired.”

  He laughed. “You haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

  She snorted derisively. “Yes, I have. What do you want?”

  “I want to see you.”

  “No.”

  “Please, Abby?”

  “No!” She realized that she could be heard in the living room and lowered her voice. “No.”

  “Don’t shut me out.”

  “Why not? You did it to me... and to Sian.”

  “How is she? I miss her so much, Abby.”

  Over and over during the recent months Abby had rehearsed in her head exactly what she would say if she were able to confront Brendan. Now that the opportunity was there, she realized that exacting revenge had rather limited appeal. She looked at the receiver for a moment, picturing his face, then said softly, “She’s dead, Brendan. She died seven months ago of pneumonia.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line, then a long silence. Finally he spoke. “I didn’t know.”

  “How could you? You left without telling anyone where you were going, so there was no way to find you. And the truth is, I didn’t think you’d care, so maybe I didn’t try very hard.”

  He seemed to sense that she was about to break the connection. “Don’t hang up yet, please. Wait.”

  “Well?” Her voice was hoarse and cold. “What?”

  “Let me come out and talk to you. Let me try to straighten things out.”

  “For the last time, no. And if you find your way out here, I won’t see you. So save yourself a trip.” She thought for a moment. “Brendan, listen to me. What you and I had, if we ever had anything at all, died long before Sian did. But her death put the seal on it more finally than any legal papers ever did. Do us both a favor and stay away from me. We’ll both be better off.” There was only silence in response. “Did you hear me, Brendan?”

  His voice was lifeless when he answered. “Yeah, I heard you. I won’t bother you anymore. Goodbye.”

  They hung up simultaneously. Abby moved over to the stairs and sat down on the second step, too weak to move, in too much pain to think clearly. Brendan’s voice echoed in her mind, and pictures of Sian burned behind her closed eyes. Together, the two forces churned within her, ripping at her insides. She wanted to cry out, to release some of the agony, but she couldn’t; the others were too close. Instead she sat with her arms wrapped around her middle, trying to hold on to her self-control and shaking with the effort.

  The others were in the living room, waiting for Abby to return. When she failed to do so, Cat came after her.

  “Abby? What happened? Who the hell was that guy?” She made no response. He touched her arm gently. “Abby?” She turned to him, hollow-eyed and tormented. “My God, what did he say to you?”

  “Cat,” she whispered, “get me out of here. Take me home. Please?”

  “Of course. C’mon.”

  He helped her down the front steps and kept his arms around her for a moment or two. She clung to him, as if to draw his strength into herself. When she felt steady she took her crutches and smiled at him. “I’m okay now. Thanks.”

  “Let me carry you.”

  “I need to walk.”

  “Stubborn, even now.”

  She grimaced. “Times like this, it’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

  When they reached her house Cat opened the door, and they went inside. “You can help me open the windows,” she said. “The house smells musty.”

  That chore done, they sat togeth
er in the window seat. “Who was the guy, Abby?”

  She stared out the window. “My ex-husband.” At his silence, she turned to him. “No comment?”

  “And that Sian you talked about?”

  “Our daughter.”

  He took her hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “Did you hear it all?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Do you need to know any more?”

  “Only if you need to tell me.”

  She leaned back against the window and closed her eyes. Cat watched her silently. Her face was pale and gaunt; her body seemed drained of energy. Not even after her accident had he seen her so physically and mentally depleted. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, and he was furious with himself for the thought.

  “I need something, but I don’t think that’s it.”

  “Come here.”

  She moved into his arms and nestled there with a grateful sigh. “Your arms are beginning to feel like home.”

  “I know.”

  They sat silently for a long time. As the tension gradually left her body other sensations took its place. Her heartbeat and pulse quickened. Faint color returned to her cheeks, and when she looked up at him, her eyes glowed with a new light. As her body came to life, he knew he was in danger. In another minute, he knew, he would be lost. He lifted her in his arms.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You need some rest.” He carried her into the bedroom and lowered her gently to the bed. “You should sleep now, Abby.”

  “Stay with me?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Please?”

  “Are you sure?”

  She smiled. “No. But stay anyway.”

  He lay down beside her on the wide brass bed and held her until she fell asleep. They slept in each other’s arms until well past midnight, when Abby stirred, lifting herself up on one elbow to watch his face. Pictures of the last time she’d watched him this way flooded back with taunting accuracy, and once again she felt his lips and his hands and his velvety skin beneath her palm. By the light of the moon she examined his features, foreign and exotic and compelling, and wondered if he was really handsome, or only handsome in her eyes, because she loved him. And she did love him. There had been no fanfares, no lightning striking her, no sudden revelations, just the slowly growing knowledge deep inside her that though he fought her, opposed her at every possible turn, didn’t approve of her or trust her, he had come to occupy a very special place in her life and her heart.

  She touched his mouth lightly with her own, and he opened his eyes. She lowered her lips to his again, but he put up a hand. “Don’t, Ab,” he pleaded. “Don’t start... anything. I’m not sure I’ve got the strength to resist.”

  She nudged his hand aside, and her lips came down on his, caressing, playing, her tongue making darting moves, teasing him into joining her in the game.

