by Jenna Kernan
“Maybe I can meet her sometime.” She felt singularly inadequate. Generally, she only felt this way when with her siblings. Her wealth often put men off balance, but lately her lifestyle had attracted men who liked money and especially liked spending hers.
“Oh, I’m sure you will. The minute she finds out I’m home, she’ll be at the door.”
Meadow looked at the door in question and swallowed hard. She glanced down at her clothing and grimaced. She thought she could still smell the odor of smoke clinging to her.
“I can’t meet her like this,” she said.
Dylan smiled. “I think you are safe for the night.”
She didn’t want to be safe. And she wanted more than a night. More than a few days, a lost weekend. Oh, she was in so much trouble. He was a warrior, a hotshot, a man of character with morals strongly rooted in his community. She was a punch line.
“So, tomorrow we speak to your shaman?”
“That’s right.”
“Is there any protocol or anything?”
“It’s not like meeting the Queen of England. You don’t have to curtsy. He’s a regular guy, mostly.”
“So women can speak to him?”
He smiled. “Again, not Hassidic. Not Amish. Apache.”
She flushed. “I don’t know anything about shamans.”
“They learn by apprenticeship. It’s a calling, like priests, but they are not celibate. They preside over ceremonies like the Sunrise Ceremony, which is a woman’s coming of age. He advises, prays, heals, and is a spiritual leader. He preserves our language and culture by teaching the youth.”
Somehow she could see Dylan doing all those things.
“Are you considering it?”
He inhaled. “How did you know that?”
“Just the way you looked when you spoke of their responsibilities.”
“I’ve considered it. I’m a little old to begin.”
“Have you spoken to your shaman?”
“Yes, and he’s agreed to accept me as an apprentice.”
“But you can still marry?” As soon as she said it, she recognized her mistake. Was it the haste of her words or the worry in her eyes that told him her thoughts? She didn’t know, but she saw the confusion break into speculation as he considered why she asked this question.
When she realized she was wringing her hands, she dropped them to her sides. Now she felt small and inadequate again.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re a puzzle,” he said. “You could have any man. I’m struggling to understand your interest in me. Is it just physical?”
Something told her to withdraw, protect her ego. If she said yes, he might sleep with her, but he might also tell her that he was not that kind of guy. But to admit that she wanted more than to share his bed was to show a kind of need and vulnerability that frightened her nearly as much as the fire shelter. She looked at him.
He waited, his dark eyes cautious. Was that the glimmer of hope?
She bit her bottom lip and then jumped in headfirst, like always.
“It’s not just physical. I’m attracted to you, physically, of course. Powerfully, and since I first saw you.”
“You were rude when you first saw me.”
“I was showing off. Trying to get your attention.”
“You succeeded.”
“I acted like an ass.”
“But back to your attraction,” he said, stepping closer.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” she said.
“Apache?”
“Yes, but no. You’re protective, perceptive, sensitive.”
“Sensitive? I’ll deny that if you tell anyone.”
“You shouldn’t. It’s rare.”
He took her hand and led her down the hall. “Let’s finish the tour.”
“Kitchen is through there.”
She had a glimpse of a dark room with empty counters.
“I have two bedrooms and one bath. The tribe provides housing through HUD. We own the land and property on the land communally. Unlike most tribes, we do not have a shortage of housing and so a single man like me can live in a single home.”
“That’s good.”
“We have a surplus because of a falling birthrate and because unemployment has caused many of our young men to leave us to find work elsewhere.”
“Like Alaska?”
His eyebrows lifted again and then he glanced back to the living room. “You got that from the book on salmon fishing?”
“And knowing that there are jobs there.”
“There are. But I would not like to leave the tribe for so long. I see what happens. Men leave. They find work or a woman and...” He shrugged. “Men go to the woman’s family. It’s tradition here and common out there, too.”
Like his brothers. They had both left and never come back.
“You speak as if it’s another country. We live in the same state.”
“But a different world. I don’t know if I could blend my life with an Anglo.”
She let her hand slip away.
“But maybe the right woman could change that,” he said.
The hope bubbled in her chest like a tiny gem. The oyster making a pearl of possibilities inside her hard shell. Was she the right woman?
Her skin was tingling and she felt the flush of excitement.
“You are a fascinating woman. Brazen. Independent and very brave.”
“I never was brave.”
“Maybe you never had anything worth fighting for before.”
There was truth in that.
He motioned to a door. “Guest room.”
She glanced in and saw a full-size bed made up with military precision with a striped red, black and turquoise wool blanket and white sheets. There was a desk with a computer.
“Office?”
“Something like it. My room is across the hall. Bathroom is between the two. We each have a door lock. You can use it if you don’t want company.”
His smile faded as his joke turned into possibilities. Was he also remembering the shower they had shared? Did he regret setting her aside? She took a step toward him, vowing that if she ever got him naked again, she wasn’t going to let him go.
