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“Oh.” Wondering why Jenna Elliot, golden girl, would take a demanding case like this, Bram went over to the bed and smiled down at his grandmother. “Hello, Gran. How’re you doing?”
“Sheriff, she’s never going to answer you, you know,” Roberta said.
The cruel comment angered Bram, and he turned hard eyes on the relief nurse. “Don’t you ever say something like that in her presence again.”
Roberta looked affronted, but she didn’t say another word. Bram didn’t care if she was affronted or not. Thank God that Dr. Hall hadn’t sent a cold woman like her to care for Gran, he thought as he headed to his own room.
“Come on, Nellie,” he said as he passed the pretty collie, who happily got up to follow her master. In his bedroom, Bram felt the sting of anger, and he almost went back to Gran’s room to tell Roberta Shane to never set foot in his house again.
But Jenna had to have time off, and maybe Roberta was the only nurse available to take her place.
“Damn, damn, damn,” Bram mumbled thickly as he removed his badge from his shirt and then took off his leathers, including his holstered gun, and put everything in a dresser drawer. He hated what had happened to Gran and he didn’t like how out of control his life was now. Out of his control. He was a man with a penchant for routine and organization, great traits for a law enforcement officer to have. But those same traits made unexpected bumps in one’s personal life tough to take.
He wondered when Jenna would be back. Tonight? Tomorrow morning? Clenching his teeth, he sat on the edge of his bed and thought about her. No man deserved to suffer the way he did over Jenna. Just her image in his mind made him so saturated with longing that even his bones hurt. He hadn’t been sleeping well, just because she was in the house. He never ate at home anymore because he might have to eat with her, and he couldn’t bear the thought. How much more of this torment could he take?
Jenna arrived at seven-thirty. She walked into the master suite, immediately went into the bathroom to wash her hands and then returned to say hello to Bram and Roberta. The relief nurse had already gathered her knitting bag and her purse.
She left after saying, “See you next Thursday.”
Jenna let her find her own way out, and picked up Gloria’s chart to make sure Roberta had done everything that was necessary that day.
Bram had gotten to his feet and he stood there wishing Jenna would look at him.
She finally did. “May we speak in another room?” she asked.
Surprised, and wondering what was going on now, Bram nodded, then followed Jenna to the living room. She turned and faced him.
“I talked to Dr. Hall today. We are both concerned with Gloria’s lack of progress. I’m rarely blunt when discussing a patient with a family member, but in this case I feel I must be. She’s not trying to help herself, Bram. She has given up.”
Bram flinched as though struck. “How dare you—”
Jenna cut him off harshly. “Don’t start something you can’t finish! Are you trained to recognize dangerous symptoms? Well, I am, and if we can’t change her attitude she will die.”
Bram’s voice was unsteady when he spoke. “How…how do we change her attitude?”
Jenna turned away and began pacing the carpet. “I’ve racked my brain trying to think of something to do that isn’t already being done. She has a loving family, and some of them visit her every single day. I’m doing everything medically possible—everything Dr. Hall told me to do—and I’m sure she must appreciate all the time you spend with her every evening. Bram, she’s never alone, except for brief moments like this. She can’t possibly feel neglected. Her diet is restricted, of course. There are many things she might never be able to eat again, but are certain foods really that important? Plus, she absolutely will not concentrate on the exercises I’ve been trying to teach her. She just turns her head and shuts her eyes whenever I even mention exercise. I’ve been massaging the muscles of her arms and legs to keep them supple, but…”
“In other words, you’re doing everything you can and nothing is working,” Bram said dully.
Jenna’s eyes misted and she could only nod. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered huskily. She wasn’t looking at Bram, so she didn’t see him walk away. But she heard his footsteps, and when she turned around, he was gone.
A few minutes later she returned to Gloria’s room, and there was Bram, telling corny jokes to his grandmother and chuckling over them himself.
All Jenna could think was that maybe laughter was the only medicine they hadn’t yet tried, and maybe it would work. She mentally patted Bram on the back for his willingness to do anything to save Gloria from herself.
Jenna deliberately slept lightly, keeping attuned to her patient’s slightest movement or sound. Even in a semi-slumber, though, she dreamed, and she had a nightmare around midnight that was so frightening that she jumped out of bed. Grabbing her robe, and taking a quick peek at Gloria to make sure she was asleep, Jenna left the bedroom and went to the kitchen.
Still shaken by the nightmare, she switched on lights and made a cup of cocoa, using a mix and the microwave. She was about to sit at the table to drink the cocoa when Bram walked in.
