Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance) (18 page)

What a shame to mar such a beautiful body, she thought. Her hand moved to his face, and she used the shirt to blot up the rivulets that glistened on his forehead and trickled down his cheeks. Her touch seemed to have a calming effect; his voice quieted to a hoarse whisper, and his thrashings diminished and finally stilled. Her heart seemed to swell as she looked down at him. He seemed young and vulnerable, needing comfort and care. She bent down and gently kissed his mouth, then pulled back to watch his face. His eyes, with their long thick lashes, opened slowly, but they were still focused on whatever was happen
ing in his dream. In their dark depths Abby saw terror and disgust and rage, and she became afraid for him. She desperately wanted to bring him back from that place into the here and now with her, to shield him from whatever secret horror haunted him.

“Cat?” she called softly once, then once more. The sound of her voice registered; his brow furrowed briefly, and his head turned toward her, although he was still focused inward.

“Ab? Are you here with me? You shouldn’t be. ” He

tossed his head from side to side. “Go back. It’s bad here... it’s hell. Go home.”

“Come back with me,” she whispered urgently, “where it’s warm and safe. I’ll take care of you.”

She shifted and lowered her weight gently onto him in an effort to dispel the nightmare with her presence. She held his face and lowered her mouth to his, gently caressing his lips and his cheek, murmuring to him wordlessly, much as she talked to Ghost. Finally he began to respond, his lips moving beneath hers, his arms coming around to press her to him.

She smoothed back the hair from his forehead and dabbed at the moisture that had gathered there once more. His mouth searched for hers hungrily, devouring her, gaining sustenance from her warmth. One hand traveled over her body and cupped a firm breast. Suddenly he turned on his side, taking her with him, but never loosening his hold on her. Abby felt the pain from her ribs, and her knee ached, but she stayed with him.

His head was on her shoulder, and she felt his warm breath against her cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered. “It’s not so bad now that you’re here.”

She knew he was still dreaming, that his conscious mind would never let him speak this way, and she was grateful to the very torment she cursed for making him suffer.

The hand that covered her breast moved as if searching in the darkness. She pushed it gently aside and began to unbutton her blouse. Then she took his hand and, after kissing its open palm, laid it against her warm bare flesh. She heard him moan deep in his throat, and a second later his mouth closed over her nipple, his tongue laving and caressing the engorged tip. Her heart hammered against her breastbone, and a burning wetness started deep within her; her body trembled as wave after wave of desire swept through her.

Just then Cat moved over her, crushing her beneath his weight. She cried out in pain and pushed against his chest. The sound of her voice and the pressure of her hand seemed to penetrate the layers of semi-sleep, and he rolled off her. A second later he leaned over her with a look of concern.

“God, Abby, I’m sorry.
I didn’t realize.. .I was dreaming.” He touched her cheek lightly. “Do you hurt bad?” You’ll never know how bad, she thought. Aloud she said, “Just a little.”

“I’ve had this dream since Kandahar but it was different this time.”

“How?”

“You were in it.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I can’t. I don’t want to. And you don’t want to hear it.”

“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have asked. And you can. Just try.”

“What for?”

“Sharing a bad time with someone always helps. And getting your feelings out in the open is better than keeping them buried inside to fester. Sometimes looking at a bad experience in the light of day can take away the terror.”

“Not this, and not to you. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Abby, it’s not kindergarten stuff. It’s people at their worst. It’s... me at my worst.”

“Okay, you’ve warned me.” She sat up gingerly, mindful of her aching ribs, then turned to face him, inching forward until they were nose to nose. “But you can’t scare me off.”

He smiled. “No?”

“No.” She smiled back. “So fire away.” She lay back against his arm.

He went quiet; she felt his body stiffen and put a hand on his chest. He’d broken out in a cold sweat again. She moved her hand to his arm and gripped it tightly; he closed a hand over hers and began to speak.

