Cherokee Baby

Cherokee Baby
Sheri WhiteFeather

One look. One dance. One night of passion. Julianne McKenzie had experienced it all with one sexy man. And now she was expecting a child, the Cherokee baby of Bobby Elk. What other surprises did life have in store? Too much heartache. Too much to atone for. Bobby Elk believed he lacked the soul to give Julianne all she deserved. She carried his child, and his Cherokee heritage demanded he give them a home, yet he dared not give them his name, his heart.Three souls bound by one fateful encounter. Man. Woman. Child. But their circle would never be complete until one man faced his greatest fear…and one woman showed him how deserving he was of love.

“We Should Wait Until The Baby Is Born To Come Up With Names,” Bobby Said. “That’s The Cherokee Way.”

Still struggling for composure, Julianne merely nodded.

“In the early days, a Cherokee baby was named in a ceremony by an elder in the community. A Beloved Woman. But things have changed. Today the father names the child.”

And that was important to him, she realized. To adhere to tradition, to play a significant role in naming their baby.

“A lot of things have changed,” he went on to say. “In an ancient Cherokee household, a man moved in with the woman he married, and he was restricted in his authority over the children. Now, a man is the undisputed head of the household.”

She didn’t know how to respond, not when his words barely applied. How could he be the head of the household when they didn’t even live together?

“I want the baby to have my last name,” he said.

Then marry me, Julianne thought hopelessly. Love me and marry me.

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Cherokee Baby

Sheri Whitefeather

SHERI WHITEFEATHER

lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, American Indian powwows and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be a part of the Silhouette Desire line. When she isn’t writing, she often reads until the wee hours of the morning.

Sheri is married to a Muscogee Creek silversmith. They have a son, a daughter and a trio of cats—domestic and wild. She loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 17146, Anaheim, California 92817.

As writers, we often try to “become” our characters, live in their shoes, so to speak. In this case, the shoes I attempted to fill were custom-made cowboy boots belonging to Bobby Elk, a left-leg amputee. In my quest to delve into Bobby’s world, I connected with some amazing people who taught me how fragile and triumphant the human spirit truly is. To Tony Barr, a foot amputee, expert horseman and e-mail friend, for explaining how Bobby would ride and train his horses. To Laurie, a lovely lady and double amputee, for sharing intimate details about her life.

To Margo Severson for phantom pain references.

To Al Pike, Teja Gilmore, Matthew Baughman and Ken Hung, the CPs who answered questions and/or took me on a tour of their prosthetics and orthotics facilities. If I made any technical errors in this book, I apologize. I studied my research notes and applied them to Bobby’s life the best way I knew how.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

One

Thirty-nine and counting.

Good Lord. Julianne McKenzie trailed behind her cousins, wondering why she’d agreed to let them fuss over her upcoming birthday. Not that she didn’t relish the “girls only” vacation they’d agreed upon, she just didn’t understand why they’d insisted on arranging one of those tongue-in-cheek, over-the-hill parties to go along with it.

What did her cousins know about turning forty? Mern and Kay were still in their early thirties, nearly a decade away from the big 4-0, from the onset of gray hair, crow’s-feet and sagging rear ends.

And to top it off, they were both happily married. Julianne’s philandering spouse had left her for a cliché. A younger woman. A loyal secretary, the kind middle-aged wives feared and middle-aged husbands couldn’t seem to resist.

As her cousins reached the big wooden door of the lodge at Elk Ridge Ranch, Julianne dragged her luggage up the stone path and sighed.

Her life was falling apart at the seams.

“Are you coming, Jul?” Kay called back.

She waved the brunette on. “I’ll catch up.”