He stopped cold. The kitchen light had been on and he’d thought nothing of it, but seeing Jenna at the table was a shock he had trouble concealing. His mind grew fuzzy for a moment; he should turn around and get out of there while he could, he realized vaguely. But then he recovered some dignity. This was his house, after all, and Jenna was the intruder in this room, not him. He managed to say, albeit a bit thickly, “I can’t sleep, either.” He began preparing a cup of cocoa for himself.
Jenna watched his every movement with a heated sensation in the pit of her stomach. He had been so diligent about avoiding being alone with her that this unplanned midnight meeting felt like a tryst. Probably not to him, she told herself, but then he wasn’t burdened with bittersweet longings the way she was.
She drank in the sight of him. He had pulled on his jeans, but that was the only clothing on his marvelously masculine body. His chest was smooth and hairless, his shoulders wide and muscular. He hadn’t buttoned the waistband of his jeans, merely zipped the fly, and he was barefoot. His thick black hair, normally so neatly brushed, was tousled and looked so sexy to Jenna that she could barely swallow small sips of her cocoa.
With his cup in the microwave, Bram clenched his jaw and looked at Jenna. He could hardly pretend she wasn’t there, after all. “I know why I’m having trouble sleeping, but she’s my grandmother. Does every patient in your care cause you insomnia?”
My God, is he actually going to talk to me? Jenna was so surprised she nearly choked on a swallow of cocoa. She managed to answer him, though. “I was sleeping. A nightmare woke me.”
The microwave went off and Bram took his cup to the table and sat across from her. Bram Colton joining her for midnight cocoa surprised Jenna so much that she wasn’t sure how to deal with it.
“Tell me about your nightmare,” Bram said after taking a cautious swallow of his hot drink. That was an innocent enough topic, he thought, even though he knew that he should have taken his cocoa back to his bedroom rather than risk even a few minutes in Jenna’s company.
Jenna tried not to stare at this half-naked man whom she’d so often fantasized about having in her bed. But he was seated only a few feet away—all that darkly tanned skin, and that handsome face.
She dropped her eyes to her cup. “It’s not worth talking about.”
“But it scared you awake.”
“Well, yes. That’s what nightmares usually do. Don’t you have nightmares?”
“Everyone does.” Bram raised his cup to his lips and took in the truly glorious sight of Jenna Elliot sitting across from him at his very own table, with her golden hair loose and disarrayed around her beautiful face. Her robe was blue and he could see the neckline of a white gown beneath that. But it was very easy to envision her lush body under the gown. That’s the real reason you stayed in here instead of running back to your room the second you saw her—just to soak up the sight of her. Admit it!
“Were monsters chasing you?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage.
“Monsters?” Jenna couldn’t help smiling, and decided that he really must be curious about her nightmare, which was curious in itself. So why not tell him about it? At least they were talking, which just might qualify as a small miracle. “I guess there could have been monsters, but I don’t recall seeing any. I was in a strange place—a rural setting—and I was walking down a dirt road. There were a few trees and I was wearing a red dress. Now, that’s odd,” she interjected thoughtfully. “I hardly ever wear red, and I don’t even own a red dress.” She paused for a swallow of cocoa.
“Anyhow, I could see a hill ahead of me and I began walking up it. It became steeper and steeper until I was clutching at the ground with my hands to keep from falling.” She looked at Bram. “That’s it.”
“What scared you about that?”
“The fear of falling, I guess.”
“Sounds to me like you might be afraid of reaching the pinnacle of something you’ve been trying to attain.”
Jenna felt a wave of heat wash through her. He was the pinnacle, if there was any accuracy in his interpretation.
“When did you become an interpreter of dreams?” she asked pertly.
He grinned, surprising Jenna and melting her bones at the same time. Lord, he was handsome when he wasn’t scowling! “Learned it at my great-granddaddy’s knee,” he said.
“George WhiteBear taught you how to read dreams?”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“No, but Willow’s talked about him. His age is incredible.”
“Ninety-seven is pretty incredible, all right. He says he will live to be a hundred and five. I can’t doubt it.”
“Does he still live alone and take care of himself?”
“He does.” Bram frowned suddenly. “I expected Gran to have a long and healthy life, too. That stroke was a shock.”
“For the whole family, apparently.” Jenna couldn’t believe it. They were actually having a normal conversation.
“I’ve got to drive out to George’s place and tell him about Gran,” Bram said, sounding as though he were talking more to himself than to Jenna.
“He doesn’t know?”
“I didn’t want to alarm him without cause. After what you told me earlier tonight, I think I’d better go out there very soon. I’m sure he’ll want to see Gran.”
