Close Proximity (13 page)

“The outsiders offered us a piece of land. A small parcel in the rolling foothills from which we would not be allowed to roam. How could anyone own Mother Earth? Give her away in bits and pieces?”

Cheyenne's face expressed an incomprehension that made hot tears spring to Libby's eyes.

“How could the foreigners offer what was not theirs to give?” Dramatically, the young woman reached up and touched her chin in deep contemplation. “They could not, The People decided. So the warring continued. But then The Big Battle sent nearly all of our braves to The Other Side. The river turned crimson with their blood. Our people were a hair's breadth from complete annihilation. That is not what The Great Spirit wanted for The People.”

She straightened, then, her shoulders leveling with what could only be described as sensibility. Not defeat. Never defeat.

“The wise Elders gathered together,” she continued. “They decided to accept the offer of land—the offer of peace—that the outsiders had presented. They also decided that, in order to survive, they would open their arms in invitation to the surviving members of other tribes. Our small parcel of land would become a safe haven. And The People came. Women and fatherless children, grandfathers and grandmothers, wounded braves, all came from near and far. We were no longer members of neighboring tribes. We were one family. Born of the blood shed by our warriors. We became Mokee-kittuun. People of the Red River.”

Tears ran freely down Libby's cheeks now. And she realized she wasn't the only one in the crowd who wept.

“But this is not a sad tale,” Cheyenne said, her mouth
widening into a bright and glorious smile. “This is a story of hope. We are a people who thrive. We are a people who prosper. And grow. We have sent doctors and lawyers and business owners out into the world. The Mokee-kittuun are teachers and artists, engineers and scientists. We have survived. We can be proud of who we are. Where we are. We can be proud of our past, and look confidently, optimistically into our future.”

Cheyenne paused for only a moment. Finally she had reached the end of her story. “We remember our past in order to honor our ancestors.” Her gaze fanned across the faces of the tribal members, settling on her brother's. “But we should not let the past hinder our future.”

Libby sensed there was a gentle message being conveyed. A personal message from sister to brother, although Rafe showed no sign of it.

Then Cheyenne let her dark eyes slide to the faces of the children in the very front of the crowd. She smiled. “We must remember,” she told them.

For several moments no one seemed to move a muscle. The whole tribe seemed to be basking in the pride of their past. Libby didn't blame them. Had it been her past, she'd have basked as well.

Her gaze lifted to Rafe's face. A smile shadowed the corners of his mouth.

“My sister's going to do all right,” he said. “She was a little nervous about studying with Alex Featherstone. Becoming a shaman will take a lot of her time. It's been a big decision for her to make.”

“I can imagine.” Libby shook her head in amazement. “She told me she was learning the man's stories. But I didn't know she was studying to become a shaman.”

Rafe's gaze arced affectionately to Cheyenne who was
talking quietly to the group of children gathered round her knees.

“When she approached the Elders a couple of months ago with her decision,” he told her, “they showed their faith in her by presenting her with the dress and cloak she's wearing.” He then added, “It was a gift they had been waiting to offer her. They believe in her.”

People began to say their goodbyes. The celebration was ending.

On the way back to Rafe's house, Libby realized how special the evening had been. It would be a night she'd remember forever. She felt so blessed to have been included in this spring ceremony of thanksgiving and remembrance. Having the chance to see Rafe dance had been a special gift. And participating in The Woman's Dance had been a wonderful experience. The expression of concentrated yearning in Rafe's dark gaze as he'd watched her would be forever emblazoned in her mind.

Yes, this was a night she would hold deep in her heart.

As she pondered, however, she couldn't help but feel curious about some things. Why would Cheyenne feel compelled to offer her advice about Rafe's complex nature? And what had happened to him in the past that continued to affect him now? What was it that he was unable to let go of? And why?

And why—when he'd kissed her tonight by the evergreen tree, when he'd so obviously wanted her—had he said that intimacy between them was wrong? That he couldn't “do this” to her?

