"No," she lied. She'd taught Bruno to shake. He was a fast learner with a fondness for corn chips and jelly beans.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." She picked up the plate. The dog had lapped it clean. Still feeling anxious, she headed to the kitchen and poured Luke a cup of coffee, hoping that would placate him.
He accepted the offer and told her to hurry up and get dressed.
Maggie turned away, then spun back around. "Why did you invite me to go with you this morning?" He'd called at seven, asking if she wanted to meet his mother. The unexpected invitation had nearly stunned her speechless.
"It was my mom's idea."
"Really? She wants to meet me?"
"Why wouldn't she? You're famous."
Maggie's hope deflated. Mrs. Starwind was expecting a celebrity, someone she'd read about in the gossip columns. "You didn't tell her about our agreement, did you?"
"Our agreement? You mean that crazy marriage dare? Of course not. Now put on some clothes so we can get going."
Getting dressed wasn't a simple task. Maggie paced her room, hurt by Luke's indifference. He wasn't taking her seriously. True, daring him to marry her had been a bold proposition, but in the process, she'd offered to heal his heart. Couldn't he see what that really meant? Wasn't it obvious that she cared about him? Short of admitting outright that she'd fallen in love, the marriage dare was the best she could do.
She reached for a sweater, then discarded it onto the bed. Seven outfits later, she still couldn't decide what to wear. Luke's mother wanted to meet the glamorous Maggie Connelly, yet Maggie wanted to present a genuine image, not the heiress the media had created. Then again, if she showed up looking too casual, Mrs. Starwind might be disappointed.
A knock sounded. She opened the door a crack.
Luke peered at her through the narrow space. "Are you okay? It's taking you forever."
She glanced at the clock. Thirty-five minutes had passed. "I'm accessorizing."
He rolled his eyes. "This isn't a fashion show. Just throw on some jeans."
Easy for him to say, she thought. He was ruggedly handsome without the least bit of effort. Scuffed boots and faded Levi's added to his appeal.
Bruno appeared at Luke's feet. Sniffing curiously, he nudged his way into the room, pushing the door wider.
Maggie shot a quick glance over her shoulder and winced. Her bed was filled with designer rejects.
But when she turned back, she saw that Luke wasn't paying attention to her fashion fiasco. His gaze was fixed on her body.
Her robe had come undone, exposing her bra and panties. Maggie froze, struggling to catch her breath. Suddenly the air turned hot and muggy. Silk clung to her skin like steam from a torrid summer rain. Beneath the skimpy bra, her breasts tingled, her nipples rising to taut peaks.
She wanted to kiss Luke, to draw his mouth to hers and devour him. But instead she let him look, hoping he would touch.
He did.
He lifted his hand and rubbed his fingers over her lips. She licked his thumb and watched him shudder.
And then they stared at each other. A stretch of silence ensued, but their gazes never faltered.
Finally he moved his hand to her neck, and then to her robe. When he brought his other hand forward and closed the silk garment, his fingers brushed her nipples.
Deliberately. Accidentally. She wasn't sure.
"Get dressed," he whispered before he turned and walked away.
Maggie leaned against the door, her knees nearly buckling. How was she supposed to emerge from her room acting as if nothing had happened?
* * *
For the next fifteen minutes Luke sat on the sofa staring at the mermaid mural. Because he was tempted to touch the painting, to run his hands over each sensual siren, he tried to think of something casual to say when Maggie came out of her room. Something to douse his desire, something to ease the tension.
But he couldn't focus on anything except the heat running through his veins.
"Are they calling to you?"
"What?" Luke's heart bumped his chest. He turned away from the mural and saw Maggie. He hadn't heard her approach, yet she was there, like an apparition.
"The mermaids. Are they calling to you?"
"Yes," he answered honestly. And so was Maggie. Suddenly his mind was filled with an image of making love to her in the ocean, moonlit water lapping their skin. He could almost feel the warmth, the wetness, the motion of sliding between her legs.
