CHEROKEE STRANGER

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  "Smells okay to me," James said.

  "Then you wear it," came the youthful reply.

  "Fine. I will." James proceeded to put the sunscreen on his face and arms, rolling his sleeves up even farther. He wore a rugged ensemble of denim and leather, with a cowboy hat shading his eyes.

  Those eyes, Emily thought. Those haunted eyes. Sometimes when he looked at her, she wondered what he was thinking, what he was feeling.

  Corey squared his narrow shoulders, attempting, it appeared, to maintain his boys-don't-wear-lotion dignity. "Just give me the dumb stuff." He shot Emily a warning glance. "But I'm putting it on myself."

  The six-year-old smeared the dreaded sunscreen all over his face and arms, using far too much and rubbing the excess on his pants. He needed a man around, Emily thought. He needed the kind of influence only his gender could provide.

  "Go put your boots on," she told him. "You can't go to Tandy Stables without your boots."

  Corey left his chair. "My hands are all yucky now."

  "Then wash them."

  He huffed out a breath. "This is such a hassle."

  "I know." Trapped in emotion, Emily went to her brother. She would never forget the day her parents had died, the day Corey had been orphaned. "But it's something we can't change." She knelt to lift his chin, to look into his eyes. "I have to be careful in the sun, and so do you."

  "And James, too?"

  "Yes," she said. "And James, too." Although she knew he wasn't at risk for melanoma, not the way she and Corey were.

  The crisis ended and Corey decided his hands weren't that yucky after all, but he still needed to put on his boots. He tore off down the hall, leaving the adults alone.

  After a moment of silence, James reached for the sunscreen and capped the bottle. "Corey is confused."

  "I know." Emily scanned the kitchen. This wasn't the house she'd grown up in. She'd sold the other one, unable to cope with the memories, with vestiges from the past. "He doesn't understand. Not completely."

  James moved closer. "You seem confused, too."

  "I'm fine. Just emotional, I guess."

  "Your surgery is only five days away."

  She twisted a strand of her hair, wished this conversation wasn't so awkward. Nonetheless she had to ask, "Are you going to be there?"

  He searched her gaze. "Do you want me to be there?"

  Yes, she thought, cursing her vulnerability. She wanted him to drive her to the hospital, to stay nearby, to keep her safe. "It shouldn't matter. I shouldn't need you."

  "We need each other, Emily."

  "Do we?" She glanced at the counter, felt her pulse race, locked her fingers to keep her hands from quaking. "For more than just sex?"

  He had the audacity to smile. "I don't know. We've only done it that one time."

  "We've done it twice," she corrected before she punched his arm and made him laugh. Good God, he could be annoying. If he wasn't torturing her with those troubled eyes, he was cracking silly jokes. "I was going to let you sneak into my room tonight, but—"

  "But what?"

  "I changed my mind."

  "Wanna bet?" Quick and carnal, he dragged her against his body and kissed her, making her heart spin like a valentine-shaped top.

  She invited him to her bed.

  *

  A quarter moon shimmered in the sky and leaves on trees rustled in the breeze. James cut across Emily's yard and released the air in his lungs. Tonight, he wasn't dressed like a cowboy. He'd chosen a dark pullover, black pants and soft-soled shoes. Clothes he'd worn a dozen times before.

  He made it to her window and stood in the shadows. A cricket chirped, but he ignored the sound. He was used to nocturnal creatures; he was one of them.

  He arched his body, closed his eyes, felt that catburglar rush of adrenaline.

  Rush of excitement? James opened his eyes and cursed beneath his breath. What in the hell was he doing?

  Breaking and entering, his conscience said. Like the low-down, scum-sucking thief he was. He dragged his hand through his hair and cursed again, his language fouler this time.

  There was nothing to steal in Emily's bedroom.

  Nothing but her heart.

  He shook his head, chasing away the thought. Was he crazy? Losing the last of his sanity? He had no business trying to steal her heart. James Dalton wasn't real. He was an illusion, a sleight of hand, a trick of the mind. If Emily fell for him, she would be falling for the man the government had created, not the man behind the mask.