Libby sensed that all these bits of information were like pieces to a puzzle. But for the life of her, she was unable to make them all fit.

A
s soon as the sun had come up over the horizon, Rafe had asked Libby to accompany him on a trek up into the foothills. She'd willingly agreed, but when she'd inquired about their destination, he'd purposefully kept his answer vague.

The jackets they wore protected them from the foggy chill that had rolled in off the Pacific in the wee hours of the morning. In an hour or so, the sun would most likely burn off the haze and warm the air. Maybe twice in all the years he'd lived in Prosperino and Crooked Arrow had he seen snow fall this close to the ocean, but in the damp month of March, fog was common.

Rafe was wholly uncertain about what he intended to do this morning. Taking Libby to this special place could very well be a mistake. And after the way she'd reacted to the tribal celebration last night—he could close his eyes and see the excitement lighting her beautiful face—he
didn't want her to be disappointed if they reached the mouth of the cave and some inner voice told him to go no further. She was not Mokee-kittuun, and the cave was of great importance to his people. Rafe would have to pay particular attention to his intuition.

Instinct. Perception. Inner voice. These were all important aspects of being human. Being connected to The Great Father. Being connected to the universe. Most people didn't take the time to simply listen to that tiny spark of godliness they were born with. And in Rafe's estimation, those people were foolish.

“I had a wonderful time last night,” Libby said, her tone muffled by the heavy moisture hanging in the air.

“I'm glad. So did I.”

The celebration had taken on new meaning for him as he'd watched the anticipation and wonder fairly glimmer in her aqua eyes. When he'd danced around the flames, his steps had been more sure, more precise, than ever before, and he knew in his heart that had been because Libby's gaze had been on him. And seeing her join the other women, seeing her body sway and roll to the sensuous beat…

He'd broken out in a cold sweat, his need had been so great. Going against everything he knew was right, he'd taken her hand and slipped into the dark cover of the night, away from the crowd, the yearning in him had been that insistent.

And after they had returned to his home, the very air had vibrated with sexual current. She'd have come to him. To his bed. All he'd have had to do was give her a look, a touch. However, he'd controlled himself. He'd had no idea how, but he was proud that he had.

Knowing that a relationship between them was impossible, he believed with all his heart that physical intimacies
should be avoided. The battle now was in forcing the needs of his body to surrender to his beliefs.

“The tribe is—”

A gasp issued from her as she lunged forward. He reached out to her, grabbing her arm, and when momentum continued to carry the left half of her body, he reacted with swift movement. The incident was over in the blink of an eye. But the two of them were left standing close.

He noted the surprise in her eyes, how her scrumptious lips formed a small circle. The moment hovered, energy pulsing. However, what captured every nuance of his attention was the warm roundness of her breasts as they pressed against his forearm.

“I should learn to pick up my feet,” she said, inching from him, consciously tugging at the hem of her jacket. “I'm all right. Thanks.”

He didn't want to release her, she felt so damned good up next to him. But there was nothing else for him to do except back off.

Rafe took her hand. “These rocks can be dangerous.” Steadying her was a practical thing to do, he decided. But a quiet voice told him he only wanted to feel her skin next to his own.

“As I was going to say before I nearly fell and broke my silly neck,” Libby continued, seemingly at ease to be holding hands with him, “is that the tribe seems to be very close-knit.”

He nodded. “We're more than merely members of the same tribe. More than just neighbors. We're as devoted to each other's welfare as blood kin would be.”

Interest lit her expression.

“We think of ourselves as family,” he told her. “So much so, that there was a time in our history when taking
a wife or husband from within the clan was forbidden. It was looked upon almost like incest.”

“But how did people find their partners?”

Rafe smiled. “At ceremonies just like the one you attended last night. Celebrating is an important part of our culture. People would come from all over to share the fun. Meet new people. Find a mate.” He shrugged. “The custom of strictly marrying outside of the tribe has died out now. I'm sure that had something to do with all those foreigners showing up.”

