Timeless Heart Reunion, Chapter 1

― 1 ―

“WELCOME TO SHADETREE Assisted Living Center.”

Beth Taylor covered the phone receiver and called out the words brightly. She was finishing a call, and she sat behind her broad, mahogany Chippendale desk. Her nails were freshly done in glossy gumball pink, and her blonde bob just hit her shoulders. She’d completed high school forty years earlier, but except for a light web of lines around her eyes and lips, she’d been told she was as attractive as the day she’d received her diploma.

As she spoke into the phone, Beth opened her devotional for the day, Following in the Footprints of Jesus, and glanced at the morning’s words from 1 John 1:9. The book helped her keep her sense of balance when she faced difficult situations, and she made a point to read in it every day. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

Beth breathed a little easier. Forgive us our sins. That was something she could use daily. She’d barely finished her greeting and disconnected when she looked up and caught sight of the well-dressed man coming through the door.

Her heart plummeted.

Beth rubbed her hands together to find her palms were suddenly moist, and her stomach felt like a hundred butterflies had just been released. This was a man she’d never intended to face again, and now he walked her direction. Her high school fortieth reunion was planned in a little over a week, so she should have anticipated him, but he’d never attended a single reunion in the past 39 years, so why should she have expected him now? She had conveniently blocked him out of her mind, like one does old numbers on a cell phone. If blocked long enough, the number seems forgotten. Now, here he was, as tall as she remembered, although the gray at his temples was new. He was still lean, though that lanky, high school trimness was gone. Rugged, with long legs and wide shoulders, he carried the look of a man who knew what he wanted in life, not just a teenager curious about everything. His jeans were pressed and covered the tops of polished alligator boots. A brown leather blazer was open at the waist, revealing a wide turquoise buckle.

She felt her breath quicken as she stood and held out her hand. Her motion was automatic and professional, despite the jelly in her knees. She wouldn’t let him see how she felt. She couldn’t. She would be poised and efficient, a professional woman in a professional environment.

She took a deep breath as he drew closer. She steeled herself, reminding herself she was more than a professional. She owned Shadetree, a prestigious Type A facility for senior adults, after working here for nearly two decades, then investing her husband’s life insurance money to buy out the previous owners. She’d become a competent business woman, and while she maintained the position of director, she was far more than that. Forty years had wiped away any connection between her and this indomitable man, so there was nothing for her to get worked up about.

That didn’t stop all rational thoughts from careening from her head and shattering her morning into a thousand bone-jarring pieces, as she was taken aback by his response. His penetrating blue eyes locked on hers, he ignored her hand, and he murmured a softly-spoken question, surely intended just for her.

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

― Earlier That Day ―

Beth pulled her car into her officially marked parking space in front of the Center. Director, the sign said. It even reflected her name, Beth Taylor. Owner, she thought proudly. Dawn was barely breaking through the trees, and it promised to be a beautiful morning, although the temperatures would soar in the afternoon. It was to be expected on a Texas summer day.

She looked for her young assistant’s car. Chloe Owens was wonderful to work with, but some days she was a bit of a panic waiting to happen, and Beth had been out of town for two days. The Department of Aging and Disability Services, known in the industry as DADS, had demanded her attention, and she’d been happy to attend and review the newest policies and procedures for licensing new facilities.

She wondered what Chloe would be panicked over this time. A missing bedside table? An air conditioner on the fritz? At times, it was like the little boy who cried wolf, and Beth the huntress who came to his rescue. She imagined smoothing the feathers of a panicked parakeet who’d never been out of its cage.

She killed the engine and dropped her key fob into her purse before she stepped out of her Cadillac to luxuriate in the heady aroma of the Center’s bedding plants in full bloom. They lined the staff parking area, infusing the shade under the massive, lumbering oak trees with cheerful shots of brilliant color. Dew sparkled on the grass, and a spider web glistened in a low boxwood shrub just to her left. Everything was fresh and new, with no hint of the life-altering change that would soon collide with her day. She even looked forward to catching up on all the calls she’d missed.

She walked briskly toward the front door, and with an inward smile, she grasped the door handle, tripping the latch and swinging it wide. She would postpone any changes to the sign at her parking space to another day. Her young secretary had sent her a text that a new resident was arriving this morning, sight unseen; not just coming for a walk-through, but moving in, personal items and all.

That had surprised Beth, but she’d told Chloe she would arrive early to ensure the move went smoothly. Chloe had thanked her profusely in a text ending in a smiley face emoji. The normal procedure was to schedule a meeting, with Beth in attendance when possible, go over the legalities of the contracts, and speak very briefly about payment methods. Then would come the tour of the facilities, of which Beth was extremely proud. Walking prospective residents through the upscale, Type A facility was a favorite activity for her. She would give her facility a superior rating to anyone who asked. It had all the best amenities. She had lovingly decorated the hallways with armoires and bombe chests from local antique shops. Each room had a reading nook with a Queen Anne wingback chair and a Stifle brass lamp. Her favorite feature was the flat-panel television cunningly disguised behind a wall-hanging screen. A touch of a remote, and the television was there in all its gleaming glory. Another touch, and the elegance Beth insisted on in each room reappeared once again.

Beth was fully prepared for her new arrival, and she’d tentatively selected a suite for today’s guest. Now to locate her attendant and get things prepared, so there would be no holdups. First would be to ensure the unit was freshened and the bath freshly cleaned.

“Chloe!” Beth breezed into the building, calling her assistant’s name, as the soft whoosh of the glass door closing on its pneumatics somehow comforted her. The sound spoke of a facility that was well-oiled, polished, and of the highest caliber. Beth insisted on perfection, and she would allow nothing less. After a moment with no response, she frowned, calling out again, “Chloe, where have you gotten to?”

“Oh, Beth!” Chloe rushed through the grand foyer of the Living Center, dropping several file folders onto a polished mahogany sideboard. Her knee-length linen skirt in pale cream contrasted with her lemon-yellow ruffled blouse underneath her soft green jacket. Her honey-colored hair curled in tendrils and was held by a clip at the nape of her neck. Her nails reflected the color of her blouse, giving her a finished professionalism. It was the pen she pulled from behind one ear and placed soundly on the stack that revealed her chaotic approach to her work.

“About that new arrival. I think Suite 134—” Beth was startled when Chloe cut her off.

“First, let me tell you how my morning’s gone. I’m so glad you’re here. Why—”

“Slow down!” Beth insisted. Chloe always ran at the speed of a runaway freight train, and Beth hadn’t even had her first cup of coffee. “Remember the text you sent me this morning? We should make this decision now. Unit 134 has a private courtyard with that wonderful oak—”

“I agree, but I’ve got something more important you’ll be interested in.” Chloe interrupted again, picking up her pen and tapping it on the folders. “See this stack of folders? If you knew what I’ve gone through for you—”

“Hold that thought, Chloe,” Beth interrupted, reaching a slender, elegant hand to place it on the younger woman’s wrist. “First, I need an explanation. That new guest coming in today, you said something about my past catching up with me. Before we move any further through this morning, and certainly before our new guest arrives, I want to know this: What do you know about my past? Really, now, what could possibly be catching up with me?”

