Warrior In Her Bed (Silhouette Desire)

by Cathleen Galitz

  Johnny didn’t feel the need to respond as he waited for Annie to lock her front door. Nobody on the reservation bothered with such formalities. It wasn’t so much that they hadn’t anything worth stealing as it was the belief that one’s home should always be open to anyone in need—whether or not you happened to be around. Perhaps it was just a small cultural difference, but he couldn’t help feeling that the very act itself widened the gulf separating himself from Annie Wainwright.

  The four-by-four Dodge Ram parked out front bespoke the personality of its driver. It was a big truck for a big man. The deep-blue, extended-cab’s chrome sparkled in the midday sun. Directly beneath a decal of the American flag, a Native Pride emblem decorated the back window. Over them both hung a gun rack, complete with a fearsome-looking weapon that made Annie flinch just to look at it.

  In the bed of the vehicle sat a huge black beast that resembled a bear. Ferocious barking at its master’s approach only slightly reassured Annie that the creature was, in fact, domesticated. The look of distress upon her face compelled Johnny to chastise the animal.

  “Down, Smokey!” he said sternly. “Down.”

  The command only served to set the brute’s great tail in motion. Swishing through the air, it truly seemed to wag the dog, whose wet pink tongue panted in the heat. Annie did everything in her power to avoid either end of this perpetual-motion machine. She actually imagined disappointment not only in Johnny’s but also in the beast’s eyes when she failed to reach out and pet it: an act which, in her opinion, would have taken no more courage than sticking one’s head in a lion’s mouth.

  “Smokey the Bear, I presume?” she asked over the thundering of a heart coping with a sudden rush of adrenaline.

  Impressed with her quick wit, Johnny flashed her a smile.

  “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “He’s friendly. That is, unless he thinks I’m being threatened.”

  Not quite sure what to make of that qualifying statement, Annie kept a healthy distance as she stepped up to the passenger side door with Johnny beside her. Rugged and practical, the ultramanly vehicle sat so high off the ground that it necessitated a helping hand for any woman of normal proportions to manage hitching herself into the contoured bench seat with a minimum amount of clumsiness. As much as Annie appreciated the gentlemanly gesture of someone going to the trouble of opening her door when she was perfectly capable of doing so herself, she almost wished Johnny would have just left her to struggle awkwardly into her seat by herself. The mere touch of his hand at her elbow as he helped her up sent a blast of heat exploding inside her chest like that of a shotgun pointed directly at the freshly painted target on her heart.

  Annie had blissfully forgotten just how much her skin hungered for the touch of a man.

  Johnny shut the door behind her and crossed to the driver’s side in a couple of long, purposeful strides. Hopping into place behind the steering wheel as if it was nothing to climb into a vehicle custom made for the Jolly Green Giant, he turned the key in the ignition.

  “So you think you’re up for this?” he asked, somehow managing to sound genuine in his concern.

  In defiance of the fact that the rest of her body stubbornly disagreed, Annie nodded her head. Yet another sudden power surge of heat rushing through her body, a result of an indulgent smile bestowed upon her, made her wish she had donned a pair of shorts instead of the jeans she had on. Since she didn’t want to ask Johnny to turn on the air-conditioning for fear the request would be a dead giveaway to a level of discomfort she couldn’t remember feeling since adolescence, Annie suffered the heat in silence.

  Any hope of feigned nonchalance evaporated beneath a completely cloudless sky. Demurely, she crossed her legs and grabbed hold of the overhead strap as the pickup lurched forward down a road that resembled the washboard ripples of her driver’s hard belly. The stiff suspension of the vehicle rattled Annie’s teeth, making pleasant chitchat difficult if not impossible. Concentrating on the scenery rolling past her window, she did her best to dismiss the sexual tension building between them like storm clouds gathering forces in the distance with the potential of unloosing a tornado in the general vicinity.

