CHEROKEE STRANGER Page 11

  "I think we should make them beat corn into meal," Diane suggested.

  "Told ya." Ned switched places with his wife, putting his arms around her waist, cradling their unborn child. "Women's lib."

  James watched the other couple, envying the simplicity of their lifestyle, the easy, everyday happiness they were destined to share.

  Emily interrupted his thoughts. "So am I?"

  "You don't like being a sifter?" He reached out to grab her, to make her squeal. "Would you rather be bread? There's another Cherokee baby-gender saying that asks, 'Is it ballsticks or bread?'"

  She raised her eyebrows. "Ballsticks?"

  "Like the game. Stickball." He laughed and hugged her. "At least that's what I think it means."

  "You think?" She gave him a quick, lust-driven kiss and made his pulse race.

  "None of that," Diane chided. "We've still got a party going on."

  "Speaking of which." Emily dragged James toward the house. "It's time to play matchmaker."

  He winced, realizing she hadn't given up on the Harvey/Lily Mae scheme. "Where are they?"

  "In the basement. At opposite ends of the room, watching other people dance." She led him through a crowded kitchen and down the basement steps, where country music played on a state-of-the-art sound system.

  "See?" Emily guided him to a buffet laden with finger foods. "Harvey's over there. And Lily Mae's sorting through Ned's CD collection. I'll bet she's just dying to dance. Go tell Harvey to ask her."

  "Me?" James grabbed a stalk of celery filled with cream cheese. "Why don't you tell him?"

  "Because you're a man, and you should say something about how pretty she looks."

  "She's my boss." He glanced at Lily Mae with her gray-streaked hair and sun-baked skin. "My sixty-eight-year-old boss."

  "She's still pretty." Emily snagged the celery out of his hand before he could take a bite.

  "All right. Fine." At this point, he didn't have the heart to deny the birthday girl her wish. "But don't blame me if this doesn't work."

  "It will." Confident, she gave him a sweet little push.

  James walked around the swaying couples. He supposed the music was romantic enough for a matchmaking scheme, but he wasn't sure if Harvey Osborn would agree. The retired postal worker stood with his arms crossed. As usual, he wore a pair of suspenders and baggy pants.

  "Hey, Harvey," James said. "Do you like the music?"

  "I've always enjoyed country. What about you?"

  "I like all sorts of music." James glanced at Emily and saw her watching him from the buffet table, eating his celery stick. "Lily Mae certainly looks nice this evening."

  Harvey shot his gaze across the room. "She's always been a mite skinny for my tastes."

  "Really? I saw pictures of her when she was young. She looked pretty good to me." The old man narrowed his eyes, and James realized he'd hit a jealous streak. "Damn good, in fact."

  Harvey made an indignant sound. "She's a nut-case, that one. Crazy as a loon."

  James decided to pull out all the stops, to use his cheating, criminal charm. "I'll bet you could tame her. A practical man like you is what a woman like Lily Mae needs."

  Suddenly the retired postal worker stood a little taller. "I suppose I could. If I wanted to."

  "She talks about you all the time."

  "Does she?" Harvey nearly snapped his suspenders. "And what does she say?"

  That you're on old goat, James thought, biting back a smile. "This and that. You know Lily Mae. She tends to babble."

  "That she does."

  "You should ask her to dance."

  Harvey's head whipped around. "Now? In front of all these people?"

  "I'll bet you're a good dancer."

  "I certainly was in my day."

  "Then there you go." When Lily Mae turned around, James used her eye contact as leverage. "She can't quit looking at you, Harvey. It's pathetic."

  "I suppose I could give the old bird a thrill." As Harvey shuffled across the room to approach Lily Mae, James shifted to grin at Emily. She saluted him with a finger sandwich and he imagined kissing her breathless.

  A few seconds later, they sat on a sofa in the basement and watched Harvey and Lily Mae dance.

  "It's a damn good thing she didn't turn him down," James said.

  "She wouldn't dare." Emily fed him a grape from her plate. "Not after the spiel I gave her earlier."

