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Page No 1

Cherokee Christmas
Sheri Whitefeather
Daniel Crow
Cherokee Christmas
AGE
34
VITALS
6'1", long, lean, and muscular, shoulder -length black hair, and dark features
OCCUPATION
Self-made millionaire
ASTROLOGICAL SIGN
Gemini
STORY
Hiding from the pain and sadness of his past, this reclusive Cherokee never
expected to find peace at Christmastime. He moved into a haunted mansion so
he could hide from the rest of the world, not be tempted by Traci Calhoun — a
beautiful waitress and the single mother of a six -year-old boy infatuated with
American Indians.

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Traci Calhoun
Cherokee Christmas
AGE
26
VITALS
5'1", small-boned, tousled red hair, bright green eyes, and a scatter of freckles
OCCUPATION
Waitress in a small-town diner
ASTROLOGICAL SIGN
Scorpio
STORY
Traci, the bright-spirited daughter of a pastor, believes in extending goodwill.
But when her son convinces her to visit the elusive Daniel Crow, she finds
herself falling in love with a moody stranger — a man who needs to face his
past and embrace the heritage he left behind.
Parker Calhoun
Cherokee Christmas
AGE
6
VITALS

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Reddish blond hair, rosy cheeks, and a big smile
OCCUPATION
First-grader at Wileyville Elementary School
ASTROLOGICAL SIGN
Virgo
STORY
This happy, vibrant child wants to help Daniel Crow. Most people in town think
Daniel is mean, but Parker thinks Daniel needs a friend. Maybe even a ready -
made family.
Tom Calhoun
Cherokee Christmas
AGE
62
VITALS
5'10", stocky build, grayish brown hair
OCCUPATION
Retired brick mason
ASTROLOGICAL SIGN
Aries
STORY
Although Tom is Traci's former father-in-law, he is still family. A proud,
sometimes gruff-sounding man, he routinely baby-sits his grandson and looks
out for Traci's well-being.
Chapter 1
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Traci Calhoun asked her six -year-old son.

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Parker bobbed his head, reddish blond hair peeking out from beneath a knit cap,
a down jacket buttoned to his chin. The heater in Traci's old Camaro was on the
blink again, the defroster blowing cool air. "It's Christmastime, Mom. And he's
all alone."
"Of course, you're right. What was I thinking?" The daughter of a pastor, she
had raised her son well. But today, she wished he wasn't inclined to extend his
goodwill to the outskirts of town. To the elusive stranger who had moved into
Orchid House.
The lone mansion sat on a hill, the woods looming behind it. As the house came
into view, she told herself to relax. The ghost stories about Orchid House were
legend in Wileyville, but what bothered her most was why Daniel Crow felt
compelled to live there, secluded from the rest of the world and shrouded in
mystery.
She parked in front of the mansion. It looked like a Southern plantation,
completely out of place on the fringes of a small Pennsylvania town.
Parker reached for the cookies, the gesture rife with anticipation. "I heard he's a
real-live Indian, Mom."
And that was a source of fascination to her son, Traci thought. One of the
reasons he insisted on paying Daniel Crow a visit. "I know, but I think he might
prefer to be called an American Indian, rathe r than a real-live one. Of course,
there's always Native American. I get a little confused about what's politically
correct these days."
"Huh?"
The boy made a curious face, and she realized she had spoken over his head.
Truthfully, she didn't know what Da niel Crow preferred. She didn't know
anything about him, aside from the adjectives others had used to describe him.
Tall. Dark. Lean. Mean. Moody.
Unfortunately they weren't the kinds of words that welcomed a woman, a child,
and a tin of gingerbread.
A brick walkway led to the front door, twin columns standing guard. An
abundance of foliage fought to survive the winter, making the mansion look
even more ominous. Supposedly the scent of orchids haunted the lonely halls, a
perfume that lingered from the fem ale ghosts who resided there.
Traci knocked, and her son shifted his feet in the brisk morning air.
Within minutes, Daniel Crow answered the summons. No one spoke, including
Parker, who was known for being chatty. The man they had come to see was tall
and intimidating. His hair, as sleek and black as a raven's wing, fell onto broad
shoulders.
But it was his eyes that caught Traci's attention. As dark as his hair, they
revealed not even the slightest flicker of emotion. Nothing, she thought,
wondering what secrets they chose to hide.
"May I help you?" He said finally, his voice tinged with a husky Southern drawl.
Clearly awed, Parker offered the decorative tin.

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Hesitating for a moment, Daniel accepted the gift. Appearing confused, he held
the container without opening it.
"Cookies," Traci explained.
Those black eyes met hers, drilling her with a hypnotic stare. Why hadn't anyone
described him as captivating? Or striking? The kind of man who made a girl
forget to breathe? Refined yet rugged, he exuded an odd blend of Southern grace
and Native roots. His posture was long and almost lazy, yet his features were
stern and proud.
"You must have me mixed up with someone else," he said.
"No way." This came from Parker, who inched forward, putting himself nearly
toe to toe with the lord of Orchid House. "You're that Indian guy who never
talks to anybody. My grandpa says that's okay, though. 'Course, he's grumpy
sometimes, too."
Traci didn't apologize for her son. She couldn't bear to embarrass him in front of
the man he hoped to befriend. And little Parker Calhoun was what he was.
Honest to a fault.
"So you brought me cookies." There was a hint of amusement in Daniel's slow,
sensual drawl, just enough to tilt one corner of his lips. "Chocolate chip, I'll bet."
"Nope," the boy replied. "They're gingerbread. And they're shaped like angels,
with white icing on their wings and gold candy on their halos. It was my idea to
come here, but my mom thought of the cookies."
Daniel's smile disappeared as he shifted his gaze from Pa rker to Traci. Moving
away from the child, he came toward her, and she resisted the urge to step back.
He no longer seemed amused.
"Good God, woman," he whispered. "Why on earth did you bring me angels?"
Chapter 2:
Daniel knew he was standing too close. He towered over her by at least a foot —
this pretty lady with the riot of auburn curls. The lady who had given him
angels.
Was it a sign? he asked himself. Or was his imagination working overtime?
Nothing in Orchid House was simple, least of all the hau nting.
Unable to stop himself, he moved closer. She had eyes as green as an Irish
countryside, a nose dusted with freckles. He imagined lifting his hand and
caressing her face, her smooth, ivory skin. It was an odd time to feel an
attraction. Up until this disturbing moment, he'd assumed his need for a woman
had died with his wife. But here it was, unwelcome as sin, sliding through his
blood, making him warm and wanting.
"Why did you bring me angels?" he repeated the question, his voice quiet, his
gaze locked with hers.
"Because it's Christmastime." Her answer conjured a painful image. He retreated
from the memory, and in doing so realized he had probably frightened Traci

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with his question. And possibly the child, as well. The boy watched him much
too closely. Daniel figured him to be about six, and that hurt most of all,
considering six years had passed since the fire. "I'm sorry," he managed, taking a
step back. "I don't get many visitors." And he didn't celebrate Christmas
anymore.
"That's 'cause you're new in town," the boy piped in, his easy manner returning.
"But that's okay. We can tell you anything you wanna know about Wileyville.
We've lived here forever. We know everybody." Cocking his head, he grinned,
flashing a gap between two slightly crooked front teeth.
The child had such an earnest smile, Daniel thought as he struggled with the
urge to laugh and cry at the same time, feeling charmed yet saddened by a kid he
had just met. Battling the jumble of emotion, he glanced at the woman, then slid
right back into that warm, sultry place — the unexpected sexual pull that made
him want to touch her.
He curled his fingers around the cookie tin, finding it a cool, impersonal
substitute. He hoped she wasn't married. The idea of lusting after another man's
wife didn't sit well.
"Where are you from?" she asked.
Nowhere in particular, he almost said, since he had been drifting more often
than not. "North Carolina."
"Ah, your accent," she acknowledged, as if the sound of it pleased her. "Do you
mind if I ask what tribe you're from? We don't get many Native Americans
around here."
Daniel blinked. "Eastern Band Cherokee." A heritage he had abandoned a long
time ago. Being Cherokee didn't mean anything. He couldn't return to the
reservation any more than he coul d return to the genteel Southern society his
wife had been born into.
Daniel blinkte. " Östliches Band Cherokee. " Ein Erbe er hatte vor langer Zeit
aufgegeben. Cherokee seiend, bedeutete nichts. Er konnte nicht zum Vorbehalt
nicht mehr zurückkehren als er konnte zur vornehmen Südlichen Gesellschaft
zurückkehren seine Frau war darin geboren gewesen.
"And your name is Daniel Crow?"
"That's right."
"Well, It's nice to meet you. I'm Traci Calhoun, and this is my son, Parker."
Daniel tensed as if he'd been sucker-punched, gulping the air that rushed out of
his lungs.
Parker.
The infant he'd buried had been named Parker. A twist of fate? Or a painful
coincidence? Suddenly he couldn't move. He stood like a statue, the winter chill
slicing into his bones with the force of a razor-edged knife.
"Are you all right?"
He heard Traci's voice, but he couldn't form the words to respond. Instead he
nodded. Or thought he did. The haunting was pulling him under. He had bought

