Follow the Sun Read Online Free PDF Page A

live in teepees.” Tess gazed up at him in silence, trembling inside, her eyes riveted to his. “Yours are a darker shade of blue.”
    They were beautiful, intelligent eyes, she thought, and yet there was something shadowed about them, a coldness deep beneath the surface. But since the coldness wasn’t directed toward her, she wouldn’t worry about it yet.
    He brushed a fingertip along the soft underside of her left eye, then her right.
    Tess didn’t know whether the boat was rocking or her equilibrium had just faltered. He’d touched her with incredible gentleness, using the same fingertip that had curled so expertly around the trigger of a deadly gun. The thought somehow reassured her that she had no reason to fear him, though others undoubtedly did.
    She took a slow, reviving breath.
    “Yes, my mother was Swedish. How’s that for intriguing? A Swedish mother and a Cherokee father—I don’t know whether to say
Yah?
or
Row?
”
    His mouth quirked up in delight. He seemed surprised that he found her so entertaining. After another second, he tilted his head back and laughed richly. Tess bit her lip and gazed at him with concern. If he kept this more mature charm going, she was in trouble.
    “Damn, I haven’t laughed like that—” He caught himself, smiled pensively at her, then frowned. He took her chin between his fingers and turned her face to one side and then the other, letting light fall directly on it. “Have you been crying?”
    It was hard to remember what she’d been doing. “I was reading an account of the Trail of Tears. Youknow—when the U.S. government forced the Cherokees to leave the southeast and go to Oklahoma. It happened in 1838. Thousands of people died.” She hesitated, then added softly, “My people.”
    He removed his hand slowly, his fingers almost caressing her as he did, and she had to concentrate to keep from leaning after them.
    “I don’t know a great deal about Cherokee history,” he admitted.
    “You probably know more than I do. I’m ashamed to say I don’t know much about my heritage.”
    “Oh?”
    “Come on, Sundance. I’ll explain while we walk to the bar.” She pointed to the medallion that lay between her breasts on a long gold chain. “I’ll tell you about my family history,”
    “Hold my hand. I’m trembling from suspense.”
    Tess eyed his outstretched hand drolly. “White man speak with forked tongue
    “If you want to know about my tongue I can—”
    “I’ll hold your hand.”
    As she led him from the
Lady
she began explaining about Gold Ridge, Georgia, her remarkable cousins, and Dove Gallatin’s mysterious intervention ih their lives.
    “S O. THAT WAS my first foray into my Cherokee heritage,” Tess finished, curving her hands around a tumbler of Scotch as she sat at a small table with Jeopard at the Zanzi Bar. “And I’m afraid that it’s hooked me. I’ve been raising my consciousness lately.”
    And raising something of mine that I can’t name that politely
, Jeopard thought.
    “You think I’m whimsical, Sundance?”
    “No. I admire your dedication. I haven’t run across much dedication lately. Tell me more about yourself.”
    “I was born in Sweden. My mother died in a skiing accident when I was two. My father was an entirely wonderful man, and he loved me, but his work didn’tpermit him to raise a child alone. I grew up with my mother’s parents, in Sweden, then went to boarding school in England. But I visited my father often, here in California.” She paused, smiling at the memories. “The
Swedish Lady
was his boat. He left it to me.” Her smile faded. “He died of a heart attack—oh, let’s see-seven years ago. When I was nineteen.”
    “What kind of work did he do?”
    The smile came back. “Have you ever heard of Sam Daggett?”
    Jeopard chuckled. “He’s second in my heart only to John McDonald’s Travis McGee character. The Daggett books are classics.”
    “I’m glad your think so! My father wrote them!”
    He