CHEROKEE MARRIAGE DARE

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Maggie waved to the "royal watcher" from the parking-lot elevator. Bruno snarled until the door closed.

  At the reception desk, Carol had the phone glued to her ear. She gestured toward Luke's office, letting Maggie know he was waiting for her.

  She nodded, removed her coat and gloves, then proceeded to the lion's den.

  Luke was pacing, so she stood silently, allowing him to stalk the perimeter of his cage, hoping he would get the agitation out of his system.

  Finally, he stopped. "A love triangle," he said, spewing the headlines like an expletive.

  Maggie unhooked Bruno's leash, but the dog didn't leave her side. "I don't understand. A triangle implies there's a third party."

  "It says Claudio and I are fighting over you."

  "Really?" She tried not to smile. Claudio Di Salvo, a free-spirited playboy on the international racing circuit, wouldn't dream of fighting over a woman.

  Luke stared her down. "Are you still seeing him?" She managed a casual shrug. "We're still friends, if that's what you mean."

  "What kind of friends?"

  Maggie took a seat, thrilled that Luke appeared jealous of her former lover. She wanted him to feel possessive of her, to think of her as his. "Are you asking me if I still sleep with him?"

  "You know damn well that's what I'm asking."

  She crossed her legs, feigning indifference. Bruno, her faithful companion, chose to lie at her feet. "I don't think that's any of your business."

  "The hell it isn't. I have a right to know just how much of this article is true."

  Maggie picked up the tabloid off his desk and breezed through it. The pictures of her and Luke kissing were plastered across a page, along with a cozy shot of her and Claudio at a casino in Monaco. She read the text, and then went on to check her horoscope. On a whim, she checked Luke's horoscope, too, wondering if their signs were compatible.

  Finally, she looked up, meeting his piercing gaze. "Actually, none of it is true, but Claudio won't mind. He gets a kick out of these sorts of things."

  "Well, hooray for Claudio."

  "Honestly, this is no big deal. My affair with him was quite casual, you know."

  "How European of you," he said, his voice tight and cynical. "But if you don't mind, I'd just as soon not hear the details. I've had enough of Claudio for one day."

  Because you're jealous, she thought. And you're worried that he was better suited to me.

  She closed the tabloid. Claudio had been her first and only lover, and although he had satisfied her physical needs, their relationship had lacked an emotional bond. Maggie craved true intimacy – the kind she hoped Lucas Starwind could give her.

  "I don't sleep around," she said, suddenly concerned about his opinion of her. "And I would never pit one man against another."

  Luke saw the discomfort in her eyes and realized how unfair he was being. "Is that how I made it sound?" He leaned forward. She smelled like flowers, like spring on a winter day. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blame you. I'm just not used to all of this."

  "I know. It's like living in a fishbowl."

  He reached out to touch her cheek, felt the softness of her skin. Was he falling for her? he asked himself. This young, beautiful muse?

  Yes, he thought, drawing his hand back. He was falling down a mountain. Running headlong into a speeding train. And sooner or later he'd end up with emotional scars. How long could he keep a woman like Maggie interested? How much time would pass before she got bored? Before his graying-at-the-temples appeal wore off?

  He went around to the other side of the desk, determined to put a barrier between them. "We better get back to work," he said, forcing himself to focus on business. The Connelly case was going nowhere. Luke had a list of suspects and no substantial leads.

  "Did you talk to your family about Gregor Paulus?" he asked.

  "Yes." She reached for her briefcase, placed it on her lap and opened it. Glancing at her notes, she said, "I wasn't able to reach Princess Catherine. She's the one who probably knows Paulus the best."

  Luke nodded. Princess Catherine, the recent bride of a sheikh, was also Prince Marc's illegitimate daughter. "Where is she?"

  "On a holiday with her husband."

  "Will she be at the coronation rehearsal?" he asked, knowing Maggie and her family would be traveling to Altaria within the next few weeks.

  "Yes. Are you going, Luke?"

