Tender Taming

by Heather Graham

  “Okay,” Stewart agreed mischievously. “I won’t say a thing. But when you do find Katie and Randy, see if you can think of a good excuse to send them by here. I’ll be in Naples for the next three weeks, but I’d like to surprise them all today.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be surprised,” Whitney said sweetly.

  Impulsively she kissed Stewart’s well-lined but attractive, endearing face. She could have grown very fond of him. So many subtle nuances of his had been inherited by his son! And she was in love with the son … No! Whitney screamed to herself. No more. She would forget him, forget the nights when he had taught her the secrets of her own desires, forget the intensity of the intimacy they had shared.

  No, she could never forget. But she could use the memory of his betrayal to strengthen her cause. He would be the fool this time.

  “Mr. Stewart,” she said, rising, “it has been a great pleasure, I assure you. I’m going to run now, if you don’t mind. Morning Dew—I think—went visiting. She should be back any minute. I do want to find Katie, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Surely!” Stewart rose next to her and accepted her offered hand. “And I promise you, my dear, the pleasure has been mine. I don’t mind saying that I can see why my son kidnapped you! I look forward to our meeting again.”

  “Yes … yes—” Whitney lied. She rushed away before he could see the trace of tears blurring her eyes. She blinked them away furiously. She had to think and move quickly. To make her getaway she would need to have complete control over her emotions!

  Whitney forced herself to walk into the chickee she had shared with Eagle. Refusing to dwell upon any memories, she kept her gaze from the bedding, from the neat bundles of Eagle’s clothing. It was good, she decided grimly, that he had made her travel light. Casting aside her Indian clothing, she scrambled into jeans and a blouse, looped the strap of her bag over her shoulder and hopped from the platform of her “honeymoon” suite once more—for the last time. With her eyes straight ahead, she resolutely walked the return trip on the trail. She couldn’t look back. Her lips were already trembling.

  Nearing the clearing, Whitney froze. The joyful sound of two distinct male voices came her way. Eagle had discovered that his father was there.

  Unable to resist, Whitney crept wraithlike into the trees. The two men were embracing naturally—a father and son who not only loved but respected, one another, both tall, strong and determined.

  Whitney drew a jagged breath. Her eyes now were only for the son. She stared at him, as if by doing so she could etch every line and angle of him into her memory forever—the flashing blue eyes, the arrogant hawklike nose, the height of his proud cheekbones, the bronze of his smooth skin, the large, long-fingered, slightly calloused hands … She closed her eyes, and still she saw him. Soon, though, she told herself, stiffening, he would know that his father had given him away. When she didn’t reappear by nightfall, someone would grow worried. Then Stewart would have to admit that he had seen her.

  And how would Eagle take the news? She was sure he would harbor no anger against his father. He would probably shrug and accept the fact that his game had been up a little early. He might even vaguely regret the loss of his bed partner. Then his blue eyes would begin to twinkle and he would anticipate their meeting—a meeting when he could look into her eyes with the amused knowledge that he had completely fooled and debased the imperious “Miss Virginia” who had wandered into his web.

  Whitney strangled back a moan of anguish. How could she ever walk into his office? All the things he knew about her! Her past … her vulnerabilities! How could she ever look him in the eyes again? She couldn’t.

  She could turn around and leave the southern marshlands altogether. Take her BMW and head right back to marvelously cultured Virginia, where …

  Her father and Gerry waited, expecting that she would find defeat on her own.

  No. She would be dead and buried first. She had a few days left to lick her wounds and plan her strategy. Then she would face Mr. Jonathan Eagle Stewart on territory where she was familiar and practiced. And she would emerge the victor.

  Whitney opened her eyes. With a final impression of blue-black hair, she shifted quietly through the foliage. Out of range of the Eagle clan sector, she began to run, desperation moving her quickly from the alligator pits to the council platforms to the nightly bonfire area. Where were they? Finally Whitney saw a patch of sandy hair in the midst of coal black. Randy was playing in a ball game. Katie had to be nearby.