  “I like you best when you’re half-asleep,” she whispered against his mouth, “and too weak to fight me like you do when you’re awake and in control.” She pulled back and looked at his eyes, which were just beginning to focus. Then she brought her mouth down again, demanding a response.

  He groaned deep in his throat, his eyes glaring hotly at her, his body rigid with resistance. Then his arms came around her, and his hands traveled up her back and raked through her hair to hold her head in a steely grip that kept her face no more than a breath away from his.

  “Don’t look for trouble, Abby,” he whispered fiercely. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” He stared at her for a long time, but her gaze never wavered.

  “I know exactly what I’m saying,” she responded with equal ferocity. “And exactly what I’m doing.”

  She lay down, her long, slender body a gentle weight on his, and felt him quiver as her warmth shrouded him. Her fingers twined in his hair, and her lips touched his eyelids and the bump at the bridge of his nose, and one wide cheekbone and then the other. By the time she reached the corner of his mouth his lips were searching hungrily for hers, and she knew he would fight her no longer.

  Now his lips claimed hers, and his tongue sought entry to the warm, moist cavern of her mouth, roaming at will, searching and joining with its partner in a sensuous mating dance. His hands traveled down her back, kneading the muscles along her spine, working his magic as he had before, until every nerve ending vibrated and waves of heat radiated through her body, setting her skin on fire.

  His hands at her hips pressed her tightly to him. Through the thick layers of their denims she felt the hard throbbing in his loins, and a wet heat sprang up in her in response. He reached between them and slipped his hand beneath her blouse to touch her warm, bare skin, and brushed a turgid nipple with one fingertip before cupping the full weight of her breast in his hand. This time she was the one who groaned deep in her throat, caught in an agony of wanting, tortured by a need so great that it expressed itself as physical pain.

  Her left hand stole beneath his soft cotton shirt and gently explored the contours of his chest, passing finally down the long channel that ran from breastbone to navel. She slipped her hand beneath the waistband of his jeans to touch his flat, hard stomach and felt his flesh quivering beneath her questing palm. She trailed her fingers lightly over his skin, exploring, enjoying the feel of his rock-hard muscles as they contracted beneath her fingers, forming a tantalizing valley between the sharp, flesh-covered ridges of his pelvic bones. She would have tested further, but at the first tentative movement downward, he let out a gasp and grabbed at her arm.

  “Damn it, woman,” he growled. “Enough!” He rolled her onto her back and claimed her lips in a hard kiss, then withdrew with a moan of impatience to lie back against the pillows. “You test my willpower, Abby. Why do you do that?”

  She leaned over him and looked into his eyes. “Why can’t you take what I have to give? What I want to give?”

  He turned away wordlessly and looked at the moon hanging in the sky, already moving toward morning. Finally he turned back to her, ignoring her questions, not yet ready to give her the answer that would tear them apart finally and absolutely. “When you were on the phone you mentioned legal papers. I guess that means you and he are divorced?”

  Resigned to the fact that they’d lost the moment, Abby lay back with a sigh. “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “Sian was born with a lot of physical problems. He couldn’t handle that, and one day he just... left. It was pretty rough for a while until I got a good job and a super nurse to care for Sian. I really thought she and I would make it, but she got sick and developed pneumonia, and suddenly it was over.”

  He touched her cheek gently. “You haven’t had much luck in your life, have you?”

  She considered the question. “I guess not. I never thought much about it.”

  But Cat thought about it, hard and long, as she lay beside him. There wasn’t a hope in hell for them. And it was unfair to draw her close when they had no future together. Better to pull back now, before she came to feel more than she already did. There were hurts in her past he could never undo; he could only see to it that he didn’t add to her pain. Gently, he pulled his arm from beneath her head.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said quietly.

  She was quiet for a long time, and he thought she might not have heard. Finally she spoke softly, saying only, “Okay.”

  “Don’t...”

  “Don’t what? There are no strings here. You don’t owe me a thing.”

  “Then don’t be angry.”

  She turned her head away, and he could no longer see her eyes. With a gentle finger beneath her chin, he forced her to look at him, and he ached at the tears that shimmered on her lashes.

  “I’m not angry,” she insisted. “Just very tired.”

  Cat left and walked to the door. Against his better judgment he turned to look at her once more. She was lying quietly, one arm flung across her eyes, her bottom lip c
aught between her teeth.

  Abby heard the door open and quietly close; tears prickled behind her eyelids and ran down her cheeks when she finally looked around and wondered why the room seemed suddenly huge and empty.

  * * *

  The children continued to visit Abby, bringing bits of news to keep her up-to-date. Everything was going beautifully with the various craft projects, a fact of which she was already aware as a result of conversations with Nellie and Annie, two of the most enthusiastic artisans. The murals were finished, the kids told her, and anything that could be refurbished in the school building itself was completed and ready for the new term. They were desperate for some new ideas to fill the time formerly devoted to the murals. Beth, one of the students, suggested continuing the craft projects and selling what they produced, and then Abby spoke up.

  “I’ve got this friend in New York City who sells all kinds of craft items. I could call and see if she can help. If we send your things to her, all we have to worry about are shipping costs and whatever commission she would take for selling them. And you won’t have to worry about things like overhead and actually selling your work. What do you think? Should I call her?”