Heart Of The Eagle

“Millie. I’m the housekeeper for the Kincaid family.”

“I see.”

Millie gave him one last predatory look before she left. Jim shrugged out of his sheepskin coat and draped it over the arm of the couch. He drank in the atmosphere of the quiet study, impressed with the titles of the books; most ranchers wouldn’t be interested in Tolstoy or Shakespeare. But someone was and he wondered who. Above the bookshelves were many brilliantly colored photographs of the wildlife that no doubt inhabited the forty-thousand-acre Triple K Ranch. Jim found himself applauding the hanging of photographs of the animals on the walls, rather than their stuffed heads. Yes, the Kincaids were known for their strong conservation efforts, and were longtime friends to the Department of the Interior.

He sauntered out of the study and into an adjoining alcove. More slats of sun were peeking through the overcast as Jim looked out the window at the ceaseless activity of cowboys on horseback and the brown-and-white Hereford cattle they were herding. Ten acres on the south side of the house were enclosed in paddock after paddock of milling animals. It was time for the cows to calve, and Jim spotted more than one wobbly kneed youngster sticking close to its mother.

His sharp hearing caught the opening and closing of a door. The housekeeper’s voice was barely discernible. Jim realized his hands were damp, and he laughed at himself for such an uncharacteristic show of nerves. Turning back to the window, he once again forced his concentration on the scene outside.

In the kitchen Dal shrugged out of her coat, handing it to Millie. “Who did he say he was?” she asked. Her left arm ached where Nar had gripped her. He had been upset about something; otherwise, he wouldn’t have bruised her with the powerful grip of his blue-black talons that could easily have shredded her kidskin gauntlet as well as put puncture holes through the thick sleeve of her sheepskin coat. While she absently rubbed her arm, her sapphire eyes darkened.

“Jim Tremain. From the Department of the Interior. I thought you said you wanted to rest, Dal. No more travel, no more lectures. Just to rest from that…that awful divorce,” Millie said, sputtering.

Dal touched her brow. The divorce. Six months of freedom from a daily hell. She still wasn’t herself. Inwardly, she wasn’t ready to meet anyone. Not yet. “It’s all right, Millie. You know me, no memory.”

“Humph! That’s ‘cause of that no-good ex-husband of yours. Runnin’ you into the ground like he did.”

“That’s over now, Millie,” she began tiredly, not wanting to discuss it ever again. Dal glanced down at herself; she didn’t look very presentable in her blue jeans and long-sleeved white blouse, with her hair in tangled disarray about her shoulders. Compressing her full lips, Dal touched her hair. God, Jack had beaten her down so far, she even forgot to tend to herself beyond the most necessary of tasks needed for daily survival. “Well, Mr. Tremain is going to see me the way I am,” she muttered to the housekeeper. “I don’t remember the appointment. But that’s nothing new. Where did you say he was?”

“In your brother’s study. Like some coffee and a freshly made roll?”

Dal touched her ribs. She ought to eat more, she knew. Her brother, Rafe, was on her constantly to regain the lost weight. “No, just coffee, Millie.”

“I’ll bring it in to you, lamb.”

Managing a smile of thanks, Dal headed toward the south wing of the ranch house. The cheerful crackle of a fire soothed her sudden raw-nerved feeling. How could she have forgotten an appointment? Especially when she had refused to see anyone over the past six months? Running her slender fingers through her cinnamon-colored hair, Dal stepped into the library.

Her irritation with herself was torn away as she came to a halt. A man dressed like a wrangler rather than a businessman stood with book in hand. It wasn’t his appearance as much as the aura surrounding him that caught Dal completely off guard. The cougarlike leanness to his body shouted of someone who braved the elements regularly—and won. Her eyes moved up his tightly muscled frame, taking in the faded blue jeans that emphasized his long thighs and narrow hips. Unconsciously, she licked her lower lip. The pale-blue long-sleeved shirt emphasized the powerful breadth of his chest and shoulders. Her heart began an uneven pounding as her gaze met and held his. Clear, light brown eyes flecked with gold gently held her in check. A tremor passed through Dal and suddenly she felt panicky. This man, whoever he was, was affecting her on levels she had thought were destroyed long ago.

