Читать книгу Heart Of The Eagle - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 8

Chapter Three

It was nearly eleven when Jim sauntered into the study that evening. Dal sat at the cherrywood desk, calculator nearby and pen in hand, wrestling with a set of figures in a ledger before her. Her head was bent, one hand resting against her wrinkled brow as she labored over the accounting records. Jim leaned casually against the door frame, a tender light burning in his eyes as he watched Dal. She looked closer to twenty-four years old rather than thirty, he thought ruefully. Her skin had a peach color to it and her cheeks were rosy with good health. Had their ride earlier brought that color to her face? She was a different person when she was on horseback or working with her eagle. At other times, Jim could feel her putting up walls and shrinking behind them. Why? He wanted to find out. If Rafe Kincaid approved of his plan, Dal would be working with him almost constantly. And then he could gently get her to remove those barriers that she threw up so easily between them.

“I wanted to come in and say good-night,” he said softly, so as not to startle her.

Dal raised her head, a tired smile on her full lips. “How long have you been standing there?”

He became concerned with the exhaustion he saw in the depths of her sapphire eyes. “A few minutes.”

“You’re silent. Like a cougar.”

“But not dangerous like one.”

Dal brushed several strands of hair from her eyes. “Every man is dangerous.”

Easing from his position, Jim walked over to the desk, holding her challenging gaze. A smile relaxed the angles of his face beneath the lamplight. “Give me a chance to prove your generalization isn’t always right.”

She stared up at him, thinking how ruggedly handsome he was and that there wasn’t the aura of male ego around him that she associated with most men. Another blessing of his Indian heritage? Pursing her lips, she returned to the numbers beneath her hands. “Perhaps Indians aren’t as concerned with the macho image as most men.”

Jim slid his long, tapered fingers across the dark polished wood of the desk, watching her. They had come so far so quickly. Despite her distrust, Dal was opening up to him. Did she realize it? Probably not. “The Navaho revere their women. As a matter of fact, it’s a matriarchal society. In your present mood, you’d probably feel very secure in that type of environment.”

Dal gave a soft snort and tried to concentrate, but found it impossible. Rightly or wrongly, she was drawn to Jim Tremain’s quietness. He was an island of peace in the dangerous currents of emotion she experienced daily. Listening to his cajoling voice, Dal had to fight a tumult of emotions that surfaced as easily as new life in a wintered land under the tender caresses of the sun.

She raised her head and studied him intently. “I think you’re a cougar in disguise,” she accused.

“Why?”

Dal licked her lips, avoiding his amused gaze. He was stalking her. She could sense it, and her brain was going off in alarm over his veiled statement. “You just are,” she answered stubbornly. Damn, why couldn’t she concentrate? Gripping the pen until her knuckles whitened, she said, “I have to get this done before Rafe gets back tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll say good-night.”

“Good night.” Dal flinched inwardly over her gruffness. Jim made her feel simultaneously uneasy and euphoric. After he had left as silently as he had come, she dropped the pen and rubbed her face with her hands. God, she was so tired. When wasn’t she? The thought of having to close her eyes in the darkness of night leaked through her and she tasted terror. Holding her head between her hands, she wondered if she’d ever feel comfortable sleeping at night again. The nightmares always haunted her. During the day she could remain busy enough to keep them at bay. It was only in the silence of the night that they preyed upon her shredded heart.

Near two in the morning Dal had finally dragged herself from the study, taken a hot bath and slipped into her floor-length flannel nightgown. Taking the sheet and blankets from the hall closet, she made her bed on the orange-colored sofa that sat on a sheepskin rug in front of the fire. The hoot of an owl soothed her fears as did the warmth of the crackling blaze. She closed her thick lashes, dark fan shapes against the tautness of her cheeks, and took a long slow breath, slipping into the darkness where she could forget for just a little while….

Hands…they were strong, viselike hands wrapping around her wrists. Pain flared up her wrists, shooting into her arms as Dal felt her limbs being jerked savagely in order to control her. No, no, it was happening again! She moaned and tossed restlessly, the blankets now acting as something that held her powerless against the attack. In her sleep, she pushed them off and they slipped to the rug below the couch. Sweat glistened against her taut features as she heard Jack’s snarling voice break through her pleading cry.