  Crunching her lip in preparation for the lie she was about to embellish, Whitney raced around the edges until she found Katie.

  “Katie!” Whitney wailed desperately, startling the beautiful woman as she pounced upon her and swung her around. “Oh, Katie, I’ve been looking for you everywhere! I need help desperately. I—I have to get back to my car and I can’t find Eagle.”

  “Calm down!” Katie soothed kindly, making Whitney wince. “Whatever it is, Randy and I will help you.”

  “You’re going to think this terribly foolish of me,” Whitney continued, hating herself but seeing no other way. “I forgot a rather serious problem. I have to be in Naples by evening. My father might be there, and if he doesn’t find me he’ll have the damned National Guard searching the Everglades. I am so sorry—” She was sorry to be inventing such an absurd tale. “It had all simply slipped my mind, but you don’t know the man!”

  Katie chuckled. “I know all about fathers. Mine kept me on a leash until I married Randy. Between him and Eagle, it’s amazing we ever had a date!”

  Whitney breathed a sigh of sick relief as Katie gestured to Randy to bring him to the sidelines. Katie explained the situation to her husband quickly, and if Randy thought such sudden panic wearisome, he gave no indication. “We’ll get you out of here,” he promised quickly.

  “I hate to be such a bother,” Whitney said sincerely.

  “No bother. The trip to the car will only be an hour. An hour back …” Randy shrugged. “We won’t miss anything. If you’d rather, though, I’m sure that I can find Eagle for you—”

  “No! Um … I think he’s with the council. If you’re sure you don’t mind, you can explain for me. I’ll see him as soon as I can.”

  “Whatever you say,” Randy agreed. He was wearing one of those concealed grins that clearly stated that compliance was much easier than trying to reason with a panicky woman, no matter how feeble her explanations. “If you’re ready, we’ll go. The airboat is tethered thataway.”

  Whitney turned her back on the Miccosukees and the Green Corn Dance. She was sorry to use Katie and Randy, but then it was fitting that Eagle’s own sister and brother-in-law would be the instruments of her escape.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ALLIGATOR ALLEY WAS DESOLATE even with a bright sun shining overhead. Whitney looked nervously at her gas-tank gauge, praying that her car would live up to its promised highway mileage and bring her the thirty remaining miles to a service station. She had no intention of ever making a trek into unknown swampland again.

  It was amazing, Whitney thought, that she was driving normally. Her eyes were on the road, her hands on the wheel. She looked normal! Inside she felt like the fuming, bubbling lava of a volcano. If only she could erupt!

  To ease her frustration she fiddled with the radio, trying to find a station. After a fair amount of static she landed on something clear. Unfortunately what she heard was a John Denver song. Just what she needed. Another reminder that the Miccosukee Indians were well aware of the white world. Another reminder that Eagle had led her down a yellow brick road of fantasy, encouraging her belief that she dealt with backwoods people …

  She switched off the radio. Too bad she couldn’t turn off her tormented mind with equal ease. None of it would have been so bad if only she hadn’t fallen in love with him! That, she admitted in her deepest subconscious, was the root of her fury. And she had been dreaming that he loved her too and that at the end of the week some magical miracle would o
ccur to keep them together.

  And while she was dreaming, he was playing with her.

  Whitney reached the service station and had her tank filled with gas and her car checked completely. The attendant gave her directions, and within another half-hour she was pulling into a motel in North Naples. Upon reaching her room she paced energetically back and forth. If nothing else, the vigorous exercise did drain some of the tension from her muscles.

  “Civilization!” she proclaimed aloud. “Blessed civilization!” A thorough scrub in a scalding hot shower was at hand, then a quiet dinner and a glass of wine from room service.

  No, a carafe of wine. She would drink the entire thing herself and then sleep until she woke. Sleep until her heartache eased …

  And it would ease, she promised herself stoically. Time was the healer. Tomorrow she would laze around the pool and check into the offices of T and C. By nightfall she would be ready to check out whatever nightlife Naples offered.

