Witch Dance (7 page)

To her surprise, she took joined hands. Would have fought anybody who told her to do otherwise.

They didn’t speak again, but worked side by side, cleaning up the debris. Words weren’t necessary between them: They communicated on a different level. And when the work was finished, Eagle mounted his stallion.

“The ones who did this will be punished, Kate.”

“You’re damned right. If I can ever find them, I’ll see to it personally.”

“If you are to be a medicine woman who serves my people, you will not engage yourself in this battle.”

“You expect me to roll over and play dead?”

“Rolling over might be nice.” His grin was pure sin. Then he sobered. “
I
will find them, Kate.”

“How?”

“I am Eagle.”

Without another word he wheeled his horse away and thundered across the plains. Kate felt as if she’d been snatched out of time and spun backward into a Wild West movie. Emotionally and physically drained, she leaned against the sawhorse, shading her eyes so she could catch one last fleeting glimpse of Eagle.

Even the sun conspired against her; it polished his bare skin so that he gleamed like a museum bronze. He was Eagle, commanding everything in his sight, including her.

“Kate Malone, you’re in serious trouble.”

She strained her eyes into the sunset until there was nothing left of Eagle to see except a pillar of dust blooming on the horizon.

 o0o

He’d taken the coward’s way out, not going to the clinic with her. Mild exhaustion, he’d said. Nothing to worry about.

If only she knew.

Clayton stood at the kitchen window and watched her coming. He’d watched out the window all day, watched
them
.

Already Eagle was in her blood; Clayton could tell by the way she walked, the spring in her steps, and the tight, seductive roll of her hips. Any minute now she’d be in the house, warm from the sun and hard work, ripe with lust. His nostrils quivered at the thought of the rich female smell of her.

When he heard the front door open, he beat a hasty retreat from the window and poured two cups of tea.

“I’m glad you weren’t there today,” she said, her voice preceding her into the room. “It was awful.” Her hand brushed his when she reached for her tea. “Thanks. This is just what I need.”

“What happened?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know

“Somebody destroyed the clinic.” She tightened her grip on the teacup and jutted out her chin. “I’d like to find out who did it and beat the hell out of them.”

Clayton’s laughter provided the release he needed. He sat in the chair next to hers and took a sip of tea. He might be able to survive the summer after all.

“Aren’t you going to tell me to have patience?” Kate grinned at him.

“Would it do any good?”

“No. I just hope you have some influence with the authorities. I’d hate to be burned at the stake.”

“I don’t think that’s done anymore, Kate, even in Witch Dance.”

They chuckled together, then Kate lifted her arm and raked her hair off her grimy forehead. That’s when Clayton saw the scratch. When his fingers closed on her soft skin he almost lost control. Only years of medical training saved him.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing to worry about. Just a scratch from a nail.”

“Tetanus?”

“Up-to-date, Doctor.”

“It needs cleansing and antibiotics.”

“Eagle cleaned it.”

Clayton stiffened. Eagle. Always Eagle.

“Well, I’m going to take care of it properly, then I’m prescribing a long hot bath, a good dinner, and bed for you, young lady. You’ve been working much too hard.”

“Is it all right if I take the time to write a letter home, Doctor Dictator, sir?”

“The letter is okay, but no beating the hell out of anybody, no matter how much they deserve it.”

“Aw, shucks. Foiled again.” She grinned at him, stretching her long, tan legs.

He clenched his hands and balled them in his pockets.

“Promise me, Kate?”

“I promise.”

He figured she had her fingers crossed behind her back when she said it. Kate was not the kind of woman to take adversity lying down.

He tended her wound and after she left the kitchen, Clayton took a casserole out of the refrigerator. Chicken and mushrooms with a white wine sauce. Whatever else happened to him while he was in Witch Dance, he would not go hungry. He’d learned cooking from Melissa’s French chef.

It was one of the few things he excelled at. Cooking. Medicine. Sex.

