TYCOON WARRIOR

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  He sent her a boyish smile. "Wanna join us?"

  She did. God help her, she did. "No. I'm already up. I think I'll just go start a pot of coffee. Maybe fix an omelet."

  He glanced down at the dog, then straightened her bow in what seemed like a paternal gesture. Kathy steadied herself. The image in her head made her knees weak – Dakota with the child they should have had – a dark-eyed, dark-haired little girl dressed in ruffles and ribbons.

  "Sweetheart?"

  "Yes?" She responded to the endearment, hating that it made her weaker, more vulnerable, achy inside.

  "If you give me a few minutes, I'll help you with breakfast."

  "Just meet me in the kitchen when you're ready." She forced her legs to carry her down the hall , wondering how she was going to survive the carnival – an event overflowing with dark-eyed, dark-haired children.

  Kathy started the coffee and by the time the hash browns were cooking, Dakota arrived with Sugar in tow. He had showered, shaved and zipped himself into a pair of jeans.

  He made his way around her, the Maltese at his heels. Kathy couldn't help but wonder what had turned Sugar around. Had the dog looked at him this morning and decided he was just too gorgeous to ignore?

  They fixed breakfast and sat across from each other at the dining-room table, their plates filled with potatoes and eggs.

  "So, have you found a house yet?" he asked.

  Kathy shook her head. "No." None of the rentals seemed quite right. They were all too big for one person, too spacious and lonely. She wanted charming and cozy, like the cottage in Asterland. Or a place that would make her feel warm and woodsy, like Dakota's ranch. She needed the perfect, permanent home, something her living-abroad parents had never provided.

  "What about office space?" he asked, pursuing their conversation.

  "I haven't looked." She had been too busy scouting Royal for a house that probably didn't exist. "But I guess I'd better start. My parents are anxious for me to get this location up and running."

  He lifted his coffee. "Do they know you're staying with me?"

  "Yes." And they approved. They didn't understand why Kathy had left Dakota in the first place. One lost baby, her mother had told her, didn't mean that she couldn't have another. And Dakota had been a soldier when she'd married him, so walking out on him two years later made no sense. Kathy's pragmatic parents didn't understand the dreamer in her, the old-fashioned girl who wanted an enchanted garden, a house full of children and a husband who cared more about saving his marriage than saving the world.

  Hiding a frown, she sipped her juice. Her mother had been the first to suggest Royal as a satellite location. That didn't mean her parents were playing matchmaker, did it? Her proper, professional, business-minded parents? No. That couldn't be.

  A small, whining noise jarred Kathy from her thoughts. "Is that Sugar?" She looked around to see the dog sitting at Dakota's feet. "Is she begging?"

  "No," he answered hastily. "She's just watching me eat."

  Watching him eat? "You've been feeding her table scraps, haven't you?" No wonder Sugar followed him around like a lovesick fool. It was food she was after, not masculine attention.

  Dakota winced. "Maybe I've given her a few bites here and there. But it wasn't my idea. Mrs. Miller put me up to it."

  His boyish excuse sounded impossibly endearing. "And why would your housekeeper do that?"

  "Because I asked her to help me make friends with your dog."

  A burst of moisture rushed behind Kathy's eyes. She blinked, refusing to cry over breakfast. It had to be, she thought, the sweetest, silliest thing he had ever done. She smiled and reached across the table for his hand. "Sometimes you surprise me."

  His fingers curled around hers. "You surprise me, too."

  Sugar leapt onto Dakota's lap, and Kathy laughed. Suddenly she was looking forward to spending the day with her husband, even in the company of dark-eyed, dark-haired children.

  * * *

  Beneath the Texas sun, a small park in Midland had been transformed into a carnival, its grassy spaces filled with merriment. It wasn't a large affair, not the kind with those whiplash-type rides, but it was entertaining nonetheless. It reminded Dakota of being a kid himself, of the Halloween festival his elementary school used to host every October. His mother had been involved in that, too. Dakota figured being on the board of directors at the Indian Center was a lot like being a PTA mom for Violet Tenewa. Only these days, she had more than one child to look after. She had taken on a caseload of foster kids.

