CHEROKEE MARRIAGE DARE

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  "Is your mom close by?"

  "No. She lives in the country." In the same house where he grew up. The same quiet little farmhouse where the kidnapping had taken place.

  "What does she look like?"

  Like a woman who'd lost everything that mattered, he thought "She's fair-skinned, and her hair is sort of a silvery-gray. It used to be brown."

  Maggie smiled. "I bet she's pretty."

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. "My dad thought so."

  She finished her soup, placing the empty cup beside his. Uncrossing her legs, she drew her knees up. Her face was a wash of golden hues from the fire, her eyes a watery shade of blue. He wondered how many times a day they changed color.

  "Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

  The question hit him like a fist. He clenched his stomach muscles to sustain the impact. "No," he said as his heart went numb.

  Not anymore.

  * * *

  The next day Maggie awakened to the sound of a screeching telephone. She pushed through the mosquito netting that draped her brass bed and squinted at the clock.

  Groaning, she nearly knocked the phone off the dresser. Who called at five o'clock on a Sunday morning? On her private line, no less?

  "This better be important," she said into the receiver.

  "It's Luke."

  A shiver shot straight up her spine. She'd worn Luke's sweats home yesterday. And needing to feel connected to him throughout the night, she'd also slept in them. The fleece-lined fabric brushed her skin like warm, masculine hands.

  His hands, she thought as she heard him breathe into the phone.

  "What's going on?" she asked, trying to sound professional. Clearly an early-morning call from Luke related to business. As far as she knew, he didn't make personal calls, at least not to her. "Did you get a breakthrough in the case?"

  "No. But I picked up your bodyguard at the airport, and we're on our way over. So get out of bed and put on some coffee. He's moving into your place today."

  Maggie shot up like a rocket, nearly tearing the mosquito net from the ceiling. Her bodyguard? "You're not going to sic some big, burly brute on me." In spite of her family's wealth and celebrity, she did her damnedest to live a normal life. Which meant no maids, chauffeurs, cooks or bodyguards. She cleaned her own house, drove her own car and fixed her own meals. Granted, her house was a two-million-dollar loft, her car was a Lamborghini and she purchased her food from a gourmet market, but she was still self-sufficient.

  "I have the most sophisticated alarm system ever devised," she went on. "I don't need a bodyguard."

  "Too bad. Your brother already agreed with me that Bruno should move in with you until this case is solved."

  Her brother. She should have known Rafe had a hand in this. He and Luke seemed to think she was some sort of helpless female. "What kind of stupid name is Bruno?" She pictured a no-neck, muscle-bound Gestapo guarding her front door.

  "I've seen Bruno in action, Maggie. And I'm not changing my mind about hiring him. We'll see you in fifteen minutes. And if you don't let us in, we'll break in, proving to you how useless that alarm system of yours is. You don't even have a security camera."

  She fumed. She raged. She paced the floor with darts in her eyes. Luke was going to suffer for this. And so was Bruno. She would make the bodyguard's assignment a living hell, ditching him every chance she got.

  Maggie washed her face and brushed her teeth, but she didn't change her clothes or put on a pot of coffee. If Luke wanted freshly brewed coffee, she would gladly kick his rear all the way to Colombia, where he could pick his own damn beans.

  Luke and Bruno arrived in the estimated fifteen minutes. Luke buzzed her, and she pressed the remote and opened the security gate at the entrance of an underground parking structure, then shot out of the loft and waited at the indoor elevator that led to her living quarters. The industrial building had been remodeled to suit her needs, but she'd kept the old-fashioned, gated elevator because she liked its vintage style.

  She heard the elevator ascending, and when it stopped, her jaw went slack.

  Luke's companion was on a leash.

  Bruno, it appeared, was a dog. The most powerful-looking creature she'd ever seen.

  "That's my bodyguard?"

  Luke and the beast exited the elevator. "He's not what you expected?"

  "You know damn well I thought Bruno was a man."

  The dog didn't react to his name or to the sharp tone in Maggie's voice. Luke, however, had the gall to arch an eyebrow at her. Apparently he didn't care that he'd ruffled her feathers at five in the morning.

