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Savage Illusions

Page 15

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The only fat­her she had ever lo­ved and em­b­ra­ced awa­ited her re­turn in Sa­int Lo­u­is.

Oh, Lord, she co­uld not let him down by lo­ving anot­her fat­her per­haps even mo­re than he!

"Sis?"

Kirk's vo­ice drew Jole­na from her tho­ughts. She swung aro­und, smi­ling al­most gu­il­tily at Kirk, for if he had be­en ab­le to re­ad her tho­ughts, he wo­uld ha­ve be­en stun­ned. He wo­uld put her qu­ickly in her pla­ce for thin­king abo­ut anot­her fat­her, when in truth the­re was only one man whom she sho­uld ever call by such a na­me.

"Sis, I've co­me to ha­ve a talk with you," Kirk sa­id, mo­ving in­to the ro­om.

He clo­sed the do­or be­hind him and wal­ked ac­ross the ro­om and to­ok Jole­na's hand. He led her down on­to a so­fa be­fo­re a bla­zing fi­re in the fi­rep­la­ce.

Lamplight from a lo­ne ke­ro­se­ne lamp flic­ke­red soft light aro­und the ro­om and on­to Jole­na's fa­ce, ma­king it ta­ke on an even mo­re lo­vely, cop­per she­en. Kirk ga­zed at her and tho­ught how be­a­uti­ful she was in her ful­ly-gat­he­red cot­ton dress; then he frow­ned when his eyes shif­ted to the low-swept bo­di­ce of her dress, thin­king that it re­ve­aled too much of the de­ep cle­ava­ge bet­we­en her well-ro­un­ded bre­asts.

She al­re­ady had eno­ugh men le­ering at her.

Yet he did not con­demn her for her cho­ice of dres­ses. No one el­se wo­uld see her to­night but him­self, and to­mor­row she wo­uld be we­aring a pla­in tra­vel skirt and blo­use, hi­ding the in­vi­ting tra­its of her fi­gu­re from the bo­is­te­ro­us wa­go­ners and… and the Blac­k­fo­ot gu­ide.

''You ca­me to ha­ve a talk," Jole­na sa­id stiffly. "What abo­ut?" She fe­ared that she al­re­ady knew the an­s­wer to her qu­es­ti­on and even felt fo­olish as­king it. He was go­ing to talk abo­ut Spot­ted Eag­le aga­in. He was go­ing to warn her on­ce aga­in abo­ut be­ing too fri­endly to In­di­ans. She co­uld al­most spe­ak his exact words as they bre­at­hed ac­ross his nar­row lips.

"Jolena," Kirk sa­id, tur­ning to­ward her, now hol­ding both of her hands. "We ne­ed to set things stra­ight abo­ut a few thin­g­sa­bo­ut how you are to be­ha­ve in the pre­sen­ce of the In­di­an that has shown an at­trac­ti­on to you. Jole­na, you are In­di­an. Not only are you In­di­an, you are be­a­uti­ful. That is a let­hal com­bi­na­ti­on when it co­mes to be­ing aro­und an In­di­an war­ri­or who may not yet ha­ve cho­sen a wo­man as his li­fe­ti­me com­pa­ni­on. Jole­na, al­ways ke­ep fat­her cle­ar in yo­ur mind. He co­uld not be­ar to lo­se yo­u­es­pe­ci­al­ly to In­di­ans. He has fe­ared this all of his li­fe. You can't ma­ke his fe­ars re­al!"

Her tho­ughts scram­b­led, her lo­yal­ti­es to­ward her whi­te fat­her al­re­ady thre­ate­ned wit­hin her he­art, Jole­na tur­ned her eyes away from Kirk.

She swal­lo­wed hard, fe­eling gu­ilty for not be­ing ab­le to ke­ep her tho­ughts from stra­ying to the Blac­k­fo­ot war­ri­or.

She clo­sed her eyes and set her jaw tightly, kno­wing that the bat­tle wit­hin her was just be­gin­ning. She was won­de­ring now if she co­uld sur­vi­ve it.

How co­uld she li­ve bet­we­en two worlds?

Until now, the­re had only be­en one, the ot­her ha­ving be­en loc­ked wit­hin the de­epest re­ces­ses of her he­art and so­ul. Co­ming to the Mon­ta­na Ter­ri­tory and se­e­ing the man of her mid­night dre­ams had chan­ged things the in­s­tant she had step­ped on the so­il of her an­ces­tors… and she co­uld not help but let things un­furl as they wo­uld and li­ve with the de­ci­si­ons that she wo­uld fi­nal­ly ma­ke.