“You’re staying, you hear me?” he growled. “You think you’re going to leave me, you’re the crazy one!”

“Ow-w! You’re hurting me. Let me go!”

His hands tightened viciously around her wrists as he pinned them above her head. “No way, baby. Your mine. And you’re staying.” His nostrils flared. “You want some attention? I’ll give you some. You keep accusing me of ignoring you all the time….” Anger soared through the sheer terror as Jack straddled her on the bed. It was dark. So dark…and yet, by the fullness of the moon outside of their bedroom window, she could see the glint of wildness in his narrowed green eyes as he watched her with feral intent. This wasn’t the Jack she had married. Where had he gone? Over the years fame and success had become his wife, and she had become nothing more than slave labor for his insatiable appetite to achieve more fame and make more money. Dal tried to throw him off her body, bucking and struggling. Fear gave her even more strength and she screamed. The sounds clawed up and out of her throat, which was now constricted in terror. Even to her own ears, she sounded like an animal that had been stalked and cornered, knowing that it was going to die at any second.

Oh, God, dying…She had died that night. Jack stripped her soul from her and he had done it deliberately, trying to frighten her in order to keep her beneath his control so she wouldn’t leave him. A whimper tore from her lips and she thrashed her head to one side, trying to fight off his powerful attack. No! God, no…

“Dal…wake up…you’re having a dream….”

Dal’s breast heaved with terror as she fought to take air into her lungs and throw Jack off her. He was a large man made of solid muscle. She felt hands on her shoulders and she tried to move away, curling against the back of the couch. Somewhere in her cartwheeling nightmare, part of her was slowly coming awake and telling her they weren’t Jack’s hands. No, these were a man’s hands that were firm with warmth without bringing her more pain.

“Dal, wake up…. Come on, wake…”

She heard his roughened voice soothe the ragged edges of her nightmare. It wasn’t Jack’s voice…no, it was a man’s voice that calmed her instead of instilling more of the revulsion that twisted through her. Dal felt herself being pulled up, felt arms going around her, holding her, rocking her gently within an embrace. A sob escaped her contorted lips as she fought to surface from the nightmare, her fingers digging into warm, hard flesh. Tears squeezed from beneath her tightly shut lashes and Dal was dully aware of them streaking down her cheeks.

“You’re all right, Dal…. Just let it go…. You’re safe…safe….”

Slowly, Jack’s voice and face dissolved into the tears that now flowed unchecked from her. Dal sobbed hard, burying her head beneath his chin, wanting, needing the safety he offered. As she reoriented to the present, the first sensation that struck her muddled senses was Jim’s masculine smell combined with the fresh odor of pine. She cringed like a frightened animal against the tensile strength of his bare, well-muscled chest. A myriad of sensations clashed within her reeling state as Dal tried to separate reality from the dream. Her fist clenched and unclenched, her long, slender fingers tentatively moving across his flesh. Jim was real. What was happening was real. And his voice…Dal’s sobs lessened as she sank against him, allowing the melodic, unknown language to fall over her raw, screaming senses. The thick, dark honey of his chanting tone was healing to her.

“You’re safe, Dal. Nothing’s going to harm you anymore. You’re home and you’re with me…not Jack. It’s all over.”

A shudder tremored through her. Jim’s fingers splayed against her back and he gently began to rub the tension out of her shoulders. Through her nightgown his touch was steadying to her spiraling caldron of emotions as his fingers moved down the deeply indented curve of her spine, freeing all that tension. Dal gulped, aware of the coolness of tears still on her lips as she struggled to gain a complete hold on reality.

She felt him breathing evenly and deeply, and that calmed her more as she forced her eyes open. Gray light filtered through the windows, telling her it was near dawn. A rush of gratefulness coupled with some undefined emotion coursed through Dal as she pushed herself out of Jim Tremain’s embrace. She couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she sat up and buried her face in her hands. He remained close to her.

“I—I’m all right,” she heard herself say. Her voice was unsteady.

