Tender Taming (14 page)

“Be careful,” she pleaded.

He gave her a thumbs-up sign. “I learned this from the best at seventeen—and I’m always careful!”

Whitney was then left as a spectator while Eagle joined the men for their exhibitions in the pit. She watched with fearful fascination as the men entered and maneuvered the animals skillfully—always careful, as Eagle had said—expertly watching while working to see that no opening jaws were behind them. The angry hissing increased as the prodded animals scampered for their reserves of water, moving with a startling speed.

“They can outrun a racehorse for a short distance, at sixty-five miles an hour,” a friendly voice told Whitney.

“Randy!” she exclaimed happily, turning Jo see him with Katie Eagle.

“How are you enjoying the festivities?” Katie asked. “Randy and I are late because of some herd problems, but I hear my brother did connive you into the wedding my grandmother demanded.”

“Ah … yes,” Whitney murmured, turning her gaze back to the alligator pit. Eagle was entering, and she drew in a sharp breath.

“Don’t worry,” Katie said with a chuckle, “he knows what he’s doing.”

Apparently he did. Barefoot and bare-chested as the other men had been, Eagle held his pole and scampered around the creatures with cautious grace. He singled out his animal and drew it to the center by the tail. Then he had the jaws in a careful grip and performed the stunt of holding them closed against his chest by the strength of his chin alone. Finally he put the animal to sleep by rubbing sand on the pale underbelly.

“They fall asleep,” Randy said, “because of the rush of blood from their tails to their heads. He won’t leave it long, though—it could be harmful to the animal.”

Suddenly Eagle was back with them. His words were for Katie; they were sharp and in the Miccosukee tongue. Katie seemed to deny something indignantly, and Eagle’s voice began to soften. An apology? Whitney wondered. For what? He had gone into what seemed to be an explanation. Katie began agreeing with a soft smile that switched mischievously to Whitney. Whitney realized with sinking clarity that it all had something to do with the Miccosukee wedding. Katie and Randy had to know that it was a sham. A dizzying sensation froze Whitney. She didn’t want it to be a sham. All morning she had walked beside him and talked with him in a lighthearted flippancy, one that bespoke of tender, reciprocated intimacy. She didn’t want shades of reality intruding now.

But neither was she a fool. They were discussing her as if she weren’t there, and she just wasn’t going to have it. “Excuse me, you two!” she interrupted. “What’s going on?”

She received a simultaneous pair of “nothings” that were riddled with guilt. Randy Harris looked at her uneasily. His eyes darted back to Eagle. “I hate like hell to come between ‘newlyweds,’” he said hollowly, “but it seems to me we have to split up this party. I believe they’re expecting you at the council meeting.”

“Yeah … uh … yeah …” Eagle murmured. He brushed his lips over Whitney’s and gave her a warm smile. “Stick with Katie. I’ll see you later.” Raising his brows with a grimace, he added, “Tribal powwow, you know.”

Randy and Eagle disappeared into the crowd that hovered around the pit, and Whitney looked at Katie. She had given Whitney answers before, and now she chatted like a magpie—about anything but her brother or their family. It would be useless to question Katie, Whitney shrewdly realized. She was thoroughly under Eagle’s control.

Whitney wasn’t sure that she wanted to question her, anyway. She had the intuition that knowledge would hurt her. Better to enjoy what was for her allotted time than to begin already to chastise herself for falling into the arms of a compelling man without having the sense to think about what she was doing.

Katie, relieved to find she wasn’t going to be cross-examined, dropped her inane wanderings and suggested they join a game. It resembled lacrosse, and men and women were joining in alike, all in good spirits and camaraderie. Whitney protested that she would bring certain defeat to her team, but she was ignored and soon she was running through the field, laughing like a child. She knew surreptitious glances were often cast her way, and that they all wondered about the woman who had “married” Eagle. Did she read envy in certain eyes? She hoped so. She wanted to fit into this society, which had accepted her with warmth and sincerity.

Whitney didn’t get to see much more of Eagle during the day and evening. The council meeting was long; there were many disputes to be settled. She ate with Katie, Morning Dew and other women of the Eagle family; then she was again a spectator of the all-male ritual of the “Black Drink.” The Corn Dance, Katie explained, was a time to come back to the tribe, to reevaluate oneself and, in old times of battle, the
Asi
or Black Drink had been a war potion for the braves as well as a purifier. The men drank, cried to the spirits and danced. When the ritual was over, Eagle was again swarmed over by his peers, who seemed to have much to discuss. Whitney found herself returning to the Eagle camp with Katie to await her new husband’s return.

