The Doctor's Medicine Woman (6 page)

“Wow,” he breathed. “You’re kidding.”

She shook her head.

A chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest, and
helplessly, Diana found her gaze dipping to his shirt-front all on its own. Oh, how she would have loved to press the palm of her hand there, to feel the vibration of his laughter.

The sudden, out-of-the-blue urge made her breath catch in her throat and she gave a little choked cough. To cover the heat flooding her face, she lifted her glass and took a sip of wine.

“That custom sure would simplify things,” he said. “And divorce rates would be through the roof.”

“The casualness of Indian divorce did shock the Christian missionaries.” The outside of the crystal glass felt cool against the heat of her fingertips. “But try to understand, early Kolheek marriages were not expected to be love matches. A young woman’s mate was usually chosen by her family. It was a social contract made for economic reasons. A young woman might be married off to an older man to ensure her well-being.”

From the intensity of his black gaze, he was completely engrossed.

“There is one tale of a young woman,” she continued, “who was being pressured to marry a man who had done her father a great favor. Knowing that her daughter didn’t want the union, the girl’s mother consoled her by telling her that when she was older and knew better, she could marry whomever she pleased.”

Travis was silent a moment, then he said, “See there. Even my own ancestors didn’t believe in lifelong relationships.”

“Oh, yes, they did,” she rushed to say. Then she actually winced as she remembered the story she’d
just related. “Early marriages were a sort of…test. You know, for…experience. And sometimes merely for survival.”

After a moment, she said, “You see, in great Kolheek tradition, young girls are taught that for every woman there is a man. One man. A great warrior who will love her. Protect her. Care for her. Provide for her. Each girl is determined to find her great warrior. Her soul mate.”

This time, his laughter had a bitter edge. “That sounds a lot like the stories of white knights and damsels in distress. I guess every society has their fairy tales. Their cruel jokes and tall tales that set their children up for failure.”

Driven by the overwhelming need to disagree, she said, “Oh, but the idea of having a soul mate isn’t a cruel joke. And it isn’t a fairy tale, either.”

Diana was surprised by the vehemence with which she had spoken. She hadn’t really realized the depth of her conviction about this belief until that very moment.

His dark eyebrows shot high. “So, you’re looking for your great warrior, are you?”

Quietly she admitted, “I thought I had found him.”

The words had slipped from her lips without thought. It was ironic that her goal had been to make him talk about his past, yet here she was on the verge of divulging more about herself than she ever meant to.

“You were married?”

Diana didn’t see any harm in answering his question. It was the
reason
behind her divorce that she
didn’t want him—or anyone else for that matter—to discover.

“Yes,” she said.

Softly, he guessed, “But you’re not now?”

“No. I’m not now.”

He waved to the barkeep for another drink. When the young man came to refill his glass, Travis pointed to her wine. “More?”

“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m fine.”

Leaning his weight on one elbow against the bar, Travis said, “I have to admit, I’m surprised. Most people who have been married and divorced exhibit a little more…angry negativity. Toward marriage, I mean. Divorced people are usually more angry. Blaming. Both my parents sure are. And my brother. What I’m wondering is why you’re not.”

Diana hesitated before speaking. He was exploring her past. Well, she’d take one more step toward making him understand, then she’d refuse to go any further.

“It’s hard to blame my ex,” she told him, “when I know that I’m the reason the marriage failed.”

Okay, she silently told herself, she’d revealed far more than she’d expected to; however, she couldn’t help but believe that it was necessary if she wanted him to confide in her the events surrounding his own experiences.

Her statement made him more curious than ever, she could tell, but before he could ask her any more about her past, she said, “You admitted your surprise over my optimism. Now, I have to admit something. When I brought up the subject of Kolheek divorce customs, I was hoping to get you to tell me why
you’re so…well, why you’re so adamantly against relationships.”

It was clear that the directional change in the conversation made him uncomfortable.

“I told you,” he said, at last, “my parents went through a terrible divorce. My mother was angry. She’s
still
angry. My father was shattered. And then my brother’s marriage broke up. He was devastated by his wife’s greed. It sure doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that…love stinks.”