“I’m coming out of the shelter of the mountains, running through this village. All around me is bleached of color, all of it the color of sand, hot, dry sand. It whips at my face, scours the skin off my hands and any part of my body that’s exposed. The sky is as white as the sand and the sun scorches everything. I keep running, only now these bare, thorny bushes are cutting my body to shreds. I’m bleeding, and I wonder why my clothes aren’t giving me any protection. I look down, and all I’m wearing is this thing we call a
kipangu,
which is an apron, like I used to wear as a kid during the hot weather. On my feet are knee-high moccasins. That’s how I know it’s a dream and not the real thing.

“ ‘I’ve got to get to the guys,’ I think. They’re up a
head, in the village. There’s Taliban in there, and we’ve got to clean ’em out so people from the village can live in peace. They’re good people. They don’t mean anyone any harm: old men and women, mostly, and little kids, and a few young women whose husbands are off fighting, or working on the base. I spend my time off there sometimes; they’re good to me. In a funny way, it makes me think of home when I’m there. I keep running.

“Now my ears pick up sounds: gunfire, shouting, screaming, more gunfire, and then a sound like an ax hitting away at a tree trunk. ‘Why would they be chopping wood?’ I wonder. The noises get louder. I’m almost there. Finally I break through and into the clearing where the village stands. I stop short. I can’t believe what my eyes are seeing.

“There are bodies all over the place, or what used to be bodies. Some guy’s walking around hacking ’em to pieces. There’s blood all over everything.

“ ‘Where’s the Taliban
?’ I yell.

“ ‘
Ain’t no Taliban,’ somebody answers back.

“I go over to one of the guys. ‘Why’d we kill all these people?’ I ask.

“He looks at me and laughs. ‘Who cares about them, Chief?’ he says. ‘We got to add to the body count...
Chief.
'

“My stomach rises up in my throat, and I think I’m gonna throw up, but I force it back down and go on. I keep looking, hoping to find someone alive. But all I see are bodies. ‘This must be what hell is like,’ I think. Then the lieutenant starts shouting orders to police up the area. Everybody is carrying corpse
s and parts of corpses into their houses. They’re laughing and talking, making inhuman human sounds. Suddenly all I can see are my people being massacred by white soldiers. These are no longer Afghani villagers. They’re red men and women and kids. They’re the Lakota at Wounded Knee and Slim Buttes. They’re the Cherokee at Sand Creek. My blood begins to boil, and my chest feels like it’s about to burst. I let out a yell, then another, and I know it’s a war cry. I grab a gun and I start to shoot.

“People run, dodge, hit the dirt. Some roll away, others lie still. I can’t tell who’s hit and who’s not. I don’t care. I hate them. I see my ancestors dying like these villagers died, and I feel their pain, and I want to kill.

“I hear my name being called. It’s the lieutenant. ‘Chief, hold up,’ he says. ‘Give me the gun.’

“ ‘No,’ I say. Suddenly I’m calm, quiet.

“ ‘Don’t make me kill you. You’re a good man,’ he says.

“‘Why’d you let them do it? You could’ve stopped them.’

“‘I couldn’t.’

“ ‘You’re just as bad as they are.’

“‘Maybe,’ he says, ‘but you’re not. Stop this now, before it’s too late.’

‘“I can’t. It’s already too late. It’s three hundred years too late. You’ll have to kill me.’

“I raise my gun, aiming at him. He lets go with his and hits me twice.. .in the chest and the leg. I go down, and three guys pile on top of me. I feel a sting in my arm and I know they’ve given me a shot to knock me out. But I don’t go under. I hear the voices, see everything that’s going on. I just can’t move. Soon I see the flames as they fire the homes. Then I smell the burning flesh. The men are cleaning up the place, leaving no evidence of what happened. I know nothing will ever live again in this cursed place. Like with my people, who never live in a tipi where there’s been a death, but tear it down, destroy it and move on somewhere else. Only this time there was no one left to move. They give me another shot, and I go out for good.” He went silent.