  So get the hell out of here. Abandon this insane notion of slipping into her room, of climbing into her bed.

  But it was her idea, he reminded himself. He wasn't breaking and entering. She'd promised to leave her window unlocked for him.

  Then why did he feel like he was about to commit a crime? He inched closer to the window. Because he knew he could invade Emily's house without an invitation. He had years of experience, years of breaking into people's homes and taking what he wanted.

  Jewels, cash, priceless objects.

  But this was different. There were no alarm systems to dismantle, no security cameras to dodge, no guard dogs to foil, nothing challenging his path.

  Just an unlocked window. Child's play.

  Only he wasn't a child. He was a grown man, anxious to be near a woman, to touch her, to put his hands all over her naked body.

  Violent hands, he thought. Fingerprints that were on file. James knew what he was. He used to pound his fists into other men's faces, pick bar fights just so he could taste his own blood. His IQ made him cocky, and being a soldier in the mob had made him an accessory to murder.

  And now here he was, pretending to be someone else.

  What choice did he have? he asked himself. Without WITSEC he would be hiding from the mob on his own. Or lying face first in a shallow ditch somewhere, a well-aimed bullet in his back.

  As if any of that mattered. He didn't have anything to live for. His wife was dead, and he would never see his sister or his son again. By now, his baby boy wouldn't even remember him. There was no one. Nothing.

  Except Emily.

  With his heart pounding in his throat, he tried the window, opened it, slipped inside like the pro he was.

  The room was dark except for the flicker of two scented candles. Strawberry smoke and the anticipation of sex. His head swam with it.

  He stood in the corner, a tall, quiet shadow in the dark. He knew Emily hadn't heard him come in. He could see her, curled up on her bed, glancing at the clock on her nightstand, waiting for him to arrive.

  But James was early. The element of surprise. It thrilled him, shamed him, made him want her even more.

  A warrior in his prime, he dashed across the room, seized her shoulders and kissed her before she could scream. She gasped into his mouth. He took her tongue and made her moan.

  When she was wide-eyed and breathless, he released her. He'd never been so damned aroused.

  "James. Oh, my God, James. How did you do that?"

  Blood surged to his loins. Her nightie was the size of a floral-printed postage stamp. "You left the window unlocked."

  "But I didn't even know you were here. And then you…" Her words trailed. "You…"

  "I kissed you. I've done it before."

  "Not like that." She sighed; she literally sighed. "That was magic."

  No, he thought. That was the work of a professional thief. He reached for the ribbon on her nightgown. She'd tied it in a pretty little bow. He tugged at it, loosened it, destroyed the bow.

  She watched him, candlelight flickering in her eyes. He lifted the thigh-length garment, found her naked underneath. "No panties?"

  "I must have forgot."

  He smiled and pushed her onto the bed. Then they went insane, crazier than he could have imagined. He ripped her nightie in two; she yanked at his fly and broke the zipper. He kicked off his shoes; she pulled his shirt over his head and tugged at his nipple ring.

  James bit back the pain, the ple
asure, the groan buried deep in his chest. They couldn't make orgasmic noises. They couldn't wake her brother.

  Emily lowered her head to his lap. He was certain he was going to die. She took him into her mouth, took him so deep, he fisted her hair and prayed for relief.

  She was lethal, he thought, as his mind blurred. Sweet and soft and innocently lethal.

  And if she didn't stop…

  He dragged her up, shoved her back down, let her suck him again. But this time she lifted her head on her own and kissed his navel, licking her way to his nipple.

  "You should pierce the other one," she said.

  "And the things you do to a man should be outlawed."

  She dropped her hand, closed her fingers around him. "I have some experience in this area."

  "Remind me to thank your high school boyfriend." He took her in his arms, held tight. "After I beat the crap out of him."

  She smiled. "You're jealous?"

  "Damn straight."

