Trystan knew immediately that she’d made a mistake.
Alexa turned away quickly, the action causing the material of the shirt to slip out of Trystan’s grip. “On second thought, I’ll manage myself.” The words were clipped and sharp.
“Hey, Alexa. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was only joking. I swear.”
Trystan tried to grab onto the free shirtsleeve, but Alexa moved farther away, seeming to shrink into herself. After a moment, Trystan realized that she was crying.
“Oh, my God. No, no, Alexa, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Geez.”
Trystan reached out awkwardly and patted her on the back. “I’m so, so sorry. Really I am.”
Alexa managed to get the shirt on the rest of the way herself and button several of the buttons, sniffing and drying her eyes with her hand as it poked out of the sleeve. She went over and sat in a wooden chair near the side of her bed.
“I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”
Alexa thought for a minute. “That’s not true. I do know.” She looked up at Trystan, tears still shimmering on her lashes. “I’m scared.”
Trystan wanted to approach her, but she wasn’t sure that was such a good idea, so she thrust her hands into her pockets instead.
“I don’t know who I am or what my life was like. I don’t know whether I’m straight or gay, married or single. I don’t know where I live, whether I have a job, how old I am.” Fresh tears started to fall anew, and her eyes reflected the confusion and fear she’d felt since the first day she’d arrived on the reservation. “Your mother says when it’s time, I’ll remember. But when will that be? And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? What if I never remember?”
“You will,” Trystan said with certainty. “I don’t know you very well yet, Alexa, but I can see that you’re a very determined woman. You’ll find your way.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you have a strong spirit and a will to live. To me, that says you have something to live for, and that’s a powerful healing tool.”
The Value of Valor
Trystan hesitated, then opened her arms. “Right now, though, you look like you could use a friend and a hug. Can I help?”
Alexa nodded and moved into the embrace, soaking up the comfort.
“You smell nice.”
“Yeah? Thanks.” Trystan rested her cheek on Alexa’s hair, her heart pounding in her chest. Holding Alexa felt so right, and she’d come very close to missing out on the opportunity. She knew she needed to go slowly if she stood any chance of being in this woman’s life. “I’m sorry if I came on too strong before. I’m not going to pretend I’m not attracted to you, Alexa, because that would be a lie. But I can see that what you really need is a friend, and I’d like to be that for you. Will you let me?”
Alexa pulled back, recognizing somewhere deep in her soul that being in a woman’s arms was where she belonged. It gave her some measure of comfort to know at least one thing about herself. “Yes, I’d really like that, too.”
“Okay, friend,” Trystan took Alexa’s hand. “How’d you like to walk to the water with me? I can show you one of my favorite hiding spots.”
Alexa smiled. “That sounds perfect.”
They walked in silence for a distance, Trystan still maintaining her hold on Alexa’s hand.
Alexa chuckled, prompting Trystan to bring them to a halt and face her. “What are you laughing about?”
“It seems to me that normally this would be the time when people would get to know each other, except you already know as much about me as I do.”
When Trystan looked in Alexa’s eyes, she saw amusement but also a glimmer of real fear. She tried to keep the moment light by laughing, too.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I guess I do, at that.”
“Okay, so tell me about you,” Alexa said, as they resumed their walk.
“There’s not much to tell, really. I’m an only child born to a young mother, and I’ve lived on the reservation most of my life, off and on.”
Alexa bit her lip, considering how personal she wanted to get, then simply decided to go for it. “Where’s your father?”
Trystan stopped momentarily and looked at her. “Boy, you don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
Alexa blushed. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. I probably shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”
“No, that’s all right.” Trystan shrugged. “I don’t have any idea who my father is. My mother never talks about him. All she’ll say is that it was a youthful indiscretion while she was in medical school.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ve had a great life. My mother is wonderful—tough when she has to be and the best friend I’ve ever had.”
Lynn Ames
“You’re very beautiful. I wonder what nationality your father was.”
Trystan shrugged. “I’ll probably never know. Not that I haven’t thought about it a time or twenty, but my mother won’t give even a whisper of a hint.”
