CHEROKEE STRANGER

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  He dusted his hands on his jeans. Ranch work was dirty, and he knew he looked like a ruffian with his frayed denims and old, washed-too-many-times shirt. In his high-flying mob days, he would have used the damn thing as a rag. In the year and a half he'd spent on the run, the condition of his clothes had been the least of his worries.

  "Do you want a soda or something?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "No, thank you."

  "Mind if I have one?" His mouth had gone dry and wetting his lips wasn't helping.

  "Sure, go ahead."

  He offered her a seat in his living room and grabbed a can of root beer from the kitchen, then drank half of it in one thirst-quenching swallow.

  When he returned, she was perched on the edge of an oak-framed sofa. She looked out of place amid the rugged ranch-style furnishings, but he'd already formed a fairy tale, she-lives-in-a-cottage type impression of her.

  "What's going on?" she asked.

  He took another swig of the root beer, then placed it on a nearby table. He hated asking women out, hated setting himself up for rejection. "Lily Mae thinks I should take you on a date."

  Emily tilted her head. "Why?"

  "Because she thinks you need a night on the town."

  "I don't want to go on a pity date, James."

  "Is that what you think this is?" He dragged a hand across his jaw, felt the rasp of his beard stubble, the ache of wanting to hold her, of needing to protect her. "Lily Mae doesn't pity you and neither do I."

  "Don't you?"

  "No." It wasn't pity, he thought. It was a hunger that made him crazy, a desperation that hurt the inside of his heart.

  She met his gaze, lifted her chin. "All you see when you look at me is a woman with cancer."

  He cursed under his breath, something he'd been doing a lot of lately. "I see a beautiful woman, Emily. A woman I'm attracted to." A woman who kept him awake at night, who tortured his emotions.

  "Right." Her voice took on a sarcastic edge. "First it was my virginity and now it's the melanoma. You've got so many excuses. So many reasons not to be with me."

  He frowned, jammed his hands into his pockets. "I'm trying to be a gentleman. Doing my damnedest not to take advantage of you."

  "That's exactly my point. And don't you dare tell me I'm not ready for a lover. I'm old enough to know what I want."

  James didn't know what to say, how to respond, so he finished the soda, his blood going warm. He wanted her. Heaven help him, he did. But he'd been tempering the heat, the sexual urges that made him a man. "What am I supposed to do? Just have my way with you?"

  "Yes. I mean, no." She sighed, dreamy, dovelike. "I want my first time to be gentle. I want to close my eyes when my lover touches me, when he takes me in his arms."

  Her eyelids fluttered, and he went hard, unbelievably hard. He moved closer, and she opened her eyes. As always, they stared at each other, trapped in one of those strangely sexual, strangely awkward moments.

  Finally, he sat next to her, and she fidgeted with her purse, as though she suddenly realized what she'd done, how intensely she'd aroused him.

  "I have to leave in about twenty minutes," she said. "I have to meet my brother at the bus."

  He searched her gaze. "Can you arrange for a baby-sitter?"

  She blinked, drew a breath. "For when?"

  "Tonight. I want to take you on that date and I want—" He paused, yearning to touch her, to make her fantasy, and his, come alive. He imagined unbuttoning her practical pink uniform and carrying her straight to his rumpled, I'm-so-damn-lonely bed. "And I want you to stay with me after the date. To sleep here."

  She pressed her hand to the front of her dress, and he suspected her heart was pounding as rapidly as his. "I'll have to ask Steven's parents if they can keep Corey overnight." She looked away, then back again. "Are you sure, James?"

  "Yes." He brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. He'd wanted her from the instant, the very second he'd seen her. "I'm sure."

  Her voice went quiet, as soft as a whisper. "You're not worried about taking advantage of me anymore?"

  "No." He hadn't forgotten about her cancer, but now he understood that she needed intimacy, the kind of intimacy only he could give her. "I'll be good to you. I'll be gentle."

  She put her head on his shoulder, and he simply held her. Soon he would be her lover, her first lover, the man she'd been waiting for.

