Warrior's Embrace (11 page)

Suddenly the starch went out of Virginia. She
sat heavily on the swing.

“I wish that were true.” She was foolishly
close to tears.

Jane sat beside her, and kicked the swing
into motion.

“You did the right thing, Virginia.”

“My head knows it. I just wish I could
convince my heart.”

“Go ahead and cry if you want to.” A cardinal
swooped onto the lowest branch of a pecan tree, his coat a flash of
scarlet in the early-morning sun. “Nobody here but us old
birds.”

“I’m not going to cry. I’m sick and tired of
crying.”

“Atta girl!”

Virginia watched as a sassy mockingbird tried
to chase the cardinal away.

“He hasn’t even called,” she said. “Why
doesn’t he call?”

“Do you want me to answer that?” Virginia
waited, knowing Jane could never resist saying exactly what she
thought. “I think Mr. Bolton Gray Wolf got back out to Arizona and
licked his wounded pride for a couple of days, then he took a good
hard long distance look and decided he’d had a very narrow
escape.”

Virginia sucked in her breath.

“Well, you wanted the truth, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Look, Virginia, you did the right thing.
People are still talking about the two of you at that dance.”

“What are they saying? No, wait a minute. I
don’t want to know.”

“They’re saying exactly what you’d expect
them to say. But it’s over and done with now, and you’re going to
dress up in one of your outrageously expensive outfits that makes
you look twice as beautiful as you already are and stick out your
chin and sashay your gorgeous self all over this town smiling like
you’ve just been crowned the Queen of the World... even if I have
to drag you down the streets kicking and screaming.”

Strength began to pour through Virginia. With
a friend like Jane, nothing was going to happen that she couldn’t
handle.

“Jane, that is quite possibly the worst
example of syntax I’ve ever heard.”

“Hey, I never do anything halfway.”

Virginia leaned on her porch railing and took
a deep breath. Her land was spread out before her—the lake
sparkling in the autumn sun, the pasture with patches of brown
beginning to show through the green, the woods that would soon put
on a flamboyant color show to rival anything she’d see on the
world’s greatest stages. In the distance her Arabians cavorted in
the paddock. It was all hers, a land, a home, and possessions she’d
acquired the hard way, with years of sacrifice and
perseverance.

“Neither do I,” she said.

She had a good life—a wonderful daughter, a
dear and loyal friend, a comfortable home, a great career.

Nothing was going to steal her joy. Not even
the loss of a magnificent Apache warrior called Gray Wolf.

o0o

Bolton rode Apache style, his knees dug into
the stallion’s side and his hands so light on the reins that horse
and rider seemed one. The horse was a paint, the kind ridden by his
ancestors, a gritty breed exactly right for the kind of daredevil
riding Bolton loved. They thundered down from the mountain, taking
the precarious trail at a speed no other would dare... no other
except Callie Gray Wolf.

She stood in the paddock watching her twin
brother’s descent. Her Jeep Wrangler was nearby, her black Lab was
at her feet, and her eyes were riveted on horse and rider.

It was too dark for him to be riding that
way. Even Callie wouldn’t have taken such risks with the blood-red
sun disappearing over the rim of the mountain and casting purple
shadows on the trail. Though patience was not her style, Callie had
to wait until Bolton wheeled the paint to a stop to have her
say.

“What are you trying to do?” she said. “Kill
yourself?”

“Hello, Callie. When did you get back from
Africa?”

“Last Tuesday. I can’t believe you’d risk the
stallion that way.”

“Lancelot was never at risk. I know exactly
what I’m doing.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes. Always.”

Callie stood toe-to-toe with her brother,
eyes blazing and hands balled into fists.

“I ought to horsewhip you.”

Coming from Callie, that was no idle threat.
Bolton had seen her in action. When they were eight years old,
visiting their mother’s people in Mississippi, she’d taken her
grandmother’s buggy whip to a boy twice her size for calling her a
papoose. If Bolton hadn’t stepped in, her victim probably would
have ended up with more than a cut on his cheek and a bruise on his
arm.

