Standing Bear's Surrender Page 8

  Or into his arms. Definitely into his arms.

  Reason flew straight up to the skies to join the circling seagulls. All Sarah knew was that she couldn’t let go.

  She traced the line of veins that criss-crossed his arch. Then she made a circle of her thumb and fore-finger and took the measure of each toe.

  “Sarah.” He said her name on a groan, a whisper, a sigh.

  She slanted a look at him, and the fire in his eyes dazzled her so that she couldn’t look away. She wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.

  “I didn’t know feet could be so erotic,” she whispered.

  “Nor did I.”

  He was making love to her with his eyes. Even Sarah knew that. Driven by an instinct as old as time, she scooted closer, then cradled his feet on her lap.

  Lightning bolts shot through Jim. He could feel the heat of her through the soles of his feet. The heat of promise.

  The air around them became somnolent and heavy, inducing a dreamlike state where thoughts are as light as butterflies and hearts as pure as angels.

  Sarah closed her eyes and went limp, her head dangling on her slender neck like a flower wilted by too much heat.

  Body heat. It burned through him like comets. Sweat beaded his face and dampened his shirt. He sat mesmerized while Sarah’s hands drifted lightly over his skin.

  Beyond them, near the shoreline a tern called to its mate in plaintive voice and far out over the water a line of brown pelicans floated through the sun-struck sky like tiny boats. Their bit of beach spread with a blanket that harked back to days when buffalo roamed the plains and legends sprang up like flowers, became an island. Jim and Sarah were castaways set adrift in a sea of passion, the only two people in the universe.

  The thing that saved him, the thing that saved them both, was honor. Rusty and tarnished but still usable.

  Sarah deserved more. It was that simple. Jim had nothing to offer. He was out of work, out of luck and out of heart. The only things he had left were honor and pride.

  But how was he to tell a lovely woman with soft lips and gentle hands that he wouldn’t make love to her? If he used the wheelchair as an excuse she might protest that his condition didn’t matter. He would feel pitied, and she would feel cheated.

  He couldn’t tell her that he didn’t want her. That would be a lie, and she would see right through it.

  In battle the wise thing was sometimes not a frontal assault nor even a flanking maneuver, but a diversion.

  Jim searched the horizon, then turned to the sea. And there in silver splendor lay his salvation.

  “The dolphins are playing in the surf.”

  Sarah came slowly out of her sensuous stupor. With eyes too bright she broke contact then scooted away from Jim as if he were suddenly a stranger.

  “I see them.”

  Shading her eyes, she turned a flushed face toward the dolphins.

  Jim’s relief was temporary, then loss settled like a stone over his heart. He put on his socks and shoes while Sarah watched the drama of dolphins unfolding in the sparkling waters.

  When she turned back to him, she was all business. Almost. A rosy blush still spread across her cheekbones, and she had the slightly bedazzled look of a woman who has stayed too long on a carousel.

  “I brought some more information on my students.”

  While he read the statistics she gave a thumbnail sketch of her boys, each one heartbreaking.

  “You still didn’t tell me what I’m supposed to do, Sarah.”

  “All I want from you is your heart and your soul.” Her color deepened, and she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

  “For my boys,” she added.

  Quick, relentless desire overtook him once more, and Jim became reckless.

  “And for yourself, Sarah? Don’t you ever want anything for yourself?”

  “Of course, I have dreams. I’m a real flesh and blood person.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  Jim captured Sarah with a single look, and as he gazed at her he saw the ocean in her eyes, the sun, the entire universe.

  Here is a woman worth knowing. He thought how little he knew about Sarah. He knew small details of her past from the stories her father had told. He knew the kind impulses that sent her straight into the bear’s den with a four-layer chocolate cake. He knew her love for the downtrodden, the underdog.

  And he knew her joy of dancing in the garden in the moonlight.

  “Tell me your dreams, Sarah.”

