Chris.
He was anxious to get back to the young’un, especially after the way he’d left things. He wouldn’t blame the kid if he hated him right now. He knew he deserved it. Seeing Chris there at the top of the stairs looking as surprised as a hound dog with his first porcupine, however, had just about put the fear of God into James. He hadn’t seen any blood to speak of, but he had been afraid that McClary’s stray shot had somehow struck Chris. And the thought of the boy injured or dead just made him feel plain empty inside.
Wasn’t it too damn soon to be feeling so attached to someone, especially someone he had no hopes of really being with? Well, there was no help for it, no accounting for feelings, either, and he surely felt something for that boy, something he couldn’t even put a name to yet.
James told himself that Chris would be safe enough at Nellie’s until he got back, knew that Nellie and Sarah and the rest of the girls would take care of him if he’d bothered to hang around after James’
departure. If not, James would just put his skills to use and track him 52
Gigi Moore
down. Not that he’d have to do too much work. Didn’t take a genius to guess where the kid would go. He frowned at the thought of Troy and Chris together and the idea of the other man benefitting from James’ bad behavior. He was jealous at the thought of anyone touching Chris except him, then deliberated on the situation some more. If Chris had to be with another man, James couldn’t think of a better choice than Troy. In fact, the idea of the three of them together was powerful appealing. James’ britches got might snug between the legs at the idea, and his critter grew by painful leaps and bounds.
He envisioned Troy and his intense silver-gray eyes, the exotic shape and color reminding him of something else.
James intensified his gaze and took in the wolf staring at him as if he knew what James thought. Maybe he did and had been sent to James as a sign.
The thought should have spooked him more than it intrigued him, and he probably owed this to his spending so much time among the Indians.
Most tribes were powerful spiritual and believed that if man put his ear to the ground, he could hear Mother Earth’s heartbeat. Animal totems in particular were acutely aware of this heartbeat and, in fact, were said to walk in time with the beat of the Earth’s heart.
The more James thought about the wolf and some of the things its totem symbolized—cunning, high intellect, and loyalty among them—the more he began to believe that this wolf had been sent to him as some kind of message.
White men would have called his thoughts just plain superstitious, but he knew the Choctaw he had come to think of as his family and many other tribes would not.
James reached for the leather strap around his neck, caressing the small wood carving that hung from it. The carving portrayed a wolf with head tilted back like his new friend’s had been, as if howling at the moon. The carving had been given to him by Miakoda, the tribal healer of the clan James had been living with at the time. A hoobuk Three Men and a Bounty
53
and kindred spirit, he had given James the tribal name Nayati—he who wrestles.
At the time, James hadn’t understood the significance of the title.
Since he’d left his adoptive family and rejoined civilization, daily straddling the lines between Indian, black, and white cultures and customs, however, he’d begun to understand the meaning of his tribal name more and more. He wrestled with the repercussions of his race and his proclivities every day.
The wolf howled, seizing James’ attention as if he sensed him drifting too far into his past and wanted to prevent him from wallowing in self-pity.
James’ breath hitched in his chest when he noticed the animal’s proximity, how close the animal had managed to come to him without making a sound. Then he saw the animal’s furry tail eagerly wagging behind him, as
He was anxious to get back to the young’un, especially after the way he’d left things. He wouldn’t blame the kid if he hated him right now. He knew he deserved it. Seeing Chris there at the top of the stairs looking as surprised as a hound dog with his first porcupine, however, had just about put the fear of God into James. He hadn’t seen any blood to speak of, but he had been afraid that McClary’s stray shot had somehow struck Chris. And the thought of the boy injured or dead just made him feel plain empty inside.
Wasn’t it too damn soon to be feeling so attached to someone, especially someone he had no hopes of really being with? Well, there was no help for it, no accounting for feelings, either, and he surely felt something for that boy, something he couldn’t even put a name to yet.
James told himself that Chris would be safe enough at Nellie’s until he got back, knew that Nellie and Sarah and the rest of the girls would take care of him if he’d bothered to hang around after James’
departure. If not, James would just put his skills to use and track him 52
Gigi Moore
down. Not that he’d have to do too much work. Didn’t take a genius to guess where the kid would go. He frowned at the thought of Troy and Chris together and the idea of the other man benefitting from James’ bad behavior. He was jealous at the thought of anyone touching Chris except him, then deliberated on the situation some more. If Chris had to be with another man, James couldn’t think of a better choice than Troy. In fact, the idea of the three of them together was powerful appealing. James’ britches got might snug between the legs at the idea, and his critter grew by painful leaps and bounds.
He envisioned Troy and his intense silver-gray eyes, the exotic shape and color reminding him of something else.
James intensified his gaze and took in the wolf staring at him as if he knew what James thought. Maybe he did and had been sent to James as a sign.
The thought should have spooked him more than it intrigued him, and he probably owed this to his spending so much time among the Indians.
Most tribes were powerful spiritual and believed that if man put his ear to the ground, he could hear Mother Earth’s heartbeat. Animal totems in particular were acutely aware of this heartbeat and, in fact, were said to walk in time with the beat of the Earth’s heart.
The more James thought about the wolf and some of the things its totem symbolized—cunning, high intellect, and loyalty among them—the more he began to believe that this wolf had been sent to him as some kind of message.
White men would have called his thoughts just plain superstitious, but he knew the Choctaw he had come to think of as his family and many other tribes would not.
James reached for the leather strap around his neck, caressing the small wood carving that hung from it. The carving portrayed a wolf with head tilted back like his new friend’s had been, as if howling at the moon. The carving had been given to him by Miakoda, the tribal healer of the clan James had been living with at the time. A hoobuk Three Men and a Bounty
53
and kindred spirit, he had given James the tribal name Nayati—he who wrestles.
At the time, James hadn’t understood the significance of the title.
Since he’d left his adoptive family and rejoined civilization, daily straddling the lines between Indian, black, and white cultures and customs, however, he’d begun to understand the meaning of his tribal name more and more. He wrestled with the repercussions of his race and his proclivities every day.
The wolf howled, seizing James’ attention as if he sensed him drifting too far into his past and wanted to prevent him from wallowing in self-pity.
James’ breath hitched in his chest when he noticed the animal’s proximity, how close the animal had managed to come to him without making a sound. Then he saw the animal’s furry tail eagerly wagging behind him, as
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