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Orchid House so he could brood with the ghosts, not be summoned by a pretty
redhead and a kid with a crooked smile who answered to his son's name.
"I guess we better go," she told him. "You're out here without a coat, and you
seem to have caught a shiver. Maybe you should go inside. The flu is going
around." She nudged Parker ahead, who said something about chicken soup as
they walked away.
Daniel snapped out of his trance and noticed her car didn't start right away. It
coughed several times before the engine came to life. As she traveled down the
hill, he opened the cookie tin. And when he saw sugarcoated wings and gilded
halos, he wondered what in heaven's name he was supposed to do.
Chapter 3
"Damn it!" Traci kicked her car, slamming her foot into the front tire. Of all
times for the beast to quit on her. Here she stood, exhausted from working a
double shift, freezing her butt off in an old coat and the pink -and-white uniform
she detested, the parking lot emptier than her bank account.
"That bad, is it?”
The deep voice came out of the dark, putting her feminine instincts on full alert.
She spun around and prayed he was someone she knew.
Could a hitchhiker be passing through Main Street on his way to the turnpike?
Not likely, she told herself. Besides, this was her hometown. The biggest crime
ever committed in Wileyville was a speeding violation.
The man was a filmy image, tall and shrouded by a chilly mist, coming toward
her with the thud of heavy boots. She waited while he moved closer, into the
buttery glow of a streetlamp.
Instantly, she recognized Daniel Crow, who looked as big and rangy as a
wildcat, his shoulder-length hair whipping in the wind.
Where had he come from? There wasn't another car in sight. Had he walked all
the way into town, like a predator roaming the night?
"My car won't start." It was all she could think to say.
"Let me see if I can get it running."
She stepped back while he helped himself to her road -weary vehicle. After
playing with the ignition switch, he ducked his head under the hood, using a
flashlight she'd provided from the trunk.
"I think it's your starter." He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped
his hands.
"Great. Are those expensive?"
"I can get you one. I can install it, too."
Dumbfounded, she only stared. "Why would you do that?"
An icy breeze blew his hair away from his face, exposing the planes and angles
that formed his raw-boned features. "Because I'm good with cars. And because I

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never thanked you properly for welcoming me to the neighborhood."
"So this would be your way of saying thanks? "
"Yes, ma'am." His lips tilted into that half smile, the one as smooth and slow as
his voice.
Warding off the cold, she crossed her arms, feeling self -conscious and
uncomfortable. Her nipples were as hard as bullets. Not that he'd notice,
considering the layers of clothing she wore. But that wasn't the point. He didn't
know that she'd had an erotic dream about him, that the memory still tormented
her. She had awakened warm and slick, clinging to a fantasy she couldn't forget.
"You're not married, are you?" he asked, making the image of her guilty dream
sequence seem even more forbidden.
"I'm divorced." And that, Traci decided, gave her every right to fantasize.
Especially since Bradley Calhoun had left nearly five years before without
bothering to look back.
"Good. I mean, I didn't think so, but I figured I should ask. Men tend to get a
little territorial about their wives."
Not men like Bradley, she thought, as silence stretched between them.
Daniel shoved his hands in his coat pockets, and Traci glanced down at her ugly
white shoes. He looked as dashing as a desperado in his duster and black boots,
and she looked like exactly what she was — a small-town waitress, a young,
struggling divorcée.
A woman having sensual dreams about a stranger…
Chapter 4
"So you're good with cars?" Traci heard herself say, desperate to end the
awkward silence.
"I used to manufacture after-market auto parts for vintage Chevys." Scraping his
boots on the asphalt, Daniel frowned. "But I don't own the business anymore."
Gauging his expression, she asked, "Did you lose it?"
"No. I sold it to a national corporation." He paused, his eyebrows still furrowed.
"They paid me a substantial amount."
She studied his frown, realizing the rumors were true. She'd heard Daniel was an
eccentric millionaire, worth more money than he had time to count. "And that's a
bad thing?"
He shrugged. "I've learned being rich isn't the key to happiness."
He was certainly an enigma, she thought. A Cherokee from North Carolina
burdened by his wealth. No one could describe him as an American Indian
stereotype, especially since he had purchased a Southern -style mansion in a
small Pennsylvania town.
What had drawn him to Orchid House? The isolation? The supposed ghosts?
Another gust of wind snapped out of the sky, rattling branches on a nearby tree.
Traci's untamed curls blew wildly. She pushed the annoying locks of hair away

Page No 9

from her face and noticed Daniel appeared to be assessing her in the same
manner in which she'd assessed him.
"What in the hell were you doing out here alone?"
Startled by his sharp tone, she looked up and met his gaze head on. "This is
where I work." She motioned to the diner behind them. "And I had to close
tonight."
"By yourself?"
"The cook was sick, so I sent him home a little early."
Daniel shook his head. "What if it wasn't me who happened by? What if it was
some lunatic?"
People think you're dangerous, she wanted to say. And crazy, too. Only a
madman would lurk behind the walls of a haunted mansion.
She motioned to the diner again, indicating the string of holiday lights
decorating the roof. She loved this season, broken -down car or not. "For
goodness' sake, it's Christmastime. Ease up, okay? I'm fine. All I have to do is
call a tow truck."
He scanned the twinkling lights, his expre ssion grim. Whipping out a cell phone,
he handed it to her. "If you think nothing tragic happens at this time of year, then
let me tell you, you're sorely mistaken."
She took the phone, wondering what had turned Daniel Crow into a hard and
lonely man. Nothing shone in his eyes, least of all the sparkle of holiday cheer.
"Where did you come from?" she asked, gesturing to the empty parking lot.
"What do you mean?"
"It's like you appeared out of thin air."
He was still frowning. "I parked in front of the diner ."
She held the phone, but had yet to dial the information operator. "What
compelled you to walk around back?"
"You," he said, moving closer. "I can't explain it, but I sensed you would be
here. It was as though someone whispered your name in my head."
A chill raced up Traci's spine, and a moment later, she detected the faint aroma
of flowers drifting through the winter air.
Orchids? she wondered, as Daniel lifted his hand and brushed it gently across
her cheek. Her skin tingled where his touch landed, ju st as it had in her dream.
But this wasn't a dream — was it?
Chapter 5
It felt like an out-of-body experience, Traci thought. One of those surreal
moments in life when you drift on the edge of something dangerous.
Beautifully dangerous.
Daniel's hand was strong yet gentle, warm against her skin. Her hair blew in a
mass of tumbled curls. He captured a strand between his fingers, and she slipped
deeper into the moment.

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Their eyes met and held. The glow from the streetlamp cast an amber hue as
shadows danced in the night. The scent of orchids still swirled in the air. She
imagined them showering her body — hundreds of white petals floating down
from the heavens.
He lowered his head, and she knew he was going to kiss her. He cupped her
face, and when his lips touched hers, she made a breathy sound. He tasted fresh
and clean and seductive, his tongue mating eagerly with hers.
His coat was open, billowing and snapping in the breeze. Traci needed to free
her hands so she could encircle his waist. Still clutchi ng the phone, she pressed
it into the front pocket of his jeans. Unconsciously she brushed his fly.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"
He fought back a groan. "It's all right."
Was it? she asked herself. She was dizzy, drowning in desire. "What are we
doing, Daniel?"
"I don't know." And he sounded as if he didn't care if it was right or wrong, if it
bordered on insanity. "Unbutton your coat."
She blinked, nearly staggered. "What?"
"I want to feel you, all of you, next to me."
Her hands shook, but she reached for the buttons on her coat, opening the bulky
garment. He watched her, his eyes dark and passionate. They were strangers, but
it didn't matter. Something was happening between them, something too
powerful to name.
He leaned against the car and opened his legs. Traci slid between them. But the
moment he drew her against his chest, the mood shifted. Suddenly they weren't
kissing or caressing. They were just holding each other, heartbeats melding.
His body was strong and solid, big and powerful. He reminded her of a warrior,
a man who would cherish and protect what belonged to him. She closed her eyes
and put her head on his shoulder.
"Traci?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
She lifted her head and admired his face, the strength and masculine beauty in it.
"For what?"
"For this," he said, his eyes seeking hers. "It's been a long time since I've been
with someone. And I'm not just talking about sex. I mean intimacy. Real
intimacy."
And that, she decided, was the feeling too powerful, too erotic to name, the
something that was happening between them. "I like you, Daniel."
"You barely know me."
"That doesn't mean I can't like you."
He brushed her lips in a near-kiss, then drew back abruptly. "It's nice that we're
becoming friends, but I don't think we should be doing this a nymore. I'm still,
ah…you know."

