Shah growled. “He wants me out of this place permanently.”
“Guess he won’t get his way, will he?”
Jake’s teasing broke the terrible tension she carried in her shoulders. Shah searched his harsh features ruthlessly for any sign that he was lying. Men had always lied to her.
“I don’t trust men,” she warned him throatily.
“Why?” Jake asked the question so softly that he wasn’t sure she’d heard him at first.
Her mouth compressed, Shah wrapped her arms across her chest and looked out at the river. “I never talk about my past.”
“Most kids who come from alcoholic families feel that way,” Jake said gently.
Shah’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose you’ve got a degree in psychology, too, besides philosophy?”
Grinning bashfully, Jake shook his head. “I got trained a long time ago to be more aware of other people’s feelings and motivations.” Memories of Bess pooled in his heart, and he shrugged. “An incredible woman with a heart as big as yours helped me open up and see a lot more than most men do about people and their problems.”
Curiosity stalked Shah. For just a moment, she’d seen Jake’s face lose its harsh cast. Underneath, she’d seen a man of immense sensitivity. Then that cloak of grief had surrounded him again. She swallowed hard. “You’re married?”
Jake was wrestling with real, unresolved pain. “I was…but that was a long time ago.” It hurt to breathe in that moment, and hot, unexpected tears momentarily blurred his vision, dissolving Shah’s taut features. Blinking them back, he tried to steer the conversation back to her. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “So how long did your mother tolerate your father’s alcohol problem?”
Caught off guard by the tears she saw in Jake’s eyes, Shah stood very still. She felt her way through the ravaged, haunted look on his face. She’d never seen tears in a man’s eyes before. The only tears she knew were ones shed in hurt and pain by women and children. Were Jake’s tears due to some memory, a past he couldn’t put to rest? His features remained open and accessible, and the words, the feelings, tumbled out of Shah’s mouth before she could stop them. “My mother was very young—and very beautiful—when my father met her. She was waiting tables at the best hotel in Rapid City, South Dakota, and he fell in love with her. My mother was a medicine woman in training at the time, and she tried to explain that to my father. She lived in the traditional ways of our people, but he didn’t care or want to know about my mother’s beliefs.
“My father shrugged off her explanations, dazzled her with beautiful gifts, fine food at the best restaurants, and within days they were married. I guess I was conceived the first night. But when my father wanted my mother to move away from the Rosebud reservation, where our family has land and homes, my mother said no. Her medicine teacher was there, as she’d tried to tell him days earlier. One day she’d be a medicine woman helping her people, and she couldn’t leave the reservation.”
“Your mother is a healer?” Jake asked, seeing all too clearly the suffering that speaking about her past was causing Shah.
“Yes, but that didn’t matter to him. My father started drinking, flew into a rage and beat my mother senseless. When she came to, they were driving to Denver, where he lived.” Shah’s voice died in her throat, and she shook her head. “My mother was a virtual prisoner at my father’s estate. He was jealous and guarded her. She could never go anywhere without a private detective in plain sight. He was a Jekyll-and-Hyde personality, and when he drank, he beat her.”
Jake shut his eyes, buffeted by her pain. When he opened them again, he stared grimly into her distraught features. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. It took every bit of Jake’s control not to reach out and touch Shah in a gesture of humanity, but he knew that, given her
“Guess he won’t get his way, will he?”
Jake’s teasing broke the terrible tension she carried in her shoulders. Shah searched his harsh features ruthlessly for any sign that he was lying. Men had always lied to her.
“I don’t trust men,” she warned him throatily.
“Why?” Jake asked the question so softly that he wasn’t sure she’d heard him at first.
Her mouth compressed, Shah wrapped her arms across her chest and looked out at the river. “I never talk about my past.”
“Most kids who come from alcoholic families feel that way,” Jake said gently.
Shah’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose you’ve got a degree in psychology, too, besides philosophy?”
Grinning bashfully, Jake shook his head. “I got trained a long time ago to be more aware of other people’s feelings and motivations.” Memories of Bess pooled in his heart, and he shrugged. “An incredible woman with a heart as big as yours helped me open up and see a lot more than most men do about people and their problems.”
Curiosity stalked Shah. For just a moment, she’d seen Jake’s face lose its harsh cast. Underneath, she’d seen a man of immense sensitivity. Then that cloak of grief had surrounded him again. She swallowed hard. “You’re married?”
Jake was wrestling with real, unresolved pain. “I was…but that was a long time ago.” It hurt to breathe in that moment, and hot, unexpected tears momentarily blurred his vision, dissolving Shah’s taut features. Blinking them back, he tried to steer the conversation back to her. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “So how long did your mother tolerate your father’s alcohol problem?”
Caught off guard by the tears she saw in Jake’s eyes, Shah stood very still. She felt her way through the ravaged, haunted look on his face. She’d never seen tears in a man’s eyes before. The only tears she knew were ones shed in hurt and pain by women and children. Were Jake’s tears due to some memory, a past he couldn’t put to rest? His features remained open and accessible, and the words, the feelings, tumbled out of Shah’s mouth before she could stop them. “My mother was very young—and very beautiful—when my father met her. She was waiting tables at the best hotel in Rapid City, South Dakota, and he fell in love with her. My mother was a medicine woman in training at the time, and she tried to explain that to my father. She lived in the traditional ways of our people, but he didn’t care or want to know about my mother’s beliefs.
“My father shrugged off her explanations, dazzled her with beautiful gifts, fine food at the best restaurants, and within days they were married. I guess I was conceived the first night. But when my father wanted my mother to move away from the Rosebud reservation, where our family has land and homes, my mother said no. Her medicine teacher was there, as she’d tried to tell him days earlier. One day she’d be a medicine woman helping her people, and she couldn’t leave the reservation.”
“Your mother is a healer?” Jake asked, seeing all too clearly the suffering that speaking about her past was causing Shah.
“Yes, but that didn’t matter to him. My father started drinking, flew into a rage and beat my mother senseless. When she came to, they were driving to Denver, where he lived.” Shah’s voice died in her throat, and she shook her head. “My mother was a virtual prisoner at my father’s estate. He was jealous and guarded her. She could never go anywhere without a private detective in plain sight. He was a Jekyll-and-Hyde personality, and when he drank, he beat her.”
Jake shut his eyes, buffeted by her pain. When he opened them again, he stared grimly into her distraught features. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. It took every bit of Jake’s control not to reach out and touch Shah in a gesture of humanity, but he knew that, given her
Similar Books
