Healing Trace (26 page)

Brody
walked out of the back hallway and joined Joan at the desk. "What's got
you so excited?"

"Our
first client." She held the paper in front of her and did a little dance.
"God! That felt good. If nothing else, the woman looked ten times more
relieved after visiting the clinic. We gave her hope."

"You
gave her hope." Brody high fived her. "I think we should celebrate.
Come on over for a barbeque on Saturday. Bring Katie, your swimsuits, and I'll
call the other guys. This is the day we've dreamed about, and now we can get
down to business. I know it's only one patient, but more will come once she
tells her family and friends how well she was treated. This is only the
beginning."

Joan
sank down in the chair and filled her mouth with air. She blew her breath out
in one big whoosh. "Oh Brody…I don't think that would be the smartest
thing to do right now."

"Trace?"

She
nodded and waved her hand in the air. "I've tried to forget about him.
Most days I can keep myself busy with the clinic and Katie, but I can't help
wondering what I could have done differently, or what I can say for him to
believe I won't hurt him. It's like he thinks I'm this fragile piece of glass
that'll shatter into a million pieces if he explains what's going through his
head."

Brody
heaved a sigh. "I think it's Trace who thinks it'll be him who falls
apart."

"I'm
pathetic wishing for someone who doesn't want me." Sarah slapped her hands
down on the desk. "You know what? I'll come to your barbecue. The hell
with Trace. If he want to be a dumb ass, that's his problem. I would love to
hang out with you guys, and I know Katie will want to come. I can't keep her
away from the ranch as it is now."

Brody
tilted back his head and laughed. "There's that O'Hanlon spirit I remember
seeing when you tried to throw me in the car, right before it blew up."

Joan
grinned. It was true. Somewhere along the way, she'd let herself worry about
someone else more than taking care of herself. That's one of the first things
she tells a person who seeks counseling not to do, and it took her until now
for her to figure out she needed to follow her own advice.

***

Trace
turned from the window and braced himself against the kitchen counter.
"What did Joan say? Did she agree to come to the ranch?"

"Yep."
Brody walked across the room, opened the fridge, and took out the pitcher of
lemonade. "She's steamed. I'm afraid you're not going to have such an easy
time convincing her how sorry you are, or she should trust you not to screw her
again."

Trace
ran his hands through his hair. "I can do that. I deserve to go through
all the groveling and humiliation for how I treated her."

Brody
paused, reaching for a glass and seemed to study him. "All this change in
you over breaking a horse, and then being stupid enough to let the best damn
horse you'll ever have go free again? I don't get it."

Trace
shrugged. "I didn't understand it all either, until I went twenty-four
hours without sleep and had nothing to think about, except Joan and
Thunderbolt. For once, I forgot about my discomfort and fears, and could
empathize with what they were going through. I caused the pain they were
experiencing, and I didn't like how it made me feel. I don't think I've ever
had such a low point in my life, until I realized the damage I was
causing."

Brody
stared at him for a long time, before shaking his head in wonder. "I guess
our ancestors knew what they were doing when they fasted and went off to
pray."

"Yeah."
Trace crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. "Gives a
person a lot to think about, and now I have to make it up to Joan. Last time
she tried to talk with me, she finally got angry. I might be too late to make
things right between us."

"What
happens if she's through believing in you? She's no different than the rest of
us…or you. We all have our limits on how much we'll allow ourselves to be hurt,
and you treated her like shit," Brody said.

"I
know." Trace stared at his boots. "I keep telling myself I'll try to
prove to her how much she means to me for the rest of my life, but that's not
fair or healthy. I know I can't live with regret for what I've done, but I sure
wish I'd handled things differently. The most I can hope for is her letting me
explain, and hoping she still loves me."

"Hang
in there." Brody set his glass in the dishwasher. "If two people
deserved to be together, it would be you and Joan. She's one in a million. If
we weren't such good friends, I'd put the moves on her myself."

Trace
lifted one brow. "Over my dead body."

"Hey,
I'm only telling the truth. It's too bad she didn't have a twin sister."
Brody laughed.

"She's
got Katie and from what Devon has said, she's going to be a handful when she
grows up." Trace grinned. "I guess she's sticking like glue to Devon,
and has even volunteered to work at the ranch for free the rest of the summer.
The more Katie hangs around, the more often I find Devon bent over his little
business notebook trying to figure out if building an arena and offering
lessons on the ranch would be beneficial to us."

Brody
snorted. "If he doesn't tiptoe carefully, he's gonna break little Katie's
heart. Nothing's been said, but I have a feeling he's the object of a
teenager's crush."

Trace
grimaced. He'd have to have a talk with Devon. There'd been enough heartache on
Lakota Ranch to last a lifetime, and he knew Devon well enough to know he
wouldn't want to tamper with Katie's feelings.

Chapter Thirty

A
breeze picked up, and Joan stretched her legs out in front of her. She'd taken
to eating her lunch outside after finding the prettiest little creek on one of
her walks around the area, during her breaks from the clinic.

She
couldn't sit and wait for someone to approach her all day long, and getting out
in the community and becoming familiar with the people would hopefully show
them she was no threat to them and she only wanted to help.

A
butterfly fluttered past, circled, and hovered in front of her. She set the
crust from her sandwich on her leg and leaned back, bracing herself with her
hands. The yellow and black wings beat in a flurry trying to go against the
wind.

Not
moving a muscle, Joan wondered how such a delicate creature survived in a world
that at times seemed unusually cruel. Where even the wind was the enemy and a
puddle of water could destroy its wings.

