narrow-mindedness."
Despite the bruises and swelling, Stormwalker's eyes had remained fixed on her, but his gaze sharpened as he examined her even more closely. The intensity of the look sent a tremor of excitement through her. As a distraction she concentrated on her driving. "Since we're talking about traditions, mind telling me how you got your name?"
"The holy man saw it in a vision."
"It fits."
"So I've been told," he commented dryly.
"You don't agree?"
He lowered his head to the back of the seat and closed his eyes. "I'm just trying to get from here to there in one piece, that's all."
"You might have a shot if you took fewer chances."
"No lectures, please. I've about run out of tolerance."
She pulled up alongside the house and parked. Stormwalker made it up the steps under his own power. Zan followed him into the kitchen, where he eased into a chair by the table.
"Is there a first aid kit around?" she asked.
He nodded. "In that cabinet behind you, but you don't have to repair the damages. I can handle things."
With a sideward glance she ordered, "Indulge me," then filled a bowl with cool water. She found the box with the red cross on the top and a clean dish towel in a drawer near the sink and set everything on the table.
"Since you're determined to play Nancy Nurse, you might as well open the refrigerator. There's a clay pot on the top shelf. It contains one of my grandmother's remedies."
She removed the cover and dipped a fingertip into the glistening gel. "Is this aloe?"
"And some other ingredients I've never had the courage to ask about. The stuff's awesome in its power to heal."
After she'd done what she could for his face, she turned her attention to his hands. "I hope these made contact with someone's jaw."
"And a couple of noses and some teeth." He grinned despite his injured mouth.
She gently swabbed away the dirt and treated the bruises, taking extra care where the skin had been broken.
He watched her, hardly aware of any discomfort, so intent was he on the scent of her perfume and the silky red-brown hair that hid her face as she bent to her work. When she touched his wrist, his pulse jumped beneath her gentle fingers. She lifted her face, the look of a startled doe in her warm brown eyes.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Am I hurting you?"
"Not exactly."
"Not exactly?"
"You're the first woman I've been near in more than five years. That brings both pleasure and pain."
"Do you want me to stop?"
He wanted to maintain the contact, to hold onto her warmth and the waves of yearning that shuddered through him, letting him know that buried feelings had been reborn. His mind questioned whether this was the need of a man for a woman, any woman, as he had implied. Or something very different, something that had begun the first time they met.
He eased his hand away. "I don't want you to stop, but you'd better." He rose and started to leave.
Zan held an elastic bandage. "Shouldn't I do something about your ribs?"
The golden lights in his eyes flashed. His chest rose and fell with a heavy, in-borne breath as he seemed to consider her question. Finally, he said, "I don't think so," and continued into the living room.
Zan understood his mixed emotions. She felt both disappointment and relief when he vanished into the darkness. The sofa creaked as he settled down to rest, leaving her free to return the kitchen to order.
If only she could do the same with her confused feelings. When she'd felt the weight of his arm around her shoulder, she'd wanted him to stay close. She hadn't considered why they'd been thrown together. And she hadn't remembered Dar.
She closed her eyes and struggled past the image of black hair, hypnotic eyes and burning intensity to the place where memories of Dar lived. Despite her effort to concentrate on him, she felt herself slip away, drawn irretrievably to the man in the next room.
She returned to the unfinished chore and glimpsed herself in the glass pane of a
Despite the bruises and swelling, Stormwalker's eyes had remained fixed on her, but his gaze sharpened as he examined her even more closely. The intensity of the look sent a tremor of excitement through her. As a distraction she concentrated on her driving. "Since we're talking about traditions, mind telling me how you got your name?"
"The holy man saw it in a vision."
"It fits."
"So I've been told," he commented dryly.
"You don't agree?"
He lowered his head to the back of the seat and closed his eyes. "I'm just trying to get from here to there in one piece, that's all."
"You might have a shot if you took fewer chances."
"No lectures, please. I've about run out of tolerance."
She pulled up alongside the house and parked. Stormwalker made it up the steps under his own power. Zan followed him into the kitchen, where he eased into a chair by the table.
"Is there a first aid kit around?" she asked.
He nodded. "In that cabinet behind you, but you don't have to repair the damages. I can handle things."
With a sideward glance she ordered, "Indulge me," then filled a bowl with cool water. She found the box with the red cross on the top and a clean dish towel in a drawer near the sink and set everything on the table.
"Since you're determined to play Nancy Nurse, you might as well open the refrigerator. There's a clay pot on the top shelf. It contains one of my grandmother's remedies."
She removed the cover and dipped a fingertip into the glistening gel. "Is this aloe?"
"And some other ingredients I've never had the courage to ask about. The stuff's awesome in its power to heal."
After she'd done what she could for his face, she turned her attention to his hands. "I hope these made contact with someone's jaw."
"And a couple of noses and some teeth." He grinned despite his injured mouth.
She gently swabbed away the dirt and treated the bruises, taking extra care where the skin had been broken.
He watched her, hardly aware of any discomfort, so intent was he on the scent of her perfume and the silky red-brown hair that hid her face as she bent to her work. When she touched his wrist, his pulse jumped beneath her gentle fingers. She lifted her face, the look of a startled doe in her warm brown eyes.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Am I hurting you?"
"Not exactly."
"Not exactly?"
"You're the first woman I've been near in more than five years. That brings both pleasure and pain."
"Do you want me to stop?"
He wanted to maintain the contact, to hold onto her warmth and the waves of yearning that shuddered through him, letting him know that buried feelings had been reborn. His mind questioned whether this was the need of a man for a woman, any woman, as he had implied. Or something very different, something that had begun the first time they met.
He eased his hand away. "I don't want you to stop, but you'd better." He rose and started to leave.
Zan held an elastic bandage. "Shouldn't I do something about your ribs?"
The golden lights in his eyes flashed. His chest rose and fell with a heavy, in-borne breath as he seemed to consider her question. Finally, he said, "I don't think so," and continued into the living room.
Zan understood his mixed emotions. She felt both disappointment and relief when he vanished into the darkness. The sofa creaked as he settled down to rest, leaving her free to return the kitchen to order.
If only she could do the same with her confused feelings. When she'd felt the weight of his arm around her shoulder, she'd wanted him to stay close. She hadn't considered why they'd been thrown together. And she hadn't remembered Dar.
She closed her eyes and struggled past the image of black hair, hypnotic eyes and burning intensity to the place where memories of Dar lived. Despite her effort to concentrate on him, she felt herself slip away, drawn irretrievably to the man in the next room.
She returned to the unfinished chore and glimpsed herself in the glass pane of a
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