Healing Trace (13 page)

Dry
heaves brutally attacked her, until she lost what little she had in her
stomach. Tears wet her cheek, and she gulped air into her depleted lungs.
Savannah's smiling face came to her, and she pushed away the ugly nightmare
Trace created for her. It wasn't fair, and she wanted more than anything to do
something to right a wrong.

The
night Trace struck out and cowered in front of her at the pool mixed with her
imagination. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop the truth. He had been
one of those forgotten children on the reservation, left to survive on his own
with no one to care for him, no one to tell him he mattered.

No
wonder he lived on Lakota ranch with the others, away from his nightmares. She
wiped her arm across her mouth. The other guys, his best friends, supported him
and accepted his need to keep everyone from getting too close to him. How many
times had they stood beside Trace, watched over him, and encouraged him while
he suffered through his recent broken bone?

Her
heart cried for Trace and Savannah, and the many more children who had to live
a life of fear. She wished Trace could see how much he had to offer a child.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Living a life of abuse was not normal.

Pulling
herself together, she climbed back in the truck. Emotionally and physically
drained, she didn't know the right words to say to Trace. In this instance,
maybe saying nothing was the best approach.

"Are
you okay?"

She
swallowed and nodded.
No.

She
wanted to scream about how unfair life was and until this moment, she hadn't
realized how much worse the world could be for some people. Even losing her dad
before she was ready didn't compare to what Trace had gone through, and
continued going through every day. At least her father had loved her, and she
had happy memories to see her through the sad times.

Tears
sprang to her eyes and she blinked them away. A physical ache seized her
stomach. None of the higher education she'd received had prepared her for the
emotional toll of knowing someone personally who bore invisible scars.

"Can
I ask you one more thing?" She glanced at him. "Then I promise not to
mention it again."

"You
may ask anything you want. Doesn't mean I'll have an answer, or I'll like you
asking." Trace's posture relaxed.

"Why
do you give Savannah money?" She glanced at Trace, before turning her
attention back to the road.

He
rubbed his hands along the length of his thighs, and took a long time answering
her, as if he had to come to terms with his actions. "When Savannah grows
up, I want her to know there was a man who never gave up on her. That I
believed she was worthy of being loved."

That
was the most honest, endearing, thing she'd ever heard and tears rolled down
her cheeks unchecked. She reached over, slipped her fingers in his hand, and
muffled her cry when Trace grabbed on to her.

A
simple sign, but it was there. He felt it too. They had a connection that went
beyond nurse and patient, they were friends.

Chapter Fourteen

 The
chick flick ended with an orchestra of violins playing through the credits.
Joan sighed. "That was a sweet ending."

Devon
used the remote control to turn of the television. "That was the stupidest
movie I've seen in a long time."

Joan
snuggled down in the corner of the couch. "How can you say that? Any time
the guy comes back, says he loves you, and never wants to leave is a good
movie, even if their relationship was cheesy. True love trumps every
time."

"If
you say so. I prefer a little more gun action and car chases." Devon
winked. "If someone dies in battle, all the better."

"The
movie's a lie. No one in real life lived happily ever after. It never happens
that way." Trace raised his arms and stretched.

"That's
not true," she said. "There are a lot of couples in love and living
happily."

The
only response she got was Trace grunting. She rolled her eyes.

"So,
Joan…" Devon grinned. "Anyone in your life ever scale mountains and
fight the devil for you?"

She
laughed. "No, every date I went on pretty much ended before it started.
The two guys who lasted more than a few months…well, they weren't strong enough
to hang around when I was working and going to school at the same time. They
seemed to head in a different direction than where I was going."

Devon
stretched his arms above his head and groaned. "I think you need to meet
real men, someone who'll treat you like a lady out in the open, and a woman in
bed."

"Hell…,"
Trace muttered. "Don't you have a date tonight, Dev?"

"Yeah."
Devon glanced at his watch. "I better go shower. I'm meeting her after she
gets off work at the restaurant. She wants to go dancing."

"That's
what a real man would do." Joan stuck her tongue out and laughed.

"You
know it." Devon grinned and waved over his shoulder. "Catch you both
later."

Joan
waited until Devon left the room, sat up straighter and turned to Trace.
"Is he always that confident?"

"Devon?"
He seemed to think about her question. "Yeah. He never has a problem
around women. One of these days, he'll find one that keeps his attention. He's
always after the bigger and better thing he's chasing. I think that's what
makes him so good at managing the ranch and making money. He's almost too
smart. It likes the games and chase."

"My
sister's the same way. Nothing gets her down, and if anyone gets in her way,
she mows them over." Joan glanced away.

"You
don't mention your sister often." Trace took the blanket from her and
tossed it on the coffee table. "Would you like to go visit her? We only
have a little over a week until I get this cast off, and I manage around here
fine on the crutches. I think I can even do my exercises, or have one of the
guys help me."

"Thanks
for offering, but no…Katie lives too far away." She brought his crutches to
him and set them at the end of the couch. Then she proceeded to pick up the
empty glasses. "I'm going to put these in the dishwasher and go to bed.
Good night, Trace."

Joan
was hiding her emotions. He wasn't sure what caused that reaction from her, but
he recognized it as an ability he used every single second of his life. He
grabbed the crutches and hobbled into the kitchen. He'd never forget the way
she'd offered her friendship to him, never asking for a thing in return. The
least he could do was the same.

