Trace Evidence

“Including the claw marks and the blood?” Again she nodded and he squeezed her shoulder gently. “Then, isn’t it possible hearing about that provoked that particular vision?”

“I suppose,” Alyssa admitted after a moment of hesitation. “I just wanted to tell you. I was worried.”

“Try not to worry, Alyssa. The vandalism in Tamara’s classroom might not have even been directed at her specifically. Hers was one of the few unlocked classrooms in the school. It was probably simply a matter of convenience for the perps that her classroom got hit.”

“You think?”

He offered her a tight smile. “Go back and finish enjoying your lunch. No monster is going to get to Tamara. I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Thanks, Clay,” Alyssa said.

He watched as she hurried back to the booth, then turned on his heel and headed out of the café, intent on putting Tamara Greystone out of his head.

“Your cousin is quite a handsome man,” Tamara said when Alyssa returned to the table.

“Yeah, he is.”

“How old is he?”

“Thirty-five,” Alyssa said. She gazed at Tamara with narrowed eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”

“What?” Tamara looked at her innocently.

“Tamara, I know both of us are in the same place when it comes to wanting to connect with some man who will mean something in our lives. But trust me, Clay is not the man for you.”

Tamara laughed. “I just asked a simple question,” she protested.

“Well, I’m just warning you, simple question or not, Clay is the worst bet for a relationship in the entire United States. He’s moody and downright surly at times. He’s a loner who is married to his work.”

“Stop! Stop!” Tamara held up her hands and laughed once again. “All I asked was his age.”

“You also said he was handsome.”

“Well, I’d have to be dead not to notice that,” she replied. “Trust me, Alyssa, I’ve heard enough about Clay from his mother to know he’s not the man for me.”

What she didn’t tell her friend was that even knowing Clay wasn’t what she was looking for in a spirit mate, he intrigued her.

There was a dark intensity in his eyes that spoke of pain, a taut energy that whispered of a restless soul, and coupled with his passion for his work, she couldn’t help but find him interesting.

He’d be fascinating to paint with his chiseled, strong, slightly arrogant features, although she usually didn’t paint portraits.

“Hello?”

Alyssa’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said what are your plans for the weekend?”

“Painting,” Tamara replied. “The art gallery in Oklahoma City is giving me a show in September and I want to have at least five more paintings done by then. I’d ask you what you’re going to do for the weekend, but I know your answer already. Work…work…work.”

“I like keeping busy,” Alyssa said defensively.

“You going to tell me about the visions that have been bothering you lately?”

“I just have a few minutes before I need to get back to the Redbud, I hate to end our visit with talking about them.”

Tamara reached across the table and took her friend’s hand in hers. “You can’t carry it alone, Alyssa. Don’t you realize that’s what friends are for, to share not only joys, but burdens as well.”

Alyssa squeezed her hand, then released it and leaned back in the booth. “I’ve had one vision that has become more and more frequent in the last two weeks and it’s driving me crazy because I don’t know where it’s coming from.”

Tamara smiled at her. “Might I remind you that you never know where they come from.”

Alyssa flashed a quick grin. “Okay, that might be true, but this one feels different…more vivid…more intense…more powerful.” She leaned forward once again, her gaze troubled. “I see a man, one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen…dark hair, eyes like blue ice and a smile that could melt a glacier on a winter day.”

“Have you ever seen him before? I mean, outside of your visions?”

Alyssa shook her head. “Trust me, if I’d seen him outside a vision, I’d remember him. Anyway, in the vision, he’s making love to me and then he’s being stabbed and he’s dying in my arms.” She shuddered and took a sip of her iced tea. “Anyway, this is one of the worst I’ve had in a long time and it always bothers me when they’re recurring.”

“But you’ve had recurring visions that never came to anything before, right?” Tamara asked.

“Right,” Alyssa said after a moment of hesitation. “Enough about this. Walk me home and I’ll give you a double-dip cone on the house. I got in some of that caramel toffee ice cream that you love.”

“You’ve got a deal.” Together the two women got up from the booth.

It was almost an hour later when Tamara got into her car and headed home. Her heart was warmed by the time she had spent with Alyssa. She’d love to have a special man in her life, but special friends were important, too.

As she drove down Main Street at a leisurely pace, her senses took in the sights and sounds that were so familiar to her.

When she’d been growing up her family had lived twenty miles outside of Cherokee Corners. Every Saturday her parents and she would get into the car and drive to town for grocery shopping, art supplies and whatever else the family might need.

She’d loved coming into town. Even though through the week she rode a bus to and from the Cherokee Corners schools, those Saturday trips of leisure time in Cherokee Corners had been magical.

It had only been since her return to Cherokee Corners from New York that she’d begun some volunteer work at the Cherokee Cultural Center. There she had met Alyssa and her Aunt Rita, Clay’s mother.

Clay. There was absolutely no reason for him to be in her thoughts as much as he had been throughout the day. She had no explanation for it.

Since she’d returned from New York she had immersed herself in Cherokee ways and traditions, reclaiming the soul she’d nearly lost to Max and New York.

Eventually when she chose the man she would marry, he’d be a warrior, proud of his heritage, strong in tradition and with the Cherokee loving heart.

Everything she had heard about Clay James indicated he was not the warrior her heart sought. She resolutely shoved thoughts of him out of her mind and focused on the fact that she had two lovely weekend days ahead of her to indulge in her first love…painting.

Thanks to Max, she no longer had to beg art galleries to showcase her work, rather she had galleries requesting showings.

She tucked away every penny she made, knowing that Native American paintings were hot now, but there may come a day when she wouldn’t be able to give her work away.

Her parents had encouraged her talent and creativity from a very early age, but they had also instilled a level of practicality, which is why she had gotten her teaching degree despite the fact that painting was her first love.

She pulled down the dirt lane that would take her to her cottage, a sense of homecoming filling her up inside. The moment she’d seen the place, she’d thought of it as her own little enchanted cottage in the woods.