Smoke Screen Page 13
"He called me cousin the first time we met. Kaihana came a little later. Adam says he's related to the Abbott family very distantly."
Mihi laughed again. " Very distantly. How do you like being his cousin?"
"He's an infuriating man."
Mihi stood and motioned Paige to follow her into the kitchen. "I'm prejudiced, of course, but I think there are women all over the island who would like to have Adam say 'kaihana' to them in just the same way."
"You are prejudiced."
"You would be a good match for him. Adam is used to getting what he wants. You wouldn't give it to him easily."
Paige could think of one time when Adam hadn't gotten what he had wanted, and the thought sobered her. "He's been hurt, and so have I. That doesn't make us good for each other, it makes us suspicious. Suspicion breeds nothing but more of the same."
"You aren't suspicious of him, nor he of you. You're only suspicious of what you feel, for you haven't felt it since you were children."
"What do you mean?"
Mihi stopped in the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of her blouse to begin washing the dishes. "Think back to when you were a child, dear. Did you ever have the feeling that someone knew you so well they were a part of you?"
"A best friend? Not really." Paige took the plate Mihi had carefully set in the dish rack and found a dish towel, ignoring Mihi's protests.
Mihi gave up. "You don't remember a best friend?"
"I'm told I was a shy child. I don't really remember anything before I started school. Then I was far from home and lonely. By the time I adjusted, I found that life was easiest if you were friends with everyone, but not a special friend to anyone."
"Your mother shouldn't have sent you away."
Paige wondered how much she could say without giving away her mother's secret. Mihi didn't need the burden. "My mother was ill," she said finally. "She couldn't really take care of me. I was better off in school."
"I know about your mother's illness."
Paige was silent, wondering if Mihi really did.
"Is it something you're ashamed of?" Mihi asked finally.
"No. I just wonder how you know."
"The world is a much smaller place than you think, dear. And once I knew your mother well."
"She's had the best help money can buy. Sometimes she's well, sometimes she only lives for the next drink."
"And that baffles you."
As always, Paige marveled at how much Mihi understood although her sight was gone. Mihi could hear things in her voice that Paige didn't even realize were there. "I suppose it used to baffle me," she admitted. "I think I began to understand it when my own life seemed to be going nowhere except wrong. Then I could understand the support Mother found in a bottle."
"You drank too much?"
"No, but I might have, if I hadn't had my mother's example to warn me." Paige dried another dish, surprised she had shared something so personal. Even in her most intimate relationships she never spoke about her mother's problem or her realizations about herself.
"That's one of the most important things about family," Mihi said. "They teach us what we can be, and they teach us what we shouldn't be, and they teach us all the in-betweens. When we cut ourselves off, we lose that."
"You're in no danger there. From what I can tell, you and Adam are related to almost everyone in New Zealand."
Mihi cackled good-naturedly. "And you find that strange?"
"Strangely different."
"We Maoris call our interest in family whanaungatanga and yes, I suppose it seems peculiar to someone who wasn't raised among us. We aren't related to more people. It's only that we know the people we're related to and treat them so." She paused. "Would it scare you to have so many people close to you?"
"I think it might. Does it scare Jeremy?"
"It does. That's one of the reasons he's warming up to you. You keep your distance and let him make the advances. You understand children."
Paige laughed. "Jeremy scares me to death! If I keep my distance, it's because I have no idea what to do or say."
"You know more than you think. You're just what he needs."
Paige reached for the last of the dishes. "I'll be gone before long. Does he need another woman who'll leave him?"
"Perhaps you won't go. I think you like Waimauri more than you know."
Paige couldn't imagine staying in the tiny town. Sometimes even New Orleans seemed too small, too parochial, for her.
"I'm afraid I'm someone who's always off to the next adventure." The next party, the next exciting "in" spot, the next place where she could temporarily lose herself. Even the vice presidency of Duvall Development was a figurehead position, guaranteed to keep her on the move and in the social whirl. And if lately that had seemed more like running than anything else...