Bolton stared into a face as inscrutable as
his own, with the same high cheekbones, the same dusty golden skin.
They had the same blue eyes, the same tall frame. But there the
resemblance ended. He was calm and self-contained, she was
explosive and analytical. He was rugged and masculine, she was
blatantly feminine. He walked a steady course, always certain of
what he wanted while Callie zigged and zagged all over the country,
never sure of what she wanted or what she would do next.

A doctor specializing in exotic diseases, she
traveled the world doing battle against little-known deadly
viruses. It was a job suited for a woman with her temperament and
courage.

But no matter where she went, Callie always
came home to the White Mountains, always came back to the land that
had nurtured her and the family that loved her.

Her greeting was typical. Between journeys
Callie took up exactly where she’d left off, perhaps in an attempt
to act as if she’d never left home to put herself at risk time and
again.

They both looked at each other and suddenly
burst into laughter.

“Welcome home, Callie.”

She looped an arm around his waist, and they
walked together toward his house.

“I can, you know,” she said, “... whip the
daylights out of you.”

“I’ve no doubt that you’d try.”

They sat together on the front porch swing
with Callie’s Lab licking her ankles.

“My original question stands. What are you
trying to do to yourself?”

Callie never asked an idle question. Trained
in science and medicine, she had the kind of mind that sifted
through extraneous details and cut right to the heart of the
matter.

“You’ve been talking to Janice,” he said.

“How did you know?”

“You’re not the only one with analytical
abilities, Dr. Gray Wolf.”

“Yes, I’ve been talking to her. But not
behind your back.”

“I know you wouldn’t do that, Callie.”

“She told me you dumped her for that
novelist.”

“Janice said that?”

“Not exactly in those words. She’s too sweet
for that. She said that you’d fallen in love and Virginia Haven had
broken your heart.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“How would you put it, Bolton?”

“I’d put it this way, Callie: I love Virginia
and I’m going to be with her. Period. End of discussion.”

“Are you telling me this is none of my
business and to keep my nosy self out of it?”

“I couldn’t have said it better.”

“Well... you know what a fool notion I think
love is in the first place. And in the second place, you need not
tell me what to do because I won’t listen.”

He laughed. “You never have. Why should you
start now?”

“Precisely. Now that we’ve got that
settled... get yourself inside and put on something that doesn’t
smell like horses, because you and I are going to Mom and Dad’s for
dinner.”

“I’ve already declined that invitation.”

“I
undeclined
for you.”

Bolton hadn’t wanted to do anything since he
got back from Mississippi except ride through the mountains with
the wind in his hair and the rain on his face. He had spent days in
quiet communion with nature, days listening to the sounds he
loved—the call of the eagle and the trill of the turtledove, the
roar of waterfalls and the trickle of streams, the mighty rush of
storm winds and the whisper of breezes. And through it all there
had not been one day that he hadn’t thought of Virginia, not one
hour that he hadn’t longed for her, not one moment that he hadn’t
loved her.

As much as he loved his sister and his
parents, he’d needed that time alone. But now it was time for
action.

He stood up and looked down at his
sister.

“Wipe that smug smile off your face. I’m not
doing this for you. I’m doing it because I want to.”

Callie swatted his leg.

“Scat. Shoo. Go in there and get gorgeous.
The world is full of women waiting to swoon over you.”

“There’s only one woman I want.”

Callie felt a gut punch that meant trouble.
Ever since they had been children, she’d always known instinctively
when her twin needed her help.

She followed him into the house and didn’t
bat an eye about snooping while he was in the shower. Not that he
was trying to hide anything. The thing about her brother that made
him so vulnerable was his frank and open manner.

The pictures were spread across the coffee
table, dozens of them, some black and white, some color, all
beautiful, all of the same woman.

Callie picked up the first one and sucked in
a sharp breath. The woman’s face was soft and misty and full of
wonder.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

Callie whirled around. Her brother was
standing behind her, his hair still damp from his bath. It didn’t
surprise Callie at all that Virginia Haven had fallen in love with
him. What surprised her was her own reaction, fear tinged with
sorrow... and envy.