She was still yo­ung, with so much of her li­fe still stret­c­hed out be­fo­re her. She wo­uld cho­ose the path that wo­uld ma­ke her the hap­pi­est and ho­pe that she did not ca­use too much hurt to tho­se she so­rely lo­ved in the pro­cess. "Jole­na, for God's sa­ke, say so­met­hing," Kirk sa­id, pla­cing a firm hand to her sho­ul­der, ca­using her to turn her eyes qu­ickly back to him. "Yo­ur si­len­ce is frig­h­te­ning me."

He se­ar­c­hed her dark eyes for an­s­wers that she was not sa­ying alo­ud to him, fe­ar stab­bing him when he saw so­met­hing the­re that he had ne­ver se­en be­fo­re. At this mo­ment, his sis­ter se­emed a stran­ger to him. It was as tho­ugh he was lo­oking in­to the eyes of an In­di­an in­s­te­ad of his pre­ci­o­us sis­ter's.

For too long, it se­emed, he had pla­yed a ga­me wit­hin his he­art that ma­de him for­get that she was In­di­an in­s­te­ad of whi­te. Now the re­ality was co­ming to him in le­aps and bo­unds, and it hurt.

It hurt to think that she might be chan­ging right be­fo­re his eyes in­to the exact thing that he had al­ways dre­aded.

He had pla­ced his own fu­tu­re asi­de tem­po­ra­rily just to pre­vent this from hap­pe­ning. But he now re­ali­zed that not­hing or no one co­uld chan­ge what was tru­et­hat she was In­di­an and she wo­uld be fe­eling it, de­eply wit­hin her so­ul, now that she was in the land of her an­ces­tors.

He cur­sed him­self for ever al­lo­wing her to co­me to the pla­ce.

But he knew de­ep down in­si­de him­self that she wo­uld ha­ve co­me alo­ne, had he not co­me as her es­cort. She was too wil­lful and de­ter­mi­ned on­ce her mind was ma­de up abo­ut so­met­hing. He al­so knew for cer­ta­in now that fin­ding the ra­re but­terfly ca­me se­cond to her true re­asons for ha­ving co­me to the Mon­ta­na Ter­ri­tory.

"Kirkdear, swe­et Kirk," Jole­na fi­nal­ly sa­id, pla­cing a hand to his che­ek as he drop­ped his hand from her sho­ul­der. "Ple­ase don't worry abo­ut me, and ple­ase don't pre­ach to me. Al­t­ho­ugh you are my ol­der brot­her, ple­ase re­mem­ber it is only by a few we­eks. I am old eno­ugh to ta­ke ca­re of myself, and most cer­ta­inly to ma­ke my own cho­ices in li­fe. The In­di­an? Yes, I must ad­mit I no­ti­ced his at­trac­ti­on to me. Ple­ase don't be thre­ate­ned by that. I am su­re he was in­t­ri­gu­ed to see an In­di­an wo­man who we­ars whi­te wo­man's clot­hes. It's not sur­p­ri­sing that he sho­uld won­der abo­ut an In­di­an wo­man who li­ves among the whi­te pe­op­le as tho­ugh one of them."

"But don't you see, Jole­na, you are one of us," Kirk ple­aded. "Altho­ugh you ha­ve the skin co­lo­ring of an In­di­an, you are in all ot­her ways whi­te. Ple­ase don't for­get that and don't al­low yo­ur­self to fan­ta­si­ze over fin­ding yo­ur true pe­op­le. It co­uld in­f­lict many hurts."

"Kirk, if yo­ur skin was cop­per and you had only In­di­an blo­od flo­wing thro­ugh yo­ur ve­ins, wo­uldn't you al­so want to know the truth of yo­ur he­ri­ta­ge?" Jole­na sa­id, trying to re­ason with Kirk, yet thin­king that she was truly was­ting her ti­me.

He had his mind se­tas did she!

She wo­uld se­arch for her true he­ri­ta­ge, no mat­ter what Kirk sa­id. She was dri­ven to find the an­s­wers now that she had the op­por­tu­nity!

"I wo­uld ho­pe that I wo­uld be gra­te­ful for the li­fe that had be­en han­ded me," Kirk sa­id bit­terly. He ro­se from the so­fa and be­gan pa­cing back and forth in front of the fi­rep­la­ce, his hands clas­ped tightly be­hind him.

Jolena mo­ved slowly to her fe­et. She pla­ced a hand to Kirk's arm and stop­ped him. She ga­zed in­to his eyes with a ple­ading in hers. "Kirk, no one co­uld ever be as gra­te­ful as I am for what my whi­te fat­her and mot­her



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