Again, the depth of his bitterness shocked her.

“Maybe.” She sipped her wine. There was more. She knew it. Was certain, right down to the marrow of her bones. “But—” her voice grew hushed as she speared him with her gaze “—what I want to know is, how and when were
you
hurt by love?”

Clearly she’d stunned him with her question.

He murmured, “Did your training as a Medicine Woman include Mind Reading 101?”

Diana knew he wasn’t looking for a response. He was simply biding time. Gathering the shards of his wits that her question had evidently shattered like delicate glass.

He studied her. Hard. And she identified several different emotions as they crossed his expression. The first was resistance. Opposition. Like a stubborn mule, he clearly considered digging in his heels. He didn’t want to reveal what he’d gone through.

Well, seeing that she was hiding a secret herself, she could certainly understand. But if she were to help him let go of his anger, she needed to know what was going on in his head.

Then she saw a spark of irritation. This, she knew,
was a simple defense mechanism, and as she expected, it quickly passed.

Finally his dark eyes softened with surrender.

“Okay,” he said, “so I’ve lost at love. I wasn’t the first, and I sure won’t be the last. But I pity the fools who still play the game. All they’re doing is setting themselves up for heartache. And I want no part of it.”

“Travis, can’t you hear how sad that sounds?”

“Maybe so. But that’s the way it is.”

She felt as if she were fighting a losing battle, and as is the habit of any underdog, she began grasping at straws.

“If you experienced the downside of love,” she rushed to say, “then you must have encountered the upside.”

“Not very much of it.” He lifted his glass to his lips, swallowed. “And I’ve come to the conclusion that whatever upside I encountered was…all in my own imagination.”

Diana expressed silent bewilderment, desperately hoping he’d elaborate.

He sighed. “I fell in love. I thought Tara loved me, too. But when I asked her to marry me, she laughed. Harshly. Right in my face. And then she proceeded to, ah, um…”

His words caught, then trailed as he swallowed. This was clearly difficult for him. After gulping in a breath, he continued, “She proceeded to divulge the names of several other medical students she’d been dating—sleeping with, actually—while she was seeing me.”

“Oh, Travis. I’m sorry.” She uttered the words in a horrified whisper. “That was cruel.”

How awful for him. No wonder he harbored such anger in his soul.

“Well, you must have someone in your life who is a role model for healthy relationships.” She looked up toward the front of the room where the bride and groom sat at the head table, laughing with guests. “There’s Jane and Greg.”

“And I’ve already told you exactly where I think they’re headed.”

His tenacity was frustrating.

“What about the relationship Greg had with his daughter’s mother. Surely they must have had some good times—”

“Joy was the product of a one-night stand. Pricilla was, and still is, an angry woman who wanted nothing but to abandon her child. Greg agreed to raise Joy.”

Diana’s shoulders sagged. Then she decided to grasp at one more straw.

“What about Sloan?” she asked. “You said he’s a widower. He and his wife…did they share a happy union?”

Something—humor or disgust, Diana couldn’t tell which—tugged at one corner of Travis’s mouth.

“Only if guilt, condemnation and self-reproach are healthy ingredients to what you call a happy union.”

Unwittingly she found herself glancing over to where Sloan stood talking to his three daughters.

“Guilt and…?” She let the rest of her whispery question trail as confusion and curiosity churned in her brain.

When she gazed into Travis’s face, he was shaking his head.

“It would take me a month of Sundays to explain,” he said. “It was a complicated marriage. So complicated that the man is still dealing with the aftereffects.”

She stared down into her glass, not even seeing the wine inside. Her thoughts whirled like a tornado.

This man didn’t have one single person in his life who could boast a successful relationship. His parents, his brother, his friends. Everyone around him had experienced pain, anger, greed, guilt. How was she ever to counter all of that?

“So,” he said, setting his empty highball glass onto the bar top, “no offence meant…but now you know exactly why I think all this talk about soul mates, great warriors and white knights is nothing but a bunch of hogwash.”

S
now flurries made Christmas morning perfect. Travis lit a fire and then started toward the kitchen.

