CHEROKEE BABY

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  "Hey." Giving in to the need to touch, he leaned forward and lifted her chin, encouraging her to look at him. "I don't mind being your friend, Julianne."

  She blinked, smiled. "You're a good man, Bobby."

  He pulled his hand back. "Michael says that to me, too." But it felt different coming from her. It felt like even more of a lie.

  They finished their lunch and cleaned up, working quietly. Bobby squinted at the sky, at a hawk soaring above the trees.

  Julianne walked over to Caballero. "Is it a two-hour ride down the hill?"

  "We're going down the same way we came up," he said by way of an explanation.

  She made a face. "My butt's going to be really sore later, isn't it?"

  He checked out her cute little rear and nodded. Strange how she could make him emotional one minute and humor him the next. "I suspect. Some folks do complain about their butts afterward."

  She heaved herself onto the gelding. "I guess this is nothing for a former rodeo cowboy. What event did you compete in?"

  He finished packing his horse. "Bareback."

  "Is that where you get bucked around without a saddle?"

  Humored once again, he grinned. She was already favoring her rear, wriggling in her seat. "That's about the size of it."

  "And you deliberately chose that as your profession?"

  "I surely did." He watched her grimace through another city-slicker wriggle. "You could schedule a massage later," he suggested. "And soak in the whirlpool."

  "Or I could tough it out like a true cowgirl." She pushed her heels down, settling into her stirrups. "Will I see you tonight, Bobby? Maybe at dinner?"

  "I don't think so. I'm going to turn in early. I've got some business in San Antonio over the next few days. I'll probably be heading out before dawn."

  "So when will I see you again?" she asked.

  "At your party," he told her. "I won't miss your birthday, Julianne."

  "Are you going to bring someone?"

  He mounted his horse, tried to act casual. "No. I think I'll go alone."

  "I'm always alone." When a strand of hair blew across her face, she shifted the reins to free her hand, to tuck the fiery locks behind her ear. "I haven't dated since the divorce. It's just not that easy."

  He chose not to comment, not to admit that he knew how she felt.

  Side by side, they started across the grass, heading for the trail back to the barn. As a stream of silence ensued, a butterfly winged by, reminding Bobby of his borrowed time with Sharon, of summer days, colorful flowers and shattered dreams.

  "Maybe you could be my date for the party," Julianne said.

  Bobby's pulse quickened. Suddenly he ached for what she was offering. A romantic evening with a pretty lady. Flirtatious conversation. A sip of wine. A long, lingering kiss.

  He glanced her way and saw that she watched him with shy anticipation.

  "Sure, I could do that," he said.

  What harm was there in being her date?

  In pretending, just for one night, that he was still the man he used to be.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  «^»

  The Corral, a shabby-chic bar, presented sawdust floors, rustic oak tables, a collection of pool tables and a small bandstand. A trio of female singers belted out familiar country tunes as cocktail waitresses squeezed through the Saturday-night clientele, delivering drinks and ready smiles.

  Julianne sat at a crowded table, sipping a glass of wine and looking around. Kay and Mern had invited the other Elk Ridge Ranch guests and some of the staff to her party.

  Everyone was here, toasting her with well wishes. Everyone except Bobby, the man who'd promised not to miss her birthday.

  Disappointed, Julianne watched the door. Was he merely late? Or had he decided not to be her date, after all?

  Glancing across the room at the dance floor, she spotted Jim Robbins and his wife stomping and clapping to the music. Jim was the friendly fellow who'd startled her and Bobby on the porch that first day.

  Another couple, much younger and much hipper than Jim and his wife, laughed when they all missed the same line-dance step.

  She reached for her wine and glanced at the door again.

  And then she saw him.

  Bobby entered the bar, carrying a single white rose. She excused herself from the table and went to greet him.

  For a moment they just gazed at each other.

  "Happy birthday," he said, handing her the rose.

  "Thank you."

  "I'm sorry I'm late. I just got back from San Antonio."

