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You told me so yourself. You called it something. A life present?”
Gage hadn’t forgotten. The debt he owed Jenna had weighed heavily on his mind over the past weeks. He had every intention of returning the favor. Somehow. Someway. If he did not, he would suffer for all eternity, for his soul would not be permitted to cross over to the other side. However, he refused to believe that the gift would take the form of a wedding band.
“Life Gift,” he corrected. “But you can’t expect me to marry you.”
“Do you owe me, Gage Dalton?”
Chagrin shot through him, and he knew she sensed it. And it only made her doggedness all the stronger.
“Are you going to pay your debt…or aren’t you?”
Jenna Butler had him backed into a corner, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
Dear Reader,
What is the best gift you ever received? Chances are it came from a loved one and reflects to some degree the love you share. Or maybe the gift was something like a cruise or a trip to an exotic locale that raised the hope of finding romance and lasting love. Well, it’s no different for this month’s heroes and heroines, who will all receive special gifts that extend beyond the holiday season to provide a lifetime of happiness.
Karen Rose Smith starts off this month’s offerings with Twelfth Night Proposal (#1794)—the final installment in the SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE continuity. Set during the holidays, the hero’s love enables the plain-Jane heroine to become the glowing beauty she was always meant to be. In The Dating Game (#1795) by Shirley Jump, a package delivered to the wrong address lands the heroine on a reality dating show. Julianna Morris writes a memorable romance with Meet Me under the Mistletoe (#1796), in which the heroine ends up giving a widower the son he “lost” when his mother died. Finally, in Donna Clayton’s stirring romance Bound by Honor (#1797), the heroine receives a “life present” when she saves the Native American hero’s life.
When you’re drawing up your New Year’s resolutions, be sure to put reading Silhouette Romance right at the top. After all, it’s the love these heroines discover that reminds us all of what truly matters most in life.
With all best wishes for the holidays and a happy and healthy 2006.
Ann Leslie Tuttle
Associate Senior Editor
Bound by Honor
Donna Clayton
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Books by Donna Clayton
Silhouette Romance
Mountain Laurel #720
Taking Love in Stride #781
Return of the Runaway Bride #999
Wife for a While #1039
Nanny and the Professor #1066
Fortune’s Bride #1118
Daddy Down the Aisle #1162
*Miss Maxwell Becomes a Mom #1211
*Nanny in the Nick of Time #1217
*Beauty and the Bachelor Dad #1223
†The Stand-By Significant Other #1284
†Who’s the Father of Jenny’s Baby? #1302
The Boss and the Beauty #1342
His Ten-Year-Old Secret #1373
Her Dream Come True #1399
Adopted Dad #1417
His Wild Young Bride #1441
**The Nanny Proposal #1477
**The Doctor’s Medicine Woman #1483
**Rachel and the M.D. #1489
Who Will Father My Baby? #1507
In Pursuit of a Princess #1582
††The Sheriff’s 6-Year-Old Secret #1623
††The Doctor’s Pregnant Proposal #1635
††Thunder in the Night #1647
The Nanny’s Plan #1701
Because of Baby #1723
Bound by Honor #1737
Silhouette Books
The Coltons
Close Proximity
Logan’s Legacy
Royal Seduction
DONNA CLAYTON
is a bestselling, award-winning author. She and her husband divide their time between homes in northern Delaware and Maryland’s Eastern Shore. They have two sons. Donna also writes women’s fiction as Donna Fasano.
Please write to Donna care of Silhouette Books. She’d love to hear from you!
Dear Reader,
I have long been interested in and captivated by Native American cultures, and I’ve done quite a bit of research that I’ve used in such books as The Doctor’s Medicine Woman, Close Proximity, in my three-book series called THE THUNDER CLAN, and in this book, Bound by Honor.