  *

  Emily stood in front of a full-length mirror in her bedroom. She'd changed her clothes three times, tossing the rejected outfits onto the back of a chair.

  "I think you look great." This came from Diane Kerr, her best friend, the loyal brunette who'd been her partner in girlish giggles and movie-star crushes since sixth grade. Naturally she'd told Diane about James, admitting that she was going to sleep with him tonight.

  Anxious, she turned to face her friend. The other woman sat on the edge of the bed, her tummy protruding like an overinflated basketball. Diane was seven months pregnant and glowing like the highest wattage of a three-way bulb. She'd married her college sweetheart and lived in an attractive home near the river.

  "Are you sure this isn't too tight?" Emily tugged at the body-hugging, gold-toned top.

  "Men like tight. I can't wait until I can squeeze back into something like that."

  "What about the pants? Are they okay?"

  "You can't go wrong with a classic beige trouser. Besides you have a matching jacket. It'll look like a sexy suit."

  Emily blew the hair out of her eyes. She'd pinned it up, then had taken it down and scrunched it with a mild hairspray. "I'm so nervous."

  Diane handed her the shoes of choice, a pair of three-inch heels. "Just relax and enjoy yourself. He's taking you to dinner, isn't he? You love going out to eat."

  "I can't concentrate on food right now." She battled with the straps on her shoes. "All I can think about is what we're going to do after we go back to his place. You should see him. I can't believe I'm lusting after a man with a tattoo and a pierced nipple. Me. Little Emmy Chapman."

  "It is wild." Diane paused, then made a concerned face. "Are you sure you know enough about him to be doing this?"

  Did she? No, she thought. Not really. James never talked about himself, never volunteered personal information. "I'm going to get to know him."

  "I'll say." Diane glanced at Emily's overnight bag, a leather satchel packed with toiletries and a change of clothes. "This is the most daring thing you've ever done."

  "I need him, Di."

  "I know. But I wish you'd let me stay and meet him."

  "Another time, okay? I don't want him to think I invited my friend over to check him out."

  "I suppose that would seem rather high schoolish of you." The mother-to-be rose from the edge of the bed. "I guess I better get going before he shows up." She stopped to cradle her tummy. "What time is he bringing you home tomorrow?"

  "About six-thirty. We both have to work."

  "Is Steven's mom driving Corey to school?"

  "Yes." Steven's family had come to her rescue, agreeing to take Corey for the night, as well as shuffle him off to school the next day.

  Emily walked Diane to the door and stepped outside with her. "Call me after work tomorrow," the other woman said.

  "I will."

  "I want details." Diane waggled her eyebrows. "Hot, torrid details."

  Emily laughed and hugged her friend. "The sex diaries of little Emmy Chapman?"

  "Exactly." Diane got behind the wheel of her yellow compact, squeezing Emily's hand before she left, giving her one last boost of encouragement. "Have fun tonight."

  "I'm certainly going to try."

  But as she returned to the house to wait for James, to bring her overnight bag into the living room, her nerves started up again. She pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to ease the jittery tension. She wanted to skip dinner, but she couldn't very well say that to James.

  He arrived ten minutes later, looking tall and dark and t
hrillingly dangerous. Dressed entirely in black, his hair was combed away from his face, exposing rugged angles and bronzed skin.

  He handed her a long-stemmed rose, a flower with white and red petals. "The lady at the florist said they're called fire and ice." He stood in the entryway, gazing into her eyes. "The color intrigued me. And so did the name."

  She inhaled the rose. The scent was light and sweet. "Thank you, James." This was the second time he'd brought her flowers, but this time, the gesture seemed romantic.

  She wanted to kiss him, to slip her arms around his neck and bring his mouth to hers, but she couldn't quite summon the courage to be that bold.

  Not now. Not while her nerves were hopping.

  "Are you all packed?" he asked. "Do you have everything you need?"

  She nodded and gestured to her leather satchel, which she'd stuffed to the gills.

  He reached for the bag. "I'm glad you're staying with me tonight. Emily."