“Need anything else?” he asked, and then pressed his lips together as he realized what he had offered.
“Yes,” she said, and looped her arms around his neck. The kiss she gave him was full of sensual need and promise. He responded instantly, gathering her tight in his arms so she could feel every muscular curve and contour and hard ridge.
She hummed with satisfaction as he deepened the kiss, bending her over his arm. Her fingers raked his back, calling on his spirit animal to take his mate. The sound he made was a growl, deep, low and dangerous. Oh, she wanted to unleash that danger. Meadow raked her fingers downward.
He gasped and then pushed her back. She felt the past repeating and wondered if she’d ever recover from the humiliation of throwing herself at him twice.
But this time he didn’t reject her. The heat in his gaze made her stomach tremble.
“Are you sure, Meadow?” he asked.
She shivered with desire fused with anticipation. In answer she used one index finger to graze down him midline, stopping at his waistband, where she hooked that finger inside the fabric of his trousers and tugged.
“Very,” she said, just before his mouth claimed hers again.
She savored the sweet velvet glide of his tongue on hers. Dylan’s hand angled up under the shirt and unfastened the oversize jeans she wore. She broke the kiss to kick out of her borrowed boots and stepped clear of the men’s pants, returning to him and their kiss.
The pads of his fingers grazed over her thigh, m
aking her stomach tremble. She wanted him to touch her there at the epicenter of the pulsing need he stirred.
Meadow rubbed against the hard muscle of his thigh and was rewarded when he splayed his fingers over her bottom and lifted her until their hips met. She wrapped her legs about him, locking her ankles behind his back as he turned them toward the bed.
He was whispering to her in his language, his breath stirring the hairs on her neck. The anticipation beat inside her like a living thing, the need pulsing with her blood.
“Hurry,” she said.
“No. This is not going to be fast. When you look back on your life, Meadow, I want you to remember me.”
Was he already planning their separation? Perhaps he was just wise enough to see the number of obstacles between them. A realist, when she had always been a dreamer.
And her dreams were full of Dylan, now and forever. Oh, she would remember him. How could she ever forget? She only hoped that she would look back and remember this as the beginning and not the end.
What would convince him to stay, to give them a chance? Certainly nothing in the bed that even now rushed up to greet her. She needed to touch more than his body.
But his body was what she needed right now—the warmth and comfort and protection. He’d never denied her those things, and she knew that he would deny her nothing tonight.
Chapter Fourteen
Dylan explored Meadow’s body with both hands. She wanted him, and tonight it did not matter that there was no future in it. His time in the service had taught him the tenuousness of life. Since his return, he’d forgotten this lesson. But the wildfire had made him remember that life was sweet and short and never to be taken for granted.
They were safe and she was in his arms. What more could he wish for? A future with her. Well, yes, but he’d whisper that only to himself, the irrational desire that told him this woman was placed on this earth only to walk at his side.
He longed to give her so much more than his protection. He wanted to give her his heart. And that would be foolish, indeed. She’d made it clear she was not the sort of woman to be trusted with something as fragile as a man’s love. She was giving him this night and he would take what he could, knowing that his family would not approve of her or of his actions. Knowing that his medicine society would be shocked to see the golden boy make such an obvious mistake.
He let the pads of his fingers graze over the soft, yielding flesh, stroking down her midline, pausing at her navel and feeling her stomach muscles ripple under his touch. He followed with his lips, tasting the sweetness of her skin, savoring the velvet of the tiny hairs.
She sighed and arched to meet him, her hands clenching in his hair. Here was a woman who knew what she wanted and was prepared to take what she liked. The knowledge that she was experienced aroused him further as she planted her feet on the coverlet and let her knees splay. The earthy scent came to him as he tasted her. He moved his fingers and tongue, all to increase her pleasure, savoring the sounds of her growing need.
She spoke to him in a tone husky with passion, encouraging him, saying things he wished were true, calling him her sweetheart, her darling, and when she found her release it was his name she called. He let her rest awhile, using the firm muscle of her thigh as a pillow, drawing what he could not say with his fingertip on her opposite thigh and stomach. Gradually her breathing slowed and then she made a humming sound.
“Come back up here,” she said, and he did, gliding along her slick flesh, letting his hips press her down to his bed. He had never brought a woman here, to his home, his refuge, his sanctuary. But it seemed right with Meadow and that troubled him. Getting her here would be easier than convincing her to stay. He almost laughed at the image of her, the party girl, tabloid princess and goat of all goats, living here on the reservation. Riding with him along the river on horseback. Coming to dance when he beat the drum at gatherings.
He could not see any of it.
“That’s a serious face,” she said.
“Yes, loving a woman is serious business.” He had not meant to say it that way. Would she think he meant the act of making love to her? He hoped so. She held her quizzical look for a moment and smiled.
