She blushed and hurriedly lowered her head as she passed him, feeling him get up and follow her inside.
In the kitchen, the dimness made her blind for a moment, and she paused, blinking, to let her vision clear. Daniel came in, and Winona instinctively moved forward to get away from him, a little panic in her chest. She bumped into a chair and he caught her, chuckling as he tugged her against him, her back against his chest. Surreptitiously he slid a hand under her tank top and brushed the lower swell of her breast.
“I’ll die before they go to bed,” he murmured into her ear.
“Daniel!” she protested, pushing his hand away just as the girls trooped in behind them. Although he stopped the shameful, delicious teasing, he didn’t let her go. Playfully he bent and kissed the side of her neck.
Behind them, Giselle made a sound. “Ooooh, Daniel, kiss her!” she said. “Like in the movies.”
He looked over his shoulder, playing to his audience, and Winona felt a small rise of panic. Didn’t he understand that Joleen would be wounded? That she had a terrible, if fleeting, crush?
“I think she needs a good kiss,” he said to Giselle. “Like the movies, huh?”
“Daniel,” she began, putting her hands on his shoulders to keep from falling as he turned her in his strong, lean embrace. She saw a flash of smile in his dark face before he tilted her backward, as if in a tango.
And kissed her, firmly, richly, and demurely enough for any 1930s movie. Still holding her in the awkward position, he looked at Giselle, wiggling his eyebrows. “Well?”
“Another one!” she cried out, obviously delighted.
He kissed Winona again, his eyes open and glittering and so close to hers, then let her straighten.
Dazed and breathless by his simple proximity, Winona gathered the protective denim shirt around her. “You’re terrible,” she said with a heated flush.
“How gross,” Joleen said. “I’m getting out of here.”
Winona looked at her quickly, dismay on her lips. “Joleen—”
But she’d already gone downstairs, her feet clumping on the wooden steps.
Giselle watched her go, perplexed. Then, shrugging expressively at Winona and Daniel, she followed Joleen down the stairs.
For one long moment, Winona stood frozen in the kitchen, staring at the door to the basement, a thousand emotions warring within her.
“Winona, she’s just a kid. This is normal. Relax a little, huh?”
She looked at him. So he did understand. And maybe that had been part of his plan. It wasn’t appropriate after all, for a thirteen-year-old to be jealous of the kisses of a man at least twenty years her senior, and he was too smart not to see that. “She isn’t just any kid, though, Daniel. She’s my little sister, and she’s still got a long way to go.”
“You have to stop protecting her, Winona. It’s time for her to take some of the knocks on her own.”
Winona shook her head. “Not yet,” she said.
* * *
Seeing that Winona struggled with the passion that flared between them this afternoon, Daniel made a tactical retreat. He called up U2’s Rattle and Hum on his Walkman and then turned on his computer, heading for the blogs and E-mail loops that gave him such safe companionship.
He hadn’t been on any of the services much lately, and his E-mail box was full. There were flirtatious messages from two women he suspected were in their sixties, a note about a powwow in Denver, three strongly worded messages about a note he’d posted about wanna-be Indians and a couple of notes from pen pals he knew only through the service, people he’d become friends with in the odd way of online relationships.
As he posted notes in return and caught up with the conversations he’d missed, he felt oddly disconnected. It didn’t matter today. None of these conversations, nothing anyone said, none of the furious, intense discussions called “flame wars” in which he ordinarily found such satisfaction mattered.
He nudged the feeling with a sense of surprise. Upon discovering the world of computer communications three years before, Daniel had been instantly entranced—and addicted. Online, he didn’t have to have a quick comeback. No one could see him. He jumped into the heated discussions with a wry voice, enjoying more than he could express the wonder of talking to people everywhere from the comfort of his house, through his computer.
Now he found himself scrolling through the messages with a sense of annoyance. The flame wars and intense debates seemed singularly unimportant, removed from real life. He kept wanting to jump up and find Winona, find out if she was okay, find out if he was going to have to fight through a brand-new wall.