"They called to me, too," she said, lowering herself to the sofa. "One night when I couldn't sleep, I read about mermaid sightings in the nineteenth century. And at dawn I started that mural."
"Who sighted them?" he asked, wondering if she believed the sea creatures were real.
"There are documented accounts from schoolmasters and explorers, but mostly they came from fishermen. In some cases, the mermaids had been caught in herring nets or tangled in fishing wire."
Luke glanced at the mural, then back at Maggie. "Did the fishermen set them free?"
She nodded. "In one instance, on the Isle of Man, they kept a mermaid for three days, but she wouldn't eat or drink, so they released her back into the ocean. They said she was very beautiful, perfectly formed. Above the waist, she resembled a young woman, and below she was a fish, with fins and a huge spreading tale."
"What about mermen?"
"There have been sightings of them, too." She met his gaze, her eyes a clear shade of aqua. "Someday I'm going to paint lovers from the sea. A merman, with a mermaid in his arms."
Luke had to catch his breath. "How will they make love?"
She smoothed her hair, combing her fingers through the golden highlights. She looked long and lean, dressed in jeans and an embroidered blouse that seemed as delicate as dandelions.
"They'll become human. And they'll join the way people do."
"Why will they become human?" he asked, mesmerized by her imagination.
"Because they've been touched by magic."
Luke moistened his lips. "How often will this spell occur?"
"Once a year, but only for an hour. So every time it happens, they'll be frantic for each other."
He pictured them, the enchanted lovers from the sea, tangled in each other's arms, caressing and kissing, their damp bodies feverish with lust. They would make love in the water and then on the shore, stars shimmering in the sky and sand glistening on their skin.
It was, Luke realized, the same fantasy he'd had about Maggie.
He met her gaze and saw his own hunger shining back at him.
They didn't speak, but there didn't seem to be anything to say. Their eyes said it all. They both wanted the same thing.
This was madness, he thought. No matter how seductive, how incredibly erotic Maggie was to him, she wasn't the appropriate lover for a man his age.
"I was seventeen when you were born," he said, suddenly thinking out loud.
She blinked. "What?"
"Nothing. Never mind." He stood, forcing himself to gain his composure. "We better go."
She came to her feet, then tilted her head. "I'm an adult, Luke."
Barely, he thought. She'd taken her first legal drink just the year before, and he'd downed his first legal beer in what seemed like a lifetime ago.
He grabbed his jacket, and Maggie reached for her purse, a tan shoulder bag that matched a pair of snakeskin boots. She'd accessorized all right, right down to the diamond studs winking in her ears and the gold bracelets shining on her wrists. Her jacket was vintage leather, a fringed number from the late sixties. The decade before she'd been born, Luke reminded himself. She had no recollection of hippies, Vietnam or men walking on the moon.
Luke might have been a kid then, but he remembered all of it. That era had been too emotional to forget. Times were turbulent, but his family had been happy.
Feeling oddly nostalgic, he ushered Maggie into the elevator. They reached the parking structure and climbed into his SUV.
&
nbsp; Hours later, they traveled on a country road.
Maggie peered out the window at the barren orchards, the winter wheat fields and the empty pastures going by.
"It's really peaceful here," she said.
"Yeah."
She shifted in her seat and turned to look at him. "It must make you homesick."
"Sometimes." When he reached far enough into the past, he thought, to the years his father and Gwen had still been alive. "But I'm used to the city now. To the traffic and the road noise and all that."
"You've become an urban Indian," she said.
"Maybe, but I haven't forgotten the old ways." He respected what his ancestors believed – that the universe was created for more than just man. Everything had a life force, making a significant contribution to the tangible and intangible world, to the earth and the heavens above. "My dad taught me about the early Cherokee."
"Did he teach you what an early Cherokee wedding was like?" she asked, watching him through her magical eyes.
He almost said no, that his father had never explained a traditional marriage ceremony. But somehow he couldn't lie.
