TYCOON WARRIOR

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Dakota leaned against a tree as they poured the concrete. After the barricades were placed, he and Aaron would discuss another construction matter with the crew, but only for the sake of their cover. The American diplomat and the retired air force lieutenant would remain at the scene to protect the Lone Star jewels one last time.

  A small breeze billowed Dakota's jacket. Within days the pool would be filled, and only those who had made a vow to the Texas Cattleman's Club would know that three priceless gems lay beneath the reflection of Tex Langley's statue.

  * * *

  Kathy knew she was alone. Dakota had left the ranch in the wee hours of the morning. The master bedroom was next to hers, and she'd heard his shower running at an ungodly hour.

  Squinting at the sunlight streaming through the windows, she slipped on her robe, then stepped into the hall. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed Dakota's door was slightly ajar.

  She had no right to enter the master bedroom, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. Immediately the bed drew her toward it. She ran her hand along the wood and imagined Dakota sleeping there, his long muscular body tangled in the sheets. He was a light sleeper, a man who always seemed to have something on his mind.

  The room looked the same. He'd kept it just the way she had decorated it. The horse weather vane still stood atop a Chippendale desk, the window valances still matched the fabric on the canopy bed and a hand-painted dresser displayed a collection of Indian baskets and crystal candelabras.

  Kathy released a shaky breath. Still scanning the dresser, she noticed a familiar item was missing. A framed photograph. A picture of herself and Dakota on their wedding day. She moved closer and reached for the top drawer. Had he buried it beneath his clothes? Or had he destroyed it?

  "What are you looking for?"

  Caught in the act, Kathy froze, her fingers wrapped around the brass handle. "I apologize," she said as she turned toward him. "I shouldn't have come in here."

  He stood, tall and rigid in black jeans, leather boots and a lightweight jacket. The brim of a cowboy hat shielded his eyes, but she knew they were fixed on her.

  "I asked what you were looking for."

  He made her feel like a criminal, the woman who had once shared this room with him, slept in the canopy bed, kept her undergarments folded in the drawer she had been opening. "I wondered where our picture was," she answered honestly.

  He jutted his chin toward the dresser. "It's in there. I couldn't look at it. Not every day."

  "I'm sorry," Kathy whispered, not knowing what else to bay. His tone was guarded, but pain edged his words. She knew she owed him an explanation, yet she didn't know where to begin.

  Neither spoke after that, and Kathy felt the room closing in. She glanced back at the dresser and imagined their picture hidden beneath his clothes. It made her sad and guilty. He deserved better than a woman who had just walked away, a woman who couldn't bring herself to admit why she had left. But the loss of their child and the loneliness she had suffered wasn't something she could put into words. It wasn't fair, but it made her realize that she and Dakota had never really been friends. Their courtship had been a whirlwind romance based on passion, not communication. And their marriage had been much the same.

  Dakota followed her gaze to the dresser. "I don't burn candles anymore. I don't know why I still keep them around."

  She understood his meaning. Their wedding picture used to sit between the crystal candelabras, and they used to make love by candlelight, touch and kiss while blue and gold flames sent shadows flickering across their skin.

  "I'm sorry," she said again. Sorry that she had hurt him. Sony they hadn't been able to share more than just their bodies. But she knew he hid his deepest emotions. She had seen him laugh, but she had never seen him cry. Not even at his father's funeral.

  He tossed his hat onto the bed. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to sound so harsh earlier. I just didn't expect to come home and find you in my room."

  She wasn't sure whether to leave him alone or stay and talk. He still seemed guarded, yet his tone had softened, his apology sincere. "You left while it was still dark."

  "Texas Cattleman's Club meeting." He unzipped his jacket, then dragged a hand through his hair. "We secured the jewels."

  And he seemed unsettled, she thought, a little edgy. But hiding the jewels meant the mission was truly over and he had become an out-of-work soldier again, a man without a purpose. Staying home never suited Dakota, and that was one of the reasons Kathy had left. She had wanted some normalcy in their marriage, but he had been satisfied with their whirlwind relationship, with stealing moments between his never-ending missions.

