Healing Chay Read online

  Healing Chay

  Black Bear Brothers Series - Book 3

  Donna Fasano

  Healing Chay

  Copyright © 2019 by Donna Fasano

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-939000-62-0

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-939000-63-7

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  A Note From The Author

  Other Books By Donna Fasano

  About The Author

  Prologue

  With a sharp inhalation, Chay Makwa bolted upright on the mattress, his heart racing like the hooves of a stampeding stallion. Sheer panic held sovereignty over his rigid body. His chest heaved as he labored to breathe. His muscles bunched. Sweat glistened on his skin, chilling him to the bone.

  Quickly the last vestiges of the shadowy dream vaporized into nothingness as if it had been a night specter dissolved by the simple flick of a light switch. One moment it was there in all its terrorizing glory, the next it had vanished without a trace.

  He scrubbed his fingers over his face, then combed them over his scalp, his hair swishing across his damp back. Once his pulse settled and his breathing slowed, rational thought returned. The dream was disturbing, yes. But it was just that… a dream. He took a deep breath and let it out in a slow, conscious measure.

  Chay flung back the sheet and stood, the worn plank floor of the cabin smooth against his bare feet. In the kitchen area he turned on the spigot and splashed water over his face, neck, and chest. Grabbing a terry towel, he dried himself and then reached for his jeans and sweatshirt. He felt as if the walls were closing in on him. The need to escape welled up sharply.

  Donning his worn hide moccasins, he slipped out into the silky night. The cool darkness invigorated his senses and he plunged into the forest with no aim save that of clearing the disturbing images from his head.

  He knew what had triggered the reoccurrence of the haunting childhood nightmare. It was the accident. The accident that had left a young man paralyzed for the rest of his life. The accident that should never have happened.

  Pine needles grazed his cheek, the pungent scent settling over him as he passed the evergreen that grew by the path. He hadn’t been back to Misty Glen Reservation in years. He’d been too busy, first attending college in Boston and then staying to build what had ultimately turned into a successful business. But the dreams had brought him back.

  The sound of water cascading over rocks told him he was very close to Misty Lake. Although he couldn’t yet see the glassy water, he could smell the moisture, see the hazy mist hanging heavy in the air.

  The vision that haunted his nights was the same one he’d suffered as a child. He couldn’t say at what age the dream had stopped, but he did remember the fear and helplessness he’d felt in his youth. The image was filled with an excruciating heat, animated movement, and booming yet muffled voices. Angry voices. Yet the picture was filmy, as if he were seeing it through some kind of shroud.

  Chay swiped a hand over weary eyes. Dreams had special meaning to the Kolheek. Until he deciphered the images, they would continue to cause him anguish and sleepless nights. A whispery voice had called him home. Home to Misty Glen. Home to his people, his tribe, his own kind. Here he would find the means to interpret this eerie, disquieting vision.

  He stopped short, cocking his head a fraction to listen. Something unusual, something not of the night, was out there.

  There it was again.

  His brow puckered as he tried to make sense of the low resonance carried on the fog. If he didn’t know better he’d say it was… crying. The soft shuddering sobs of… a woman. The soles of his moccasins were silent on the dirt path as he hurried now toward the lakeshore.

  The mist thickened the closer he got to the water, saturating the air around him. But suddenly he was able to make out her form. Concern and resolve had him moving closer.

  She was young. Mid-to-late-twenties, he guessed. Her blond hair, long and straight, hung down her back, almost glowing gold in the ghostly light radiating from the fat moon overhead.

  Evidently intuition told her she was no longer alone, for she turned to look at him. The tears in her eyes tugged at him, drew him to her side like some mysterious, indomitable energy.

  Without hesitation he reached out his hand.

  Without hesitation her creamy palm slid against his.

  The moment her flesh contacted his, Chay’s whole being bristled with an awareness that rocked him to the bone. He nearly gasped at the strength of emotion that rolled through his being. With his free hand he cupped her jaw. The sadness in her electric-blue eyes made his heart wrench. He physically felt her anguish. Suffered it as if it were his own.

  Although he wasn’t even aware of it, in that instant his own distress—the torment that had sent him rushing out into the night—was totally forgotten and his only focus was to comfort this beautiful stranger.

  “Don’t cry” he crooned softly, caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You’ll be all right.”

  Her petite shoulders seemed to relax then, if only a little, and she rested her head against his chest. Her hair was soft against the underside of his jaw. She smelled of warm sun and wildflowers, and Chay’s body quickened.

  Swiftly and silently he chastised himself for feeling aroused, but he knew at the same time it wasn’t something he could help. He was a normal, red-blooded man, and there was an exquisite woman pressed against him.

  Talking, he decided, would take his mind off the lust that surged through him like molten lava.