“You will be in a few minutes,” he agreed huskily.

Dal felt fresh, hot tears brim in her eyes as he gently stroked her head. She was like a scared little girl and he seemed to realize that she needed his continual physical touch in order to get a grip on herself. How could he know that? When had she ever welcomed the touch of a man since her travesty of marriage to Jack? Another shudder coursed through her and Dal felt his hands gently settle on her shoulders, beginning to knead her taut, screaming muscles.

“Sit up more,” he commanded quietly, “and turn your back toward me.”

She did as he asked, melting beneath his sure touch as his fingers worked a special kind of magic to her tense body. “H-how did you know?” she quavered.

“What?”

“That I needed—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, shame flowing through her. She wanted to be touched? She’d cringed from any nearness to a male since…Her mind shut the door on Jack’s parting act that had severed their marriage. Dal heard Jim’s voice and clung to it.

“Any animal in pain needs the touch of its mate. One dog will lick the other’s wound. A horse will nuzzle the one who is sick. Humans are no different. Sometimes a healing touch is all that’s needed. You need it….”

Her lashes swept down, wet with tears, as she gave herself to his ministrations. His words had slipped from his mouth like a reverent prayer. Dal heard the smile in his voice and ached to turn and see the expression on his features.

“The first time I saw you out in the meadow with Nar you reminded me of a deer. When you rose from your crouched position with him on your arm, I saw how slender and graceful you were,” he told her in a low, husky tone. “And like a deer, you had large, liquid eyes that I could read and see the unhappiness within.” His hands stilled on her shoulders. “Deer are one of the most helpless of all animals. They have no way to protect themselves from predators. Their strength lies in their ability to run. All they have is their camouflage coloring and their running so that whoever is stalking them won’t find them.” His hands tightened slightly against her arms.

“You’re like that; you’ve been stalked by someone. My guess would be it was your ex-husband. You’ve thrown up walls to freeze behind, hoping all men will pass you by and leave you alone.” His voice grew deep. “In my eyes, you are like a deer. A woman who needs a gentle hand and who isn’t frightened into running away once again.”

Dal felt bereft as Jim released her. She could feel the heat from his male body and was wildly aware of his scent: a clean, outdoor scent mingling with the special odor of his skin. It was perfume to her and she took a deep, drugging breath, feeling the last vestiges of the virulent nightmare fading. Slowly, Dal turned around to face him.

If she had expected the natural planes of his face to be hard and unreadable, she was wrong. Dal found tenderness burning like a gold flame deep in the recesses of his shadowed eyes, his mouth relaxed. A lock of black hair had fallen on his brow and she had the wild urge to push it back into place with her fingers. In those moments out of time that spun effortlessly between them, she found herself wanting to fall back into the welcoming embrace of his arms and simply rest her head against his chest.

The thought that she wanted to be held by Jim shocked Dal. Her gaze traveled down from his face to the strong column of his neck to his powerful shoulders and chest. She remembered that he didn’t appear to be that well-muscled in clothes, but seeing him clad in only a pair of well-worn jeans, she changed her mind. Indeed, he was like a cougar, lean but compactly built, as if he could uncoil and leap upon a prey with graceful ease.

Her mouth suddenly became dry. For the first time in a long while, she was appreciative of a man in a purely physical sense. There wasn’t an ounce of fat upon his deeply bronzed form. Her gaze followed the line of dark hair that traveled from his chest, across his hard stomach and disappeared beneath the waist of the jeans he wore. Male. He was intensely male and Dal found herself wildly drawn to him.

Jim knew that if he had made the slightest move that resembled a pass, she would have shrunk away from him. And if he correctly read her inspection of him, he didn’t allow it to interfere in the trust he had magically woven between them. Instead, he shared a slight smile with her, his eyes dark and assessing as he watched her in the ensuing silence.

“How about a cup of hot chocolate? Milk always makes you sleepy.” And then he reached out, pulling away several strands of hair that clung to her cheek. “You need to get some rest, Dal.”

Just the way her name rolled off his tongue like an endearment made Dal shiver. And it wasn’t out of fear. She didn’t trust herself to speak and nodded instead.

