Follow the Sun (31 page)

“We’re going on a hike. Wear comfortable shoes.”

“Where are we going?”

“And don’t eat lunch. We’ll go native in the woods.”

Frustrated, Erica sank both hands into her hair and groaned softly. Native. “I’m not taking my clothes off to eat lunch.
Where are we going?
”

“Be there,” he said firmly, and she listened to him leave the house. He still had a slight limp, so they couldn’t be hiking far.

Erica fell back on the bed and stared at a ceiling made of thick boards painted pale blue. Dove had certainly loved blue; most of the colors in the house were
some variety of the color. It was soothing, and she needed soothing just then.

She suspected she was going to need it more as the day went on.

E
RICA DROVE OVER
to Asheville after breakfast and turned in her rental car, then went to a used-truck dealer and drolly leased a Jeep Cherokee. As she drove back along a winding road perched on the sides of mountains, she blessed the Jeep’s oversized tires and four-wheel drive.

She rolled down her window, let the fragrant spring breeze wash over her, and slipped a Cherokee-language cassette into the Jeep’s tape player. She’d mail-ordered the tape from the reservation in Oklahoma, and the dialect differed significantly from that used in North Carolina, but she could still benefit from it.

She smiled as she went through the tape, feeling very Cherokee as she repeated phrases and words. “
Egwa
. Big.” Erica gritted her teeth. James had called her
kamama egwa
. Something big. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

After that she didn’t smile.

Eventually she reached the sign that marked the reservation’s eastern border. “
Qualla Boundary
, she read aloud. She didn’t know what
Qualla
meant, but it sounded homey. A few minutes later Erica slowed the Jeep as woodland gave way to billboards and the road became crowded with tourist traffic.

She turned off the tape as she entered Cherokee. Gazing out at the tourist district. Erica cataloged the offerings—the Sequoyah Cafeteria, the Papoose Motel, the Pow Wow Gift Shop, an amusement park called Santa’s Land, and dozens of other attractions.

In contrast, Becky Tall Wolf’s little restaurant was simply called Mama’s Best Meal and, judging by the early lunch crowd, it was a success. Erica had to stop at crosswalks to let hordes of camera-toting families pass.

As she sat waiting she glanced at the storefronts.
Before one stood a middle-aged Cherokee man in full chief’s costume—beaded moccasins, fringed buckskins, and a huge feathered war bonnet. A large sign was propped on a porch post beside him.

“Take a photograph with Chief Running Bear. And don’t forget to tip!”

She sighed. On the reservation this occupation was called “chiefing.” The costumes were strictly Plains Indian style, and more Hollywood than authentic, at that. But still, it was a job, and from what she’d heard the men who did it worked long, hard hours. Even when the public was obnoxious they demonstrated an incredible amount of courtesy and showmanship.

Farther down Erica stopped at another crosswalk. This time when she looked over at the shops she gasped in surprise.

Grandpa Sam was chiefing.

She pulled into one of the slanted parking spaces that fronted the stores and hurried over to Sam’s spot. He held a squalling toddler in one arm while the mother stood beside him uncertainly and the father snapped pictures with an expensive-looking camera.

Erica winced. Grandpa Sam had braided his long white hair into two plaits that hung down over his shoulders, onto his chest, and decorated them with orange feathers.

Still, dressed in a headdress that hung to his heels and wearing a beaded buckskin outfit made by an obviously loving hand, he brought dignity to the costume.

As the family walked away Sam called cheerfully, “Have a good stay in Cherokee!” He turned, saw Erica watching, and grinned. “Howdy do,
Eh-lee-ga.
”

She smiled with fascination. “Is that how you say my name in Cherokee?”

He nodded. “Eh-lee-ga. We got no
‘
r
’
sound.”

“Mr. Tall Wolf—”

“Call me Grandpa Sam. You’re one of us, the
Ani-Yun-Wiya
, the Real People, and all of them call me Grandpa.”

Erica thought her chest would burst with affection.
“Thank you. Grandpa Sam,” she said around a knot in her throat.

“What you doin’ today?”

She told him about going to the museum to meet James. As she did, his gaze strayed across the street. Suddenly he muttered, “I’ll be damned. Quicker than flies after a dead horse.”