  Her heart skipped a flip-floppy beat. "Me, too." After a moment of silence, he said, "Are you hungry?"

  "Yes," she lied, wishing the tightness in her stomach would go away.

  "Good. So am I." He ushered her out the door and escorted her to his truck.

  Emily released an anxious breath. Their dinner date, and the anticipated sex that would soon follow, was about to begin.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  «^»

  James didn't think the date was going well. He'd made reservations at the nicest restaurant in town, but in spite of the candlelit ambience and the secluded location of their booth, he and Emily weren't communicating.

  She toyed with her meal, nibbling on tiny bites of steak, stirring the sour cream on her baked potato.

  "Is something wrong with your food?" he asked. She looked up from her plate. "No. It's good. Is your meal all right?"

  He nodded. "It's fine." He'd eaten half of his steak and a large portion of his side dishes, which was at least twice as much as she'd consumed. He reached for his beer and took a swig. He suspected she was nervous about their sexual arrangement. Hell, he was nervous, too. Worried about pleasing her, about making her first time special. "Did I tell you how pretty you look?"

  She sent him a self-conscious smile, then tugged on her top. The stretchy gold fabric clung to her curves, showcasing the shape of her breasts. "I didn't know what to wear. I changed three times."

  He wanted to move to the other side of the booth, to touch her, to ease both of their fears, but he gestured to his shirt instead. "I went out and bought some new duds. So I fussed a little, too."

  Her eyes lit up. "You bought new clothes for me?" He smiled, shrugged a little. "I didn't want to take you out looking like a bum."

  "You look incredible, James. But you always do."

  "You think?" Giving in to the need to touch her, to get closer, he left his seat.

  "What are you doing?" she asked as he scooted in beside her.

  "Sitting next to you."

  She laughed. "There's not enough room for both of us."

  "We'll make do." The cozy, two-person booth was definitely cramped from this side, but her laughter was worth it. "I think I'll sample your meal." He reached for his plate. "And give you some of mine."

  She angled her body, pressing her back against the wall so she could face him. Their knees bumped under the table. "You won't like my steak."

  "Why not?"

  "Because it's well done, and yours is rare."

  "I'll survive." As long as she kept looking at him the way she was looking at him now. With stars in her eyes, he thought. With bright, girlish wonder. He picked up his utensils and cut into her steak. Then he chewed, swallowed and washed the too-tough meat down with a swig of beer. "It's not bad. For beef jerky. Now you've got to try mine."

  She shook her head. "No way. I don't eat things that haven't quit mooing."

  He couldn't help but chuckle. "Come on, take a chance. Do something wild."

  "Something wild?" She leaned in close, batted her lashes like a delicious little diva. "You do realize I'm a rare-steak virgin, don't you?"

  Thoroughly charmed, he pushed his plate toward her, baiting her with the bloodred meat. "Are you sure you won't let me deflower you?"

  "Oh, my."

  She fanned her face, feigning a good dose of shock. Then they looked at each other and laughed, enjoying the sexual innuendoes, the silly flirtation, the playful sense of humor they seemed to share.

  A moment later, she blindsided him with a serious question. "Why did you move here?"

  "What?"

  "Why did you move to Silver Wolf?" She dipped into her potato and extended her fork to him. "What made you choose a small town in Idaho?"

  He accepted the food she offered, giving himself time to form an answer, to spout a prearranged lie, to convince his conscience that the story WITSEC had created held a semblance of truth.

  "I'm a bit of a drifter," he said. "I was restless and needed a change. A friend of mine suggested this area."

  "The man who was with you when you first came to town?"

  Guilty, he took another bite of Emily's potato and offered her a piece of shrimp from his plate. "Yes." Apparently someone had told her that he'd arrived in Silver Wolf with another man. "His name is Zack." Zack Ryder, he thought, conjuring an image of the deputy marshal assigned to his case. "He's the only person I know in Idaho. But he lives in the city."

  "Have you known him a long time?"

  James reached for his beer, tried to act casual. "Long enough."

  "Where'd you meet him?"

