Tender Taming (20 page)

There was a combustible moment following her acidic speech when Whitney held her breath in terror, certain that the anger within Eagle would explode and she would be the recipient of unleashed violence. A play of emotions filtered rapidly through his eyes, moving so quickly she couldn’t begin to fathom them. His grip, she knew, would leave bruises on her flesh, so tense was it.

Then, miraculously, he released her. “Don’t let me hold you up,” he said. “Go back to your friend. I don’t want to be the cooling factor in anything that might be getting hot. The blonde entwined with the bar stool happens to be my secretary and the tricks she performs are with a typewriter, but you’re right, I should get back to her. It would be showing my uncivilized tendencies to leave her any longer.”

Eagle nodded briefly and quickly walked away, leaving Whitney on the dance floor, tears brimming in her eyes. Blinking, she made her way through the dancers and out the front door.

Gerry would have to pay the check and follow. She had to get out of the room before she fell apart.

But Eagle wasn’t watching her, so he didn’t see the unguarded pain that filled her eyes and sent her wretchedly into the night. He was fighting his own lack of control, fiercely battling instincts that demanded he sweep her from the bar and abduct her back to the woods and make love to her over and over until she realized that it could never be the same with anyone else. The idea of her with another man was driving him mad, eating up his insides inch by inch. If he looked at her one more time he would become irrational.

Damnit! He behaved irrationally every time he saw her now! He, the attorney, the Indian, the man born and trained to ultimate concealment of emotions, allowed himself to be ruled by his possessive anger and to lash out heedlessly when he really meant to crush her in his arms.

The lawyer in his mind told him he had no right.

But the man in him decreed that he did.

And in the space of time it took him to return to the bar and order another drink, the man won the battle.

She was his, although she didn’t know it. They had declared their vows before the Supreme Being—One who was surely the same to all men. She was his wife. And he meant to keep her. All the desire, possession, protection, irrationality and anger added up to one thing that made the most complete sense in the world. He loved her.

F
OR ONCE IN HER
life Whitney didn’t have a single difficulty in dealing with Gerry. She refused point-blank, no nonsense, to answer any of his questions. In unsparing terms she informed him that she was his friend and that was it. He was welcome to be an interested party in her work; he was welcome to view his trip as a visit to a friend.

The rest of her life was none of his business, and, as nicely as possible, he was welcome to tell her father the same thing.

Gerry, as disbelieving as he had been when she asked for the divorce, shook his head with little patience but wisely left her alone at her motel. He wound up having a solitary dinner surrounded by boisterous teenagers at a local hamburger joint.

Whitney spent the night in abject misery. Locked in the privacy of her room, she paced the floor relentlessly, exhausted herself, then threw herself on the bed and moaned for sleep, then paced the floor again. Intermittently she would grow angry, sure she had been used; then the tears would start and she would be sure she had only herself to blame for acting impetuously and speaking without thinking.

Not that it really mattered anymore. Whatever had existed between her and Eagle was now irrevocably over. Maybe she should think up an excuse and run back to Virginia. Here she ran the chance of seeing Eagle again frequently. The tear in her heart would constantly be reopened and she would never have the time needed to heal such a wound.

If time really did heal broken hearts. At the moment she was certain the pain she felt could never be assuaged.

It was close to dawn when exhaustion finally brought her relief in sleep. She felt she had barely closed her eyes when the insistent ringing of the phone brought her back to an unhappy stage of consciousness.

A second of wild hope at the sound of a male voice was immediately dashed.

“It’s Gerry,” the voice said irritably. “Latham. Remember me? You’re still using my name.”

“Oh. Good morning. What—ah—time is it?”

“Eight. As a friend, I thought you might be willing to join me for breakfast. In a decent restaurant. I had heartburn all night.”

She had to get out of bed, and she had to face the world. She had offered to take him to the new land site, and since she was scheduled for a meeting with the land-fill people and the environmentalists, she should really take a trip for her own benefit. Even if she did decide to tuck tail and request another transfer, she had to keep up with her work until a replacement could be hired, and then she would be required to make damn sure that everything was up to date and handled smoothly.