Standing
in front of the sink, Joan held on to the counter with her head bowed. He
looked away, unsure of what was expected of him. He'd never consoled someone
before, and wasn't sure if she'd welcome the intrusion or not.

He
cleared his throat to let her know he was in the room and hobbled to the
cupboard. "Would you mind grabbing the bottle of chocolate sauce out of
the fridge for me?"

She
swiped her hands over her face, and moved to the refrigerator without turning
around. "Sure."

Removing
the bag of chocolate chip cookies off the shelf, he tossed them onto the bar.
"Grab the milk and a couple glasses too. I want you to try
something."

"It's
almost bedtime." Joan placed the glasses on the table, filled them both
halfway with milk, and returned the jug.

"Ah…but
you haven't tried my secret recipe. It's guaranteed to put you right to sleep,
and give you only happy dreams." He sat down on the barstool, while Joan
remained on the other side of the counter.

"I
think that's what people say about warm milk." She scrunched her nose.
"Yuck."

"Nope,
this is even better. It's an old Lakota secret." He winked. "Feel
privileged that I'm sharing it with you…"

She
smiled. "Since when are you old?"

"I
feel old. Try hobbling around on crutches for six weeks, and you'd feel ancient
too." He reached into the bag, removed a chocolate chip cookie, and then
popped the lid on the chocolate. "There's a science to this. You have to
promise not to tell anyone. It'll be our little secret."

She
gazed at him dubiously. "They're store bought cookies."

"That's
what you think." He dribbled chocolate over the surface of the cookie,
taking care not to let it run off the edge. "Okay, open your mouth."

"Trace—"

"Come
on. I know you enjoy chocolate. It's good. I promise." He moved the snack
toward her. "Open…"

She
parted her lips and bit the cookie in half. She licked the corner of her mouth
where the chocolate dribbled from her lips. Mesmerized by the wet, pink tongue
peeking out of her mouth, he couldn't look away.

Their
eyes met and emotions he couldn't describe simmered inside of him, right below
the surface. Emotions he'd never experienced before hit him square in the gut.

He
handed her a glass of milk. "Take a swallow and swish it around in your
mouth."

Her
eyes bugged out, but she did what he suggested. He popped the other half in his
mouth, chased it down with a mouthful of milk. Watching her, he grinned with
his cheeks bulged out.

Laughter
started slowly between them, and grew stronger. Joan covered her mouth. He
swallowed and coughed. Her eyes sparkled with enjoyment and he swore, right
then and there, he wanted to bring out her smile more often.

"You're
right. That's really, really good." She brushed at her chin. "Not
sure about the good dreams, but my stomach's content and happy."

"Now
you know the secret. You can dream about chivalrous men on white horses, coming
to give you their heart." He leaned over the counter and used his thumb to
wipe the chocolate smear on the top of her lip.

He
chuckled softly. "It seems I'm always cleaning your face."

She
sucked in her bottom lip, and he froze. Tracing the curve of her mouth, he held
his breath. His hand shook for how much he wanted to kiss her.

Her
cheek pressed into his hand. "Trace…"

That's
all he wanted to hear. The acceptance and permission in her voice. He stood up
on one foot. His hand curled around her neck, into her hair, and pulled her over
to meet him halfway. He wanted her more than he'd wanted anything in his life.
That fact scared him to death.

He
leaned his forehead against hers. "You better run to your room if you
don't want me to kiss you."

"I
don't want to run." Her whispered voice curled around him.

Trace
kissed the side of her mouth and inhaled. "You smell sweet."

"Chocolate,"
she whispered.

He
captured her lips, teasing, tasting, exploring. She tasted of chocolate and
warmth, making him dizzy with hunger. She opened her lips and kissed him back.
Giving him permission, and giving part of herself in return. He wanted to keep
on kissing her, but he was losing control. If he didn't stop now, he'd have her
right here on the counter. Rough, hard, and fast.

He
pulled away, gasping. She stared at him with eyes half closed, waiting for
more. Dazed and shaking to the core, he sat back down. His fingers dug into the
cushion on the stool.

"Trace?"
He heard the need in her voice.

"It
was kiss, Joan. Nothing more. Go to bed."

Chapter Fifteen

The
air crackled with the intensity of an overcharged electric fence. Trace leaned over
the railing and peered up into the clouds. The sky boomed, rocking the porch
underneath him, and he waited for the first sign of a summer rain.

He
had a love of storms since he was small. The power rolled through him, giving
him strength and the knowledge that there was something in the world larger and
more authoritative than simple men.

The
energy coursing through his veins came not from the approaching summer storm,
but from the fiery redhead in the house. She was what his people called a
heyoka,
or a healer, who heals through laughter, and can see deep inside a person's
soul more than a normal person. It's often thought that lightning strikes
created
heyokas
.

The
air grew thicker, and he was glad he only had on his shorts. With no breeze and
the high humidity, he could feel the sweat running down his back, the light
film of perspiration on his bare chest. He challenged himself to stay outside
to wait for the rain that was coming. A cleanse from the elements bringing
relief to the muggy day would be the best medicine since the last time he rode
Thunderbolt.

He
gazed out over the fields. Soon the grass would straighten and reach for the
sky, refreshed and thankful for the blessing given.

Thunder
shook the ground, and the first sprinkles of rain hit the roof of the porch. He
held his hand out and let the drops gather in his palm. Another flash of light
lit up the front yard, quickly followed by a rumble. The clouds opened and sent
down a pounding rain that bounced off the dry land. Using the handrail, he
hopped down the two steps until he was standing fully under the sky.