Erica glanced over. A competing chief, this one short and plump, with a face like a Cherokee Buddha, was holding a toddler in
his
arms. He gave Sam a thumbs-up.

“Copies me ‘cause he’s too dumb to think up things on his own,” Sam grumbled.

Erica bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Do you do this every day?”

The majestic war bonnet nodded solemnly. “Make good money at it, most days. Mainly do it ‘cause I like to keep busy and meet people.” He thumped his chest. “I’ve had my picture made with people from all over the world, and some of ’em write me letters when they get home. I’m on ten different postcards, too.” Sam cupped a hand beside his mouth and said in a low voice, “Don’t mention I said so, but Germans tip better than Americans.”

Erica clasped her hands behind her back and asked casually, “Grandpa Sam, what does
kamama
mean?”

“Hmmm. It means butterfly.”

Erica gazed up at him in surprise. “If somebody called me a big butterfly, would it be a compliment?”

He looked mischievous. “Yes. Who called you that?” When she shifted a little and smiled ruefully, he clucked his tongue. “That James,” Sam murmured. “He’s a caution.”

Erica nodded, a dull lump in her stomach.
Caution
was the appropriate word.

O
UT OF THE
corner of one eye Erica spotted James crossing the museum floor toward her. He was way
laid by an elderly museum worker who apparently knew him. She squealed and grabbed his hand, then began to talk.

The giant standing near Erica took that moment to speak to her for the first time. “Pardon me,” he said politely in a voice as deep as mountain thunder. “May I ask you a question?”

Erica turned toward him, tilted her head far back, and looked at a rugged, attractive face topped by black hair. But it wasn’t Indian-black, and neither his features nor his coloring indicated any Cherokee blood. Her neck ached from looking up. Lord, he was seven feet tall. Was there some sort of magic-growth elixir around there?

“Yes?”

“I saw you in the bookstore talking to the cashier. Is she a friend of yours?”

That was Echo. Hmmm. What did this black-haired Atlas want with James’s sister? “Yes, she’s a friend.”

“Is she married?”

“Uhmm, no.” Erica squinted at him shrewdly. There was a worldliness about his dark eyes that made her feel he was much more sophisticated than his questions made him sound. She glanced at his tan corduroy trousers, short-sleeved khaki safari shirt, and well-used hiking shoes.

“Who are you, and why do you want to know about her?”

He thought for a moment, then leaned close to her ear and murmured, “I noticed in the guest book that your name is Erica Gallatin. Do you have a relative named Tess?”

Erica drew back in astonishment. “Yes.”

“I’m a neighbor of hers. Drake Lancaster. Call her in California and check me out.”

That sounded legitimate. Erica gestured vaguely around them. “But how—”

“I work for the forestry service, and I’m based in Los Angeles. I’m doing some pollution research over in the Nantahala area, a few miles west of here.”

“But how—”

“I keep a sailboat at the marina where Tess lives. At Long Beach.”

“Ah!” Well amazing as this coincidence was, he
did
know indisputable details about her cousin. Erica was still stunned, but she held out a hand. “Hello, then.”

He shook gently so his large paw wouldn’t crush her fingers. “Now, about the cashier. I want to buy some books, and then I want her to go to lunch with me. Will you help me out?”

Erica had been glancing at James, and she enjoyed the way he kept glancing at her and the giant. She took Drake Lancaster’s hand again. “If you’ll do me a favor I’ll introduce you to the cashier and tell her you’re a friend of my cousin’s.”

His dark eyes gleamed with pleasure at the intrigue. “All right.”

“Put your arm around me. Pretend we’re old pals from college. This won’t get you in trouble, I promise.”

He smiled slowly. “That’s all right. Trouble doesn’t bother me.”

He might have been shy, but he wasn’t awkward. Gracefully he slipped a massive arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side. “Just old friends?”

“Right.” Erica smiled at James. He arched one brow but continued talking to the museum worker. She lifted a hand and waved casually. Drake Lancaster followed the direction. He smiled and nodded to James before looking down at her again. “Now what?”

“You went to Georgia Tech. Studied … hmmm, biology. Yeah, that ties in with your job. I was a little sister in your fraternity—”

“Whoa,” he said, chuckling. “When you make up an identity, keep it simple. It works better that way.”

