Standing Bear's Surrender Read online

  Sarah deserved more. She deserved a man who could savor her in every conceivable way, no holds barred.

  Jim became aware of the clock ticking off the minutes, of Sarah’s father who lay sleeping nearby, of the wheelchair that bound him as surely as chains.

  Who did he think he was fooling? Sarah was kissing him out of gratitude. Nothing more.

  He didn’t need her charity. If she came to him…when she came to him, it would be with desire and need and the absolute certainty that Jim Standing Bear was whole.

  Sarah felt the change in Jim immediately. He simply shut down. One minute he was kissing her as if he’d invented it specifically for her, and the next he was as remote as Mount Everest.

  And just as unattainable.

  She could die. That was all. If a big hole would open up in the middle of the room, she’d jump right in and pull it in behind her.

  He must think her a depraved fool, coming to his door in her nightgown, practically drooling all over him at the sight of his bare chest, wallowing in his lap like a wanton.

  And with her father sleeping on the couch, for Pete’s sake. Lord, if Jim hadn’t gone cold all of a sudden, what would she have done?

  Made love to him right there in plain view of God and her own father. That’s what she would have done. The Bear did that to her—made her forget propriety, made her forget common sense, made her forget everything except the magnificent fallen warrior who could turn her to a quivering mass of hormones. Pheromones, too, she guessed.

  He ended the kiss, ended her fantasies, ended her life, it seemed. She was still pressed up against him in a manner worthy of the floozies she’d seen on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter. She could feel the beat of his heart. Her only consolation was that it was thundering as hard as hers.

  Runaway hearts. What was that a sign of? Excitement? Passion? Fear? Embarrassment?

  That had to be it. He was as embarrassed as she.

  “Jim.”

  That’s all she could say, for her heart was too full to speak.

  “Sarah.”

  If eyes could talk his would be speaking volumes. She saw pain there. And confusion.

  She climbed out of his lap and smoothed her gown, then her hair.

  “You must think I’m awful,” she whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “It was my fault. I apologize, Sarah.”

  Oh, God, he was apologizing for kissing her. She died all over again.

  “It won’t happen again,” he said. “I promise you.”

  That was even worse. Here she was wishing he would kiss her again. Immediately. And hard. And he was making promises that sliced her heart like knives.

  “Well, of course not,” she said. “Sometimes people do rash things when they are upset. And I was upset.”

  He reached toward her, then quickly withdrew his hand and backed away, putting the distance of the room between them.

  “Are you okay now, Sarah?”

  “Yes. I’m perfectly all right.”

  It was an outright lie. How could a woman like her be okay when a man like Jim Standing Bear walked out of her life? Figuratively, of course, for the Bear couldn’t walk at all.

  Suddenly Sarah saw the problem clearly. It was the wheelchair that stood between them. She wanted to race across the room and beat her hands on his gorgeous chest. She wanted to scream, “Don’t you know it doesn’t matter?”

  Instead she kept her distance, and he kept his dignity. She owed him that.

  “Thank you, Jim. For everything.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  So formal. So polite. As if they were complete strangers.

  “I’ll just wake Dad up and we’ll be leaving.”

  “There’s no need to do that. This house is huge. You can stay here the rest of the night.”

  “We’ve imposed on you enough.”

  “You don’t need to be out there in the middle of the night with Dr. Sloan. You should stay.”

  “I’ll just put his shoes on, and we’ll go.”

  She knelt beside the sofa to retrieve the shoes she’d brought over, and suddenly Jim was beside her, his hand on her arm. His touch sent shock waves all the way to her toes.

  “Stay, Sarah. I insist.”

  “All right, then. We’ll stay. It’s probably best for Dad.”

  Selfishness made her say yes. And then to compound her crime, she used her father as an excuse. But with the touch of Jim’s hand on her arm and the feel of his kiss still on her lips, how could she have said no?