  "That's okay." He was here now, looking strong and stylish in a chain-stitched Western shirt, a tooled leather belt and a pair of crisp jeans. Beneath a tan-colored Stetson, he wore his hair in a single braid down the center of his back. She couldn't help but wonder how long his hair was when it was loose. Or how it would feel to run her fingers through the inky blackness.

  The band took a break, leaving the bar quieter than it had been. Quiet enough for romance, Julianne thought.

  What would Bobby do if she stole a kiss? If she pressed her mouth to his?

  They were practically strangers. Two people barely acquainted. Yet everything about him intrigued her, stirring her interest.

  Her desire.

  Once again their eyes met and they gazed at each other, silence looming between them.

  Julianne moistened her lips and Bobby released a choppy breath. They stood near the door, not quite blending into her party.

  "I can't remember the last time a man brought me a flower," she said.

  "Really?"

  She nodded. "It's been years. I'm not sure how many."

  He broke eye contact, cleared his throat. "When I was a kid, my paternal grandmother used to talk about the legend of the Cherokee rose."

  She lowered the flower, pressing the petals against her heart. "Will you tell me about it?"

  He moved a little closer, then adjusted his hat in a gesture she'd seen him do more than once. "Over a hundred and fifty years ago, the Cherokee were forced to migrate when gold was discovered on their land. The journey was called the Trail of Tears."

  "I've heard of that." A snippet from a childhood history class that hadn't mattered until now.

  He sighed, repeating a tale he'd obviously been weaned on. "It was a long, brutal trek. They traveled during the winter, sleeping in wagons or on the frozen ground without any means to keep warm. Nearly half of the people died from the hardship, making the women, the young mothers, weep. But the elders knew the women needed to stay strong for their children, so they called upon the One Who Lives Above to help."

  As Bobby continued, Julianne kept the flower against her heart, sensing its importance.

  "The One Who Lives Above created a plant to spring up everywhere a mother's tears had fallen. A white rose, with gold in the center, representing what they'd lost."

  Silent, she listened, mesmerized by the emotion in his voice.

  "The roses grew along the Trail of Tears, and the stickers on the Stems protected these special plants from those who tried to uproot them. Soon, the women became strong once again, knowing their children would flourish in the new Cherokee Nation."

  "That's a beautiful story."

  "I always thought so, too." He leaned into her. "Look inside your rose, Julianne."

  She glanced down and saw a glint of gold in the center of the white bloom. "Oh, my." Reaching for the hidden treasure, she discovered a delicate bracelet, a simple, serpentine chain.

  "Thank you, Bobby. It's perfect." He'd given her a piece of himself, she thought. A legend. A gift from his ancestry. "Will you help me put in on?"

  He clasped the bracelet around her wrist, and she considered hugging him, pressing her body to his, breathing in his scent, losing herself in the man she wanted.

  In the danger, in the excitement, of an affair.

  Tonight was her only chance, the last opportunity she had to fulfill her fantasy, to summon the c
ourage to invite him to her bed.

  She'd even groomed herself for a potential seduction, for a slow, sweet, sexual night. Beneath a slim black dress, she wore thigh-high stockings, wispy panties and the see-through bustier she'd accidentally dropped at Bobby's feet nearly a week ago.

  "Do you play?" he asked.

  She blinked, felt her pulse jump to her throat. "Play?"

  "Pool." He motioned to the back of the bar. "There's a free table. Should we claim it before someone else does?"

  She glanced over her shoulder, in the direction he indicated. "Truthfully, I don't play all that well. But I'm more than willing to try."

  "I can help you."

  "Okay. I'll just get my wine." And let her cousins know she was spending the rest of the evening with Bobby.

  As he headed toward the billiards area, Julianne told Mern and Kay her news, which they saluted with thumbs-up smiles, boosting her courage.

  Anxious to return to her cowboy, she joined Bobby at the pool table, where he racked the balls.

  "I think you should break," he said.

  Julianne shook her head. "No. You go ahead."

  "I want you to do it."

