Page 21 of Uncharted Desires

He could do it. All he had to do was close the distance between them and he would be kissing her. Would she let him, or would she pull away? Her lips were slightly parted, and her tongue glided out to lick her bottom lip. He had the distinct urge to pull on her braids, bringing her even closer to him.

Every inch of her called to him, from the passion in her voice, from her story, to the sincere gaze in her eyes. She had just saved his life, and it all rushed through his mind. Every instinct in his body told him to move closer. The problem was he knew Kat would want more than he was willing to give. He couldn’t bring himself to close the space between their lips; it felt wrong, manipulative.

His heart raced and his breath caught in his throat, the sensation of electricity prickling his skin as their eyes locked and he leaned closer to her.

The unmistakable screech of a monkey echoed through the trees, and his hand dropped away from her face. In an instant, she backed away.

“Have you heard a lot of those?” West pointed up into the tree canopy.

“Here and there. One tried to steal my papaya, which was rather a fun time.”

He tried not to laugh.

“It’s fine, you can laugh at my expense.”

He let out the laughter. “Sorry, I’m picturing you chasing a monkey to get a hold of a papaya.”

She stood up and put her hands on her hips, accentuating her waist, and West’s mouth instantly went dry. “I didn’t chase the monkey. I had to beat the monkey to it. Besides, it was a macaque.”

“So you’re a healer and a monkey expert now?”

She shrugged. “I guess you didn’t watch as much mindless TV on tour as we did.”

What else had they done all those years on tour? She was wrong about him though. Plenty of nights he had read books or watched pointless shows. He had partied, or been with women frequently, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other times when he wished for peace, wished to be alone. He went to tell her something to that effect, but as he looked around, she was gone.

“Kat . . . Kat . . . Kat!”

“Over here . . .” He heard her call out from around a bush. “I’m just grinding up more leaves. You need your bandage changed.”

He tried to stand, but realized he was still too shaky on his legs and fell back down. Soon, she reemerged and sunk to her knees next to his foot.

“I’m glad you wore pants,” he joked as she cut off another piece of them.

She didn’t smile, only frowned as she took the bandage off.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s redder than I hoped. I need to find more natural antibacterial. But you don’t have a fever, so you’re not infected. I guess it’s just red. I’m going to clean this off a bit and then change the bandage. It might sting.”

She set to work, and West felt the burn go through him as she used the knife to cut the dead skin away. She carefully added new herbs mixed with water, and most likely her saliva, and tied the new mixture onto his foot. It stung, but the pain wasn’t too excruciating. She had saved him countless times now, and he felt a deep gratitude, and something else he couldn’t quite name toward her, knowing that she was the reason he was still alive.

Eight

He’d been about to kiss her. Why hadn’t he kissed her, and why was she so upset that he hadn’t? She knew better. She really did. So, what was wrong with her? He didn’t close the distance, and Kat reminded herself she shouldn’t care. He had just woken up from being poisoned after all.

She sat back from his foot, looking at her handiwork. Her grandmother would be so proud of her—she was rather proud of herself. Maybe if music didn’t work out, she would think about becoming a practitioner in Indigenous healing.

She wasn’t against modern medicine. Hospitals were important and played an important role in society, but Kat believed there was also a place for the ways of Indigenous medicine. Look what she had done with what the earth had provided. Maybe she’d just avoid going back to society altogether.

She might be starving right now, but at least on the island she could breathe clean air, feel the breeze on her face, and the sand on her feet. She was living how her ancestors had—at one with the earth. Maybe that was what she needed to do when they got off this island— because at some point they would . . . right?—move back into nature.

Her family had land they didn’t use. Maybe she’d build a tiny container home. The problem was there wasn’t even a road to get to their parcel. It wasn’t theirs originally. It was land her ancestors were forced on. After her grandfather had passed, her father had done some digging—god knew her mother had no urge to learn more about her background—and they had taken a trip to the southeastern states to see her ancestors’ original land. It was lush with rolling hills and running streams, nothing like the arid, red, sandstone plains of Oklahoma.

Kat thought back to the emotion she had seen on her grandmother’s face as they had toured the Trail of Tears exhibit at the Smithsonian. She had seen her reflection mirrored back at her. “So many of our people lost,” she had whispered as she wept at the destruction of her people. Kat’s people.

Her mind strayed to the current missing and murdered Indigenous women. So many were lost without a trace. Her grandmother’s words swirled around in her head. Maybe West was right, maybe she was hiding behind her Whiteness, and she wasn’t doing enough, but what weapons did she have?

Her stomach growled, and Kat felt her face heat up.