Before Sunrise

“The job I’m recommending you for pays really well,” he said, smiling. “And I’d see you often, because I spend a lot of time doing pro bono work in the area of their offices.”

Her eyes were bright with hope. “What an incentive.”

He laughed softly. “I was thinking the same thing.” He hesitated, watching her. “I’m not good with people,” he said then. “Relationships are hard for me. Even surface ones. You’re demanding.”

“So are you,” she said simply.

He grimaced. “I suppose I am.”

“I’m not pushing you. I’m not even asking for anything,” she said quietly.

He touched her cheek with his fingertips. “I know that.”

She searched his dark eyes. “I knew you, the first time I saw you. I don’t understand how.”

“Sometimes, it’s better not to try,” he replied. “And I really do have to go.” He bent and kissed her with breathless tenderness, teasing her mouth with his until she lifted up to him. She moaned softly and tugged at his strong neck. He bent, crushing her against his chest with a harsh groan. She felt her whole body throbbing as the kiss went on and on until her mouth was swollen and her heart raced like a wild thing. He lifted his head reluctantly. But then he let her go abruptly and drew back.

He looked as unsettled as she felt. “We’ve got things in common already. We’ll probably find more. At least you aren’t totally ignorant of indigenous customs and rituals.”

She smiled gently. “I studied hard.”

He sighed. “Okay. We’ll see what happens. I’ll write you when I get back to D.C. Don’t expect long letters. I don’t have the time.”

“I won’t,” she promised.

He touched her chin with his thumb. “You were right about one thing,” he said unexpectedly.

“What?”

“You said that if I missed your graduation I’d regret it for the rest of my life,” he recalled, smiling. “I would have.”

Her fingers slid over his long mouth, tingling at the touch. “Me, too,” she agreed, with her heart in her eyes as they met his.

He bent and kissed her one last time before he reached across her and opened the door. “I’ll write.”

She got out, nodding at him. “So will I.” She closed the door and stared down into the car. “I hope things work out for you at home,” she added.

“They will, one way or the other,” he replied. He studied her with turbulent eyes and an uncanny sense of catastrophe ahead. His father and uncles and the medicine men who were his ancestors would have found that perception a blessing. To him, it was a nuisance.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, because the look on his face was eloquent.

He shifted. “Nothing,” he lied, trying to ignore the feeling. “I was just thinking. You take care, Phoebe.”

“You do the same. I enjoyed my graduation.”

He smiled. “I enjoyed it, too. This isn’t goodbye,” he added when she looked devastated.

“I know.” She felt uneasy, though, and she couldn’t understand why. He gave her one last look. His eyes were dark and shadowed and full of misgiving. Before she could ask why he looked that way, he rolled the window up.

He waved, and pulled out of the parking space. She watched him until he was out of sight. Her mouth still tingled from the press of his lips, and her body was aching with new sensations. With a sense of excitement and wonder, she turned and went slowly back into the hotel. The future looked rosy and bright.

CHAPTER TWO

Three years later

THE SMALL NATIVE AMERICAN museum in Chenocetah, North Carolina, was crowded for a Saturday. Phoebe smiled at a group of children as they passed her in the hall. Two of them jostled each other and the teacher called them down, with an apologetic smile at Phoebe.

“Don’t worry,” Phoebe whispered to the teacher. “There’s nothing breakable that isn’t behind glass or a velvet rope!”

The teacher chuckled and walked on.

Phoebe glanced at the board that translated Cherokee words into English. It wasn’t exact, but it was an improvement on the board that had hung there previously. The museum had been so ragged and unappealing that the county was thinking of shutting it down. But Phoebe had taken on the job of curator, and she’d put new life into the project. At the top of the board was the name of the town, Chenocetah, and its Cherokee translation: “See all around.” You really could, she thought, considering the tall, stately mountains that ringed the small town.

Phoebe had completed her master’s degree in anthropology by doing distance education and spending the required few weeks on campus during the summer in order to graduate. She was given the curator’s job in the Chenocetah Museum on the poviso that she was to obtain her master’s in the meantime.

Here, only a few minutes away from Cherokee, North Carolina, land was at a premium. The Yonah Indian Reservation, a small stronghold of native people, reached almost to the city limits sign of Chenocetah. On the outskirts of the small mountain town that boasted more hotels per square inch than Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, three construction companies were racing to put up several hotel complexes. One of the conglomerates was erecting up a Las Vegas-type theme hotel complex. The other two were luxurious tourist resorts with wildlife trails included in the design. They had the added attraction of being located with their backs to a mountain honeycombed with caves, a sure draw for spelunkers.

Two members of the city council had protested violently at the ecological impact of the mammoth projects, but the other three and the mayor had voted them down. The water rates alone would fill the city coffers, not to mention the tourists they would draw into the already tourist-oriented area.

Phoebe, like the two protesting councilmen, was thinking of the cost of enlarging the sewage system and water delivery system to accommodate the added demands of the huge hotels. They were going up close enough to the Chenocetah Cherokee Museum that they would probably impact the water pressure in the museum, already less than she liked with so many visitors. Another problem was going to be the headache of traffic snarls that would accompany the increased traffic near the small town’s city limits at one of the county’s worst intersections. One of the sheriff’s deputies who flirted with her regularly had mentioned that consequence. She didn’t flirt back. Phoebe had a grudge against anyone with a badge these days.

“You frown too much,” her colleague, Marie Locklear murmured dryly as she approached her. Marie was half Cherokee and a graduate of Duke University. She was the museum’s comptroller, and a precious asset.

“I smile when I’m alone,” Phoebe confessed. “I wouldn’t want to upset the staff.”

“My cousin Drake Stewart’s coming by at lunch, again,” she said, naming the deputy sheriff who patrolled the area. “I asked him to bring us a couple of those spicy chicken salads from the new fast-food joint.” Marie added, “He’s sweet on you.”

Phoebe winced. “I’m off men.”

“Drake’s thirty and drop-dead gorgeous,” Marie reminded her. “He’s got just enough Cherokee blood to make him sexy,” she added. “If he wasn’t my first cousin, I’d marry him myself!”

“He’s also a deputy sheriff.”

“That’s right. I forgot. You’re down on lawmen.”

Phoebe went into her office, with Marie right behind. “I’m down on men, period,” she replied.

“Why?”

Phoebe ignored the question. Dragging up the past was just too painful.

“Can we afford to fix that hole in the parking lot?” Phoebe asked. “We’re getting complaints.”

“If we forego fixing the roof, we can,” Marie said demurely.

“Not another leak!” Phoebe groaned. “Where is it?”

“In the men’s bathroom,” Marie replied. “There’s a puddle in front of the sinks.”