Although many Native American tribes did not have a written language, they did have a strong oral tradition that kept (and continues to keep) their history vividly alive. Naturally, this custom touches the storyteller in me. I can easily imagine sitting in an intimate circle with family and friends while listening to dramatic tales of the past.
While doing some reading from my ever-growing reference library, I came upon an account of the belief in the Life Gift. If a person’s life is saved by another, then that person owes a Life Gift—a debt that must be repaid. The idea intrigued me, and soon the plot of Bound by Honor began to take shape.
This book holds a special place in my heart. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Prologue
The wipers thumped furiously across the windshield. Jenna Butler leaned forward, straining to see the narrow road through the thick curtain of driving rain. Her knuckles were white against the gray steering wheel, every muscle in her body stiff. Worry and fear ripped at her gut.
Amy had to be okay. Jenna refused to consider any notion other than arriving at the hospital to find her sister bright-eyed and chattering away as usual. The harried E.R. nurse who had called from Deaconess Hospital offered little in the way of information, only notifying Jenna of the auto accident and urging her to come to the hospital as soon as the storm subsided.
Spring always brought rain to the southern plains of Montana, but storms of this magnitude were rare. Black clouds billowed and ill-omened thunder rolled across the sky. However, bad weather couldn’t keep Jenna from Amy, not if her sister had been shaken up…or hurt…or worse.
Panic chilled her to the bone. No! Jenna wouldn’t think that way. Amy was fine. She was healthy, and whole, and fine.
Jenna repeated the silent chant as the car crested a small rise in the road. Her spine went rigid when she registered the danger that awaited her directly ahead. She stomped on the brake pedal. The tires squealed in protest, and the back end of the car fishtailed. Jenna’s heart hammered. A scream gathered at the back of her throat, but it died when the tires grabbed the blacktop and the car came to a sudden, jerky halt.
Inhaling a ragged breath, she blinked, realizing that she was staring at a field of sodden wheat. Luckily, she was still on the asphalt, but her car straddled both lanes, perpendicular to oncoming traffic. The wipers slapped a rhythmic tune, the engine purred, rain battered the roof in a torrent. She looked to her left and saw the sloped road from where she’d come. To her right, she saw the water. That wasn’t just water, she realized. It was a river. A flash flood had washed out Reservation Road.
It was too late to regret not having taken the highway. Getting to the hospital in Billings as quickly as possible had been Jenna’s only thought, so she’d taken the shortest route, the one that cut through Broken Bow Reservation. She pounded the steering wheel in frustration.
Lights in her peripheral vision drew her attention. The water coursing down the window distorted her view, but there was no mistaking the pickup that was racing over the small ridge in the road. The driver didn’t slow down, but headed straight for her. Adrenaline surged. If she pulled her car forward to avoid a collision, the approaching driver might plunge headlong into the floodwaters roiling across the washed-out road.
Without hesitation, she shoved open her door. Fat raindrops pelted her full in the face as she bolted from the car, waving her arms frantically.
Rubber screeched against the wet pavement and the battered truck spun in a circle before skidding onto the narrow strip of weedy mud that separated the roadway from the wheat field. Stunned, Jenna shoved her hair from her face and raced to the truck. The handle felt icy against her fingertips as she pulled open the driver’s side door.
“Are you all right?” Even as the question burst from her lips, she could see the trickle of blood oozing from a small cut on the man’s temple. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Oh, Lord, you’re hurt.”
He looked up at her then, and Jenna felt as if a rumble of stormy thunder had shuddered through her being. Never had she seen eyes so black. Like chips of polished onyx. His fierce gaze seemed to latch onto her, connect with something deep within, tug at her very soul.
Jenna swallowed. Suppressed the shiver that threatened to jolt through her. And then she took a tentative backward step.
What was the matter with her? Whimsy had never had a place in her thought processes. Romanticism was Amy’s department. Jenna was logical. Rational. Suddenly, she understood. She was running on pure, high-octane nervous energy.