“Okay, you just lie there and rest. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he promised huskily as he rose.

Dal looked up at him, the darkness and firelight dancing across his lean form. He looked frightening as well as beautiful in her eyes. Ruggedly beautiful in a male way that dissolved her fear and replaced it with awe. The soft curl of his black hair only emphasized his harsh features, and yet Dal found solace within his ensnaring golden gaze. He picked up the blankets, tucking them in around her before he left for the kitchen.

She lay propped up on her pillows, staring blankly into the fire, trying to absorb the myriad sensations pulsing around her. It was impossible and Dal tried to tidy up her bed. Jim Tremain was a stranger to her. A man who had walked quietly into her life the previous morning. And now, less than twenty-four hours later, she had given him what little trust hadn’t been destroyed by Jack. Swallowing hard against a forming lump, Dal waited for his return, too hollow and wiped clean of terror to do much more than sit and not think.

Jim returned on bare feet, silent as he turned the corner from the hall and walked into the living room. He gave Dal a smile that said, relax, it’s all right. And she did, reaching out for the mug when he handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice scratchy.

He sat down on the sheepskin rug, resting his back against the couch near where she sat with her legs tucked up beneath her. The firelight heightened each curve and hollow of his face and Dal found herself staring down at him.

“I found some honey out there. I put that in the chocolate instead of sugar,” he offered, lifting his head and meeting her dark, anguished eyes. God, he thought, she looked so damned vulnerable. But he stilled any reaction on his part to take her back into his arms and hold her. As with any wild animal, touching Dal could only go so far before she would misinterpret the gesture as an attempt to entrap her and deny her her freedom. Her lips parted and he groaned inwardly. He had been sorely tempted to kiss them when they were contorted with pain, but had held himself in tight check for her sake. And for his. Jim smiled when the corners of her mouth curved slightly upward.

“Just as long as you put it back where you found it,” she managed with a slight laugh. “Or Millie will know someone was in her kitchen and all hell will break loose.”

Returning his gaze to the fire, Jim sipped the steaming chocolate. “She reminds me of the guard dog type that would take a wooden spoon to you if you trespassed on her territory.”

Dal tasted the chocolate, finding it just right. A glimmer of amusement came to her eyes. The relaxed aura surrounding them was astonishing. It had to be Jim’s presence; she had never felt so safe or protected. Never. Too drained and exhausted to question the special feelings embracing her, Dal accepted them and Jim. “You’re right. I’m sure when Millie gets up and sees the pan you made the chocolate in, she’ll sniff around to find out who didn’t wash it and put it away.”

His mouth stretched into a full smile. “I’ll do that before I go back to bed. We don’t need a snarling housekeeper. It’s a bad idea to bite the hand that feeds you.”

Dal couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up from her throat. “Even as kids growing up here at the ranch we all knew to stay out of Millie’s domain. Rafe, who was the greatest cookie snatcher in the world, couldn’t always fool Millie. She’d make a batch of chocolate chip cookies, and naturally we’d all be plotting and planning how to get a few before dinner.”

Jim glanced up, drowning in her relaxed features. No longer was Dal haunted looking. “Did it work?”

“Not often. And if Millie caught you, then you didn’t get any cookies at all.”

“Sounds like she ran a tight ship with the three of you around.”

“She did, believe me.”

Quietness settled between them and Dal drank the mug of hot chocolate, feeling the fingers of sleep starting to pull at her. She glanced at the clock on the mantel above the fireplace. It was almost 5:00 A.M. In another half hour the wranglers would start moving around and the cook would be fueling the wood stove over in the chow hall for the fifteen men who worked on the Triple K. Her thoughts pulled back to Jim. He hadn’t asked her about her nightmare. How much had he heard? A tremor of shame flowed through her. If he knew…no…Dal chewed on her lower lip, unable to deal with the humiliation now sweeping through her.

“Jim?” Her voice was like a croak.

He turned, frowning, hearing the sudden strain in her tone. “Yes?”

Dal rubbed her temple, averting her gaze. “Uh…how much—I mean—how did you know I was having a nightmare?” Her hands went damp and sweaty as she gripped the mug tightly.