Widowed for nearly three years, Beth felt positive she had no history worthy of anyone’s notice, certainly nothing that could catch up with her. Her husband was gone after a painful but mercifully brief bout of heart trouble, giving him time to sort his affairs and tell his family goodbye, and leaving her with over three decades of fond memories that only brought back warm times. Robert had attended the Methodist church each Sunday, even taught a Sunday school class for two decades, done nothing questionable his entire life, and their marriage, while not that of storybook dreams, had been a series of carefully orchestrated events, tied together like a string of pearls, if not ones that Beth might have chosen. It was what Robert had been good at, organizing life in a way that removed all the rough edges. Her daughters, well, she loved them, but they weren’t extraordinary in any manner that could haunt her. The youngest was like Robert, charming, with not a rough edge in sight. Her eldest, Candy, was a spitfire that loved life, and she loved people to enjoy it with her, building long-lasting friendships with people across all walks of life. They had attended church camps each summer, taken a mission trip or two, and were members of their local fellowships. Candy had counseled at Camp Whispering Trees in Florida just out of college. Her grandchildren? She didn’t have any of those, meaning there wasn’t a trouble maker among them.

She had no past to catch up with her, not from the past forty years, anyway. It was only when Chloe looked her directly in the eyes that she realized her assistant was still talking to her.

“Beth, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Chloe took her boss’s hand, bringing her back to the moment, and she blurted, “You know Lily Pearl Cadence, don’t you? For years she lived on that big ranch just out of town. Well, her son called while you were gone, and I’ve got all the information here in these folders. She’s ninety-two years old, no longer able to live alone, and she refuses to be a burden to her son. She just up and decided to check herself in. I tried to tell her you’d prefer to schedule an appointment to show her around. She wouldn’t hear of it, told me she wouldn’t think of waiting. She’s bringing out a check for the first month today. When I tried to explain that a check isn’t necessary, she said she knows of our guest policy, and she isn’t moving in on anyone’s dime. She has money, and she can pay her own way. Luckily, she can’t make it until ten this morning. I’ve been running myself ragged since seven trying to clear out a suite in the new wing. I forgot the remodeling was finished in 134.” Chloe sighed, the sound filled with the worries of the world. Her expression changed, and she smiled brightly. “She wants to bring her own furniture, and it will fill one of the largest suites we have, so 134 will be perfect. I guess that’s why you’re the boss. You think of everything.”

“Now if we can just get those final rooms filled.” Beth smiled with forced brightness at Chloe’s compliment. “What did you say the new resident’s last name was?”

A slow, sinking feeling had begun to blur Beth’s world, and she reached to take the top folder off the stack. She’d heard the name just fine, and she knew what she was doing. She was putting off facing the reality of the moment. She was on a roller coaster beginning its rapid descent, and she had no control. All she wanted to do was scream. She now thought she should have returned Maggie Jackson’s garbled voicemail. Her best friend’s message had shown up on her phone during the conference, and Beth had been too preoccupied to get back to her. Poorly transcribed by her smart phone, it had suggested something about old times coming round again.

Then to get a similar message that morning from Chloe? She closed the folder without reading what was inside. What she really needed was a moment to adjust to her disbelief. The Cadence name unlocked the storage bins of her mind, dragging out old, well-worn baggage, and allowing thoughts long suppressed to rise to the surface. Candy, oh, poor Candy. She hoped this wasn’t about her lovely daughter. The possible consequences of Lily Pearl in this facility didn’t bode well for Beth’s peace of mind.

Chloe pulled back the cover of the top file, glanced inside, and she paused. Then, her eyes searching, she stopped and spoke very clearly, “Cadence, capital C-a-d-e-n-c-e. That’s her son’s name, too.”

“Cadence.” The phone rang, and Beth took a deep breath as she moved toward her office and sat at her mahogany desk. She picked up the handset, and before she answered it, she covered the receiver with her hand, glanced at Chloe, and murmured, “I know how the name’s spelled.”

She’d also caught the part about the son, and her heart beat faster with dread, or at least that’s what she wanted to believe. No other explanation could be possible for the emotions she was experiencing. There could be only one Lily Pearl Cadence. Beth had known her son quite well, although the connection between them was decades in disuse.

Just minutes into her conversation, Chloe stepped back into the room, whispering, “Oh, Beth, wait a minute. I have one more file in my office. Be right back.”

Chloe exited, and through the bank of windows separating the two offices, Beth watched her snatch one from the filing cabinet behind her desk. She returned, holding it out.

“Here!”

The bell from the front door dinged, and Beth covered the phone and called out, “Welcome to Shadetree Assisted Living Center.” Then she reached for the file, while smiling brightly and trying desperately to cover her troubled feelings. “Do these folders by any chance say who the son is?”

Again, she was putting off what she already knew, wanting to put as much distance between the past and the present as she could. Despite her efforts, her heart turned over just asking the question.

“Maverick, capital M-a-v-e-r-i-c-k.”

A man’s deep voice spoke the words, and Beth looked up in dismay. At the sight of the visitor in the foyer, her heart truly turned over, leaving her emotions in a puddle. She gripped the phone in her hand and knew she couldn’t maintain a proper conversation to the person on the other end in the light of who had walked in the Center’s door.

“Thank you. I’ll call back later.” Beth spoke the words carefully into the mouthpiece and drew in a deep breath. She dropped the phone into its cradle, slowly and without conscious thought. Cascading ribbons of memories flashed in front of her eyes, few of them welcome. She felt the last forty years of her life evaporate, forty years of perfect children, an equally successful marriage, and a social life that was the envy of half the county. She narrowed her eyes at the tall, silver-headed gentleman in starched blue jeans. A crisp white shirt under a leather blazer complemented his tanned skin. It was the same face she remembered from four decades before. His piercing blue eyes completed her devastation, with the same steely glint he had wowed her with years ago.

She could not have this man here in her life, not now, not ever. There was no room for him under the scar he’d put on her heart. He had run away, and he should have stayed away.

“Maverick?” Beth barely managed her shattered reply. Her voice sounded hollow and shaky to her ears. She felt helpless. Maverick had always done this to her, made her soft and weak, and it was happening again. Unable to respond rationally, she simply stood and reached out one hand.

“Is that how you greet an old friend?” murmured his resonating voice.

“An old friend?” Chloe’s eyes danced between the two.

Before Beth could manage to think through this disastrous moment, she felt Maverick’s strong arms pull her off her feet. Her intruding ghost from the past picked her up in a bear-like hug, holding her in an embrace that was a little too long for her to feel comfortable.

“Well, Marilyn, how are you?” Maverick’s strong, slow, baritone drawl pulled at her heart. He set her down, and his eyes studied her face, evaluating her. “You look great, and, if you’ll allow me to say so without running away to hide, you smell good, too. My word, girl, you’re just like I remember from high school.”

“High school? What could you possibly remember from all those years ago? I’ve forgotten so much that I’m surprised I even recognize you.”

