Chapter Twenty-six
After a restless night spent at war with himself, Sam rose early and went for a ride around the lake. He galloped his horse through the cold morning mists, past towering pines and spruces along the water's edge. Hearing a chorus of ducks, he spied a flock of mallards sailing past on their way south.
His grandmother's words—"Your woman is telling the truth"—reverberated through his brain. It was hard for Sam to admit he might have been wrong about Annie up until now, that her outlandish tales of being from another time could be true.
But, hadn't he known for some time that she was different, honest and genuine, unlike other desperadoes he'd apprehended? Still, he hadn't believed her—it had taken his grandmother's intervention to bring him to his senses. And to think he actually might have taken her to be hanged. The very possibility filled him with self-recrimination.
What were they to do now? He supposed, as his grandmother had advised, they needed to go to Rowdyville to investigate, to get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding the "real" Rotten Rosie. But, crazy though the notion seemed, that might also mean he'd end up taking Annie's great-great-grandmother to justice, and if he did that, Annie might still hate him forever. He seemed damned every way he turned.
And Rosie was only the beginning of their troubles. If Annie truly had come from another time, wouldn't she at some point want to return to her own world? The prospect seemed absurd—but so was her ability to move across time in the first place.
He groaned. All he wanted was to love her, as different as the two of them were, and even though, with the life he had chosen, he could offer no real permanency. But when he looked at the paths confronting them, it seemed that no matter what choices they made, he was destined to lose her.
***
Annie rose, dressed, and went to wash up at the lake. Before returning to camp, she stopped in at the birthing lodge to find mother and daughter blissfully asleep together. The sight of the baby dozing in Sits on a Cloud's arms tugged at Annie's heartstrings, arousing the same maternal instincts she had felt last night. She picked up the water skin and took it back to the lake, filling it with "living" water for Sits on a Cloud to have when she awakened.
After leaving the filled skin inside the new mother's lodge, Annie returned to camp, intending to fetch breakfast for her friend. Walking into the large central area, she gasped as she spotted most every other member of the band, including all of the children, Medicine Woman, and Moon Calf, seated in a large circle, eating breakfast together. All of them paused to stare at Annie.
Self-conscious, she approached Medicine Woman. "Why is everyone together so early?"
The old woman gestured toward a vacant spot beside her. "Please join us, Annie."
She did as bid. A smiling White Owl came forward with a bowl of porridge and a spoon, handing both to Annie; she accepted the food with a nod, but hesitated to eat.
"You must break your fast," directed Medicine Woman.
"Could I take this to Sits on a Cloud instead? She has had no breakfast yet."
The old woman patted Annie's hand. "You are kind, but I think Sits on a Cloud needs much rest. There will be plenty left, and I will see to her needs later."
Annie began eating, feeling even more put on the spot as the others continued watching her. At last she protested to Medicine Woman. "Why is everyone staring at me?"
The old woman laughed. "By now they all know you are Future Woman. They would hear your stories of the world from which you come."
"My, news travels fast, doesn't it?"
"They are quietly waiting because it is considered rude to ask for a guest's story," continued Medicine Woman. "The decision is yours, of course."
Annie glanced about the circle at the many sets of dark eyes watching her with such avid expectation. She set down her empty bowl. "Well, if you put it that way . . . how can I refuse?"
Medicine Woman beamed her happiness, and then snapped her fingers. An adolescent boy came forward with a lit wooden pipe whose bowl had been carved in the shape of a bird. With a smile, the lad handed the pipe to Annie.
Annie glanced askance at Medicine Woman. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"There is a ceremony to storytelling," Medicine Woman explained. "First you must take the pipe and perform nivstanivoo." She took the pipe from Annie and demonstrated, saluting each of the four directions in turn by first tapping the pipe on the ground, then raising it toward north, south, east, and west. "Can you do this?"
"I think so," muttered Annie.
"Good," declared Medicine woman, handing the pipe back to Annie. "Afterward you must smoke."
"Smoke?" Annie gasped.
The old woman grinned. "You must at least try, or your storytelling will not be blessed. Then you must pass your own hands over your arms, head, and legs. This is your prayer for guidance from our spirits, and your vow to speak truthfully."