He heard the sound of running water. Kate would be naked under the shower, young and naked and glorious. The casserole slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor. For a moment he gazed at the mess as if he were trying to figure out where it had come from.

Kate was singing in the shower now, singing in a bluesy, smoky voice, slightly off key.

Clayton got a dish towel and knelt over the smashed food. Dinner would have to wait.

Chapter 6

Charleston, South Carolina

The letter lay open on the bedside table. Mick Malone skirted around it, trying not to notice. In the bathroom Martha was brushing her teeth, doing all that damned gargling he hated.

He balled his socks into a wad and rammed them into his shoes. He’d wear them again tomorrow if Martha didn’t catch him. No sense in changing socks every day.

Martha turned on the shower, and he could hear the door banging shut as she climbed inside. She used to hum in the shower long ago, so long ago, he could hardly remember.

He glanced at the letter once more. Kate’s signature stared up at him, bold as she’d always been. What would it hurt to look?

Dear Mother
. . .

Mick’s hands trembled.

Witch Dance is a beautiful land, and I’m busy and happy with my work. I don’t want you to worry. I’ve made friends, and Dr. Colbert watches after me as if he were my father. I love you. Kate.

There was no sound except that of water cascading down the bathroom drain. Silently Mick replaced the letter on the bedside table, exactly as he’d found it.

He lay on his side of the bed, careful to leave enough room so Martha’s legs wouldn’t touch his. He closed his eyes and was soon breathing evenly, but his hands were clenched on top of the sheets.

Chapter 7

Witch Dance

Anna Mingo liked to do her shopping on Saturday, especially when the weather was good. If she hurried with the grocery shopping, she always had time to go to her favorite store, the little needlepoint shop on the corner of Itawamba and East streets,

“Now, mind your manners, boys. No running around the store and
no
touching the merchandise.”

“We’ll be good, Mama,” Clint said stoutly, though Anna had her serious doubts. Her oldest son probably would be good if Bucky didn’t always get something started.

“I mean it, children.”

They were still nodding their heads vigorously as she took both their hands and started across the street. She hurried along, thinking about the pink embroidery thread she wanted to buy and if she had enough money left over, the length of lace. Distracted, she almost didn’t see the medicine woman until it was too late.

Kate Malone was crossing the street from the opposite side. Anna knew it had to be her, for no one else in Witch Dance had hair the color of the sunset and legs so long that she could walk as fast as a man.

Anna stopped dead in her tracks, and the medicine woman smiled directly at her.

“Why, hello there. What darling little boys.”

Anguished, Anna let go of Clint and placed her hand over her stomach. The baby gave a vigorous kick.

Kate Malone stood in the middle of the street with an expectant smile on her face, waiting for an answer. It didn’t seem right to turn away from her.

But Cole had been very specific, and Anna had absolute trust in her husband. Without a word to the medicine woman, she turned around and hurried back to her car.

“I thought we were going to the ‘point shop, Mama.”

“Hush, Clint.”

Anna could still see the medicine woman, standing in the middle of the street. She looked as if she’d lost her best friend. Anna started the car and headed home, but for the first time in her marriage, she questioned Cole’s judgment.

Kate watched the car drive away.

“I will not cry,” she said, but she felt the tears gather anyhow.

The letter she’d sent her mother was nothing but a pack of lies. But how could it be otherwise? How could she tell her mother that the people she’d come to serve hated her so much they stomped her flowers into the ground, tore down the walls of her clinic, and passed to the other side of the street when she walked by?

In South Carolina everybody crossed streets to get to Kate, and in Virginia, where she’d gone to medical school, she was never without at least half a dozen invitations to go out for pizza and a beer. How could she say to her mother that she had only three friends in Witch Dance, and one of them had been so terrified of her father’s censure that she’d almost refused a brochure about nursing school, and the other came and went on his black stallion as the mood struck him.

“If they think I’ll leave, they’ve underestimated me. I’m a Malone. Nothing can stop me.”

Having added talking to herself in the middle of the street to her list of sins, Kate marched across the street and into the ice cream shop with her head held high and a smile on her face.