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Aroused, she thought, suddenly aware of the hardness beneath his zipper. Their
bodies were still pressed together. She felt her face flush and realized how
strange this whole experience was. "Maybe I should call the tow tru ck now."
"Yeah. Good idea."
Which meant, of course, moving away from him and pretending they hadn't
been on the verge of becoming lovers. If he had asked her to go home with him,
she would have gone. And for Traci, that would have been inexcusable. She
didn't sleep with strangers.
He removed the phone from his pocket, and she stepped back and buttoned her
coat.
She made the call, and they waited in silence. But 10 minutes later, when a
white vehicle turned into the parking lot, its tires squealing, Traci' s pulse
quickened. She recognized the driver instantly.
Chapter 6
"Oh, no." Traci made a face. "With everything that happened, I forgot to call
Tom."
Daniel watched the SUV jerk to a halt, realizing the driver had shoved it into
park. "Tom?"
"My father-in-law."
A stocky man stepped out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind him. "What
the hell is going on, Traci? I've been worried sick. You should have been home
hours ago."
"I know. I'm sorry. My car wouldn't start, and I've been waiting for the tow
truck. Where's Parker?"
"Asleep. I asked Mavis to watch him."
Still irritated, the man eyed Daniel. "Who's he?"
Traci voiced a polite introduction. "His name is Daniel Crow, and he offered to
fix my car. He thinks the starter is bad. He's going to put a ne w one in for me."
"I see," Tom said to Daniel, his posture relaxing a little. "I guess I owe you a
thank-you, then."
"Don't worry about it." He was grateful the older man had decided he wasn't a
threat. He wasn't up for a sparring match, and Traci's fathe r-in-law would have
made a formidable opponent. He wasn't nearly as tall as Daniel, but he was
solid, with the blue-collar stance of a steel worker or a brick mason.
"Aren't you that fellow who bought Orchid House?" Tom asked.
"Yes, I am." The one who had been keeping Traci out in the cold, kissing her.
Suddenly he didn't feel like the gentleman she had made him out to be.
Daniel frowned, thinking about the condoms he'd purchased. He hadn't bought
them with Traci in mind, but his attraction to her had trig gered the idea. The
urge to become sexually active again meant he needed protection.

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Yeah, but now that he had kissed Traci, it was her he wanted. And damn it, he
knew anything beyond friendship wouldn't be wise. She didn't seem like the type
who would engage in uncommitted sex. Then again, that wasn't his usual style,
either. The last woman who had warmed Daniel's bed had been his wife.
"You made quite an impression on my grandson."
Jarred from his thoughts, Daniel dragged a hand through his hair. "I'm sor ry.
What?"
"Parker," the other man clarified. "You're all he's been talking about for days.
You're the first Indian he's ever met. He thinks you're pretty cool."
"Oh." Daniel didn't know what to say, so he glanced at Traci, who sent him a
shy smile. She hadn't told him that her son had developed a case of misguided
hero worship of him.
"I watch of a lot cowboy movies on TV," Tom explained. "So I suppose it was
only natural for Parker to take an interest in the Old West. But since he always
rooted for the Indians, who never seemed to triumph in those old films, I rented
him that kids' movie, the one where the little Indian figure comes to life in the
magic cupboard. That clinched it. After that, he was hooked."
Daniel had never seen the movie Tom described, b ut he supposed the Indian in it
was the noble, proud-of-his-heritage sort — a depiction that certainly didn't
mirror his own actions.
Feeling a twinge of guilt, he squinted at the string of holiday lights decorating
the diner. He'd left the reservation, th e Qualla Boundary, 16 years ago and hadn't
returned since. Not even for Christmas. Of course, he sent money to his father,
but the checks were always refused, uncashed and unwelcome.
Damn it. Why was he blaming himself? His father was the stubborn one. He
hadn't understood Daniel's need to break free, his need to prove himself in the
white world.
He looked at Traci and wondered what to do about her son. How was he
supposed to live up to the boy's expectations? Parker was infatuated with
Indians, but Daniel Crow wasn't Cherokee anymore.
Chapter 7
Daniel stood in Traci's garage, dressed in threadbare jeans and an old sweatshirt,
a wrench stuffed into his back pocket. While replacing the starter in her car, he'd
discovered an oil leak. Maybe he should loan her one of his Camaros. He owned
several, along with a couple of Novas and a fleet of Corvettes parked in the
remodeled carriage house at the mansion.
Parker bounced into the garage, his tennis shoes squeaking on the cement floor.
"Hi, Daniel. I didn't know you were here. I just got back from my friend's house.
His name's Benjamin."
Overwhelmed by the burst of youthful energy, Daniel managed a befuddled,
"Oh, yeah?" He wasn't experienced with children. His son, his Parker, had died

Page No 13

at three months old. He could still recall the baby's soft, powdery skin, the little
cooing sounds he made, the way his eyelids fluttered before he drifted off to
sleep.
"My mom's making soup for lunch, but I'm not having any 'cause I ate macaroni
and cheese at Ben's house." Rubbing the end of his nose, the boy pursed his lips.
His skin was pink and slightly chapped. "Did you fix our car?"
"Yes, but there are other things wrong with it." He couldn't help but wonder how
his son would have looked at six, if he would have been the s ame size as Traci's
boy.
"Are you gonna fix those things, too?"
"If your mom doesn't mind. I'll probably have to take the car to my house."
Keeping his hands busy, Daniel put away his tools. A strand of Parker's hair was
sticking straight up, and he had the fatherly notion to smooth it.
"Hey, Daniel?"
"Yes?"
"Can you talk Cherokee?"
He tried not to frown. "I used to speak the Kituwah dialect when I was younger."
"Koala?"
"No. Kit-u-wah."
"Do you remember enough to teach me?"
He did, of course. He hadn't forgotten his native tongue. He had just stopped
using it. Meeting Parker's hopeful gaze, he wiped his hands. Daniel didn't want
to be anyone's hero, but it appeared he had little choice. Shattering Parker's
illusions didn't seem like an option.
"If you get a piece of paper and a pencil, I'll show you the Cherokee syllables."
The kid flew out of the garage, the tails of his shirt hanging below his waist -
length jacket.
He returned in record time, handing over the writing implements. Daniel sat on
the floor next to Parker and penned the syllables. "A man named Sequoyah
invented the Cherokee alphabet. It took him 12 years to perfect it, but he didn't
give up. At first people thought he was crazy, but later they respected him for
teaching the tribe how to communi cate with a written language."
He went on to explain the sounds and how they compared to English. Parker
listened with rapt attention. Unable to resist, Daniel smoothed the boy's cowlick.
On another sheet of paper, Parker attempted to copy the syllables. A s the boy set
his face in a determined expression, the cowlick popped up again. Daniel found
himself smiling.
Parker beamed, displaying his handiwork. "I'm gonna show my mom. And my
grandpa, too."
"Sure. Go ahead."
Once Daniel was alone, he decided the Ch erokee lesson hadn't cost him
anything. Surprisingly, it hadn't made him guilty or moody. Nor had it made him
feel as if his heritage was a source of pity, the way the tourist seasons in North