  "It depends on what happens with this case. I've got plenty of people keeping an eye on things in Altaria." He scrubbed his hand across his jaw, wishing something would turn up. "Tell me what you learned about Gregor Paulus."

  "Overall, he isn't a very likable man. He's overbearing, so much so that he argues over trivial things. The king intends to fire him after the coronation. Paulus lied about several small domestic matters, and my brother isn't going to put up with that."

  Luke had heard most of this before. "What about Paulus's relationship with Prince Marc?"

  "Prince Marc treated Paulus well, but still considered him an employee, or a servant, if you will. Paulus knew his place, and he never tried to step out-of-bounds where Marc was concerned."

  "So they weren't friends?"

  "No."

  "Was Paulus your uncle's confidant?"

  "Maybe. No one is sure what they discussed in private. Of course, Princess Catherine might be able to tell us something pertinent, but she isn't available for an interview right now."

  "Then we'll wait."

  "Who else is on your list of suspects?" she asked.

  He conjured a mental image of the names imbedded in his brain. He counted them like sheep before nodding off to sleep each night. "The security personnel at the Rosemere Institute, the scientists who discovered the cancer virus, the owner of the Altarian textile mill that manufactured the lace. And besides Gregor Paulus, there's a slew of people employed in the royal service who could have discovered that Prince Marc was associated with the mob."

  "But you have a hunch about Paulus?"

  "I suppose you could call it that." Luke leaned back in his chair. "What do you think of him, Maggie? What's your gut instinct?"

  She blinked, shuffled her notes, then smoothed her skirt. Nervous, he thought. Or embarrassed that she didn't have an opinion of one of their key suspects.

  "I never paid much attention to him."

  "I see." He brought his hands together, forming a steeple. "And what do you think his observation of you would be?"

  "That I'm rich and spoiled. That the only things that matter to me are designer clothes, fast cars and good-looking men."

  Intrigued, he watched her hair spill over her shoulders. "Why would he think that about you?"

  "Because that's my reputation," she answered simply.

  Luke had to admit that her reputation was easy to believe. Or it had been before he'd started spending time with her. Now he didn't know what to think.

  "You shouldn't work here anymore," he said.

  She frowned at him. "You can't take me off this case. You—"

  "I'm not. But you can assist me without coming into the office every day. You're causing too much of a stir. Pretty soon the other tenants are going to start complaining about all the photographers hanging around." And she was, he thought, a nine-to-five distraction he didn't need.

  "Take the rest of the day off," he told her. "I'll come by tonight to help you reorganize your home office."

  "This isn't fair."

  He ignored her protest. "I'll bring your files. I've got plenty of work to keep you busy. You can follow up on Tom's old notes. Maybe he stumbled upon something I missed. Something besides the information that got him killed."

  "But I like working here. I like being around you and Carol."

  She pouted, and Luke realized how young she really was, how headstrong yet vulnerable. He worried she might cry. He didn't think he could handle that, so he gave her a stern look, hoping it would rile a temper rather than tears. "Don't fight me on this, Maggie."


  She made a face at him and grabbed her coat. Outside, the weather turned damp. Suddenly he could hear a gush of rain.

  "You're going to miss me, Lucas Starwind. It's going to be boring around here without me."

  She dropped her gloves. He picked them up and handed them to her. He didn't doubt for a minute that he'd miss her. And that was exactly why he was shooing her away. [He didn't like the idea that she had become so important in his life.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  «^»

  Maggie told herself not to cry, but as rain pounded against her windshield, tears flooded her eyes. If she lost the dare, she would lose Luke.

  Sniffing like a heartbroken teenager, she steered her car down a water-slicked highway. Bruno sat beside her, patient and gentle as a lamb. She couldn't imagine life without the big dog. Or a day without Luke.

  Damn him. He was pushing her away, closing himself off, shielding his heart from what he was afraid to feel. And there didn't seem to be anything Maggie could do about it. Except bawl like a baby.

  Hours later, she arrived on Dana Starwind's doorstep, dripping with rain and wiping her nose.