Jim gave a slight shrug, his expression suddenly less guarded. “You screamed and I heard it. That’s when I came out to see what was wrong.”

“But—you’ve got the room next to Millie’s. She never hears me when I wake up screaming.”

His eyes sharpened, as intent as an eagle’s. “You have these nightmares often?”

Damn! She hadn’t meant to imply that. Dal stared down at her mug. “Just…sometimes.”

Jim’s nostrils flared but he said nothing. “I’ve been accused of having ears like a dog and the night sight of an owl.”

“Your Indian heritage,” Dal whispered.

He rose in one fluid motion, leaning over and taking the mug from her hands. “I guess so. Listen, you get some sleep.” He wanted to ask her why she was sleeping out on a couch and not in her own bedroom, but thought better of it. Jim gave her a tender smile meant to soothe her sudden nervousness. “Is that ride this morning still on?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod as her fingers toyed with the blanket. “But later.”

“Sleep as long as you want, Dal,” he murmured huskily. “Come and get me when you want to go.”

“All right. And Jim?”

He hesitated at the door. “Yes?”

Dal lifted her chin, meeting the golden brown gaze that seemed to reach out and envelop her. “Thanks.”

He nodded. “I’ll see you when you wake up.”

The morning dawned clear with a pale ribbon of rose on the horizon. Dal said little as they walked their horses from the barn area to the open valley before them. She unbuttoned her sheepskin coat, her breath a mist from her mouth and nose. Sliding on the falconer’s glove, which almost reached up to the elbow of her left arm, she mounted her gelding.

The silence was complete as they rode from the main ranch area at a slow trot. Thick drops of dew hung on the green blades of grass, frozen in stalks of splendor everywhere they looked. Twin jets of steam shot from their horses’ nostrils and the saddle leather creaked pleasantly. Dal glanced at Jim, who rode at her side. His expression mirrored a peacefulness she longed to possess. But after the previous night’s episode, there was no peace in her.

Just thinking about being held by him caused heat to sweep up from her neck into her face. Unconsciously, Dal touched her cheek as she relived those stolen moments out of time in his arms. He had held her. Simply comforted her. His arms had gently embraced her to ease her inner pain. And it only served to make her more vulnerable to him. Jim had given to her last night, not taken as Jack had always done.

A high-pitched shriek shattered the quiet of the mountain valley.

“He’s here,” she said automatically, pulling her horse to a stop and turning toward the sound. Her chin lifted and she saw Nar high above them, his seven-foot wingspread silhouetted against the apricot-colored dawn light. She smiled as she met and held Jim’s gaze. “Stay here. Nar will put on a show for you, I’m sure.” With that, she lifted her fingers to her lips, creating a call similar to Nar’s.

Jim watched as the golden eagle shrilled back and suddenly folded his wings and stooped. The brown body of the raptor plunged out of the lightening sky like a cannonball. Jim tensed as Dal clapped her heels to her gelding and it took off at a gallop across the grassy valley. The eagle hurtled down at the escaping horse and rider, his beak open and claws extended. At the last possible second, Nar spread his wings, lightly touching Dal’s outstretched gloved hand.

It was an unbelievable ballet, Jim thought as he tensely watched the raptor wheel around, skimming the earth by no more than two feet as he came flying back toward Dal. The gelding was obviously used to the antics of the eagle, neither swerving nor slowing his gallop as they raced in a collision course toward each other. Nar shrilled, suddenly swooping a mere foot from the horse, his wing tip barely grazing Dal’s hair, which flew back across her shoulders. Her laughter was joyous as the eagle wheeled on his wing and corkscrewed around. Dal reined her gelding to the right in a tight circle, Nar following smoothly, almost touching her shoulder. She guided the horse into a straight line at a dead run, and the eagle easily followed.

As she pulled her gelding to a sliding stop, Dal’s laughter was silvery. She threw her arm up above her head and Nar reversed his flight, gently landing and lightly gripping her gloved wrist and arm. He lifted his head, his amber eyes blazing as he shrilled, his call echoing throughout the valley. Dal stroked his breast lightly and the raptor leaned down, moving his beak through her hair, twittering at her like an indulgent parent to a naughty child.