  “I dream of being the kind of teacher who can turn the lives of my students around.”

  “That’s a worthy goal, but I want to know what you dreamed about as a child.”

  Sarah fiddled with her hair, then leaned over and drew angels in the sand.

  “What did you dream about as a child, Jim?”

  “Flying. Always flying.”

  “You made your dreams come true.” She slanted him a sideways look. “I didn’t. I wanted to be a dancer.”

  “I’ve seen you dance in the garden.”

  She avoided his eyes by turning back to her sand drawings, adding haloes to her angels.

  From years of being there for his brother Ben, Jim understood how sometimes waiting in patience reaps far greater rewards than prodding with questions. And so he turned his face up to the sun and waited.

  Sarah shifted, and he could tell by the way her body tensed that she was getting ready to bare her soul. He made a vow to himself he would always treat it with tender care.

  “Dad and I were living in Boston. I studied dancing with the best teachers in the northeast. I never wanted to be the one on center stage. I knew I didn’t have what it takes to be a prima ballerina.”

  She was quiet for a long time, then she shrugged.

  “As it turns out I didn’t have what it takes to be a dancer, period.” She gave him a bright look, a false smile that he saw as a cover-up. “We keep getting sidetracked. Where were we?”

  “We were discussing what you want from me at Southside.”

  “For one thing, I want you to teach these boys to play basketball. Southside doesn’t have money for a coach, but we have one goal without a net. That’s a good start. And with your expertise, it will be an excellent start.”

  “Don’t you want me to scale Mount Everest while I’m at it?”

  “You went to college on a basketball scholarship. You could have played pro ball if you hadn’t chosen the military.”

  Jim was secretly pleased that Sarah knew the details of his life. Through the years, reporters covering the performances of the Blue Angels had dug up and written about almost every aspect of Jim’s life, including a secondhand account of the way Bethany had jilted him.

  Had Sarah searched the old newspapers before she decided to recruit him, or afterward? He’d like to think it was before. He’d like to believe that from the very beginning Sarah Sloan was as intrigued with him as he had been with her.

  “I see you did your homework.”

  “It wasn’t hard. It’s all there for anybody who cares to find out.”

  Do you care, Sarah? The question was on the tip of Jim’s tongue, but he bit it back.

  “What other Herculean tasks have you planned for me, Sarah?”

  “Just be there for my boys. Okay, Jim? They need a role model, and I think you’re perfect.”

  Jim suddenly felt about ten feet tall, even in his wheelchair.

  They stayed on the beach talking until the sun began its spectacular descent, then they fell silent, awestruck as luminescent waters swallowed the bright golden orb.

  When they reached home, Sarah said, “Thank you, Jim,” then offered her hand. To seal the bargain, he guessed. Only it didn’t turn out that way. He couldn’t let her go. She was soft and trusting and in his eyes, beautiful, and the touch of her hand brought him such pleasure he wanted to sit that way for the rest of the evening. Simply touching her. Merely holding her hand.

  She didn’t pull away, but lingered, an
d her heart was right there in her eyes, shining down at him.

  “Touching you, Sarah, is like touching the stars.”

  Her eyes misted over and she squeezed his hand as if she might never let go. They stayed that way for a small eternity, and then Sarah leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Softly. Tenderly.

  “Bethany was a fool,” she whispered, then hurried from the van as if demons were chasing her.

  Sarah didn’t go directly to her father’s room when she got home, but sat in her garden in the lengthening shadows and replayed the time she’d spent with the Bear. Every beautiful, tender, exquisite moment.

  And she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was falling in love.

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “I must not.”

  Her heart hurt so at the thought that she cried out in pain, for she’d discovered another true thing: impossible love will break the heart in two.

  Sarah left the garden slowly and walked carefully up the stairs, holding on to a heart already cracked beyond repair.

  Her father and his sitter were waiting for her.