  "Are you sure it's okay for me to stay here?" she asked, wondering if it had been a mistake.

  "Of course, it's okay."

  He came toward her, so close she could smell the wind on his clothes, the fading scent of his aftershave. She lifted her face to his and wondered if he was going to kiss her. If he did, she would kiss him back. She could feel the sexual magnet, the energy that drew them together. They couldn't talk, but they could touch. Yearn for each other.

  He toyed with the collar of her chenille robe. "What happened to the silky one?"

  "I didn't think I should wear it around you."

  He moistened his lips. "Afraid I wouldn't be able to control myself?"

  She swallowed. "It's been known to happen." He was too tall, too dark, too dangerously handsome. His mouth was inches from hers, his breath warm. He would taste like the elements, she decided, like a warrior who belonged to the night.

  He skimmed her cheek with his, then stepped back and grinned. "So you decided to wear this grandma getup instead?"

  For a moment Kathy only stared. He'd gone from brooding to sexy to silly within the blink of an eye. And she remained in a daze, waiting for him to kiss her. She lifted her hand to her face, to the spot he'd just touched. "Grandma getup?"

  "Yep. You look cute, though. Kinda sweet and fuzzy."

  She couldn't find it within herself to return his smile. He teased her, but the humor hadn't quite reached his eyes. They were black, with a sort of feverish glow. He was aroused and pretending he wasn't. If she bumped against his fly, she'd feel the evidence of his desire. This was her punishment for invading his room, she thought. She should have stayed away.

  He stepped back even farther. "Kathy?"

  "Yes?"

  "I danced with other women at the Texas Cattleman's Club ball. It was months ago, but I just thought I should mention it. You know I'm not one for fancy social events, but I felt more or less obligated to be there."

  "And you felt obligated to dance." She tried to keep her voice steady. She had no right to be jealous. She had, after all, walked out on him. "It doesn't matter, Dakota. You didn't do anything wrong."

  "Have you danced with other men?"

  She sent him a twisted smile. "I danced with Payune. Remember?"

  He didn't seem amused. "That's not what I mean."

  "There were political functions in Washington. I suppose I danced a few times." But she couldn't remember who her partners were. "I don't understand why you brought this up."

  "Because you've lived alone for three years. And I keep thinking that there must have been men interested in you. Someone must have asked you on a date."

  The look in his eyes startled her. The macho, possessive glare. She had already told him that she hadn't slept with anyone, but apparently he couldn't stand the image of her even having dinner with another man. "I didn't go on any dates."

  His gaze softened. "So what did you do?"

  "Worked." Came home to an empty apartment and thought about her husband, wondered what he was doing, wondered if his next assignment would be a greater risk than the last, if he would be captured or killed. "I adopted a dog."

  "Really? That's great."

  "I'm glad you think so because I'm picking Sugar up at the airport tomorrow. A friend from Washington is putting her on a plane for me."


  "Sugar? That's your dog's name?"

  Kathy nodded. "She belonged to an elderly lady who lived in my building. And when Mrs. Leone died, I just sort of inherited her dog. But Sugar is a little angel. I adore her." The Maltese had gotten her through some sad and lonely times, making her separation from Dakota bearable. "Six loves everyone. And she's quiet. You won't even know she's around."

  "Your dog is welcome here, Kathy. You have to stop acting like you're putting me out. I invited you, remember? We agreed to be friends."

  "Yes, friends," she said, wondering if that was truly possible.

  * * *

  The following day Kathy returned from the airport with the Maltese in tow. She walked into the living room, and Dakota looked up from his newspaper and smiled.

  The dog was pretty much what he had expected. Little old ladies had lapdogs that wore bows on top of their heads, and Kathy had inherited Sugar from a little old lady. He had to admit the pooch was cute – silky white fur and a face with round eyes and a delicate muzzle. He figured the Maltese didn't weigh any more than four or five pounds.

  Placing the paper on the coffee table, he came to his feet "So this is Sugar?" He reached out to pet the dog and received a high-pitched doggie yip in return.

  Kathy's head whipped up. "What happened?"