  Silence. Another smile. "Did you remember to bring a condom?"

  "Always." He held up the foil and it winked like a star. In the next instant, they were kissing, caressing, exchanging fantasies.

  Sensation slid over sensation, like silk over skin. When he entered her, she lifted her hips, taking him deep, accepting every stroke, every sweet thrust of pleasure. He rode her, warmth flooding his body.

  It was like riding a dream.

  Beautiful sex. Dangerous sex. Her hands sought his and their fingers entwined. It was the kind of intimacy he missed, the kind that condemned a criminal's soul. He lowered his head to kiss her, to taste her lips, to show her how much he needed her.

  But the need was too great, the hunger too strong. The dream ended in a hard, desperate climax, in a rush of heat and tangled limbs.

  They separated, their hearts beating madly. She turned to look at him. Sweet, innocent Emily.

  She touched the side of his face. "Did your family call you Jimmy when you were young?"

  Jimmy? He squeezed his eyes shut. His name was Reed. Reed Blackwood. "No. I've always been James."

  "James fits you. Like James Dean. Now there was a sexy guy." She arched like a sleek, little cat. "Jimmy works, too. Jimmy Dean." She paused, stifled a giggle, lost it and laughed. "That's the name of the sausage guy, isn't it?"

  He laughed, too. She made it easy to forget about

  Reed

  Blackwood. "This isn't exactly the most appropriate time to discuss sausages."

  "Really?" She leaned on her elbow. "Why not?"

  He rolled over and tickled her, and she squealed and called him Jimmy.

  But as footsteps sounded from outside the room, they both froze. She put her finger over her mouth, signaling a hush. He wasn't about to talk. He suspected her brother was stumbling his way to the bathroom, making an after-midnight pit stop.

  They waited for what seemed like forever. Finally a door squeaked and the footsteps disappeared down the hall.

  "Close call," she said.

  "Yeah." He reached for her, and she snuggled into his embrace. He trailed a finger down her body and stopped at her thigh, but his touch wasn't sexual, and she seemed to sense his concern. "Where is it, Emily?"

  "The cancer?" Her voice turned quiet. "It's where your tattoo is."

  His breath stilled, but only for a moment. "I should be surprised, but I'm not." James didn't believe in coincidence. To him, that was a fraudulent word for fate. "How long will you be in the hospital?"

  "Twenty-three hours. That's how long I can stay and still maintain an outpatient status."

  He kept her close, tight against his body. "You know I'm going to be there, don't you?"

  "I wasn't sure."

  "I wanted to go to the hospital from the beginning."

  "I know, but I wasn't comfortable about it then." She turned to look at him. "Now I'm glad you're going to be there."

  "Because you need me?"

  "Yes." She moved over him, kissed him, made his heart yearn foolishly for hers. "Because I need you."

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  James sat in a waiting room at the hospital, staring at the walls, counting the minutes that ticked by.

  Emily hadn't told him that the melanoma might have spread to her lymph nodes. He'd assumed the wide local excision surgery would rid her of the cancer, but that might not be the case.

  He blew an anxious breath, walked to the vending machines, then chose a bag of peanuts and a carbonated drink. He needed to eat a real meal, he supposed. But this was about all his stomach could handle.

  "James?" a feminine voice said from behind him. He turned around, expecting to see a nurse. Instead he nearly bumped into a pregnant brunette in a yellow dress. He started, took a step back. "Sorry."

  "That's okay. You're James. Aren't you?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm Diane Kerr. Emily's friend."

  He took the hand she offered and struggled to get a grip on his emotions. "Emily told me about you." But she hadn't mentioned that Diane was expecting. He glanced at her tummy, figured her to be about six or seven months along. James wasn't an expert, but his wife and his sister had been pregnant during their run from the mob. He'd delivered both babies, experiences he would never want to repeat. His son had been healthy and strong. But his nephew, his sister's tiny infant, had been stillborn.

  "Is this your first?" he asked.

  She nodded, flashed a mother-in-waiting smile. "According to the ultrasound, it's a boy."