“Shoo! Go away!” Diana waved him from the doorway with wide sweeping motions of her arms.

He chuckled. “I only wanted to help.”

“But it won’t be a surprise if you help,” she said. “I’m doing just fine. Everything is nearly ready. Call the boys.” Her face lit with a sudden idea. “Can I serve breakfast in front of the fire?”

“That’s a great idea,” he told her. “I’ll spread a tablecloth over the carpet.” He sniffed the air. Scents of cinnamon and molasses made him salivate. “Mmm, I’m hungry.”

“Go!”

The mock sternness in her tone and in her nut-brown eyes made him laugh out loud. “I’m going,” he said, inching away from the doorway. “I’m going.”

She sure did look good this morning. The black leggings encasing her lower body fit snugly, her turquoise silk shirt flowing to the top of her shapely thighs. Her hair was plaited in one fat braid, the very end adorned with an array of brightly colored beads.

He’d been thunderstruck by the intense moment they had spent staring into each other’s eyes last night on the dance floor at the wedding reception. Holding her in his arms had simply been more than he had been able to bear. If the music hadn’t ended, if the lead singer hadn’t announced the band’s break, Travis was certain he’d have caved in to his desire to kiss the woman.

The fact that he was so damned weak against the urge to touch Diana, to kiss her, had worried him. But after their talk, the one in which they had discussed her past and his, after they had talked about great warriors, white knights and soul mates—and he’d proclaimed the whole subject nothing short of bunk—he’d felt a little more in control. Voicing his opinion out loud had given him a sense of strength over his physical urges.

His flesh might be weak, but his conviction was still as solid as ever, he thought as he went to the linen closet to retrieve a tablecloth. He spread it on the floor near the hearth.

He hadn’t been surprised to find that Diana had been married. She was an extraordinary woman, beautiful and intelligent. It was completely natural that some man had taken notice of that. Of
her.
What had surprised him, however, had been hearing that she blamed herself for her divorce.

What had happened?

The tiny question had gnawed at his mind all night like mice nibbling on the Christmas gingerbread.

The things that had happened during her marriage weren’t any of his business. And with all these prideful thoughts of his renewed conviction, he shouldn’t be concerning himself with her past. Nevertheless, the question continued to plague him.

“Let’s eat.”

Despite the quandary rolling around in the back of his mind, the singsong quality in Diana’s voice had his heart feeling light. He nudged the boys away from the tree where they’d been busy checking out the packages.

“You’re sure some of those presents are for us?” Jared asked, eagerness in his tone, excited anticipation twinkling in his eyes.

“I’m positive.”

“And we get to open ’em after we eat?” the child persisted.

“You sure do.”

Diana had wisely suggested that Travis spend some quality time with the boys before opening the gifts. That way their childhood memories would hopefully be focused on the day, on the togetherness, rather than the new toys. Travis had thought it a perfect tradition to begin the years of Christmas celebrations for his new family.

“Um…well…I’d like to know something.”

When the usually quiet Josh spoke hesitantly, Travis took the time to kneel down on his haunches in order to be at the boy’s eye-level. “What is it, son?” he encouraged.

“How did Santa know we were here?”

The awe expressed on the little tyke’s face wrenched at Travis’s heart. He smiled softly.

“Like I told you last night,” Travis didn’t hesitate to say, “Old Nicholas knows everything.”

When he’d tucked the twins into bed late the previous evening, they had voiced some real concern over how Santa would know where to leave their presents. Travis had patted their little sleepy heads and assured them that everything would work out. Even after seeing the gifts under the tree when they awoke, the boys were still a little skeptical, it seemed.

The three of them sat on the cloth in front of the fire, and Diana passed out napkins while instructing them to tuck them onto their laps.

“If you don’t mind,” she said to them, “I’d like to say a prayer of thanks.”

But she didn’t actually say the prayer, she sang it. Her voice was rich and melodic, and it poured over Travis as if it were a pure and gentle rain. The words she spoke, he surmised, were Algonquian, the Kolheek’s native tongue. He couldn’t tell the meaning, but just hearing the tune caused an innate peace to settle over him. A seemingly perfect peace that he hadn’t anticipated. Soon, though, she sang in English.