"The best adventures are right here." Mihi put her fist over her heart.
Paige reached for another dish. "By far the most dangerous, too."
"Nothing worth having comes without risk. Jeremy is finding that out now. That's why, even though he's scared to death, he's reaching out to you."
"How could his mother have treated him that way?" Paige asked with a sudden burst of anger. "I can't understand someone lucky enough to have that beautiful child treating him so badly. If he'd been mine—" She stopped, confused at what she'd been about to say.
"If he'd been yours, you would have given him all the love you've always wanted to give somebody. I know, dear. But it's not too late to begin what his own mother couldn't."
"I'm not equipped—"
"And Jeremy's father needs you just as much. Perhaps even more. You have to forget the person you've worked so hard to become all these years and be the person you really are."
Paige was stunned into silence. She wanted to tell Mihi that her advice was an old woman's fantasy, and yet she had nothing except profound respect for this particular old woman. Rarely in Paige's twenty-nine years had anyone thought enough of her to give her advice.
"Don't be angry at me, dear," Mihi went on at last. "At my age, there just isn't time to beat around the bush."
The kitchen door opened, and Adam entered, a bedraggled clump of white wool in his arms. He muttered something in Maori as he slammed the door behind him.
Mihi answered, inclining her head toward Paige. In English she said, "I told her where you'd gone."
Adam nodded to Paige. "The ewe was dead by the time I got there. I brought the lamb back, just on the chance Hira might want to raise it for me. Pat's ringing her now."
Paige dried her hands and walked to the center of the room, peering at the lamb from a safe distance. "It's so small."
"Not small enough. The mother just couldn't birth it. If I have any more defeats like this one, I won't do any more breeding. The lambs may just be too big for their mothers."
The lamb gave a pitiful baa, as if it wanted to disagree.
"You've hurt her feelings." Paige moved closer. "Do you think Hira will take her for you?"
"She might, if she's going to be home. But Pat thinks her troupe is going on tour in a few days."
"Shouldn't you feed her now or something? She looks hungry."
Adam's sigh was audible forbearance. "She is not a she. She is a he, and frankly, kaihana, hunger is the last thing he has to worry about right now."
Paige winced, well aware what he meant. "Maybe Hira—"
Pat sauntered into the room, kissing Mihi's cheek before he turned. "Hira's leaving tomorrow."
Paige watched sadness flicker across Adam's face. "Well, we tried. You want him, Pat?"
Pat laughed. "I hate sheep."
"I've noticed." Adam turned toward the door.
Paige swallowed. "Adam?"
She heard his next sigh even though his back was turned. "What is it?"
"Umm... What are you going to do with him?"
"Do you really want me to tell you, kaihana?"
"Suppose somebody raised him for you? Would he
just end up on the table as Easter dinner?"
"He'd probably end up in a pen with all the little girl sheep his heart desired," Adam said sarcastically. "But discussing his future is nonsense." He opened the door and started outside.
Paige watched him go, his shoulders hunched as if, even now, he was still protecting the lamb from the cool wind. "Adam!" She started after him. "Adam, how much work is it to raise a lamb?"
Adam headed toward the barn. "Hardly any, if you're a sheep." He stopped. "Go on back to the house, please, and let me get this over with."
"What if you're not a sheep? What if you're a city girl who never even had a kitten?"
"About as much work as a baby. In other words, more than you'd want to do." He started toward the barn.
Paige watched him go. Adam was right; she had no desire to miss sleep. She had no desire to subject herself to messy feedings, messy cleanups, messy anything. She didn't like animals.
She didn't understand animals, just as she didn't understand children. She wanted no part of this.
Adam disappeared into the barn.
For a moment she stood perfectly still. Then she began to run. "Adam! Wait!"
There was no response. She pulled the big door toward her, struggling with its weight. Inside, the barn was dark and smelled of fresh straw and manure. Her eyes adjusted too slowly. "Adam, wait."