She looked at him quizzically, wondering how a biologist would have experience with such things. James’s appearance beside her made her forget that
thought. Erica grinned at him and pointed to Drake. “An old college friend.”

She patted Drake’s chest and smiled up at him. “I can’t believe it’s been so many years.”

He squeezed her waist companionably. “We had some good times. I’ve never forgotten.”

Lord, this man was a wonderful accomplice. Erica smiled at James, who was doing a good job of looking inscrutable.

“Drake Lancaster, meet James Tall Wolf. James is helping me do some research on a relative of mine.”

James shook the giant’s hand and smiled pleasantly at him. “You went to Georgia Tech with Erica?”

“Sure did.”

“He studied biology,” Erica chimed in. “And now he works for the forestry service.”

James arched a brow. “Did you play football?”

“Oh, yes,” Erica interjected. She looked up hopefully at Drake Lancaster.

There was a hint of exasperation in his eyes, but he chuckled. “Sure did.”

“What position?”

Drake never missed a beat. “Defensive end.”

“Hmmm. Well, glad to meet you.” James looked from Drake to her and smiled with a nonchalance that made her heart sink. He didn’t care if she knew a dozen giant, good-looking men. “Ready for lunch?”

Erica shrugged. “Sure. But I want to introduce Drake to Echo first. Umm, Drake knows my cousin Tess, by the way. Tess, from California.”

“Go ahead. I’ll be waiting.” He shook Drake’s hand again, then sat down on a cushioned bench and yawned.

Erica grimly led Drake Lancaster to the museum bookstore. “Thank you,” she told him. “You did all you could.”

The bookstore was empty of customers; Echo had her back to the door, and she was rearranging books on a big display rack, one that rotated.

Erica glanced at Drake Lancaster and was fascinated
by the intense way he studied a woman to whom he hadn’t yet spoken. But of course Echo was beautiful, in addition to being six two and having an incredible mane of black hair. She wore deerskin ankle boots, soft cotton pants, and a ruffled blouse that made her look very feminine.

Wonderfully feminine, but not delicate. Erica recalled that Echo, in her spare time, was a blacksmith.

Echo grabbed the rotating rack, hoisted the whole thing off the floor and easily carried it to a spot in one corner. Drake Lancaster leaped forward to help her but arrived just as she plopped the rack into place.

He grasped her elbow. “That was impressive,” he said with utter sincerity. “You must have strong hands.”

Echo jumped, looked up, and simply stared at Drake in open-mouthed wonder. Erica stopped a few feet away and watched wistfully as an almost visible form of energy passed between the two of them.

She sighed, thinking of James waiting for her in the museum without an ounce of jealousy or interest. Well, if she couldn’t find romance for herself, at least she’d find it for other people.

“Echo,” she said softly, watching the hypnotized look in her eyes, “this gentleman wants to talk to you.”

J
AMES GUIDED HER
to Grandpa Sam’s old pickup truck. He kept a benevolent silence as he drove along a pleasant, almost suburban street paralleled by a tree-shadowed river. He pointed to it. “Oconaluftee,” he noted.

“Gesundheit.”

He chuckled. They passed the ceremonial grounds, the tribal council house, and a small, neatly kept building that housed the Bureau of Indian Affairs. James cut across the river and turned down another road.

Erica gazed out the passenger window as they
passed a large, impressive brick building. A fire truck and other official vehicles sat out front. “How’s Travis?” she asked abruptly. “You don’t say much about him.”

“We don’t have much to say to each other.”

Erica looked at James quickly. His wide, firm mouth had thinned a little, and the pain around his eyes couldn’t be hidden. She’d spent several days watching this man try to ignore the pain in his knee, and so she recognized the different type of pain in him now.

“Anything you want to talk about?” she asked.

“I told his wife I’d set her up in a house in Chicago if she’d divorce Travis and stay away for good.”

“Oh, James,” Erica said sadly.

“I guess I sound like a real SOB.”

“I don’t know. Were you doing it for Travis?”

“Yeah. After she left him the fifth time. Father and Grandfather tracked Travis up to the top of Rattlesnake Mountain—it’s a sacred place in the old legends—and they found him sitting there with a gun in his hands. I don’t know what he would have done to himself if they hadn’t brought him back home. When I heard what almost happened, I knew I couldn’t let my brother get to that point again.”