Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance) (31 page)

They’d ridden silently for about fifteen minutes when Cat glanced over at Abby’s tired face. “You up to talking?”

She shrugged. “If not, I can listen.”

“They caught Gault and took him in after a minor tussle.” Abby nodded. “I got the details from Ben about what happened. It scares the hell out of me that I could have lost you.” His voice went hoarse, and he paused a moment

before continuing. “And the baby, too, in the blink of an eye. I would have lost you without ever having shared a life with you. I want a life with you. I want to fall asleep at night knowing that if I reach out, you’ll be beside me in our bed. I want to watch you in the kitchen and see your face across the table. I want to share our child with you, and have others someday. I want to have the right to worry about you and look after you and know that you’re doing the same for me. I want to fight with you like we do now, and know that when the fight’s over we’ll make up with sweet love that we don’t have to hide from each other or the world.

“And to tell you the truth, I want our child to have my name. Growing up with the label ‘half-breed’ is tough enough. You add the word ‘bastard’ to that and you’ve got a heavier burden than any kid should have to carry. And, in this case, an unnecessary one.” He put up a warning hand as if anticipating a protest from Abby.

“I know why you turned me down the first time, and I guess I can understand how you wouldn’t want a shotgun marriage, but damn it, there’s no one holding a gun to my head. It’s just me wanting you, and wanting you
now.”
She’d been so quiet that he looked over at her to see if she’d fallen asleep. “You listening?”

“I’m listening.”

“Good. Now you think about what I just said until we get home. And then I’ll tell you the rest.”

Abby smiled. “You’re awfully talkative today, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna get it all out in one rush and then not bring it up again. Ever. All this analyzing makes my head hurt.”

Abby chuckled and closed her eyes until they pulled up to her house. He came around to her side of the truck and eased her into his arms to carry her inside.

“I can walk,” she insisted.

He looked at her with love. “I know that, so shut up and let me play mister macho.”

Inside, he set her down on the sofa, covered her with an afghan and lit a fire in the fireplace. When he straightened, the painting caught his eye, and he stared at it for a long time before turning back to her. “I was twelve when Rimmler painted that. It all started that year. From then on I had one purpose in life--to lead my people. I was taken in hand by my uncle, taught the history, the old ways, the art of healing, the skills of leadership--and that old man’s hatreds and prejudices. They became so much a part of me that I never questioned the right or wrong of any of them.

“My father tried to teach me that I had the best of both worlds, and while he was alive I believed it, because I believed in him. When I left here to go out in the world I found that he was wrong, that I had two different worlds and was welcome in neither. I didn’t understand how he could have been so wrong, but I tried to go on believing because I loved him. When he died the fantasy fell apart, and I saw the world for what it was, a place where the white man ruled, where a man was whatever the white man said he was. And I was a ‘dirty Indian.’ And then I hated my father for not telling me the truth, and I listened even harder to what my uncle taught me.

“When I promised my uncle to protect our people at all costs I never dreamed that one day I’d find it necessary to choose between those people and the woman I loved, because I never expected to fall in love with a white eyes. Then you arrived, and, though you may not believe this, I knew from the first moment I saw you sleeping on that bench at Christy’s that you were the woman I’d been waiting for. I cursed you for what you were, for being what I hated most in myself. And I hated that part of me even more for wanting you.

“I tried to fight my feelings, tried to keep the hatred alive as long as I could, but nothing worked. You weren’t any of the things I’d expected you to be, but you
were
a white eyes, and I’d taken a vow it would cost me my soul to break.

“Then you told me about the baby and turned down my offer of marriage, forcing me to look inside myself. And the truth was that you’d given me back a part of myself I’d buried in the past. By your love you’d taken a man
torn apart by conflict and made him whole again. Through your acceptance of me I’d learned to accept myself. And your understanding made it possible for me to live the life I’d chosen, doing the work I was trained to do, in the way I’d chosen to do it.

“You’ve never taken a single action that didn’t have the best interests of my people at its heart. You’ve been kind and patient and hardworking and committed. You love and care about my people, and they feel the same way about you. You’re a part of this place now, alm
ost as much as if you’d been born here. And loving you is not a violation of my vow. It’s a fulfillment.”

He came back and sat beside her, taking her hands in his. “You’re a part of me, and it doesn’t matter whether it’s the red part or the white. I only know it’s the best part.” He touched her cheek. “Don’t give me a glimpse of heaven and then send me back to hell. Stay and marry me and share my life. Together we’ll be like two saplings that are bound and become unbreakable.”

Abby thought she could see herself reflected in his eyes. She heard his words, heard the love and yearning behind them, felt the truth of what he was saying and accepted that he, too, knew the pain of separation, the futility of loving at a distance.

“Marry me, Ab. Not two months from now, or a month, but now.”

She touched his cheek and smiled. “Right this minute?”

“As soon as the weather turns warm.”

“All right.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

He kissed her lightly on the mouth and drew back, laughing joyously. “Yes! God, what a beautiful word. The most beautiful word in the world.”

She laughed with him. “You look like a kid with a new toy.”

“No kid has a right to feel what I do at this moment, and certainly not about any toy.” He took her hand once more. “But I do feel young, and happy, and free
--for the first time in my life.”

Abby felt the baby kick and placed his hand over the spot, watching the wonder on his face and the tears that filled his eyes as he, too, felt the new life. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

“Tired?” he asked.

She nodded silently.

He scooped her up and took her into the bedroom. “No more talk, love. I want you to sleep now, for a little while.”

“Stay with me?”

“Are you sure?”

She smiled. “Very sure.” Not just for now, she thought, but for always. And she smiled as he climbed into the bed beside her.

The End

About The Author

Renee Simons has been many different things in her life: A wife, a working mother, an amateur auto mechanic, vet to a mixed-breed
German shepherd and a rescue mutt of questionable parentage and an unpaid, unlicensed home decorator, as well as an often unsuccessful cook (ask her marketing director son and medical examiner daughter about her spaghetti pie - ugh). She enjoys painting, photography, swimming, music and travel. She began her first romance novel (still unfinished and buried at the bottom of an unlabeled carton) while in college and has been reading and writing ever since. Recalling her earliest ambitions to be a painter, she now spends her time painting pictures with words. "'Tis the best of both worlds," she says. "Life is good."

About
The Publisher

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