Sacred Ground (29 page)

His magnificent, powerful body begged to be loved. She moved alongside him, pressing close, allowing Brett to gather her into his arms. He held her snugly against him and she smiled at his tenderness.

"I love you," he whispered. "Marry me?" He gently held her face in his large hand.

She looked into deep, intense blue eyes. His love shone in the way he gazed at her. She had always told herself if there ever was a shadow of hope for a real marriage and father for Lance, she'd take it in a minute. Wasn't Brett offering her that shadow of hope right now? She knew the answer and smiled. "Yes," she finally answered barely louder than the beating of her heart.

"Yahoo!" he shouted, rolling her beneath him. "You've made me happier than I've been my whole life, save the exception of Sean's birth."

"I'll confess," she said, looking up at him, "I never thought I could feel this happy. I had no idea being with a man could be this exciting, this―"

"Demanding? Unsettling? Urgent?" he offered, before covering her lips with his hungry kisses.

Willow
melted beneath his touch. Within seconds she writhed with needs. The drumming and chanting from the Desert Dance CD set a rhythmic tempo. The heady scent of
sweetgrass
made her senses reel.

He eagerly kissed her full breasts, giving and taking pleasure. It excited her beyond anything she'd imagined. Gentle, demanding, and pleasingly welcome, he took his time touching and kissing her.

"I want all of you,
Willow
. Will you let me show you how beautiful our love can be?"

"I want you too, Brett. Give me your love, I trust you."

He moved over her and she tensed slightly, afraid to receive his abuse, like Gordon. Brett kissed her, lovingly, and tender. He licked her erect nipples and suckled them with urgency. She raised her hips, wanting him, surprising herself. He entered her, slow and gentle. He moved inside her, creating a burst of pleasure that shook her entire body. She cried out.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked, pausing.

"Don't stop, Brett, it's wonderful," she cried out, pulling him closer. She offered all she had to give, and he took her gift with loving care, giving and taking, until their moist, naked bodies quivered to a still, exhausted contentment.

They remained entwined.
Willow
nestled her cheek in the crook of Brett's arm. A dream-like feeling filled her, and she moved into the other world of sleep.

As she walked, small stones pressed beneath her soft moccasins. She smelled the savory stews from the campfires. Children laughed as they played their games, running about the camp, in and out of tipis, teasing mothers and pleasing grandmothers with their carefree ways.

Willow
watched her village through eyes of a spirit person. She saw her people, but they did not see her. She felt the happiness and harmony of the old ways. Everyone had a job to do, and they did it with a light heart. She sensed much love among the wives who shared the work, as well as for their great warrior husbands.

A slight breeze caused several leaves from a tree above to drop onto the taut tipi, and then slowly slide down it in a waterfall of yellows, oranges and reds. Soon nothing but red leaves flowed down, like blood.

Willow
woke, unsettled and worried. The dream had to be a sign . . . a warning.

Chapter Seventeen

Brett woke in the early part of the morning.
Willow
's steady breathing told him she slept content in his arms. It had been a long time since he'd cradled a woman in his sleep.
Willow
felt right.

He took in her beauty, her narrow nose, high cheekbones, and full, inviting lips. Her bronze skin softened her features and added elegance.

She'd said yes to his proposal of marriage. She had no idea how much he wanted this. He could only imagine how happy Sean would be when he heard the news. Lord, he missed his son.

Glancing at his watch, Brett realized it would be hours before they headed for Browning. He'd heard stories about the reservation, and although he had lived his whole life in
Montana
, had never been on a Res.

There were reasons for that. High on the list was his resistance to accepting his Indian heritage. Secondly, he feared he'd meet his father, eye-to-eye, recognizing the man through his own features. Then, of course, there was always the possibility he'd hear some rumors as to his blood father.
All those years of imagining the worst scenario, the drunken, good-for-nothing Indian father.
Brett couldn't help wonder how he'd allowed his thinking to become so narrow-minded, so prejudiced, so stereotyped.

Who would have believed Willow Howling Moon would turn his life around? Lately nothing and everything made sense. He looked around at the room and had to admit, the beauty of it all caused a stirring of pride deep within him.

The faint ringing of a telephone interrupted Brett's musings. He slid from
Willow
's warmth and grabbed a terry robe that hung from a peg on the backside of her bedroom door. He rushed down the hall and stairs, struggling to be quiet and quick with the heavy, clumsy cast on his leg.

Brett reached for the phone, interrupting the ring. "Hello?" His voice sounded gravelly in the early morning.

"Brett, that you?"

"Mother?"
The hair rose on the nape of his neck, and he suddenly knew something was wrong. "What's happened to the boys?"

"The Mercy flight is flying them to the
Great Falls Deaconess
Hospital
," she said.

Brett heard the tenseness and fear in her high-pitched voice. "What happened?" His tone revealed nothing. Inside he felt a knot tighten.

"I woke from a deep sleep. I thought someone had been shaking my shoulder. When I opened my eyes I saw no one. It seemed too quiet in the house. I felt uneasy so I decided to get up and―"

"What happened?" he interrupted, impatience laced the words.