She saw him finally. He was sitting on a bale of straw, cuddling the lamb in his arms. She was surprised by the lump in her throat at the sight.
She joined him on the bale, and her arm crept around his shoulders. "Such a tough guy," she murmured, resting her head against his neck.
Adam felt the silky tickle of Paige's hair. The spiciness of the scent she wore struggled with the odors of lamb and straw and won. He turned his face to hers and kissed her. Afterward he wondered if every kiss they shared would feel new.
In his arms, the lamb baaed, then hiccupped. Paige laughed. "Once I was the queen of a Mardi Gras krewe," she said, not knowing if he would understand what that meant. "I've been featured on dozens of society pages, and once I was rumored to be sleeping with the governor of a state larger than this island. Now I'm going to be a lamb's mother."
"Were you sleeping with the governor?"
She pretended affront. "He was a Democrat."
"Do you understand anything about our political parties?"
"I don't think so."
"Good." He kissed her again. In a minute the lamb was a wooly heap on the straw beside them, and Adam had Paige in his arms.
"I thought we'd decided this was a bad idea." Paige pushed Adam away when her breath was coming in huge gulps.
"I'm developing a new philosophy. Every idea, even a bad one, should be followed up on. Otherwise, how will we know where it might have led?"
"That sounds suspiciously democratic."
From beside them, the lamb baaed again, pausing only for a breath before he repeated his cry.
Adam pulled her against his chest, kissing her hair. "You really don't have to do this, kaihana. There's a good chance he won't survive anyhow without his mother's milk."
"I want to try. Really, Adam, didn't you know this would happen when you brought that poor pitiful little baby into the kitchen?"
"No. You continually surprise me."
"You're not the only one I surprise."
He hugged her hard, and both of them knew the hug was three-quarters frustration. "If you can get him through the first days, then perhaps Hira will take him when she gets back."
Paige let herself be lulled by his warmth and strength. When he finally dropped his arms and bent to pick up the lamb, she felt the loss. "Will you show me what to do?"
Jeremy was outside the barn, waiting in the sunshine when they emerged. His bright-eyed gaze darted back and forth between them, as if he had to satisfy himself that all was well.
"If you're going to be a mama, you have to learn to hold your baby." Unceremoniously, Adam dumped the lamb in Paige's arms.
She clutched it tightly. "What do I do?"
"Just let all those maternal juices flow." Adam stooped to lift Jeremy up to his shoulders.
Paige held the lamb away from her body. "He smells."
"Perhaps you should give him a shampoo tonight."
She knew he was teasing, but she filed the suggestion away as a possibility. Careful not to trip, she followed Adam and Jeremy into the house.
Mihi had already fixed a milk bottle with the largest rubber nipple Paige had ever seen. She explained how to prepare fresh milk so it would be the right formula for the lamb and told her how to warm it up. Paige could see that the old woman was trying hard not to smile.
"Do I rock him and sing him to sleep, too?" Paige asked from her seat on the floor once the lamb was greedily pulling at the nipple beside her.
"I wouldn't risk it until he's housetrained." Adam laughed at her expression.
Paige stuck out her tongue.
He laughed again. "Do you know what that means here? Our warriors stuck out their tongues to properly frighten their opponents." He made a face that made her gasp. "What do you think? If you'd been a warrior, would it have worked?"
For a moment Adam had been a primeval fighting man, an enemy no man who valued his life would want to face. Paige had no doubt what her reaction would have been. "I would have dropped my spear and run the other way."
"And if I had caught you, I would have taken you prisoner." He smiled. "And then I would have killed you and eaten you."
She choked on her next words, coughing until he came over and gave her a friendly pat on the back. "Surely that tradition was no worse than burning helpless women at the stake or nailing carpenters to crosses. History always has these little things we don't want to think about, doesn't it?" He patted her back again. Without turning, he flung his next words over his shoulder. "Jeremy, why don't you come feed the lamb?"