  He swallowed the grape and reached for an olive. "What spiel?"

  "I told her that Harvey has been trying to work up the nerve to ask her to dance all night. And that you were going to give him a confidence booster."

  "You little devil. You conned her. And me."

  "Did I?" She batted her lashes and made him laugh.

  He gazed at the older couple again. "I'll bet they're going to be bickering by the time the party ends."

  "Maybe." She put her head on his shoulder. "But at least now they have a chance."

  Do we have a chance? he wondered. Or would Reed destroy their future? "Here." He reached into his jacket pocket to hand her a small, gift-wrapped box.

  Like a wide-eyed child, she tore into it, discovering a gold locket he'd purchased at an antique store.

  "There's a message inside," he told her. She opened the locket and gazed at the words he'd written on a small scrap of paper. Then she read them out loud. "You will be unable to glance away. Your thought is not to wander… I have just come to draw away your soul."

  "It's part of a Cherokee incantation." He touched her cheek, absorbing the warmth of her skin. "A spell of attraction. I think about it whenever you look at me. Whenever we look at each other."

  Her eyes filled with tears. "I love you, James Dalton."

  "I love you, too," he said, knowing that tomorrow he would have to tell her the truth – that his name wasn't really James Dalton.

  *

  Emily awakened the next morning to find James watching her. Fighting grogginess, she stretched and blinked, then noticed how intense he looked.

  When didn't he look intense? she asked herself.

  He reached for her hair, smoothing several stray pieces away from her face. "Hey, sleepyhead."

  She glanced at the clock and smiled, grateful he'd touched her. "It's still early." And they had hours to relax, to lounge in bed. She knew Corey would sleep in. He'd stayed up late last night, running around the party with Steven, having the time of his life. "How about some coffee? And maybe some toast and jam?"

  "If you're hungry."

  "I am, but I'd like to eat in bed."

  "I can fix it," he offered.

  Emily grabbed her robe and slipped it over her nightgown. "That's okay. I need to get back into the swing of being a waitress." She gave him a quick kiss and headed to the kitchen.

  Enjoying her task, she started a pot of coffee and set a loaf of white bread on the counter. She knew James liked his coffee dark and his toast light and golden.

  Maybe she should scramble some eggs, too. And pan-fry several slices of ham. Bustling around the kitchen, she cooked breakfast and prepared a festive-looking tray, garnishing their plates with sprigs of parsley and carefully sliced orange wedges.

  Finally, she carried their meal into the bedroom and placed it on the dresser.

  "That looks good," James said. "More than I expected."

  "I was in the mood to fuss." And she adored this domestic feeling, the cozy comfort of sharing her room with James, of seeing him in his boxers every morning.

  She handed him his coffee and he took a small sip and set it on the nightstand on his side of the bed. Balancing his plate on his lap, he reached for a napkin and a fork. Emily began to eat, as well. After she devoured her ham and started on her eggs, she noticed her appetite was much stronger than his. But breakfast had been her idea.

  Lost in thought, she fingered the locket James had given her. The words from the Cherokee incantation were secured inside it, where they would remain. Next to her heart, she thought. Emily inten
ded to wear the necklace every day.

  Dreamy, she picked up her toast and took a bite. Then she turned and saw James gazing at her with that intense expression.

  "We need to talk," he said.

  "About what?"

  He set his plate aside. "Us. Me. Our future."

  She looked directly into his eyes, and when he glanced away, she knew something was terribly wrong. He wasn't supposed to avoid her gaze. He wasn't supposed to break the spell.

  "I'm sorry, Emily."

  "For what?" Fearful, she clutched the locket. Had he changed his mind? Had he decided that loving her was too complicated? That their relationship was too committed?

  "I'm sorry for everything."

  "Don't do this, James."