A shiver coursed through Travis. Not just from the prayer she was crooning, but from her dance as well. She circled them with graceful, hopping steps, her hands held heavenward, her chin tipped high. There was not a single nuance of self-consciousness in her movements. She was a beautiful sight to behold. In that moment, he felt proud of his rich heritage. And
he felt grateful that Diana was here to instill that same kind of pride in his boys.

She expressed gratitude for the beautiful day and its momentous meaning, for the bounty of food set before them, for Josh and Jared’s presence in Travis’s home and then finally for Travis himself for taking on the raising of the twins.

Abruptly the air went still. Travis looked up to see Diana standing motionless, her eyes closed, as if she were waiting, seeking to hear something in what had become an almost sacred silence. The boys remained motionless and respectful through it all. Finally she opened her eyes and smiled.

“You guys ready to eat an old-fashioned Kolheek meal?” she asked the twins. They gave her an enthusiastic answer. First, she ladled out a steaming serving of cornmeal pudding and handed it to Travis.

“You have to remember,” she told them, “white sugar wasn’t available before the Europeans introduced it to us. Foods were flavored and sweetened with honey or sugar and syrup made from the sap of maple trees.”

“I’d like a pancake, please.”

“Actually, Jared,” Diana told him, “these were called Journey Cakes. They cook up very quickly, and because they’re flat, the cakes were easy to carry on long hunting trips.” She focused on Josh. “And what would you like to try?”

“What’s that wrinkled stuff?”

“Dried fruit. Want some?” When he nodded, she handed him the bowl filled with slices of apple, peach and pear. Then she offered him another bowl
containing nuts and toasted seeds. She took some fruit and nuts for herself as well.

“During the spring and summer,” she said, “when cherries and apples, peaches and berries are abundant, the women would set the fruit in the heat of the sun to dry. It was a way to preserve the fruit. That way, in the winter when snow covered the ground and not much food grew, the tribe had something to sustain them.”

The pudding was warm and thick, something akin to Cream of Wheat or farina. The molasses flavoring was delicious.

They ate in silence for a time. Then Travis’s heart lurched in his chest when he noticed the sparkle in Diana’s eyes.

“And who wants some of this?” she asked the boys.

“Oh, boy,” Jared exclaimed. “Popcorn for breakfast.”

“Corn was terribly important to your ancestors,” she explained. “Often, it kept the people alive through the long, cold winter. They boiled it, roasted it, simmered it in stew—”

“Popped it?” Josh asked shyly as he reached for a handful.

Diana nodded. “They also pounded it into meal to make pudding and mush and bread and fritters.”

“Fritters?” Jared asked.

“It’s a fried bread. Flavored with onions or spices, or sweetened and flavored with bits of fruit. It’s delicious.” She reached for a fluffy white kernel of popcorn.

“Sounds like corn was more than just important,” Travis commented.

Diana nodded. Quietly she said, “It was sacred.”

Jared had swallowed his last bit of Journey Cake, wiped his mouth on his napkin and looked longingly toward the glittering tree and all the brightly wrapped packages beneath it. Josh, too, cut his eager eyes to the far corner of the room.

Travis suppressed a grin at the children’s obvious excitement and focused his attention on what Diana was saying.

“There are special dances,” she continued, “and ceremonies, too, to celebrate corn. In college, I was fascinated to learn all the different Indian folk tales that explain where corn originally came from. I knew what the early Kolheeks believed, that a maiden descended from the clouds…”

Jared began to fidget. “So, um, when is breakfast over?”

Diana laughed, and the sound of it made Travis smile.

“Are you finished?” she asked Jared.

“Yup,” he said, holding up his clean plate.

She looked over and saw that Josh, too, had finished. “Then breakfast is over.”

The boys cheered as they scrambled to their feet and raced to the tree.

Travis caught Diana’s eye. “I’m sorry the boys lost interest.”