  "Oh, honey." Dana ushered her inside, then gasped when Bruno tromped in as well.

  "He won't hurt you. He's my bodyguard."

  "He certainly looks big enough for the job." She paused to study the rain-sodden pair. "Let's get both of you dried off."

  While Dana removed Maggie's coat and wrapped her in an oversize towel, Bruno watched with interest. When the older woman knelt, the dog lifted his paw to shake her hand. She smiled, took his muddy foot and wiped it clean. Like an expectant child, he offered his other paw, then allowed her to go to work on his back feet.

  They proceeded to the kitchen where meatballs simmered in a pot of sauce. The scent of garlic, oregano and basil danced through the air. A loaf of Italian bread sat on the counter.

  Nell came in from the pantry, took one look at Maggie's red-rimmed eyes and began preparing meatball sandwiches with slabs of mozzarella melting in the center. It seemed as though she believed a home-cooked meal had the power to comfort a saddened heart.

  Bruno sat in a toasty corner, sniffing and hoping for his share. But he didn't need to wait long. Nell fed everyone, including the dog.

  They gathered around a small fifties-style table in the kitchen, dripping sauce on a vinyl tablecloth and drinking colas spiked with grenadine. It was, Maggie decided, food for the soul.

  After their meal she helped the women clean up. There was no automatic dishwasher. They accomplished the task with a sinkful of suds, rubber gloves and two checkerboard-print towels.

  No one asked why she had been crying. Instead they welcomed her into a routine that made her feel as if she belonged there. She still sported the chic designer suit she'd worn to the office that morning, but that didn't seem to matter. Maggie was one of them. She was part of Luke's family.

  A short while later, while Nell retired in an easy chair with a book, and Bruno dozed on a carpet by the hearth, Dana took Maggie to the room she used as a studio.

  A braided area rug padded the floor, and a blank canvas rested on a lone easel, waiting for a stroke of color.

  Maggie glanced at the eyelet curtains. And because she felt a softness, a gentleness in the air, she sensed this room had once belonged to Gwen.

  Dana crossed to a wood shelf and brought back a handful of tiny figures.

  "Luke made them," she said.

  Maggie reached for one and studied it. Fine and smooth, the stone carving depicted a howling wolf, its head tipped to the sky. "It's beautiful."

  "They're all wolves." Dana held them protectively. "They represent the A-ni-wa-ya, the Cherokee clan Luke's father belonged to. In the old days, the Wolf Clan raised wolves, training the pups like dogs."

  "When did Luke make these?"

  "Years ago, when he was a boy."

  Before Gwen died. Maggie realized. "What was he like back then?"

  Dana smiled. "He loved being outdoors. He had a horse named Pepper, and he would ride through the fields, whooping and hollering. He was tall for his age, and his hair was long, just past his shoulders."

  Maggie pictured him, the boy who carved wolves, racing in the wind, scents and sounds from the earth stirring his young, vibrant soul. She could even hear his laughter, the freedom that rang from his chest.

  "You're the first girl he's brought home since high school."

  Startled, Maggie looked up. "I am?"

  "Yes." Dana placed the wolves back on the shelf, then closed Maggie's hand around the one she held, silently telling her to keep it. "I know there have been women in his life, sexual partners, I suppose. But he's never mentioned a name or brought anyone here. I gave up on the idea of becoming a grandmother long ago."

  Suddenly the wolf in Maggie's hand felt warm and alive. She brought it next to her heart. "I dared him to marry me."

  Now it was Dana's turn to startle. "Oh, my. How did he react to that?"

  "He accepted the dare, but only because he doesn't think I can win. I made him promise that he had to many me if I could make him stop hurting."

  Luke's mother glanced at the window. Rain slashed against the glass, pounding in a steady stream. "He doesn't want to stop hurting, does he?"

  "No. Your son blames himself for everything bad that's ever happened. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders."

  "Because of Gwen," Dana said softly. "Did he tell you about her?"