“I-is anything broken?” she stammered. “Can you move?”
The man had the high, regal cheekbones and swarthy complexion distinctive of Native American ancestry. She had no choice but to admit that he was handsome. He was more than merely handsome. Striking would be a better word to describe him.
Again, she was astounded by his eyes. Black orbs that seared into her like laser beams. Suddenly, she had the thought that she should do or say something before she fell headlong into his inscrutable gaze.
Tilting her head a fraction, she carefully enunciated, “Are you able to respond? Can you hear me?”
His sharp features grew taut with obvious annoyance. Great, Jenna thought. Dealing with an angry man was the last thing she needed.
“Of course, I can hear you.” Accusation honed his tone to flint. “I could have run you over. What the hell are you doing in the middle of the road?”
Saving your lousy neck, she wanted to snap at him, but didn’t. Instead, she stood there with rain running down her face in rivulets, soaking through her clothes until they were plastered to her skin, and explained, “Porcupine Creek overflowed its banks. The road’s washed out. I nearly drove into it myself.”
Seemingly unmindful of the downpour, the man shoved himself from his truck and stalked up the road far enough to view for himself the flood churning and swirling as it raced across the yawning gap in the asphalt. She wondered if he hadn’t believed her when she told him why she’d flagged him down. What did he think? That she made a habit of standing out in the rain to direct traffic during every storm that swept across the great state of Montana?
As perturbed as she was, Jenna realized she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His shoulders were broad and muscular beneath his wet denim shirt, clear evidence that, whatever he did for a living, he worked hard. Rain saturated his long hair, turning it to a slick, black river that coursed down his back. He certainly was solid. Well built. A stone wall of a man…with granite for a brain, no doubt. She parted her lips to speak again, and tasted the sweet, cool rainwater on her tongue. Shaking her head, she forced herself into action, walking forward until she was beside him.
“It’s obvious that Kit-tan-it-to’wet had plans for me today,” he murmured. “Plans to bring relief.” His black eyes raked over her.
For the merest fraction of a second, she considered how she must look. Surely, the pelting rain had smeared her mascara. With raccoon eyes and her hair plastered to her head, she must be a frightful sight to behold.
The man seemed oblivious to her appearance, though, as he charged, “You changed my path.”
Jenna squared her shoulders. She didn’t like his tone. She had no idea what he was talking about, but a person could only take so much insolence before losing it.
“I don’t know why you would be angry,” she snapped. “Anyone with an ounce of intellect could see that I saved your butt. I kept you from driving into that.” She pointed at the dangerous waters.
Evidently unimpressed, he only stared at her, his jaw muscle ticking. Finally, he choked out, “Not only did you change my path, but now I am indebted to you. I owe you a Life Gift. One that I am obliged to repay.”
His gaze was as stormy as the sky overhead, and that completely baffled her.
“You don’t owe me anything,” she stated with as much patience as she could muster. “I did what any decent human being would do. I narrowly avoided a dangerous catastrophe, and I did what I could to see that you avoided it, too. Let’s not blow this out of proportion.”
Amy. David. The accident. Deaconess Hospital. Like sparks flashing in the darkness, the thoughts rose to the forefront of her mind.
“Look, I’ve got to go,” she told him. Her gaze darted to the cut on his temple. She saw that an angry lump had risen there. “I’m on my way to Billings. To the hospital. I could take you there. To see a doctor about that—”
With the speed of a bolt of lightning, he grasped her forearm. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you. I don’t know who you are, or where I can find you…”
He stopped speaking suddenly, apparently sensing her fear. He released his hold on her arm. Common sense told Jenna she should flee from this stranger who had put his hands on her, but she watched his tongue trace his bottom lip, whisking away the rainwater, and she felt something akin to static electricity dance along her nerve endings. Goose bumps rose on her arms.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t blame you for being leery. I had no right to do that.”
His tone was softer now, but he didn’t smile. Jenna got the distinct impression that smiling wasn’t something that came easily for him.