"They decided to ride a bull."

"Oh, my God!
Are they―"

"They're both alive, and that's what counts," she said, heavy with emotion. "Lance said Sean had watched all your rodeo tapes and knew what to do. I had no idea they weren't sleeping."

"How bad are they?" Visions of unbelievable horror flashed through his mind.

"Lance's left thumb has been torn from his hand. They must have wrapped the leather strap wrong."

"Good, God. What about Sean?" Brett asked, afraid to listen.

"Seems like he had trouble letting go of the rope too.
By the time he went flying to the ground the bone snapped on his right forearm, breaking through the skin and they think it may have severed an artery or part of it. He . . ." she paused to regain her composure. "He's stable, but they said he lost an awful lot of blood."

"My God!"

"We have them checking all family records for blood type compatibility. I know you believe Sean isn't yours by blood, but I have them checking yours too." Her voice held an edge of gentleness.

"What you're saying is that if he were my son I might be able to save his life? He's my son in every sense of the word, except my wife didn't sleep only in my bed. Is that what you want to hear?
Lorraine
told Gordon Jenkins that Sean was his son." Brett felt more exhausted now than he did when the son-of-a-bitch Gordon had finally died. "I never thought there'd be a day when I wished that bastard was alive."

"I'm sorry, Brett. You've been a wonderful father to Sean.
Lorraine
never was good for you or Sean. That's all behind us. You and
Willow
go to the hospital. We'll meet you there." She paused. "Would you ask John Steals Many Horses to drive you? I know it sounds like a foolish old woman's request, but you shouldn't be driving when you're this upset."

Brett took a deep breath. "Sean's grandfather should be there at a time like this, shouldn't he?" A silence stretched for several seconds. Finally he heard her whisper.

"You know?"

"I wish you'd told me years ago. But, if I'm to have a father, I must say he's a mighty fine choice." He cleared his throat and looked away.

"Let's talk later, son. We'll get to the hospital as quickly as we can."

"We?"
Brett asked, uncertain who she knew at the Indian reservation. He shook his head, probably everyone, maybe no one. He couldn't help feeling left out of the
big secret
, and it bothered him.

"
Willow
's parents and Mary Wolf, her sister."

"
Willow
has a sister?" he asked, suddenly confused.

"It seems you know little about the woman you love."

He heard the gentleness and love in her voice and smiled, only briefly. "We'll meet you at the hospital." He stretched his aching leg and listened to the click telling him the conversation had ended. His mother never said goodbye, she believed the word belonged at the gravesite. The thought brought a chill to his spine as he rushed up the stairs.

"
Willow
!" he shouted, grasping the stair banister to support his weight, and to keep from falling. "
Willow
!"

She ran toward him. She'd wrapped a sheet around her naked body and the sunlight from the window at the end of the hall made it transparent. Brett found it difficult to believe a woman could be this beautiful. Her long hair settled around her body like a soft, enveloping blanket. He read love in her soft, brown eyes and warm smile.

"The boys have had an accident." The words felt heavy on his tongue.

"What?" Her smile disappeared.

"My mother just called. Said the boys were trying to ride a bull, like I did when I was in the rodeo," he said, glancing away, feeling responsible and unable to meet her accusing eyes.

"Boys have a way of wanting to be like their fathers." Her tone held no accusations, only the softness of understanding.

"We need to get to the
Deaconess
Hospital
in
Great Falls
. Mother said to call John Steals—my father to drive. Your parents and Mother will get there as soon―"

"Hospital?
What? How bad?" she
asked,
her voice high-pitched and tense.

He pulled her into his chest. "Honey, I don't know everything. Mother said Lance's thumb has been torn off. Sean has a compound fraction that might have severed an artery . . ." He broke off as his voice wavered. He tried choking back the tears but they came anyway.

"It'll be okay." She spoke with a firm tone, yet it had a mother's gentleness.

He shook his head. "What if they're not? Damn! I've often said Indians don't watch their
kids
enough―"

"How dare you!” She stiffened against him and her expression grew cold. “My parents are great with the boys, and so are the uncles and aunts. Your mother was there too. You're telling me what?"

He clenched his teeth, knowing his comment had been cruel and accusatory. "I didn't mean it like it sounded. Well, I did, but I don't mean it. Hell,
Willow
, I can't change all my thinking over night. I'm trying―"

"Trying what?" she asked, taking several steps back. "To accept the fact I'm Indian? Trying to convince
yourself
that Indians aren’t all good-for-nothing drunks? Is it so hard to believe that all Indian parents don’t let their kids run wild? What? Your love isn't strong enough to overlook the fact you've fallen in love with one of those Redskins?"

Brett placed his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Willow. I'm worried about the boys, and I wasn't thinking straight. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"I'm afraid you did. Get dressed. I'm going to call John. We're wasting time arguing a losing battle. The boys need us." She shrugged from his touch and ran down the stairs.