  When he got home Jim found the robe she’d borrowed. It had touched Sarah’s body intimately, and her scent was caught in its fiber, mingled with his.

  He slipped it on, letting the soft folds that had caressed her skin touch his. Then he took the elevator to his rooftop and sat with his head tilted back, gazing up at the stars.

  Once he’d owned the heavens. But they were closed to him, now.

  Or were they? When he touched Sarah, he felt as if he touched the stars. And when he’d held her in his arms, hadn’t he held heaven?

  He thought about Sarah and his brother Ben. Both of them wanted him to be a hero. A man who had lost his wings. A man in a wheelchair.

  Jim thought of another man in a wheelchair, the actor whose fall from a horse had made him a quadriplegic, the actor who used his name and his celebrity status to bring a message of hope to others like him. Not only to others like him but to every life he touched.

  Jim left the rooftop, dressed in sweats and went into his exercise room. The parallel bars gleamed at him through the darkness.

  Jim didn’t even turn on the light. His wheelchair whirred as he crossed the room. Grasping the bars he pulled himself upright, then held on for dear life, his arms corded, his breathing ragged.

  His brother’s voice echoed through his mind. “You can do it, Jim. Nothing is keeping you from walking except yourself.”

  Slowly, ever so slowly he let go—and toppled like a redwood tree.

  With his face on the floor, Jim Standing Bear asked the Great Spirit to make him worthy of Sarah’s trust, to make him worthy of being Sioux.

  Chapter Seven

  “I want you to know we’re glad to have you on board at Southside.” Dr. Mac Thompson’s handshake was firm, his expression sincere.

  Jim checked for pity and didn’t see any. He began to relax.

  “Sarah can be very persuasive.”

  “So I see.” Mac Thompson smiled. “Thank you for coming, Jim.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I still have to prove myself to Sarah.”

  Laughing heartily, Mac Thompson directed Jim to her room.

  She was sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by teenage boys nearly twice her size. Even if Jim hadn’t read the file, he would have known immediately that Sarah’s students were not the typical all-American teens. These boys looked as if they’d gone out of their way to defy all norms of dress and social conduct.

  There were two Mohawk haircuts, dyed punk green; one had a shaved head, the baldpate plastered with stick-on tattoos, and three had Afros as big as basketballs. Their dress ranged from Army fatigues with combat boots to jeans so ripped and torn it was hard to see how they managed to stay together. Small gold hoops hung from holes in their ears, their noses, and only God knew what other body parts.

  The only thing these ten boys had in common was the look on their faces—a defiant, watchful look that said, even if you show me I don’t believe a word you’re saying.

  Jim sat in the doorway, watching Sarah unaware. The animation on her face transformed her. And transfixed Jim. Even across the room he could feel the force of her passion.

  Sarah Sloan loved teaching. That much was clear. From his secluded spot in the hallway he witnessed the same intensity he’d felt when he kissed her.

  Watching her, he knew that the real danger in coming to Southside was not in exposing himself to the pity and perhaps the ridicule of strangers, but in exposing himself to the fatal charms of a woman named Sarah Sloan.

  Sarah didn’t know what had alerted her first—a sound, a movement, a heartbeat gone wild. Suddenly the Bear was there in her doorway, and rainbows shed their brilliance on her small world.

  “Come in, Jim. I want you to meet my boys.”

  Jim Standing Bear was a commanding presence, even in his wheelchair. Counting on the element of surprise, she hadn’t given her students any advance warning and it paid off.

  “Students, I want you to meet Lieutenant Commander Jim Standing Bear of the Blue Angels.”

  Her misfit adolescents watched him with equal parts awe and suspicion. Jim sat in his wheelchair enduring their inspection with quiet dignity.

  Sampson was the first to break the silence.

  “Hey, that’s cool man. What kind of plane do you fly?”

  “I used to fly an F/A-18 Hornet.”

  The other boys followed suit, bombarding Jim with questions. All except Archie, her wounded child with his neon-green Mohawk and a father who hated him.