  Johnny was of the impression that his passenger would have preferred riding in the bed of the truck rather than being strapped into a seat next to him. Annie Wainwright’s body language couldn’t have been any more unsociable had she erected a stone wall between them. He was thinking along the lines of the Great Wall of China. The way she wrapped her one free hand around her stomach reminded Johnny of a seashell curled protectively around itself. He wanted to tell her that she had nothing to be afraid of but couldn’t bring himself to utter the lie. The way his body was reacting to this woman’s proximity confirmed the fact that her fears were not completely groundless.

  That he wanted her came as a surprise to him.

  Reminding himself that Annie Wainwright was not his type did nothing to lessen the desire pulsing through him. He was naturally drawn to taller women of a similar complexion and background to his own. Usually the raven-haired beauties in a crowd caught his eye. Not to mention that he preferred women comfortable enough in their sexuality to flirt outright. Women willing and eager to make the first move.

  Painful experience had taught him that making the last move was far more to his liking.

  That a light-skinned, fair-haired woman of a rather prudish nature was having such a peculiar effect upon his senses was alarming, to say the least. His sister would surely be outraged by the thoughts playing havoc with his imagination. And while Johnny promised his niece that he would put forth an honest effort to give her mentor a fair chance to prove herself, he hadn’t expected to feel anything more for this woman than for any other of the other teachers he supervised.

  What he was feeling at the moment was decidedly not of a professional nature.

  Johnny reached over and turned the air-conditioning on full blast. Unfortunately, it did little to cool him off. For that reason alone he was relieved to reach the outskirts of Fort Washakie. Having traveled all over the world, it never failed to amuse Johnny to see the city population sign proudly announcing all 271 inhabitants of the small outpost to passing motorists. Some of the locals maintained that the reason that particular number stayed so constant was because every time a baby was born, another man left town. Having been on the receiving end of such questionable humor himself, Johnny refrained from repeating the old chestnut as he pulled into the dirt parking lot.

  The smell of fry bread wafting on an almost imperceptible breeze brought home memories of the grandmother who had raised Johnny and his sister Ester after their parents had been killed in a tragic car accident. Grandma dubbed the deep-fat fried treat squaw bread and, to this day, Johnny could think of nothing sweeter for the body and soul than rolling fresh, hot twists of it in pure sugar. Others preferred the bread plain or filled with seasoned meat and cheese, not unlike a taco. A single whiff was enough to announce the beginning of three days of singing, dancing and contests. It put him in a fine humor.

  After parking the pickup, Johnny proceeded to take Annie on a tour of the premises. The powwow was held in a circular arena surrounded by benches and protected from inclement weather by wooden awnings. Vendors set up stands around the perimeter. The jewelry was predominantly made of silver, turquoise and jade. Also on display was a wide variety of beadwork, leather crafts and toys, as well as an incredible array of food in quantities that astonished Annie.

  She expressed surprise that no admission fee was charged and kept looking over her shoulder as if someone might ask her to leave. Their first stop was at a concessionaire’s where Johnny bought her a cola and a sample of the fry bread that always took him back to a childhood home that might have been described as a hovel had it not been filled with the sound of his grandmother’s humming and the pride she instilled in her grandchildren as patiently and meticulously as the fancy beadwork she sold to make ends meet. For himself, Johnny ordered a “Big Indian”, a hamburger
concoction served on fry bread that spilled over the edges of a large dinner plate.

  Glistening with the inquisitiveness of a sparrow, Annie’s blue eyes darted everywhere, reminding Johnny of the excitement he felt the first time he had attended a powwow. Even though Johnny warned her that she would end up a sticky mess, she nonetheless decided to fill her fry bread with honey. Moaning in delight over the concoction, she appeared to have absolutely no idea how delectable she herself appeared with a spot of sweet stuff dribbling down her chin.

  “Here,” Johnny said, stopping her in her tracks and pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket. “Let me help you.”

  Annie felt like an errant child only until the next moment when his eyes locked upon hers and the rest of the world faded away. Suddenly there was nothing between them but an expression of totally unexpected and inappropriate longing shimmering beneath the blue sky for anyone happening by to see. Annie tipped her chin up as if inviting a kiss. Johnny paused, considering the wisdom of licking the offending honey from her flesh before dragging her off to one of the surrounding tepees and making passionate love right then and there. Instead he put his forefinger beneath her chin and with staggering tenderness wiped away the sweet trickle with the corner of his handkerchief.