  As if determined to erase the very essence of the past days, Whitney pampered herself ridiculously. She plucked her brows, shaved her legs, poured more than ample lotion into the bath water and smeared herself with perfumed skin conditioners she never used. She rolled her hair in electric curlers with a bitter grimace, and manicured her cracked nails.

  Still, the trace of calluses remained on her hands. Just as the image of Eagle remained on her mind, within her, constant.

  And even a full bottle of Sauvignon failed to put her to sleep with the comfort and ease of just knowing that Eagle was beside her.

  After a brisk swim in the morning and an hour of soaking in the sun, Whitney called the offices of T and C, informing the secretary that she would be in after lunch to go over the briefings. The relief evident in the young woman’s voice at hearing that Whitney had safely arrived sent little chills into her even before she heard the reason.

  Whitney had always hated to lie, not simply because of principle but because of a faint tinge of superstition. Even for a necessary little fib, she would never use the excuse of someone being sick in case she should be foretelling the truth and that person become ill. She would never invent an accident.

  And now she knew why. Her lie to Katie and Randy was coming true. Her father had been trying to contact her for the entire five days, and according to the secretary, he was beginning to sound like a madman. By tomorrow he would have helicopters searching the Glades and have an all-points alarm out.

  “Damn!” Whitney groaned into the phone.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Latham,” Susie, the secretary apologized. “We’ve tried to assure him that you weren’t late, that you probably were seeing a bit of the countryside. But he just wouldn’t listen.”

  “Whitney,” Whitney interposed automatically. “And please don’t apologize. I do know my father! I’m sorry he has been harassing you! I’ll get hold of him right away.”

  Whitney rang off quickly and stared rebelliously at the phone. “Damn!” she repeated inanely. When would he ever believe that she had grown up? It was embarrassing! Men were despicable creatures all the way around, she decided.

  She picked up the phone and put her call through to Richmond. As soon as her father heard her voice, he expounded a lecture that sent Whitney hurling back to a pillow, holding the receiver away from her ear so that she wouldn’t have to hear his words but would know when she was supposed to mutter a response.

  “Dad!” she interjected once. “I’m a full quarter of a century old! I’m legal, remember, and adult! I never promised to call in!”

  “You had your mother, Gerry and me worried silly!”

  “Gerry and I are divorced.”

  “Another silly whim of yours.”

  Whitney exhaled and counted slowly. “Dad, I’m fine. I wanted to see a little of the terrain.”

  “Alone!”

  She could almost see the veins bulging in her father’s temple.

  “No … uh … I had an Indian guide.”

  That was good for another five minutes on trusting no-account woodsmen.

  “Dad,” Whitney interrupted, wishing she could simply record the word. “I was visiting a tribe of Miccosukee Indians. They are moral and upright people. I will be dealing with them—” Whitney broke off suddenly. She was furious with her father, she realized, and not because of the interference she had learned to tolerate from him. He was saying things wildly, in ignorance. As she once had. And she was left to defend the Indians.

  Choosing her words carefully, Whitney went into her own lecture, telling her father in concise terms that the Indians were far more civil and trustworthy than most men she knew. Relenting at the end, she added softly, “I love you, Dad, and I wouldn’t purposely hurt Mom for the world! But I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  “Hmmmph!” The phone was silent for a few seconds, then her father found a new vein of rebuke.

  “And what is this ‘Miss’ they call you at the office? You are a ‘Mrs.’”

  “Actually, I’m a ‘Ms.,’” Whitney said and started chuckling. “What on earth difference does it make?”

  “You had a husband!”

  “I don’t now.” Or did she? A strong, noble man with blue eyes …

  “—will be down late next week …”

  “What?” Oh, God, what had he said while she was wandering?

  “Gerry. I’m sending him down. He needs a little sun and sand anyway, and you know how concerned he is, even if you did walk out on him.”