The
monarch landed on the bread. She held her breath. The once busy wings slowly
flapped as if prepared to take flight at the slightest move from her. Her nose
itched, and she let out her breath. The butterfly flew away, fed, and rested,
if only for a short time.

The
delicate nature of the butterfly and hidden strength to survive in a harsh
world, reminded her of Trace. Everything reminded her of Trace.

A
few more hours and she'd be able to lock the doors and go home for the weekend.
Tomorrow night, she and Katie would attend the Lakota Ranch barbecue, and she'd
prove to herself that she could close the book on Trace LaBatte.

Almost
to the road, she paused. The flash of black coming to a stop in front of the
stables, and across from the clinic, sent shivers down her spine. Trace's crew
cab door came open. Any second he'd could step out and look at her with those
dark silver eyes of his. Every resolve she'd summoned up the last few weeks to
put Trace behind her would disappear.

She
told herself to ignore the way her heart leapt with hope. He hadn't come to the
reservation to see her. He had business to do twice a week at the stables, and
she'd have to get used to seeing his vehicle parked outside.

She
bolted across the road like a scared kitten, and scampered inside the clinic.
She pursed her lips. Unable to deny herself, she shut the front door and hid
behind the window blinds to watch for Trace.

She
had to stop acting this way and get on with her life. She walked to the desk.
Despite Katie's rather unexplained change of opinion toward Trace the last few
days, Joan was positive it was truly finished between her and Trace.

Fifteen
minutes later, she ignored her own advice and stood at the window again.
Staring outside, she became disgusted with herself. What kind of role model was
she being for Katie?
I'm pathetic. Trace doesn't want me.

The
door of the stables opened. Joan leaned closer to the window, until her nose
hit the glass.

Trace.

He
held Savannah in his arms and as they stepped out into the sunlight, she saw
they wore matching smiles. Her heart melted all over again for the man who
battled his own personal demons constantly in his life, but had enough goodness
inside of him to make the life of a child that much sweeter.

Swinging
Savannah in a circle while holding her securely, Trace lifted her high in the
air. Savannah stretched her arms and legs out and flew through the sky as Trace
carried her flying to his truck. Joan pressed her hand to her chest, warmed to
the core. Who wouldn't want a man that put a smile on a child's face?

Despite
her anger and hurt feelings, she knew with every cell in her body that she'd
never meet another man as special as Trace. Like the butterfly from earlier,
Savannah would thrive and fly off on her own someday, thanks to the love and
care Trace gave her. She hugged her midsection. Savannah would always remember
Trace as the man who never disappointed her.

He'd
make a wonderful father.

She
stepped back from the window. Where had that thought come from?

Her
legs shook, and she slowly made her way back to her desk. She'd always taken it
for granted that someday in her future she'd have a husband and children.
That's what people do as they get older, and their goals change.

To
make her whole situation worse, she instantly imagined Trace and her having a
baby together. Would he or she have the dark hair of Trace or the red hair that
was prominent in her family? She shook her head to stop her mind from wandering,
and then reached out for the procedure manual she was putting together for the
residents that would be visiting on Monday during the open house.

***

Trace
watched Savannah run off to the general store to purchase enough food to last
her a couple of days. He dug his toe in the dirt. Savannah's dad had been gone
for two days, and although Savannah was safer without him, he'd left her alone
without any food in the house.

He
wasn't worried about Savannah's dad not being home. At least she was safe for the
time being. Even at Savannah's age, taking care of herself was better than
dealing with abuse. He knew that personally.

The
sad part was he couldn't even fault his people for not getting involved. He'd
bet everything he owned that Savannah's neighbors had no clue what went on
inside her house. They'd shrugged off her bruises and limps as childhood
accidents.

He
learned early on not to utter a sound when his father beat him, because the
hits, the slaps, the shoves, came faster and harder to shut him up. He rubbed
his chest. Thank the spirit that Savannah saw something in him, and wasn't
afraid to come and ask for help.

The
schoolteachers were overworked and underpaid. Classrooms were crowded, and the
teachers were there to teach, not to mother. It was the way things had always
been, since he could remember.

Family
matters stayed within the family. You were not to judge others. The list of
what was appropriate and the Lakota belief ran deeply ingrained. Yet, he often
wished the Lakota way of helping each other, giving to your neighbors, and the
community spirit, would go as far as questioning each other and holding people
accountable for their actions.

Luckily,
the clinic gave his people an option. They could seek help, free of charge, and
keep their concerns private from the community. He swiveled and gazed across
the street at Hope Clinic. He'd been wrong in his choice not to want Joan
running the clinic.

He,
more than anyone, knew she was the perfect person for the job. He'd never stop
worrying about her taking on too much or becoming too involved, but he had no
right to tell her what to do with her life.

He
stepped into the street, planning to talk with Joan before tomorrow night when
she and Katie came to the barbeque, but the livestock trailer he was waiting
for pulled around the corner.

Trace
walked to meet Charlie, the horse hauler, who had parked and was opening the
back door of the trailer. A small, black mustang rushed forward. He jumped up
on the tailgate and pushed the horse back.

He
ran his hands down the mare's neck. "Nice."

"Yeah,
this one is a sweetie." Charlie hitched his thumb over his shoulder.
"I've got a troublemaker at the front of the trailer that we'll have to
leave til last. He's got no manners and thanks to him, I'll probably have new
dents on my trailer that'll have to be hammered out tomorrow."