  "Now why would I hire another man to move in with you? Hell, Maggie, I could have done that myself."

  Then why didn't you? she wanted to ask. Why didn't you become my personal bodyguard? My roommate?

  Because he'd given the job to Bruno.

  She shifted her attention to the dog. He stood about thirty inches tall and probably weighed a good two hundred pounds. Heavy-boned, with a fawn-colored body, his muzzle bore a dark mask.

  "What is he?" she asked.

  "An English mastiff."

  She studied Bruno's serious face. She doubted the big dog would ever roll over with his paws in the air, begging for a belly rub. Maggie patted his head, deciding she would have to loosen him up. Teach him to do dumb doggie things. The poor fellow behaved like an armed guard with a rifle up his butt.

  "There's no point in standing in the hall," she said, inviting Luke and Bruno into her home.

  The first thing Luke noticed about Maggie's loft was the skylight. Dawn blazed from the ceiling, sending lavender streaks throughout the room.

  Her decor was bold, yet decidedly female. A variety of textures, ranging from watered silk to carved-and-painted woods, made up the living room. Leafy plants grew from clay pots and scented candles dripped melted wax. The oak floors were whitewashed, and one entire wall was covered with a mural of mermaids rising from the sea.

  Instinctively, he knew Maggie had painted it. He felt the enchantment flow over him like a cool, sensual wine.

  Moonlight and mermaids. He turned to look at her, and saw that she watched Bruno instead.

  Luke let out the breath he'd been holding, shrugging off the sexual pull.

  "Is Bruno one of those German-trained dogs?" she asked. "The ones that compete in international trials?"

  "You mean Schutzhund? No, he's not." Luke had decided a Schutzhund-titled dog wasn't what Maggie needed. "Bruno is familiar with the perils of everyday life."

  Maggie met his gaze. He moved away from the mermaids and focused on familiarizing her with the dog. "I'll teach you his verbal commands. He'll respond to you without a problem." A business associate of Luke's supplied dogs to police and military canine units, as well as private citizens. "Bruno has been trained to protect women. He's stopped kidnappers and stalkers right in their tracks. He'll keep you safe."

  She regarded the mastiff with a curious expression. "Does he fetch?"

  For a moment Luke could only stare. He'd provided her with one of the most expensive, sought-after protection dogs in the world, an animal that adapted to a new environment without the slightest hesitation, and she wanted to know if he retrieved tennis balls?

  "Bruno is a bodyguard, Maggie."

  She ran a manicured hand through her night-tousled hair. Luke had no idea why she was still wearing his sweats, but he thought she looked as wildly erotic as one of the naked mermaids.

  "Can he shake? Or high-five?"

  "He's a personal protection dog," Luke reiterated, clenching his jaw.

  "I'm well aware of that. But I don't see anything wrong with teaching him to do a few doggie tricks. He deserves to have a little fun."

  Luke caught Maggie's gaze and saw a spark of mischief brewing in those muse-magic eyes. "Don't you dare ruin this animal." He envisioned her encouraging a two-hundred-pound, muscle-bound mastiff to sit up and beg for table scraps. "I don't want you distracting him from his j
ob."

  "I hope he knows how to kiss. All dogs should kiss."

  Good Lord. Luke glanced at Bruno. The canine sat, watching his new mistress. The dog had been taught not to lick people's faces, which made perfect sense to Luke. "I'm pretty sure he drools. Will that do?"

  She smiled like a siren. "It's a start."

  Maggie brewed a pot of coffee, and they spent the next three hours going over Bruno's commands. Luke offered to come by every night after work to help her exercise the big dog.

  Maggie seemed pleased, and he warned himself not to get too attached. No hugs, no kisses, no foreplay in the snow.

  "Are you and Bruno ready for the grand tour?" she asked.

  "Sure."

  The loft was six thousand square feet of artistic inspiration. Bruno had plenty of corners and shadowy areas to explore.

  They went from room to room, and Luke found Maggie's home strangely alluring, particularly her bedroom.