  "All right." She set her belongings on a nearby ledge and reached for a pool cue, chalking the end because it seemed like the right thing to do. Her knowledge of the game was more than limited.

  She aimed the stick at the white ball and sent it rolling into the triangle of numbered balls, barely scattering them. "I told you I wasn't very good at this."

  "That's okay. I'll rerack and you can try again. Only this time, I'll help."

  And help he did. He rolled up his sleeves, critiqued the way she held the cue, and then repositioned her, giving advice she was determined to follow.

  This time, she crashed through the balls, sending them in a variety of directions.

  She turned to smile at him and he grinned back at her.

  "Keep going," he said.

  "Isn't it your turn?"

  He shrugged. "We don't have to play by the rules."

  "That sounds good to me." After all, this was her night to break free, to teeter on the edge. To make turning forty a wild, wondrous experience.

  "Take your time," he coached.

  Julianne studied the table and started to go after what she thought was a logical shot. But when she glanced up at Bobby, he shook his head.

  "Try it this way instead."

  As he explained where to hit the ball and what pocket it should land in, he leaned into her.

  His fly bumped her rear and for a second they both froze. Julianne tried to concentrate on his direction, to stay focused on the game.

  But she couldn't.

  He smelled like the wind, like a warm, dark, summer night. He lowered his body, just enough to bring his face closer to hers.

  "You need to imagine the cue ball touching the ball you want to pot," he said.

  Because the front of his jeans were still pressed against her bottom, she wondered if he was getting aroused. His breathing was raspy, she noticed, his voice rough.

  "Does that make sense to you?" he asked.

  The hair on his arm tickled hers and goose bumps raced up her spine. "Yes."

  "Good." He stayed right where he was, his body molded to hers. "Do you want to give it a go?"

  Julianne nodded, and he moved away, but not abruptly. He took his time, running his hands down her waist and over her hips. Slowly. Gently. Almost provocatively.

  He was aroused, she decided. He had to be.

  A little dizzy, she took her shot. And made it.

  Stunned, she rose to look at him. And for a moment, neither spoke. They simply smiled at each other.

  Soft, flirtatious smiles.

  "I just might cream you," she said.

  "Really?" His smile deepened. "We'll have to see about that."

  They played four games and he beat her every time. But nonetheless, Julianne gave him a run for his money, making faces at him, batting her lashes, teasing him like a teenager in heat.

  He teased her right back, clearly enjoying every minute of her fortieth birthday, of the sexual innuendoes sizzling between them.

  Getting creamed had taken on a whole new meaning.

  "Had enough?" he asked. The rest of the partygoers, including her cousins, had left over an hour ago, leaving them alone in the quietening bar.

  "Have you?" She finished the last of her wine and flicked a peanut at him.

  She wasn't tipsy and neither was he, but they seemed a little drunk. Naturally intoxicated.

  "I think I should take you back to the lodge and tuck you into bed."

  Her heart jumped. "Oh, yeah?"

  "Yeah. After all, you are an old lady. And old ladies need their sleep."

  "Wanna bet?" She tossed a pretzel this time. It flew past him and landed on the pool table, sliding into a corner pocket.

  They looked at each other and burst out laughing. That was the best shot she'd made all night.

  A few minutes later she gathered her jacket, her purse and the rose he'd given her.

  She intended to let him take her back to her room. But when he put her to bed, she was going to do her damnedest to keep him there.

  * * *

  Bobby parked his truck in front of the lodge and cut the engine. Julianne sat next to him, quieter than she'd been all night.

  But then, the evening was nearly over and he suspected she hated to see it end. He certainly did. He couldn't recall the last time he'd had so much fun.

  Flirtatious fun. Barroom fun.

  He looked at Julianne and felt his groin tighten.

  Sexual fun. The thrill of a man and a woman recognizing a mutual attraction and acting on it. Just a little, just enough to make them anticipate a long, lust-driven kiss.

  She sighed and gazed out the windshield. "The stars are so pretty."