  Dakota sniffed the air, the aroma of hot dogs and buttered popcorn teasing his senses. Kathy had been placed in one of the concession stands, and he could see her from his post at the shooting gallery. She wore slim-fitting jeans and a buckskin-colored T-shirt, a thick ponytail bouncing high on her head. She seemed right at home, filling cartons of popcorn and handing out candy apples.

  Looking up from a customer, she noticed him watching her, then graced him with a quick, ladylike smile.

  He returned the smile, feeling like a tall, love-struck adolescent, a Comanche youth just coming into his own.

  They lost eye contact over the crowd, and Dakota glanced back at the prizes lined on the shelves – the stuffed animals and plastic toys. Suddenly he wished Kathy had been a part of his early years. Maybe if they had been childhood sweethearts, their lives would have been too connected for her to sever the tie as she had.

  A middle-aged man placed a stack of tickets on the counter. "For the boys," he said, a friendly smile working its way across his face.

  Dakota took the tickets and scanned "the boys." Three of them, each a different shade of brown. Foster kids, he thought, and a fair-skinned foster dad who believed in rainbows. It made him like the man, respect him for doing something Dakota would have never considered. Kids, no matter what their shape or hue, were foreign to Dakota.

  "You're Violet's son, right?" the foster dad asked, as each boy claimed a rifle and studied the ducks moving across the target.

  Nodding, he extended his hand. "Dakota Lewis."

  The other man gave a hearty shake. "Bob Calhoun." He motioned to the child at the end of the row, his voice suddenly quiet. "That one's Jake. He's Comanche. Violet said I ought to mention that. You know, since Jake's in the program."

  In other words, Dakota thought, Jake was in need of an Indian mentor. A Comanche, he supposed, wondering if his mom was lurking somewhere, watching his befuddled expression.

  What did he know about being a mentor? Jake appeared to be about five, with thick brown hair and skin about the same color as Dakota's. A mixed-blood, he surmised, like himself.

  The boy wiggled as he fired at the ducks, even though his tongue darted out in a gesture defining serious concentration. Dakota figured all kids that age were squirmy and active. No, he wouldn't know what to say or do with someone that small.

  The tallest of Bob's boys earned himself a prize. Dakota let him pick through the toys, his foster brothers crowding him in excitement as he chose a plastic snake. He looked up at Dakota with a ready smile. "I'm Scott. Me and him are Cherokee," he said, nudging the boy on his left. "Just like Bob's stepdad."

  So Bob had been raised in an Indian home. Somehow that made sense. The rainbow was a part of his upbringing. Dakota assumed Bob's stepfather was a mentor to the two Cherokee boys.

  "Nice to meet you guys, I'm Dakota. I'm from the Comanche Nation."

  "Cool." Scott put his arm around the third child. "So is Jake."

  At the mention of his name, Jake flashed a gap-filled grin.

  He was the littlest of the bunch and the most wiggly. Dakota resisted the urge to smooth his hair. For an instant, Jake reminded him of Prince Eric.

  The kids went back to their rifles, and Dakota returned to Bob.

  "You know, Jake has a twin sister," Bob said. "Pretty girl named Jenny. She lives with us, too." He motioned toward another booth and chuckled. "She's with my wife. Those two are determined to bring home a goldfish.
"

  Twins. He could only assume Jake and Jenny were a package deal. A boy and a girl who needed a Comanche mentor, someone who could help them stay connected to their roots. It made him wonder how they had ended up in foster care in the first place. Were they orphaned? Abused? Neglected?

  When their tickets ran out, Bob and his lively brood said goodbye and headed in the direction of the goldfish toss, Dakota staring after them.

  Fifteen minutes later, Violet arrived with Dakota's replacement. Rather than accuse his mother of setting him up, he strolled the carnival grounds with her, waiting for Kathy's shift to end.

  "Tell me about them, Mom."

  "Jake and Jenny?" She took his arm as they passed a vendor selling Texas trinkets. "Their father is Comanche, but he's been out of the picture for quite a while. And their mother is in rehab for drug abuse." When Dakota frowned, Violet squeezed his arm. "She's not a bad person, she just got caught up in something bad. She loves her kids, and she's working hard to stay clean."