  A mosquito net draped her unmade bed. He pictured her sleeping there, her hair fanned across satin pillows. The color scheme was warm and inviting, the textures rich and smooth.

  Bruno sniffed, taking in every scent. Luke could smell a heady blend of candles, incense and French perfume.

  In that intoxicating instant he wanted to break his self-imposed rule and kiss her. Pull her onto the bed and run his hands all over that long, luscious body.

  "Come on," she said. "I want you to see my work." He drew a rough breath and followed Maggie to her studio.

  The walls, he noticed, were splattered with paint, as if she'd attacked them in an emotional rage. Art supplies littered the floor. Canvases were stacked everywhere. Floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated the enormous room.

  Her work reflected her moods. A life-size watercolor of a wood nymph was blatantly sexual, whereas the portrait of a baby dragon projected sheer whimsy. Each piece was inspired from fantasy or folklore, portraying mythical creatures.

  He wondered if she'd ever painted a muse. He decided not to ask.

  "This is my latest series," she said, displaying three canvases for him to view.

  He studied the paintings, analyzing each one before he moved on to the next. The first one depicted a wide-eyed little boy peering at a leprechaun. The second was a fair-haired toddler with a fairy on her shoulder.

  And the third painting had Luke nearly dropping to his knees.

  His breath shot out, and he curled his fingers to keep from touching the beautiful, haunting, heartbreaking image.

  "She could be my sister," he whispered. The profile of a young girl filled the canvas, jet-black hair blowing around her face, a tiny winged horse fluttering from her outstretched hands.

  He turned to look at Maggie, who watched him through silent eyes. "How did you know?" he asked, his voice breaking. "How did you know that we buried her with her favorite toy?"

  A tiny winged horse.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  «^»

  "Your sister?" Maggie placed her hand on his shoulder. "Oh, God, Luke. I didn't know you had a sister. Or that she died."

  Then she couldn't have known about the winged horse, he thought. Her painting was simply a coincidence or an omen or a connection that had no logical explanation.

  Luke drew a breath. "Can we go outside? I need some air."

  "Of course."

  They took the elevator to the roof where Maggie had created a patio. A barbecue pit was formed of stone, with chairs gathered around it. Snow melted on the ground, and the wind blew mildly.

  Luke stood near the rail and scanned the sweeping lakefront view. He could see the Art Institute and the glass-and-steel structure of the Connelly Tower. He assumed Maggie enjoyed the city traffic and the sound of the el train.

  He turned to look at her. Bruno remained by her side, already protecting her. That gave Luke a measure of relief.

  "Will you tell me about your sister?" she asked.

  He knew he couldn't hide the truth. Not now. Not after his reaction to Maggie's painting. "Her name was Gwen. I used to call her Lady Guinevere." He gazed at the fire pit, his heart clenching with the memory. "She loved legends and fables and pretty fairy tales."

  "What happened to her, Luke?"

  "She was murdered," he responded. "And it was my fault."

  Maggie reached for a chair, her breath catching. "You can't mean that."

  "When my father was dying, he asked me to protect her." To be the man of the house, he recalled. The young warrior. "But I didn't keep her safe. I let a stranger come into our home. He kidnapped Gwen, and then he killed her."

  Maggie's face paled, and Luke sat across from her, preparing to tell her everything, every detail that made him ache.

  "I was twelve and Gwen was eight. Our father had died three months before, and Mom was visiting a friend in the neighborhood. She had been grieving very deeply, and this was the first time she'd socialized since his death."

  As Luke spoke, his mind drifted back in time, back to the day that had destroyed what was left of his family.

  Gwen, dressed in pink shorts and a white top, had played on the porch. She'd made a castle out of a cardboard box for the king and queen she'd cut out from a coloring book. The winged horse sat next to her, waiting to soar across the sky. The air was warm, the sun setting behind the hills in a reddish-gold hue.

  Luke watched his sister from the screen door, then went into the kitchen to toss a couple of TV dinners in the oven. He chose fried chicken for Gwen and meat loaf for himself. The mashed potatoes always tasted fake, but his mother wouldn't be back in time to cook what he considered real food.

