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I'm ... well, what I am.
I do have a little pride. "
"I'm perfectly willing, if you're serious," he said matter-of-factly.
His face broke into a grin, belying the solemnity of the words.
"Or are you worried that I might not be able to handle it with one arm?"
She burst out laughing and pressed affectionately against his side.
"I adore you, I really do. But I had a bad experience in my teens.
I've had therapy and all, but it's still sort of traumatic for me to think about real intimacy. "
"Even with Tate?" he probed gently.
She wasn't touching that line with a pole.
"Tate doesn't want me."
"You keep saying that, and he keeps making a liar of you."
"I don't understand."
"He came to see me last night. Just after I spoke to you." He ran his fingers down his damaged cheek.
She caught her breath.
"I thought you got that overseas!"
"Tate wears a big silver turquoise ring on his mid 3 die right finger," he reminded her.
"It does a bit of damage when he hits people with it."
"He hit you? Why?" she exclaimed.
"Because you told him we were sleeping together," he said simply.
"Honest to God, Cecily, I wish you'd tell me first when you plan to play games. I was caught off
guard."
"What did he do after he hit you?"
"I hit him, and one thing led to another. I don't have a coffee table anymore. We won't even discuss
what he did to my best ashtray."
"I'm so sorry!"
"Tate and I are pretty much matched in a fight," he said.
"Not that we've ever been in many. He hits harder than Pierce Button does in a temper." He scowled
down at her.
"Are you sure Tate doesn't want you? I can't think of another reason he'd try to hammer my floor with
my head."
"Big brother Tate, to the rescue," she said miserably. She laughed bitterly.
"He thinks you're a bad risk."
"I am," he said easily.
"I like having you as my friend."
He smiled.
"Me, too. There aren't many people who stuck by me over the years, you know. When Maureen left
me, I went crazy. I couldn't live with the pain, so I found ways to numb it." He shook his head.
"I don't think I came to my senses until you sent me to that psychologist over in Baltimore." He
glanced down at her.
"Did you know she keeps snakes?" he added.
"We all have our little quirks."
"Anyway, she convinced me that you can't own people. Maureen couldn't live with what I was. She's
happy now," he added with only a trace of bitterness. "Her new husband is a bank vice president with
two children from his first marriage. Very settled. Not likely to get shot up in gun battles, either."
"I'm sorry, Colby."
He leaned forward with his forearms on his splayed thighs.
"I loved her."
"I love Tate. But at least you had a marriage to remember. I'll never have that."
"You're better off without anything to remember," he said harshly.
"Tate's a fool. He doesn't know who he is, Cecily," he said unexpectedly.
"Why do you say that?"
"He puts too much emphasis on the culture. He's defensive about it.
He uses it to identify himself. Heritage is important, but it isn't the whole man. Tate lives in a white
world, makes his living in a white world. Surely it's occurred to you that a man with such an
obsession about his roots would logically live in that world? "
She wondered if Tate had ever thought of that. She hadn't.
"You mean, he doesn't live with Leta, or near his own people."
"Exactly. Some of the people he's associated with have made him self-conscious about his
background.
They've made him uncomfortable, reminded him that he's part of a minority culture, intimated that it's
just not quite sophisticated or urbane enough to be proud of. "
"Colby..."
He looked down at her.
"You're white. You have no idea what it's like to be a minority, be treated like a minority. You can
never know, Cecily. Even though you work for native sovereignty, even though you understand and
admire Tate's culture, you can never, never, be part of it!"
She was uneasy. Even Tate had never said such things to her. She ran a hand over her forehead
absently, disturbed by the truth in those harsh words.
"You want to know how I know that." He nodded at her quick glance.
"I'm Apache, Cecily," he said.
"You can't see it plainly, because I'm light-skinned through the addition of a little Scotch and German
blood a generation back, but I'm almost full-blooded. I qualify for Apache status. I could live on the
White Mountain reservation if I wanted to."
"You never said that before," she murmured.
"I didn't know you well enough before. It's almost funny. Tate's a fanatic about his roots, and I'm
ashamed of mine. I don't even visit my people. I hate having to see how they live."
The confession rocked her to the soles of her feet. She didn't know how to talk to him anymore. The
Colby she thought she knew had vanished.
"That's why Maureen really left me," he said through his teeth.
"Not because of my job, or even because I took an occasional drink. She left me... because she didn't
want half-breed children. You see, I didn't tell her that I was almost a full-blood until after we'd been
married for a year. A little drop of Native American blood was exciting and unique. But a full-
blooded Native American... she was horrified."
Cecily's opinion of the legendary Maureen dropped eighty points. She ground her teeth together. She
couldn't imagine anyone being ashamed of such a proud heritage.
He looked down at her and laughed despite himself.
"I can hear you boiling over. No, you wouldn't be ashamed of me. But you're unique.
You help, however you can. You see the poverty around you, and you don't stick your nose up at it.
You roll up your sleeves and do what you can to help alleviate it. You've made me ashamed, Cecily. "
"Ashamed? But, why?"
"Because you see beauty and hope where I see hopelessness." He rubbed his artificial arm, as if it hurt
him.
"I've got about half as much as Tate has in foreign banks. I'm going to start using some of it for
something besides exotic liquor. One person can make a difference. I didn't know that, until you came
along."
She smiled and touched his arm gently.
"I'm glad."
"You could marry me," he ventured, looking down at her with a smile.
"I'm no bargain, but I'd be good to you.
I'd never even drink a beer again. "
"You need someone to love you, Colby. I can't."
He grimaced.
"I could say the same thing to you. But I could love you, I think, given time."
"You'd never be Tate."
He drew in a long breath.
"Life is never simple. It's like a puzzle.
Just when we think we've got it solved, pieces of it fly in all directions. "
"When you get philosophical, it's time to go in. Tomorrow, we have to talk about what's going on
around here. There's something very shady.
Leta and I need you to help us find out what it is. "
"What are friends for?" he asked affectionately.
"I'll do the same for you one day."
He didn't answer her. Cecily had no idea at all how strongly her pert remark about being intimate with
Colby had affected Tate. The black-eyed, almost homicidal man who'd come to his door last night had
hardly been recognizable as his friend and colleague of many years.
Tate had barely been coherent, and both men were exhausted and bloody by the time the fight ended in
a draw. Maybe Tate didn't want to marry Cecily, but Colby knew stark jealousy when he saw it. That
hadn't been any outdated attempt to avenge Cecily's chastity. It had been revenge, because he thought
Colby had slept with her and he wanted to make him pay. It had been jealousy, not protectiveness, the
jealousy of a man who was passionately in love; and didn't even know it.
* * * It was two days later that Tate Winthrop, still nursing a few bruises and a sore jaw, went to the
museum to find out why Cecily had really gone to South Dakota He knew it had nothing to do with
artifacts.
Something was going on, and she was acting oddly-just like her paramour, Colby Lane. He was going
to find out why.
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