Warrior In Her Bed (Silhouette Desire)

by Cathleen Galitz

  “Have it your way, then,” Johnny told her.

  His white teeth shone against his bronze complexion. Laughing, he lifted Annie off her feet in a giant bear hug and spun her around and around in a circle as if she weighed no more than a rag doll. By the time he set her back on firm ground and let go of her, she was breathless and dizzy. There was no doubt in her mind that it was not Johnny’s sudden display of exuberance that was affecting her sense of equilibrium so drastically but rather the man himself.

  Letting out a war whoop that was more festive than fierce, Johnny caught the mood of the celebration and began whirling in tight circles. How he managed to maintain his intricate pattern of footwork was amazing to Annie who stood back in awe. As the sun broke through a cloud that had momentarily crossed its face to throw a spotlight upon him, she realized that even without the fancy costumes of the other dancers, Johnny Lonebear stood out as a natural athlete in their midst. His movements were as aesthetic as they were acrobatic.

  Witnessing him connect with his ancestors on a spiritual plane as he danced with such abandon, Annie felt deeply moved. The thrum of the drum reached into her own being, vibrating loose some primordial spirit buried deep inside her psyche. On the way over, Johnny had mentioned that much of the regalia was inspired by dreams. He explained how many of the movements incorporated in the dances themselves came from animal moves and stories handed down from elders. The valor of a warrior’s deeds was reflected in their dances.

  Mesmerized by Johnny’s moves, Annie was struck by the feral nature of the man who at the moment was imitating the actions of a hunter stalking his prey through tall grass in what she believed to be called a “sneak-up” dance.

  That she felt herself his prey at this very moment was at the same time both frightening and exhilarating.

  From what Johnny had told her, it appeared each category of dance had different step and dress requirements. Annie was glad when the announcer invited everyone to set aside any self-consciousness and join in the round dance circle. He assured the crowd that neither costumes nor cultural ties were necessary in this particular social dance. It was simply intended to get everyone up on his or her feet regardless of age, ability or race.

  As an Arapaho chant rose on the breeze like a hawk circling the great plains, Johnny took Annie’s hand into his own to lead her in what the announcer deemed an Indian waltz. That now-all-too-familiar zing of electricity at his touch surged through her making her forget all about trying to keep time by looking down at her feet. Instead, Annie simply succumbed to the lure of the drum and followed her partner’s lead.

  People entered in from all directions. A little girl of no more than ten years smiled up at Annie as she reached up to take her free hand. Her dress was decorated with silver bells fashioned from tightly rolled tobacco lids that were intended to represent each day of the year. With each step she took, they jiggled merrily like so many tiny tambourines. A necklace of polished elk teeth clicked softly against a dress of red and black velvet worn by an old woman dancing stiffly and proudly next to her precocious granddaughter. She carried herself with regal bearing. Directly across from Annie was a handsome young man with a fearsome yellow star painted over one eye. The roach he wore on top of his head was covered with porcupine quills. Feathers were arranged on the backs of other dancers in great fan-like bursts of color.

  Beaded moccasins stepped in time to the music as fringed leather imitated the swaying of tall grass in the breeze. Of the six young men beating a huge drum, only four were in full regalia. Annie wondered if they would be entering the contest dancing later in the day. The other two wore simple T-shirts that were beginning to show stains of sweat from the sustained effort to set a strong beat that did not overshadow the melody of the song itself. A woman who was a champion singer was invited to join in the chanting. Annie thought her voice personified the flight of swallows.

  Never before had she felt such a part of something so beautiful and so sacred.

  “Having fun?” Johnny asked her.

  She nodded, surprised to find that she actually was having more fun than she could remember in a long, long while. One would truly have to be in a depressed state of mind not to enjoy such a joyous celebration of life.

  With hands joined, everyone pulled each other along like a colorful chain, weaving clockwise in tighter and tighter loops. Arms went up in the air as the whole group split apart to let the tribal leaders through. Annie was reminded of Moses parting the Red Sea. An old man wearing a full eagle-feather headdress decorated elaborately with fancy beadwork led the way, dancing as nimbly as if his soul itself was unloosed from a body tired and stooped from the weight of many years.

  When the drums stopped abruptly, the friendship dance continued as singers sustained their chanting. Sombrous and deep, it gave one a glimpse of the value and direction that this glorious tradition provided its people. She was honored to be a part of it.

  The dust was so oppressive that a water truck had to be called in to hose the area down to keep from choking participants and visitors alike. Before such a break was officially proclaimed over the intercom, the announcer stepped forward, playing to the crowd. Fastened with silver medallions, twin braids tinged with gray hung down the front of the man’s colorful costume, which was adorned with feathers from head to toe. He said his name was Stormy Big Shield, and he wielded the microphone with casual ease.

  “Before the actual money competition gets under way, I’d like to take this opportunity to recognize a few special guests in attendance today.”