  "I don't know." Dakota nearly stammered. "I guess she's scared or something."

  "But she likes people." Kathy adjusted Sugar in her arms. "She never acts that way."

  "She just got off a plane, and this is a new environment. Hell, she's bound to be nervous."

  "I suppose you're right." Kathy stroked the dog's head. "Maybe I should put her down and let her get used to the place."

  Sugar decided she liked the couch. She curled up on a cowhide pillow, and Dakota thought she looked like a toy – a little, white fluffball on his rugged sofa. Yep, she was cute, even if he thought hair bows on canines were kind of sissy. But this one was a female, so he supposed that was okay.

  He inched closer, then knelt to let the dog sniff his hand.

  Sugar bared her teeth and snarled.

  Caught completely off guard, Dakota jerked back, lost his balance and landed flat on his startled butt.

  Behind him, Kathy gasped. "Oh, my God! Are you all right?"

  "Of course, I am."

  "Did she bite you?"

  "No." With as much masculine pride as he could muster, he stood and squared his shoulders. He outweighed Sugar by a good hundred and eighty pounds. And he was an ex-military man trained in survival tactics. A former para rescuer who flew planes into enemy territory, rescued hostages, defused mines, tracked gunrunners across the desert. He had done it all, in and out of the service.

  "I wasn't expecting her to snarl at me," he said, explaining away the humiliation.

  "I'm so sorry. She's never done that to anyone before." Kathy reprimanded Sugar, and the dog dropped her ears and whined, making Dakota feel like a heel.

  "I'm sure it won't happen again," she told him.

  "Don't worry about it." He met Kathy's gaze, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "Don't you dare laugh," he warned.

  "Why would I?" she asked, a bit too innocently.

  "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because your little dog knocked me on my ass."

  "You should have seen yourself, Dakota."

  Her lip quivered, and they both burst into laughter. But when footsteps sounded in the entryway, Kathy sobered immediately.

  "That must be Mrs. Miller," she said.

  Dakota nodded. He knew Kathy and the housekeeper hadn't seen each other yet, but he figured they were about to. Mrs. Miller would say a predictable yet impersonal hello before she began her chores.

  Dakota studied his wife. As though suddenly conscious of her appearance, she fussed with the loose strands of her hair – that luscious, heavy hair she had twisted into its usual chignon. This afternoon she sported tan trousers and a lemon-colored blouse. Yellow suited her. Even the sunny robe she'd worn yesterday had turned him on. She'd looked as frothy as the meringue on top of a pie.

  Mrs. Miller entered the room like a broom-wielding militant, shoulders back, head held high, short gray hair resembling a helmet. She could have been a nurse with her crisp white uniform and thick-soled shoes. It amazed Dakota that even after a thorough housecleaning, she departed as starched and white as she had arrived.

  "Good afternoon, Lieutenant," she said, greeting him as she had for the past ten years.

  "Good afternoon," he responded as the older lady turned toward Kathy.

  He watched as they acknowledged each other. Kathy stepped forward and smiled. "It's nice to see you again."

  "Thank you. It's a pleasure to see you as well."

  The conversation was neither strained nor friendly. Dakota had no idea if Mrs. Miller liked Kathy, but he wasn't sure if the older woman liked him, either. The housekeeper rarely smiled, even during the holidays when she filled the cookie jar with red-nosed reindeers and jolly Santas.

  Mrs. Miller smoothed her immaculate dress, then turned and spotted the dog curled up on the couch. "Oh, my."

  "That's Sugar," Kathy said. "But she's a little nervous today."

  As the older lady headed toward the sofa, Dakota searched for a more appropriate warning. Be careful. Watch yourself. That adorable little fluffball is actually a junkyard Doberman in disguise. But before he could utter a single word, Sugar wiggled her behind and gazed up at Mrs. Miller with adoring eyes.

  "Aren't you precious?" the housekeeper crooned in a singsong voice Dakota had never heard the no-nonsense woman use before.

  Kathy beamed like a moon in June, and within minutes she and Mrs. Miller were discussing Sugar's upkeep and habits. The dog ate a select brand of canned food, played indoor fetch games, required periodic trips to a groomer and enjoyed being walked on a silver leash that matched her glittery collar.