Page No 14

Carolina used to affect him. But he supposed it was the way the boy had looked
at him, the innocence and admiration in his eyes.
Daniel finished packing his tools and carried them out to his truck. Lifting them
onto the bed, he wondered about Parker's father. The paternal grandpa lived next
door, but where was the boy's dad?
Curious enough to ask Traci about her ex -husband, he entered her duplex
through the garage and followed the aroma of tomatoes, onions, and spices
floating through the air. The kitchen, he decided, with its butcher -block
countertops and built-in booth, had been designed for home-cooked meals and
conversation.
Traci stood at the stove, stirring soup in a big copper pot. Her hair had been
gathered into a topknot, but curls sprang rebelliously from the ladylike
confinement.
Hesitating in the doorway, Daniel watched her, suddenly wanting more than
conversation. He imagined pressing his lips to the delicate column of her neck.
He could almost taste her skin — the sweet, womanly flavor.
She turned, and their eyes met. But a second later, her gaze shifted to the
decorated doorframe.
Curious, Daniel glanced up, then realized he had trapped himself in one of those
awkward moments.
A sprig of mistletoe, garnished with a shiny gold ribbon, dangled above his
head.
Chapter 8
Daniel stood below the mistletoe, and all Traci could think about was kissing
him. He looked rough and masculine, with his hair banded into a ponytail, his
jeans frayed, his sweatshirt old and faded.
"Would you like some lunch?" she asked instead.
"Sure. Okay." Tall and broad-shouldered, he stepped farther into the room,
dwarfing her cluttered kitchen.
"Just have a seat. It'll be ready in a minute."
"I need to wash up first."
"Oh. Of course." She slipped past him, offering the sink.
While Daniel scrubbed the grease from his hands, Traci move d around,
gathering plates and silverware, setting the table. She hadn't forgotten how
strong and solid his body was, or how it felt pressed against hers.
She removed rolls from the oven, and he turned away from the sink. She'd
dreamed about him again — bronzed and naked, sliding between her thighs, his
stomach muscles —
"Can I help with anything?"
The pan teetered, nearly burning her wrist. "What? No. I'm fine." Just warm and
aroused and envisioning wicked sex.

Page No 15

He scooted into her cramped built -in dining booth, and Traci served their lunch.
Taking a deep breath, she joined him.
They sat across from each other in silence. Great. Now she would be self -
conscious about eating, about lifting food to her mouth, chewing, swallowing.
He smiled, and she realized he was trying to break the ice, the strange heat
between them. Grateful, she smiled back.
He tasted his meal. "This is really good."
"Thanks. My mom used to make vegetable soup on long winter days. It's
tradition, I guess."
"Really?" Daniel poured dressing over his salad. "Does she live close by?"
"No. She and my dad are missionaries, so they travel a lot."
He cocked his head. "I thought you grew up around here."
"I did. My dad was the pastor of a local parish. He and Mom didn't start doing
missionary work until I was older." She missed her parents, but she respected
their need to make a difference in the world. "They call as often as they can.
They adore Parker."
Daniel smiled again. "He sure is a nice kid."
"I'm pleased you think so." Pride swelled her hear t. Like any mother, she wanted
her child to make a good impression, but for some reason, Daniel's opinion
mattered more than most. "He went next door to show Tom what you taught
him. It was nice of you to spend some time with him. I know you were busy
with the car and all."
"Like I said, he's a great kid." Lifting his water, he took a drink. "He's really
close to Tom, isn't he?"
She nodded. "Tom's a good grandpa. I don't know what I'd do without him,
especially since my parents don't live around here anymor e."
"What about Parker's dad?"
Her stomach tensed. "What about him?"
"Are he and Parker close?"
"No." She set her spoon on the table. "Bradley Calhoun left town when Parker
was about a year old."
Daniel's jaw nearly dropped. "You mean he just walked away?"
"Yes," Traci said, wishing she didn't have to tell him the truth about her
marriage.
Chapter 9
Traci picked up her fork and toyed with her salad, moving lettuce around on the
plate. "We dated for several years," she said, recalling her relationship wit h
Brad. "But we were young, and we never talked about a future. So when I got
pregnant, he was really upset. He only married me because Tom insisted he do
the right thing."
"Have you heard from him at all?" Daniel asked.

Page No 16

"Just once, when he served me with the divorce papers."
"I'm sorry, Traci."
She frowned into her food. "I didn't love him the way I should have, but I
wanted it to work. I wanted it to be something special."
Daniel sent her a sympathetic look. "Plenty of people get married for the sake o f
a child, but it doesn't always work out."
"I thought it was going to be different for me." She had tried to convince herself
that Brad was the love of her life, but her heart had betrayed her. Traci could
still recall her girlish fantasies, her hope that a child would bring them closer.
But life had become more stressful after their baby was born, and Brad couldn't
cope with a clinging wife and a rambunctious toddler.
"The marriage was doomed from the beginning, but I still wish things could
have turned out differently for Parker. Brad had no right to leave him."
Daniel stopped eating. "Does Parker ever ask about his dad?"
"He used to, but he doesn't anymore. And he was only a year old, so he doesn't
have any memories to feel sad about. He might get angr y when he's a teenager,
but I'll deal with that when the time comes." Giving herself something to do, she
sliced a roll and buttered the center.
"Tom's the one who's had the most trouble coping. He wanted his son to be more
like him, to be satisfied with simple things. But Brad wasn't happy living in a
small town, following in his father's footsteps. There was always anger and
resentment between them. They argued something fierce the day Brad left."
"So they never got along?"
"No. Never. True, Tom was hard on Brad at times, but I think Brad was wrong
for the way he treated his father. And of course, our forced marriage didn't help
matters. It was a volatile situation all the way around."
Suddenly silence engulfed the room. Daniel shifted, and Traci felt his foot bump
hers under the table. Avoiding her gaze, he drew back quickly, fingering the
saltshaker with a tight expression.
"Did I say something to upset you?" she asked. Had she aired too much of her
dirty laundry?
"I don't want you to think I'm like Br ad."
Her heart lurched. "Why would I?"
"Because I didn't get along with my dad, either. And I haven't spoken to him in
over 16 years."
"Oh, my." Startled, she leaned forward. "That's a long time." Much too long,
Traci thought.
"Why did you turn away from y our father?" she asked, unnerved by the sudden
parallel between her ex-husband and Daniel Crow.
Chapter 10

Page No 17

Daniel ran his thumb over the saltshaker, then looked up to see Traci watching
him with a disturbed expression. "I was raised on a reservation," h e said,
wondering how to describe the primitive world he came from. "It's about 56,000
acres near the Great Smoky Mountains. The main part is called the Qualla
Boundary."
"And you didn't like living there?"
He laughed — a hollow, humorless sound. "I hated it. My father is what's called
a traditional Cherokee. I grew up in one of the remote townships. Everything
was the old Cherokee way. There was nothing modern about our lifestyle."
Traci pushed her salad to the end of the table. "What about your mother? H ave
you been apart from her all these years, too?"
"She died of pneumonia when I was little. I remember my father mourning her,
wearing ashes on his head and burning her belongings. It all seems so distant
now. When we purified ourselves in the river, I cr ied." He released the
saltshaker and sent it spinning. "I couldn't believe she was gone."
Her gaze locked onto his. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, me, too." How many years had he longed for a maternal touch, a woman
to hold and comfort him? "My aunts helped out, but it wasn't the same. They
were older, matronly, I suppose. But at least they weren't as traditional as my
father."
"So everyone on the reservation doesn't live the old way?"
"No. Some people have newer homes, and some have attended college. You
can't lump everyone together." He lifted his water, took a drink. "My father and
I barely eked out a living, relying on the tourist season for our income. But what
bothered me the most was Dad's attitude.
"He was a damn fine craftsman, but he didn't mind selling his jewelry to the
tacky gift shops in town. To me, it was degrading. I hated being a poor little
Indian kid stringing beads and painting T -shirts for my next meal."
Traci tilted her head, her voice quiet. "I assume you argued about it."
He nodded. "The more I expressed an interest in leaving the rez, the more upset
he got. 'This is your homeland,' he kept telling me. 'This is where you belong.'
You see, the Eastern Band are descendants of the Cherokees who hid in the
mountains rather than be forced to march a long the Trail of Tears to Oklahoma."
"That's quite a legacy, Daniel."
"I know." A twist of guilt tightened his chest. "But I still had the right to find my
own way in the world. I wanted my dad to understand, to support my decision,
but he never did."
"So you left?"
"But not without a major fight. And not without denouncing my heritage."
Traci frowned, making the guilt worse. "Where did you go?"
"To South Carolina, to Charleston. I was 18 years old and determined to get rich
someday. It became the focus of my life."