  "That's good."

  "Jake and Jenny are perfect for the mentor program. They're doing well at Bob's, but he isn't familiar with Comanche practices." She stopped to gaze up at him. "They're sweet kids, and they're mixed-bloods, Dakota. Like you."

  He let out a breath, confused by his emotions. "You don't have to push so hard. I've already decided to come into the center and find out more about the program. But, Mom—"

  "Yes?"

  "I can't make any promises."

  She kept her eyes on his. "It's enough that you're thinking about it."

  Was it? he wondered. Thinking and doing weren't the same thing. He didn't know if he had what it took to make a difference in Jake and Jenny's lives. What if they sensed his uneasiness? His inexperience with kids? And how many Saturdays would he be free to mentor? Thunder had already contacted him about the possibility of another assignment.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  «^»

  At dusk Kathy and Dakota sat on the lawn, the carnival twinkling around them. Enjoying each other's company, they sipped ice-cold lemonade and ate a variety of junk food.

  Kathy savored the sweet, sugary taste of cotton candy melting on her tongue. Her fingers were sticky, but she didn't care. It made her feel young and free, a girl without a care in the world. She hadn't felt that way in a long time. Life had a way of crushing those moments.

  Dakota munched on chili dogs dripping with melted cheese. He spilled a glob on his jeans, wiped it with a napkin and grinned.

  "Do you ever wish we had known each other when we were kids?" he asked.

  Kathy reached for her drink, the question surprising her. Dakota wasn't a dreamer. He didn't try to turn people or places into something they weren't. They had grown up worlds apart, and she assumed he accepted their differences. "I've thought about it." But the fantasy never played out quite right. "Since you're nine years my senior, I don't think we would have been friends."

  "I forgot about our age difference." He chuckled. "And here I was picturing myself as your first lover. Sixteen-year-olds parked in an empty field, kissing and groping."

  She laughed, too. "When you were sixteen I was seven. And when I was sixteen, you were twenty-five."

  After polishing off two chili cheese dogs, he attacked a carton of fries. "So much for that romantic illusion."

  Kathy leaned back, wondering what had made him imagine such a thing in the first place. Was it the carnival? The teenagers holding hands and stealing kisses? When dusk arrived, so had the Texas youth – long, lanky boys in cowboy hats, and girls with fresh, pretty faces.

  "I didn't know kissing and groping in the back of a pickup was romantic," she said, angling her head to study him. He had been long and lean as a youth, too. Or so he appeared in the photographs his mother kept in leather-bound albums. And his first vehicle had been a shiny red Ford, much like the truck he drove today.

  "It is to sixteen-year-old boys." Lifting a fry, he dunked it into a plastic cup brimming with ketchup. "And I did my fair share."

  "Should I be jealous?" Once the words were out, she could have kicked herself. They might be legally married, but they were no longer a couple. Jealousy didn't fit into the equation.

  He didn't appear to notice her blunder. Either that or he was having too much fun reminiscing to care. "You know who drove the boys in Royal wild?" he said wistfully. "Lori Lynn Thorton and her thirty-six-double-Ds."

  Kathy found herself amused. He sounded ridiculously male. "Was she your first?"

  "In my dreams, maybe." He shoved a fry into his mouth. "Lori's older brother was a body builder. Mr. Universe or something. I swear, the ground rumbled when he walked." Dakota went after another fry. "Hell, Lori's probably still a virgin."

  "Yes," Kathy quipped, nudging his foot with her own. "Poor Lori Lynn and her double-Ds. She probably joined a convent. Took a vow of chastity."

  He pushed back, his boot against hers. "Yeah, and Mr. Universe probably has love handles and a beer belly by now."

  They looked at each other and laughed, their feet still touching. It felt strangely intimate, she thought. Casual and loving.

  When their laughter faded, Kathy let the wind caress her face. The air was light and stirring, the noise from the carnival almost dreamy and far away. And the sky, she noticed, was painted with streaks of lavender and soft shades of blue.