He grinned, hoping she would catch on that he was teasing. She did.

They walked several steps in silence. Then she said, “I like the idea of having lots of family around. Not having any brothers or sisters made growing up pretty lonely at times.”

A painful memory knifed from the back of Rafe's brain. He remembered those lonely hours spent worrying about his younger brother after Curtis James had wrenched River out of Rafe's life.

He shoved the thought from him. He knew conjuring up his bad memories hadn't been Libby's intent.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I've learned over the years that friends really can become like family. I've known Blake Fallon for years and years. He's like a brother to me.”

Birds of a feather. That was what Rafe and Blake had been. As teens, the two of them had been full of anger and raging to rebel. Against everything and everyone. And for a time, they had done just that.

“Unfortunately, I never have been one to make friends very easily.”

The sorrow in her tone made Rafe forget all about the pain of his own past.

“What do you mean?” The question pitched forth before he could even think to stop it. She was beautiful. Intelligent. Fun-loving. Inquisitive. All those things that popular people were. He couldn't imagine her not having a boatload of friends, but he did recall her saying once that she'd had a lonely childhood.

The shadow that crept over her face made him frown.

“I didn't have what you'd call a normal childhood,” she began. “You see, I suffered with a severe speech impediment. It was so bad, in fact, that I refused to talk at all except to Mom and Dad. I felt ashamed, from my earliest memories. I didn't want to go out. Didn't want to communicate.” The mass of her hair bobbed when she shook her head. “I
couldn't
communicate. That was the thing.”

She sighed. “My parents loved me. And they did everything in their power to protect me. My mother was everything to me. My parent, my friend, my teacher, my playmate. We'd play dress-up, and she'd get right down on the floor with me and play with my dolls. We created skits, and she taught me to bake. Of course, Dad had to work to pay the bills. But he joined in with our fun each evening. We'd dance.” Her mouth curled at one corner. “I remember standing on his feet as we waltzed around the living room.”

She took a moment to pinch her bottom lip between her teeth. “Oh, but they worried about me. I know they did. They contacted specialists, took me to therapists, doctors. Always looking for some way to fix my problem.” The edgy chuckle she expelled contained not an ounce of humor. “The last woman we went to see grew so frustrated that she blamed me for not trying hard enough. My self-esteem took such a beating that Mom and Dad finally just closed ranks around me.”

Rafe stopped walking. “We don't have far to go,” he told her, reluctantly letting go of her hand. “But let's sit here and rest a minute.”

With no argument, Libby perched herself on the rocky outcropping.

“What do you mean that they ‘closed ranks'?” he asked.

Love shined bright in her eyes. “Mom and Dad became my protective wall against life. They loved me and nurtured me. They let me know I was the light of their lives, and it didn't matter that I couldn't speak clearly.”

Obviously, her childhood experience and the speech impediment with which she'd suffered had taken a huge toll on her. Rafe could see it in her rounded shoulders, in the ache expressed on her face, in the clouds in her eyes. Like her parents had done, he wanted to close ranks. To gather her up in his arms and protect her.

“Your speech,” he began, “is…” He lifted a palm as he searched for the correct word. “Clear. Eloquent.” His head shook. “How…?”

Libby looked around them. “The fog is gone. And I'm rested. Should we move on?”

“Sure.” Automatically, he got up and started over the rocky ground. “But don't think you're going to leave me wondering.”

She chuckled, and Rafe believed there wasn't prettier music to be heard.

“I wouldn't dream of it.” She trudged up one particularly jagged section of ground, accepting the helping hand he offered her. “My father brought home a man one day. I was eleven at the time. My parents told me right up front that Dr. Ericson was a specialist. At first, I was angry with them. I felt betrayed. I didn't want to face more humilia
tion. But Dr. Ericson quickly told me that I didn't have to say a single word to him if I didn't want to.”

Rafe didn't understand. “But how did he intend to help you?”