With a nervous frown betraying her anxiety, Annie took the pipe and performed nivstanivoo as best she could, feeling very awkward as she tapped and pointed four times. Afterward, with a grimace, she raised the pipe to her lips and gagged on a couple of breaths of acrid smoke, much to the amusement of everyone else. After the mirth died down, she waved her hands over various parts of her body as instructed.
"Very good," said Medicine Woman, taking the pipe. "Now the stories may begin."
***
When Sam rode back into camp, it was to spot Annie standing at the center of a circle of enthralled Indians. Dismounting and approaching the group, he noted she held aloft two sticks tied together like a cross and was moving the apparatus through the air as she described to the others something she called an "airplane." He hovered just beyond the group, watching her. For an instant their eyes met, his questioning, hers uncertain. Then she lifted her chin and continued her lecture.
She spoke about vast highways as smooth as the surface of the lake, and lodges that stretched into the sky as far as the eye could see, and magical baskets that bore people upward to the top of the tall lodges. Every eye in the camp was riveted on her—even Sam became caught up in her astounding tales.
The group finally dispersed just before noon. Sam strode quickly to Annie's side. "We need to talk, sugar."
"Do we?" she asked.
Sam grinned sheepishly. "Come on, let's get out of here before someone else grabs you to hear more."
They walked up into the hills, not touching, each eyeing the other with unassuaged longing. At last, Annie cleared her throat. "Sits on a Cloud and her baby are doing well. I looked in on them this morning."
"I'm right pleased to hear it."
"Did you have a good ride?"
"Yep." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I've been doing some thinking, Annie."
"Yes?"
He smiled at her almost shyly. "You sure had the whole village captivated with your stories."
A defensive edge crept into her voice. "They're not stories. They're the truth. And your people believe me. I find I really connect with them."
"I know what you mean," Sam admitted. "I always felt the same way. Reckon it's my Indian blood."
Her reproachful gaze met his. "But you don't connect with me, Sam. Why can't you accept what I say as your brothers do?"
He groaned. "Annie, my brothers also believe in gods under the earth, water monsters, and folks that live in the lake."
"So what is your point?"
"I'm just saying that with their heritage, the way they believe, it's easier for them to accept your outlandish notions."
Her voice echoed with hurt. "Well, maybe they can just observe my face, or look into my eyes, and see I'm telling the truth—while you've always doubted me."
A look of pain crossing his features, Sam glanced away. "That's fair enough. I'll warrant I deserve the criticism."
She let out an incredulous breath. "What's this? The mighty Sam Noble displaying humility?"
He waved a hand. "Damn it, Annie, this ain't easy for me."
"Then why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"
He removed his hat and thrust his fingers through his hair. "I spoke with my grandma last night."
"Yes?"
He met her eye. "And she made me see you've been telling the truth all along. You really are who you say you are—and Rosie's someone else."
A stunned gasp escaped Annie. She walked away a few paces, struggling within herself. On one level, she was grateful that Sam at last believed her—but her pride argued that he should have all along, and this realization made her throat burn.
"So you've finally seen the light," she muttered.
"I'll admit I've been proud and stubborn," he went on, approaching her and laying a hand on her shoulder. "But I promise I'll believe you from now on if you'll just give me a chance."
Her expression wounded, she turned to him. "It shouldn't have taken your grandmother to bring you to your senses."
"I know, sugar," he admitted. "I'm sorry. But you know the tale you told me was mighty strange."
Annie's mouth tightened.
Contrite, he reached out to caress her cheek. "Forgive me?"
She was quiet for a long moment. "You hurt me, Sam."
"I know." His thumb tenderly stroked her underlip. "I'm fixing to take care of that, angel."
His words were charged with sexual meaning, and even his gentle touch unnerved Annie. Trying to swallow a knot of wounded pride, she pulled away. "Are you?"
Even as she backed away, he followed her, his intent gaze holding her riveted. "What do you want me to do, Annie? Should I swing myself from the torture pole?"
Fighting a smile, she reached out and ran her fingertips over his hard pecs. "And scar up that pretty chest? I don't think so."