“Hey, you’re crying.” Bolton took a
handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his sister’s face. “There’s
no need to cry, Callie. Everything is going to be all right.”

“I thought so too... until I saw this.”

Bolton took the photograph. It was the one
he’d taken underneath the trees on Virginia’s farm right after they
had first made love.

“It’s Virginia.”

“I guessed as much.” Tears rolled down her
cheeks, and Callie sniffled. “I didn’t think it was real, Bolton. I
mean... love. It just doesn’t happen.”

“It happened to Mom and Dad.”

“I know, but that’s different. They’re our
parents.”

“Callie... Callie...” Bolton hugged his
sister. “When are you going to learn? Love happens.”

She took a big sniffle, then threw back her
head and glared at him.

“Not to me, it won’t. I’m not planning to
mess up my life with that kind of sentimental poppycock.”

“You don’t have to look so fierce. I’m not
arguing with you.”

Callie took the handkerchief and finished
wiping her face, then she sat on the sofa and picked up the other
photographs, one by one. With his camera Bolton had uncovered all
of Virginia’s secrets, had laid her emotions bare.

A close-up of Virginia in her pink bathrobe
slid to the floor. As Bolton picked it up he remembered the morning
he had snapped it, the morning he had walked up the stairs with her
and made love in her bedroom that smelled like roses.

His heart hurt so much that he could hardly
breathe. He studied the picture, not critically in the way of a
professional photographer, but tenderly in the way of a lover.

Had time and distance made a difference?
Would she listen to her heart now? Or was he being a fool? Maybe
she’d been listening to her heart all along, and its answers were
not the ones Bolton wanted to hear.

“She loves you, Bolton,” Callie said.

“You must have read my mind.”

“I always have.”

He traced the path of sunlight on Virginia’s
face.

“How do you know?”

“I’ve seen that look on the face of our
mother.”

Bolton had too. In old photographs taken when
Jo Beth McGill married Colter Gray Wolf, in snapshots taken over
the years and pasted in the family album, and on his mother’s face
every time she looked at his father.

“Thank you, Callie.”

She didn’t have to ask to understand why he
was thanking her. Callie slid off the sofa and put her hand on his
arm.

“You know I don’t understand any of this,
Bolton. I’m not even sure I approve, and not because of her age.
Janice told me, and I don’t give a flip about that. But I want you
to know one thing: I’ll do anything to help you.”

“I know you mean well, Callie, but I can do
this.”

Callie was on a roll and wouldn’t be
stopped.

“I’ll pick out a ring, I’ll shine your shoes
and clean your stables. Heck, I’ll even fly down there and tell her
how wonderful you are—when you’re not being a pain in the gluteus
maximus.”

“You would too.”

“You’re darned tootin’.”

They didn’t have Mississippi grandparents for
nothing. When they were youngsters they used to follow Silas McGill
around the house imitating him.
Darned tootin
’ hadn’t
caused much of a stir when they tried out their new vocabulary back
home, but some of the things they’d learned from Silas had gotten
them into more hot water than they cared to remember.

“I still miss him,” Bolton said. “Don’t
you?”

“Yes. But I’m glad he went when he did and
the way he did. Dying in his own backyard of a quick heart attack
is a far better alternative than wasting slowly in a nursing home.
Advanced Alzheimer’s is devastating for the family.”

Callie started straightening the stack of
photographs.

“Hey, we’d better leave before Dad sends out
a search party.”

“You go ahead,” Bolton said. “There’s
something I have to do.”

Callie narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not
just making up excuses, are you?”

“No. I’ll be there in time for dinner. I
promise.”

“Would this mystery chore have anything to do
with Virginia Haven?”

Bolton took her arm and escorted her toward
the door.

“‘Bye, Callie.”

“That’s not a very polite way to treat a
lady.”

“Since when did you become a lady?”