“I’m sure she has her reasons,” Alexa said gently. “I can’t imagine she would keep that from you to hurt you.”
“No, that she would never do. She’s always done everything in her power to protect me.”
Alexa decided to switch gears. “You said you’ve lived on the reservation off and on. Where else have you been?”
Trystan regarded Alexa shrewdly. “I’m beginning to think you must have been a reporter. You certainly have a way of getting your subject to answer tough questions.”
Alexa’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Trystan jumped in. “You haven’t.” She squeezed the hand she was holding a little harder. “It’s just that no one’s ever taken that much of an interest in me before.”
Alexa frowned. “I find that hard to believe. You’re sweet, you’re attractive, you’re intelligent.”
“Careful, Alexa. A girl could get a swelled head around you.”
“Yeah, right. So,” Alexa drew the word out, “back to the question.
Where, other than the reservation, have you lived?”
“Okay, I can see you’re not going to let this one go, are you?”
“Nope.” Alexa’s eyes twinkled.
“When I first realized I was a two-spirit…”
“A what?”
“When I first figured out that I was a lesbian. You do know what that is, right?”
Alexa laughed. “Sarcasm will get you nowhere, woman. Out with it—pun intended.”
Trystan groaned at the awful play on words. “Let’s just say there isn’t much action here on the reservation in the middle of nowhere. My mother could see that she was losing me. I was restless and looking for trouble. She sent me away to boarding school and then college.”
“And then?”
“Then I came back here.” Trystan paused and sat down on a rock, pulling Alexa in front of her. “But I realized this wasn’t the place for me.”
Alexa’s legs grew warm with the heat from Trystan’s body, and there was an unfamiliar fluttering in the pit of her stomach. She found her voice with difficulty. “Then what are you doing here?”
Trystan worked hard to control herself. All she wanted was to take this woman in her arms and make love to her. But she could see alarm in
The Value of Valor
the deep, sea green eyes, and she decided not to push her luck. There would be time. “I, um, I went back to school and became a physician’s assistant, but there aren’t many calls for them yet since it’s a pretty new profession, and I couldn’t find a job. So I came back a couple of months ago temporarily until I can find something.”
“I’m sure you will.” Alexa’s senses were on overload; she felt overwhelmed by Trystan’s proximity. Unsure why she was feeling this way, she followed her instincts, breaking contact between their bodies. “I think we’d better head back now.”
“Okay,” Trystan said softly. “Anything you want.”
They walked the short distance back to Terri’s small cottage without saying a word. When they were on the front step, Trystan leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on Alexa’s cheek. “Thank you for today, Alexa. I had a marvelous time.”
“Me too, Trystan. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
Trystan watched as Alexa practically ran inside the house. She knew she was completely smitten with the woman and fought with herself not to follow her inside. “Slowly, Trystan. You’ve got to move very slowly with her.” But she wasn’t sure if her heart or her body would obey.
She returned to her own house, unable to keep thoughts and visions of Alexa at bay. With a sigh, she lay down on her bed. Lazily, she turned over in her mind again the feeling of carrying Alexa to the bed the day the man had come asking questions about her, the softness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, and the beauty of her smile.
Without conscious thought, Trystan began running her fingers up the insides of her thighs, seeing herself in her mind’s eye lost in a passionate embrace with Alexa, their mouths questing, bodies quivering with desire, hands exploring each other with unbridled need.
Trystan’s hand reached her own center, and she dipped two fingers in the wetness she’d known she would find there. Reluctantly, she gave in and allowed her imagination to run wild.
There was Alexa, leaning over her, her sea green eyes gone black with desire. Trystan moaned as she imagined feeling soft, pliant breasts brushing against hers. She brought a hand up and smoothed a palm over her hardening nipple. “Oh, Alexa.”
Trystan’s eyes closed, and a vision of Alexa kissing her way down her body turned her liquid center to a river of lava. She squeezed her clitoris, picturing Alexa’s mouth hot and hungry on her. She stroked her center, and it was Alexa’s fingers she imagined. “Oh, God. Oh, Alexa.