Beth’s lips quivered slightly as she finished the sarcastic words, and she hoped she sounded convincing. She wanted to appreciate his effusive compliments, but a strong undercurrent of irritation in the back of her mind dashed all that like a Texas soaker on a hot summer afternoon. Maverick’s comments sent her thoughts reeling through a succession of memories, most pushed aside for more decades than she wished to recount. Her final two years in high school had been the most special of her life, and she had felt beautiful. Then, Maverick had turned her existence into a living nightmare.

She was sure her dismissal of his unnecessary references to a time better forgotten would distance this man from her life. If she claimed she hadn’t recognized him, he’d know she’d forgotten all about him. He would see that he was an intrusion into her well-ordered life, and he would wrap up his business with his mother quickly and efficiently, exiting the premises as quickly as possible.

Then Beth’s secret and heart would be safe once again.

MAVERICK’S EYES SPARKLED, and his face brightened. He chuckled as he began to speak.

“If you don’t recognize me, that must mean I’ve either gotten better looking or just the opposite. I don’t know which I’ll claim. You’ve hardly changed at all. You still have that fabulous blonde hair; it’s just not in a shag anymore. I like it down like it is now. It reminds me of your senior picture.”

His heart cinched tightly in his chest, as long-forgotten emotions tumbled through his veins. He took a deep breath, aware of the past like a journal that had recorded every event from their relationship, and the pages were peeling themselves away, faster and faster. He hadn’t expected this strong of a response. He had been looking forward to staying for the upcoming reunion the following week, but now? He needed to change the subject fast before this woman pushed him to the point of no return.

“MY SENIOR PICTURE?” Beth barely got out the words, but she was determined to control her reaction and not reveal what she truly thought. She couldn’t reveal how he’d crushed and bruised her heart all those years ago. Her sweet husband Robert had been her only salvation, rescuing her from the morass this man had strewn across her world. For years, with Robert as her guide, she’d successfully entertained her husband’s clients, hosting fabulous parties for the moneyed investment bankers who had been Robert’s business associates. Now, alone, she ran this assisted living facility, and very successfully, too. How could she be falling apart in front of this man? She hadn’t known this melting feeling inside for four decades, not since the last occasion she’d spent time with him.

She felt her jaw tighten with determination, refusing to reveal any weakness. Her assistant gave a little cough, causing Beth to warm with the thickly layered praise.

“I go by Beth, now, Maverick,” Beth whispered, biting her lip. She kicked herself for calling his given name. She knew she must keep this formal, otherwise, who knew where things would wind up? Self-consciously, she adjusted her rose-colored blouse and dark skirt and attempted to make light of the moment.

“I’m glad your looks haven’t changed.” He winked at her. “A woman as beautiful as you should have the best parking space in the lot, which I see you’ve taken.”

With a flip of her hand in her hair and a bright bravado to her voice, Beth quipped, “It’s just that now my blonde gets a little help from a bottle.”

She hardly felt as effusive as she hoped she sounded. This morning had fled from her control, and she didn’t know how she would get it back.

“A genie from a bottle?” Maverick chuckled.

“I did not say that!” Beth glanced at Chloe, hoping for some help. Instead, her assistant was covering a smile of her own with one hand.

“I’m sorry for laughing, but you’ll have to speak up a little, Marilyn. Phnom Penh got some of my hearing.” Maverick paused, waiting on Beth.

“No one calls me Marilyn, anymore,” Beth repeated louder. She wasn’t sure if she felt irritation or relief at having to repeat the words. She knew one thing: Maverick wouldn’t be allowed a toehold back into her life.

His next words shook her resolve.

“No? Well, that’s a shame with those good looks and all.” Humor laced the words, and the big man grinned again as he watched Beth.

Beth felt her face warm as she closed her eyes and stifled a groan. She cleared her throat, determined to ask about his mother. That’s why he’d come, and getting back to business was her only hope now. A dozen words from that man’s mouth, and her knees felt about to buckle.

Maverick leaned over Chloe’s desk and winked at the young assistant standing just behind. “You’d think a woman would enjoy being Marilyn Monroe, wouldn’t you? Ours may have been a little thinner, but she certainly looked like a movie star. Well, as far as I can tell, she still does.”

“Maverick!” It was hopeless. Beth was convinced her face had turned deep red. She certainly felt the warmth of embarrassment. And to have told such a thing to Chloe! Even so, she remembered those years, and how it had secretly given her a certain amount of pleasure to be compared to the blonde beauty from the heyday of the big screen. She cringed at what Maverick shared next.

“But not this one,” he pointed to Beth. “She always said her name was Mary Elizabeth Monroe anytime we tried to tease her about it. Isn’t that right, Marilyn?”

“Yes. I wanted to be liked for who I was and not the person someone else wanted me to be.”

What Beth wanted to scream was, Stop talking about all this! How could she fend off this man if he continued to say things to remind her of how much she had loved him all those years ago . . . no! Not loved! She couldn’t have loved him. No, their relationship had been a mistake, and she wouldn’t let go of that thought. She had been a youthful, idealistic girl, and he’d abandoned her, shattering her dreams. This man would not charm his way into her affections, um, under her skin ever again.

Only the sound of the carts carrying the midmorning brunch trays shifted Beth’s thoughts back to the moment. She tamped down her emotions. These were her surroundings, her office. Maverick was in her place. She put a stern look on her face to make sure there was no question how she felt.

MAVERICK’S WORDS WERE a compliment he’d waited with bated breath to deliver. After all, he’d held on for forty years to make its delivery, and he intended to enjoy this moment to the fullest. He had no trouble reading the nuance of Beth’s every expression. He was quite aware this could only be her space. It looked like her. He’d taken in the spacious surroundings, missing nothing, including the small silver-framed photos sitting pristinely on Beth’s expansive, hand-carved Chippendale desk. This was an opulent facility, just the sort of environment she’d grown up with. He wasn’t surprised by the expensive taste he observed everywhere.

The phone rang, and Chloe picked it up. After a moment, she held it out to Beth, calling, “It’s for you, Mrs. Taylor.”

Beth picked up the phone and stepped aside for a moment, answering a few questions from the caller. She glanced at Maverick several times, pausing once as if she intended to ask him to come to the phone. By that time, he’d struck up a conservation with Chloe.

“Tell me again Marilyn’s last name.” He could barely keep the grin from his face. This was a doozy.

“Taylor, but she truly goes by Beth. I’ve never heard her called Marilyn. She was an actress, right? I’ve never watched old movies much.”

“Taylor, like Elizabeth?”

“Yes, like the movie star. She was in Lassie, I think. I watched it some as a girl.”

“That and a few others.” Maverick began to laugh, thinking that there were about seventy-five more. When Beth hung up, she turned and looked at Maverick with a frown. That caused him to laugh even more.

BETH STARTED TO CALL to him, then the thought hit her, she had pulled up in the best parking space in the lot? How did he know where she parked? Had he been outside all along watching her? It was something he had done all those years ago, telling her he couldn’t get of enough of her. She had found it flattering then. Now? She refused to admit his gratuitous words still affected her, even made her knees feel weak.