  Besides, this would be her once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to sleep in Jim Standing Bear’s house. Perhaps in a bed where he had slept. Maybe even using the same covers. She liked to think so. She liked to imagine that a quilt that had lain intimately against the Bear’s skin would caress her own. Even for a little while.

  “Anyhow,” she said, “it’ll be dawn before we know it. I’ll just cuddle up in that comfortable-looking chair by the fireplace and we’ll be gone before you wake up in the morning.”

  “No.” His face was so fierce Sarah cringed. “With dead bolts on every door, your father is perfectly safe here in the den. Most of the bedrooms are upstairs, but there’s one downstairs if that makes you more comfortable.”

  “Downstairs will be fine.”

  His hand was still on her arm. His eyes were still searching her face.

  “Sarah…”

  The long silence was heavy with things they couldn’t say. But, oh, there was so much in a look.

  Finally Jim released her, and she knew that long after she went to bed she would ponder this moment.

  “I can stay down here and keep watch if that will make you feel better about your father.”

  “No.”

  Her eyes slid to his wheelchair. She knew the minute they did that it was a mistake. The cold formality came over him once more. She tried to correct her error.

  “You said the house is secure, so I won’t worry. Honestly, I won’t.”

  “That’s it, then. The bedroom is down the hall to the right. You’ll find everything you need in the closet.”

  Abruptly he left the room, pausing only long enough in the doorway for a curt good night.

  “Good night,” she whispered. “Sweet dreams, my wounded warrior.”

  But there was no one to hear.

  Chapter Five

  Jim knew he wouldn’t sleep. He didn’t even try. Instead he sat upstairs in his bedroom listening to the sounds a house makes at night and waiting for the sunrise.

  As soon as the first light hit his window, he put on a clean shirt and went downstairs. Dr. Eric Sloan was still asleep on the sofa. That meant Sarah was still there. In Jim’s house. In his bed. Sleeping under the blanket his grandmother had woven, the symbol of Earth Mother resting across her breasts and the symbol of Father Sky spreading his fertility upon her womb.

  The image stayed with him in the kitchen while he made coffee. If he couldn’t have her, at least he could have the vision.

  At least he could have a memory of her sitting across from him at the kitchen table with the early morning sun in her hair. Jim poured himself a cup of coffee, then set about making breakfast.

  “I smell bacon.”

  Dr. Sloan stood in the doorway, his pajama top askew, his hat perched on his head.

  “Good morning,” Jim said, and then he reintroduced himself in case the doctor didn’t remember.

  “I know who you are, young man. The question is, do you know how to cook? The bacon’s burning.”

  With that Dr. Sloan went to the stove and picked up the long-handled fork. Jim was scared he would set the house on fire.

  “Here, let me do that.”

  “Stand back, young man. I’ve been cooking for thirty-something years. Why, when Sarah was a baby…”

  A frightened look came into the old man’s eyes, and he sat heavily on a nearby stool.

  “Where am I?”

  “In Pensacola at the home of your
next-door neighbor.” Jim introduced himself once more, including his naval rank. “You and Sarah were my guests for the evening.”

  “Where’s Sarah?”

  “Still asleep, I believe. In the bedroom next to the den where you slept.”

  “I see.” A look of unutterable sadness came into Dr. Sloan’s face.

  “What I hate most about this disease is what it does to my daughters, especially Sarah. She’s a caretaker, you know. She’s always been that way. Even when she was a child.”

  His eyes misted over.

  “She makes sacrifices,” he added. “Too many sacrifices.”

  Dr. Sloan looked at Jim with such intense scrutiny he felt as if he were under a microscope.

  “What is Sarah to you?”

  “A neighbor, a friend, and a very attractive woman.”

  “You’ll have to forgive my bluntness, Lieutenant Commander. These moments of lucidity come so infrequently I have to say all the important things while I can. I don’t want Sarah to be hurt.”

  “I won’t hurt her, Dr. Sloan,” Jim answered. “I can promise you that. And I can also promise you that she will never sacrifice herself for me.”

