The Ashtons: Walker, Ford & Mercedes: Betrayed Birthright / Mistaken for a Mistress / Condition of Marriage. Sheri WhiteFeather
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you.” He pressed it to his chest, just a smidgen away from his heart. “I won’t lose it. I’m going to scan it into my computer so I can make a copy.”
His mother smiled. “I trust you.”
Charlotte and Alexandre smiled at him, too. Selfconscious, Walker cleared his throat. Tamra put her hand on his knee, and he turned to look at her, wishing he could kiss her, hold her, let her absorb his tangled emotions.
“Oh, Mama,” Charlotte said, breaking the silence. “It’s so wonderful to have you here. To be with you. When I was a little girl, I would dream of you. Imagine a day like today.” She paused, and her voice hitched. “Somewhere deep down, I never believed that you were dead.”
Alexandre touched his fiancée’s shoulder. “Ma petite,” he whispered, lending his support.
The women turned teary-eyed, and Walker wished he could love as deeply as his sister, that he could be more like her. But he wasn’t a dreamer. He’d never questioned the tale Spencer had told him. He’d trusted his uncle.
“Will you give me a tour of the greenhouse?” Mary asked her daughter.
“Yes. And you must stay with Alexandre and me, at our new home.” Charlotte turned to Walker. “Would that be all right with you?”
“Sure,” he said, knowing he couldn’t interfere with the precious time his mom and his sister had. “Tamra and I will go to San Francisco while Mom stays with you. Then we can all get together before they go back to Pine Ridge.”
“That sounds perfect.” Charlotte reached for Mary’s hand. “Alexandre and I are going to visit your home, too. As soon as we can arrange a trip.”
“Maybe you can come for the powwow at the end of the month,” the older woman said.
“A Sioux gathering?” Charlotte beamed. “I’ve always wanted to be close to my heritage. To know more about it.”
“Then I’ll teach you.” Mary squeezed her hand. “Your father always told me that I should be proud of my culture. That I should encourage you and your brother to be proud. But I kept losing sight of that.”
“Is that why he wanted me to have a shield?” Walker asked.
His mother nodded. “A shield reflects a warrior’s medicine, everything in his life. Protection in combat, success in the hunt, being a good lover, finding the right mate. Even visions and dreams are represented.”
He wished he had visions and dreams. Something beyond Ashton-Lattimer. “That’s a nice sentiment.”
“It’s more than sentiment. It projects who you are.” Mary scooted closer to him. “I can make you a shield, the way I’d originally intended to. Or I can teach you how to make one. You can put your own symbols on it. Animals, colors, anything you want.”
Would a shield bind him to the Oglala Lakota Sioux Nation? Or would it be a forgery? He’d told Tamra that he was comfortable with his heritage, but was that a lie? Would he stop being Lakota when he returned to Ashton-Lattimer? When he started behaving like a corporate wasicu again? Or a brash, citified iyeska?
“Walker?” his mother pressed.
“What?”
“Do you want me to make it? Or would like to create it yourself?”
“You can do it.” He glanced at the picture of his family. “But will you put something on it that represents us?” He lifted the photograph. “You, Dad, Charlotte and me?” He released a ragged breath. “And Tamra, too?”
Tamra looked up at him, and he wondered if he should have kept quiet instead of mentioning her name. Although she smiled, she seemed surprised, maybe even a little shy, about what he’d said.
Mary glanced at his lover, then back at him. “She’s good for you. You’re good for each other.”
“I think so, too,” Charlotte said.
“Oui,” Alexandre offered his opinion, as well. “I agree.”
Okay, great. Now that everyone had just embarrassed the hell out of him, Walker didn’t know how to respond. His relationship with Tamra wasn’t meant to last. He wanted her to be represented on his shield because he was going to lose her.
And lose a piece of himself after she was gone.
Several hours later Walker sat at the oak desk in his extra bedroom. He scanned the picture on his computer, created a “family photos” file and printed it. Next he saved it on a disc and packed it for the San Francisco trip.
He was used to switching computers. He had a PC at both home locations, as well as a laptop he carried for airports, hotel rooms and places in between.
Tamra knocked on the open door, and he turned to look at her.
“I noticed some ice cream in your freezer,” she said. “Is it okay if I dig into it?”
“Sure.” He roamed his gaze over her and saw that she’d changed into a pair of sweats, preparing to relax in his apartment. “Will you get me a bowl, too?”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
He watched her leave, then put the original picture in an envelope and left it on his desk with a selfsticking note, reminding himself to return it to his mother.
Tamra came back, balancing two glass bowls. She’d scooped a mound of Neapolitan into each, with spoons readily available. She handed him one of the frozen treats and sat on the edge of the bed. He remained in the swivel chair.
She started eating the vanilla ice cream first, and he wondered if it was her favorite flavor. He continued to analyze every bite she took. Finally she finished the vanilla and started in on the strawberry. He changed his mind, deciding she liked chocolate the best since she was saving it for last.
Walker had mixed all three flavors up in his bowl, stirring the concoction like pudding.
“Your sister is amazing,” she said. “Sweet, bright, beautiful. I really like her.”
“She appeared to like you, too.”
“Alexandre is amazing, as well.”
“Really? You think so?”
“Oh, yes. He’s gorgeous. So—” she stalled when Walker raised his eyebrows at her “—attentive to Charlotte.”
Envy nipped at his heels, but he let it go. He knew Alexandre was one of those guys women noticed. All those fancy French words. Even his mom had swooned a little. “He loves my sister.”
“I can tell.” She toyed with her spoon. “It was weird…what Mary, Charlotte and Alexandre said about us.”
“Yeah, weird.” He shifted his gaze. “They think we’re good for each other.”
When silence pulled like taffy between them, he stirred his dessert again. He hated these magnified moments. He wasn’t good at easing the tension.
But she got past it quick enough.
“Does anyone ever stay in this room?” she asked.
“No. I never invite guests here.”
“Then why do you have an extra bed?”
“I don’t know. To fill up space, I guess.”
She took her first bite of the chocolate ice cream. “What about your bedroom?”
He nearly cursed beneath his breath. Silence had been safer than the conversation she’d hatched. “No one stays there, either.”
“I am,” she said.
“Yes, but you’re—” he paused, afraid he would say something too revealing “—different.”
“Different?” she parroted.