“Why don’t you kiss me again?” She lifted her hips and his erection slid along her cleft. The sensation made him suck in a breath.
He kissed her, angling his mouth to show her exactly what he intended to do, his tongue stroking hers in long thrusts. She broke away, whispering against his temple.
“I can’t wait. I want to feel you inside me. Dylan, please tell me you’ve got protection.”
He shifted to open the drawer in the bedside table and offered her a foiled condom. She showed strong white teeth as she tore into the packaging, then pushed at his shoulder to encourage him to roll away.
If she wanted to do it, he was willing. Her clever hands stroked down his shaft and before he could make his next move she had straddled him, risen to her knees and then slid down over him. He grasped her hips, setting a pace that was slow and deep. She didn’t fight him but whimpered as her fingers curled to rake his chest. The sensations overwhelmed him. He struggled not to finish what they started. But he waited for two reasons. He wanted to watch her ride him, see her body sink down over him with a force that made her lovely full breasts bounce. He didn’t know if it was her self-assurance or his passion for this woman that made him so hot, and he didn’t care. She was moving faster now, her head thrown back as she took and gave. They seemed to lock in place and then she rose up on her knees again, nearly losing him.
The secret, internal rippling started an instant before she cried out. They rode the wave of ecstasy home together, and then she fell forward to sprawl across his chest, her blue hair rippling down his torso like a wave. He closed his eyes at last, held her there, limp and sated, knowing that he wanted her again, still, forever.
He understood the difference between want and need. His desire for Meadow was too strong to be forgotten or cast aside. That meant that he would need to fight to keep her. Fight her family, his family, his friends and clan and—very possibly—Meadow.
Dylan had never loved a woman before, but he recognized the truth. She had captured him as she had likely done to others before him. He knew he could only keep her if she wanted to be kept.
There was as much chance of stopping a wildfire single-handedly as capturing a woman with a heart as wild as this one’s.
* * *
MEADOW WOKE WITH a start, not knowing where she was. There, in the dark with her heart hammering, she felt the arms of a man and the familiar scent that reminded her of the one good thing to come out of all this chaos—Dylan.
He drew her in, cradling her against his chest and pressing his lips to her forehead.
“Safe now,” he whispered.
She released a breath and felt her racing heart slowing to a strong, steady beat.
“I have you.” And here he switched to the language she could not understand.
“What does that mean?”
“Hmm?”
“The words you were saying.”
His voice was gravel and slow as if struggling against the grip of a deep sleep.
“Endearments. Like sweetheart or darling. Literally means...my...heartbeat.” His breathing puffed out in a way that told her she had lost him to sleep. But still he held her close, his thumb stroking her shoulder.
His heartbeat? She smiled. What a lovely thing to say.
* * *
DYLAN WAS NOT done with her. He knew that her father was not the wealthy philanthropist he pretended to be. Or, if he was this, that was not all he was. That alone was enough to divide them. But there was so much more. He felt the passage of time, the seconds and minutes adding to the moment they would part. If holding her in his arms was enough to keep her here, he would ne
ver let go. But soon, very soon, the day would come and the forces of division would appear with the sun.
He closed his eyes, promising himself he would rest only a few moments and knowing from the weariness of his body that he lied. He told himself that she needed some rest before he showed her how much she now meant to him, acted out the devotion and adoration he could not speak aloud.
Once more, he thought, and then once more after that. It would have to be enough. In the end, it was not the sun but those few hours of necessary sleep that stole away his chance to love her again.
Dylan woke to the pounding on his front door.
The gray glow of morning provided enough light for Dylan to recognize Jack Bear Den’s white SUV. The words Tribal Police were printed across the rear door and back panel in blue lettering, and on the front door was the great seal of the Turquoise Canyon tribe. Detective Bear Den stood on his front step, blocking Dylan’s view of the rest of the drive, his arm lifted to beat on the door again.
He flipped open the lock and let in the friend he’d had since grade school. He scrutinized Jack’s expression, trying to anticipate the reason for his visit, and thought that the massive man’s face seemed thinner, and there were dark smudges under his eyes. Why hadn’t he noticed that yesterday? Dylan looked more closely. Was it a trick of the light or the loss of his twin brother that had caused the change in his appearance?
Jack issued a greeting in Tonto Apache.
Dylan returned the greeting. Then he rubbed the palms of his hands into his tired eyes and peered at Jack, studying his posture and expression for clues. He did not like what he saw. Something was wrong.
His thought was that something had happened to Carter, who was now in witness protection, but then he had another thought. It shot through him like an electric current, startling him to alertness. Ray Strong was on the line fighting that fire, the crew chief in his place.
“Ray?”
“No,” said Jack, understanding the question, but whether from the panic that must have shown on his face or the tone of his voice, Dylan did not know. “He’s fine. Fire is still raging, though. They are hoping the rains will kill it.”