Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance) (12 page)

“I’m sure you can. What’s it like in Hungry Dog?”

He looked startled. “What do you know about it?”

“Not much, and nothing good. Why do you waste yourself in a place like that?”

“What makes you think I’m wasting myself?”

“Do you have a job?” He remained silent. “Did you finish school?” Again silence. “Have you ever done anything better on a Saturday night than get drunk?”

Abby felt his anger, but when he made a move to rise she pushed him back down with a firm hand. “Stay put. I’m not finished.”

Cutter glared at her. “You got no right to say them things, and I don’t have to listen.”

“Do I have a right to turn you in for pulling a knife on me?” He lowered his eyes. “Which would you prefer: the sheriff, the tribal council or me?” He glowered at her once more, but sat quietly. “How far did you get in school?”

He looked down at his clasped hands. “Tenth grade.” “How old are you?” He gave her a cold stare and said nothing. She shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s not important.” She cleaned the sink and sat down once more. “Do you have anyone at all down there?”

“No.”

“Then
--”

Cat walked in and commandeered Cutter, ending the conversation for the moment. While they went into the bathroom, Abby and Benjamin talked quietly in the front room. A few minutes later Cat returned with Cutter in tow.

“This
young man
and I have a short trip to make,” he declared.

Abby looked at him. “Could we talk for a minute? In private?”

Cat turned to Cutter. “Don’t move,” he ordered, and then to Benjamin, “Sit on him.”

He followed Abby into her bedroom and waited with a puzzled look as she closed the door. When she flicked on a light switch he looked around the room, his eyes lingering on the brass bed, his mind filling with images of her lying there. He shook his head and turned to her; her eyes were on him, and her face had turned a delicate shade of pink.

“What’s up?” he asked to cover their mutual embarrassment.

“Don’t take him in, Cat. Please?”

“What?” This was the last thing he’d expected. “Are you out of your mind? He’s as dangerous as they come.”

“Maybe,” she countered. “And maybe not. He’s been on his own a long time. He’s lonely and scared, and trying to appear tough, but beneath it all he’s only a boy.”

Her earnestness and sincerity were unmistakable, and Cat felt a bit in awe of her. Dark patches of fatigue underlined her eyes, and he could almost feel her body shake with the strain of this night. A thin, angry red line marked the place where Cutter’s knife had marred the smooth flesh of her throat, but still she pleaded the boy’s case.

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “What do you want from me?”

“Find a job for him, and a place to stay.”

“There’s little enough work around for folks who belong here,” he argued. “Why should we do anything for an outsider?”

“Because he’s a kid in trouble,” she countered. “Because he’s a brother, and if you don’t help him, who will? Because he’s had too many doors slammed in his face for one so young, and someone needs to care while there’s still a chance to save him.” Her eyes glazed over with tears. “Please,” she pleaded. “Please?”

Her vehemence overwhelmed him. “Why is this so important to you?”

She turned away from him and walked to the fireplace, staring down into its darkened recesses. She had never told anyone the things she was about to tell him; only her desperate need to help Cutter could compel her to expose herself to another, especially to Cat.

“We have a lot in common.” Her voice seemed remote and filled with pain. She faced him again. “We grew up without fathers, lost our mothers at an early age, bounced around a lot trying to find a place to belong.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and he knew this was difficult for her. He remained silent and let her finish.

“At least I had foster homes to go to, too many, to be sure, with not much love in some of them, but they were more than he had, I think. He’s got no one to care about him. He’s got no dreams. He’s got no roots.” She raised one hand in supplication. “Help me give him something. At least let’s give him a chance.”

He nodded in assent. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.” She smiled in gratitude, and he thought angrily that she knew every argument in the book. How the hell could he fight her? The inner voice that had been giving him so much trouble lately countered,
why would you want to?

Chapter
7

The remaining weeks of the school term sped by; the children finished the prescribed curriculum, despite time out for two more trips--one to the campus of the state university, and one to the capital in Pierre, to observe the workings of state government.

Now Abby had more time to work on her house; her own belongings came out of their cartons to add warmth and the touch of her personality. Small rugs in warm earth tones covered the floors and the sofa she had decided not to replace, and unbleached muslin cafe curtains were gathered on brass rods to offer privacy at the windows or let in the sunlight when she desired.

Her favorite pieces of pottery stood in the corners and on the scarred but polished end tables to hold greenery and dried flowers. Her books filled the built-in shelves; her paintings hung on the walls. She had exchanged the kitchen’s complement of dishes and cookware for her own, and now she was refinishing the table and chairs, removing three coats of paint to get down to the original wood. She had yet to tackle the bathroom and bedroom, but even so, the place was beginning to feel like home.

In the evenings she worked with Cutter, who was bright and persistent and made fine progress. On the weekends she explored the countryside to the boundaries of the reservation and beyond, slowly but inevitably learning her way around and memorizing landmarks for her future expeditions. To her surprise the land that at first had seemed flat and uninteresting proved to be anything but.

She discovered gentle hills and wide meadows dotted with wildflowers, gullies and washes that twisted and turned through the landscape, cutting deep troughs that would soon run full with the overflow of spring rains from the higher country. The farther away she traveled from Twin Buttes, the more rocky and rugged the terrain became, and she knew she was heading toward the Black Hills, sacred to the Sioux.

At the southern edge of the reservation a small cliff formation stood sentry, and one day Abby decided to explore it. She tethered Ghost and circled the perimeter, looking for a way in. Suddenly a rabbit darted by and seemed to disappear into the rock face just ahead of her. “What have we here, friends? Alice down the rabbit hole?”