Jenna’s heart sank. “And what I said to you tonight is the reason you’re not able to sleep. Do you understand that I only said what was necessary?”
“I don’t understand a damn thing. She was always a live wire. What causes a stroke, anyhow? Why was she struck down like that?”
“Would you like me to explain the medical causes of strokes?”
“No.” Bram turned his head, reminding Jenna of Gloria both from the action and from their physical similarities. “Hearing a bunch of medical terms I probably wouldn’t comprehend isn’t going to make me accept Gran’s affliction. She doesn’t deserve what she’s going through, Jenna.”
“I know she doesn’t,” Jenna said quietly, although a part of her rejoiced that her name had rolled off his tongue as though he said it all the time. She lifted her eyes and met his, and for the first time ever she thought she saw something personal gleaming in their black depths. Her pulse rate quickened, and when he suddenly looked away again her breath stopped as though trapped in her throat.
To alleviate the sensation she got up and brought her cup to the sink. She heard Bram getting up, too, and then felt him behind her.
“Just forming a line to rinse my cup,” he said.
But he was standing a lot closer to her than he had to, and again Jenna couldn’t breathe normally. “I—I’ll only…be a minute,” she stammered. “Give me your cup. I can take care of it and you can go back to, uh, bed.”
He reached around her and put his cup in the sink in front of her, and she felt his long muscular body against her back.
“Jenna,” he whispered, and placed his hands on the counter on each side of her. Her mind could hardly digest what was happening. He had never, ever touched her, not once, and now his entire body was pressed against hers and his arms were virtually enclosing her within a very sensual circle.
She didn’t think, just reacted. Dropping her cup in the sink, she swung around, at the same moment raising her arms to his neck. She leaned into him and his arms tightened around her. She turned her face up and silently begged for his kiss, and he didn’t disappoint her. His lips touched hers gingerly, then, in the next heartbeat, almost roughly. It was her fantasy come true, or at least the beginning of it.
She opened her mouth under his and kissed him back with all the desire she’d kept bottled up for so long. She knew she would do anything he wanted; all he had to do to get everything he could possibly want from a woman was to keep on holding her and kissing her.
She moved against him, an involuntary action caused by total surrender to Bram’s will. She felt his hands moving on her back, up and down, and finally stopping on her bottom. The groan she heard deep in his throat as he cupped her buttocks excited her further, and she brought her hands down from his neck to explore his chest. More than his chest was hard, though, and that was the most exciting thing of all. He wanted her. He couldn’t hide his desire or pretend it didn’t exist, not when the proof of his feelings pressed into her abdomen. She was so thrilled and elated that she mumbled between kisses, “Wait…wait. Let me get out of some of these clothes.”
He inched away from her and watched her shed the robe and let it drop to the floor around her feet. His black eyes devoured the sight of her in a rather sheer white nightgown with tiny straps, standing in front of him with all that long, golden hair draped over her shoulders.
“You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said raggedly.
“Oh, Bram, do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” she whispered. And then fear gripped her, for something in what she’d said caused him to begin withdrawing before her very eyes.
He touched her cheek gently. “We can’t do this.”
She had no shame, not now, not when they’d been so close to something meaningful. “Why not?” she whispered.
“I think you know why not.”
Jenna cleared her throat. She couldn’t let this happen. Bram had crossed the line tonight and she couldn’t stand the thought of him retreating behind it again.
“Because of my dad’s attitude?” she said in a stronger voice. “Bram, you must ignore him. Prove you’re the bigger and better man by overlooking his ignorance.”
“How does anyone in Black Arrow overlook Carl Elliot?” Bram took a backward step, and Jenna quickly moved forward, wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek on his chest. “Don’t do this, Jenna,” he said huskily. “I was afraid of this happening the second I saw you getting out of the ambulance. I want you to stay and care for Gran…you are the best nurse in town…but you and I can never be anything but speaking acquaintances.” He grasped her arms and moved away from her. After one more yearning look at her beautiful face, he spun on his heel and walked out.
Jenna was devastated. He’d broken her heart, this time for real, for he’d given her just enough of himself to also give her a glimpse of paradise. Then he’d yanked it all away and told her it would never happen again. With tears burning her eyes, she pulled on her robe and dragged herself back to her lonely twin bed in Gloria’s room.
Jenna thought she would cry her eyes red, but instead she stared at the ceiling and accepted the painful knowledge that she’d responded to Bram with the same fervor with which a starving person devoured food. She felt like a fool, a woman with no will of her own. She would never forgive herself for behaving like a tart, nor would she forgive Bram for treating her as one. He’d kissed and touched her intimately, and she would feel his hands on her body for the rest of her life. Damn him! She turned to her side and the tears finally came, and she wept quietly into her pillow until she finally fell asleep.