She didn’t want to admit that she was drawn to his large, intelligent eyes, which smoldered with some unknown emotion in their honey-colored depths. Or was she attracted by the harsh, chiseled planes of his face, which made him appear hawklike? Immediately, in her chaotic thoughts, Dal thought he resembled Nar, her golden eagle: dangerous, beautiful in a breathtaking male way and excruciatingly masculine. Was it the deep tan and his softly curled black hair that made him look dangerous to her? She was perplexed. It was only April in Colorado and no one had seen enough sun to get a tan yet.

Was he Indian? No. Part, perhaps? Yes, as evidenced by the high cheekbones and the oval-shaped face, which was completed by a mildly stubborn chin. Her gaze fell to the hands that cradled the leather-bound book; long, tapered hands that were large knuckled and almost artistic looking. Hands that held the book so gently that Dal found herself wondering what it would be like to be held by him.

What an idiotic thought! She upbraided herself, giving herself a mental shake for the scattered feelings that this stranger evoked in her. With a slight, embarrassed smile, Dal said, “I’m Dr. Dal Kincaid.” She watched as he placed the book back onto the shelf and turned to take her hand.

“Jim Tremain, doctor. I’m the regional supervisor with the Department of the Interior.” Her hand was slender and the fingertips cool to his touch. She was just as tense as he was, he realized. Did it show on him as obviously as it did on her? The nervous gesture of her tongue caressing her full lower lip sent an unbidden tremor through him. Jim released her hand, thinking she was like a delicate-boned bird. And then his eyes narrowed as he began to drink in her present condition: she was far too underweight, with dark smudges beneath her luminous blue eyes. The flesh across her cheekbones was stretched with fatigue and appeared almost translucent. Jim found himself wanting to hold her, to tell her that everything was going to be all right….

“I’m sorry I’m late. Millie told me we had an appointment.” She gave a forced laugh and gestured for him to take the wing chair near the desk. “Lately my memory hasn’t been what it should be. If you’ll take a seat, Millie is bringing us coffee.” Dal touched her breast as she rounded the desk, her heart pounding like a trapped animal. But one look into his eyes and she began to relax. He wasn’t the predator he seemed to be, she thought, relieved. She had been married to a man who had turned into one; that was enough. No, only Tremain’s countenance was that of a hawk. His eyes contained kindness. And understanding. Those two discoveries helped Dal relax in his presence as she walked to the desk and sat down.

Jim waited until she sat down before taking the chair opposite the desk. The tiffany-style lamp suspended over the massive cherry furniture highlighted her spice-colored hair, bringing out strands of nutmeg shot through with gold. He found himself wondering if it was as thick and silky as it looked, lying with a slight curl across her shoulders. “No problem.” He smiled, the stoic planes of his face easing. “As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t have traded my drive up to the Triple K for anything, if you want the truth.”

“Oh?” Her smile was in response to his. He had a wonderfully shaped mouth, Dal thought. Neither too thin nor too thick; his lower lip was full and somewhat flat. She wanted to know if he was Indian, but had the good manners not to ask him.

“I was about three miles from the main ranch house when I crested a small rise and saw this golden eagle heading straight for me.” He watched her blue eyes widen. Did she realize how beautiful she was? Probably not, Jim decided. There was an artless femininity to Dal that couldn’t be bought or worn at any price. She wore no makeup on her heart-shaped face—the red of her lips combined with the blush now creeping across her cheeks all that she needed.

“Oh, my God…Nar!”

“Nar?”

“Yes, the golden eagle. He disappeared over the hill near the ranch road and I lost sight of him. When he came back, he was upset.” She touched her left arm, rubbing it gently to ease the remembered throbbing from her flesh.

Jim crossed his legs, enjoying her sudden emergence from her guarded stance. Her eyes had been lifeless, as if a part of her had been destroyed. Now he saw cobalt sparks in their depths, and breathed easier. She was pale and exhausted looking and it bothered him. “He’s yours?” he asked, a hint of teasing in his voice. “The famous Dr. Kincaid who advocates freedom for all predators, with a golden eagle on her arm?”

