In the Arms of Stone Angels (23 page)

It was a start. And I
totally
kissed her back.

It had taken me twenty minutes to drive to Joe's place. And without hesitating this time when I drove through his gate, I jostled over the ruts and potholes of Joe's dirt road and parked the Subaru in front of his house. Like I remembered him from our first meeting, he sat on his cluttered porch as if he'd been expecting me.

“Hey, Joe.” I waved when I got out and joined him, propping my feet on his railing, right next to his dusty boots.

“I heard you figured it out.” He twitched his lip and gave me a sideways glance.

“Yeah, but I wasn't…cool about it. Almost getting killed is not cool.” I nodded my head and pursed my lips. I found humor where I could. Otherwise I'd be too tempted to cry. And I'd done enough of that to last a lifetime. I was ready for a change.

I told Joe how I had mistaken the little bird in my vision—the one that almost had gotten trampled by the stallion—as a blast from my past. I thought White Bird had sent the image as a message for me not to be afraid. But when I thought about it some more, I remembered that he'd always told me Chloe reminded him of our wounded little bird with the busted wing, the one he'd healed at the creek. Like that bird, Chloe thrashed around, all wounded, and hadn't realized what she was doing to herself. And forget about her knowing what was
good for her. The girl was clueless. Anyway, White Bird had always felt sorry for her and so had I.

And my little blind spot—of not recognizing Chloe in that bird vision—had nearly cost me my life.

“You would have figured it out,” Joe said with confidence, until he added, “…eventually.”

The guy could have been a stand-up comic, I swear to God.

We sat in silence and watched the afternoon sun stretch its shadow fingers into his scrub oaks, cedar trees and over his stone medicine wheel. I thought I looked relaxed, but my damned knee gave me away. I had a nervous shake and Joe never missed much.

“You haven't asked about him. Why not?” he asked.

“He hasn't called me or tried to get in touch after the sheriff had him released from Red Cliffs. Shawano's not that big that he couldn't find me if he really wanted to.” I shrugged and swallowed the lump in my throat, not looking Joe in the eye on purpose. “The next step is up to him.”

“Smart girl.”

I acted tough, but inside I wasn't. I felt like a melty Rolo center, real mushy. And I was nowhere near as smart as Joe gave me credit for. The truth was that if White Bird didn't want to see me that would hurt way too bad. Why would I go looking for that kind of pain? Seeing his eyes filled with anger or hate or indifference would kill me. So I figured leaving the next step to him was the only way to protect my heart.

“I thought you should know.” Joe turned and looked me in the eye. “Paperwork is in the works for new foster parents for White Bird. If things work out, it'll be permanent.”

“Oh. My. God.” My jaw dropped. “So tell me about 'em.”

“I shouldn't say. I don't want to jinx it,” he said with a straight face.

“Jinx it? I can't believe you just said that. Who would have thought you were superstitious?”

When I saw the lip twitch again, I knew I was breaking him down.

“They're good people. And they're Euchee.”

Knowing the couple was Euchee meant that White Bird would get the tribe and the family he had always wanted. That was plenty of good news, but I had to hear more.

“Well, what else? You're killin' me.”

“Ask me what clan.”

I didn't have to. I already knew. And when I grinned, he did, too. In my mind, I pictured that bear like he'd been in my vision with his big hairy butt sitting at the crossroads between mediocrity and the next big adventure. And I even knew which road I'd take—which road I would
always
take, from here on.

“And if the boy still has an interest in becoming a healer, I might take on an apprentice. Who knows? Anything's possible, right?”

“So I'm told. Thanks, Joe.”

I stood and kissed his cheek, hugging his neck. And when a soft creak of wood caught my attention, I looked up to see the face of Joe's dead wife staring down at me from the window where I had first seen her. Only this time she had a sad smile. The dead never really looked happy, but she gave it her best shot and I appreciated the effort.

I smiled back and settled into my chair, drifting into a comfortable silence with Joe. For real, this time.

I had the feeling Joe could use some female attention to shave off the rough edges of being a guy. He'd get used to
having me in his life. I planned to make a habit of pestering him, whether we stayed in Shawano or not. After all, Joe and I had crossed paths for a reason. And I grew on people, like a wart.