“You don’t know me,” he continued, his words rolling faster from that wide, beautiful mouth.
Beautiful? The observation nearly shocked a gasp from her. Jenna, hon, a silent voice screamed in her head, anxiety over Amy has driven you halfway to the loony bin.
“Let me try to rectify that. I’m Gage. Gage Dalton. And I live here on the rez. On Broken Bow Reservation. I was on my way to Billings. To meet someone.”
He was attempting to put her at ease; however, some self-preserving instinct told her to get away from him. Now. However, something else inside her—something bone-deep—was calling for her to stay, to listen to his explanation, which only frightened her more.
“I have to go,” she stressed, swiping the moisture from her face and backing away. “There’s been an emergency. My sister—”
Alarm cut off her words and widened her eyes when he reached out to once again halt her retreat. But he caught himself, balled his hand into a fist and lowered it to his side without touching her. “I mean you no harm.” Then he did the most extraordinary thing. He splayed his palm against his chest, right over his heart. A pledge.
Although the fear pulsing through her subsided, the urgent need to get to Amy swelled like the floodwaters of Porcupine Creek.
Without knowing exactly why, she whispered, “Jenna. My name’s Jenna Butler. I really do have to go.”
His desperation seemed to hum like a silent tune. She knew she should be on her way. Amy needed her. But Jenna simply couldn’t get the muscles of her legs to obey her frantic commands.
“Look—” his black brows inched together “—it would be impossible for me to make you understand what…to understand my beliefs. But I cannot—” He stopped. His corded throat convulsed in a swallow. “Owing a Life Gift is—” Again, he halted. “I must repay you in some way.”
Getting to Amy was Jenna’s only thought now. The swollen creek had cost her precious time. She would have to backtrack nearly ten miles to get to the interstate.
“I really don’t have time for this. I’ve already told you that you owe me nothing.”
Irritation flickered in his taut features. “It doesn’t matter what you think I do or do not owe.”
A whispery thought floated at the fringes of her brain, telling her she should feel insulted by his blunt words, but then a sudden and desperate idea flashed in her head. “There is something you could do. Say a prayer that my sister, Amy, is okay.”
With that, she turned on her heel and made a mad dash for her car. She got in, jammed the engine into gear and got herself turned in the right direction. As she sped back toward the rise in the road, she glanced in the rear-view mirror at the tall Native American standing in the pouring rain.
Chapter One
Two months later
“This is absolutely insane.” However, the murmured opinion didn’t discourage the determination in her step as she tramped across the neatly trimmed grass between the house and the gravel drive. “The man is not going to help you. He probably won’t even remember you.”
Normal, everyday behavior for Jenna didn’t customarily include talking to herself. But her life had been anything but normal over the course of the past eight weeks. Thick emotion threatened to consume her when she contemplated all she’d endured, all she continued to endure; the sadness, the grief, the overwhelming frustration of dealing with the Lenape Council of Elders. So she thrust the thoughts from her mind and, instead, focused on the reason she’d come to Broken Bow—finding a solution to her problem.
Yes, coming here might be crazy. And, yes, once she presented her proposition, the man might laugh her into next week. But she’d turned the situation over in her head every which way, and this was the only answer she’d come up with.
The plain plank steps leading to the door of the rustic but contemporary ranch were sturdy under her feet. The covered porch offered a shady respite from the sweltering summer sun. The house was built with rough-hewn timber. Lifting her hand, she rapped on the door before anxiety stole away her nerve.
During the past weeks, the reservation had become a familiar place to her…a place filled with little more than apprehension and defeat. When the idea of garnering the help of Gage Dalton had popped into her head several days ago, she’d begun asking around about him.
However, as hard as she’d tried, she’d been unsuccessful in getting anyone to talk about him. What little information she had been able to gather about the man had left her feeling extremely unsure as to whether she should even attempt to approach him. But she simply had to do something.