“Ready?” she asked Nar.

The intelligent bird’s head tilted, studying her. Nar mantled.

“Okay, big bird, off you go!” Dal drew her entire arm and shoulder back, stood up in the saddle and flung the heavy eagle off her arm. Nar flapped, the wings snapping in the coolness as he rapidly gained height, climbing up and out of the valley. He wheeled, spiraled and cavorted around her and the horse as they quietly stood in the grassy plain. Coming from one end of the valley, Nar would dive and then barely skim the earth, soaring upward within a foot of them. Jim sat admiring the powerful grace and beauty of the golden eagle from a distance. He didn’t know who looked happier: Dal or the predator. Her face was flushed, sapphire eyes alight with joy and her hair in provocative disarray around her face and shoulders. More than once he sucked in a breath, afraid that the eagle had misjudged his distance from Dal. But always the raptor missed her, often by only inches. Once he saw the wing-tip feathers brush her hair and he shivered. What if Nar ever decided to strike out at Dal with those razor-sharp talons of his? He could easily shred the jacket she wore, or worse, injure her.

Nar’s attention was taken elsewhere when he spotted a jackrabbit at the edge of the meadow. Dal watched as the raptor took off for his quarry, and turned her horse back toward Jim. The gelding was well rested from his run and cantered easily beneath her.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked breathlessly, pulling up opposite him.

“Beautiful, dangerous and thrilling,” he admitted, a slow smile pulling at his mouth. He pushed the hat back on his head, studying her. “You were beautiful, he was dangerous and the whole ten minutes were thrilling. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Dal laughed, running her fingers through her hair to try and tame it back into order. “We’ve played like this ever since he learned to fly. When he was younger, he would ride out here on my arm and I’d cast him off.” She patted her gelding. “Smokey enjoys it, too.”

“I could see that. You wouldn’t find many horses willing to tolerate an eagle attacking them like that.”

“No. Most horses would shy,” she agreed, smiling.

Resting his arm on the saddle horn, Jim said, “You’re at one with nature and the animals.”

Dal pulled her leg across the horn, balancing herself with unconscious ease as she dropped the reins and let Smokey nibble at the grass at his feet. She gazed around her, a soft hint of a smile lingering in her eyes. “Yes, I love the forest and the animals.”

“But not the two-legged variety known as men?”

The joy died in her eyes as she met his probing gaze. “No, never them.”

He gave her a slight smile. “Wish I was an eagle, then. I envy Nar.”

“Why?”

“He’s male and he has your trust.”

His insight was unsettling to her, but she had found out the night before that his intuitive knowledge of her didn’t necessarily mean pain. “Nar gained my trust with long hard hours of working together.”

“But you were willing to give him your time,” Jim countered huskily.

Dal lifted her leg, slipping her foot back into the stirrup and picking up the reins. “What are you trying to say, Jim?”

He straightened up, his gaze holding hers so that he could see the fear and defensiveness reflected in her luminous eyes. “How do you get a man-fearing horse to trust you again?” he countered.

“You work with him, I suppose.”

He gave her a heated look charged with some unknown emotion. “That’s right, you do.”

Dal looked mystified. “Do Navaho always talk in riddles?”

“When it suits them,” he drawled, smiling. Dal was a man-fearing woman right now. And whether she knew it or not, he was going to handle her, force her to work closely with him and regain her trust. If he told her that he knew she would flee from him like the frightened deer she was, and never allow him near her again. But if he could convince Rafe to let him deal with the poaching problem, then Dal would have no choice. “Come on, I’ll race you that two miles to the end of the meadow. Let’s find out what kind of a rider you really are, lady.”

She was thrown off guard by his questions and then his challenge. Gripping the reins, she tossed him a smile. “All right. Let’s go!”

Jim matched her smile, allowing her to leap ahead of him. Flight tugged angrily beneath his hand, wanting to outrace the gelding barely a length in front of him. Jim contented himself with letting Dal lead over the pounding two-mile run. The graceful synchronicity between her and the horse was breathtaking. She was free, if only for those heart-pounding minutes as they flew across the emerald carpet of the valley.