“Okay, Mr. Cadence. What’s so funny?” Beth punched out his name, the snap in her voice bracing her determination. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. She would need to speak carefully to keep this situation under control.

“Your name is now Elizabeth Taylor? So, Marilyn Monroe wasn’t good enough for you?” His eyes crinkled, and he placed one hand on his stomach as he shook with laughter. At his side, Chloe wasn’t helping. She was laughing, also.

Beth looked pointedly at her assistant, immediately subduing Chloe’s laughter. Then she turned to Maverick. “My late husband was Robert Alexander Taylor. I still go by my married name. I volunteered here when he was still alive, and all my residents have come to know me by that name. I see no reason to change it now.”

The words briefly weighed on her. Speaking of Robert made her miss his companionship even three years after his death. She guessed what everyone told her was true. A part of her would probably always miss him.

Then she remembered the phone call.

“That was your mother calling to say she’ll be late, but the moving van is on the way. She’s made an appointment to get her hair done, and the hairdresser is running behind. She refuses to be seen in her new home without looking her best. She gave me strict instructions to tell Maverick to take the tour in her stead.”

“She did, huh?” The laughter was still in his voice, and he turned to Chloe and gave an exaggerated wink. “Sounds as if it’s better for her to be here with you two than in her townhouse or out on the ranch with me. She’s wearing herself out corralling both her in-town and ranch staff. Two houses are far too much for her to manage and maintain her active social calendar.”

“Maverick!” For the second time, Beth found reason to call the man on his behavior. That was like old times, too. Maverick never had been one to pay too much attention to rules he thought superfluous.

Just like . . . Candy, but Beth pushed that thought away.

She tried to control her tone by being bright with her next words. “Lily sounds as feisty as ever. I’m sure we’ll love having her with us. She’ll keep us on our toes.”

Beth remembered Maverick’s mother from when they were in high school. Maverick had been a couple of years older than Beth, but they’d gone to many of the same functions, even to his house with the sports crowd a time or two after football games. Lily was everyone’s mother, having kids over to support the team. She was also one to stick her finger in everyone’s pie. Somehow Beth seemed to always get paired up with Maverick at Lily’s extra-curricular activities.

“Feisty? That and more. After Dad’s death three-and-a-half years ago, well, I guess it tripped something in Mom. And now, she’s worse.” The humor in Maverick’s words was gone. His voice sounded dry and empty, bringing a pang of sympathy from deep within Beth. This was clearly a painful topic for him.

“I’m so sorry to hear about that. I remember seeing the news. We’ll certain do our best for Lily. Is there anything else we need to know?” Beth could hear the unexpected tiredness in his voice, and tender emotions welled up in her.

“Even when I tell you, you won’t believe me. Mom went on a selling spree. You remember how she always collected everything. Toward the end of Dad’s life, it almost became hoarding. Suddenly, she attempted to liquidate everything. Well, almost. She still has most of her antique furniture and some of her collectables, but the farm implements and other equipment? Gone. Dad’s Model T wasn’t even spared. She tried to parcel out the ranch, saying she wanted to live in town for her final years. She’d already sold off twelve hundred acres before I found out, so I told her I’d buy the rest from her. We argued for weeks, but at least she didn’t sell the remaining eighteen hundred. I managed to save part of my family heritage and the history that goes with it, but you can’t run a whole lot of cattle on that. I don’t know what I’ll do with it eventually, but that’s neither here nor there at this point. For the past three years, she’s been living in town. Finally, I’ve forced her to admit that it’s just too much. When I found out some months ago that you were the administrator of this place, it was like an answer to prayer.”

That shot Beth’s astonishment meter off the charts. She was an answer to prayer for Maverick? Since when did Maverick pray, ever? And for her? Even though her family went faithfully, she didn’t remember Maverick ever going to church. This was one more reason to steer clear of this tangled hunk of walking trouble, no matter what her heart told her.

She attempted to steer the conversation onto a more neutral track.

“Everyone says that, Mr. Cadence. The general consensus of our residents and their families is that Shadetree Assisted Living Center is certainly an answer to prayer.” Beth caught Chloe’s puzzled look, frowning sharply when her assistant mouthed silently, They say what? Ignoring Chloe’s question, Beth smiled forcefully at Maverick, determined to maintain control of this situation.

“Is there anything I need to do as far as paperwork before Mom moves in? If not, then I want that tour my mom said I should take.”

“Paperwork you asked for, and paperwork you shall have, Mr. Cadence. Chloe?” Beth motioned for her assistant to get on the ball. She was feeling his charm, er, his overpowering, um, overbearing assumptions making her nervous. It was Chloe’s turn to pick up the slack.

Chloe efficiently handed him a packet. She smiled as she spoke, “This is everything you’ll need to fill out before she takes occupancy. Some of the forms will need to be notarized, but we can do that right here. In addition to being Mrs. Taylor’s personal assistant, I’m a legally qualified notary.”

“Ah! I’m not to be allowed to forget that there are two beautiful people in the room.” He turned to Chloe and took the packet. He thanked her and kissed her hand, causing the young woman to blush with pleasure. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

With those words Beth remembered what she hadn’t liked about Maverick all those years ago: his flirting. She could never tell when he was serious, just like now. That was the part that had unnerved her around him then, and it was clear he hadn’t changed a bit. Her late husband hadn’t been that way at all. He was a considerate man and a stable father to her two daughters. He would sometimes push Beth to do more than she wanted, but that was only due to her natural shyness. He always said it was for her own good, and look how she’d put all that aside, entertaining for her husband over decades, and now running the Center. Thank God for Robert. With him, she had always known where she stood. His consistency had made her feel safe and secure.

Maverick would have never given her safe and secure. He bordered on reckless. Driving too fast, taking too many chances, like signing up for military service, then going off to war. He didn’t have to enlist. There was college, the fact that he was an only child, and his parents owned a ranch where he was needed. It had surprised Beth that his father and mother didn’t even try to stop him. At least he was one of the lucky ones who came back. Even then he didn’t stay long, only a few weeks. As fast as he could get his boots shined, he moved away.

Beth heard he later married and had a son and a daughter. Now here he was, drawn back once more to his old home, checking on his mother.

At least no one could say he wasn’t a good son.

“Well, how about it?”

The words interrupted Beth’s thoughts, jerking her back to the present.

“What? I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening. What did you ask?” She’d tried to rise above Maverick, presenting a very businesslike approach in her dealings with him. Now she felt embarrassed. She had no idea he’d been speaking to her.

“Are you going to give me the nickel tour, or do I have to get your pretty little secretary to help me?”

At her assistant’s eager expression, Beth brightly called out, “Chloe, can you show Mr. Cadence around?”

“Of course, Mrs. Taylor.”

“Chloe can answer most of your questions, I’m sure. Please have a good morning, Mr. Cadence.”

With that, Chloe excitedly got up from her desk and put her arm through Maverick’s extended one. “Now, this is the main lobby,” she began, as she walked him toward the spacious foyer. Pointing to the back of the building, she noted one of the establishment’s most elegant amenities. “We even have a Steinway grand, permanently donated to our facility by a resident’s family.”