He also wondered how Joleen was doing. He honestly didn’t mind the hero-worship angle of her crush. He knew a lot of needy kids, and knew it wasn’t uncommon for a troubled girl to fix her tangled emotions on some distant, safely unattainable male. It wasn’t uncommon for perfectly balanced thirteen year-olds to have crushes, come to that.
Joleen, however, needed a nudge to face the real world again. So when Daniel noticed how guarded Winona became in front of her little sister, he mulled it over, but not for long. His choice to kiss Winona in front of Joleen had been quite calculated. It was time for Winona to stop protecting the girl.
It wasn’t that he didn’t feel sympathy for the kid. She’d been living in a safe, protected, loving world, and in the course of one rainy afternoon, the whole thing had been shattered. He understood her lack of trust, her need to manipulate and control her environment. Daniel had been guilty of the same manipulations all too often—and in his case, he’d even learned to do it on purpose to get something done.
At least he’d understood what he was doing, right or wrong. Joleen was acting in desperation, and until Winona stopped allowing the kid to hide like a puppet master, Joleen wouldn’t ever be able to make peace with the loss of that safe, protected, comfortable world.
One day, this huge and terrible loss would provide Joleen with a wealth of material. It would give her a strength of character rare in young women. It would serve her well.
But first she had to get through it, and the biggest stumbling block to that was Winona.
Winona. With a frown, he punched a key to scroll to a new message, watching graphics change and not absorbing a single word.
In his earphones, Bono sang about desire. The fever. The destruction it wrought sometimes.
Daniel listened and frowned again. Was he indulging his own manipulativeness now? He wanted Winona—with every fiber of his being. He thought of her lifting his hair and rubbing it on her face, on her neck, then touching his face as if his features were something sacred. He couldn’t remember anyone looking at him that way in his life. No one had ever touched him with that hesitant, dazzled hunger, and Daniel found it pierced him to be so wanted, to be the object of desire, to be touched so reverently.
He had to shift uncomfortably at the reaction of his body to those memories. The want was mutual. He’d do almost anything just to make love to her. Just to touch her and taste her and revel in that heady need he miraculously kindled in her. He wanted to please her, to watch her come apart, watch her give herself up to the lurking passion she’d controlled so carefully.
But was that wrong? He had no intention of making it permanent. The notion of commitment and love and all the rest made his heart race with panic. No. He wanted her for now, for the summer, for the pleasure they could give each other now, not some amorphous future. He wanted to be the man who awakened her, so she wouldn’t forget him.
The moral dilemma was that she’d told him she didn’t indulge in casual sex. Yet wasn’t there some middle ground between casual sex—which implied lightness and no emotion—and total commitment? For two consenting adults, wasn’t there something warm and rich in between, a mutually respectful exchange of passion and beauty and pleasure?
There was. And they could have it. He had to find a way to help her see that.
* * *
Winona fixed a simple supper o
f salad and grilled cheese sandwiches. As she tore lettuce, she noticed a dimming of the light in the kitchen and frowned, brushing hair filled with static electricity out of her face. When she bent to peer out the window, she touched the metal back of the chair and got a sharp, strong shock. “Dang it,” she said, rubbing her fingers together. She was tired of being shocked every time she touched anything, tired of the dust, tired of itchy, dry skin.
But now, on the horizon, dark and heavy looking, were clouds. Winona gave a little cry and bounced toward the back door. “Daniel!” she called toward his bedroom as she went. “Look outside!”
Eagerly she stepped on the back porch, lifting her head to smell the air. It was as dusty and hot as ever. No wind. No rustling anticipation of cottonwood leaves.
Daniel joined her, fresh from the shower, smelling of shampoo and soap and toothpaste. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “They might really be rain clouds.”
Far away on the horizon, lightning streaked through the slate-colored clouds. “Even if we get just a little moisture, it will help,” Winona said.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he lifted a hand and put it on the back of her neck, rubbing lightly. “Yes, it would.”