  He began by introducing the littlest of the dancers, among them his own niece, Cheyenna, a tiny tot whose broad grin accentuated two missing front teeth. Beginning to squirm uncomfortably on the seat beside her, Johnny asked Annie if she wouldn’t like to go get a soft drink before long lines formed at the concessionaires.

  “I wouldn’t dream of insulting the speaker like that,” she said, tugging at his elbow and entreating him to sit still.

  He complied with a bottomless sigh. Stormy Big Shield continued speaking, emphasizing in his lyric up-and-down cadence the patriotic pride his people felt for their native country. Considering the history of oppression their ancestors endured for centuries, Annie was touched by the American loyalty reverberating in the crowd.

  “I now want to take a moment to honor our veterans,” Stormy announced solemnly. “Would all the veterans in the audience please stand up and be recognized?”

  Survivors of World War II rose to their feet to join those of the Korean and Vietnam Wars and Desert Storm, the youngest among them home from active duty fighting terrorists in Afghanistan. After thunderous applause, Stormy made note of the Native Americans in their midst, including himself, who had so valiantly served their country. Had someone not forcibly nudged Johnny squarely in the back, Annie suspected she might never have discovered his patriotic involvement at this event.

  He looked decidedly uncomfortable, but that modesty didn’t stop him from being on the receiving end of some friendly, good-natured teasing. Though he hastened to sit down again, Stormy bade him remain standing.

  “Don’t let my good friend’s bashfulness fool you. Not only was this man a world-class winner as a dancer in his youth, he also came back from his tour of duty with a chestful of medals of honor. Some people attribute his bravery to the ancestral warrior blood running through his veins. Some will tell you that he’s a direct descendent of Crazy Horse, but overseas we just called him Crazy Guy.”

  The hoot of laughter that went up at this further encouraged Stormy, who was obviously having a great time at his friend’s expense. Good-naturedly, Johnny merely shook his head and mutely threw up his hands to the crowd.

  “I hope you were lucky enough to catch sight of him dancing earlier. Let me make note of the fact that he comes from a long line of “wolf” dancers. In case you don’t know what that means, I’ll give you a brief explanation. In the old days, wolf dancers were respected warriors who led groups of their people
as their tribes migrated across the high plains. Let’s have a round of applause for Johnny Lonebear, a modern-day warrior who came home from his tour of duty with a Purple Heart and the desire to lead our young people across new territory, teaching them how to embrace the new ways without forsaking the old.”

  Annie was so startled by this announcement she almost forgot to applaud. Jewell had told her that in addition to being the most sought-after bachelor on the reservation, Johnny was well respected in the community. She had neglected to mention that her new boss was also the local hero. A seemingly simple ogre, Johnny Lonebear was transforming into a very complex man right before her eyes.

  “I’m impressed,” she told him honestly as he was finally allowed to take his seat again.

  The unintelligible grunt he gave her in response indicated all too clearly that he did not want to pursue the subject any further. “Have you had enough for one day?” he asked, his earlier good mood vanishing.

  Annie hadn’t. In fact, she was having such a wonderful time that she hated to broach the subject of leaving, but it seemed the polite thing to consider his feelings. “Are you by any chance ready to go?”

  “I really am. That is, if you think you’ve got enough ideas to help you finish your stained-glass piece?” he added as an afterthought.

  “Enough for the one I’m working on and at least a dozen more,” Annie replied with a smile that softened the blue of her eyes to match the hue of the sky above.

  “I hate to tear you away when you seem to be having such fun. It’s just that as much as I appreciate the recognition, it brings back some painful memories,” Johnny admitted.

  Surprised that he would include her in his confidence even this much, Annie looked up to see a baby grinning at her over her mother’s shoulder. She ached to reach out and take the infant in her arms and smell the scent of its freshly bathed skin.

  “Some memories can be debilitating,” she said, empathetically feeling a twinge of compassion.

  Johnny crossed his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t opening my past up to conversation,” he told her sternly.

  Having already been cast in the role of a meddler by his sister, Annie was more than willing to change the subject to accommodate his need for privacy.

  “Fine by me.”

  She was relieved that he had no idea that she had been referring to her own memories.

  “How about buying me a pop for the road?” she asked.

  “Great idea. In spite of what my war buddy might think, the less we talk about the past, the better off you and I will both be.”

  Although Annie’s background in counseling told her otherwise, she wisely kept that to herself. Having never believed in forcing people to reveal pieces of themselves when they didn’t want to, she figured that the time would naturally come when Johnny would be ready to talk. Her suspicion that that would be long after she was a presence on the reservation made her inexplicably sad.

  Recalling her vow not to become entrenched in other people’s problems, Annie made herself focus on the ice-cold soda burning as it slid down her throat and slaked her thirst. She held the can to her forehead to help cool off her feverish body. As silly as she might have felt in a cowboy hat, it would have provided welcome respite from the sun. The dry air and higher altitude made skin as fair as hers more susceptible to damaging rays.