The tour disappeared down a hallway toward the new wing. Beth felt like a rag doll long due for a refit. She knew what had done it: meeting Maverick again after four decades. She’d certainly never expected that. If she’d been forced to give him the tour, she wouldn’t have survived. Of all things, that man putting his mother here!

It was only a little after ten, and Beth realized she was done for the day. Today Maverick had caught her off guard. She might be forced to deal with him because of his mother, but she would be more prepared in the future. This wouldn’t happen again.

She arched her back as she ran her fingers through her thick hair, pushing it away from her face, while trying to ward off an impending headache. Home sounded good. Chloe could corral the residents the rest of the day.

WHAT BETH DIDN’T NOTICE was the silhouette she revealed through her glass office wall. Chloe had forgotten the key to the new wing, and Maverick was waiting in the foyer. He had a very clear view of Beth as she stretched to ease the pain.

“I’m back, Beth,” he whispered to no one in particular. “This time I won’t run away. I can promise you that.”

It was eight days until the reunion, he had already set his trap, and now he had to sit back and wait for it to spring.

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< Return to Timeless Heart Reunion

Shadow of the Hawk, Chapter 1

< Return to S hadow of the Hawk

― 1 ―

DARKNESS WRAPPED LONG, concealing fingers around the world as the silence of the upcoming night swallowed the busy activities of the day. The ranch’s vast stables finally belonged to the young Cheyenne warrior. Only the steadily rising wind kept him company. Now the young warrior could take his chance on stealing the horse he must have.

The barn wouldn’t be easy to access, but the desperate brave had been hiding in the deep shadows, holding his breath and breathing through his nose ever so shallowly, while the stableman made his rounds. There would be no reason for the man to return to this corner of the barn. Still, the warrior waited, his chest barely moving, as his heart beat with a pulse that was inaudible to all but him.

With no noise in his step or actions, the warrior knew he must disappear, just like in the hunt. When pursuing an antelope or deer, only the warrior could know the pursuer was there. The animal must sense only the feeling of safety. Then, the warrior could attack. Only, this time, it wasn’t an animal’s life at stake.

It was his own.

The young warrior was glad he had washed in the river at midday to smell more like the white man. The cold water had burned his skin, but he’d rubbed his arms and legs vigorously with a flat rock to scour away the scent of the wilderness, letting the clear, rushing water carry it away. His sturdy, leather clothing was folded and stashed under a large rock should he need it again, marked by a branch he’d notched with his knife. He was wearing a white man’s clothes that had been left behind from many years ago. He had been a little over nine at the time. He was more than twice that age now, and the clothes fit well. The pants were neither too long nor too short. His knife sheath hung snugly at his side. His tanned, muscular arms just reached the end of his shirtsleeves. Even the leather jacket fit him well.

Nevertheless, he felt strange in them. He’d fumbled with the strange buttons, and the pockets for carrying things seemed unnecessary. And the fabric, so stiff. They weren’t soft like the buckskin now lying under his rock. He had known he could adapt to the strangeness of the white man’s clothing, just like the butterfly that sheds its cocoon to wear a new skin, but the boots were a different thing. For silence as he walked in the white man’s world, he continued to wear his knee-high moccasins. Beautifully beaded by his mother with a traditional design, they would keep his feet warm and his steps silent.

He hadn’t cut his long, thick wavy hair, but that would come soon, and then he could pass for a white man. He had been teased often enough about being a “half-breed” when he first came into the Cheyenne camp. Now, for once in his life, his light skin color would be to his advantage. He would walk among the white man to fulfill his destiny. They wouldn’t know him for who he really was, Shadow Hawk, a Warrior, a Wolf Soldier of the Southern Cheyenne Tribe. Until then, his thick mane was bound and hung in a dark bundle just below his broad shoulders. His knife was at the ready when he must remove the strands from his head.

The medicine man had told him he would find his answers among the white people. He knew Shadow Hawk had many questions. The wise Old One was right. He only confirmed what Shadow Hawk had known all along. He must go into the white man’s world to find the one who had disgraced his family. It might take many years, but he had the small leather pouch of gold from years ago to help him buy the time he needed. He would find that man, and when he did, he would kill him and then return to his mother’s people, forever an Indian.

EVEN THOUGH SHADOW HAWK fit into the white man’s clothes, the young warrior wasn’t yet considered an adult, for he hadn’t taken a wife. His mother was alone, and no other warrior in the tribe would have her. She had needed him, so he had remained in her tent out of a deep sense of obligation and protectiveness. Also, the bitterness of his childhood and the fear of rejection he felt within the tribe kept him from approaching the unmarried maidens.

At those oddly-spaced occasions or ceremonial events when a young woman of the tribe did try to speak with him, he would shy away out of fear of ridicule. He had never shared the many times he’d been taunted by the young people of the tribe, even with his mother. He had focused on one thing, avenging his mother’s dishonor, and his own retribution for the injustices of the white man’s betrayal.

There were also the dreams of a girl that kept him from the young maidens of his tribe. He wouldn’t admit to them, for he would be embarrassed to reveal his dreams weren’t of an Indian girl, but of one with the skin of the white man. He tossed on his buckskins at night, and the older he grew, the more the dreams possessed him, until he couldn’t drive them from his head, and only the mornings brought relief. Yet, even in the daylight, the memories of the dreams tugged at him as if they were burrs underneath a softened strip of tanned hide. Some nights, darker visions haunted him, ones of a father who had abandoned both Shadow Hawk and his mother. He had said he loved his wife and son, that he was proud of Shadow Hawk, but his promises were the hiss of a snake, spoken with a forked tongue, a white man’s words that carried no substance, Shadow Hawk now knew. The Cheyenne told Shadow Hawk never to trust the white man, and his father’s behavior was just cause not to.

After waiting almost eight days alone, with no sign of his return, Shadow Hawk’s mother, Laughing River, stood among the tall trees along the riverbank and told him to prepare to return with her to her tribe. As the wind whipped through the topmost branches, and an eagle circled overhead, Shadow Hawk had begged his mother to stay and wait one more day for his father. The tall grasses along the shore were buffeted by the freshening breeze, and the sun cast ever-lengthening shadows as he waited for her answer, needing her to feel his hope. Instead, she drew a deep breath and replied quietly, saying if he were coming back, he would have arrived by now, that he was not returning. She led him inside, and the light of hope dimmed in Shadow Hawk, as Laughing River began to sort their few belongings. Packing only the essentials and things needed for trade, they left and never returned to the comfortable trapper’s cabin they had called home, leaving behind the only life young Shadow Hawk had ever known.

