Cherokee Baby Part 11

The road to his cabin was narrow and rough. She jammed another cracker into her mouth and

weathered the b.u.mpy motion. Finally they reached a primitive log dwelling,cozied on the side of a hill. The wooden structure sat on a bed of gra.s.s, surrounded by trees and a rebellious, weedy spray of wildflowers.

She exited her car and breathed in the clean, fresh scent, the beauty of the Texas Hill Country. A big, yellow b.u.t.terfly winged by and she watched it flit from flower to flower. For an instant she imagined a little boy or girl with dark hair and copper skin chasing that b.u.t.terfly, running through the gra.s.s, playing in the sun. Her child, she thought, touching her tummy. Bobby's child. The b.u.t.terfly flew away and when she turned to glance at Bobby, she caught him staring at her.

She had no idea what he was thinking. He didn't seem angry about her pregnancy the way she'd antic.i.p.ated, but he didn't seem to be settling into the idea, either.

If only he could feel the connection she felt to their unborn child. The tenderness. The love.

Self-conscious, she broke eye contact and went to the car and removed her bag.

He took the lightweight leather satchel from her. "What happened to the green suitcase?"

"I didn't feel like lugging it around. Besides, I'll only be here for a few days."

Enough time, she prayed, for Bobby to decide that he wanted to be part of their child's life. A long-distance father, a summer dad. Anything that showed he cared, that he didn't intend to abandon the baby.

He unlocked the door and ushered her inside.

The cabin reflected the man who owned it dark and private. The walls were c.h.i.n.ked log, the

hardwood floors covered with Navajo rugs. The furniture ranged from polished antiques to homespun fabrics, and the hearth had been swept clean.

In fact, everything was amazingly clean. Spotless.

He didn't favor knickknacks, nothing that collected dust,nothing that added casual warmth. She got the

saddened feeling that Bobby Elk survived rather than lived here.

"It's one bedroom, one bath." He indicated the kitchen, an open s.p.a.ce with butcher-block counters and

clay-tiled floors. "There isn't much in the fridge, but I'll make sure it gets stocked."

"Thanks, Bobby. I appreciate this."

"Sure." He placed her bag on a cowhide chair in the living room. "I should pack a few things to take with

me to Michael's."

"Go ahead." Feeling like an intruder, she stepped back. She wouldn't dare follow him into his bedroom, even though she would be sleeping there over the next few days.

While he packed, she went into the kitchen, but she didn't poke through the cabinets. Instead she sat at the small oak table and ate her crackers.

He returned within minutes and she realized that he was used to throwing his belongings together, that

he'd probably lived on the road for a good portion of his life.

"Do you want to eat some real food?" he asked.

"No. Not yet." She needed to give the saltines some time to digest.

"You're going to waste away, Julianne."

She smiled, touched by his concern. "I'll be getting fat soon enough."

He looked at her stomach,then s.h.i.+fted his gaze back to her face. "It's so hard to fathom."

She knew he meant the baby. The life they'd created. For a moment they watched each other, silent.

Uncomfortable.

Then he went about the task of making a pot of coffee. "I don't suppose you want any."

"No, thanks. You wouldn't happen to have any tea, would you? It's easier on my stomach."

He shook his head. "No, but I'll put it on the list." He made enough coffee for one cup, poured it into a

st.u.r.dy mug and drank it black. As usual, his hair was plaited into a single braid that fell to the center of his back. His sideburns were neatly trimmed, his jaw clean-shaven. He wore a soft, well-worn T-s.h.i.+rt and a pair of faded jeans. His knees were dusted with a little dirt and when she found herself looking at his legs, she quickly s.h.i.+fted her gaze.

There were times she forgot he was an amputee. He was so active, so broad-shouldered and strong, it was difficult to picture him with only one leg. "I should go. I have to hook up with Michael." He finished his coffee, rinsed the cup and placed it in the dishwasher. Next he cleaned the coffeepot, dumping the used filter in a trash can below the sink and scouring the carafe. Julianne usually let her dishes pile up for a while before she loaded them into the dishwasher, and she didn't clean the coffeepot each time she used it. She would have to tidy up after herself while she was here, try to live the way Bobby did.

"I'll come back later."

She nodded. "Okay."