  “You said you were her friend.”

  “That’s true.”

  “If she needs you, will you be there for her? I’m not talking about all these modern-day catch phrases like emotional support. I’m talking about real ways.”

  “You have my word.”

  “You strike me as the kind of man who doesn’t give his word lightly.”

  “No, sir.”

  Dr. Sloan’s eyes twinkled as he clasped Jim’s shoulder. “I think the two of us are going to get along fine, even when I’m Fred Astaire.”

  Sarah didn’t mean to be eavesdropping, but she had been on her way to the kitchen and had arrived in time to hear her father coercing Jim Standing Bear into being her friend.

  She had to let him off the hook.

  “You two have the guilty look of plotters.”

  Jim looked chagrined and her father laughed. Sarah moved into the kitchen.

  “Don’t mind a word he says, Jim. He’s being the overprotective father. As usual.” She leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek. “Morning, Dad. Glad you’re back.”

  “Me, too.”

  To Jim she said, “I found this robe in the closet. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. It looks better on you than on me.”

  So, it was his robe, after all. Sarah had thought so. She’d hoped so.

  She belted the robe tighter and unconsciously snuggled closer. It was almost like being hugged. The scent of him lingered in the terry-cloth folds, something woodsy and fresh. She hoped his scent soaked into her skin and stayed there for days. Weeks. Months.

  Forever.

  “Coffee?”

  Jim’s eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept a wink. Still, there was a fire in their depths that held her captive. She couldn’t have looked away if her life had depended on it.

  “Yes, please.”

  His hand touched hers, lingered there, struck an answering fire in her blood. Sarah came gloriously, wondrously alive, and for a moment she saw herself as beautiful, desirable, a woman to be reckoned with.

  “We’re making breakfast. I hope you can stay.”

  Jim withdrew to the stove. Deprived of his touch and the flame in his eyes, she reverted to plain Sarah with sleep-puffed eyes and straight unimaginative hair and the face that would never launch a thousand rubber duckies, let alone a thousand ships.

  “Yes, thank you. We’ll stay.”

  Selfish witch that she was, she would do anything to prolong contact with him.

  Breakfast turned out to be not only stimulating but fun. With Jim sitting across the table from her, she could ogle all she pleased without being obvious.

  Fortunately, her father stayed with them through the meal. Always a great raconteur, Dr. Sloan carried the conversation, regaling Jim with tales from the years spent in Mexico.

  Was it her imagination, or did Jim perk up every time her father mentioned her name? Sarah was sorry to see the meal come to an end.

  “We have to be going, Dad.”

  She started to remove Jim’s robe. He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

  “No. Keep it. You’ll need it walking home.”

  “Thank you, Jim. For everything.”

  Would he catch her double meaning? Would he understand she was talking about the kiss?

  If he did, he didn’t let on.

  “I’ll be seeing you, Sarah,” he said, and then he escorted them to the door.

  Back at home in her bedroom, Sarah pressed her face into his bathrobe and cried.

  Jim didn’t know which was worse: the torture of not having Sarah in his house, or the torture of seeing the jets. F/A-18 Hornets. The Blue Angels. Flying fast and high. Thrilling the crowd. Owning the skies.

  He closed all the curtains then went to his exercise room and turned the radio up loud.

  Then he took up the challenge of the parallel bars. He knew the routine: Drag himself upright. Fall. Pull up again. Tumble. Up and down. Again and again, until sweat beaded his upper body and fatigue trembled his lower. Until walking seemed an illusion, and dancing an impossible dream.

  Mac Thompson, the principal of Southside Academy, was a seasoned, no-nonsense educator who cared deeply for two things—the students in his school and the teachers who worked with them. He looked over the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses at Sarah.

  “The first thing I want you to know, Miss Sloan, is that Southside Academy is the stepchild of the school district. Our budget barely covers the basics. The school board thinks it best to spend money on the children that matter, and to them, the kids at Southside don’t matter. In the opinion of our esteemed board, these kids have already fallen through the cracks.”