Page No 18

He glanced away, unable to tell Traci about the rest of his life, about the wife
and child he had buried. Daniel didn't want to admit how lost he was or why he
had been drawn to the haunted halls of Orchid House.
Chapter 11
The following afternoon, the wind blew with a cutting edge. Traci walked
behind Daniel and Parker, the narrow path flanked by perennial shrubs.
"The original owner was a lumber baron," Daniel said. "And he built this estate
for his Southern wife. But I suppose you already k now all of that."
Traci moved along, warming her hands in her coat pockets. "I don't mind
hearing about it again." And she still wondered why Daniel had chosen an
isolated mansion for his home.
Were the rumors about him true? Did he really keep a room on t he second floor
of Orchid House locked, refusing the cleaning lady access? Supposedly he spent
hours and hours alone in that room, shutting out the world around him.
They stopped at an ornate iron gate, and Parker looked up. "Who lives here,
Daniel?"
"No one. This is a carriage house. In the old days, it's where the horses and
buggies were kept."
"How come it has so many floors?"
"Because there used to be a hayloft and rooms for the stable boys. But I hired
someone to remodel it, and now I use it for a gara ge and workshop."
And that was why they were here, Traci thought. Daniel had offered to loan her
one of his Camaros. Although he'd sold his business, he still collected old
Chevys. A hobby, he'd told her, that kept him busy tinkering beneath their
hoods.
They entered through barn-style doors, and Parker gasped. "Wow. Look at all
those cars, Mom."
Yes, she thought, practically stumbling over her feet. Look at them. Sleek and
shiny, Daniel's vehicles were restored to perfection. Each classic model was
parked on a black-and-white vinyl floor, making the expansive interior look like
a showroom.
"You don't intend to loan me one of these, do you?" She couldn't imagine
borrowing something so valuable, so extravagant.
"Sure do." He motioned to a racy red Camaro, its chrome polished to a reflective
shine. "This one is the same year as yours."
"I can't drive that."
"Why not?"
"Yeah, Mom. Why not?"
Traci glanced at her son, who had just mimicked Daniel's question. "Because,"
she said to both of them, "it's too nice. Wha t if I scratch the paint?"

Page No 19

"A pretty lady should drive a pretty car," Daniel countered. "Besides, it's only
for a few days, just until I fix the oil leak in yours."
She shook her head. "I appreciate your generosity, but repairing my car is more
than enough. I'll work out my own transportation."
"Let me do this, Traci." Daniel said quietly.
She met his gaze and realized he was offering more than a car. He wanted her to
need him, even in a small, simple way.
"Okay," she said, accepting the loaner.
"Good." He smiled, sending her heart askew.
She knew she shouldn't be getting this close to him, that their attraction was
dangerous, but she couldn't stay away. He was too magnetic, too hypnotic to
ignore.
Traci closed her eyes. What was she doing? Hoping to heal hi m? A man who
had walked away from his father and denounced his heritage? His problems
were too big for her to tackle, but here she was, clinging to that foolish notion.
He brushed her hand. "Let's head back to the house, and I'll show you around."
They walked in silence, but she imagined voices whispering in the wind. What
secrets did Orchid House keep hidden behind its massive walls? And why did
Daniel spend hours alone, locked in a mysterious room?
Approaching the front door, Traci hesitated. Once she cro ssed the threshold,
there would be no turning back. She would be entering Daniel's secluded world,
rumors, ghosts, and all.
Chapter 12
The mansion was big and opulent — almost too beautiful. The entryway
featured a double curved staircase and a marble f loor. A parlor displayed heavy
antique furnishings and a custom fireplace. Velvet drapes trimmed leaded
windows.
Daniel didn't invite them upstairs. Instead he took them on a tour of the first
floor, including a picturesque veranda. The house reflected Sou thern-style living
on the East Coast — a strange concept in Traci's mind. But then, as Daniel had
said, the mansion had been built for a Southern belle who missed her homeland.
They stood on the veranda, overlooking the grounds. Beyond the lawn, the
forest expanded into a maze of trees. She wondered if Daniel walked through the
forest on moonlit nights, the way people claimed he did. There were so many
rumors surrounding him, so many mysteries.
Feeling a sudden chill, Traci tightened her coat.
"Are you cold?" he asked. We can go inside and make some hot chocolate."
"Sure, that sounds nice," she responded, knowing that Parker would enjoy the
soothing treat.
Traci and her son followed their host into the kitchen, a room as massive and
grand as the rest.

Page No 20

Daniel prepared three cups of instant hot chocolate, and Traci studied Parker's
expression. He had taken in every detail of the first floor, every chandelier,
every brocade sofa, every marbled alcove.
"Do you ever slide down the banisters?" he asked Daniel.
"No. I can't say that I have."
"What do you do here all by yourself?" the child pressed.
"Don't worry about me, partner. I keep busy."
Traci watched steam rising from the cups. "It's an incredible house," she said,
trying not to think about that rumored locked door. Daniel wasn't being
deliberately evasive, but he seemed different now that he was in his home. More
elusive, she supposed, which gave credence to the cleaning woman's story. "The
decor is exquisite."
He stirred the drinks and distributed them. "Than ks, but I bought it furnished.
Everything was already here."
They sat at a large oak table, the wood scarred from centuries of wear. She
supposed the servants of Orchid House used to dine in the kitchen. Of course it
hadn't been called Orchid House then. That name had come later — with the
perfumed ghosts.
But Traci wasn't sure if she believed the house was actually haunted. No one had
ever seen the ghosts, and the scent of flowers could be conjured by one's
imagination, couldn't it?
The ghosts were rumored to be the daughters of the Southern belle and the
lumber baron. Supposedly they were two beautiful young women who had
danced and dreamed and refused to marry the staid suitors who had been chosen
for them. Both had grown old waiting for true love, believ ing in choices of the
heart. Somehow, Traci didn't envision them floating through the mansion like
dark, demented ghouls.
She turned to see Daniel watching her.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked.
"Nothing," she said, although orchids filled her mind. The sisters had grown a
species called lady of the night, known for its exquisite evening perfume.
And Traci understood why they had waited a lifetime for the men of their
dreams. She had married the wrong man, and he hadn't fulfilled her deepest
fantasy. She wanted what the sisters had hoped for — the heated attraction, the
ache, the intimacy that came with falling hopelessly in love.
But God help her, she knew who made her feel that way. And he was practically
a stranger, a secretive man she barely knew.
Chapter 13
Daniel wished he could read Traci's mind. She looked pretty and sweet, like a
fairy-tale maiden fantasizing about a prince. Auburn curls fell loose about her

Page No 21

shoulders, and a cream-colored sweater clung to petite curves. Her cheeks were
flushed, her lips a pale shade of pink.
She met his gaze, and the kitchen turned as balmy as a Southern night. Did she
know how badly he wanted her? That he awakened every morning naked and
aroused?
She moistened her lips, and he leaned into the table. If he kissed her, would he
break the trance? Or would they slip into a dream? A sleek, sensual fantasy?
"Hey, how come you two are staring at each other?"
Startled, Daniel and Traci nearly jumped out of their skins. Somehow, they had
forgotten that her six-year-old son Parker was still in the room.
"We weren't," she said much too quickly, batting a curl from her eye.
"Yes, you were, Mom."
"Well, we didn't know we were. That happens to adults sometimes."
"Oh. I thought maybe you was playing that game, to see wh o blinked first."
Both Daniel and Traci managed a smile, and the awkward moment passed
without further discussion.
He got to his feet. "How about a snack? I've got sandwich fixings."
"Sure." Parker popped up to explore the contents of the refrigerator.
They chose ham and Swiss cheese, with mustard, mayonnaise, and thick slices
of tomato. The child appeared to be enjoying himself, and Daniel realized he
was having fun, too. It actually felt good to have company, to see his orderly
kitchen buzzing with life.
"Hey, Daniel?" Parker licked a dollop of mustard from his thumb, and received a
quiet nudge and a napkin from his mother.
Daniel withheld a grin. "What is it, partner?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure, go ahead."
The boy dumped a handful of potato chips onto his plate. "How come you don't
have a Christmas tree?"
Daniel's knees nearly buckled. He gripped the counter and tried to school his
emotions.
Christmas was still over two weeks away. What should he say? I intend to buy
one soon? Cut one down myself? Haul in an evergreen as tall as the ceiling?
Yeah, right. He looked at Parker. How could he lie to a six -year-old? A kid with
innocent eyes and a misbehaving cowlick? Parker hadn't meant to knock him for
a loop.
"I live alone," he said. "I don't need a tree."
"That don't matter. Grandpa lives by himself, and he has one."
But your grandpa didn't lose a wife and child five days before Christmas, Daniel
thought. He didn't come home from a business trip to find his house a skeleton
of charred remains.
"Me and my mom can go with you to pick out a tree," Parker persisted. "And we
can help decorate it, too. That'd be okay, wouldn't it, Mom?"

