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Authors: Deborah Smith
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just waiting for the sun to open it again. More important than that, he had won her trust and friendship completely.
He took pleasure in everything she did, even trivia such as the prim-and-proper way she brushed her teeth—a boarding-school regimen, she informed him. He wanted to know her favorite foods, her favorite books, her favorite
everything
. He was as fascinated with her as she was with him.
As a result, during the past few days the world had shrunk until only she and he were left in a cocoon filled with shared sensation and experience. Lord, she wasn’t certain what she and Jeopard indulged in more—long conversations or making love. He was wonderful in both areas.
But Tess noted sadly that his view of the world was as dark as her view was light. That realization had become clear to her the previous night, when they’d discussed Paris. They’d both visited the city several times. Jeopard recalled only terrorist bombings and leftist politics; she recalled the restaurants, the architecture, and the art.
Tess sighed and shook her head. She was working on his cynical attitude and already making progress. Today he seemed almost jovial, and the guarded contentment in his face enchanted her. She smiled to herself. If she hadn’t known him for an entire week—and thus gotten a bit accustomed to being enthralled—shewould have thrown her history book down and pounced on him.
How could she help it? The man provoked her with tender kisses, affectionate smiles, and a husky way of saying her name.
“I was listening to you read,” he assured her again. “Don’t stop.”
“Ahem. If you’ve been listening to me, sir, then summarize what I’ve just read.”
He retaliated with a parrotlike recitation. “In 1838 the Cherokees who didn’t want to be driven from the Sun Land, as they called their ancestral territory in the southeast, ran to the mountains of North Carolina and hid in caves there.” He paused. “Where they developed a subculture of bat people.”
“Be serious!”
Hearing the wistfulness in her voice, he stopped teasing. “Where they stayed until the federal government gave up trying to find them. A lot of them died from starvation. Those who survived helped form the eastern Cherokee band, and today they have a reservation in the same mountains where they took refuge a hundred and fifty years ago.”
“Very good!”
“We should catch a quick flight up to San Francisco tomorrow and find your great-great-grandparents’ graves.”
“Would you mind?” she asked. “You must be bored by this personal-history quest of mine.”
He rose, stretched, then came to her and tilted her chin up with a caressing hand. “No, I want to learn everything about you and your past.”
Tess turned her face and kissed his palm. It didn’t matter that he was learning a great deal more about her personal life than she was learning about his. He just needed time to open up.
“I’ll make the arrangements,” she murmured against the warm hollow of his hand.
“I’ve already made them.”
Tess looked up at him quickly, a pleased smile onher face. He touched his fingers to her lips and winked at her.
P EOPLE WHO HAVE a good sense of humor usually have a good sense of humanity and of life, an aborigine shaman had once told Jeopard.
The man was a friend of Millie’s husband. Brig McKay. In terms of outlook and personality Brig resembled a real-life Crocodile Dundee, and his Aussie friends were as eccentric as anything ever shown on a movie screen.
The shaman, enjoying an extended visit to Millie and Brig’s home in Nashville, wore bib overalls and played the harmonica. He owned a grocery store in Brig’s Australian hometown, Washaway Loo.
Not exactly a child of nature. Jeopard had thought.
But the shaman could predict rainstorms and tell how long the summer would last, and two weeks before Millie noticed any change in her body he’d informed her that she was going to have a baby.
When Jeopard met
He took pleasure in everything she did, even trivia such as the prim-and-proper way she brushed her teeth—a boarding-school regimen, she informed him. He wanted to know her favorite foods, her favorite books, her favorite
everything
. He was as fascinated with her as she was with him.
As a result, during the past few days the world had shrunk until only she and he were left in a cocoon filled with shared sensation and experience. Lord, she wasn’t certain what she and Jeopard indulged in more—long conversations or making love. He was wonderful in both areas.
But Tess noted sadly that his view of the world was as dark as her view was light. That realization had become clear to her the previous night, when they’d discussed Paris. They’d both visited the city several times. Jeopard recalled only terrorist bombings and leftist politics; she recalled the restaurants, the architecture, and the art.
Tess sighed and shook her head. She was working on his cynical attitude and already making progress. Today he seemed almost jovial, and the guarded contentment in his face enchanted her. She smiled to herself. If she hadn’t known him for an entire week—and thus gotten a bit accustomed to being enthralled—shewould have thrown her history book down and pounced on him.
How could she help it? The man provoked her with tender kisses, affectionate smiles, and a husky way of saying her name.
“I was listening to you read,” he assured her again. “Don’t stop.”
“Ahem. If you’ve been listening to me, sir, then summarize what I’ve just read.”
He retaliated with a parrotlike recitation. “In 1838 the Cherokees who didn’t want to be driven from the Sun Land, as they called their ancestral territory in the southeast, ran to the mountains of North Carolina and hid in caves there.” He paused. “Where they developed a subculture of bat people.”
“Be serious!”
Hearing the wistfulness in her voice, he stopped teasing. “Where they stayed until the federal government gave up trying to find them. A lot of them died from starvation. Those who survived helped form the eastern Cherokee band, and today they have a reservation in the same mountains where they took refuge a hundred and fifty years ago.”
“Very good!”
“We should catch a quick flight up to San Francisco tomorrow and find your great-great-grandparents’ graves.”
“Would you mind?” she asked. “You must be bored by this personal-history quest of mine.”
He rose, stretched, then came to her and tilted her chin up with a caressing hand. “No, I want to learn everything about you and your past.”
Tess turned her face and kissed his palm. It didn’t matter that he was learning a great deal more about her personal life than she was learning about his. He just needed time to open up.
“I’ll make the arrangements,” she murmured against the warm hollow of his hand.
“I’ve already made them.”
Tess looked up at him quickly, a pleased smile onher face. He touched his fingers to her lips and winked at her.
P EOPLE WHO HAVE a good sense of humor usually have a good sense of humanity and of life, an aborigine shaman had once told Jeopard.
The man was a friend of Millie’s husband. Brig McKay. In terms of outlook and personality Brig resembled a real-life Crocodile Dundee, and his Aussie friends were as eccentric as anything ever shown on a movie screen.
The shaman, enjoying an extended visit to Millie and Brig’s home in Nashville, wore bib overalls and played the harmonica. He owned a grocery store in Brig’s Australian hometown, Washaway Loo.
Not exactly a child of nature. Jeopard had thought.
But the shaman could predict rainstorms and tell how long the summer would last, and two weeks before Millie noticed any change in her body he’d informed her that she was going to have a baby.
When Jeopard met
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