  She finished her drink and thought about what Dakota had called his romantic illusion. No, he hadn't been her first lover, not in the literal sense, but he had been the first man to awaken her desires. To bring her to a mind-spinning climax, to melt her bones and heat her skin, to leave her dizzy and trembling.

  He knew, of course. During a fainthearted moment in Italy, she had told him. And he had reacted with sheer masculine pleasure, pushing his tongue into her mouth and carrying her swiftly to his bed.

  She remembered how incredible that moment had been, how smooth and seductive, the mountain air blowing in through an open window, billowing the curtains.

  Wondrous love. Deep, possessive strokes. She could still feel him moving between her legs, promising a lifetime of forever. He had asked her to marry him that night, his eyes dark and intense, waiting for an answer.

  "Kathy?"

  She placed her cup against her forehead, realizing how warm she had become. How suddenly warm. "Yes?"

  "Are you okay?"

  She blinked and lowered the cup. "What?"

  "You seem a little out of it."

  "I'm thirsty," she said, as if that should account for her dazed behavior. "My drink is gone."

  He handed her his, and she placed her mouth on the straw, thinking she could taste him there. It was, of course, her imagination, her weakness. The part of her that still fantasized about him, that let herself remember the past.

  "I was just thinking about Asterland," he said.

  She allowed the lemonade to cool her, then took another slow, steady sip for safe measure. They had made love in Asterland, and that was something she hoped he didn't want to discuss. Not now, not while her body was already wandering in that direction. She couldn't pour the drink over her skin, even if it craved something cold and wet.

  "You were?"

  He nodded. "I was wondering what you thought of Thunder."

  Relief flooded her system. Thunder she could deal with. "I liked him. He was nice."

  "Nice?" Dakota made a disbelieving face. "Women don't refer to him as nice."

  Her senses, thank goodness, were returning. And to prove it to herself, she handed Dakota the lemonade. "Then how do they refer to him?"

  "Oh, I don't know. A hunk. A flirt. A womanizer. Something along those lines."

  "Well, I thought he was nice. The perfect gentleman."

  The look he gave her could have split hairs. "Now I know you're lying."

  And now she knew her conversation with Thunder hadn't reached Dakota's ears.

  Dakota misses you, Kathy.

  He told you that?

  No,
but I recognize the signs.

  "Did you know Thunder was married?" she asked.

  Dakota's jaw nearly dropped. "Well if that's the case then he's been cheating big-time. Boy, did he play a number on you. Pretending to be blissfully wed."

  She shook her head. Trust a man to jump to that conclusion, especially a man whose father had kept a wife and a mistress. "He's not married now. It was a long time ago."

  "So he's divorced?" Dakota asked, his tone quieter.

  She nodded. "He didn't say why. Just that things didn't work out." And it was Thunder's wife who had filed the papers, that much Kathy sensed.

  Dakota drew his knees up. "I guess I shouldn't have said what I did. But he's never mentioned an ex-wife to me. Then again, we rarely talk about our personal lives."

  No, she thought, but they go on missions together, dodging bullets and trying to save the world. How ironic that neither one of them could save something as sacred as a marriage. They were more like brothers than they knew.

  "I just spoke to Thunder a few days ago." Dakota collected their empty food containers and shoved them in a bag. "He might need my help."

  Kathy's heart slammed against her chest. "With what?" she asked, although, she knew. An assignment. An undercover mission. More bullets. More danger.

  "Thunder has been tracking the leader of a prominent terrorist band for years. And just recently, he got another lead. Whether or not it will pan out remains to be seen."

  She forced out a breath. "So if it pans out, he'll need you."

  "Yes, but it will probably be a while. Thunder could be tagging this lead for months. He won't bring me into it until he's certain that he's on the right track."

  How could Dakota sound so casual, so relaxed? Didn't he know what news like that did to her?

  Of course, he didn't. And he never would. Because even if she told him, it wouldn't matter. She was back in Royal, and Dakota was caught up in another mission.

  A knot formed in Kathy's stomach. Soon she would have to contact an attorney about filing for divorce. What other choice did she have?

  Dakota Lewis was a soldier, not a husband. Nothing would stop him from pursuing his life's work. Ending their marriage was the only answer. Even is she still loved him.