Sacred Ground (4 page)

She grabbed two towels, tossed one at Brett,
then
wiped at her soggy clothes. Antelope Tipi returned to retrieve his feather and rattle, then silently left. This had been a great day for their People.

"Why is your father sitting out in the rain?" Brett asked.

His sudden change toward her father, even if it might be temporary, pleased her. Antelope Tipi had a way of commanding respect. "He has his reasons. I've stopped asking why a long time ago. It isn't any of my business. He does what is needed."

"You can't believe his hocus-pocus is going to help, do you?" Brett asked, rubbing his hair.

Sandy
curls slipped through his fingers, and she wondered what they felt like. She shook her head to chase the thought from her mind. "Let's just say I don't disbelieve. Why do you hate the People so much?"

His jaw tightened once more, and a look of hatred swept across his face. "Because a broken down truckload of drunken Indians stopped at my folk’s ranch one day while my dad was in town. They beat and raped my mother. They left a bastard in her womb―"

"You?
Oh, God, Brett, I'm so sorry." It surprised her that he shared this with her. He didn't strike her the type to wear his family tragedies on his sleeve. It must have been the emotion of the births, she concluded. He remained silent, so she added, “I'd heard gossip, several different stories, but I didn't really believe any of them. Small town like this, the gossip is worse than, well, I just dismissed them. I can understand your anger, but that doesn't make all of us drunks and rapists. There are non-Indians who are drunks and rapists, do you hate them equally?" She suddenly realized she'd been rambling. “Father was right."

"Right about what?"
He sat down on the straw next to Shadow.

Willow
moved to sit next to him. "He said you have troubled spirits. When you look in the mirror you see what you do not want to see.
The truth."

"What the hell does he or anyone know about the truth? My father never forgave my mother for giving in to those bastards. It wasn't her fault. She birthed me, and then couldn't have any more kids . . . his kids. He hated her for that. She's the kindest, gentlest woman you'd ever want to meet. He treated her like shit. He treated me like shit, too."

"I'm sorry. It must have been hard on both of you. I like your mother. She's always been kind to me, even in public. Now I realize that must have been difficult for her. I'm surprised she doesn't hate us as much as you do. I'm sure I remind her of what happened. I'm glad I know―"

"Why? So you can use it against me? When Dad died, it seemed so did the talk. He must have kept the gossip going, just to get back at her. These past few years no one has thrown my 'bastard' status at me. Don't even know why I told you," he said, turning his back to her.

The strange surge of affection she felt frightened her. "I certainly won't bring it up to you or anyone else for that matter. I'm not ruthless and hollow-hearted like those Indians that hurt your mother," she said, her tone soft.

"When I think about it, I have to face what I don't want to face, the very thing I try to forget. One of those ruthless bastards is my father! Do you know what it's like to wonder who your father is? Every middle-aged Indian male I see, I wonder, is he the one. Every drunken Indian I catch a glimpse of, I have to wonder . . . could he be my father. And if I were to find him, would I want to get to know him, or kill him?"

He slammed his fist into his palm, and
Willow
jumped. She moved her hand across his broad back. "I wish there was something I could say to ease your pain, but there isn't," she whispered, feeling his shoulders shake with emotion. She leaned against him, hoping to offer some comfort.

He turned toward her and met her gaze with sad, puppy-dog eyes that expressed the depth of his sorrow. Without thinking, she pulled his head to her shoulder. She felt his warm tears through her cold, wet shirt. She held him close, offering motherly comfort.

Against her own will, she felt her breathing increase and her blood grow hot. As much as she didn't want to admit it, her body reacted to Brett Turner.

She slid her finger into the back of his wavy, curly hair. It felt like wet silk and smelled of almond. She tried to ignore the strange aching in her limbs. When he pulled back, she gave no resistance.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She watched him, as breathless as a girl of eighteen. He pulled her roughly, almost violently, to him. His kiss felt punishing and angry, or was it passionate and needy? Confusion and fear filled her. Thoughts of Gordon's demands turned her blood cold. She twisted in his arms, arching her body, seeking to get free. His release came sudden, sending her sprawling backward.

"God, I'm sorry," Brett said, moving to help her sit. "I didn't mean to scare you. I wasn't going to hurt you, like Gordon. I heard things, but I never believed them. You're right about little towns. They seem to know everything, right or wrong. I found it hard to believe Gordon could beat on you, but he did,
didn't
he?"

Willow
swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. "It wasn't as bad as you think. I'll admit he got carried away sometimes. He always apologized and he tried real hard to control his anger. I had a way of saying the wrong thing or doing something stupid. If I’d been more careful, none of those beatings would have happened," she explained, aware that she once again defended Gordon, as though he still had a grip on her. Gordon was dead. She no longer had to accept responsibility for his actions.

Brett covered her hands with his. She froze. "Did it ever occur to you that it wasn't your fault? He had no right to hurt you. If he loved―"

"Love," she interrupted. "Is there really such a thing? Sometimes I wonder."

"I know what you mean. But my mother is a strong believer in love, although I wonder why. Her life certainly lacked it. Sean has been our source of love. He fills both our lives."

"I can relate to that. Lance is the only reason I keep on trying.” An involuntary chill caused her body to tremble. "That's not entirely true. My responsibilities to my People also give me strength and purpose.” A shiver shook her body and she struggled to control it.

"You're cold?
Me too."
He leaned to grab a couple of dry towels. "Here," he said, dropping one into her lap.

