Authors: Debra Kayn
"Trace."
She panted, grabbing his hand. "I need your help."
He
turned and his mouth hardened. "What happened? You've got blood on your
cheek."
She
leaned into him and struggled for breath. "I-It's not mine. I'm okay. You
need to come with me. Someone hurt Savannah, and she's hiding by the truck. Oh,
Trace, we have to help her."
Trace
turned to Brody. "Did you hear?"
Brody
stepped closer. "What do you want us to do?"
"Make
sure Savannah's father doesn't come outside looking for his daughter. Joan and
I'll help Savannah, and make sure she's safe for the night."
Brody
handed the truck keys to Joan, but continued looking at Trace. Whatever passed
between them remained unspoken, until Brody spoke in Lakota. Trace nodded
tightly, and grabbed her hand.
Together,
they went to help Savannah.
Chapter Seventeen
Joan
led Savannah up to the house they'd stopped by the other day. "Trace, we
can't leave her here."
"We
have to. Taking her off the reservation would be kidnapping, and would bring
even more trouble down on her. Trust me." Trace opened the door to the
shack and hopped back out of the way. "Go on, Savannah. We'll make sure
your dad doesn't come looking for you tonight. You hang out here until it's
safe. Promise?"
Savannah
nodded, turned to Joan and tried to give her back the now blood-soaked scrap of
material from Joan's dress. She tilted Savannah's chin, looking into her
bruised nose. "It looks like its stopped bleeding. You're a very good
patient, Savannah. You did excellent."
An
empty gaze stared back at her. Joan swallowed and whispered, "Take care of
yourself, Savannah."
The
little girl dragged her feet as she walked into the house. Joan peered inside,
but there were no lights on. In all probability, she'd be surprised if the
house had electricity at all.
A
rotten stench like nothing she'd ever smelled before wafted out, and she
covered her mouth. Her throat constricted, and she fought to keep from gagging.
It smelled of death, worse than the morgue and autopsy room when she did
student training.
"Let's
get to the truck before we draw anyone's attention to where Savannah's
staying." Trace waited for her to start walking.
She
glanced behind her at the house, waiting to hear yelling, or Savannah crying
out for help. But only silence came. Her heart went out to the child, to the
life she was forced to live, and wished there was something more she could do.
Inside
the truck, Joan's hands shook so much she couldn't get the vehicle in gear.
Trace stretched across the seat and maneuvered the shifter into first gear for
her.
"Go
slow. We'll park on the outskirts of the field and wait for the others to come
and tell us when Savannah's father has given up for the night. I'm betting the
asshole has already found someone to give him more alcohol and he'll slink away
into the dark before too long. The guys will wait until the coast is clear, and
there's no sign of him finding out which house Savannah is hiding in."
Trace's voice held an edge she'd never heard before.
Once
parked, she leaned back and let her arms fall to her sides. Exhausted and raw,
she felt the emotional upheaval of the night throughout her whole body.
Out
here, away from everyone, she let herself absorb what had happened tonight.
Tears rolled down her face, and a painful sense of helplessness choked every
breath. When Trace pulled her across the seat, she willingly went into his
arms, and clung to him.
Trace
spoke to her in his native language, soothing her, comforting her, and she
didn't worry about what he was saying, but held on to him. She cried for
Savannah, she cried for Trace, she cried for Katie.
"I-I
don't—she hiccupped—understand why. What would make a father do that to the one
person they're supposed to love unconditionally?"
She
pressed her fingers to her lips. Trace glanced down at her, his expression
tortured.
"I
wish I knew." He remained set in his rigid posture, unable to give her the
secrets.
Joan
slid both her arms around him, pressed her cheek against his chest. His
shoulders lifted as he took a deep breath. The muscles beneath her hands
remained tense, and she held him even tighter.
***
The
smell from the safe house stayed with Trace, clung to his clothes, his skin. A
piercing pain in his gut stabbed him. He drew a shaky hand down Joan's back,
and stared out into the darkness eating up the day and bringing the nightmares
he could never outrun. The same monsters chased Savannah and many more children
on the reservation that were neglected, beaten, and told they were not worthy.
He
wanted to run. To escape the place he grew up on, and hide away from it all
back at the ranch.
Suddenly
his life overwhelmed him. He turned toward Joan with a fierce neediness, his
arms wrapping around her and holding her tight against him. His body shuddered,
and he dragged deep, choppy pockets of air into his lungs.
He
closed his eyes to hide away from the helplessness of the situation. Inside, he
yelled a child's cry, erupting out of a man's soul. His chest ached for all the
years of hurt and guilt he'd endured.
Somewhere
deep in his conscious he was aware of Joan, holding him, never letting him go.
Progressively,
his heart rate slowed to normal and he became aware of Joan's arms still around
him. He leaned his head down and inhaled the sweet strawberry fragrance of her
shampoo. It reminded him of innocence.
Innocence
he'd never experienced.
She'd
done what others ignored and reached out to a poor child, helping Savannah and
wanting to keep her safe. Joan was special, and her unique ability to create a
safe haven for him went beyond being a nurse. She saw past the pain and
humiliation, to the person in need.
Around
her, he benefited from all those emotions he held at bay and wouldn't allow
himself to feel. She'd planted herself in his life, and he didn't want to lose
her. Tonight, before she'd walked out, he'd recognized the hurt he was
responsible for and he wanted to chase her and apologize. He wanted to be the
man in shining armor who she wanted in her life.
He
was holding her too tight, and he relaxed, cradling her in his arms. He wanted
to keep her here and never let anyone hurt her, to protect her from the dangers
that happened everywhere in the world.