  “They matter to me, Dr. Thompson.”

  “Good.” He smiled for the first time since she’d entered his office.

  “Miss Sloan, this is not going to be easy.”

  “I understand, Dr. Thompson. As you know from my resume, I’ve had experience with children like these.”

  “The class you’re going into is all boys—adolescent boys, full of hormones and trouble. Here’s the class roster.”

  He passed a file folder to her. “Take a look. Mohammed and Jared and Thomas are in drug rehab. Sampson already has a police record. Archie tried to stab his father. The other five are the best of the lot, and not a one of them can read above a third-grade level.”

  Behind Mac Thompson’s glasses gleamed the eyes of a crusader. “Grace Barnes couldn’t handle them. Do you think you can?”

  Sarah’s chin came up a notch. “I know I can.”

  “Good.” Mac Thompson stood up. “Follow me. I’ll lead you to the lion’s den.”

  Mac Thompson’s description of Sarah’s new classroom was accurate. As soon as the principal disappeared her lions bared their teeth. They lobbed her with spitballs, they minced around her making lewd remarks, they threw chalk, they refused to open books.

  Sarah was not daunted. She faced them, smiling.

  “I am not Grace Barnes,” she said. “I won’t leave.”

  “You sure ain’t. You got a great a—”

  “Archie.” Sarah’s voice cut through his like a whip. She went to his desk and stood face to face with the offender. Actually face to chest was more like it. Archie towered over her.

  “Come with me,” she said.

  “I ain’t going to no principal’s office.”

  “No, you’re not,” she said gently. “We’re going up front to read.”

  The rest of the class burst out laughing. Sarah smiled sweetly at them.

  “And so are the rest of you. Follow me, gentlemen.”

  “Miss Sloan, you must be in the wrong classroom,” the one called Sampson said. “There ain’t no gentlemen here.”

  “No,” she smiled at them. “I’m in exactly the
right place. And before the school year is over, there will be gentlemen here.”

  “How did it go?” Julie asked when Sarah got home.

  “They declared war, and I’m fighting back.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “No, it’s wonderful. Apathy would be awful. They want somebody to look at them, somebody to care.” Sarah hung her sweater in the closet. “How’s the new sitter?”

  “She seems nice enough, but…” Julie’s voice trailed off.

  “But what?”

  “There’s nothing I can put my finger on, but she seems so bland. And Dad seems depressed. He kept asking, ‘Where’s Ginger?’ God, how do you endure it, Sarah?”

  “Don’t make me a saint, Julie. I’m not.”

  “But you’re so…together. You always have been. I’ve envied that, you know.”

  Julie had it all—husband, children, friends, beauty, personality. Her admission shocked Sarah to the core. If anybody had reason to envy, it was she.

  Sarah put her arms around her sister. “Go home, Julie. Your children need you.”

  “I’ll come back tomorrow, just to be sure about that sitter.”

  “Fine, See you then.”

  After Julie left, Sarah glanced up the stairs. She should check on her dad. She should let him know that Ginger was here. She should see for herself how the sitter was doing.

  And she would. But first she had to replenish her soul, buoy her spirit.

  She went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of hot tea, then carried it up to her private suite. The yellow room always looked as if it were smiling, especially when it was filled with sunlight. The late afternoon sun danced off the walls and fell across the robe that lay on Sarah’s bed.

  Jim’s robe. Setting her tea on the bedside table, she stretched across the bed and buried her face in the robe, inhaling his scent. Memories swamped her, and Sarah closed her eyes.

  The Bear had kissed her as no man ever had. He had kissed her in the way of a man who loves a woman.

  She knew she was being a foolish romantic. She knew she was clinging to impossible dreams. Still, without dreams the spirit would die. She knew that.

  Suddenly, Sarah sat bolt upright.