But before the sun went down, I had one more trip to make—and a stop along the way. It was something I had to do. And I had a strong feeling this trip couldn't wait.

Pioneer Cemetery—Dusk

On my way back into town from Joe's house, I stopped by a flower shop and picked out something that would be fitting. I wanted to say goodbye to Heather Madsen. When she was alive, we never had much in common. And with her being dead, that hadn't changed. But since I was pretty certain I'd never see her again, I needed closure.

With so many flowers to choose from, I got totally confused, but the nice lady behind the florist counter saw me looking at the beautiful white lilies behind the chilled glass.

“I've always loved lilies, especially the white ones,” she had said. “The lily is the sign for transformation, through life, death or rebirth.”

I smiled at her and said, “In that case, I'll take two.”

She had me at the word
sign.

I asked her not to wrap them, that they would find a home soon enough. And after I parked at Pioneer Cemetery, I knew exactly where to go. The evening was picture-perfect. A gentle wind had kept things cool. And the sun had exploded glowing fire along the horizon, mixed with the cool blue of the coming night sky. I walked toward Heather's grave and found myself smiling at every stone angel. They were like old friends. But when I looked down the row of headstones, I saw someone was standing at Heather's grave.

White Bird was there.

For some stupid reason, I ducked behind the mausoleum for the Tucker family and peeked around the corner to watch him. I didn't think the Tuckers would mind. I wasn't ready for White Bird to see me. And I didn't want to intrude, but the God's honest truth was that I really wanted a chance to take him all in. He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. He still was. And I loved looking at him.

Dressed in new jeans, a light blue dress shirt and a red patterned tie, he stood at Heather's grave with his eyes closed. Although I didn't hear him, his lips were moving like he was praying. And in the faint breeze, Mother Nature was running her fingers through his dark hair like I wanted to. He looked tall and strong, the way he used to, but somewhere along the way, without me, he'd stepped into the shoes of a man.

And a part of me ached for those missing years.

When he was done praying, White Bird placed flowers on Heather's grave. And when he looked like he was ready to leave, I couldn't hide anymore. I'd learned to trust the coincidence of life's special moments. So when I stepped out from where I was hiding, I pulled my shoulders back, held my head up and took a deep breath.

It didn't take long for him to see me. He looked over his shoulder like he knew I would be there. “Hey, Brenna.”

The sound of his voice on the evening breeze sent chills down my arms.

“I heard you got released.” I forced a smile. “I'm glad. I'm really happy for you.”

When his expression softened, he smiled. He probably felt the awkwardness between us and he knew exactly how to
melt it away. He did the one perfect thing that would make that happen.

He raised his hand to my face and touched a finger to my cheek. In one simple gesture, he'd put hot fudge on my vanilla sundae.

“I've missed you,” he said. “We've got a lot of catching up to do.”

I felt the sting of tears, but this time, I was happier than I'd ever been. And I always wanted to remember the moment when I knew my heart belonged to him.

“Yeah, we sure do.” I smiled and after a moment, I looked down at Heather's grave. “It was nice of you to bring her flowers.”

He stared down at her headstone.

“I don't remember much about that night, but I think she was really afraid. I still get flashes, you know?” He clenched his jaw. “I wish I could have helped her.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

He gave me a moment to put my lily on Heather's grave and I said my goodbye. I wasn't sure if the dead learned stuff, but I really hoped that dying had taught her something that would do her some good.

When I was done, I saw White Bird still had flowers in his hand.

“What are those for?” I asked.

“They're for your grandmother. You want to come with me?”

Okay, this time I totally cried. I nodded with tears running down my face and when I saw the sympathetic look in his eyes, I lost it. My choked sobs became laughter. I was being such a girl. White Bird chuckled, too, and when he pulled
me to him, I heard the rumble of laughter in his chest and it made my ear tickle.

“Don't cry. I hate when you cry.” He quit laughing and lifted my chin with his finger.

He kissed me as we stood between the rows of headstones and I never felt so alive. I tasted his lips and breathed in the warm scent of his skin with his arms wrapped around me.