Page No 22

"Yes," she said, her voice softer and more aware than her son's. "As long as
Daniel doesn't mind."
"That's a real nice offer, but I think I'll pass." He let out the breath he'd been
holding, struggling for an excuse to satisfy Parker. "Santa Claus isn't going to
come to my house."
"Why? Have you been bad?"
Yes, he thought, knowing he couldn't explain. "I didn't ask Santa for an y
presents."
"Christmas isn't only about presents. It's about family and friends, too. Just get a
tree, Daniel. Then you'll know what I mean."
"You think so?" he asked, wondering if the vibrant little boy who answered to
his son's name was right — if finding peace at Christmas would be that easy.
Chapter 14
Four days later, Traci returned Daniel's car. She pulled up to his house and saw
her own Camaro parked on the street.
"Oh, my," she said to herself. Her weary, old vehicle actually sparkled. What in
the world had he done to it? Certainly more than plug an oil leak.
Daniel came onto the porch and met her on the street. He smiled, and her knees
went weak. His hair, damp from a recent shower, was combed away from his
face, intensifying his raw-boned features and penetrating eyes.
He stuffed his hands in the side pockets of his denim jacket, his jeans riding low
and sexy on his hips. Traci wanted to touch him. Everywhere.
"My car looks awesome," she said.
He moved closer. "I detailed it. It's amazing what a good wax job will do for the
paint."
"How did you get the bumpers so shiny?" She noticed they were no longer
mottled with rust.
"Replaced them."
Traci tilted her head, scolding him with a friendly scowl. "You didn't have to do
that."
"I wanted to. Besides I've got plenty of extra parts around here. It was no big
deal."
"It is to me. Thank you so much." She wanted to hug him, but his hands were
still jammed in his pockets.
"I fixed the heater, too," he said, glancing back at the car. "Damn, Traci. It's
been freezing lately. You should have told me it wasn't working."
"I didn't think of it."
True, the December air was cold and misty, but Traci barely noticed. She had
something more important on her mind. She knew she was falling in love with
Daniel Crow, losing her heart to this elusive man.

Page No 23

There was no point in denying her feelings or pretending they didn't exist.
Hadn't she dreamed about him that first night? Experienced an ache so deep that
her heart actually hurt? And what about every night since? He con tinued to slip
into her subconscious, becoming part of her.
But why him? she asked herself. Why this troubled, complicated man?
He shifted his feet, scraping his boots on the road. "I got a Christmas tree."
Startled, she met his gaze. "You did?"
"Yeah. It's a living one, and it was already decorated, so I didn't have to fuss
with lights and all that. I guess I'll plant it after the holidays."
"Can I see it?" she asked, wishing she had the courage to tell him how she felt.
"Sure. It's pretty small, though."
"That's okay."
They entered his home, and he led her to the parlor, a room filled with rich
brocades and warm, engraved woods.
The tree graced a mahogany table, tiny ornaments shimmering on silvery -blue
branches. A fresh, clean scent rose in the air, and s he decided it was the most
perfect evergreen on earth, especially since her son, Parker, had inspired Daniel
to buy it.
Yes, she thought. The tree complemented this grand old mansion. Someday the
blue spruce would grow tall and powerful, its foliage magnif icent against the
sky.
"I can't believe people think Orchid House is haunted." She glanced around the
parlor, feeling the beauty of Christmas. "It's too beautiful for ghosts."
She could actually imagine living here with Daniel, cuddling beside him on long
winter nights, going for walks on bright, sunny days. She envisioned them
raising Parker — loving and laughing and being a family.
But when she turned to look at Daniel, her heart sank. He was frowning, his eyes
dark and distant.
"Traci," he said, his voice painfully quiet. "I think it's time I told you about my
wife and son."
Chapter 15
"You're married?" Traci stared at Daniel, her eyes wide with shock. "And you
have a child?"
"No." He shook his head, wishing he could shake away the memories haunting
him. "I'm a —" Widower, he thought, hating the word. "My wife and son died,
six years ago, near Christmas."
"Oh, my God. I'm so sorry."
She reached out to take his hand, but Daniel stepped back. He hadn't let anyone
console him then, and he wouldn't let Trac i comfort him now. If she got too
close, he would fall into her arms. Kiss her. Stroke her skin and pull her tight
against him.

Page No 24

Slow, sultry lovemaking. That's what he needed from Traci, and she deserved
more than just sex.
"My wife's name was Clarissa," he said. "She was from Charleston. A young,
beautiful debutante, a Southern socialite through and through. We had nothing
in common."
He removed his jacket and tossed it on a chair. "Nothing. Except this wild,
almost unbelievable, attraction." And he had wa nted Clarissa the moment he'd
laid eyes on her. "Some people thought I didn't belong in her world. Granted, I
was a millionaire, but I didn't come from old money."
Traci let out an audible breath and sat on a Louis XVI -style settee. It struck him
how pretty she looked in his 17th-century mansion with her tousled auburn hair
and simple, small-town clothes. He felt the same wild, almost unbelievable,
attraction toward her, the same instant want — a feeling that confused him.
Traci was so different from his wi fe.
"Did it really matter that you weren't born rich?" she asked.
"Not to Clarissa, but it became an issue with her parents. I wasn't the husband
they had envisioned for their daughter. To them, I was still a reservation Indian."
And he had tried so damn hard to shed that image, the stigma that had shamed
him since his youth. "But Clarissa married me anyway, and we bought an estate
in the historical district." He glanced around the room. "It looked a lot like this
one."
"I see," she whispered, acknowledgin g why Orchid House had appealed to him.
"It wasn't enough." Daniel frowned at the Christmas tree. "I needed to prove to
her parents that pedigree wasn't important. But the only way I knew how to do
that was to exceed their net worth. If I had more money th an they did, then they
would have to respect me."
He snorted. "You should have seen me. Short hair, stylish clothes, rubbing
elbows with the crème de la crème of Charleston. I loved my wife. Loved her
more than you can imagine, but fitting into her society became an obsession."
"Did Clarissa love you?"
"Yeah." He swallowed the pain, the lump rising in his throat. "But she didn't
understand why I was so driven to prove myself."
Traci fingered a tapestry pillow. "Did her parents ever accept you?"
"No. Not even when our baby was born. They loved him because he was their
grandson, but they didn't like the idea that he was a mixed -blood. It didn't matter
that I had no intention of teaching him about his Cherokee side. He was still part
Indian." Daniel resisted the urge to pace, to unleash the pain and guilt. "His
name was Parker. My son's name was Parker."
"Oh, my. Oh." She placed a hand against her blouse. "I don't know what to say.
It almost seems like more than a coincidence. But it can't be."
Traci looked up at him, and he wanted to touch her, lose himself in all that
sweet, girlish beauty. She was so pure and good, so unlike him. Daniel had
tainted himself with the sin of greed.