Oh.” The words burst forth like a prayer as Trystan came hard.
As her breathing slowed and evened out, Trystan smiled into her pillow. Within seconds, she drifted off to sleep.
Lynn Ames
“President Hyland?” Vicky Winston, the president’s personal secretary, stuck her head into the Oval Office. She’d been with him since the early days in New York and knew him better than almost anybody in the White House.
“Yes, Vicky, what is it?” The president had his nose buried in a stack of papers on his desk, his hair sticking up at odd angles where his hand had been running through it.
“Vice President Wheeler is here to see you.”
The president grunted. Alton Wheeler was, in Charles Hyland’s opinion, a pompous blowhard with the intelligence of a hamster, although the comparison would be insulting to the rodent. The former Alabama senator and good ol’ boy had been thrust upon him as a running mate by the chairman of the Democratic National Committee, backed by the more conservative Southern wing of the party. “Well, that’ll make it a perfect end to a perfect day,” the president muttered under his breath.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Send him in, Vicky.”
“Yes, sir. Oh, and don’t forget, Mr. President, you’ve scheduled dinner this evening in the residence with Press Secretary Kyle.”
“That’s right.” The president’s face brightened. At least he could count on some good conversation over supper.
A moment later, the door opened and Vicky announced the vice president.
“Come in, Al.” The president stood, a false smile plastered on his face. “What can I do for you this fine evening?”
“Evenin’, Mr. President,” Wheeler boomed in his thick Southern drawl. “I was thinking it was about time to discuss my role around here.”
He held up his hand to forestall the president’s answer. “Now I know we haven’t always been on the same side on a whole bunch of issues, but I expect even you realize you can’t run a government without a vice president.”
Want to bet, you smug idiot?
The president sat back down, leaned back in his chair, and folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “Let me tell you what I know, Al. The American people elected us as a team with the expectation that together we would keep them safe, bring them prosperity, and protect their rights as free citizens.”
“Amen to that, which is why I’m here. Now I see myself—”
It was rare that the president lost his temper, but it had been a very long and difficult day. He sprang forward so quickly that his visitor was forced to back away from the desk. “The voters of this great country have selected
me
to lead this team—not you, Al. Me. There is only one president. That means I set the agenda, I call the shots. Your job will be
The Value of Valor
to reinforce the choices and decisions I make. No surprises from you, no headline-grabbing remarks, no policy statements that haven’t been cleared by me or my chief of staff, and your schedule is vetted by my scheduler. Am I making myself clear?”
The vice president’s face turned beet red. “I hear you. Now let me give you a little news flash. You wouldn’t be sitting in that fancy chair there without me, Pretty Boy. I suggest you remember that.”
“I wish I had the time to sit here and debate the matter with you, Mr.
Vice President,” he said the title with disgust, “but I have important matters to attend to. I’m sure you can find your way out.”
The door slammed with sufficient force to rattle the pictures on the walls.
“Well,” the president said to the blissfully empty room, “that was pleasant. This ought to be a fun-filled four years.” He turned his attention back to the large pile of papers in the center of his desk.
DNC Chairman Hawthorne swiveled in his chair, a small key in his hand. With it, he unlocked a hidden drawer in his desk and removed the contents: a single manila file folder. Typed neatly on the label was the name Alton Franklin Wheeler; on the face of the folder in large, red capital letters was the word “CONFIDENTIAL.”
Hawthorne opened the file to the first page and began to read.
“Investigation of the Mobile, Alabama, Police Department—June 28, 1941. In re: the death of three-year-old Bobbi Christina Wheeler.
Detectives have determined and coroner has confirmed that the girl was strangled and her body dumped in the family pond to make it appear like a drowning accident. Instrument of strangulation appears to be an athletic sock. Fibers found in the flesh of the victim’s neck contained white cotton and elastic. Interviews of family members revealed inconsistencies in the story of eight-year-old Alton Franklin Wheeler, the girl’s brother.