ALTHOUGH ABANDONED AND forced to return to her people without a husband and accompanied by her half-white child, Laughing River walked with her back straight and her head held high. Shadow Hawk steeled himself to be laughed at and told to go away, but warm words and a welcome fire greeted them, as Laughing River and Shadow Hawk were welcomed by the tribe. That night, Laughing River shared with her son that the Cheyenne tribe’s custom was to always receive a member back without questions. Later, young Shadow Hawk decided it was also because of the three horses and the many hides and furs they brought with them. It was only years later that his mother revealed to him the three large saddlebags of gold hidden among her things. She had buried them in a shallow trench under the tent, taking care to retrieve them each time the tribe was on the move. Shadow Hawk knew then his father had left her prepared for any emergency, even though he had left, never to return. He didn’t understand how it could be so.

Upon returning to his mother’s people as a child, Shadow Hawk had endured brutal teasing, which only made him more determined to show the other Indian children that he could do everything they could do, and even better. How embarrassed he’d felt when he couldn’t understand what the other children were saying to him! His father had spoken English with his mother, except when they wanted to keep a secret from him, and Shadow Hawk had learned little Cheyenne. He worked hard to prove himself, and much to his tribe’s dismay, despite what he endured, he became known as one of its strongest braves, as well as one of the best trackers and hunters in the Southern Cheyenne band. He received many eagle feathers for his accomplishments and bravery and earned the honor to wear a war bonnet.

Despite all his abilities, he felt hollow and empty inside. The shame of abandonment always brought up cruel and hurtful memories of his youth. His father’s desertion and humiliation had left a mark on his pride no victory in the hunt or any feats of strength were able to erase.

Upon returning to her tribe, Laughing River, called Lari by Shadow Hawk’s father, never remarried. At first Shadow Hawk thought it was because of her humiliation. It wasn’t until he was almost grown that he realized the devotion his mother still felt for his father. Her love for the man who had abandoned them made him angry, for they had been betrayed. Though she seldom spoke of his father, Shadow Hawk heard her softly whisper a prayer for him many nights before she went to sleep.

LAUGHING RIVER COULDN’T understand why Shadow Hawk felt the way he did about his father. He had been a good man and an excellent provider for them both. In her heart she knew he would have returned if he were able. The only thing that would have kept her man from returning was if he were dead.

Jeremiah had told her before he took the final load of furs that his life was in danger. Someone had been snooping around, watching him. The word had come back to him from the fort that some folks thought he’d found gold.

The idea of gold made some people desperate.

He took no chances. He left the gold behind with Laughing River, just in case the worst came to pass. He held Lari close to him and whispered in her ear that he’d be back in a week if everything went well. He also told her to leave immediately after the seventh day if she was convinced he wasn’t returning. The people that might come after him would also come to the cabin looking for the gold. He didn’t want Lari or his son to be in peril.

Jeremiah’s worst fears became fact. After he didn’t return at the end of a full week, Laughing River dreaded what she must do. She had no choice but to flee to the nearby summer camp of her people, a three-day ride.

WHEN SHADOW HAWK was old enough to understand, she tried to talk to him, but he would rush from the lodge in anger, only to return with a silent sulk still surrounding him. He refused to listen to anything about his father. He knew his mother had to feel shame, because he felt it inside of him, constantly boiling just below the surface in everything he did, ready to explode at any time.

Once more, two days ago, she had tried to explain why his father hadn’t returned. Laughing River always defended his father, which made Shadow Hawk even angrier. How could she still love someone who had betrayed her? On this occasion, he stormed out with a purpose into the darkening skies of a gathering, winter storm. He needed nothing from his father or his mother. Now was the time to let his anger take its vengeance. He would repay his father for leaving them all those years ago. He would take nothing that would not fit in his buffalo hide satchel. He would prove his manhood.

Shadow Hawk hadn’t considered the consequences of either leaving on foot or not taking any provisions with him. He hadn’t thought at all, blinded by the tortured reminder of his abandonment and the words of the medicine man. He left with only the white man’s clothes in a small pack. He knew he wouldn’t return until he had found peace from the tormented anguish of his father’s abandonment and his feelings of desertion.

But that had been two days ago, and now he was beginning to realize he had indeed been foolish to leave as irate as he was. Acting or reacting to anger had constantly been his downfall. His lack of foresight had him stuck in a predicament of his own making. He had no one to blame but himself, and he had no one to help him. His had been a foolish decision from the beginning.

Despite that, his heart remained set on revenge. With only himself to depend on, he must figure out life for himself. He also knew one other thing. His past emotions no longer mattered. Whether he had once been loved or even whether he had returned that love as a boy was of no consequence. Even the hate he had felt since made no difference. He knew his fate, that of the medicine man’s words. Fulfilling that destiny now involved getting out of this barn with a horse.

After the stableman had secured the barn for the night, Shadow Hawk waited for what seemed like an eternity. His stomach growled with hunger. He hadn’t eaten since he left the Southern Cheyenne spring camp. That was another thoughtless gesture on his part, not bringing any provisions with him. However, food would have to wait. He must escape first. With his senses finely tuned, he was ready to steal a horse. The Indian scout felt a small twinge of guilt, but only for a minute. His father had known the people that owned this ranch, and as a boy, he had been here a few times to visit the family. That was how the young brave knew they had plenty of good horses.

Shadow Hawk remembered when his father had brought him here the last time. Shadow Hawk had been about seven or eight years old. They had traded with the family and shared conversation. His father and one of the men had gone alone into the mountains early that day. Shadow Hawk had stayed at the ranch and followed the cowboys around. He had been fascinated at the way they handled the horses and the cows. Several of them had called to him and let him walk up and ride their gallant and beautiful horses with them.

There had been several children there, also, including one small girl who was about his age. She seemed shy, although she was very pretty in the white man’s way. He remembered her hair the color of the fire of autumn, and her eyes the turquoise color of the river, when he thought of her for many days after that. He would hate to admit it, but he still thought of her autumn leaves and turquoise-colored river when he was alone at night. Sometimes still, he would wake, and as he turned to find a comfortable position, he would imagine it was once again that day back on the ranch, and she was running through the tall, grassy pastures.

It was much later in the afternoon when Shadow Hawk’s father and the ranch owner returned with very somber faces. His father didn’t speak much the rest of the evening. Their ride home the next day had been exceptionally quiet also, the reason he remembered it so clearly. It had been unusual for his father not to talk and point out things on the trail or share funny stories with him on any type of outing; and on this return trip, he was as quiet as a deer’s footsteps as it traversed the forest paths.

Now, all these years later, the young warrior felt a twinge of guilt at what he intended to do. This family had trusted his father. That was a long time ago, however, and a great number of things had changed. The past couldn’t help him now. Only what he took in the quiet of the night could be of benefit to him.

Slowly, Shadow Hawk got up from the dim corner and made his way toward the animals, talking softly to them. The horses only understood commands in English, so he had to concentrate and remember his childhood tongue. After passing up a stallion and two other horses, he observed a young mare. She was the color of his soft doeskin moccasins. She also looked to be part paint pony, the preferred horse of his tribe. Carefully he approached her, speaking softly in his rusty English.

“Come to Shadow. Shadow not hurt you. Shadow need you.”