Dal felt heat flow up from her neck and sweep across her face. She managed a slight smile. Since Jim Tremain was from the Department of the Interior, he had to know a great deal about wildlife conservation. For a moment, she studied him, searching her memory. A man like him would be hard to forget, and some vague spark of recognition flashed in her mind. Where had she seen him before? “Nar belongs to no one, Mr. Tremain. He’s wild by nature, although he comes to visit me every morning.”

“Call me Jim,” he invited. “And what does the name Nar mean?”

A slight tingle flowed through her. His voice was husky and intimate. She sat up, clasping her hands in front of her on the desk. “That’s Arabic for fire. His plumage, when the sun strikes it just right, becomes like molten fire. I rescued Nar from sure death seven years ago.”

“Tell me about it.”

Dal took a deep breath, finding herself comfortable with a man for the first time in a long while. Jack had made her distrustful of all men and their intentions. All except her brother, Rafe. And now, Jim. Funny, she mused, that she wanted to be on a first-name basis with him, when at all other times she wanted an arm’s length between her and any other male.

“I was with my older brother, Rafe, and we were taking notes on where the nests of the golden eagle and red-tailed hawk were located on the ranch one summer. We came up to the base of a cliff and I spotted Nar floundering in the brush. Apparently something had frightened him and he had fallen out of his nest on the cliff, or else the wind had pushed him out. We couldn’t climb up the cliff to put him back into his nest, so we brought him back here.” Some of the sadness fled from her eyes as Dal recalled that special day in her life.

“He was nothing but a fuzzball of gray down. When I dismounted and went over to rescue him, he sat perfectly still. I had expected him to try and escape when I leaned down, but he seemed to realize I wouldn’t hurt him. There was instant trust and it hasn’t stopped to this day.”

Jim nodded, enjoying her sudden warmth when she talked about the eagle. What had nearly destroyed her? She appeared tentative, almost frightened. Why? “You have no jesses on him, I noticed.”

“No. I think it’s wrong to keep a hawk or eagle tied to a block, only to fly them against game. It’s a cruel form of imprisonment, to me. Nar comes and goes as he pleases. He usually comes to greet me every morning if I happen to be here at the ranch. Even during those six years when I was married and away, Nar would fly over.

“So this eagle imprinted and adopted you as his mother?” he said, making a guess.

Dal looked at him closely. He knew a great deal more about predators than she had given him credit for. A knock at the study door erased her next question.

Millie came in bearing a tray of freshly made cinnamon rolls glazed with butter and two mugs of steaming coffee. She handed each of them a mug and a plate with a roll, then left, but not before giving Dal a stern look that said, “you’d better eat that roll or else….”

Dal laughed softly. “I think Millie has decided we’re both underweight and need to gain a few pounds.”

Jim grinned, inhaling the spicy aroma of the roll, and suddenly felt hungry. “You definitely need to put on some weight, doctor.”

“Call me Dal. Everyone else does.” And then her heart banged at the base of her throat. Why had she said that? Because, her heart responded, Jim Tremain is trustworthy. Nervously, Dal picked at the roll, not really hungry, only wanting to camouflage her unexpected friendliness with a man who was a total stranger.

The next few minutes were spent in silence as they tackled their cinnamon rolls. Dal poured cream and sugar into her coffee, noticing that Jim drank his black. Then, wiping her hands on a napkin, she returned to business.

“So, what does the Interior Department want, Jim?”

He put his plate on the tray and stood up, coffee mug in hand. Some of the hardness returned to the planes of his face as he studied her. “I know this is probably going to be painful to discuss, Dal.”

Her arched brows moved downward. “What is?”

Jim took a sip of his coffee and set it on the tray. Typical of any cowboy, he allowed his hands to hang loosely on his hips. “Five years ago you and the department started a project to bring goshawks from Canada to nest here in the Rockies.”

“Yes, and it’s been a success.”

Jim nodded. “A little too successful, it seems, Dal.”

“What do you mean?”