Bram never did go back to sleep. An immutable fact nearly drove him crazy: he could have made love to Jenna, his beautiful golden girl, in his own kitchen, and he’d turned her down. Dear God, he could have brought her to his bed and made love with her. The many places in his house where they could have made love haunted him, until he finally gave up on sleep and threw back the covers.
He was dressed and on his way to his great-grandfather’s place before dawn broke.
Chapter Four
Traffic was light and Bram’s thoughts naturally turned to Jenna while he drove. He despised himself for making that pass. He’d gone way past the line he’d drawn between himself and Jenna, and he knew he was going to pay a heavy penalty for acting without thinking, because nothing about that kiss had been ordinary. In fact, he was positive that what had occurred in his kitchen was one of those life-altering events that befell a person every so often. In its own way, that embrace was as destructive to his peace of mind as his grandmother’s stroke. He actually gritted his teeth from mental anguish.
Out of self-preservation, his thoughts segued from Jenna to the Colton Ranch, and the contentment living there gave him. It had been home since his birth, and occasionally he thought of talking to his siblings about buying everyone out so it belonged only to him. And yet no one ever interfered with his use of the place, or gave him unwanted and unneeded advice simply because he or she owned as much of the land as he did.
He remembered growing up happy in a loud and boisterous household, with parents who laughed a lot and openly adored their five children. He thought of his brothers and sister, each one of them, and suffered again the agony of learning that their parents had been killed in a plane crash. It had been a terrible time, and he’d had to downplay his own shock and grief to comfort the others.
All in all, though, his life had gone relatively smoothly. He’d learned to live with grief and an ache for a woman he couldn’t have, but it was funny that he had rarely thought of his Indian blood until falling for Jenna. There were so many mixed marriages and relationships between Native Americans and whites that most of the population in and around Black Arrow paid scant attention to ancestry. There were a few pure whites, like Carl Elliot—or so they claimed—and there were also a few pure Comanches, like his great-grandfather.
But George WhiteBear was the only pure-blooded Indian in the family. And he was one of the handful of Comanches who proudly clung to the old ways, to teachings handed down from generation to generation. It was George who had educated his offspring and their offspring in Comanche history. Bram remembered most of what he’d been taught.
The Comanche, like the Arapaho, Blackfeet, Cheyenne and Sioux, were considered Plains Indians. In the old days sign language permitted different tribes to communicate, and George had even shown his progeny some of the signs. George also boasted about the Comanches’ amazing horseback-riding abilities and their ferocity in battle. Then there was the subject of counting coup—the act of touching a live enemy and getting away from him—which brought great honor to the brave warrior who managed that feat. That had always fascinated young Bram.
But then George would speak in a quieter voice, a sad monotone, about the Comanche people being forced onto the reservation in Oklahoma in 1867. “The government developed what might be called a conscience in the early 1900s and gave each Comanche still living—not many by then—160 acres of land. Many did not like farming, and sold or leased their land to whites. My father kept his and it is still my home,” the old man declared.
But the stories Bram had always liked best were about the traditional vision quest that was so important to most of the Plains Indians, as their religion centered on spiritual power. Everyone had to find his personal guardian spirit, and would go off alone with a little food and water to search for it. George WhiteBear had stayed alone in the wilderness for eight days and nights, and then he’d heard coyotes communicating with each other all around him. One had entered the circle of light from his campfire and looked directly at him with eyes glowing amber from the fire, and it was at that moment that George had known that the coyote was his guardian spirit. To this day, George listened to the cries and calls of coyotes and knew what they were saying to him.
Sometimes, when life became more drudging than satisfying, Bram would cynically wonder if he should undress down to a breechcloth, find some wilderness and look for his personal guardian spirit. But he was more white than Comanche, if not by blood then by lifestyle, and he wondered if he would have a successful vision quest. After all, he’d been raised almost as white as Carl Elliot had raised Jenna, with a few notable exceptions, of course, mostly brought about by Great-grandfather George WhiteBear.
The sun was just beginning to bathe the landscape in a peachy-orange light when Bram reached the turnoff from the highway that led to George’s acreage. It was a dirt road with a row of power poles along the side, accommodating George and Annie McCrary. Annie had become widowed only two short years after she and her husband, Ralph, bought their land. Annie and George weren’t bosom buddies, by any means, although Annie acted as if she wished she were. She kept an eye on her neighbor and dropped by George’s place about once a week with something from her garden—fresh or canned—as an excuse to check on him.
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