His English wasn’t perfect, but the horse seemed to understand, and she moved toward him. He slipped the bridle into her mouth and grabbed an old saddle blanket from the corner. Carefully, he led the horse to the double doors of the barn. He put his hand through the narrow crack in the door to feel the heavy plank in its cradle on the outside. He had to move it very slowly and cautiously, if he wanted to escape undetected.

The minutes crept by as he quietly tried to inch the plank along, holding it firmly against the door to keep any sound from escaping. But even with his warrior’s strength, he couldn’t dislodge the heavy wooden crossbar. A light sweat formed on his brow despite the cold damp night air. If he were caught, he would be killed for sure. The white man felt the same as his own people about horses and horse thieves.

He could do no more with the heavy plank still in place. He had no choice but to escape through the only other available exit, the hayloft, to move the beam from the other side. He crept to one of the log columns supporting the four-story barn. He couldn’t use the ladder; it would be much too clumsy and would make too much noise.

He made the fateful decision to climb.

He judged his path with a keen eye and placed his hands on the rough wood, thrusting his body upward as he shifted from handhold to handhold. With barely a pause, he effortlessly scaled the twenty-five-foot pole and grabbed onto the edge of the second story floor to throw himself onto the loft. Swinging his weight out and grasping for the uneven wood of the loft floor, his right hand was jabbed by a long splinter, deeply imbedding itself from his finger into his palm. He almost fell; the piercing agony made him want to cry out, but he knew he couldn’t. A low groan escaped his throat, and he quieted it as soon as it formed. With a grimace of pain, he slowly pulled himself onto the loft.

He lay there for a minute in extreme anguish, trying to overcome the pain. Now he would have to carefully crawl to the hay window and jump to the ground below. He couldn’t think about the burning in his hand and finger. He had to escape the barn with a horse, if he was ever to fulfill his destiny.

Crawling to the small hay window, he opened it cautiously and peered into the darkness. All was quiet on the ranch. Only the howling wind could be heard. With the quarter moon high in the sky and surrounded by clouds, he knew it was time to leap the twenty-five feet to the ground below. Even though the pain in his hand kept him distracted, there was no wavering in his intent. This horse would be his. He knew more pain would be, also, and he paused, grimacing.

Still, the man in him refused to delay what he had to do. He held his breath and leaped into the frosty night air. The cold wind buffeted his body and whipped his clothes against his chest and legs. The ground came at him faster than he expected, and he landed with a soft thud on the ground. He let out a huffing sound as the air was forced from his lungs. He immediately knew he’d landed on his right knee, and he doubled over in an agony so intense it was unendurable . . . that was if he had truly been born a white man.

He rubbed the leg and felt carefully for broken bones. It seemed to be no more than jammed and stiff. He gingerly tried to balance himself, when agony seared him like a heated knife. His knee was another predicament he had gotten himself into.

Dragging himself through the cold and facing winds that had become more than just a simple, inconvenient night breeze, Shadow Hawk opened the barn door and gently whispered to the horse. The beautiful little mare followed him willingly. Once the horse was outside, he struggled to replace the thick plank on the barn door, so as not to arouse suspicion in the early morning ranch hands.

Limping, he pulled the horse behind him, heading toward the mountains. He couldn’t afford to try mounting her yet. She might spook and run, or make noises that would awaken the ranch workers, preventing him from completing his escape.

Shadow Hawk continued to walk cautiously, limping slightly, his moccasins making only the lightest of footsteps, all the time wincing with pain. He wouldn’t need to cover their tracks, and he was thankful for that. The strong wind would take care of hiding his footprints. The young brave focused on his knee and hand that throbbed with excruciating agony, shivering in the brisk breeze. He needed a place to rest his leg and pull the splinter from his hand. He also needed to make it deep into the mountains before the stars faded and daylight appeared. Surrounded by the cold night, the familiar mountains seemed a long way off.

With determination in his heart, he pushed on through the darkness, enduring the grueling pain that turned the minutes into hours. He passed the stockade fence and the cattle pens, working his way around the manmade obstacles. After a time, he could sense the far meadow, and beyond, he knew he would find the mountains.

Shadow Hawk wrapped an arm around the horse’s neck only a few feet into the meadow, whispering his words only when no sound would be carried on the wind.

“You are good to Shadow. Shadow like you.”

The beast let the young brave mount without incident, and he rode through the rest of the grassy pasture. During the unendurable night, the young scout continually climbed upwards toward the mountains, always whispering to the horse and gently nudging her on.

By early sunrise, as the night sky began to fade, the Indian was exhausted and had to find a place to rest. A gentle snow had begun to fall with the first soft glow of morning light. The young Cheyenne brave was aware of the excruciating cold and damp. He knew he had to have shelter soon, if he was to survive. In this weather, the heartiest of men could die with continued exposure to the elements. His hand was stiff and throbbed with pain, and his knee rippled with unendurable agony at each step of the horse.

He continued to climb into crags of the Rocky Mountains, making slow progress and growing wearier and more chilled as the hours passed. Pushing himself until the daylight started to grow long, he knew the sun would dip behind the mountains shortly. He had needed shelter long before, and now he couldn’t go farther without stopping to rest. He also knew that stopping unprotected in the cold meant certain death.

The area grew steep, and pockets of snow littered the path. This could be a dangerous journey, Shadow Hawk knew. He reached his good hand to the mare’s face and, rubbing her jaw, he whispered to her, “Be strong, my girl. Together we will make this journey. You are young as I am. When we are young, we have the strength of many men.”

The young mare stepped carefully. Painstakingly, with his head bent into the stiff breeze, Shadow Hawk persuaded the horse to continue up the nearly vertical slope. Snow-covered pines and aspen whipped in the strong wind. Their branches roughly scraped against the man and the horse, and Shadow Hawk knew the animal must also sting with pain. Yet, to give up was never an option, and together they continued the ascent, with Shadow Hawk gently encouraging the mare.

A large boulder appeared to block the narrow animal trail they were following. Shadow Hawk softly whispered to the horse to be careful. When she balked at the narrow track and the steep precipice at the edge, he rubbed her neck and let himself to the ground, holding to her as he balanced on his one good leg.

Placing his face next to hers, the brave stepped carefully, limping when he must, as he worked the mare around the boulder. He knew if he could distract her attention, she could be inched along the huge, snow-dusted precipice. Once clear, Shadow Hawk pulled himself awkwardly onto his new steed, and the young brave pressed his knees into her sides to encourage her a little farther. The sure-footed beast whinnied and began to step forward up the incline.

In the dappled sunlight a hundred feet in front of him, Shadow Hawk spied what appeared to be a shallow cave, hidden mainly by spruce and pine. He pushed the mare closer to the welcome opening in the rock. It was, he saw with relief, only a short distance away. He could stop there, and if everything was safe, he could both breathe a sigh of relief and get some much-needed sleep. He needed to recuperate from his injuries from the night before.

“After I find food,” he whispered to his new steed, “then maybe I will be able to decide how to fulfill my destiny.” Just reminding himself of his plans kept his heart encouraged, and hungry and hurting, he needed as much encouragement as he could get. Weary and fatigued, he started to dismount, only to have the horse cry out and shy away from him. He stumbled but held to the reins, and once the animal was steadied, he examined her carefully. The horse didn’t have any noticeable cuts on her hide or stones in her hooves.