  Annie felt herself sway precariously. She put a hand upon his broad chest to steady herself as the earth moved beneath her feet. Once again, her body acted as a conduit for the energy pent up inside Johnny, and she found herself all atingle, tangled up in a battle of hormones in which she knew there would be no survivors if she ever succumbed to her primal instincts.

  “Let’s go see the dancing,” she suggested, sounding as if she were out of breath.

  Annie thought she might just as well have said, “Let’s get naked,” for all the hunger reflected in a gaze that could not be as easily pulled away as her hand from the hard planes of his upper body. That is, as easily as pulling two powerful magnets apart.

  “Dancing, eh?” Johnny asked, a twinkle in his eye lightening the mood. “So you’re into feathers and paint, are you?”

  Grateful to have the conversation turn to something else, Annie accepted the playful nature of his remark without taking exception to the innuendo. She knew that dancing was central to a powwow, but as they made their way to the arena, Johnny explained it was truly the celebration of culture that drew people from all over the country to such events. According to him, visiting with family and friends was the real focus of all the surrounding festivities. It was a point driven home when seemingly everybody stopped by to talk to him. To Annie’s surprise, not a single person made her feel out of place or unwelcome in any way. In fact, everyone seemed more than happy to share his or her culture, food and jokes with her.

  A number of tourists and visitors greatly added to the native population assembled. Johnny maintained that the latest census counted the residents of the Wind River Reservation at approximately fifteen thousand, give or take a goodly number. Though he scoffed at Annie’s suggestion that they must have all come together for the day, her enthusiasm was contagious. Any doubts Johnny had about her looking down that pretty little nose at something he dearly cherished dissipated in the surrounding chatter.

  A short while later Crimson Dawn appeared at Annie’s elbow. She was wearing an incredible leather dress decorated in beads, dyed porcupine quills and elk teeth. The handwork was exquisite, and Annie had no doubt but that the heirloom was of museum quality. Shyly Crimson told her teacher that it had been passed down to her from her great-grandmother. In spite of Annie’s repeated promises to herself not to allow herself to become caught up in her students’ lives, something tender inside her chest twisted around her heart when the girl asked if she mightn’t like watching her compete in the fancy dance.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Annie told her in all sincerity.

  She was rewarded with a bashful smile that reflected the beauty of the soul within. As Crimson made her way to line up with the other dancers, Annie wondered aloud how it was possible that the girl didn’t seem to realize how pretty she was. Or talented.

  “Don’t go giving her the big head now,” Johnny responded, repeating verbatim his sister’s words and echoing a cultural belief that the gifts one receives from the universe belong not to the individual but to the entire tribe. Despite his admonition to Annie, his own chest puffed out and tugged at the snaps of his shirt when his niece entered the arena.

  The multicolored fringe of her bright-blue shawl swayed rhythmically to the soft beat of drums in the background as all the dancers promenaded into the show grounds. Painted war bonnets decorated either side of the announcer’s booth. The real kind hung along some of the wooden beams supporting the covered seating. Tepees surrounded the circular structure lending a sense of timelessness to the setting. In the background the Wind River Mountains cast a benevolent shadow.

  The announcer identified the event as the junior girls’ fancy dance. Though most appeared to be in their teens, a couple of little ones interspersed in their midst were real crowd pleasers. The grace and beauty of their movements moved Annie beyond words as past and present merged in ancient song. She could almost feel the earth trembling in harmony beneath her own feet as the drumbeat increased in tempo and intensity. Feeling completely alive and aware of every intricate detail surrounding her senses, she allowed herself to become a part of the experience.