  He released an audible breath. "First of all, my name isn't James Dalton and I wasn't born on November fifth. My real name is Reed Blackwood, and I was born on September second." He reached for his coffee and wrapped his hands around the mug. "I'm an ex-con. A high-dollar thief and an electronics expert." He took a sip and swallowed hard. "I'm also a former member of the West Coast Family, a Los Angeles – based mob."

  Confused, she merely stared at him. "Is this some sort of joke? An after-birthday gag?"

  "I wish it were."

  Refusing to believe him, she reached across the bed and grabbed his wallet from the nightstand. She'd never looked through his personal belongings before, never seen his license, his social security number. "James Dalton," she read the name on each item, then tossed them onto the sheet. "Are these fake? Is all of this a lie?"

  "The government gave me that identity. I'm—"

  "What? Some sort of spy? First you're a crook and now you're—"

  "I'm in the Witness Protection Program, Emily. And I'm not even supposed to be telling you this"

  Panic gripped her hard and fast. "You testified against someone?"

  He nodded.

  "Who? The L.A. mob? There's no such thing. There can't be."

  "There is. And if they find me, they'll kill me."

  "And you're here? In my home? With my brother?" Tears filled her eyes. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't keep her pulse from pounding in her head. "Is Corey in danger? Would they kidnap him to get to you?" Without waiting for an answer, she tore off, rushing to her brother's room.

  When she opened the door, she saw Corey sleeping soundly in his bed, his fingers curled around the blanket. In the next instant, she heard James come up behind her.

  "They won't hurt Corey," he said. "And they won't hurt you."

  She closed her brother's door and turned to meet James's gaze. This time, he didn't glance away.

  "But they'll keep searching for you?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "To kill you?"

  "Yes," he said again, leaving her knees and her heart much too weak.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  «^»

  Emily moved away from Corey's door, and James realized she was concerned the boy would awaken, that he would overhear their conversation.

  "I need to sit down." She returned to her room, and James followed, wondering what in God's name to say next. He could see that he'd frightened her.

  And rightly so. Who wouldn't be afraid? She sat on the edge of the bed and twisted the belt on her robe. James glanced at her half-eaten breakfast. She'd nearly dumped her plate when she'd dashed out of the room to check on her brother.

  "The mobsters who are after me don't prey on innocent people," he said. "If they did, I would have never gotten involved with you. I would never put you or Corey in danger."

  "But what about you? I don't want you to die, James."

  "WITSEC promised to protect me."

  "WITSEC?"

  "Witness Protection, Witness Security, it's the same thing. But you can't repeat any of this. Not to anyone. Not even Diane."

  Tears welled in her eyes. "I won't. I swear, I won't. I would never jeopardize your safety."

  A stretch of silence spanned between them, and James wondered where to begin. Uneasy, he remained standing, his thoughts spinning like a spider weaving a complicated web. "I'm not from Oklahoma. I was born in Austin, Texas, and when I was twelve, my family moved to a small town in the Texas Hill Country."

  "Is anything you told me about your family true?"

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. "The part about my stepdad beating me is true."

  "And your mother?"

  "That was true, too. But I have a half sister I never told you about. Her name is Heather, but she's white so we don't look anything alike." He paused to clear his throat. "She's the only person who ever loved me. Besides my wife." He paused again. "And you."

  Emily lifted her gaze. "Your wife is real?"

  "Yes."

  "And her cancer was real?"

  "Yes." And so was her grave, he thought. The resting place he'd never been allowed to visit. "My wife's name was Beverly Halloway. And her father is head of the West Coast Family. Or he was, before he went to prison. His sons took over. But they want me dead, too."

  Her face went pale. "Your wife's family runs the mob that's trying to kill you?"

  James blew a tight breath. "They never wanted me to be with her in the first place."

  "Yet you were part of their organization."

  "I botched some orders I was given and they stopped trusting me." What would Emily say when she discovered he was more than a thief? That he'd been part of a murder scheme that had gone awry? "There was no way they were going to let me marry the boss's daughter. I was warned to stay away from her."