Jenna hated feeling desperate, but that was exactly how she and her circumstances could be described. If he turned his back on her, she didn’t know what she would do.
When he didn’t answer the door, unexpected relief swept through her.
“Get in your car and drive away,” she muttered under her breath. But instead of listening to reason, she reached up and knocked again. This time even harder. A mocking voice inside her head warned once again that this scheme was utterly outrageous.
The house showed no sign of life.
Dalton pretty much keeps to himself.
Rarely leaves his ranch.
Prefers to be left alone.
Those were the few pieces of information Jenna had accumulated while trying to locate Gage Dalton. Those who had talked to her had made him sound like some kind of hermit. And each and every person she’d approached, whether they offered information or not, had cast a peculiar glance, obviously wondering why she was searching for the man, but thankfully they’d been too polite to probe.
At a nearby service station, the talkative teenage boy who had checked her car’s oil had commented, “We haven’t seen much of Gage for the past year.” Then he’d offered the most curious clue of all when he’d added, “The accident changed him.”
Although she’d wanted to query further, other customers had occupied the boy’s attention.
She should have taken the teen’s words as a warning. Put together with her own tense experience with the man the tragic day of that horrendous storm, she should be running for the high hills, not seeking him out with a request for what was sure to be an awesome benevolence, if he agreed to help her. Doubt reared its head, hissing like an ugly snake, but she refused to surrender. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—back away from this. She had too much at stake.
Gage Dalton was her only hope. Her only chance of getting what she wanted.
The people of Broken Bow had inferred that Gage was an island—a lone and wounded man who kept himself isolated from the world. Well, he couldn’t avoid her. She meant to see him.
“Gage Dalton!”
Several birds in the treetops were startled into flight.
She descended the porch steps and rounded the corner of the house. To her surprise, she saw a fenced paddock where two black-and-white horses moseyed about. There were several outbuildings, as well as a large stable located down a short, dusty lane.
The property was substantial, she realized, amazed she hadn’t observed its size as she’d approached the house in her car. She turned, her gaze scanning the hard-packed, winding gravel drive. Fences spanned as far as she could see, and more horses grazed in one of several enclosed meadows. She’d seen enough western movies to identify those horses. Gage Dalton bred pintos.
She called, “Hello!”
He stepped into her view, stopping in the open double doors of the stable. Shirtless, he clasped a metal rake in one hand.
Her eyes cruised down the length of him. Sunlight gleamed against his bronze chest. Abdominal muscles rippled all the way down to the worn blue jeans that rode low on his trim waist and hugged his thighs. She dragged her gaze back up to his face. Those black eyes homed in on her, making her feel as if the very air around her had constricted. Even though he must have been nearly fifty yards away, she could sense the same tense displeasure pulsing from him as she’d felt the terrible, stormy day when they’d first met. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting a visitor, nor was he happy to see one.
The sight of him impelled her to turn tail and run. But thoughts of little Lily whispered through her mind, prompting Jenna to stand her ground. Her motive for being here was all-important. Even the formidable Gage Dalton couldn’t keep her from getting what she wanted.
Well, he could. But she planned to do everything in her power to see that he didn’t.
Ignoring his unwelcoming countenance, Jenna trudged toward him. She hoped her cheery smile hid the emotions warring inside her.
The closer her steps brought her to him, the heavier her doubt about his help grew.
A soft summer breeze fluttered the ends of his long hair.
“Hello, there.” She was pleased that her greeting came out so smoothly. But then the stammering started. “I—I was a little wet and disheveled w-when we last m-met…and it’s been weeks ago…so…well…I don’t know if you remember me, but—”
“Jenna Butler.”
Her shoulders relaxed as relief soothed the anxiety that provoked the awkward song and dance she’d just performed. Without thought, she softened her tone to nearly a whisper and murmured, “Oh, good. You do remember.”