The woods were ominous without Eagle. Whitney was a jumble of nerves, half afire for him with burning anticipation, half afraid of the night noises that she recognized yet still didn’t trust—rustlings in the pines, the call of birds, … the soft note of a John Denver tune coming to her over the breeze.

John Denver! Whitney sat bolt upright, listening. Yes, she could hear a guitar and a singer with a pleasant tenor warbling a charming strain to “Rocky Mountain High.” Who? Where? It was impossible! She couldn’t be hearing what she was hearing—Denver music in the woods.

But she was.

And it wasn’t an acoustical guitar she was hearing. It was definitely electric.

After a while the music ceased. Whitney lay her head back down, pondering the puzzle. But the days had been too much for her. She yawned, dozing into sleep despite her desires and fears. She would ask Eagle who had been the pleasant tenor, she decided. As soon as she saw him.

But electricity in the woods? Maybe she
had
imagined that … Eagle would explain.

But she never had a chance to ask him. When he returned she was aroused rather than awakened, and it was late in the night when she contentedly drifted into slumber again, her curiosity blissfully forgotten.

Whitney sat outside the chickee thinking of the night she had spent in Eagle’s arms. If only she weren’t so tired! The nights of wild exhilaration were wonderful dreams, but lack of actual sleeping hours was taking a toll. She was a woebegone sight as she sat before the chickee, her native costume bunched about her knees, her hair framing bright green eyes that peered above mauve shadows. She yawned with a shake of her head. How did Eagle do it? He had been up and gone before she had managed to blink.

“My goodness! Where did you come from?”

Whitney quickly glanced up from the ground where she had been drawing patterns with her finger to find herself facing a tall, slim man with a pleasant crop of neat, snow-white hair. He was dressed in a sedate three-piece suit of navy that was obviously well tailored. As she frowned at him with confusion, he smiled. The friendly grin that twisted his lips stretched to his eyes—eyes that were a brilliant, vivid blue.

Whitney scrambled to her feet, dusting her hands against her calico skirt. She knew she was staring rudely, but the resemblance was extraordinary. Extending her hand while she searched for her tongue, Whitney smiled. “How do you do?” she managed. “My name is Whitney Latham. Eagle—your son, I know he must be your son!—brought me out here. I am—I mean I was—am!—with T and C Development and he thought I might be interested in learning the real way of life of the Indians involved in our transactions. We met in the woods, you see …” How ridiculous she was sounding! Cool, poised Whitney Latham, who could face the presidents of multimillion-dollar corporations without the flicker of an eyelash! Why was she babbling before this dignified, friendly, middle-aged man?

Because he was her father-in-law and knew nothing of the bogus wedding? No; he wasn’t really her father-in-law. But he was Eagle’s father, that she knew beyond a doubt. And absurd as it was, she loved Eagle. She wanted so desperately to know his father … and her curiosity about his heritage was so strong that she couldn’t possibly ask everything at once!

The man laughed, an easy, good-natured sound. “Slow down, Miss Latham. This is a most intriguing situation! You met—uh—Eagle, you say, in the woods. And he brought you out here?”

Whitney blushed slightly and explained how she had stumbled into the cabin off Alligator Alley. Lifting her hands in confused offering, she ended with, “So you see, Eagle thought I could best learn what I don’t know by actually living it.”

“And what has he been teaching you?”

“How to grind corn, prepare vegetables …”

The dignified old man with the beautiful, crinkling eyes interrupted Whitney’s recital with laughter.

“Oh, I am sorry, my dear. Forgive me!” he begged, seeing her bewilderment. “That son of mine! What else has he been up to? Never mind, I think I have an idea. He has taken you for a real ride!”

Whitney smiled and attempted to sound nonchalant. “Oh? Please go on!” She forced the trembling that had assailed her to cease, and the look of confusion left her face as she gave him her most beguiling grin. “Perhaps I can take your son for a little ride in return!” Just right, she decided. She sounded like a female intent on a slight teasing revenge, not a woman ready to explode with rage and pain. Ride! she seethed inwardly. Ride! What kind of ride?