Dal pulled up her gelding, a triumphant smile on her flushed face as they circled to a stop at the end of the meadow. “Why do I get the feeling you didn’t really try to win?” she asked.

Shrugging easily, Jim ran his fingers down Flight’s arched and damp neck. The stallion was still angry at being held in. “There’re other things more important than winning.”

“Such as?”

“Hmm, just things. One of these days I might share them with you.”

Dal gave him a suspicious look. “Has anyone ever accused you of being closemouthed?”

Jim took off his hat, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. “A few people. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

She nodded. “Yes. You’re the kind of man who’s always thinking, and I’d feel safer knowing your thoughts than with you keeping them to yourself.”

Settling the hat back on his black hair, he asked, “Do you want to know out of curiosity or for your comfort level?”

Dal walked beside him as they took a well-beaten path back through the pasture toward the barn. Her eyes glimmered with mirth. “My own comfort level,” she admitted.

“I like your honesty, Dal Kincaid. It becomes you,” he said in a husky tone.

She colored fiercely, feeling as if he had reached out and stroked her as he had done the night before. Dal vividly recalled the firm pressure of his fingers massaging the pain from her shoulders and back. “I don’t play games very well, Jim,” she muttered.

“Neither do I. We have something else in common.”

“Except you won’t tell me what you’re thinking.”

He reined Flight to a stop at the barn and dismounted. “The Navaho believe in peace among people, not dissension or creating fear. If I told you some of my thoughts right now, you’d take flight just like that eagle of yours. I don’t want to cause you any more havoc with what I’m thinking.”

Holding his amused gaze, Dal dismounted. He was gently baiting her and she felt the same kind of safety she had when he had held her. “I get it. You’re being polite and telling me to mind my own business.”

“Not really,” he murmured, taking the reins to the horses while Dal slid open the door. The change in Dal was startling. The previous day she had made a point of keeping her distance from him. This morning, she walked relaxed at his side, their shoulders almost brushing. “There’s a right place and time to say everything,” he told her, holding her expectant gaze.

“Is that another Navaho adage?”

He grinned and brought the horses to a stop in the center aisle, so that they could be cross tied and untacked. “No, just common sense.”

Dal’s laughter pealed through the breezeway, light and silvery. She began to uncinch Smokey’s saddle. “You really are different, Jim Tremain.”

“Just like you. Don’t ever forget that, Dal. We’re both horses of a different color.”

With a wrinkle of her nose, she lifted the saddle from Smokey. “Is that supposed to be bad or good?”

“Why should it be either? It just is,” he said, taking his saddle and following her into the tack room.

Dal nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve never really looked at life that way,” she admitted, sliding the saddle onto the peg. “Everything in my life gets put into the bad or good category. Most of it bad, lately.”

“The Navaho way is to see each event as something to be learned from and accepted,” he said, putting the saddle down and tossing the blanket over a rack.

Picking up the tack box, she handed him a grooming brush and cloth to wipe Flight down with. “So life doesn’t consist of good and bad events?”

“No. I take each event and each person and ask myself, what will I learn today?”

Smokey nickered softly as Dal approached. She smiled and stroked his broad forehead with a brush where the sweat was trickling down and itching where he couldn’t scratch. The gelding leaned gratefully toward her, eyes half-closed in enjoyment. Dal’s mouth puckered. “Then I learned plenty from my ex-husband,” she said, beginning to rub Smokey vigorously.

Jim rested his arms on the stallion’s wide back, gazing over at her. “What was Gordon like?”

Her head snapped up and she met his serious expression. It was a personal question, one that she had never discussed with anyone, not even her parents. Dal could have retorted, it’s none of your business. Only she got the feeling Jim really wanted to know. He didn’t seem the prying type, except with her….

Dal resumed her brushing of the gelding. “I married Jack when I was twenty-three.”

“That’s pretty young.”