"The wedding takes place in the center of the council house," he explained, "near the sacred fire. A priest prays and the bride and groom exchange gifts. Then they—"
"What kind of gifts?"
"The groom gives the bride venison and a blanket. Nothing a modern girl like you would want," he added, trying to downplay the marriage dare.
"And what does the bride give the groom?" she persisted, undaunted by his comment.
"Corn and a blanket. But she also gives him a black-and-red belt that she made herself, and he puts it on during the ceremony."
"What happens next?"
"They drink from a double-sided wedding vase, then the vase is broken. The broken fragments are returned to Mother Earth, and a white blanket is placed around their shoulders, symbolizing their union. White denotes peace and happiness to the Cherokee."
Maggie sat quietly for a moment. Luke could feel her watching him, so he kept his eyes on the road. He didn't want to think about the wedding he didn't intend to have.
"That sounds like a beautiful ceremony," she said. "I like the idea that both the bride and groom are shrouded in white."
He nodded, then glanced at his shirt, realizing how often he wore black – the color the Cherokee associated with death.
Everything in Luke's world was dark, everything except Maggie Connelly. She was charming her way into his life. And quite frankly, that scared the hell out of him.
He turned onto another country road. "We're almost there," he said. He was bringing Maggie home to meet the only family he had left.
Suddenly that seemed much too significant.
* * *
Chapter 6
«^»
Luke turned into a graveled driveway, then parked beside a cozy old farmhouse. With its flourishing evergreens and Early American charm, it seemed to Maggie too serene to be the location of a kidnapping, yet twenty-seven years before, a child had been taken from there.
She glanced at the house, and for an instant she imagined Gwen kneeling on the porch, playing with paper dolls and a cardboard castle.
Lady Guinevere. Maggie had finally chosen a title for the painting, but she didn't have the courage to tell Luke. He hadn't mentioned the picture since the day he'd first seen it.
"This used to be a dairy farm," he said, interrupting her thoughts. "But that was a long time ago, before my parents bought it."
Rather than respond, she sent him a nervous smile, and he paused to study her. "You seem uncomfortable. Are you worried about meeting my mom?"
"A little," she answered truthfully.
"You don't have to walk on eggshells around her. She doesn't go to parties or social functions, but she can handle having company at home. She isn't crazy. Agoraphobia is an anxiety disorder not a mental illness."
"I never thought she was crazy. I'm just concerned about making a good impression."
"Really? You? The sister of a king?"
"Yes, me." The heiress the media had manufactured. "I might not live up to her expectations."
He reached for the denim jacket he'd tossed in the back seat. "Are you kidding? She already thinks you're special."
Because I'm a celebrity, Maggie thought. Because I was born a Connelly.
They exited the SUV and walked to the back of the house. Luke unlocked the door and they entered through a service porch.
"We're here!" he called out as they proceeded to the kitchen, where the counters were laden with food.
"Oh, my." A woman in a knit pantsuit bustled around the stove.
Maggie assumed she was the housekeeper since Luke hadn't described his mother as a redhead with a teased and sprayed hairdo.
Luke made an introduction. Her name was Nell. She appeared to be in her midsixties, a former waitress with a husky voice and a quick grin. Maggie liked her immediately.
Nell shook her head, spinning the miniature Christmas ornaments dangling at her ears. "You shouldn't bring a guest through the back door, Luke." She flashed her ready smile at Maggie. "Now, isn't that just like a man? Of course, he's a handsome one, so we'll forgive him."
"You must be talking about my son," a softer voice interjected.
All eyes turned to Luke's mother, who had stepped quietly into the room. Dana Starwind stood tall and thin, with silver-gray hair and a smooth complexion. She looked fragile yet strong, her delicate features set amid stunning bone structure. She must have been breathtaking in her day, Maggie thought.
Maggie moved forward, and with mutual interest, they studied each other.
After a proper introduction, the other woman asked, "Did Luke tell you how much I wanted to meet you?"
"Yes, but I hope you don't believe everything that's been written about me."