  "Congratulations."

  "Thank you."

  He motioned to the vending machines. "Can I get you anything?"

  "Thanks, but I'm fine. I've eaten plenty of junk today." She paused, met his gaze. "How's Emily?"

  His heart bumped his chest. "She's in surgery. It's going to be a while."

  Diane headed for a chair in the waiting room. "Was she in good spirits?"

  "She seemed to be."

  "Because you were with her."

  He waited until Diane sat, then took a chair. He didn't know how to respond to her comment. His attachment to Emily wasn't something he could discuss. At times, he still felt like an intruder. A lowlife. An ex-con deceiving a community of honest, hardworking people.

  He reached for his soda and studied Emily's friend. She had pixie-cut hair, warm brown eyes and girl-next-door dimples. What would she think if she knew the truth about him? Would she be so accommodating? So kind?

  "You were going to drive Emily to the hospital," he said. "But I took your place."

  "It doesn't matter. Emily needed you to be with her. If it were me, I'd want my husband there."

  He glanced away, looked back, took a much-needed breath. "I'm not her husband, Diane."

  "Oh, of course not." She waved her hand, making light of a conversation that had gone bone deep. "I didn't mean it like that."

  They remained silent for a while. Strangers, he thought, trapped in an uncomfortable situation.

  Finally he said, "I wanted to be with Emily. I wanted to be here." Because the bond between them was too strong, because the magic that consumed them couldn't be denied. "But I don't understand why she didn't tell me the cancer might have spread to her lymph nodes."

  "Even if it has, it's still treatable."

  He thought about Beverly, about how advanced her cancer had been, about how quickly she'd died. "From what I've read, thinner melanomas are less likely to affect the lymph nodes."

  "That's true. But Emily is borderline, I think. They just want to be sure. That's why they scheduled a sentinel node biopsy with her surgery."

  "I know, but it still worries me."

  "The biopsy is important."

  James merely nodded. He understood that the surgical team would map the drainage pattern of Emily's lymph nodes, then remove a sentinel node and dissect it. If they discovered cancer, they would remove additional lymph nodes. But if they didn't find any obvious evidence of the disease, further dissection would be done at
a lab, where a pathologist would look for a microscopic form of the disease. "I thought her surgery would take care of the cancer. I thought excising the primary tumor would be enough."

  "Emily is going to be fine," Diane assured him. "With or without lymph node detection."

  James glanced at the clock. "I just hate waiting around like this." And until Emily was home and tucked safely into her bed, he wasn't about to relax.

  *

  "I'm fine," Emily said, even though she looked tired, the circles around her eyes a telltale sign.

  "You just got home from the hospital." And James wasn't about to let her out of bed, not today.

  "You don't have to baby me."

  "The hell I don't." He frowned, the tension in his chest working itself into a knot. Her test results wouldn't be available for a week, maybe two. "You should have told me you needed that biopsy. You should have warned me ahead of time."

  "I didn't think about it."

  "Bull."

  She lifted her chin a notch. "Don't get surly."

  "Fine, but I'm staying here until you recover." A decision he'd made on the way home from the hospital. "It's easier than stopping by every night after work."

  "You can't sleep in my room when Corey's here."

  "So I'll sleep on the couch." James scooted onto the bed and sat next to her, mindful of the bandaged scar on her leg. "When Corey gets back from Steven's house, he and I can spend some time together. He'll like that, don't you think?"

  "Yes, I'm sure he will."

  "And what about you?"

  She gave him a smile that tugged at his heart. "I suppose I can put up with having you around." She skimmed his jaw, as though memorizing him with her fingers, with a featherlight touch. "A girl could do worse."

  "So could a guy." He released the air in his lungs, felt the knot in his chest loosen. He couldn't handle a rejection, not now. Maybe not ever, but he didn't want to dwell on what the future might bring.

  Why? Because it scared him? Because James Dalton would always be Reed Blackwood? And Reed would always be hiding from the mob?