friends. In a way, she felt guilty that she hadn’t told him the very worst of her experiences in Texas, especially when he’d held nothing back. He’d taken mercy on her, and she couldn’t puzzle out why. This legendary lawman, who had undoubtedly seen more violence in a month than she wanted to witness in a lifetime, had given her an easy way out. She could’ve hugged the stuffing out of him for that.
Her respect for John multiplied, which was a shame, because Tara had the unmistakable feeling she already liked the man more than she should. They’d be no more than confidants and friends. Permitting this liaison to progress any further was an invitation to heartache. Tara had had enough of that in her lifetime. She’d suffered enough feelings of disappointment, inadequacy and rejection without inviting more of the same.
After giving herself that silent lecture, she lurched around and headed to the house to prepare lunch. To her amazement she found the children inside with John, who’d propped himself up on his improvised crutch, fashioned by Samuel from a tree limb. John was mixing up hooligan stew—which none of the children had heard of. A little of this and that, he said as he added ingredients he found in the cabinet. Tara stood aside and watched him take command of this troop of children, giving soft-spoken orders that had the youngsters hopping to do his bidding.
And later, while he sat at the head of the table, passing around food with his good arm, he began spinning yarns of an Apache legend that held the children captivated. It was the Indian version of creation, and it held Tara spellbound as well. Tara wondered why John was passing down the legends, then decided that he didn’t feel comfortable speaking of his Apache upbringing while he wandered among white society beyond the boundaries of Paradise Valley. Here he could be all he was, without fear of exposure to the outside world. In addition, she suspected he didn’t want these children to grow up with prejudices against the Indian cultures. He was, she decided, attempting to change one youthful mind at a time.
Tara had to admit that Apache philosophy was very sound, practical and down to earth. She sensed there was something else, something very subtle, going on here, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was.
After the meal John announced that he was taking the children on an excursion around the canyon to acquaint them with some of the herbs that served medicinal and nutritional purposes. Tara protested that the exertion of hiking might cause a setback in his condition, but he shrugged away her concerns for his welfare. While the children were cleaning up after the meal, John gestured for her to follow him into the bedroom. Curiously, she watched him limp inside, then close the door behind them.
“What are you up to, O great warrior, White Wolf?” she asked without preamble.
He smiled indulgently. “Something you said earlier got me to thinking.”
“I hope that isn’t a bad thing—you thinking, that is,” she teased.
He cocked a thick brow. “You’re in an odd mood, Irish.”
“What can I say? I’m an odd person.” And for the life of her she didn’t know what to make of the comments flying from her mouth. Maybe it was the fact that she was unaccustomed to relating to someone other than the children. With John, she felt herself assuming an entirely different role. She wondered if her attitude and response to him was some sort of strange defense mechanism. After all, the better she got to know this man the more she liked him. And that might not be such a good thing, because his presence here was temporary and her growing fascination with him might become much too permanent.
“The point here is that you mentioned sending the children out in the world to find their place and make lives for themselves. It occurred to me that I could repay your kindness by teaching them the knowledge I’ve gained from my Apache training. There are resources of food, medicine and means of protection in the wilds that I can show them. It also occurs to me that I can share the responsibility for these children while I’m here and give you some time to yourself.”
Tara gaped at him. “Time to myself? What an utterly foreign concept. I wouldn’t have a clue what to do with myself without children underfoot.”
“You can start by taking a nap,” he suggested. “On your own bed, not in the hayloft. Then try something as decadent as lounging in a chair and daydreaming.”
Her gaze narrowed suspiciously on him. “And what is the purpose of this?”
“Getting to know yourself,” he replied. “It’s part of the Apache philosophy I mentioned to the children. From what you told me, and what I’ve witnessed, you simply live to serve and care for these children.”
She stiffened defensively. “I told you why. I want them to overcome their feelings of rejection. I want them to feel wanted, needed and loved.”
“You’ve accomplished that,” he stated. “So it behooves you to regenerate your own energy. Take a nap.”
“I quit taking orders two years ago,” she told him. “I didn’t like it then, and I don’t care much for it now.”
“Really? It hardly even shows.” He chuckled, despite her annoyed frown.
“All right, Mr. Marshal, you baby-sit and I’ll lounge around. But don’t get to thinking that while you’re here recuperating you always get to be the boss.”
He opened his mouth to reply and must’ve thought better of it because he clamped those full, sensual lips together and stared thoughtfully at her. When he hobbled out of the room, Tara sank down on the foot of her bed, wondering what she was going to do with herself for an hour or two. She was in the habit of rising at dawn and working nonstop until she collapsed in exhaustion at night. She’d never pampered herself a single day in her life and wouldn’t know how to start!
“Don’t plan supper,” he added as he poked his head back inside the room. “I’ll teach the kids to hunt. We’ll return with the meal in hand and prepare it ourselves. The rest of the day belongs to you, Irish. Enjoy it.”
“The whole rest of the day?” she echoed bewilderedly.
“I’m giving you a long-needed break from your routine,” he insisted.
With that, he closed the door. Tara flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Take a nap? In the middle of the day…? That was the last thought to flit through her mind before she drifted off to sleep.
Although his leg ached fiercely, and it felt as if someone was trying to pry apart his ribs with a crowbar, John hobbled back through the canyon while the children bounded around him. Their survival excursion had been a success. John had pointed out a variety of plants and explained how each herb served as a remedy or as food, and how to tell which plants were which. Paradise Valley was a veritable greenhouse of roots, seeds and bark that the Apache used to treat maladies and to season food.
John had also directed the children’s attention to a mesquite tree and informed them that it was referred to as the Apache survival tree because it served so many useful purposes. From it a man could acquire food and medicine. The tree limbs could be burned in winter without drawing unwanted attention because the wood gave off very little smoke. Since the fragrant mesquite flowers attracted bees, the tree was also a reliable source of honey. The pods and beans could be used for flavoring, for eating or fermented for drinks. The leaves, he’d told the youngsters, were used for making tea and poultices. The gum of the tree could be applied to wounds and sores or even boiled to make candy.
All the while that John was pointing out ways to survive off the land, the children were amazingly attentive and treated
