Donna Clayton - Bound by Honor

Although the fear pulsing through her subsided, the urgent need to get to Amy swelled like the floodwaters of Porcupine Creek.

Without knowing exactly why, she whispered, “Jenna. My name’s Jenna Butler. I really do have to go.”

His desperation seemed to hum like a silent tune. She knew she should be on her way. Amy needed her. But Jenna simply couldn’t get the muscles of her legs to obey her frantic commands.

“Look—” his black brows inched together “—it would be impossible for me to make you understand what…to understand my beliefs. But I cannot—” He stopped. His corded throat convulsed in a swallow. “Owing a Life Gift is—” Again, he halted. “I must repay you in some way.”

Getting to Amy was Jenna’s only thought now. The swollen creek had cost her precious time. She would have to backtrack nearly ten miles to get to the interstate.

“I really don’t have time for this. I’ve already told you that you owe me nothing.”

Irritation flickered in his taut features. “It doesn’t matter what you think I do or do not owe.”

A whispery thought floated at the fringes of her brain, telling her she should feel insulted by his blunt words, but then a sudden and desperate idea flashed in her head. “There is something you could do. Say a prayer that my sister, Amy, is okay.”

With that, she turned on her heel and made a mad dash for her car. She got in, jammed the engine into gear and got herself turned in the right direction. As she sped back toward the rise in the road, she glanced in the rear-view mirror at the tall Native American standing in the pouring rain.

Two months later

“This is absolutely insane.” However, the murmured opinion didn’t discourage the determination in her step as she tramped across the neatly trimmed grass between the house and the gravel drive. “The man is not going to help you. He probably won’t even remember you.”

Normal, everyday behavior for Jenna didn’t customarily include talking to herself. But her life had been anything but normal over the course of the past eight weeks. Thick emotion threatened to consume her when she contemplated all she’d endured, all she continued to endure; the sadness, the grief, the overwhelming frustration of dealing with the Lenape Council of Elders. So she thrust the thoughts from her mind and, instead, focused on the reason she’d come to Broken Bow—finding a solution to her problem.

Yes, coming here might be crazy. And, yes, once she presented her proposition, the man might laugh her into next week. But she’d turned the situation over in her head every which way, and this was the only answer she’d come up with.

The plain plank steps leading to the door of the rustic but contemporary ranch were sturdy under her feet. The covered porch offered a shady respite from the sweltering summer sun. The house was built with rough-hewn timber. Lifting her hand, she rapped on the door before anxiety stole away her nerve.

During the past weeks, the reservation had become a familiar place to her…a place filled with little more than apprehension and defeat. When the idea of garnering the help of Gage Dalton had popped into her head several days ago, she’d begun asking around about him.

However, as hard as she’d tried, she’d been unsuccessful in getting anyone to talk about him. What little information she had been able to gather about the man had left her feeling extremely unsure as to whether she should even attempt to approach him. But she simply had to do something.

Jenna hated feeling desperate, but that was exactly how she and her circumstances could be described. If he turned his back on her, she didn’t know what she would do.

When he didn’t answer the door, unexpected relief swept through her.

“Get in your car and drive away,” she muttered under her breath. But instead of listening to reason, she reached up and knocked again. This time even harder. A mocking voice inside her head warned once again that this scheme was utterly outrageous.

The house showed no sign of life.

Dalton pretty much keeps to himself.

Rarely leaves his ranch.

Prefers to be left alone.

Those were the few pieces of information Jenna had accumulated while trying to locate Gage Dalton. Those who had talked to her had made him sound like some kind of hermit. And each and every person she’d approached, whether they offered information or not, had cast a peculiar glance, obviously wondering why she was searching for the man, but thankfully they’d been too polite to probe.

At a nearby service station, the talkative teenage boy who had checked her car’s oil had commented, “We haven’t seen much of Gage for the past year.” Then he’d offered the most curious clue of all when he’d added, “The accident changed him.”

Although she’d wanted to query further, other customers had occupied the boy’s attention.

She should have taken the teen’s words as a warning. Put together with her own tense experience with the man the tragic day of that horrendous storm, she should be running for the high hills, not seeking him out with a request for what was sure to be an awesome benevolence, if he agreed to help her. Doubt reared its head, hissing like an ugly snake, but she refused to surrender. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—back away from this. She had too much at stake.

Gage Dalton was her only hope. Her only chance of getting what she wanted.

The people of Broken Bow had inferred that Gage was an island—a lone and wounded man who kept himself isolated from the world. Well, he couldn’t avoid her. She meant to see him.

“Gage Dalton!”

Several birds in the treetops were startled into flight.

She descended the porch steps and rounded the corner of the house. To her surprise, she saw a fenced paddock where two black-and-white horses moseyed about. There were several outbuildings, as well as a large stable located down a short, dusty lane.

The property was substantial, she realized, amazed she hadn’t observed its size as she’d approached the house in her car. She turned, her gaze scanning the hard-packed, winding gravel drive. Fences spanned as far as she could see, and more horses grazed in one of several enclosed meadows. She’d seen enough western movies to identify those horses. Gage Dalton bred pintos.

She called, “Hello!”

He stepped into her view, stopping in the open double doors of the stable. Shirtless, he clasped a metal rake in one hand.

Her eyes cruised down the length of him. Sunlight gleamed against his bronze chest. Abdominal muscles rippled all the way down to the worn blue jeans that rode low on his trim waist and hugged his thighs. She dragged her gaze back up to his face. Those black eyes homed in on her, making her feel as if the very air around her had constricted. Even though he must have been nearly fifty yards away, she could sense the same tense displeasure pulsing from him as she’d felt the terrible, stormy day when they’d first met. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting a visitor, nor was he happy to see one.

The sight of him impelled her to turn tail and run. But thoughts of little Lily whispered through her mind, prompting Jenna to stand her ground. Her motive for being here was all-important. Even the formidable Gage Dalton couldn’t keep her from getting what she wanted.

Well, he could. But she planned to do everything in her power to see that he didn’t.

Ignoring his unwelcoming countenance, Jenna trudged toward him. She hoped her cheery smile hid the emotions warring inside her.

The closer her steps brought her to him, the heavier her doubt about his help grew.

A soft summer breeze fluttered the ends of his long hair.

“Hello, there.” She was pleased that her greeting came out so smoothly. But then the stammering started. “I—I was a little wet and disheveled w-when we last m-met…and it’s been weeks ago…so…well…I don’t know if you remember me, but—”