Not only that, but she sat on a barstool at the counter and ordered the biggest banana split they had—even after the two people already there picked up their ice cream bowls and moved to a table. For good measure, she turned and gave them her best smile.

She’d never known it was so hard to smile with a lacerated heart.

 o0o

That night they came to her in dreams. Charles and Brian came to her with their hands outstretched and their voices distorted by the water.

Help me. Help me, Katie.

The dream was always the same. They called to her and she couldn’t answer. Weights held down her arms and legs, and a wide, watery expanse separated her from them. Her brothers.

Her fault.

“No!” she cried, her sleep-drugged voice as weak and mewling as a kitten’s.

The covers were tangled around her legs like seaweed. She kicked frantically, trying to free herself. She had to get free.

“Kate?” Clayton stood in the doorway of her bedroom. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Her hands trembled as she pushed her damp hair back from her forehead.

“Are you sure? Can I get you a glass of water . . . anything?”

“I’m fine. Just a bad dream.”

“Well . . .” He lingered in the doorway concerned.

“I’m okay. Really.” She made herself smile at him.

His footsteps were soft, padded by the moccasins he wore as he crossed the room and stood beside her bed.

“Kate . . .” He reached toward her, wavered, then gently touched her forehead. His hands were damp against her skin. “Might as well make sure you don’t have a fever.”

“I’ve always heard the doctors are the biggest worrywarts of all when it comes to people they—” Premonition sent shivers along her spine. She’d never felt self-conscious around Dr. Colbert, but suddenly she was aware of the thin white cotton T-shirt that barely covered her bottom, of her naked legs and her tumbled hair.

“. . . when it comes to family,” she added briskly.

It was an awkward moment. He took a step back.

“You’re almost family, Kate. Like a . . . daughter to me.”

“Thanks.”

“Well . . .”

His eyes were too bright. Kate wanted to pull the covers over herself, but that would only draw attention to her attire. More than that, it would indicate a lack of trust in him. Her dearest friend. Her trusted mentor. She wouldn’t insult him in that manner.

“If you’re sure you don’t need anything . . . Good night, Kate.”

Abruptly he wheeled away and was out the door before she could reply. Kate got out of bed and leaned against the windowsill. The walls of her clinic rose, ghostly, in the moonlight. It had taken four days to restore them. Four days of sweat and hard labor.

Without the watchers on the hill. Without Eagle.

Where was he?

Kate opened the window and let the night breeze cool her hot face. Prickles still danced along the back of her neck.

She tiptoed across the room and quietly closed her door. Then she turned the lock . . . feeling disloyal to Dr. Colbert. And somewhat silly.

Instead of going to bed and risking the dreams, she went back to the window. The yard was so bright, it might have been a South Carolina moon hanging in the sky, a moon that rose up over the ocean and took its iridescent glow from the waters.

Memories flooded her mind.

“Can’t catch me . . . can’t catch me, Katie.” Brian’s hair was silver as he raced along the edge of the water.

“I can, too. I can do anything because I’m Daddy’s girl.”

Brian stuck out his tongue and raced off, his sturdy legs spewing up sand. He didn’t see the piece of driftwood in his path. When Katie got to him, he had blood on his leg and he was crying.

She sat cross-legged on the sand and pulled him onto her lap.

“It hurts.” Sniffling, he wrapped his arms around her neck.

“It’s just a little blood . . . see.” She wiped it away with the tail of her T-shirt.

Nobody would ask her where it came from. At thirteen, she was already the neighborhood “doctor.” Her patients ranged from stray cats to baby birds fallen from their nests to an occasional playmate who was not strong enough to withstand her threats. “If you don’t let me doctor you, I’ll punch your nose and really give you something to cry about,” she’d tell them.

“See,” she told her five-year-old brother. “It’s nothing but a little ol’ scratch.”

He ran a chubby finger along his injury, then gave her a watery smile. “Don’t tell Daddy I cried.”