  “No, Dad, no.”

  “You mean you’d refuse to see him—as an old friend?”

  “Of course not. It’s just—”

  “Good. You’ll see him next week. He can accurately assess the situation. Take care of yourself, now, daughter, and we’ll expect to hear from you soon.”

  The phone went dead. Whitney stared at it incredulously for countless seconds before she again turned to her pillow. Thank God none of them could see her now! she thought grimly, pounding her fist into the padded receptacle. They would label her certifiably insane and have her put away for good!

  But she had to pound the pillow. When she was through, she would prepare to prove her strength of will calmly and ruthlessly to all of them, mindless of any toes that had to be stepped on.

  The land problem proved to be far more complex than Eagle had explained. The Miccosukees and the Cow Creek Seminoles were two entirely different tribes, with separate interests. Both were claiming pieces of the land purchased from the government by T and C. Jonathan E. Stewart was representing both tribes, but separate deals had to be made with each.

  Greg Tanner, the friendly, fortyish manager of the Naples office, scratched his forehead distractedly as he tried to explain the confusing situation. “Neither tribe is fiercely against selling land—it’s this particular piece of land. Maybe a stubborn streak; I don’t know. That’s where you fit in. When you meet with Stewart, you’ll hopefully understand.”

  Whitney smiled enigmatically. “I’m sure Mr. Stewart and I will understand one another perfectly,” she purred.

  “We do want that land,” Greg said with a sigh.

  “We’ll get it,” Whitney assured him. “The right amount of pressure might be just what Stewart needs. I think I know the pressure points.”

  “Oh, Whitney—” Susie stuck her head into the inner office and pushed her stylish gold-rimmed spectacles back up the bridge of her nose. “Mr. Stewart’s secretary just called. She wanted to make sure the meeting was still on for today.”

  “Yes, it’s still on,” Whitney said and smiled. So Eagle thought he had sent her running!

  “Mr. Stewart would like to make it lunch, then. One o’clock at the Golden Dragon. Will that be all right?”

  “One thirty,” Whitney corrected, “will be fine.” She might as well let him have fair warning that he wouldn’t be twisting her by the tail anymore!

  Besides, she wanted to run back to her motel room before she met him. She wanted to be absolutely perfect—Miss Vir
ginia to a t.

  And she was. Her few days of lounging in the sun had given her a lovely golden tan, which she emphasized by wearing a cool white knit dress that left her arms and shoulders bare and lightly formed to her figure, flattering it in a subtle way that left the observer wondering how such a chaste dress could mold so accurately around slender curves. She left the feathery waves of her hair fluttering around her face while she swept the waist-length back portion into a sophisticated twirl that would add a few inches to her height. Her compact purse and trim heels were a matching green, coordinates to her eyes.

  At precisely one thirty she arrived at the Golden Dragon, sure that she would meet Eagle with cool, unflinching eyes.

  Unfortunately she hadn’t counted on Eagle’s drastic change of appearance. She met him in the lounge, and she didn’t flinch because she was too busy—to her extreme annoyance—gaping.

  The long black hair was gone. It still reached to his collar, but the cut was stylish. He wore a vested navy pinstripe suit with a casual finesse that would immediately draw any feminine eye. The stark white of his tailored shirt set off a light blue tie to perfection—the silk was an exact match to his eyes. When his eyes finally lit upon her, Whitney momentarily forgot all her resolves. He had never looked sexier; he was refined, yet still rugged. Like a chameleon, he had changed to suit his environment and done it remarkably well. His Indian blood was still apparent; it always would be in the strong lines of his bronze face, but no one on earth would ever take him for an unsophisticated backwoodsman or question his capabilities in speaking the Queen’s own English.

  “Miss Latham.” He stated her name coolly, with his blue gaze flicking lightly over her as he left his stance by the bar to greet her. A crooked smile came to his lips—the almost-sneer she had been expecting. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue? I’m sure you have a lot to say.”