“How much of the dream is real?”

“All of it.”

The fire had died down, and the cave was cold and almost dark. Abby found her makeshift crutch and left Cat’s side to add more wood. She filled the coffeepot, set it in place, then went back to him.

He stared at the fire, then looked at her. “I should have done that.”

“Never mind,” she said. “It’s no big thing.”

His sleek, muscular body glistened in the firelight; she patted him dry with the same shirt she’d used before. She put her head on his chest, and his hand went to her hair. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“That you went through all that, that you had to see it, that you were driven to do what you did. That I made you talk about it.”

“No, it’s okay. I think you were right... about getting it out.”

“What happened after? With the Corps? Didn’t you get into trouble?”

“No one got killed. That’s what saved my neck. The guys I hurt came to see me in the hospital, said they figured they owed me for treating them and getting them out of some tough spots, so they dummied up. The lieutenant never reported any of it, and I got out on a medical discharge.” He stared into her eyes. “I have the dream all the time, and it’s as clear as the real thing. Certainly more real than being back here again in the world. Except this time. I heard you calling to me to come away with you, and the closer I got to you the more unreal that place became. When I touched you, I could feel the hurt and the anger slipping behind me, until they were a distant memory, the sights and sounds and smells only a faint echo. Suddenly you were the reality.” Abby took in his words, tucking them into a corner of her heart where she knew they would be safe until she needed their comfort. That time would come, she was certain, because she’d simply caught him in an unguarded moment. He would never again let her see that side of him, or get that close. Could her growing love for him be contained in that secret place as well?

Chapter 9

The next morning Abby woke to the smells of bacon sizzling and coffee brewing. Just as she was beginning to wonder where he was, Cat walked through the mouth of the cave.

“Morning, sleepyhead. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us. I went home and got the jeep, so you can ride back in style.” A short while later he carried her out to the jeep, helping her into the back, where she stretched her leg out along the seat. Before going to the reservation, however, he took her to County General Hospital to have the orthopedic surgeon x-
ray her ribs and examine her knee.

“Well, young lady, you did quite a job on yourself, didn’t you?” Dr. Courtney was examining the pictures of her ribs as he spoke. “Three clean breaks, but they should be fine in four or five weeks, if you pretend you’re Miss Sally-Sit-By- The-Fire. Can you rest your body for a bit?”

Cat snorted. “You don’t know who you’re talking to, Doc. She hasn’t got a quiet bone in her.”

The doctor peered at Abby over the rims of his glasses. “That true?”

She blushed. “I can be lazy, if I have to.”

“Well, you have to. And the knee injury will help you stay put.”

“How bad is it, Doc?” There was concern in Cat’s softly spoken question.

“You did a good job on this, Cat. I couldn’t have done better, myself.” He pulled out a second set of
X-rays and set them up for viewing. “The cartilage is intact, and so are the ligaments. However, there was some stretching and tearing of the fibers. There was also a dislocation of the kneecap, which you corrected very nicely, and a small amount of tissue damage. For the next few weeks the knee has to be kept immobilized so the tissues can repair themselves naturally. Therapeutic exercise after that will bring back elasticity and movement.”

“No surgery?” Cat asked.

“I’d rather see nature do the work for us, especially since the damage is relatively minor.” He looked at Abby. “Very painful, to be sure, but it could have been much worse.”

He bandaged the knee, just as Cat had done, and enclosed it in a lightweight splint that fastened with Velcro straps. “No riding, running, swimming, tennis or anything else until I see you in three weeks, Ms. Colton. Use the crutches I’m giving you, and keep the leg elevated whenever possible.” He patted her on the shoulder, and she and Cat started for Twin Buttes.

When they arrived at the Tallman house Martha was waiting on the porch, and after some gentle hugging and much kissing, Abby was soon settled on the sofa. Martha insisted that Abby recuperate there, despite the difficulty of negotiating the flight of stairs to her bedroom.