"You're a graduate student, earning a double major in business and art."
Maggie's pulse quickened. "That part is true." The part most people ignored. The tabloid pictures of her on a yacht in the south of France usually generated the most interest, particularly since her bikini top had come undone – an accident that had been made out to seem like a deliberate, party-girl striptease.
"Dana's an artist, too," Nell said.
"It's a hobby," Dana corrected quickly. "I paint to keep busy. But I saw your work in a magazine. It's exceptional."
And that, Maggie realized, was the reason Luke's mother had been so eager to meet her. Nothing could have pleased her more. "Thank you. I would love to see your work, too."
"Then come to the living room," Dana said with a tinge of shyness. "Nell insists on framing my paintings."
An array of watercolors depicted scenes from nature – flowers blooming in a formal garden, a bowl of lemons in a patch of sunlight, a stream splashing over shimmering rocks. The snowcapped mountains could have been Switzerland, Maggie thought, the vineyards from France, the row of chestnut trees flourishing on Tuscany soil.
"They're all beautiful," she said. Clearly Dana traveled in her mind, creating the world as she imagined it.
Each soul-inspired painting blended with the country charm of the Starwind home. Farm-made furniture complemented historic antiques. Patchwork pillows decorated a pre-Civil War settee, and an old butter churn sat between two straight-back chairs. The entire setting, Maggie thought, brimmed with magic and warmth.
Yet, the absence of family photos told another story. Pictures of Gwen were still too painful to face.
Maggie glanced at Luke. He sat next to his mother. The affection between them was obvious, but so was the ache they shared.
While they made small talk, Nell swept into the adjoining dining room, clearly enjoying her role as the housekeeper. She filled a buffet table with homemade entrées and colorful side dishes.
Proud as a country peacock, she encouraged everyone to eat. Maggie chose a little bit of everything, knowing the feast had been prepared in her honor.
Luke filled his
plate as well. "Nell loves to cook."
As they gathered around a sturdy oak table, Maggie smiled at the redhead. Nell cooked and Dana painted – bobbies that gave the two older women purpose. They seemed like good friends, closer than she had expected them to be.
"Mom and Nell used to work at the same diner," Luke said, as if he'd just read her mind.
"Really?" She shifted her gaze to Dana. "You were a waitress, too?"
She nodded. "But that was forty-five years ago."
"It's also how she met Luke's daddy." Nell fanned herself with a napkin. "Goodness, but was that man a looker."
Dana smiled, her brown eyes shimmering. "I fell instantly in love. Jacob Starwind was a truck driver from North Carolina. He was from the Qualla Boundary, the Cherokee reservation," she clarified. "But he worked for a company that had locations in Winston-Salem, Pittsburgh and Chicago. It was a good-paying job, and he was grateful to have it." She reached for her water and took a small sip. "He traveled all over the United States. And whenever he made a delivery in this area, he'd stop by the diner."
"They caused quite a scandal," Nell put in. "An Indian man and a white woman. This was the fifties, mind you, and interracial relationships were still frowned upon back then."
"That's true." Dana glanced at her longtime friend. "My reputation suffered, but I didn't care. I wanted Jacob more than I ever wanted anything. Nell was the only one who didn't judge me."
Nell waved her hand. "That's because you never judged me." She turned and winked at Maggie. "I had a reputation in those days, too."
"I'll bet you did." She pictured the snappy redhead wearing her uniform a tad too tight and flirting shamelessly with the local farm boys.
"Nell was always around when I was a kid," Luke said. And she was, Maggie realized, the friend Dana had been visiting when Gwen had been kidnapped.
Dana toyed with a three-bean salad. "Eventually the gossip settled down about Jacob and me. He asked me to marry him and had his route changed so he could live here. It was difficult for him to leave the reservation, but in the old days a Cherokee husband would take up residence with his wife's clan. And since my family lived in Illinois, Jacob thought that was the proper thing to do."
CHEROKEE MARRIAGE DARE Page 6