“Too young,” she agreed grimly. “I was a green college kid who had played catch-me-if-you-can games with guys my own age until Jack came along. He was ten years my senior, extraordinarily handsome and at home in the most expensive business suits.” She blew a strand of hair from her eyes, her face glistening with the sweat of her exertion. “To make a painful story very short, I married him three months after I met him. I was moon-eyed over him; it was the first time I’d ever fallen in love….”

Jim took the cloth and wiped down the stallion all the while, listening to the edge of pain in her voice. “And then what happened?”

“He painted a wonderful future for both of us. I was one of the three people at the university majoring in ornithology. I had a straight 4.0 average and was Professor Jacob Warner’s assistant. I had trained under one of the most widely recognized ornithologists in the world for four years. Rare and exotic species were my specialty. That and predatory birds.” She halted, looking over at Jim, her face flushed. “Jack said we’d make a wonderful team. He wanted to import and export birds from the jungles and sell them to zoos around the world. He lacked the expertise but had the managerial knowledge.”

“Are you saying he married you for that?”

She managed a pained smile. “No…I know he loved me in the beginning. At first, we were both excited about the possibility of tramping the jungles of the world with each other, looking for exotic birds.”

“It sounds pretty good so far,” he said quietly.

“The rose-colored glasses were definitely on,” Dal agreed tightly. “We spent the first two years in the Amazon and the Far East chasing birds; I identified them and watched Jack crate them up and send them to zoos. At first, I thought his enthusiasm for the birds was okay. After the third year he got more excited about a blue-crowned hanging parrot from Malaya than about our marriage. He got caught up in the desire to make more and more money. The last two years was a total sham. Somehow, we let our relationship falter and we just grew further and further apart.”

Jim continued to brush Flight down, saying little, though his mind worked furiously. Gordon had used her idealism and trust to manipulate her to get what he wanted. Anger rushed through him as he stole a look over at Dal. She appeared distraught over her admission as she worked on the horse. An overwhelming sense of helplessness rushed through him; no wonder she had looked fatigued three years ago when he first met her. Gordon had taken everything from Dal, including her own sense of self, for his own end.

“What about you?”

“Me?” Jim echoed, rising and resting a hand across Flight’s wither.

She gave him a slight smile. “Here I am dumping the story of my life on you and I know so little about you. Are you happily married with a bunch of kids?”

It was his turn to smile. “Is that how you see me?”

Dal thoughtfully ran the comb through Smokey’s silky mane. “Yes. You look married.” And then she gave a self-conscious shrug. “Some men just give you that impression of being happily married.”

“I see….”

“Are you?”

He shook his head, brushing Flight’s back. The stallion groaned and lifted his head in utter pleasure. “Not yet. I just never met the right woman.”

Mustering a smile, Dal murmured, “The woman that gets you will be very lucky.”

“Thank you. And I think the man who’s able to reach out and get beyond your past experience with your marriage, will also be lucky.”

Dal untied Smokey, leading him back to his roomy stall. “I’m staying single,” she promised him. “Marriage isn’t for me.”

Sliding the box stall door shut on Flight, Jim turned and walked down to where Dal was standing. An enigmatic smile shadowed his well-shaped mouth as he approached her. “Let time heal your outlook on marriage,” he said, coming to a halt. God, she looked so enticing with her hair in delicious disarray about her flushed features. Jim wanted to reach out and lightly touch her cheek, just to feel the velvet pliancy of it. There was so much he wanted to do—could have done if Dal wasn’t running so scared from him….

Dal lowered her lashes, unable to stand the tenderness burning in his honey-colored eyes. Suddenly, she felt shy and unsure of herself in his presence. “Listen,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, “about last night…”

“It was special,” Jim returned huskily.

She lifted her chin, her sapphire eyes luminous with tears as she held his gaze. Whatever had made her think she couldn’t trust Jim Tremain? He stood inches from her, his hands thrown languidly on the hips of his well-worn jeans, looking incredibly self-assured and handsome in her eyes. The notion that she even had a shred of trust left in her shook Dal completely. But whatever was left of her pulverized emotions was reaching out like tendrils of new life toward him. This time, Dal didn’t fight those feelings as she held his searching gaze.