Even such a small gesture acted on Winona’s nerves. Guardedly she shifted away. “Daniel, I think, considering everything, this afternoon was a mistake.”
“Was it?” His voice was low and intimate.
She gazed at him, expecting anger or annoyance or that shuttered look he could adopt. Instead he was smiling the smallest bit, his eyes dancing with mischief. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, it was,” she said firmly.
The smile broadened and he lifted an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, Pooh.”
Quizzically she echoed, “Pooh?” He nicknamed everyone, she’d noticed. Jessie was “Irish,” for obvious reasons. Giselle to “Gazelle” was an easy leap. And “Little Owl” for Joleen, with her big eyes and late hours, was so perfect it was a wonder no one had given it to her before this.
But “Pooh”? “Oh, because of Winona. Winnie the Pooh. I get it.”
“Nope.” The grin broadened. “Pooh’s always rubbing his little paws together saying, ‘Oh, dear. Oh, my.’”
“I don’t do that.”
“Don’t you?”
That stopped her. “Well, maybe sometimes.” She inclined her head. “Don’t you have a nickname?”
“Nope.”
“Maybe because Daniel suits you so well. Daniel in the lion’s den and all that.”
He shrugged.
The smell of scorching bread reached her. “Oh, drat!” she exclaimed, and pushed by him to rescue the sandwich she’d left on the stove. Smoke rose from the pan in stuttering curls. She grabbed a pot holder to rescue the skillet, coughing.
When Daniel came in, she said, “It’s only one sandwich. The rest are done. Will you yell down to the girls and tell them to wash up?”
“Sure.”
It was only then that she realized he hadn’t even argued with her about her request that they leave the passion between them alone. She looked over her shoulder as he leaned into the stairwell to call the girls. Her gaze caught on his long, jean-clad thigh, and she found a restless annoyance rustling her nerves.
Joleen came up first and slumped into her chair.
“You couldn’t have washed your hands that fast,” Winona said.
Without even a glance at her sister, Joleen stood up, crossed to the sink and washed her hands, then slumped back into her chair. Winona sighed. The silent treatment. Oh, joy.
The irritation on her restless nerves increased. She hadn’t asked for this responsibility, but she’d taken Joleen happily, without question. And every so often lately, she would have liked Joleen to act as though it meant something.
All at once, she realized how spoiled and sulky Joleen was becoming. And it was Winona’s fault for indulging the child too much. Her motives had been good, but she wasn’t doing Joleen any favors. Would her parents have allowed Joleen to behave this way?
Not in a million years.
With a rush of clarity, Winona put the sandwiches down. “Take your hat off at the table,” she said.
Joleen looked up, and even through her cat-eye glasses, Winona saw her shock. She simply stared at Winona for a long moment. Her pretty, pouty mouth slowly went hard.
Distinctly she said, “No.”
“Then you can take your food and eat outside.” Joleen didn’t move. At the top of the stairs, Daniel and Giselle stood as still as the walls.
“I mean it, Joleen. Take off the hat, or eat out on the porch.”
“You know I can’t do that—” Joleen began, the familiar beginning of a wordy, long protest.
“I’m not arguing,” Winona cut in. “I’m tired of looking at it, and so is everyone else.”
“But I—”
“Outside or hat off,” Winona repeated, turning back to the counter for the salad.
Joleen stood up so fast her knees hit the back of the chair. “I won’t eat, then!” she cried, making a wild grab for the chair: She caught it just before it fell.
“Don’t eat, then,” Winona said with a shrug, sitting down calmly at her place. “But don’t ask for anything else later.”
“Fine!” She shoved past Daniel on her way downstairs, her feet slamming hard on the wooden steps.
For one moment, Winona considered making Joleen come up the stairs and go down them again calmly. How often had her mother done that? Winona smiled at the memory, and reached for the salad.
It was only then that she realized both Daniel and Giselle were eyeing her with wariness. “What?”