All Cheyenne understood that animals could sense danger before humans did. This mare must realize something he was unaware of. Shadow Hawk knew to take the horse’s actions seriously. She must hear or smell something that his human senses hadn’t yet discovered. Maybe another animal was nearby, already occupying this domain. Shadow Hawk tied the horse to a limb away from the cave and warily moved closer to investigate. He had only taken a few limping steps up the dangerous slope when his heart stopped, and a chill went up his spine. He sucked in his breath and held it for a long, painful time. He could smell now what he hadn’t been able to hear before. The realization of all that was around him came into focus in his thoughts.

Bear.

The noise and smell of the horse must have finished arousing it from its deep winter slumber. Shadow Hawk had smelled bears and hunted them many times, both with his father and with the Cheyenne. This was the first time he had ever been alone with one. The thought didn’t encourage him, either. He was in the presence of a bear, hurt and definitely alone.

What were his choices? Should he leave and take the risk of being tracked by the beast, or should he take a chance at trying to kill the sleepy giant? If he left, would he find another shelter? Could he survive much longer without protection, warmth, or food?

The choice seemed evident. He would have to kill the animal, if he was to survive. As it emerged, Shadow Hawk could see that the bear, small and therefore young, was a black. He hated to fight against such a creature. However, it was giving him little time for thought, for it was up and lumbering toward him.

Adrenaline began to surge through Shadow Hawk’s body, and he could feel a strength that belied his injuries. He pulled his long hunting knife from its sheath and began to yell at the bear, trying his best not to show any fear. The bear took a swipe at him. Having just awakened, the groggy animal roared a frustrated howl when its claws went wide.

Shadow Hawk tried to back up, and his foot caught a stone, forcing his knee to give way. He stumbled, nearly dropping his knife. It took only seconds for him to recover, but the bear was on him in an instant. Its growls and hot breath pressed toward him. One of the bear’s thick paws scraped Shadow Hawk’s back, shredding the jacket and shirt and flooding his flesh with pain. The warmth of his blood flowed from the deep crevices torn in his body like a blanket of heat roasted beside a fire.

Shadow Hawk called on the power of the Indian medicine man, and pulling on the inner strength of his oldest ancestors, he used all his might to roll over and plunge his knife deep into the chest of the attacking monster, holding on tightly to the back of the thickly furred body. Twisting to avoid the savage teeth, he remembered the words his father had spoken.

“Son, the closer you cling on the bear, the less power it has.”

The admonition flashed quickly through the young brave’s mind, and instinctively he hung onto the fur as tightly as possible. Again and again Shadow Hawk tore the knife from the bear’s body and plunged his weapon deep into the bear’s quivering flesh, ripping apart muscle, and taking care to avoid the animal’s ferocious head, in order to keep from being viciously ripped apart.

“Brother Bear, you do not know me, but I need this cave. You must let me have it,” Shadow Hawk shouted in Cheyenne, as the bear wobbled and stumbled out of the cave’s entrance. He had succeeded. Watching cautiously, he breathed a sigh of relief when the bear finally sank to the ground and tumbled down the escarpment, dripping a trail of blood onto the white snow below, never to rise again. He was thankful it wasn’t an adult bear, or the outcome might have been quite different.

The horse was skittish from the smell of the bear and blood. It pulled at the tree branch as Shadow Hawk approached.

“Shadow here. Don’t be afraid. Come in cave. Get warm. Shadow needs rest,” the Indian brave softly crooned. His short, choppy sentences seemed to sooth the mare, and she settled under his grip.

He knew he would survive. Later, he could climb down the slope and carve meat from the bear. The hide could be skinned, prepared, and made useful for many things. He smiled, considering that perhaps his father’s white God had come to his aid in the form of a bear. If so, his father’s God had given himself to Shadow Hawk for a gift. His smile falling away, the youth conceded it was more likely that Brother Bear had been in just the right place at just the right time to offer himself to a brave of the Cheyenne people. In any case, the bear would provide food, and the hide could be used for trade.

The mare relaxed as the weakened young Indian held his arm under her neck and gently led the animal toward the cave. She shied where Shadow Hawk had fought and mortally wounded the bear, but the brave was able to talk the soft words of encouragement to her, and she seemed more secure as they moved past the place.

Approaching the cave, Shadow Hawk could see it was a sharp indention in the mountain wall where a slide must have happened many years before, digging out this small fissure. With the tall trees around it, the cave remained camouflaged from the outside. It went back into the mountain quite some way, though it was narrow, perhaps only ten to twelve feet in width.

Shadow Hawk gathered a few dry twigs and made a small fire. He put the horse toward the front of the cave. He knew its nature was such to allow it to alarm him if any other beasts approached.

Even though weakened, the young brave managed to push a rock on the reins to keep the mount from wandering off. He was drained of all his strength, and his back was hurting from the bear’s claw. He knew he had to sit down, as the heat from the fire started to warm him. Without rest, his injuries would soon cause him to collapse. He laid the saddle blanket near the fire, so he wouldn’t be on the cold, damp cavern floor. Then he cleaned and heated his knife.

“If there’s a God, I need Him now,” he murmured softly in his people’s language, as he watched the metal warm and then begin to glow. He glanced at the horse that had carried him all this way, and he watched the moisture form clouds in the air around her nostrils, as her breath exited her body. He knew what he had to do, and he knew it wouldn’t be pleasant.

“Maybe a little prayer to You wouldn’t hurt,” Shadow Hawk whispered, as he glanced up to where his father had always said his white man’s God lived. Shadow Hawk couldn’t understand how a god could live in the air with no food to eat or water to drink, but his father had said it was so. He had even believed it at one time, too. He had been a boy, though, and once back with the Cheyenne, he had learned of the true gods of his people. Still, Shadow Hawk knew it never hurt to step on all the rocks when the ground in the forest grew soft. He whispered a simple prayer asking for help from the white man’s God that lived in the sky before he dropped his eyes back to the task at hand.

Shadow Hawk was thankful he was warming up and would have shelter, as night was approaching again. This was rough country, and with the injuries his body had sustained at the ranch, he soon wouldn’t be able to move well at all. If his injuries from today didn’t get better quickly, he might have to return to the ranch where he had stolen the horse. It might be the only way he could survive.

With a deeply drawn breath, Shadow Hawk began the painful task of cutting the splinter from his hand. He placed the knife against his skin just at the splinter’s edge and pressed down. There was a sharp sting, and then he saw thick yellow pus and pale pink blood burst forth.

With his eyes starting to blur, and his breathing rapidly becoming shallower, the young brave realized the cave around him had begun to swim. The crackle of the fire became distant, and he faintly heard the horse whinny. He caught the ting of metal on stone echoing in the stone chamber, as his knife fell from his hand. Then, he closed his eyes for a moment, and that was the last thing he remembered.

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Timeless Heart Reunion, Chapter 1

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Shadow of the Hawk, Chapter 1

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