“Long ago,” she began, “before there were such things as paper and pencils, The People kept their history through stories. They sat around a fire at night with the stars winking at them high above, and they taught their children where they came from. They recounted tales of brave warriors and hunters. They told of times gone by. They told of their hopes and dreams to come. The children heard about floods and fire and acts of nature that formed the tribe into what it was. Through the Shaman’s words, battles were relived. Wars with other tribes over hunting rights disputes. Wars with the Europeans. The children learned of the good times, when crops and hunting were bountiful. And they heard about hardships, when blizzards came, and stayed, and made hunting impossible. The Shaman would also tell of brave leaders and great chiefs…”
Travis looked at the faces of the twins, saw that Diana had caught them up in the web she was spinning. Easing himself down to sit on Josh’s bed, Travis was extremely careful not to allow his knee to touch hers. She was so close. He looked at her face, at her expressive eyes, and found himself quickly pulled into the past right along with the boys. Her soft voice was lulling, mesmerizing, and he clearly understood what she meant when she’d said that storytelling was spirit-calming medicine.
“One such chief,” she continued, “was called Half Moon. He got his name from the pale, crescent-shaped scar he had here.” She reached up and gingerly touched her face high on the left cheekbone. “When he was a small child, he wandered into a pen of wild horses. His mother watched helplessly as the animals stampeded. They reared and bolted and bucked. They thrashed and finally broke the fence. Half Moon could have been killed. Should have been killed. But instead he walked from the pen all on his own. He’d been kicked in the face, the horse’s hoof leaving a curved gash on his cheek. The whole tribe knew that Half Moon had survived what any normal child would not have. The People knew that Half Moon would be a great man when he grew. He would be smart. And brave. And he would lead The People toward wonderful things.”
Her words were like magic, drawing them deeper and deeper into the moment. Her eyes danced with emotion, her tone rose and then softened for the greatest impact. It was clearly evident that she’d told this tale many times. That she herself reveled in the history of her tribe. And that in this verbal tradition—whether the story was myth or reality—she was celebrating her proud heritage.
Travis tore his eyes from her beaming face and looked at the boys. They, too, were held entranced by the enchantment she conjured. This connection to the past was a good thing for Jared and Josh. Of that he couldn’t be more sure than he was at this moment, seeing the fascination in their eyes.
“And Half Moon did grow to be a great man,” Diana said. “He was all the things The People knew he would be. He was a great chief. Wiser than many others. Half Moon was the man who made the Big Negotiation. He knew the Europeans were in our land to stay. He knew they would soon outnumber The People. So he made it possible for us to have a place. A home. He gathered his tribe and moved them to what is now known as Vermont. The Kolheek, People Of The Smoke—your people—survive today because Half Moon knew when to talk peace rather than engage in war.”
Pride seemed to emanate from her. Her spine was straight, her slender shoulders square. There was no conceit or arrogance in the way her chin tipped upward; however, there was a good measure of old-fashioned self-respect. And Travis couldn’t help but admit that he found it alluring. Highly alluring.
Movement at the periphery of his vision had him darting a glance down the length of her body. Gravity tugged at the hem of her robe, parting the bottom facings to reveal a slice of her bronze-hued thigh. The sight of her finely honed muscle caused heat to curl in the bottom of his belly, his abdomen tensing with a sharp but pleasant pain. The sudden discomfort was a shock and the urge to suck in a lungful of air was overwhelming, but he successfully restrained it.
As inconspicuously as possible, he pressed his balled-up fist to his diaphragm, hoping to quell the constriction. Never before had he reacted to a woman in such a…a physical manner.
Women are trouble, a shadowy voice in his head warned.
Averting his gaze to the far corner of the room, he clenched his jaw. He didn’t need any dark warnings. He knew all about women. Knew the kind of wounds love inflicted. Had seen it in his parent’s marriage. His brother’s. Hell, he’d even experienced the pain firsthand back in college.
He wasn’t interested in becoming trapped in any woman’s web, no matter how beguiling it might seem.
He was just going to have to snuff out these feelings of attraction he felt for Diana. He could do it. Anytime—every time—he felt something even remotely resembling desire, he’d simply squash it. Like an irritating gnat.
Simple plans were the easiest to accomplish. And this plan couldn’t be more simple. He could do it. She wasn’t going to be here for long.
Apparently she’d finished her story. She was standing now, smiling at Jared and Josh. Then Diana turned that gorgeous smile on Travis, and it was as if he’d been struck between the eyes with a ball peen hammer.
“I’m going to say good-night,” she told him.
Her voice flowed over him—through him—like the mellifluous notes of some haunting melody. Again, his gut tightened.
This is crazy, he told himself. Damned crazy!
“I’ll leave you to tuck in the boys.”
And then she was gone.
You can fight this. You’re stronger than these idiotic feelings. Ignore this ridiculous attraction. Just ignore it.
But even as the thoughts marched drill-like through his brain, he unwittingly turned his head to inhale the faint, citrusy scent she’d left behind.
At last the house was quiet. Diana had brewed a pot of her own herb tea and was sitting in the all-season sunroom, looking out at the darkness, listening to the muffled quiet of the silent, wintry night. Pale moonlight cast a beautiful mélange of deep shadow and pearly glow among the thicket of pine and bare hardwood trees.
When she’d left Travis and his boys, Jared and Josh were both sleepy-eyed and ready for the sandman to take them on whatever dream adventure was in store for them this night. They were great kids, full of energy and imagination. They had delighted in the story she’d told of Half Moon, that much had been clear to Diana. But then, they were bright, inquisitive children. She knew she was going to enjoy spending time with them, aquainting them with their Kolheek heritage.
Travis had paid close attention to her story, too, Diana silently mused, lifting the mug to her lips and taking a small swallow of tea. Well, she hoped it was the legend that had held him so enthralled. His onyx eyes had latched onto her, making her feel as if he were staring into the very depths of her soul, and she’d had a hard time concentrating on the storytelling. She’d wanted to reach up and smooth her hair, fidget with the sash of her robe, but she’d forced her hands to remain in her lap. She hadn’t liked feeling like a silly, squirming schoolgirl. Thank heaven she’d been able to quell the nervousness Travis’s intent gaze had provoked in her. Soon, the training she’d received in the nearly lost art of storytelling had kicked in and she’d become engrossed in the past herself.
Still, when she thought about how his gaze had been riveted to her face, his attention focused on her every word…The memory caused shivers to careen down her spine like an icy mist, and she curled her hands around the heated ceramic mug to ward off the imagined chill. She tucked her bare feet under her on the padded seat of the wicker chair.
His interest had been in nothing more than the story, she firmly told herself. She refused to think anything else. He’d been captivated by Half Moon’s experience. Anyone would be fascinated by the history of such a great chief’s life.
But Travis’s gaze was so dark, so…She couldn’t quite put a name to what she saw in his eyes. Like secret windows. Seemingly filled with something deep and profound. Something mysterious. Haunting her. Calling to her.
Huffing