“Where did that come from?” Daniel asked. Winona paused. “I don’t know,” she said honestly.
He smiled and gave her a subtle thumbs-up sign.
“Maybe I ought to go down and see if she’s okay,” Giselle said, gnawing her lip.
“She’s fine,” Daniel said. “Sit down and eat.”
“But can’t you hear her? She’s crying!”
“Mind your own beeswax, Gazelle.” Gently he put her in her chair. “You just haven’t been around sisters and brothers. This is normal stuff.”
Giselle peered at Winona. “Are you mad at her?”
“A little.” Winona took a bite of her sandwich. “Do you ever get mad at your mother? Does she ever get mad at you?”
“Yeah. All the time.”
Winona smiled. “Same thing, honey.”
“Eat,” Daniel said. “I want you guys to get a good night’s sleep. Staying up till all hours every night has to stop.”
Winona nearly choked on her grilled cheese. She looked up at Daniel.
And damned if he didn’t wink.
Chapter Thirteen
The clouds yielded no rain. All evening, they simply hung in the sky, casting a thick sense of anticipation through the atmosphere. Crackling flashes of distant lightning zigzagged over the sky, and Daniel felt restless with waiting. Waiting for the rain, waiting for the hours to pass.
Waiting for Winona.
At last the girls shut out the lights, and another hour passed before their murmuring ceased. It was nearly eleven, and Daniel had pretended to read through most of the evening. Winona had long ago fled to the front porch. Turning off the lights inside the house, he took the tape player outside with him and sat down next to her on the rough-hewn wooden bench.
She looked up nervously, then stared back up at the sky. In her lap was Percival, curled up and fast asleep.
“That dog is going to be mighty disappointed when he can’t curl up in your lap anymore,” he said.
“Let him enjoy it,” she said, scratching his ears lovingly. “He’s such a sweet puppy.”
Quiet fell between them, as charged as the clouds overhead. “I don’t think we’re going to get any rain,” she commented.
“No, I don’t, either.” He settled back against the wall, in no hurry now, content to wait for her to become comforta
ble. A stiff, warm breeze swept over the tops of the trees, rattling cottonwood leaves. Above flashed a thread of blue lightning. “It’s beautiful, anyway.”
“I’ve always liked storms.”
“You have? Why?” Along his bare arm, he could feel the faint warmth of hers.
“I don’t know,” she said. “The drama, I suppose.”
“I didn’t like them when I was a kid. There were holes in our roof, and the rain came inside. I hated it.”
She looked at him. “You don’t talk much about your family,” she said. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“Yeah.” He picked up a twig from the bench and slumped lower so he could rest his feet on the wooden railing of the porch. “Somewhere.”
“You don’t know where they are?”
He methodically broke tiny pieces from the twig and tried to hit the tip of his toe with each one. “Nope. Don’t care, either.”
“That’s sad, Daniel.”
The tiny pieces fell short of his toe, so he broke off a bigger one and aimed again. “No, it isn’t. I was the odd one, you know. The mixed-blood kid. I had a different father than they did, and they never let me forget it.”
“Where is your father?”
He let go of a short laugh he had meant to sound cynical. It had sounded bitter, instead, and he felt chagrined that he was spilling any of this to begin with. “I don’t even know who he was, much less where he might be. He was some Chicano my mom met at a powwow in Albuquerque.”
“What about your mother?”
“Dead.” He ran out of twig pieces and looked through the dimness to the floor to see if he could see another one.
“So you don’t have anybody.”
Daniel looked at her. Her hair shone like a cloud of stars, wispy and almost ethereally lightweight around her face. Her expression was lost in the darkness, but he sensed her sorrow like a flow of lava, coming at him.
Harshly he cracked the twig in his hands, and said, “Don’t start feeling sorry for me, Winona. I turned out just fine, as you can see for yourself.”
“Sorry.”
This wasn’t going the way he had planned. Not at all. He was supposed to come out here, get her feeling comfortable, then play the tape to let her know he wanted her. Badly.
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