He wrote something on a tablet beside the telephone. "I'm leaving a few numbers for you. The front

desk, the barn office, my cell phone. Call if you need anything."

"I will."

He left the cabin with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a pair of crutches in his hands.

He didn't turn back to look at her, and she sensed his discomfort. The crutches were a blatant reminder

of the leg he'd lost. She supposed he needed them when he wasn't wearing his prosthesis. Why else would he have taken them, calling attention to his handicap?

Julianne just sat for a minute, staring at the walls, wondering who Bobby Elk really was.

Finally she stood and headed for his bedroom, then stopped when she saw the bed. The mahogany frame was dark and masculine, the quilt a rich shade of blue. She envisioned him sleeping there, with the windows open, stars lighting up the night.

She wanted, so desperately, to rummage through his drawers, to solve mysteries about him. Did he keep a picture of his wife anywhere? Was there a photo alb.u.m tucked away?

Feeling like a thief, she gave in to her curiosity and snooped, finding nothing but neatly folded clothes. The top of his dresser held an old LouisL'Amour novel, a slightly melted candle and an abalone sh.e.l.l containing a bundle of a half-burned dried herb tied with red yarn. His closet didn't reveal anything but a selection of Wrangler jeans and Western s.h.i.+rts.

The bathroom, however, spoke of his disability. The toilet had metal rails beside it, like the safety device in handicapped stalls in public rest rooms. The tub had rails, as well, with a flexible showerhead and a waterproof chair in the center.Which, she a.s.sumed, meant that Bobby didn't shower with his prosthesis on.

Suddenly claustrophobic, Julianne rushed outside to breathe in the summer air.

She was having a baby with a man she hardly knew, a man who kept himself sheltered in a small, secluded cabin.

A place, she thought, for him to hide.

Julianne gazed at the wildflowers thriving in the sun. She knelt to pick one and within minutes she had a fragrant bouquet in her hand.

Returning to the cabin, she took the flowers with her, determined to add a spot of color to Bobby Elk's dark, isolated world.

Chapter 6.

Bobby couldn't find Michael. He needed to talk this through, to confide in someone, but his nephew had taken off, Lord only knew where. So Bobby had spent hours alone, pacing his office, knowing he didn't have any choice but to go back to Julianne.

And say what? That he was scared? That the idea of being a father petrified him?

No, he thought. Because deep down that wasn't true.

Bobby had intended to have children with his wife. He'd always thought he was meant to be a dad. But

that dream had died withSharon. So many tangible dreams had died that day. So many joys he'd been looking forward to. But he couldn't stop living. Not completely. It wasn't the Cherokee way. He'd been taught to give thanks, to honor life. It wasn't easy, not after what he'd done toSharon, but he did his best to wake up every morning and say a Cherokee prayer.

He gazed out the window and reflected on his youth, on the spiritual lessons that stillguided, him.

Some Cherokees believed that an infant didn't receive a soul until it was born, but Bobby had been taught otherwise.

He believed an infant's soul entered the womb from the moment of conception. Which meant his son or daughter was already a spiritual being.

A tiny soul that was meant to be. A life he'd helped create.

Yet he was fighting its existence, practically denying his own flesh and blood.

Why? What did he have to fear?

The woman, he thought. The child's mother.

"What does Julianne expect from me?" he asked out loud, looking for answers. Did she want him to marry her? Was that why she came toTexas?

Bobby turned away from the window. He couldn't marry Julianne, not even out of duty, out of respect and honor to his child.

And that shamed him.

The baby deserved better.

But G.o.d help him, he couldn't do it. He couldn't ask Julianne to be his wife.

Maybe that wasn't what she wanted. Maybe she- h.e.l.l. He had no idea what she wanted, and he wouldn't know until he asked her.

Fifteen minutes later Bobby returned to the cabin, stalling when he reached the porch. He couldn't just barge in, even if it was his house.

He knocked on the door, lightly at first and then a little harder.

Julianne answered with an apprehensive smile. She'd changed into a filmy dress and a pair of strappy sandals. Her hair looked freshly combed, as bright as fire and as straight as rain.

"Thank you for the groceries, Bobby. They arrived a few hours ago."

He entered the cabin. "Did you eat?"

She nodded. "I had a snack, but I'm about ready for dinner. Do you want to join me?"