“It’s okay.” She leaned over to pick up the soiled dishes and her braid slid over her shoulder. “I can get carried away sometimes. It was silly of me to
keep them when I knew they were anxious to open their gifts.”

On impulse, he reached out and captured the end of her long, plaited hair. The beads were smooth and cool against his palm. He tucked the braid back behind her shoulder where it would be safe from the sticky remnants of maple syrup and Indian pudding.

“I’m very interested in everything you have to say.”

She smiled, and his temperature seemed to heat up a few degrees.

“I know you are,” she said.

The moment grew very still.

Suddenly she leaned her weight back on her heels. “You know…”

Her words faded and Travis sensed a tentativeness in her. Then her chin tipped up a fraction.

“Maybe you’d like to have some instruction, too.” One corner of her mouth inched back in a cute half grin. “I know all this elementary information about food is probably boring for you, but—”

“No,” he disagreed emphatically. “I’m not the least bit bored. And I would like to know more. If you’re willing to teach me.”

“Of course.” Her eyes shied away from his and she busied herself with placing the leftover food on the tray. “We can meet for an hour or so after the boys go to bed. Or, once they start school, we can talk before they get home.”

Softly he said, “We’ll work it out.”

“Yes,” she told him, “we’ll work it out.”

The tautness of the air seemed to break with a silent sigh, and Travis got the distinct, almost uneasy,
feeling that the two of them had just altered the course of things in some way. It was as if they had just surrendered to…something. Unknown. Intangible. Elusive. Whatever it was, he couldn’t quite get a grasp on it. All he did know was that Diana was volunteering to instruct him in his Kolheek heritage. And he had a desperate hunger for the knowledge she’d offered to impart.

He reached out and took the dishes from her hands. “Let’s go help the boys unwrap gifts,” he said as he placed the plates and bowls on the tray.

“Oh.” Her brow furrowed with consternation. “But I hadn’t meant to intrude on your whole day. This is a day for family. I only wanted to show the boys some of the foods—”

“Will you stop,” he gently admonished. “You’re part of this family holiday.” Then he smiled. “Besides, there may be a present or two under that tree with your name on it.”

“Really?”

Utter surprise coated the single word. Then a childlike glee lit her gaze, and Travis chuckled. It was clear she hadn’t expected to receive anything this morning. That made the time and effort he’d taken to choose a few gifts for her all the more meaningful.

A sudden thought crossed his mind.

“Do you normally celebrate Christmas?” he asked. He certainly didn’t want to insult her beliefs.

Her smile was soft. “Christmas is a wonderful celebration that Kolheek children have come to love just as fervently as children all over the world. You see, The People are masters at weaving the old and the
new into the blanket that is the Kolheek. We change. Adapt. Our people examine, and sometimes accept, new beliefs. It’s what makes us strong. It’s what has allowed us to survive.”

Thinking of his ancestors, of their history and ideology as a good, strong blanket was a wonderful concept. The notion that the blanket that was The People was still being woven, still being created, somehow gave him the first real inkling that he hadn’t missed out completely. That he could still become a part of what it meant to be Native American.

The monumental revelation was enough to have his breath snagging sharply in his throat.

“Thank you.”

He was as surprised by his whispered expression of gratitude as she was.

“For what?” she asked, her bewilderment evident.

But before he could answer, the boys called out to them. Their excitement could wait no longer.

An hour and a half later, Travis was sitting alone in the living room, bits of colored paper and curling ribbon here and there on the floor. He’d never experienced a Christmas quite like this one. Sure, he’d spent Christmases with Sloan and his girls. But he’d always arrived later in the day, when the gift-unwrapping frenzy was long over.

The boys had made this day so special. Their smiles. Their laughter. Their whoops of unrestrained joy.

“Cup of coffee?”

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the steaming mug that Diana offered him.

She sat down on the far side of the couch.

“Although, rather than sitting here basking in all this relaxation,” he told her, “I really should be straightening this place up. Sloan’s going to be bringing the girls by in a bit.”

With Greg and Jane on their honeymoon with little Joy, Travis and Sloan had opted for a short visit over a light lunch today rather than the full-fledged dinner celebration they usually shared together.