  “Whatever it is,” he whispered, “it’s going to be okay. I promise you.”

  It was a stupid promise. He didn’t know her, didn’t know what it was that had her upset and crying. All he did know was that he wanted to offer her comfort, any way he could.

  He had no clue how long the two of them stood there, she trembling with emotion, anxiety, he holding her… wanting her. Soon, though, her tears subsided. She pulled back then. Studied his face in silence…

  And something happened. Something phenomenal. No, something magical.

  The night—the moment—turned incredibly surreal.

  Unreal.

  The color of her eyes intrigued him. A blue somewhere between cobalt and indigo. Her neck was willowy and pale, and he yearned to bend his head to leave a trail of kisses along the full length of it. He wanted to peel the blouse from her body. Slip her trousers down over her hips and thighs. Expose what he could only imagine would be the glorious sight of her nakedness draped in nothing but her long, flaxen
hair.

  Heat writhed and twisted low in his gut. A heat, a yearning that refused to be snuffed out with prudent and logical thought. If he didn’t get away from this woman—now—there would be no telling…

  Moonlight glowed in the incandescent mist and her eyes took on an unmistakable sultry glint. It was then that he deciphered the hunger emanating from her. Felt her passion pulsing like a thundering heartbeat. Her skin was hot to the touch. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. So he did the only conceivable thing that came to mind.

  Her lips were sweet and moist when his mouth gently slanted down over hers. He inhaled the luscious scent of her. The sheer tenderness of the kiss made him utter the moan just as it gathered at the back of his throat. His tongue danced and skittered across her lips, and she opened her mouth just enough so that she could take his bottom lip between her teeth. She groaned as if loving the taste of him. The lushness of her abandon, made his eyes slide closed. And it was his sharp intake of breath that broke the spell that had so completely ensnared them.

  She drew away from him, her hands planted on his shoulders, fingertips digging into his muscles as she blinked with both alarm and fear. Clearly she was wondering just how she came to be in the arms of a stranger.

  The woman pushed herself from him.

  “Wait.” However, his plea didn’t keep her from taking a small backward step. His hands fell to his sides, his whole body feeling chilled, deprived, without the warmth of her nearness.

  Almost as if they had a mind of their own, her fingers rose and pressed themselves against her still-moist lips. Again she blinked, this time in obvious shock as the realization of the moment set in.

  “Listen… it’s okay.” Chay felt helpless. How could he possibly make sense for her of what had just happened between them when he couldn’t make sense of it for himself?

  Her throat convulsed in a swallow as she averted her gaze. Then she darted one more quick glance at him before turning away.

  “Don’t go!” he said.

  But she ran, and in a heartbeat was consumed by the trees and the thick lake mist.

  Chapter One

  Tori Landing cradled the steamy cup of tea between her hands, her shock and disbelief over her conduct just as overwhelming and just as garishly vivid in the illumination of morning as it had been when she’d raced away from the oh-so-handsome Native American who had happened upon her last night.

  What in the world had compelled her to accept such intimate comfort from a total stranger? And what had she been thinking when she’d surrendered to the compulsion to kiss him?

  She’d been in too much distress to think. That had been the problem.

  Her work was gratifying. But she was often left feeling alone and vulnerable. The sacrifice. The secrecy. It got the better of her at times, just as it had last night.

  Tori sipped her tea. Yes, that had been the problem, all right.

  Well, that and the fact that the man had been so darned gorgeous. Like a prince who had stepped out of some dark and mysterious fantasyland. A night prince.

  The memory of his kiss, along with the heat that had churned inside her at the sound of his voice, made her shiver, even now. The magnetism she’d felt had been as unmistakable and overpowering as the pull of the tides on the seas.

  Who was he? And what was he doing on what should have been a deserted corner of Misty Glen Reservation?

  Oh, she’d seen glimpses of him before last night. She was sure it was the same man. She’d even spoken to the sheriff of the Kolheek reservation, Mat Makwa, reporting the stranger’s presence. Mat had said he’d look into the matter and had assured her she had nothing to fear. She’d tried to put the man out of her mind. And doing so hadn’t been too difficult, as she’d had some real troubles to deal with over the past couple of weeks when a “special visitor” had shown up at her door. But that problem was solved, everyone safe and settled. And Tori had found herself staring out her window, wondering about him again. Looking for him. The elusive stranger.

  The small acre of ground encompassing her bed-and-breakfast butted up against reservation land. She was a short walk away from Misty Lake, and, oh, how she loved that calm body of water. The fact that it remained unchanged, a constant that helped to root her, make her feel grounded, was a comfort.

  She and her sister, Susan, had spent their youth swimming in the lake during the summer and skating on its frozen surface in the winter. Rarely had the two girls seen any of the Native Americans living there, since the main area of the reservation was on the far side of the sprawling lake.