Upon closer inspection she found that a portion of the cliff had been severed from the rest, as if by some great cataclysmic force. Centuries of rain and erosion had carved away the shale, forming a narrow passage between the two sections and giving access to whatever lay at the heart of the stone fortress.

She squeezed through and came out onto the shoulder of a rocky slope that rose like the side of a bowl from the deeply wooded area below. As she looked around, the
bowl-like shape of the formation became even more apparent, leading her to suspect that she was standing on the rim of an ancient volcanic crater. While the side on which she stood was almost bare of vegetation, the opposite slope was green with trees and shrubbery of all kinds.

She scrambled down and entered the grove of trees, making her way carefully through the underbrush, listening to the sounds of the birds and small animals that were stirred by her movements. A short walk brought her through the woods; she crossed the clearing to stand with her hands in the pockets of her jacket, watching with astonishment while a small but forceful waterfall tumbled its clear, refreshing waters into the pond below.

Off to the left a huge boulder sat at the water’s edge. She climbed to the top and lay on her stomach to look over the edge at the water below. Tall reeds grew up through the surface, but otherwise the water was placid, and so clear that she could see the sleek,
dark
forms of the fish that lived here.

“Must be a way in and out,” she murmured aloud, “or they wouldn’t be here. And the water must be clean for them to survive.” She sighed. “I wish I’d listened harder in science class, so I could understand all of this.”

“What do you want to know?” an unexpected voice growled angrily.

She gasped, then turned to find Cat looking up at her from the sand below.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he barked. “Did you follow me?”

Abby bristled at his tone. “Why would I do that, for heaven’s sake?”

He climbed up and sat beside her. “Then how did you find this place? No one knows it exists but me.”

“It happened quite by accident, I can assure you.” He smiled at the haughty air she had adopted. “I’ve been doing some exploring. My curiosity led me as far as it could, and a rabbit took me the rest of the way.”

“Like Alice, huh?”

“The thought had occurred to me,” she responded coldly, and looked out over the pond.

“I’m sorry I never kept my promise to show you the country,” he said.

“That’s all right.” She sat up and looked over at him. “I didn’t really expect you to.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and small furrows appeared alongside his mouth.
“Why
not?”

She shrugged. “You hate me. You hate being around me, you hate what I do, what you think I am, and you certainly don’t trust me. So it’s natural that you would avoid me whenever possible. It’s all right,” she repeated. “I understand.” She matched his dark-eyed gaze, willing herself to hold on as long as he did.

“I don’t hate you,” he countered uneasily. It’s true, he admitted silently. I don’t.

“No?” she questioned angrily. “Then why can’t we be together without arguing? Why do I feel this rage emanating from you every time you get within two feet of me?” She looked at him sadly. “This very minute I can feel your anger striking out at me in waves just because I’m here, in your secret place, and you don’t want me to be.” She rose and dusted off her clothes. “I’d better go.”

She turned to clamber down to the ground, but Cat got there first and beckoned with upraised arms. “C’mon, I’ll catch you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need your help.” She meant, I don’t want to feel your arms around me. I don’t want your body close to mine. I don’t want to want you.

Before he could stop her she shinnied her way down the opposite side of the boulder and started up the beach.

“Abby, wait,” she heard him call. She wished she could stop, talk, find some ground where they could meet in peace. But she knew it was hopeless and kept going.

“Damn it, Abby, wait up!” There it is again, she thought: the anger; the impatience; the hardness she didn’t know how to penetrate. In sudden panic she picked up speed, fighting the sand that sucked at her booted feet, breathing heavily with the struggle. He caught her just at the edge of the clearing, grabbing her by an ankle and pulling her back down the embankment she’d just climbed. She reached for a small bush growing in the sandy soil and tried to hold on, but his superior strength broke her grasp.

She ended up on her back, his hands pinning her to the ground at her wrists, straddling her body with his knees. She glared up at him as she struggled to free herself, twisting and bucking in an effort to throw him off balance long enough to get out from under him, but his greater weight overpowered her. She growled angrily deep in her throat and tugged at his hands, hoping to break their grip, but his fingers were too strong. She tried to bring her knees to her chest to push him away, but he simply repositioned his weight so that her legs were pinned beneath his.

Finally, in frustration, she turned her head to the side and sank her teeth into the back of one of his imprisoning hands. As she bit down hard on the sensitive flesh between thumb and forefinger, he pulled back reflexively and she tore one wrist free. She balled her hand into a fist and aimed for his cheek, but he was faster than she was and grabbed her hand in midair, wrestling it back down to the ground beside her head, grinning savagely as he regained his advantage.

During the entire struggle neither one of them had said a word, though they were both breathing heavily as they fought to gain supremacy over each other. Abby’s cheeks were flushed with anger and the strain of battling him; her eyes were deep angry pools, and her lashes sparkled with tears of frustration. The pulses in her wrists beat hotly against Cat’s hands, and his own pulse answered; his eyes devoured her wild, angry beauty.

Abby felt the pressure and the fury and the heat building in her chest until she thought she would burst if she didn’t get release. The scream started in her diaphragm and worked its way slowly up to her throat, and she wanted it to shatter the air around them, shatter him into a million shards, like crystal, because otherwise she would shatter.

But the scream never came. He brought his mouth down on hers an
d stopped it. His lips were firm on hers; his tongue drove deeply into her mouth, and the scream became a groan. Tears rolled down her cheeks because she had no way of expressing her rage that even in anger he could arouse her, except to cry.