  "Yes." And she had painted the little girl without knowing it. She had created an image of Gwen with the winged horse that had taken her to heaven.

  "Luke loved her so much. He was such a good big brother. He would have given his life for her." The other woman paused and a breath shuddered through her. She met Maggie's gaze, a gray light filtering between them. "But, then, that's what happened, isn't it? Somewhere along the way, he did stop living."

  "So did you, Dana."

  "I—" Her excuse faded, and she sighed. Twisting her hands together, she glanced at the blank canvas. "You won't give up on us, will you, Maggie?"

  "No," she promised. "I won't give up."

  Both women stood silently then, listening to the down-pour and wishing for a rainbow.

  * * *

  At 12:00 a.m. Maggie entered the parking structure below her loft and saw Luke's SUV. Surprised, she took the elevator to the first floor and unlocked her door, wondering why he was there at this hour and why he'd finally made use of the key she'd given him.

  Bruno went in ahead of her and got her attention, leading her to the couch. Luke was sprawled across it, fast asleep. His holstered gun, a weapon that seemed out of place in her artistically designed home, sat on the engraved coffee table.

  Maggie moved closer. Luke looked hard and strong, even in repose. His hair fell in an inky-black line across his forehead, and shadows cut across his face, defining his rugged features. His shirt was partially untucked and he'd removed his boots, but his belt was buckled, his jeans zipped. They were an old, faded pair of Levi's, fraying at the seams.

  Unable to stop herself, she smoothed his hair.

  He jerked and came awake.

  "Maggie?" He squinted at her. "What time is it?"

  "After midnight."

  "Damn." He sat up. "I didn't mean to sleep that long. I just closed my eyes for a second."

  "That's okay. What are you doing here?"

  "I brought the files by after work, but you weren't here, so I left them." He rolled his shoulders and tucked in his faded denim shirt. "I went home, but when you didn't return my messages, I came back."

  She wanted to stroke his cheek, but she knew he wouldn't understand the tender gesture. She kept seeing him as his mother had described him – young and beautifully free. "You were worried about me?"

  He shrugged. "I figured you were visiting a friend or something, but I wanted to be sure. It was raining pretty hard."

  "Why didn't you try my cell?"

  "I did.
And your car phone, too. You didn't answer."

  "Oh." She dug through her purse and flipped open her phone. The battery, as usual, was dead. "I guess I forgot to charge it." And she hadn't thought to check her car phone for messages. She wasn't used to having people fret over her. Her family had accepted her independence long ago.

  "You have to be more careful, Maggie."

  "Bruno was with me."

  "I know. But still, it really bugged me when I couldn't reach you."

  She sat beside him on the couch, her heart swelling. "Thank you." She touched his arm and felt the hard-earned muscle beneath his sleeve. "It matters that you care."

  He frowned, intensifying the lines at the corners of his eyes. "You're my responsibility until this case is solved."

  He couldn't say, it, she thought. He couldn't admit that he cared, not even a little.

  Maggie watched as he picked up the 9mm, reached behind him and clipped it to the back of his belt. She didn't want to be his responsibility; at least not in the way he meant it. But, then, he was a former Special Forces soldier. It was his nature to keep a level head, to focus on whatever mission he had been given. And at the moment her safety was part of his assignment.

  "Will you stay here tonight?" she asked, not wanting to let him go. "You can sleep in one of the guest rooms, and in the morning I'll fix breakfast. I cook a pretty mean omelette."

  "No. I can't."

  "Can't or won't?"

  "It isn't a good idea." He grabbed his boots and shoved them on. They were as timeworn as his jeans. "Us sleeping under the same roof." He tied the laces on his boots, knotting them twice.

  She watched him, imagining his hands on her body, his heart beating next to hers. "I fantasize about you," she said. "When I'm lonely, I touch myself and think about you."

  She heard his breath catch, and the reality of her words hit. She had just told him her deepest, most intimate secret. Instantly shamed, she hugged herself for comfort, wanting to die a thousand deaths.

  She felt herself blush, knowing two rosy spots colored her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I—"