Again, she laughed. “He taught me the anatomy of speech. He taught me how the muscles in my mouth and throat work to make sound. He seemed more like a science teacher to me than a therapist. And he was funny. He made me laugh. When I was finally comfortable around him, I began to practice. He worked diligently with me for eight years.”

Her hand felt good in his. And the pride that came with her success made her beam.

“I still run into problems,” she told him. “In times of overwhelming stress. But I just calm myself and perform the exercises that Dr. Ericson taught me.”

Then Rafe remembered the night she'd been attacked at the burger joint. She had stumbled verbally during and after the incident.

“All in all,” Libby said, “I didn't have it so bad. So many of the doctors gave up on me. So I endured a little teasing from the neighborhood children…”

He knew she was making light of what she'd been forced to tolerate. But hearing about her experience did help him to understand the doubts she had in herself.

Rafe felt her eyes on him as she asked, “But don't you think we all face bad experiences as kids? I'm sure you understand what I mean.”

She was probing. Trying to get him to talk about himself, about his childhood.

Bringing her here had been a way for him to share with her when, in his mind, there was so little of himself that he felt able to reveal. This cave—this sacred place—and
the information harbored deep under the earth, was something he was pleased to be able to offer her.

His horrible memories had to remain locked inside, but he could give her a better understanding of his theory about the case they were working on. And hopefully she'd realize that, by bringing her here, he was proving his trust in her.

“I do understand.” And he left it at that. “This is what I wanted you to see.” He pointed to the slit in the rock that was the mouth of the cave.

Although there was a smile on her face, her eyes conveyed her disappointment that he'd once again sidestepped her attempts to get him to talk about himself.

“Come on.” He squeezed through the opening, beckoning her to follow.

The morning light arrowed into the opening, lighting their way down the narrow corridor.

“What is this?” she asked. “Someplace you used to hang out?” Mirth skirted her tone when she added, “My dad built me a treehouse in our backyard, but this is way cooler than any wooden fort.”

He shared her soft laughter, but refused to answer her questions. Instead, he urged her onward.

“Feels like we're descending,” she observed.

“We are.”

When the tunnel made an abrupt turn, Libby seemed to grow wary. “Shouldn't we have a flashlight?”

He grinned, assuring her, “We're fine. We're almost there.”

The final fifty feet were traveled in a deep gray darkness at a decline that had them leaning into their heels.

“Rafe?”

“Almost there,” he murmured, the feeling of reverence,
the need for quiet tones coming upon him suddenly, just as it always did when he came here.

The passageway opened into a large chamber and he heard Libby's indrawn breath. It was an awesome sight. Rays of sunlight shafted down from openings high above, illuminating the cave's colorful walls, layers of rock in hues ranging from rusty red to mossy green and slate gray. The floor was smooth and nearly level.

“It's magical,” Libby breathed on a exhaled sigh. “Look, I've got goose bumps.”

The way she whispered revealed that she, too, sensed the holiness of the place.

“The light seems like liquid the way it cascades like that. Oh, my. It's beautiful.”

Reaching across her chest, she rubbed her hands over her upper arms. Rafe watched her closely, wanting to see her first impressions of this most hallowed place. She was too busy looking all around her to notice him observing her.

“Listen. I hear water running.” Delight shone in her gaze, on her face. She took a single step into the chamber and stopped. “This place is enchanted. There's magic in the air. Can't you feel it?”

Her eyes were round. On him now. And self-consciousness tickled the tiny hairs on the back of his neck.

This was a serene place, a divine sanctuary. He'd always thought that. So did the rest of his tribe. However, at this moment, it
did
seem enchanted. But Rafe silently surmised that it was Libby who had brought in the magical quality.

“What is this place?”

“The first time I was brought here, I was just about three years old,” he told her. “For a naming ceremony. I came with several other children about my age. A fire was roar
ing there.” He pointed to a blackened spot in the middle of the cave. “And Alex Featherstone chanted a blessing and gave all the children their names.”