Page No 25

"Parker was only three months old." He closed his eyes, and then opened them,
his heart hurting. "It shouldn't have happened. My wife and child shouldn't have
burned in that house."
Meeting Traci's gaze, he took a deep breath, determined to tell her the truth, to
admit what had been haunting him all these years.
"It was my fault," he said. "Clarissa and Parker died because of me."
Chapter 16
"You don't mean that." Traci didn't believe Daniel was responsible for the death
of his family.
"Yes, I do." He glanced at the tree. "Clarissa asked me not to go away. It was so
close to Christmas, and she didn't understand why that business deal was so
important." He dragged a hand through his hair. "But I didn't stay home because
closing the deal meant a lot of money. With me, it was always about the
money."
"You were trying to find acceptance," she said, defending him. "Maybe you
went about it the wrong way, but you were confused and hurting."
She couldn't imagine living her entire life ashamed of who she was or where she
had come from. And she couldn't imagine being shunned by her in -laws. "You
weren't there when your wife and child died. You didn't set the fire."
"Maybe if I'd been there, I could have saved them."
"And maybe you would have died, too."
"At least they wouldn't have been alone." He released a shallow breath. "Clarissa
used to burn these tall, scented candles, but she must have forgotten to
extinguish them that night. They said she probably knocked one over without
realizing it, maybe when she got up to feed the baby."
He fingered a branch on the tree, and Traci could see the ache in his heart, the
loss and the loneliness. With his distant eyes and rough denim clothes, he looked
like what he was — a man hiding from the rest of the world.
"It's time to heal, Daniel. To stop blaming yourself."
"I don't know how."
She noticed the gentle way he touched the tree, the reverence and respect he
gave the tiny ornaments. "You're healing now."
He met her gaze, and she wanted to go to him, put her arms around his waist,
lean her head against his shoulder. He was so big and broad, yet so vulnerable .
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"You bought a living tree, something that would grow in the sun or the snow,
something you could nourish forever."
"I bought it because of you and your son."
"Then we're part of your healing," she told him, feeling emotional and misty-
eyed. She wanted to be part of Daniel, to be his friend, his lover, his mate. But
now wasn't the time to tell him, not when he was still mourning the loss of his

Page No 26

wife and child. "But the tree is for Clarissa and Parker, too. You can plant it for
them."
"Thank you," he said, his voice quiet.
They both fell silent, the tiny blue spruce shimmering between them. Once
again, Traci imagined it growing strong and tall, its silvery branches reaching
for the heavens.
Daniel had surrounded himself with tre es, she realized. A thick, dense forest
wove an earthly pattern behind his house. Did the gray birches and the shadowy
willows beckon him? Call out to him when he couldn't sleep?
"Are the rumors about you true?" she asked. "Do you really go for walks in th e
moonlight?"
"Sometimes. The forest seems enchanted at night."
Yes, she thought, picturing him shrouded in mist, moonlight glinting off his
raven-colored hair. "What about this house, Daniel? Do you think it's haunted?"
"Not the way people say it is." He held out his hand. "Come with me, Traci.
There's something I want to show you."
She stood and accepted his hand, knowing he was taking her to the second floor,
to the mysterious room he kept locked.
They climbed the double-curved staircase and walked down the hall. He was
still holding her hand, and she felt warm from his touch.
The second floor of Orchid House was decorated with turn -of-the-century
antiques. They passed bedrooms with armoires and carved mahogany beds.
They stopped in front of the only door that remained closed. Daniel removed a
key from his pocket, and Traci's heartbeat quickened.
When they entered the expansive room, she noticed a workstation laden with art
supplies and a tall easel draped with a large white cloth.
She turned to Daniel. "Do you paint?"
He nodded. "I used to when I was younger, but I didn't start up again until I
came here."
"Orchid House inspired you?"
He nodded again, his eyes intense. "And now I want you to see the ghosts."
Daniel unveiled the painting, and Traci gasped.
Chapter 17
Traci stared at the canvas. Angels.
Daniel had painted two breathtaking angels, their feathery wings gilded and
glorious, their arms filled with white orchids.
"They're beautiful." So lifelike, so soft and ethereal. Both had long, flowing hai r
and eyes as blue as the sky.
"I bought this mansion because it reminded me of the house I owned with
Clarissa. But I also wanted to brood with the ghosts. I wanted to be locked
inside with them."

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"But the ghosts turned out to be angels." Which meant he h ad been living with
two heavenly creatures.
"I've never actually seen them," he said. "But I feel them — their presence, their
aura. I painted them the way I imagine they look."
"I smelled orchids on the night we kissed," she said. "The flowers called lady of
the night. Is that what they're holding?"
"Yes."
Daniel covered the painting and reached for Traci's hand. Without speaking, he
led her into the hall, and then stopped to look at her.
She knew what this moment meant, how vital it was to the rest of her life. Either
she and Daniel would part ways or they would become lovers. Their attraction
was too strong to settle for something in between.
Moving closer, she skimmed his cheek, his warm, bronzed skin.
"I want you," she said.
He searched her gaze, his voice rough. "If we do this, Traci, I can't make any
promises. I'm not ready to make a commitment."
But soon he would be, she thought. The angels would heal his spirit. Daniel
would be all right.
She unbuttoned her blouse, offering herself to the man she lov ed. He watched,
his eyes dark and mesmerizing. And the instant she unhooked her bra, he sent
her a slow, Southern smile.
"Will you come to my room, sweet Traci?"
"Yes." Please, yes.
His four-poster bed was draped with an emerald -green comforter, and the
balcony door invited a gust of the cool December air.
Daniel opened a dresser drawer and fisted a foil packet. "I bought these the day
after I met you. It seemed wrong at the time, but you made me want again. I
knew then that I couldn't stay celibate forever . It was my way of telling myself
that I needed to make love again."
"I understand," she said, pleased by his honesty. "I'm so glad it's me you're going
to be with."
They stood beside the mahogany bed and caressed each other. He stroked her
back and lowered his head to taste her nipples. She delved into his hair and let
the silky length spill over her.
She knew he was her destiny. The man she had been waiting for all of her life.
She whispered his name as he finished undressing her.
When he dropped to his knees, she gripped the bedpost, stunned and aroused.
Traci knew what he was going to do. Eagerly, she waited for his intimate kiss.
He licked and suckled and drove her to near madness. Desperate for more, she
fell deeper into the moment, into the hot, wicke d climax. It flooded her body
with an urgent need, filling her until she staggered and swayed and fell
bonelessly into his waiting arms.

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He placed her on the bed and shed his clothes. She blinked and focused,
drinking in the sight of him, the pure masculin e beauty. Raw, ropey sinew and
strong, firm muscles. She had to touch him — his chest, his belly, his sex.
She stroked his erection, and he dragged air into his lungs. "I need you," he said.
"So damn much."
He braced himself above her, and she knew he coul dn't wait. Grasping the foil
packet from the dresser, he tore it open.
As Traci lifted her hips, he entered her, fast and hard and deep.
So incredibly deep.
Sensation slid over sensation, flesh over flesh. They moved in the same
wondrous rhythm, kissing and touching, hands and mouths questing.
He thrust full tilt, and she rose to meet him.
The wind swirled around the room, and they locked hands and held tight. They
were immersed, steeped in the feel of each other.
Lost in the moment, Traci closed her eyes. Had this joining, this beautiful
mating, this mind-spinning climax made them one?
Chapter 18
Traci smiled. Being naked in the middle of the afternoon felt wonderful. She
trailed a finger down Daniel's chest and evoked a smile from him. He looked
dark and sexy and sated.
"How did you end up in Pennsylvania?" she asked. In her tiny hometown. It
seemed too good to be true.
"I was just passing through, and I saw this house. I never really intended to settle
in the east, but then, I hadn't intended to settle anywhere. I was drifting, going
from state to state."
He stretched, his body long and fluid. The sheet was draped just below his
navel. Traci wanted him again, but she decided to behave herself. "You're an
incredible artist." And an incredible lover, she t hought.
"Thanks." He shifted his weight, stirring the mattress. "My mom used to paint. I
guess it's in the blood."
"Do you ever think about the reservation, Daniel? There must have been
something you liked about it."
He glanced at the balcony. The door was closed now, the room still. "It's
beautiful there, especially in October. It's the most colorful time of year. And the
most cultural, I suppose. There's a festival every fall."
She detected a sense of longing in his voice. "Do you miss your dad at all?"
"I —" Daniel paused to push his hair away from his face, frowning a little.
"Yeah, I do." The frown tilted into a small, reminiscent smile. "He used to call
me Gv-he. Wildcat. I was such a restless kid. And then I grew up to be so big.
Even as a teenager, I was taller and broader than my dad."