“Perhaps I’m being vague,” the man said cheerfully, “but I’m not sure why my son brought you to his grandmother. You see, the majority of the Indians today are educated and well aware of the offerings of our society. Several of the families run stores and businesses on the Trail. A number of the men and women hold jobs in the cities, such as in Naples, Miami and Homestead. If they want electricity they have it installed. If they want corn-meal, well, they usually buy it. Especially the younger crowd. Schools have exposed them to the niceties—and the headaches!—of civilization.”

Denver, Whitney thought dully, that was why she had heard the John Denver music. That was why the head of the council had expressed his best wishes in English. They probably all spoke English, and she had played the complete fool … “Do you mean,” she began aloud, “that none of this is real?”

“No, no! Forgive me again! This is very real! Morning Dew is an old-time Miccosukee,” he told her warmly. “This is her way of life. She desires no contact with so-called civilization. I’m shocked that she allowed Eagle to bring you here like this. How did he manage it?”

Whitney couldn’t bring herself to mention the tribal wedding. She only hoped she could escape the gentle man before he discovered the extent of her relationship with his son. Escape! How? But she had to get away.

“I—I’m not sure,” she whispered vaguely.

“How did Eagle con
you
into this?”

“He … uh … he promised to smooth things over for me with Jonathan Stewart.”

It was the white-haired man’s turn to look puzzled. “I don’t understand, but I think I’d like to. Smooth what things over? You see, I am Jonathan Stewart.”

Oh God! Whitney mutely groaned. Of course! That was the secrecy regarding his paternity! That was why Eagle was so sure he had all the influence he needed. “I don’t see what you don’t understand, Mr. Stewart,” she began politely. “Surely you know you are due to meet with me next week on a solution to the land problem.”

His brows raised in a high arch, so like Eagle’s that a fierce stab of pain ripped into her heart. “You’re to meet with me next week?”

“Yes, sir. With Mr. Jonathan E. Stewart.”

“Oh, my dear Miss Latham! You
have
been taken for a ride, and I can see I’ll be having a long discussion with my son! It isn’t me that you’re supposed to be meeting. I’m Jonathan Lee Stewart. You were destined to meet my son from the beginning—you merely came upon him prematurely. He is Jonathan E. Stewart. Eagle. Jonathan Eagle Stewart. The Miccosukees call him White Eagle because of me, his father.”

Whitney had never fainted, but she was sure the blackness enveloping her would soon cause a hasty descent to the ground. Her knees buckled beneath her. “I think I’ll sit for a minute,” she said, and her voice had a buzzing quality as it came to her ears. How had she been so wretchedly stupid and naive? She had been baited—Miss Virginia, indeed!—and fallen hook, line and sinker for every deception dangled before her.

“Are you all right, Miss Latham?” Jonathan Stewart, his blue eyes pools of concern, knelt beside her, mindless of his impeccable suit in the earth.

“Fine …” Whitney murmured faintly, dredging up a reassuring grin. Stewart seemed to think of it all as a friendly, harmless practical joke. But he didn’t know how terribly involved it had been! He didn’t know that his son had solicited her love and trust while subtly stabbing her in the back all the while! Oh, God! Whitney thought over everything that had happened in a flash in her mind, like the last visions of a drowning victim. Her demand to know if Eagle spoke English. Her often unintended and naive remarks about the Indians and their way of life …

Yes, it had all been a plot to put her in her place. The tender passion of his lovemaking had been nothing but part of the plan. Lord! How he probably intended to laugh when she walked into his Naples office …

He would never have the chance, Whitney determined, and the blackness that encompassed her became a brilliant white light of fury. Now it was her turn. She wasn’t sure of her move yet, but she was getting out of these woods—without seeing Eagle again. She would face him in his Naples office—prepared!

“Miss Latham?”

“I’m fine—I really am!” Whitney assured the senior Stewart. “And please call me Whitney.” There was no reason to hurt this kindly man because she was swearing vengeance on his son! “Tell me, sir, how do you happen to be out here?”

“That’s easy,” Stewart said as he grinned amicably. “I came because of Morning Dew. I see her whenever I come to the South. I live in Chicago, and the one offering of civilization that Morning Dew appreciates is Fanny Mae candy.” He patted his jacket. “I always bring her a box.”