Willow
rubbed her forehead to ease the pain and moved the old towel around to the back of her stiff neck.
"Dang headache.
Hope it doesn't get worse," she muttered, more to herself than to Brett. She closed her eyes and moved her head in a slow circle, hoping to ease the stiffness. His gentle fingers slid across her shoulders and worked the muscles at the base of her neck. Although surprised, and somewhat embarrassed by the intimacy, it felt too good to make him stop.

"Sean told me Lance has bad headaches. Kind of unusual for a nine-year-old, isn't it?"

"I get migraines, a family thing. I started at Lance's age too. He's learned to stay quiet and relax. I have to admit I worry about it. Our doctor doesn't seem all that concerned. I wish we could pass on only the good genes, but life isn't that easy." She realized he'd stopped massaging and she opened her eyes to find him looking at her. A flush of heat raced across her cheeks.

"You'd better dry off," he said.

She wondered if his tone seemed deeper, even husky. She dismissed the thought. Brett ruffled the towel over his head,
then
peeled off his shirt to dry his skin. She found herself spellbound by his muscles moving as he worked. A light cover of sandy hair added to his masculine appeal. She tore her gaze from him, hiding her increased breathing by drying herself with a vengeance, keeping all her cold, soggy clothes intact.

Willow
cleared her throat. "Do you realize we've been neighbors for almost ten years and I don't really know you?" She immediately wished she'd kept the comment to herself.

"Yeah, I've been thinking a similar thing. It's not that I didn't want to, I mean, Gordon did come around our place now and then. But, it seems friendship wasn't something we shared." Brett lunged to his feet and stomped over to check on Thunder.

She thought about his comment. Finally she shuffled through the straw and sat close by. "What did you mean by that?" she asked, watching him intently.

"Nothing particular."

His answer came too fast. "I don't believe you. You had a point behind that comment, now you don't want to explain it. I don't ever recall Gordon saying he went to your ranch. He seemed to have a friendship with Wyatt Anderson, not you. I don't think he cared one diddly what you did or didn't do. I think you owe me an explanation." She didn't look at Brett, but concentrated on watching Thunder use her rough tongue to cleanse her newborn.

"Stuck between you and Wyatt's run-down ranch has been a real experience in neighbors. The way I see it, I owe you nothing. It's you who owes me an explanation," he snapped.

 
She took in his firm stance, feet spread, hands on his hips, while towering over her.
Willow
swallowed hard. Her heart beat fast. If he hit, she'd aim for his balls, no hesitation. Gordon was the last man who would mistreat her. "What could I possibly have to explain to you?"

"Justify sabotaging my ranch. It's all I have to give Sean when I leave this earth. I work hard to provide for my mother and son. I don't pretend not to have raised some hell in my youth, but I've been sober and solid since my son was born. You may call me a spoiled rich kid, but I'm not. What you've done to me isn't excusable. I've done nothing to you."

"What are you talking about?" She stood and stretched her full length before him. "How would I know anything about what's been happening on your ranch? Your cattle problem wasn't my doing.
Your well?
Hell, why would I want to disable your well? If I wanted you to suffer for lack of water, I'd dam-up your main water supply on my property, which I have no intention of doing. When your great-grandfather purchased that tract of land it was in good faith. Gordon said all his ancestors have honored that agreement, I'm not about to change it."

"Last fall I found a small strip of wheat burned out. Don't suppose you know how that could have happened?" he asked, sitting hard. "I saw plenty of horse tracks in the area. Just to keep you from lying, I followed the trail; it led straight to your place."

His contemptuous tone sparked her anger. "I admit I was there, I never denied it. Why didn't you come over and ask me about it then? You would have discovered I didn't start that fire, I put it out." She glared at him. "You accused Gordon of doing some land sampling too. He wouldn't have―"

"One damn minute!
I have proof," he yelled, his voice rising. "I didn't get to see the results, but I did see the cash payment receipt and it was signed by Gordon Jenkins."

"Let me see it," she demanded between clenched teeth. "I'll prove the signature isn't his."

"I can't," Brett admitted.

"Can't or won't?" she asked, pushing straw around with the tip of her moccasin.

"Someone tore my office apart. Several things were missing, the receipt was among them."

"How convenient for you," she drawled in a heavy sarcastic tone. "Now I'm supposed to believe my husband barged into your study and stole it? Sorry, I'm not convinced. Come up with the truth, I might."

"You always such a hard ass or is it just me? I think you could be soft and sexy, but I have the feeling you never let anyone get close enough to find out. From what I hear, Gordon hadn't reached your heart either."

"What Gordon touched or didn't touch is my business. I heard when
Lorraine
divorced you and ran back to
New York
; you didn't exactly shed any tears. Did you?"

The way he tucked his shirt in, she felt certain he planned on heading for the door.

Willow
didn't look him straight in the eyes.
She
couldn't; what if he read the truth beneath her attempted stern exterior? Her mind told her to have nothing to do with Brett. Then why did her body betrayed her when he came near? Determined to stay distant, she would ignore the tingle from his touch, the breathlessness from his nearness, the moistness from watching his muscles move across his naked torso.

He checked Thunder, Little Thunder, and Shadow.
Willow
pulled the dry towel around her shoulders, and then wearily nestled down in the straw . . . content to watch him. She didn't miss the tenderness of his touch while rubbing the newborn's neck. Listening to his deep, soothing voice, not really hearing the
words,
soothed her tensed body.