  Dakota had never felt so left out, so big and undeniably male. And then it hit him. Male. That was it. Sugar probably didn't know what to make of him. She wasn't used to men. The Maltese had been coddled and protected by women.

  He watched the pooch leap into Kathy's arms, watched as Kathy's expression turned soft and gentle.

  Dakota swallowed around a lump in his throat. Somehow he was going to have to earn that little dog's trust. At the moment Sugar seemed to hold the key to Kathy's heart – a heart he longed to feel beating in time with his own. Because in spite of all of his friendship talk, Dakota couldn't deny the truth.

  He was still in love with his wife.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  Later that afternoon Dakota offered to accompany Kathy on her home search. Royal had plenty of upscale apartment buildings since it was a bustling, exclusively rich town surrounded by oil fields and sprawling ranches.

  The temperature rose to ninety degrees, but the West Texas wind blew, making the heat bearable. Kathy still wore the lemon-colored blouse, and her hair still rebelled from the pins struggling to secure it. Wispy tendrils fluttered around her face, reflecting sunlight like sparks of fire.

  They took the stairs and followed the apartment manager to 6B, then waited while the woman unlocked the door. Kathy had specific tastes, but she hadn't been nearly as selective as Dakota. He had found fault with the previous apartments they'd looked at, but he had good reason. Plain and simple – he didn't want his wife leaving the ranch. He liked having her around. He wanted to keep her.

  He loved her.

  "This is nice," Kathy said as they entered.

  Dakota frowned. "It's all right."

  A gas fireplace dominated the living room and two large windows offered a spectacular view of Royal. The appliances in the spacious kitchen were new, and the dining area boasted a brass chandelier.

  "That won't look right with your furniture," Dakota said. "It's too modern for antiques."

  "It's fine," Kathy responded and moved on to explore the bedrooms.

  The master suite pre
sented another view, this one from a rather large balcony. Dakota couldn't find much fault, but he was damned determined to try. "I'll bet lugging groceries up and down stairs is a nuisance. And then of course there's that balcony."

  Kathy stepped onto the feature in question. "What's wrong with it?"

  He moved to stand next to her, out of earshot from the building manager. "Could be dangerous."

  She sent him a strange look. "It seems sturdy enough to me."

  "Of course, it's sturdy. I was referring to the rail. Sugar might be able to fit through the bars." He approached the rail, playing out his drama. "It's a long way down, sweetheart. And there's nothing to pad the fall. I don't think you should risk it."

  Kathy studied the opening between the bars with a critical eye. "Sugar's body is bigger than that. She couldn't fit through there."

  Dakota scraped a booted foot on the cement. He was certain Kathy would have given that scenario more thought. "Maybe you're right. But she could get her head stuck. Animals do that sort of thing all the time."

  That appeared to do the trick. Kathy frowned and stepped closer to the rail. "You know, that's actually possible."

  "Of course it is." He resisted the urge to flash an overly smug, overly macho smile. "Did you think I was making these things up? I've been trained to spot potential hazards. And this apartment isn't right for you. I sensed it the moment we walked in."

  She gave him another one of those strange looks, and he lost the urge to grin, his machismo not quite so smug. Had he really said something that ridiculous, laid it on that thick? Trained to spot potential hazards? In an upscale Royal apartment?

  "How about some lunch?" he suggested, hoping to distract her. Did he really want her to know that he was deliberately thwarting her effort to find a suitable place to live?

  Kathy accepted his invitation, so Dakota decided on the Royal Diner, a typical greasy-spoon-type place that served typical greasy-spoon-type food. He had a hankering for casual atmosphere and a messy hamburger. He'd been to enough fancy balls and eaten enough deviled quail eggs to last a lifetime.

  They scooted into a vinyl booth and grinned at each other like kids sharing a private joke. The paper placemat the waitress slapped in front of them boasted, The Royal Diner – Food Fit for a King! Yet King Bertram stopping in for a bowl of chili and finding it to his liking presented a ludicrous image.