  The intensity upon Crimson Dawn’s face reflected her joy. Her footsteps were measured and seemingly weightless. Color was everywhere as the dancers twirled their shawls, replicating the fluttering of many butterflies against a cloudless Wyoming sky. The music ebbed far too soon for Annie. The moisture in her eyes was evidence of an unexpected spiritual awakening that cracked her chest open and left her feeling one with the universe.

  The long searching look that Johnny gave her seemed to pierce Annie’s very essence. Stripped of her usual reserve, she felt naked. Vulnerable.

  He leaned close as if to murmur some secret in her ear. His breath was sweet and cool upon her skin. Sighing, Annie closed her eyes, imagining against the backdrop of a growing crowd that they were the only two people on earth. Ancient urgings arose in her being, reminding her that despite all attempts to hide the fact, she was indeed a sensual creature.

  As fragile as spun glass, the mood was shattered by a loud voice singling Annie out of the multitude.

  “Hey, you, teacher lady,” the shrill voice called out. “I’ve got some bones to pick with you.”

  The look of determination on the woman’s weathered face as she parted the crowd reminded Annie of a wolverine zeroing in on its prey. Heaving a heavy sigh, Johnny made a military decision to retreat immediately.

  “Not now, sis,” he interjected, grabbing Annie by the arm and deliberately pulling her into the arena—and presumably out of harm’s way.

  “But I don’t know how to dance to this kind of music,” she hissed in embarrassment, caught like a wishbone between two opposing forces.

  It had never occurred to Annie that she would be asked to do anything other than be an observer in the day’s festivities, and she wasn’t eager to make a fool of herself in public. Clearly she was going to have to deal with Crimson Dawn’s mother sooner or later. Experience had taught her that postponing confrontation never solved anything. Besides, in her mind she had nothing whatsoever to apologize for.

  Johnny, who had seen his fair share of combat, was not so inclined. Maintaining neutrality would be nigh unto impossible in such a situation, and he simply wanted to enjoy a rare day off without incident.

  “Trust me,” he told Annie, steering her into a blur of color and movement. “Just follow what I do and you’ll be fine. We’ll both take it one step at a time.”

  And one heartbeat at a time, she silently added, vowing to do her best not to embarrass either one of them if she could help it.

  Literally turning to face the music, Annie was inexorably drawn in by the steady pulse of drums echoing her own hear
t’s long-forgotten song.

  Four

  For a big man, Johnny Lonebear was surprisingly light on his feet. So light, in fact, that Annie found her own feet leaden as he pulled her deep inside a growing ring of dancers and began moving in time to the music. Entranced by his movements, Annie paid little attention to the fancy bustles, headdresses and geometric designs weaving past her like so many spinning tops. She was too busy focusing her energies on the magnificent man in the denim shirt who was urging her to abandon her inhibitions and join in the fun.

  Self-consciously shuffling her feet and doing her best to blend in, Annie was startled when Johnny wrapped his arms around her and drew her so close against his chest that she could actually feel his heart pumping. Strong and compelling, its beat rivaled the big drum setting a faster and faster pace for the dancers twirling in a flurry of vibrant purples, turquoises, pinks, blacks, reds and oranges.

  Johnny pushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen across Annie’s eyes and tucked it behind her ear. He leaned in close to whisper, “If it would make you more comfortable, I’d be glad to slow dance with you.”

  His breath was sweet and cool. His lips barely brushed one vulnerable, sensitive earlobe. Despite the intense heat, Annie shivered. The way her body fitted so perfectly against the hard planes of his body made her inclined to believe that slow dancing with Johnny Lonebear would be guaranteed public torture. The thought of initiating a kiss played with her imagination, but considering her unfamiliar surroundings, Annie knew such bravado on her part was better left to fantasy.

  “I doubt that would make me feel any more comfortable,” she admitted with a little sigh that bespoke her frustration with her body’s traitorous reaction.

  As much as she longed to remain in the protective circle of Johnny’s arms, Annie worried that it would somehow be disrespectful to impose a more modern style of dance in the midst of music made for a far more jubilant expression of self. Not to mention that she didn’t want to look any more conspicuous than she already felt. Or subject herself to any more temptation than she could handle.