After we pulled apart, I said, “Grams is gonna love you.” And that made him grin.

We held hands as I took a very special young man to visit my grandmother. He was someone who had always accepted me for who I really was and who had taught me what it meant to forgive and to love.

As we walked to her grave, I pointed out my favorite markers and told him all the stories I had made up about the people buried here. Sharing my love for this cemetery with him felt like we'd both come home. And like the little shelter he'd built by the creek, this place had always been a refuge for me.

In the arms of stone angels, in the peaceful stillness of a cemetery, I had never been afraid. I thought it had been the stone angels that had given me strength, but I'd been wrong. It had taken a humble yet powerful Shaman from the enduring Euchee tribe to put a label on it and tell me about my “gift.” The strength had always been inside me. I just needed to embrace it. Embrace
me,
for a change.

I'll always be grateful to Joe “Spirit Walker” Sunne and White Bird for opening my eyes to a whole other world that stretched farther than my mind, my heart and my eyes would ever see. Thanks to them, I felt like I fit in to something greater. And they helped me finish a poem that would stay with me forever.

Because finally and completely, I belonged.

I had a part in the universe and had staked out my place in the night sky with a destiny to follow. And my gift came with a responsibility that I couldn't ignore anymore. I vowed to leave my mark—even if I wasn't quite sure how I would do that yet. That would be
my
journey.

But White Bird had given me the greatest gift of all, when he taught me how to love.

The inspiration for this book came from the love of reading that I share with my niece, Dana. She had just graduated high school and we became fast conspirators on the idea of a dark, edgy YA novel. Once we got together over the July Fourth weekend in 2009, while I was between book projects, we brainstormed the cast of characters and put faces to names. Dana helped me breathe life into this story. And she opened my eyes to see her in a different light, too. Just spending time with her was a gift. (Thanks, Dana, you little sweetie!)

And when it came time to flex my plot muscles, a librarian friend of mine and fellow Okie, Susan Johnson at the Sapulpa Library outside Tulsa, was there to help. Being in charge of the Native American Collection at her library, Susan had wanted me to set a book in Oklahoma with a Native American influence. And after a timely email to me, while an inkling of this book had started to gel, she made suggestions that triggered my thoughts on calling attention to the Euchee tribe that eventually gave birth to White Bird, my fictitious Native
boy. Susan answered my many questions and sent helpful links and resources for me to read as I researched this novel. And after she read my first draft, she was excited enough to share it with her mother. That meant a lot to me. (Thanks so much for your generosity, Susan. You are truly amazing. The library and its patrons are lucky to have you.)

But when I was explaining the fictional teen boy in the story to Susan over the phone, she said, “I know that boy.” I didn't have a name for my character at the time, but when Susan told me about her young friend, White Bird, I loved his name and asked him if I could use it for this book. He graciously said yes and even helped me research how to make a proper sweat lodge. After the real White Bird sent me a photo of his cute self, he became the real-life inspiration for one of my main characters. (Thanks, White Bird. You are a cool kid that anyone would be lucky to know.) I've since moved my home from Oklahoma to Texas, back to my old hometown, but my heart is still in Oklahoma with the many friends I made while I lived there. And because of Susan and the real White Bird, this book will always be a reminder of my Okie family.

To my new Harlequin family, I was born under a lucky star to get Mary-Theresa Hussey as my editor. She shared her amazing insights into this book and its characters, making it feel like a true collaboration—and she made it fun. That's a real gift. And since it takes a village to package a book and get it out there, thanks to everyone on the Harlequin team who left their mark on my stone angel.

To my angel in the trenches, my agent Meredith Bernstein, I want to say how grateful I am that you're in my life. And to the long-suffering folks that have put up with my quirky idiosyncrasies for a lifetime, I want to thank my family for
their never-ending support and sense of humor—my parents, Kathryn and Ignacio, and my sibs Ed, Ignacio, Debbie and Denise.

And saving someone very special for last, I want to recognize the incredible support I get from my husband, John. He's my sounding board, my troubleshooter and my wingman, but most of all he's the cornerstone for every hero I will ever write.