  He glanced at the sky, but only for a second. He was more interested in gazing at her, at taking in every feminine detail. Her hair, that bewitching red mane, fell in loose waves. Curled, he supposed, with a wand or an iron or some sort of heat-activated device. Because he enjoyed watching women primp, he wondered about the glossy lip-sticks, shimmering powders and scented lotions Julianne used.

  "You're prettier than the stars," he said.

  She turned to look at him and he realized how foolish he sounded, like a guy trying to spout poetry.

  "I'm sorry. That was goofy."

  "No, it wasn't." She fidgeted with the strap on her purse. "It was nice."

  Bobby merely nodded. Was she waiting for him to kiss her? She seemed nervous. Sort of girlish and fluttery.

  Hell, he was nervous, too. Anxious about leaning over, covering her mouth, tasting her with his tongue.

  "I had a good time," he said, stalling a bit, taking a minute to ease into the kiss they both wanted.

  "So did I."

  She smiled and he released a shuddering breath, trapped by the softness in her voice, the hardness beneath his fly.

  He was aroused. So damn aroused and trying to convince himself he could handle it.

  He'd pretended half the night that the slow, intimate touches and quick, verbal foreplay hadn't been driving him crazy.

  And now he was stuck with a bulging zipper. Bobby removed his hat and tossed it into the extended cab. He would get this damn kiss over with and go home and take a cold shower.

  These days, he knew how to freeze his hormones. He met Julianne's gaze. She just sat, watching him, waiting.

  Determined to do this as quickly and painlessly as possible, he leaned into her. In turn, she wet her lips and leaned into him.

  Then it happened. Their mouths came together. Warm and moist.

  She made a sweet, soft sound and suddenly he forgot about rushing through it. Instead he lost himself in the sensation, in the flavor of a woman.

  This woman, he thought.

  Sliding his hands through her hair, he deepened the kiss, let the hunger, the need, wash over him. The feeling
shot through his veins and caressed his loins.

  Their tongues circled, dancing like fire. He licked the inside of her mouth and she made that sound again, that soft, girlish moan.

  She took his hands and moved them to the front of her dress, offering him the top button. Without thinking, he loosened it, along with two more, and lowered his head to nuzzle between her breasts.

  He saw a hint of sheer lace, a small swell of cleavage. But that wasn't enough. He tugged until he found a nipple, until he was rooted, kissing and tasting.

  She held him there, touching his face, watching him suckle, encouraging him to do so even harder.

  U-di-le-ga, was all he could think. Heat. Sweet, sweet warmth.

  A shiver racked his spine. A volcano burst in his chest, working its way down the center of his body.

  If this went on much longer, they'd both be immersed in hot, boiling lava.

  Or heaven help him, his seed.

  Struck by that mortifying revelation, Bobby pulled back and dragged a gust of air into his lungs.

  He couldn't let that happen. Not now. Not like this.

  He gripped the steering wheel, damning his self-control. He was forty-two, not fourteen. And he knew better.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "Nothing. I just … we…" He paused, took another breath. "We're behaving like a couple of kids."

  "We're allowed. Besides, I'm leaving in the morning."

  He gazed at the front of her rumpled dress. It would be so easy to pull her onto his lap and rub himself against her. So easy to let the volcano erupt.

  "Come to my room, Bobby. Stay with me tonight."

  He lifted his gaze. Oh, God. Dear God.

  He wanted to. So help him, he did.

  But he couldn't. If he undressed, she would see him. His cone-shaped stump and the prosthesis attached to it.

  And if she didn't cringe and turn away, she would ask questions he couldn't bear to answer.

  Questions about the night he'd lost his leg. The night he'd killed his wife.

  "Julianne." He looked into her eyes, did his damnedest to pretend he was refusing for her sake. "It's not a good idea. You barely know me."

  She blinked and grabbed the front of her dress, buttoning it hastily. "I didn't … I don't usually…" Her voice disintegrated, as fragile as a winter leaf. "You're right. I should have known better."