“Sure, Gerry. The motel has a nice coffee shop. We’ll have a good breakfast and I’ll show you where the development will be.”

“Fifteen minutes?”

“Twenty.” Whitney made a face to the phone and hung up.

The face that greeted her in the bathroom mirror looked like hell. Groaning, she showered quickly and spent the remainder of her twenty minutes trying to repair the damage done her by the sleepless night.

Funny how she had felt after a different sleepless night. Then she had been making love, and she had awakened feeling tired but content. The world had been beautiful.

Today she felt as if she should be lowered into the nearest hole in the ground.

“Life goes on,” she told her reflection. She had been living without Eagle for weeks now. Why should anything be different?

Because she had thought the land hearings would change everything. Eagle should have raced after her when she left the conference room. He should have told her that he had loved her all along.

She had been living a pipe dream, but real life had intervened. And now she had to face reality. Head on. It wouldn’t get any easier. She had lost her heart, but she did still have her pride. And with a good base coat of makeup over the shadows beneath her eyes, no one else would ever need to know that the dream in her life was over.

A light touch of blush took the white hue from her face. What the heck, she told herself, applying a light green shadow and brown mascara. Go all the way. With a coat of moist lipstick, she actually looked good.

Or so she thought.

“You look like hell,” Gerry told her.

“So I’ve been told,” she replied, adding silently, by myself! “Could we forget me and my looks for a while?” she begged. “Tell me about home. How is my mom doing with her garden?”

Gerry amicably kept the conversation light while they ate, filling her in on all the little happenings since she had left Richmond. His tone remained easy the entire morning, until Whitney drove to Alligator Alley and down the path that led to the proposed sight in a company jeep.

Reaching the land filled Whitney with a sense of contentment and keen satisfaction. It was largely marsh right now, but she had been assured that filling the area was highly feasible without causing damage to the expanse of the Everglades. She could envision the planned community—affordable, pleasant, widely spaced homes that were encircled by the natural beauty of the area. Children would live in the homes, and they would have old-fashioned swings tied to the sturdy branches of the old cypress trees. The builders would work around the canals and lakes, and the unusual animal life would not be uprooted from its natural habitat.

Gerry was not sharing her future vision, Whitney realized quickly. He began ranting as his shoe slipped in the mud while he followed her on a short footpath that led to a ’gator hole.

“This is it, Whitney! The grand finale! That you haven’t already killed yourself is amazing! Why on earth do you want to wander around this horrible hellhole anyway? Damnation!” He swatted viciously at a mosquito. “Dratted things. What the hell else is around here? Snakes, I’m sure. And God only knows what other creatures. You’re going to need a fumigation squad before anything else! And it isn’t for you. I never saw you swat a fly, Whitney. You look nice in dresses, not mud. We are going to leave this minute, and if you won’t listen to me I’ll have your father down here—”

“Gerry!”
Whitney shouted his name in disgust. “My father cannot send me to my room! Neither can you! I live here now. And I’ll be spending many days in this ‘hellhole.’ Christ, Gerry, look around you with an open mind! There’s beauty here, Gerry. If you can’t see it, I do! And I’m not budging. You go back to Virginia! Tell my father whatever you want. And if he can’t appreciate any of this, he can just go home, too!”

“Whitney!” Gerry gasped. “What has gotten into you? Have you no respect for the man who raised you? I just can’t believe this. I refuse to believe this!” He set a slim hand over hers with purpose. “We are leaving now. You don’t know what you’re doing, and somebody has to take responsibility for you.”

“I am not going anywhere! I have things to see here. When I finish I will take you back to the city. And then I’ll drive you to the airport!”

Gerry’s hand didn’t move. He stared at Whitney as if she were a belligerent child.

“Excuse me, but I think you heard the lady. Let her go.”

Both Whitney and Gerry spun in the direction of the softly spoken but forceful, determined words. Neither had heard a thing in the wilderness to warn them that a third party had come upon them.

A weakness came into Whitney’s system. It was Eagle.

He was all Miccosukee as he stood before them, his legs apart in tight jeans, his arms crossed over a chest that was covered by a braided jacket His blue-raven hair gleamed in the traces of light that shimmered around him.

The look in his brilliant eyes was all challenge, all warrior.

