The Borrowed Bride

by Susan Wiggs

  He clamped one hand on the bar on each side of her so that she was trapped. She looked at him, really looked at him, and her throat went dry.

  He had hardly changed at all. Still the same magnificent face that made women stop and stare. Same velvet-brown eyes with gold glinting in their depths. Same lean, unyielding body, filled with a hard strength that made his tender touch all the more astonishing. Same perfectly shaped lips…

  His mouth was very close. She could feel his heat, could feel the clamor and clash of panic and desire inside her.

  “You were saying?” he whispered. His lips hovered over hers, and she felt a fleeting reminder of the wildness that had once gripped her whenever he was near. “Isabel?” His intimate gaze wandered over her throat now, no doubt seeing her racing pulse.

  “I was saying,” she forced out, “that I don’t…”

  “Don’t what?” His thumbs brushed at her wrists, lightly, gently.

  “…want you…” she tried to continue.

  “Go on,” he whispered. His tongue came out and subtly moistened his lower lip.

  “…in my life again.”

  His hands stayed on the railing. Yet he moved closer, his hard thighs brushing hers, searing her through the wispy fabric of her skirt. She felt every nerve ending jolt to life. By the time he grinned insolently and pushed back from the railing, she was dazed and furious, and the ferry was unloading.

  “Just checking,” he said.

  “You bastard,” she whispered.

  A pair of women with straw shopping bags passed by, sending Isabel looks of rueful envy.

  Dan stepped back, smiling his I’m-a-rebel smile.

  “I need to make a phone call,” Isabel said. “And then I’m taking the next ferry back to Bainbridge.”

  “We haven’t settled a damned thing.”

  “We settled everything five years ago. It didn’t work then, and it won’t work now.”

  “Five years ago was only the beginning.”

  “No.” The word sounded strangled as she headed for the stairs. “It was the end.”

  He caught her wrist, and she froze. There was not a trace of a smile on his face when he brought her around to look at him.

  “Don’t you think you owe me one more chance?” His voice was a low rasp that reminded her of the smoky, yearning love ballads he used to sing to her. “After all, you almost had my baby, Isabel.”

  Two

  Dan Black Horse couldn’t believe Isabel had agreed to come with him. But then, he couldn’t believe he had said such a blatantly manipulative thing to her.

  She had even called the clean-cut Anthony and told him not to worry; she’d be in touch.

  And so here they were—a couple of hours southeast of the city, at his guest lodge in a wilderness so deep and untouched that there weren’t even roads leading to the property.

  He looked across the timber-ceilinged lounge at her and could not for the life of him think of a damned word to say.

  She stood at a window, one slim hand braced on the casement, gazing out at the dense old-growth forest that rose like a sanctuary around the lodge. In the green-filtered glow of the afternoon sun, she looked fragile and lovely, the shape of her legs visible through the thin, full skirt, her back straight and proud, her hair flashing with burnished light.

  A wave of tenderness washed over him. Always, she managed to look isolated and alone, even when she was in a crowd of people. It was one of the first things he had noticed about her.

  “You changed your hair,” he said at last, then grimaced at his own inanity. Boot heels ringing on the floor, he crossed to the bar and took out a can of beer for himself and a soda for her.

  She turned around to face him. Her full breasts strained against her cotton jersey top. “You changed your life.”

  Her face was more striking than he remembered. Large doe eyes. High, delicate cheekbones. A full mouth that drove him crazy just thinking about it. An air of winsome uncertainty that made him want to take her in his arms and never let her go.

  Ah, but he had let go. Five years earlier, he had not been brave enough, smart enough, to hold her.

  He handed her the soda and gave her a lopsided grin. “Yeah, I guess you could say I made some changes.”

  “A few, it would appear.” She strolled around the rambling room. “Where’s the phone? I had no idea you were taking me this far away. I should check in with—”

  “No phone,” he told her quietly.

  “What?” Liquid sloshed out of the can, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “There’s a radio for emergencies, but the phone lines don’t come up this far, and it’s too remote for cellular.”

  She sagged against the back of an armchair. “Whatever happened to the city boy? Didn’t you find fame and fortune with the Urban Natives?”

  “Depends on your standards for fame and fortune. The band did okay. The last album went gold, and it got me into this place.”

  “I noticed the name of this place on the door—The Tomunwethla Lodge.” She brushed her hand over a woven wicker bean jar on a side table. “What does that mean?”

  Ah, she had trained herself well. He had always hoped she would acknowledge the past, maybe even come to cherish it as he did. But given Isabel’s background, that wasn’t likely.

  “Cloud Dancer Lodge,” he said. “‘Cloud Dancer’ is a song I once wrote. A really bad, crying-in-your-beer song. Probably the most popular thing I ever did.”

  Isabel rose and stood on a braided oval rug in front of the massive hearth. “So what’s the point?”

  “Of the song?”

  “Of everything.”

  He set down his beer and took her hand, leading her to the huge sofa facing the fireplace. A moose head with baleful glass eyes stared down at them.