Page No 29

"You should visit him. Sixteen years is a long time to stay away. Just think
about going home," she said, hoping to persuade him. "Family is important."
"I know. And it isn't as if I haven't tried to contact him. I've been sending him
money, but he returns the checks."
Traci skimmed Daniel's cheek. "Maybe it's you he wants and not your money."
"And maybe he's just stubborn."
She lifted an eyebrow. "Like his wildcat son?"
"All right, smart aleck, I'll think about it."
She smiled. "Good."
After a moment of silence, he caught her hand and moved it down his body, his
eyes filled with sudden mischief. "So, sweet Traci, are we done talking now?"
She laughed and closed her fingers around him. Yes, she thought. Being naked
in the middle of the afternoon felt wonderful.
* * *
Three days later, Daniel stopped by Traci's house. She answered the door,
wishing she looked prettier. She was dressed for the diner, wearing the pink -
and-white uniform that conflicted with the color of her h air.
"Hi. I wasn't expecting you. I have to work today." She felt for the curls falling
out of her hastily twisted bun. It was foolish, she knew, to be self -conscious
around him. In the past few days, they had seen and touched every inch of each
other. They had even showered together, kissing and caressing through the soap -
scented steam.
"Do you have a minute? I'd like to talk."
"Sure." His expression seemed a little too serious. Concerned, she invited him
in.
They sat beside each other on the printed sofa. "Is everything okay?" she asked.
"I've been thinking a lot about what you said. About the importance of family."
He tunneled all 10 fingers through his hair. "I'm going back to North Carolina,
Traci. I'm going to see my dad."
Now she understood why he looked so serious. "So you're going home for
Christmas?" Traci wanted Daniel to spend the holidays with her, but she was
glad he had decided to make peace with his father. It was, she thought, the last
phase of his emotional healing. "How long will you be gon e?"
"I'm not sure. If my dad wants me to stay, I might end up moving back there."
Suddenly she couldn't breathe.
He took her hand, and she willed herself not to cry. She couldn't fault Daniel for
trying to do the right thing, but she couldn't stop her hear t from breaking, either.
She still hadn't told him that she loved him, and now she knew she couldn't.
"You've done so much for me," he said. "Made me feel whole and alive again.
But you can't make things better between my dad and me. Only I can do that."
Traci clung to his hand. "I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you, too. You and Parker are like family to me."
But they weren't, she thought. They had only been a part of Daniel's life for a
few short weeks. And that wasn't nearly long enough to keep him.

Page No 30

Chapter 19
Daniel and his father sat across from each other in a steak house located in the
Cherokee Pavilion. The pavilion was new, and so was Harrah's — a casino
featuring 60,000 square feet of gaming space. Vegas -style entertainment, Daniel
thought, on his homeland.
He gazed at the man he had abandoned 16 years ago. George Crow had aged,
but the lines around his eyes and the gray in his hair managed to strengthen his
appeal.
"So what do you think of all this?" Daniel asked, gesturing to their surroundings.
George looked up from his meal. "It's good for the Real People," he said, using a
traditional term for the Cherokee. "They share in the gaming profits."
Daniel smiled. His father was still an old -fashioned man, but apparently he had
accepted the growth of his people and their plunge into the modern world. He
seemed wise to Daniel now, a proud Cherokee warrior.
"You've changed, Dad."
"So have you, Gv-he. But you've lost so much."
Daniel's smile faded. In spite of his monetary success, he couldn't deny the years
of turmoil and pain that had come with it. He'd told his father about Clarissa and
the baby, praying they were at peace in the Nightland.
Reaching for his coffee, he glanced out the window. Frost fogged the glass, a
reminder that Christmas was just days aw ay.
Christmas. Now the holiday season made him think of Traci and Parker, of their
smiles and laughter. He missed them terribly. He'd sent Parker a passel of books
and toys from one of the reservation gift shops, but he couldn't find an
appropriate gift for Traci.
There was nothing he could give her that would express how he felt. She had
changed his life, encouraging him to face his past.
"Did I make you sad?" George asked.
Daniel turned away from the window and met his father's gaze. He shook his
head, hoping he didn't look as lonely as he felt. "No. I'm fine."
"You don't seem fine."
"No, really, I am. It just feels strange to be back here."
"It's good to have you home."
They stared at each other, man to man. Daniel felt a lump forming in his throat.
"I've missed you."
"I've missed you, too."
Before he embarrassed himself with watery eyes, Daniel cut into his steak. His
emotions teetered, tipping his heart. He could feel it tumbling in his chest,
struggling for balance.
He couldn't remember the last time he had dined in a restaurant with his dad. But
then, money had been tight years ago. Frowning, he sipped his coffee. George

Page No 31

Crow still lived in the same modest home, the same tiny, hilltop dwelling. "Why
did you return the checks?"
"What would I do with all that money? I have everything I need. The tourists
come in the summer, and the winters are quiet and serene. That's enough for
me."
"Do you want me to stay, Dad? To move back?"
"Is that what you want?"
"I want to be part of your life, and I want to be Cher okee again."
"You can be one of the Real People without living here. I didn't used to think so,
but I know better now." He set his fork down. "You and I, we're from different
generations, but we're both still Cherokee. Still father and son."
Feeling shamed, Daniel leaned against the table, his voice quiet. "How can you
say that after I denounced my heritage?"
"Because you struggled with it. You knew it was wrong, and it affected
everything you did."
"It's been a long, hard road." And it amazed him that his dad could forgive him
so easily.
"I shouldn't have been so tough on you. I should have encouraged you to spread
your wings."
"Thank you. That means a lot to me."
"And you coming back means a lot to me." Although George smiled, it faded
quickly. "But I can tell you're confused. Who is she, son? Who walks in your
soul?"
Daniel caught his breath. "You think I'm in love?"
His father looked him square in the eye. "It can happen more than once. Your
wife and child have been gone a long time, and now your heart is beating for
someone new. Isn't it?"
Chapter 20
Daniel's heart was beating, thumping wildly in his chest. He stood at Traci's
door, his father beside him.
Traci stared at both of them. "Oh, my."
She wore a burgundy dress, and her hair was fixed in a loo se topknot, red curls
framing her face. Daniel wanted to draw her into his arms and never let go.
"Hi," he said instead. "Merry Christmas."
"Hi." She blinked, and Daniel introduced his father.
George smiled and took her hand. "You're pretty," he told her.
Her eyes misted. "Thank you. Come in, please."
The mouthwatering aroma of holiday food filled the house. A turkey was
roasting in the oven, and a pumpkin pie cooled on the counter.

Page No 32

They entered the living room where lights twinkled on a tall evergreen. Wad s of
colorful paper and strings of shiny ribbon were strewn all over the floor. Parker
and Tom sat on the sofa, inspecting one of Parker's new toys.
Tom smiled, and Parker leaped up and ran toward Daniel. He lifted the boy and
held tight, smoothing the child's cowlick. This is what Christmas is about, he
thought. Family, friends, and a warm feeling inside.
Tom and George took to each other immediately, chatting like old army buddies.
Or possibly newfound relatives — two wise old men who appreciated the simp le
things life had to offer.
Traci slipped into the kitchen to check on dinner, and Daniel followed her. She
leaned against the counter and released a shaky breath.
"I'm so surprised you're here," she said. "And with your father."
"He wanted to meet you."
"Really? Why?"
"Because I told him about you and Parker and how much you helped me."
Daniel realized he was nervous. Traci seemed a little wary, and he prayed she
would accept the gift he brought her.
"Are you moving to North Carolina after the holidays?" she asked.
"No. My dad is going back, but I'm staying here."
She twisted a strand of her unruly hair. "You are?"
"Yes." He moved closer. "And I —" He paused and reached into the suit jacket
he wore. Handing her a tiny wrapped package, he waited for her to open it, too
anxious to finish his speech.
She fumbled with the paper, and when she uncovered the gift, she met his gaze,
her bright green eyes searching his.
* * *
Hours later, Traci and Daniel sat on the porch swing. Snow had begun to fall,
but Traci wasn't cold. The man she loved had proposed, and the ring on her
finger glittered like a falling star.
Wishes, she thought, do come true.
"When did you know?" she asked.
"That I loved you?" His hair blew in the breeze, like silk against midnight. "I'm
not sure. It might have happened the moment I saw you. Of course I was in
denial. I didn't think I was capable of loving again."
She leaned her head on his shoulder and watched snowflakes flutter to the
ground. "Where are we going to live?"
"In Orchid House, if that's okay with you. There's plenty of room there, and I
was hoping that —" He turned to nuzzle her neck. "That you would give me lots
of babies."
Traci pictured Parker with a houseful of brothers and sisters. The image made
her dizzy with happiness. She clung to Daniel's arm, knowing he would make a
strong, caring father. "Cherokee babies," she said.
"Yeah." He smiled at her, pride shining in his eyes.

Page No 33

She touched his cheek, and when their lips met in a tender kiss, the scent of
orchids swirled in the crisp, winter air.
Traci closed her eyes and thanked Daniel's angels, the winged ladies of the
night, for blessing them with a Christmas love that would last forever.
The End