“Who the hell are you?” Gerry demanded.

Eagle raised a single, imperious brow and advanced toward them with his cat tread. “What difference does that make?”

Whitney had to stifle a smile. Poor Gerry! He was in beyond his league, and he didn’t recognize the man from the previous evening. How could her ex be so blind, Whitney wondered. She would recognize Eagle’s piercing blue eyes and majestic stance if he were dyed green and covered in snow!

“It makes a tremendous difference!” Gerry said heatedly, confused but refusing to be daunted by an Indian in the woods. “You’re interrupting a private matter between a husband and wife—”

“She is no longer your wife,” Eagle interrupted quietly.

“What?” Gerry stuttered.

“She is no longer your wife.”

“All right, then! Ex-wife! But I’m responsible for her well-being and she doesn’t know what she’s doing out here and I’m taking her back to the civilized world!”

“Whitney is free and over twenty-one. Where she chooses to be is her own concern.”

“Whitney!” Gerry repeated explosively. He stared at her accusingly. “You know this man?”

“Yes. I do,” Whitney said quickly. She felt as if she had been watching a tennis match, following the ball back and forth across the net, an observer, not a participant.

“All right, so you know my wife—” Gerry began again to Eagle.

“Ex-wife. I underline ‘ex,’” Eagle said calmly.

“Ex. Ex, ex,” Gerry sputtered. “What difference does it make to you? This is a private matter and none of your business.”

“This is very much my business,” Eagle replied with deadly certainty. “I find Whitney to be rather capable. I believe she knows exactly what she is doing out here. It is her right to stay. As to my rights—well”—he allowed his gaze to roam contemplatively over Whitney, the slightest hint of a mischievous twinkle in the depths of his blue eyes—“that, sir, is why I find myself stressing the preface ‘ex.’ You see, the lady is my wife now. And although I find her completely responsible myself, I assure you that you have no need to worry yourself over her further. I take that upon myself.”

Whitney didn’t know whether to cry or to burst into laughter. Gerry’s amazed statement voiced her sentiments exactly.

“I don’t believe this!” he ejaculated.

What was going on, Whitney wondered. Did Eagle mean what he was saying? Did he really consider her his wife? More likely he had stumbled upon them and simply decided to help her—now that he knew who Gerry was—out of simple pity. Perhaps he felt he owed her one because of the land.

“Believe what you like, Mr. Latham,” Eagle said with a shrug. “But Whitney and I were married almost a month ago. Just a few days after she came south. It was one of those shotgun affairs”—Whitney could clearly see the teasing light beneath the darkly arched brows—“except it was my grandmother after us instead of the usual bride’s father.”

“This is preposterous!” Gerry stated rigidly. “Whitney, is this true?”

“Yes—”

“It can’t be legal! You’re not tied to this—this—”

“Indian?” Whitney supplied innocently.

Gerry glanced at her reproachfully. “This man,” he said indignantly. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Eagle, then widened as dawning comprehension came into them. “The restaurant!” he exclaimed. “That was you—”

“Yes,” Eagle said pleasantly. “That was me. And while we’re on the subject, my name is Stewart. Legally, that is. And you do seem to be concerned with legalities.”

“I’m a lawyer—” Gerry began.

“So am I,” Eagle interrupted, waving a hand coolly in dismissal, “and as such, sir, I’ve learned that human nature has little to do with the law. It’s my understanding that you and Whitney have no legal ties. And yet you are here, and she is with you. That is a tie, one that goes beyond a piece of paper. I believe that you are legitimately concerned for her, and that she cares for you—as a friend. That’s why I’m making such an effort to maintain patience.” He walked forward to them on his silent tread until he stood just a foot away from Whitney, and though he continued to speak as if he were addressing Gerry, his eyes were hypnotically locked on hers. “However legal that ceremony was, Whitney is tied to me. I think she knows it.” For a moment he continued to stare at her, and the hammock in the woods was held in an eerie silence, as if time had stopped and they all waited in suspended animation. Whitney was suddenly keenly aware of all the little sounds in the cypress glen: the breeze rustling softly through moss and sawgrass, the drone of a fly, the light crackle of dipping branches.