  Tori knew there was a hunting cabin nearby, though. She’d been about nine or so the first time she and Susan had happened upon it on one of their explorations. There hadn’t been much to the tiny log building, but even so, the girls hadn’t dared to venture inside. Their father would have grounded them both for a week had he known they were exploring the reservation land, let alone trespassing in someone’s cabin.

  Could her native prince be staying in the cabin? she wondered. But why would he isolate himself from the other Kolheeks living on the reservation? They were a close-knit people who thrived on their strong sense of community and togetherness. However, it seemed the stranger was a loner.

  Again Tori’s curiosity was stirred as she pondered who he was. Before she realized it, she was walking out the door, across her backyard and into the thick woods.

  This mountainous lake area in New England was the most beautiful, most serene place on earth. The tranquility of the majestic elms and oaks and sugar maples called her name. And the blue-green water of Misty Lake seemed to breathe with a life all its own. She hadn’t managed to stay away from the place as a child, when her father had forbidden her to go onto the reservation, and she couldn’t stay away as an adult.

  She had little self-control when it came to walking these forest paths. The land belonged to the Kolheek, and she really should respect that. She sighed, but she continued to chase the echoing call of the shady woodland. As profound and romantic as that sounded, it wasn’t any esoteric call she was heeding at the moment. No, she was simply surrendering to the interest in uncovering the identity of her night prince. The man with the kiss that could melt a woman’s heart.

  Like a bee to a vibrantly hued and fragrant flower, she felt drawn back to the lake bank, back to the place where she’d last seen him. Birds twittered in the treetops and small creatures scurried in the underbrush as she made her way through the forest. Narrow fingers of sunlight shafted through the leaves, turning the still air a luminous and glorious gold. She heard the cascading water of one of the springs that fed Misty Lake, and she smiled. There was something about all that water that calmed her soul.

  She followed the snarl of berry bushes along the bank of the lake. Years of following the spongy, pine-needled path told her the thorny brambles would soon part and she’d be rewarded with a fabulous view.

  As always, a sigh slipped from her lips when she saw the picture-perfect lake. The dazzling fall foliage framed the water beautifully. Before she’d even exhaled completely, unexpected movement had her darting back behind the thicket. There, not a hundred yards offshore, a man swam, and although she couldn’t see his face, she knew it was her prince.

  Sunlight glinted off his sculpted back. His arms pumped, up and over, up and over, sending droplets flying in a straight line ahead of him as he slid effortlessly through the water.

  He must be chilled to the bone. Yes, the air temperature was warm for October in Vermont, verging on an honest-to-goodness Indian summer, but the lake water had to be quite raw after weeks of cool autumn days and even cooler nights. However, her concern slipped away like sand through a loose fist, her heartbeat tripping against her ribcage. He certainly was a sight to behold. She watched him move farther away from her, and she realized she was smiling. Grinning, really. Her shoulders relaxed and she felt her insides go all soft and sensual.

  Soft and sensual? Get real, Tori.

  She ought
to be ashamed of herself. This wasn’t like her at all. She was engaged in a blatant act of voyeurism. Her behavior was nothing short of wicked.

  Wasn’t it just too fun? Her grin widened. Finally she surrendered to the silent laughter that bubbled up from deep in her throat. She pressed her fingers to her lips to contain her humor. And just as the pads of her fingertips met her mouth, she was reminded of the brief but searing kiss she’d shared with the stranger.

  “Steady, Tori,” she murmured quietly. “Steady.”

  She stifled the urge to laugh.

  Lord, what on earth had gotten into her?

  Far up the bank, the man’s feet evidently touched the lake bottom, and he waded toward shore. His shoulders looked powerful as his back muscles bunched, his arms swinging, with each labored step through the water. He had the body of an athlete.

  His coppery skin glittered as rivulets sluiced off his body, water droplets clinging in an array of sun-glinting beads. His hair had turned to a black river down the middle of his back. Then Tori’s eyes widened, her mouth forming a tight, shocked circle when she realized he was—

  Stark naked!

  He had two cute dimples located low on his back… just above his—

  Turn away, a silent voice scolded her. Turn your head. Walk away. Give the man some privacy.

  A long list of chores awaited her at home. Keeping a bed-and-breakfast going took long hours, hard work. She should go and get started.

  Still, she stared.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off his tight gluteus muscles. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, and his rear was as bronzed as the rest of his body. Again she found herself grinning. Without thought, she shifted her weight—and then went completely still, heart hammering, when she saw his head lift to attention, his gaze scanning the bank.

  She was grateful for the thick tangle of leafy bushes that provided a handy shelter. And she relaxed a bit when she saw him dive back into the lake.