  But that didn't matter, he thought, because he was glad she'd gone out. She still cried a lot, and he never knew what to say to make her feel better. Luke missed his dad, too.

  Ten minutes later, he heard Gwen talking to someone on the porch. Luke went to the door and saw a fair-haired man crouching next to his sister.

  "His car broke down in front of our house," she said as the man raised to his full height. "I told him nobody was home but you and me."

  The quiet stranger was tall, with narrow shoulders, skinny arms and lean hips. His skin was pale, his eyebrows as blond as his hair. Luke thought the guy looked frailer than a man should.

  Gwen got up and came toward the screen door. "Can he use our phone? He needs to call a tow truck."

  "Sure." Luke figured the guy didn't know how to fix his own car. He didn't seem like the mechanic type. Plus, it was obvious he'd gotten lost and was too embarrassed to admit it. Their old farmhouse was on a dirt road, miles from the main highway.

  "I really appreciate this," the man said.

  "No problem." They went inside, and Luke showed him to the den. He pointed to the phone, which sat on a cluttered rolltop desk. The Yellow Pages were next to it. "Try Harvey's Garage. I'm pretty sure they have a tow truck."

  "Thank you. I will."

  Luke turned away to see what Gwen was doing. She'd gone into the kitchen, and he figured she was going to bug him about dinner, which would seem rude in front of the stranger.

  Within seconds, a burst of pain exploded in the back of Luke's head. He knew instantly the man had hit him with a heavy object, possibly even a gun. He tried to call Gwen's name, to tell her to run, but the stranger hit him again. And this time, the force knocked him down.

  His face crashed against the corner of a table. And then he felt the sickening warmth of blood running from his nose and into his mouth.

  His sister dashed into the room. He saw her feet, then heard her panicked scream – just once before the world went black.

  * * *

  For a moment, Maggie and Luke remained silent, the wind stirring around them.

  His eyes were dark and filled with pain. She longed to touch him, to bring him close to her heart.

  He met her gaze, and she thought about how much he was hurting. She couldn't imagine the horror of losing a sibling. Maggie had grown up with a houseful of brothers and sisters, and
she adored them all. "I'm sorry," she said.

  "Two days later, a farmer found Gwen's body in an empty field. The weeds were so high, he nearly tripped over her." Luke's voice broke. "The lot was for sale, and he was looking for a place to buy. But he found my sister instead."

  Maggie's eyes filled with tears. She pictured the little girl she had painted, dumped in a field of weeds. She had no explanation why her painting resembled Luke's sister. The dark-haired child and the tiny winged horse had stemmed from her imagination.

  "The things that bastard did to her. And I trusted him. I let him into our home.

  "You couldn't have known he was dangerous. Or that he preyed on children."

  Luke released an audible breath. "The police caught him, but that didn't bring closure. Not to me. When I testified at his trial, I sat there envisioning what he did to Gwen and thinking how much I wanted to kill him."

  "Is he still in prison?"

  "Yes. He was up for parole in September. I attended the hearing. I wanted to make damn sure that bastard wasn't paroled. There's no such thing as a rehabilitated pedophile." He gazed out at the city. "But no matter what I do to make things right, I still feel like I have blood on my hands."

  "What happened to Gwen wasn't your fault, Luke."

  "Yes, it was. And so was Tom Reynolds's murder."

  "Your partner?" Maggie tried to comprehend his logic. "You were out of town when Tom was killed."

  "That's exactly my point. I was at the parole hearing while my partner was being ambushed. If I had been here, I could have given Tom the backup he needed."

  So much unwarranted guilt, she thought. So much pain. Lucas Starwind wanted to save the world all by himself. "You're one man. There's only so much you can do."

  "There's no way you can understand how I feel. You haven't lived my life."

  But she wanted to. She wanted to live inside him, to be part of him. She looked into his eyes and saw the emptiness she wished she could fill.

  Placing her hands on her lap, she felt them tremble. Heaven help her. She knew what was happening.