  “The point of everything,” he echoed, blowing out his breath. He tried another grin on her, but she remained solemn. “Lady, you asked a mouthful.” He half turned, hooking a booted foot over his knee. God, he wanted to touch her, really touch her, to wake up the passion he knew was only sleeping inside her. But the way she was looking at the moment, he was afraid she might shatter.

  Just as she had five years ago.

  “First, my granddad got sick,” Dan said after a moment. “I moved to the town of Thelma to help look after him. And damned if I didn’t start to like it out here again.” He linked his hands behind his head and stretched out his legs. “Used to be, I couldn’t wait to get away from the rez, from the country.” Through half-lidded eyes, he watched her for a reaction. There was none. If anything, she seemed even more subdued. More withdrawn.

  Well, what did you expect, Black Horse?

  “My granddad died.”

  “Dan, I’m sorry.”

  “He was eighty-three. He left me a grant of land that’s tied to a treaty with the government dating back to the 1880s. Right around the time of his death, a timber company approached the tribal council, wanting to make a deal on clear-cutting.”

  “But this area is sacred ground,” she blurted out. Then she looked surprised at herself and fell silent.

  “Exactly,” he said. “But the deal was real tempting. When you don’t know where your next meal’s coming from, lunch with a grizzly bear looks pretty appetizing.”

  That coaxed an extremely small smile from her.

  “So I did some research. The lands are protected, but the council was leaning toward the timber company. I made a counteroffer. Got a special grant to develop a recreational area, sank everything I had into it and built this place. Just put the finishing touches on it a week ago.”

  “It looks as if it’s been here forever,” she said. “The lodge is really beautiful, Dan.”

  “It’s supposed to have that rustic flavor.” Flipping his wrist outward, he did a perfect imitation of Andy, the band’s former keyboard player, who had switched careers to interior design. “Without skimping on creature comforts.”

  Isabel laughed softly. The sound gri
pped Dan where he felt it the most—in his heart.

  “So that’s the short version,” he said. “If this is a success, I could open lodges in Alaska, maybe Belize or Tahiti in the winter—”

  “Why?” Her question was sharp and humorless.

  “Because I know what I’m doing.” Sort of. “Somebody else would come in and build a theme park. Probably stick totem poles up everywhere and sell shaman baskets for yard ornaments. I wanted something better. I wanted to do it right.”

  She stood and crossed the room, inspecting a cloth wall hanging and the tuber mask beside it. “This is just right. Really.” Even as his chest filled with pride, she paused. Maybe she was beginning to unbend a little. “I take that back. The snowshoes hanging on the wall are marginal. And the antler ottoman has got to go.”

  “It’s my favorite piece of furniture.”

  She sat back down on the sofa. “So now I know why you’re here. Why am I here?”

  He paused. “A picture’s worth a thousand words?” he offered.

  “Fine. I came. I saw. I’m impressed. Now take me back to the city.”

  “I can’t exactly do that,” he said in a soft, slow voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We have a lot to talk about. I need time.”

  She shot up again. “I don’t have time. I’m getting married exactly one week from today. I have to meet with a caterer. A florist. A dressmaker. Photographer, videographer—” She counted them off on her fingers and turned on him in frustration. The pale skirt floated around her slim legs, and for a moment, she looked as exotic as a gypsy dancer. “Sorry, Dan. I just didn’t schedule in being abducted by an ex-boyfriend.”

  He’d had no idea she was so bitter. This was going to be harder than he had thought. A lot harder.

  “In other words,” he said, “you want me to say what I have to say and then get the hell out of your life.”

  She blew out an exasperated breath. “That’s putting it a little bluntly.” Then she looked defiant. “I don’t have time to play games with you.”

  He crossed the room in two strides and clamped his hands around her upper arms. She felt delicate and breakable. He used to marvel at her softness, her femininity, the way it contrasted with his own hard edges and roughness. But when she flinched at his touch, he grew angry.

  “Is that what you think this is, lady? A game?”

  “Tell me different.” She glared up at him.

  “I brought you here because you ran away, and I was fool enough to let you go. Well, not this time.”

  “What?”

  He stared into her eyes, seeing his reflection in their depths and, in his mind, seeing the dreams and desires that used to consume them both, feeling the ache of an unfulfilled promise.

  “I can’t let you go, Isabel. I can’t let you just walk out of my life again. You’re making a big mistake, marrying that guy, and I can prove it.”

  “How?” she challenged, lifting her chin.

  “Like this.” He lowered his mouth to hers and cupped his hand around the back of her head. This was not how he had treated her aboard the ferry. He was not teasing her or, in some mean-spirited way, trying to assert his masculine power over her. This was a kiss designed to bring back the wildness and passion they had once shared. To remind her—remind them both—of all they had lost and all they could be once again if they tried.

  She held herself rigid. At first, she made a resentful sound in the back of her throat. He softened his mouth on hers and skimmed his thumb down her temple to her jaw, lightly caressing. A small sigh gusted from her, and her clenched fists, which she had put up between them, relaxed. Her palms flattened lightly against his chest.

  Ah, he remembered this, the thin, keen edge of desire he felt only with her, and the way she swayed and fit against him. Her mouth was soft, and the taste of her—one that had lingered for years after she left—was as familiar and welcome as the springtime.