  She stopped fidgeting with her robe, and he walked around to the other side of the bed, picked up his cup and took a sip. When the coffee hit his stomach in an acidic bum, he set it back down. "Beverly and I were planning to elope, but her family got to me first. They sent a couple of guys over to my place to beat the crap out of me."

  She reached for her teddy bear and held it, and the nervous, childlike gesture made him ache.

  "What happened?" she asked.

  "Halloway's goons messed me up pretty bad. I was unconscious for a while, then Beverly found me. She and my sister got me out of town. They nursed my wounds, and the three of us ended up on the run."

  She hugged the bear a little closer. "For how long?"

  "A year and a half. The mob sent a hit man after us. His job was to kill me and take Beverly back to her father."

  "What about your sister?"

  "Heather couldn't go home, not without the mob tracing her whereabouts back to me. So she stayed with us." Running, he thought. Moving from state to state, living like a fugitive. "Beverly got sick when we were on the run. Everything changed after we found out she had cancer. We knew it was over."

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  He leaned against the dresser. There was still more, so much more, to say. "I have a child, Emily. Beverly and I had a son."

  For a moment, she simply stared at him. He waited through the silence, waited while his heart banged against his chest.

  Finally, she spoke. "What's his name?"

  "Justin."

  "Where is he?"

  "After we found out that Beverly had cancer, we gave Justin to my sister. We asked her to raise him, to tell everyone that he was hers. It was the only way to keep Beverly's family from knowing his true parentage. We didn't want the Halloways trying to get custody of him."

  "I don't understand." She set the teddy bear on the bed. "I thought your sister was white. How could she pass off your son as hers?"

  "Heather had an Indian lover, and she was pregnant by him. She was only a few months along when she got tangled up in my mess." Memories clouded his mind, taking him back in time. "I was on the run with two pregnant women. But the mob didn't know." The memories got thicker, darker, more painful as he went on. "Justin was born first. A week later, Heather had a son. But he was stillborn. The umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck. He was just this little thing, all scrawny and blue. He was
n't breathing. I couldn't get him to breathe."

  Emily's voice broke. "Oh, James."

  "We were still hiding out from the mob, holed up in this tiny cabin in Oklahoma, and that's where both babies were born. We were too afraid to go to a hospital, to risk getting caught. But we should have."

  "It's over now. You can't go back."

  "I know." He'd mourned his sister's child. He'd cried and prayed and buried the infant in a makeshift coffin, sprinkling the unmarked grave with sage.

  "How did all of this end?" she asked.

  "I knew the mob would never quit looking for me, so I kept running. Since Beverly was too sick to stay on the road, Heather took her back to her father. Halloway had the money to get her the medical treatment she needed, to hire a private nurse, to make her death less painful." James glanced at the window, at the summer sun drifting into the room. "By then, Justin was already ten months old, and Heather had agreed to be his mother. After she took Beverly home, she went back to her lover in Texas and asked him to raise my son. To pretend Justin was his."

  "And he agreed?"

  "Yes. Heather's lover was my friend."

  "The Cherokee boy you mentioned from your youth?"

  James nodded. "We were like brothers once. He'll be good to my son."

  "So Justin will never know that you're his father?"

  "No. But that was my choice. My way of giving him a normal life, of keeping the Halloways away from him."

  "How did you get into the Witness Protection Program, James? How did you escape the mob?"

  "While I was still on the run, the FBI got in touch with my sister, and she made contact with me. The feds said they might be able to cut me a deal, to hook me up with WITSEC. Of course, that meant testifying against Beverly's dad and some of his crew. But at that point, Beverly was already dead. I knew it wouldn't affect her."

  "You did the right thing. The Halloways sound like awful people."

  "I was an awful person, too."

  She shook her head. "Not like them."

  "How would you know?"

  "Because they hire hit men to kill people. You were a thief, but you're not a murderer. You would never do that. You would never take someone else's life."

  She came toward him, and his feet froze to the floor. Suddenly he couldn't tell her. He couldn't admit that he was an accessory to murder. But he hadn't told Beverly, either. His wife had died without knowing the truth.