She
stirred against him and lifted her head. A shiver went through her as he
realized she'd fallen asleep from crying and found herself in the dark, alone
with him.
"I'm
sorry. I shouldn't be on your leg." She pushed up, but he pulled her back
down on him.
"My
leg's fine." Trace kissed the top of her head. "Please…just stay
here, with me."
Minutes
ticked by. They were safe. He was safe.
"My
mother died giving birth to me." He swallowed, surprised that he spoke out
loud.
Joan's
fingers linked with his, and she squeezed without saying a word. She accepted
him, for whatever crazy reason, and he found himself wanting to share more in a
hope she'd understand that nothing was her fault. It was him.
"Another
woman, I don't even remember her name, but she was one of the women my father
used over and over again, lived with us until I was four. One night, after my
father came home drunk and beat the shit out of her, she left," he said.
Joan
didn't move.
"From
then on, I became his sole punching bag. If he couldn't afford his drink, he
hit me. If he couldn't find a woman to have sex with, he'd kick me around.
Sometimes I think if I breathed too loudly, he'd use the excuse of me being
alive to smack me around."
"The
only thing that saved me was starting school when I was six. I met Brody and
Devon. I don't know how they found out about my home life, or when, but they
started bringing extra food to school and giving it to me at lunchtime because
my father didn't think I needed food to live on. Later, when we hit our teen
years, they'd hide me in their bedrooms or stay with me, hidden in an abandoned
house or out in the fields. We spent many nights huddled together to keep warm,
and they never asked me why I couldn't go back home." He wrapped the end
of a strand of Joan's hair around his pinky. "They just stayed."
"The
other guys have their own story to tell, but early on we knew we wanted to
escape the reservation. We wanted to take everything good from our people, and
recreate our own area where it was safe, and we'd be together. I think they did
it more for me than for themselves, and I'll never be able to pay them back for
everything they've done." Trace lifted his shoulder and rubbed his cheek
against his shirt. "I'm not worth their love and loyalty, and if it takes
all my life, I'll never be able to pay them back for keeping me alive. There
were many times I would have rather died than walk back into my father's house,
but I did because I knew Brody and Devon would come looking for me the next
day."
Joan
sat up, but didn't leave his lap. She cupped his face. He closed his eyes,
unable to see the disgust and pity on her face.
The
shame of what he'd lived through killed him. He wanted to be that hero she
waited for. But, he wasn't a hero. Heroes were brave, strong, and unscarred.
"Open
your eyes, Trace." She waited. "Look at me."
He
blinked rapidly against the pain it took to do what she asked of him. Gasping
for breath, he fought to look into her eyes and prove he was man enough to have
her sitting on his lap, holding him.
"I
never, ever, want to hear you say you're not worth receiving love. You are the
most caring man behind that hard shell you wear. You hide it well, but I can
see the gentleness inside of you, the goodness that shows in the quietest of
ways." Joan kissed his lips softly. "Yes, you've lived through hell,
but that's your father's sin he'll have to carry. Not yours. You were a little
boy…like Savannah. I am so glad the guys helped you, and you're paying it forward
by helping Savannah. She will always remember that there was one man, one very
special man, who thought she was worth loving."
He
wasn't sure he believed her, but he took her words and buried them deep inside
of him. No one could take those words away, because he'd never allow a person
to get that close to him again.
"Thank
you," he mouthed.
"You're
a special man, Trace LaBatte," she whispered. "Don't ever forget
that."
Her
head tilted as his moved closer and captured her lips. She tasted sweet and sexy
at the same time. He had a clear memory of the other kisses they shared, but
his soul was open and raw tonight, accepting her, believing her words.
At
the exact point when his tongue touched hers, he wanted to show her the
all-consuming acceptance she'd shown him. To give her the security of knowing
he cared, and that he was falling for her. He didn't know if he'd ever be able
to say the words, so he showed her in his kiss.
He
continued to hold on to her because if he didn't, he'd crumble. When she broke
away and nibbled her way down his neck, between the open V of his shirt, he
lost all thoughts.
"I
hope you know what you're doing." He trembled.
"Trace,
I know exactly what I'm doing. You can't scare me away. I've watched you sleep,
made sure you eat, and helped you to the bathroom." She kissed him on the
lips. "Now, I want to see the other side of you. I want your kisses, your
touch, and to know the man you don't share with anyone else."
"You
won't like that part of me." He hugged her to his chest.
She
curled against him, burying her face in his neck. "I already do," she
whispered against his skin.
He
trembled on an exhale. "I want you. Never wanted someone the way I want
you."
"Then
have me." She tiled her head back and gazed into his eyes. "All you
had to do is ask."
He
kissed her forehead and held her tight. "Later. Tonight. I don't want our
first time together to be in a truck, or at the reservation."
"Okay,"
she whispered.
He
collected himself and helped her scoot off his lap. She peered into the darkness.
"Most of the cars are gone. I hope Savannah is okay…"
"Devon
and Brody will make sure she is. They're good at watching out for others,"
he whispered.
Chapter Eighteen
Joan
stared into the black sky with its gazillion twinkling stars. She knew Trace well
enough to know he struggled moving forward with their plans to have sex
tonight. Out here, away from the house, she knew beyond a doubt that coming
together with Trace was exactly what she wanted. It was only her and Trace,
nothing else mattered.
"I
wish I didn't have this cast on…"
She
leaned up on one elbow and turned toward him. They lay side-by-side out in the
lawn, away from the lighted pool, on the blanket without any clothes on. She
ran her fingers over the sculpted lines of his body. His hair hung loose
casting his face in shadows. So many times, she'd dreamed of what it would be
like to lay with him.