  "At an Indian gathering." That was a blatant lie, but WITSEC had chosen Ryder as his inspector because they were both mixed bloods. James supposed he and Ryder looked natural together. For a cop and a criminal, he thought. For two men who, aside from the Native blood flowing through their veins, didn't have a damn thing in common.

  Emily sipped her water. "Diane Kerr is my oldest and dearest friend. We see each other all the time."

  Grateful she'd turned the conversation around, offering information about herself, he managed a smile. "Diane's a lucky girl."

  She smiled, too. "So am I. I don't know what I'd do without her."

  "It's good to have friends," he said as a stab of loneliness pierced his chest.

  "Yes, it is." She tasted his rice, then went back to her own meal. "I'm glad we're getting to know each other, James."

  When he looked into her eyes, regret washed over him, seeping into his pores, burning his soul. He hated the way the lies made him feel, hated pretending that he was a decent man, someone worthy of her affection, of her trust. He shouldn't have asked her to be with him, but it was too late. He needed her too badly, wanted her too much to let her go.

  And she needed him, too. For now, she needed him.

  "Should we get dessert later?" she asked.

  He blinked, caught the glow in her eyes, the spark of candlelight. "Do you want to?"

  "If you do." She motioned to their waiter who was wheeling an array of cakes, custards and chocolate éclairs to another table. "They have a pastry cart."

  James studied Emily's eager expression. For a girl who'd been too nervous to eat earlier, she was certainly holding her own.

  "Sure," he said. "We can share a couple of desserts. What's your favorite?"

  "Everything." She pressed against him to get a better look at the cart as it passed. "All of it. I can never decide."

  Such innocence, he thought, as he watched her. Innocence he would steal.

  He didn't deserve her, that much he knew. But tonight it didn't matter. He wouldn't feel guilty. He wouldn't let his past destroy this moment, this memory, the knowledge that she was his.

  If only for a little while.

  *

  James unlocked his door, and Emily entered his house, carrying a pastry box. They'd shared two decadently rich desserts at the restaurant, but he'd insisted on buying am assortment of treats to take home, which included almost every cream-f
illed, chocolate-laced, caramel-flavored indulgence they hadn't tried.

  He flipped on a light, and she clutched the box to her chest. Suddenly she was nervous again. "Should I put this in the fridge?"

  "Sure, go ahead, and I'll take your bag to my room." He indicated the leather satchel slung over his shoulder. "Then you can unpack if you want to."

  "Okay." She went to the kitchen and refrigerated the pastries, stood for a moment, took a deep breath and headed for the bedroom.

  His bedroom. James Dalton. Her soon-to-be lover.

  The hallway was narrow, but the single-wide trailer offered a cozy sort of comfort, with rustic furniture and tan carpeting.

  She found James seated on the edge of a queen-size bed, removing his boots. Her bag was next to him.

  He looked up and smiled. "I'm just getting comfortable."

  Should she take off her shoes, too? When he stood, removed his belt and untucked his shirt, her heartbeat went crazy.

  "There's an empty drawer in the dresser," he told her. "I don't use them all."

  Normally Emily wouldn't unpack for one night, but she liked the notion of settling in. Somehow it made what was about to happen seem as though she were on her honeymoon. A forbidden honeymoon with a man she was still getting to know, but at least the task helped calm her nerves. She placed her belongings in the drawer, folding them just so. She could feel James behind her, waiting, watching.

  "That's pretty," he said.

  She glanced at the silky nightgown she was about to put away, then she turned in his direction. "This?"

  "Yes."

  "I brought it to sleep in."

  "Wear it now. Wear it for me."

  Her knees went weak; her pulse jumped. At some point, he'd unbuttoned his shirt, and the opened garment gave her an unobstructed view of his navel and the line of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his pants.

  "May I use your bathroom?" She couldn't possibly change in front of him, not now, not like this.

  He pointed to the door behind her. "There's an entrance from here and the hall. That makes it seem more like a master bath, I guess. But you'll have to remember to close both doors when you're in there." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'll try to remember, too."