Paige looked around for the little boy, fully expecting him to refuse. She found him standing in the doorway, looking at them with an expression that was entirely too adult. She could almost see him decide to run away, but instead he approached slowly. She watched him coming closer until she could hardly bear to think about the fear behind those short, hesitant steps. Finally he sat beside his father. Adam drew back, and Jeremy and Paige were left alone on the floor.
She had thought caring for the lamb would seem alien. But trying to relate to Jeremy without scaring him was beyond her ken entirely. Because she could think of nothing soothing to say, she just handed him the bottle, careful not to touch him.
The lamb bleated once, obviously angry that his meal had disappeared. Surprisingly, Jeremy giggled. He moved a little closer to Paige and held out the bottle. Paige guided the lamb toward him, hoping the bottle and lamb would collide.
Jeremy giggled again and moved closer to her. Without looking at the little boy, Paige talked to the lamb. "You're a hungry little fellow, aren't you? You've got to eat to grow up and be a big strong..." Her voice trailed off as she racked her brain for the appropriate title.
"Ram," Adam supplied.
"Ram," she repeated.
"Rambo," Jeremy said, as if his word were final.
Paige groaned, resisting the desire to ruffle Jeremy's hair. "Adam, don't tell me this child has seen that movie."
He stood behind her, his knees touching the back of her head. "This is New Zealand, not Mars. He hasn't seen it, but when he plays with his cousins, that's what they play."
Paige looked at Jeremy quickly, focusing on the lamb again as soon as she had seen that he was smiling. "Well, Jeremy, shall we call him Rambo, then?"
There was a long silence, and Paige realized how much she had wanted an answer. She was about to cover the long pause with more chatter when she felt a small hand rest with a butterfly's delicacy on her arm. She turned and met the little boy's eyes.
"Rambo." Jeremy nodded, then moved closer to the lamb. "C'mere, Rambo." He held out the bottle, and the lamb grabbed it.
* * *
"The world would be a better place if all those bloody little bastards were eaten at birth!" Leaning on the steering wheel to free his hands, Pat made a gesture as global as his statement.
Paige held a squirming Rambo on her lap, cushioning him against each bounce of Pat's truck. Another of Adam's ewes had gone into labor, and Adam had asked Pat to drive Paige home. She had agreed, extracting a promise from Adam that if this ewe didn't survive, he would never mention the fate of its lamb to her.
The sun was already low in the sky, and the day had been long and exhausting. If Adam's predictions about Rambo came true, the night would be long and exhausting, too. Now, as Paige listened to Pat drone on about the merits of a sheepless world, her eyelids drifted shut.
They flew open again at the sound of grinding gears and squealing brakes. Somewhere she had heard that the Maori language had no profanity. Apparently no one had remembered to tell Pat. She waited until his fluent string of vowel sounds ended. "Let me guess," she said sleepily. "Something's wrong."
He grunted, thrusting open his door as he did. He had pried open the hood and tinkered with engine parts for a few minutes before, Rambo in her arms, she got out to join him. Extracting the essence of his complaints, she learned that the truck was going to take some time to fix and that Pat disliked trucks almost as much as he disliked sheep.
Yawning, Paige looked toward the horizon, shielding her eyes from the glare of the setting sun. "We're not far from my house, are we?"
"We'll get there faster if you walk than if you wait. Throw the lamb in the back and I'll drop him by when I get this fixed."
Paige looked doubtfully from Rambo to Pat and back again. "I think I'll just take him with me, thanks. He's not heavy."
With Rambo in her arms and the sack with his bottle and milk over her shoulder, she started down the road. The sun was a notch lower, her arms were strained and weak from carrying the squirming lamb, and the tender spot on her heel from the long morning hike had become a blister by the time she trudged down her own driveway. She was in no mood for what she saw.
She had company, both animal and human.