Page 7 of Natalie's Nighthawk

“Bring it with you when you come. Let’s go, Natalie.” He grabbed her hand, and together they left the conference room. The secretary’s eyes shot down to their clasped hands, a shocked expression flashing in her eyes which she masked quickly when he paused to fill her in on the situation.

Graham headed down a long hallway. Natalie peered through a narrow window in one of the doors they passed. Three rows of long tables and chairs crowded the room. A handful of men, all wearing matching t-shirts with an identical insignia on the breast pocket, sat at the tables, each intently studying whatever or whoever was in front of them. Natalie assumed this was one of the instruction rooms that Nighthawk used to teach Search and Rescue techniques and certifications.

After passing two more rooms set up in similar configurations, Graham ushered her into a large office at the back of the building. His office had framed pictures scattered around the room, some of himself on a mountain somewhere, and others of him and David in exotic locations. There were medals and awards filling the shelves against one wall. She gaped at the sheer number of accolades he had received.

Her eye was drawn to the wall opposite the shelves, and she gasped. There, framed in a place of honor, was Natalie’s drawing of a nighthawk.

“You thief,” she huffed, unable to control her smile. He paused in the process of shoving water bottles and granola bars into a backpack to glance over his shoulder at her.

He chuckled quietly. “Guilty.” Zipping the bag, he came to stand beside her as she stared at her drawing. “You could say it’s inspired me all these years. I never forgot the ornithology lesson you gave me that day, Chickadee.”

Flooded with overwhelming feelings that she’d sift through when she wasn’t so worried about her kids; she spoke quietly, her eyes focused on the drawing. “I thought I’d lost that sketchbook.”

“I found it a few months later under the seat in my car. It must have fallen out of your bag.”

“Humph,” was all she could manage.

“Come on, Chickadee.” He grasped her hand again. “Let’s go find your kids.”

Chapter 3

TheridetoLakeHaventooklesstimethanhe’d thought. All these years, she’d merely been thirty minutes away. Never guessing they’d both settle in the same area, close to the lake they grew up loving, he’d always assumed she’d stayed in Indiana.

As Natalie placed the call to have the bully meet them, he thought about that moment when she spotted her drawing. He’d forgotten it was there and hadn’t considered how she’d react to seeing it hanging on his office wall. He thought she’d notice all his awards if anything. A small part of him had hoped she would, although he couldn’t fathom why. The sheer number of awards embarrassed him most days. That wasn’t why he did what he did. It wasn’t why he’d chosen search and rescue as a career. He hated displaying them, but David insisted, saying they would look attractive to potential clients.

He still hated them. But he wondered why, then, he’d been keen for Natalie to see them?

A twinge of guilt about the drawing hit his gut. He hadn’t meant to keep the book all these years, but he couldn’t bring himself to part with it. He smiled as the memories from that day came back to him.

Twelve Years Ago

Natalie indicated the bird on the page he was looking at in her sketchbook. It was a large bird thatshe’dcaptured in flight. Wings outstretched, its eyes alert as if hunting for prey.

“This is a nighthawk. They aredistinctivebecause of the white line that goes across the tips of their wings,which you can only see when they are flying. The beaks are different too.For a bird this large,they have unusuallytiny beaks,perfect for catching the insects they eat in mid-air.” She looked up to find him smirking at her. “Sorry. Sometimes I get carried away.”

“Don’t be sorry. I like listening to you,” he told her honestly. Flipping to another page,he traced the wings of thenighthawk thatshe’ddrawn. The image was so lifelike he could almost feel thedownysoftness of the feathers under his fingertips. “This is remarkable,” he whispered.

“Ionce reada Native American story about the nighthawks.”

“Really?” He looked up at her becoming snared in her emeraldeyes. His breath caught at their beauty. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Can you tell it to me?”

“Um, let me see if I remember it.” She closed her eyes,and he took a deep breath,released from the spell of her stunning eyes. “There was an old man who did…umsomething…to a stone. I can’t remember exactly what the man did.”Sheshookher head.

“That’s okay.”Heplacedhis hand over hers where it lay on the blanket.His thumb softly stroked thesmooth skin. He liked the feeling of hertiny hand under his.

He watched her as she told her story.The sun had picked up the red in her hair, glimmering like fine strands offire.The faintsmatteringof frecklesacross her noselooked like a sprinkling ofbrown sugarthathewished he could taste.His eyes were drawn to her lips as she spoke.They were pink and perfect. He watched,transfixedas the words formedonher lips. Her voice wrapped around him,enmeshinghimina calmhe’dnever felt.He could easily become addicted.

“The stone grew angrybecause of what he had done.”She continued her story staring down at their hands, her long lashesconcealingher gorgeous eyes.“Itrolled after the old man, chasing him down the mountain till,eventually,itbowledover top ofhim. The stone came to rest,sitting on his back, trapping him. The old man cried out for helpmany times over.”

As she talked, she flipped her hand over,intertwiningher fingers through his,and he was struck with howtinythey looked.Graham curled his fingers and gave her hand a squeeze.Her answering squeeze shot straight to his cock.

“Finally,hearingthe cryas he soaredfreelyabove the Earth, the nighthawk rushed to help.Heflew up into the sky, so high he was barely a black speckto those belowthencame straight down, gaining speed as he went. Asingle-mindeddeterminationwashis focusas he aimed for thestone.Hedealt that stone an awful blow breaking it into two pieces. The blow was so great that it spoileditsbeak,forever changingitsshape,making it small and deformed. His head was also jammed into his body, shortening his neck. But the old manwas freeandso grateful to the nighthawkthathe offered to make him different from other birds; make it soitwould always beknownfor the savior it was. He took the fine white powder left from the broken stone and sprinkled it onto thebird’swings in spots and stripes,declaringthat no other bird would have suchspectacularmarkings on his clothes. All the nighthawk’s childrenwoulddresssimilarly, flying, soaring,and dipping over our heads.Theywouldbeproudto show off the beautiful white stripes on their wings, proud of their dress, and proud of the ancient ancestor who risked himself torescueanother.”

Graham watched a blushrise upinto her cheeks as she met his enamored gaze. Hecouldn’tcontrol the reaction he had listening to her. She was unlike any girlhe’dever met. Her voicesoothedsomething deep insidehim,and hefeltthe stresses of the last year ease.

“That is a nice story. So,heis a hero and wasrewarded for rescuing the old man. I love stories like that.” Reluctantly, he forced himself to look out over the water before he completely freaked her outwith his unrelenting stare. He knew that he had a way of making the girls around him tongue-tied, but with Natalie,this little chickadee, it was the other way around. He was becoming so enamored with herthathe was now the tongue-tied one.

Present Day

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