  His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened for him, almost shyly, her trembling hands over his heart.

  Finally, when it was all he could do to keep from making love to her right then and there, he lifted his mouth from hers. She looked up at him, and he down at her, at the sheen of moistness on her lips.

  The sheen of tears in her eyes.

  “Isabel?” His voice was low and rough.

  “I can’t believe you’d do something so cruel.”

  He dropped his arms to his sides. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  She drew an unsteady breath. “You’re just trying to manipulate me. To make me feel unfaithful to Anthony.”

  “What about being faithful to yourself?” He pivoted away, furious at her, furious at himself for wanting her. “I guess you never learned that, did you?”

  She caught her breath as the dart struck home. Though Dan knew it wasn’t her fault, she had turned away from the part of her that was like Dan—the Native American part.

  “I moved on, Dan,” she said. “I moved past that. It’s known as growing up.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t find you again to hurt you. I did it to ask you for a second chance.”

  She brushed at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “It’s no good. I can’t. You—you bring up a darkness in me. I get all twisted around inside when I’m with you. I can’t live like that.”

  “There are those who say you should seek out your darkest places. Explore them. Find the sunshine that will burn the shadows away.”

  “Don’t you see? That’s what I’m trying to do.”

  “You’re running away, Isabel.”

  She crossed to the door and went out onto the porch to stand, glaring at a magnificent view of Mount Adams. “It’s my choice.”

  He came out and stood behind her, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. She didn’t pull away.

  At length, she said, “Take me back to the city, Dan.”

  “I’ll take you back this instant,” he said, “if you can say you really mean it when you tell me it’s all over between us.”

  He turned her in his arms. He saw the truth written all over her face. She had been just as aroused by the kiss as he had.

  But he could see that she was close to breaking. It was time to back off, to give her space, to let it all sink in.

  “I have to feed the horses,” he said. “They’ve got internal clocks that tell them exactly when five o’clock rolls around.”

  “I can’t believe you have horses. You wouldn’t even keep a goldfish in your apartment in Seattle.”

  He grinned and spread his arms. “Hey, I’m a responsible citizen now.”

  She eyed his earring, his black ponytail, his T-shirt with the slogan Question Authority. “Yeah, right.”

  Whistling, Dan jumped down the porch steps and headed for the stables. “Believe what you like. You’re stuck with me for one more night.”

  Three

  Isabel watched his long, lanky frame disappear down a wooded path. He strode gracefully, showing the same ease with which he used to walk onto a stage in front of a crowd of fans. He didn’t look like a crazy man.

  But she knew better. And he made her crazy when she was with him.

  She touched her lips and closed her eyes while warm pulsations of remembrance passed through her. Why did he have to kiss her? Why did he have to bring back all the glory and pain and messy, magical moments that used to make each day with him an adventure?

  Why did he have to remind her that she felt none of this savage, dangerous passion with Anthony?

  The thought of her fiancé jolted her into action. She pushed open the screen door and grabbed her purse from the bar. Slipping the strap onto her shoulder, she marched down the steps.

  If Dan wouldn’t take her off this mountain and back to the city, she would do it herself. Rope-soled espadrilles notwithstanding, she would walk to the nearest phone, wherever that was.

  Why hadn’t Anthony just said no when she had called him from the ferry
terminal? As in, I think it’s a lousy idea to spend the day with your old boyfriend. Get the hell back here right now.

  But no, not Anthony. “Sure, babe,” he’d said in his breezy way. “If it’s something you think you need to do, go for it.”

  Part of her wished he had just enough of the caveman left in him to stake his claim. To sling her bodily over his shoulder and take her off to his lair.

  As Dan Black Horse just had.

  But Isabel had to remind herself that Dan’s methods had been worse than primitive; they’d been downright manipulative. Mentioning their lost baby had really hurt.

  She tossed her hair back and continued down the path—if this faint indentation was indeed a path. The cleared area around the lodge gave way to old-growth forest so dense and primitive that she felt like Eve in the Garden of Eden.

  She tried to get her bearings. They had arrived on Dan’s Harley. She still had the grass stains on her hem from the bouncing cross-country ride. But there had to be a path to follow, maybe a logging track or the road the builders had used to haul materials to the lodge.

  Dan had explained that lodge guests would typically arrive by helicopter, landing on the helipad a short hike uphill. That had a lesser environmental impact than clearing the woods for a road.

  Muttering under her breath, she continued down the hill, thinking that if she just kept going down, eventually she would reach the dirt road and then the highway.

  Within half an hour, she had decided that bridal-shower clothes were not appropriate for treks through trackless wilderness.

  In another half hour, she paused to note that the sun was to her left. That was west. Seattle was to the northwest. But another hour after that, she realized the sun was setting, and if anything, she had wandered into even denser woods.

  Finally, to top off a really good day, it began to drizzle.

  The foul word that came out of Isabel surprised even her. The hem of her skirt trailed over a spray of thick fern fronds.

  That is the nokosa plant, said an almost forgotten voice in her mind. Our people use it to heal wounds.