  “Big deal,” he muttered, then withdrew to a sullen silence at the back of the room.

  Sarah didn’t press the matter. Instead she moved to her desk and watched a small miracle unfolding with Jim and her other needy boys.

  From the back of the room came the slap of a basketball against brick. Over and over Archie heaved the ball. Harder and harder until he was having to jump into the air to catch it as it ricocheted off the wall.

  Sarah didn’t intervene. The only damage to the old brick wall would be a few places where the paint had chipped. The damage Archie had suffered was much more severe and wouldn’t be repaired in a day.

  A buzzer sounded for the physical education period.

  “Go on outside, boys. I’ll meet you there shortly.”

  After they had gone, she turned to Jim.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “I think you’re expecting miracles.”

  “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m naive. It would be simple to come here every day and teach these boys reading and math and science, then go home and forget about them. But I want more, Jim. I want to give them hope and dreams. I want to give them a future.”

  “I hope they know how lucky they are.”

  The way Jim was looking at her made Sarah almost forget about ten rowdy and defiant teenagers rampaging over the playground unsupervised.

  “Thank you.”

  She leaned down to hug him and was dangerously close to kissing him when Mohammed burst into the room.

  “Miss Sloan, you gotta come quick. Archie and Jared are fighting and Archie’s got a knife.”

  He’s got a knife. The words ricocheted through Jim like bullets.

  Sarah was headed toward the door, straight into the arms of danger.

  “Sarah, wait,” he called, but it was too late.

  She was already out the door, her footsteps hammering down the hallway.

  “Get Dr. Thompson,” she yelled.

  Jim looked at Mohammed. “Do it,” he commanded, then he was chasing Sarah, silently cursing the damnable slowness of his wheelchair while a thousand nightmares played through his mind.

  Sarah trapped between two angry young men who had learned to fight dirty in mean streets and dark alleys. Sarah with the blade of a knife at her throat. Sarah white and fallen, her neck blooming like a rose.

  Fear turned his blood to ice. His wheelchair bumped over the threshold and
onto the campus. And there was Sarah, standing on the edge of a tight little circle around the fighters—Jared in a boxing stance and Archie with a knife.

  Jim knew he could disarm the boy, even in a wheelchair.

  “Sarah, stand back,” he yelled.

  “Archie, give me the knife.”

  Apparently, she hadn’t heard. Jim worked furiously at the controls of his wheelchair, seeking an added burst of speed that wasn’t there.

  “Back off, teacher,” Archie shouted, glaring at her.

  Fear for her formed a tight knot in Jim’s stomach.

  “Sarah! Do as he says.”

  She swung her head in his direction and he could see the fear and confusion on her face.

  “Do it, Sarah!”

  He followed his order with a look that had caused grown men to cringe. Slowly Sarah swiveled back to the boys, her boys.

  “Archie, please, please think about what you’re doing. Don’t do anything you’re going to regret for the rest of your life.”

  Her plea only exacerbated Archie’s anger.

  “Shut up!” Archie yelled. “Shut the hell up!”

  Jim had seen situations like this before. He’d seen how otherwise sane and sensible men could snap when equal parts rage and fear worked through them.

  The wheelchair moved with glacial slowness. The boys were still squared off, Archie with the knife poised and Jared with sweat pouring down his face.

  The other boys, sensing something too strong, too dangerous to view up close, moved back, further exposing Sarah to Archie’s fury.

  Sometimes a display of superior strength could diffuse the situation.

  “Archie! Drop the knife!” Jim commanded, hoping he was right in this case. Tension was so thick it had a smell.

  “Who are you telling what to do, cripple?”

  “You. Drop the weapon.”

  “Stay back, old man,” Archie shouted, but he was beginning to waver. “You’ll only get in the way.”

  Some of the rage had drained out of him. Jim could tell by the loosening of his body, the slight tremble in his hands.