He broke into a grin. "So you don't hate me completely."
"I never hated you, Sam."
He lifted her chin with his fingers and met her gaze solemnly. "What will it take to win your forgiveness?"
"Will you help me find my great-great-grandmother?"
He drew a heavy breath. "Sure, I reckon I'm willing, if you're set on it. But what if she really is guilty of murder and all those other crimes? What are we going to do then?"
She bit her lower lip. "You mean could I let you turn her in?"
He nodded.
"I don't know, Sam," she admitted honestly. "I guess it would depend on the circumstances."
Both fell silent, anguish stretching between them. At last he asked, "Is that what you really want, Annie?"
"Sam, I have to try to help her."
His voice shook with emotion. "Do you know what I want?"
"No."
He hauled her against him, tucking her head beneath his chin. "I want to keep you here forever. I don't know why I found you, sugar, though I'm blessed to have you. I do know that wherever we go from here, it's for damn sure going to tear us apart."
His tormented words and tender nearness reached Annie, and her arms coiled around him. Oh, he smelled wonderful and felt so warm and strong holding her. And she feared he had spoken the truth, that they would be torn asunder if they proceeded as she wanted. She felt so tempted to take refuge in him, to hide from the world—indeed, from both their worlds—but that would never solve their problems.
"We can't just turn our backs on this, Sam."
"Why not? You like it here, don't you?"
"Well, yes, but—"
"You want me."
Annie's heart thundered in the explosive silence as Sam's gaze held hers. She didn't just want him—she was dying for him. She wanted to lose herself in their love and never let him go again.
Still, she sadly shook her head. "Sam, wanting you is not going to help my great-great-grandmother. And we've already wasted so much time . . ."
His tone turned bitter. "You still gotta punish me, don't you?"
"No! That has nothing to do with it!"
He dug his fingers into her shoulders and spoke vehemently. "Doesn't it? You told me I couldn't have you 'cause I wouldn't believe you. Well, I believe you now, Annie, and I'm through waiting."
At his fierce, possessive words, something melted inside her. Even as she opened her mouth to speak, Sam's lips captured hers. Like sweet madness, desire jolted through her, her famished body coming alive with awareness of him, of how much she had missed him, of how desperately she needed him now. Sam felt it too, she knew—felt her mouth melding into his, her breasts seeking the heat of his chest, her pelvis arching to feel his hard erection.
With a tortured groan, he tumbled her down onto the soft pine needles, his mouth locked on hers in a deep, drugging kiss. His fingers made quick work of the buttons on her shirt. His lips moved feverishly down her throat, to her breast. He gently tongued her tautened nipple. She winced in pleasure.
"Say you forgive me, Annie," he said hoarsely. "I want to hear it from your lips—now."
"I do, Sam. I forgive you," she answered in choked tones.
"It's settled, then. It's behind us. You understand?"
"Yes."
He pulled back, staring down into her brimming eyes as he worked the buttons at her waist. He smiled. "How come you're always crying when we do this?"
She curled her arms about his neck. "I'm just so happy, Sam."
"Oh, sugar."
Annie pulled Sam's lips down to hers, sank her fingers into his hair, and pushed her tongue inside his mouth, inviting him to take her. Her encouragement was all he needed, and she felt his confident hands pulling down her jeans. A mighty shudder rippling through him, he claimed her in a deep, sure stroke. She moaned in ecstasy, feeling a profound sense of healing at the riveting joining.
"It doesn't hurt now, does it, sugar?" he whispered raggedly, his hands slipping beneath her to raise her into his devouring thrusts. "Not now . . ."
"You're wrong," she sobbed back, kissing his hair, his face. "It's so wonderful, it hurts."
"Oh, Annie."
She clung to him. Never had she felt such sweet, devastating rapture. For an exquisite eternity she rode the crest of a passion so glorious she could not bear it. Sam kissed her breasts, suckling her tight nipple with his hot mouth. She cried out and bucked against him, enhancing her own pleasure as he plunged deeper. At the instant of their shared climax she was left wondering how she had ever resisted him, and through it all she felt certain that if she ever lost him, she would die.