  “You should have worn some sunscreen, little pale face,” Johnny told her. “You’re burning up.”

  From the inside out! she was tempted to admit.

  Instead Annie simply joked back in kind. “I guess that makes me more of a redskin than you, then.”

  She felt on firmer ground playing with words rather than emotions—or physical responses that left her all a jumble—either of which could land her in a world of trouble. Annie reminded herself that she could ill afford any more trouble at this juncture in her life. Turning more serious, she pondered her choice of words.

  “Strange how that expression was historically used to describe your race when tomorrow I’ll be the one who looks like a lobster. I suspect you’ll just be enjoying a deeper tan.”

  “Oh, we get burned plenty. It’s just not as visible as yours. Personally, I’ve always been wary of skin-deep expressions,” Johnny admitted. “They only serve to categorize people too easily and inflame feelings of hatred. I’ve seen battles start over nothing more than angry words tossed back and forth over lines drawn in the sand. And I’ve witnessed firsthand the carnage they bring about.”

  Annie shuddered. Recalling the gang wars that besieged her old school, she hastened to assure him, “Myself, I’m more into peace pipes than pipe bombs.”

  “‘Make love, not war,’ huh?” Johnny quipped, reciting a popular mantra of the sixties.

  The breath caught in Annie’s throat as their eyes locked and held for a long, tense moment. That such an innocent expression had the power to conjure up wanton images and alter the very molecules separating the two of them was beyond rational explanation. As the seconds lengthened and Johnny made no attempt to look away, Annie focused her resources on squeezing the air out of her lung and trying to make her mouth form any kind of recognizable syllables.

  “Uh-huh” was the best she could manage.

  It came out in a breathless murmur that did nothing to dissipate the sexual tension vibrating between them. Having promised both herself and Johnny that she would remain a neutral observer during her limited tenure here, Annie knew what she was feeling was as far from impartial as one could get. As clear as her mind was about the dubious advisability of becoming involved with her boss and his hot-blooded extended family, her body stubbornly refused to heed the warning sirens going off in her head. Logic was of no use whatsoever when the man standing next to her was capable of invading all of her senses at once.

  “Take me home,” she told him simply enough. Annie wondered what the implications of that statement would prove to be if she were to allow the provocative beat of the drums in the background to push the already-overheated blood coursing through her veins beyond the boiling point.

  The smoldering gaze Johnny leveled at her melted any remaining resistance to which Annie might yet be clinging. She felt her knees turn to jelly as a slow, sexy smile slashed across Johnny’s features. Sculpted in granite, his face shimmered with the sheen of perspiration brought on by the physical demands of dancing that the announcer had labeled Indian aerobics. The look in Johnny’s eyes left no doubt that he was entertaining the same illicit thoughts that were running through her own mind.

  “Gladly.”

  Five

  Annie hadn’t felt so nervous in the company of the opposite sex since her first date way back in high school. Many years had passed since then, but she could still remember how very uncomfortable she had felt when her young swain had reached across the seat of his father’s sedan to take her hand into his. She had been disgusted by the fact that his hand was slick with nervous perspiration. Not that her hand had been much drier, if memory served her right.

  Sitting in silence opposite Johnny as they drove out of town, Annie recalled the anticipation of her very first kiss as being nothing short of agony. Stories perpetuated by her more experienced girlfriends had not prepared Annie for the enormous sense of disappointment she felt when that long-awaited kiss fell so terribly short of her girlish expectations. With vivid clarity Annie remembered how chapped the young fellow’s lips had been, how objectionable his attempt to thrust his tongue into her mouth and how embarrassed she had been by his clumsy efforts to unsnap her bra. She had bolted from that car as fast as she could, racing to the sanctuary of her bedroom where she was free to spend her tears as she saw fit.

  Calling to mind that ill-fated date did little to settle Annie’s nerves today. True, she wasn’t sixteen any more than Johnny Lonebear was some pimply faced adolescent intent on carrying tales back to the locker room come Monday morning. No doubt, the sexual energy sizzling between the two of them was indisputably of a far more adult natur
e than any relationship Annie had ever experienced. Whatever it was about this man that made her limbs grow so heavy and warm with wanting him was by no means forced. Rather, it was as natural as a river drawn to a waterfall.

  Niagara Falls to be more precise.

  Was it possible to swim against a current so strong as the one pulling her toward destiny without getting bruised and battered—or worse yet totally destroyed—in the process?

  A hard bump in the road sent more than just Annie’s thoughts flying in all directions. One hand landed on the front window and the other high upon Johnny’s leg where Annie braced herself for a protracted moment before realizing just what she was doing. This instant of awareness occurred only when the muscles of his thigh bunched beneath her touch. Her cheeks grew warm as she stole a surreptitious glance at his lap.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized, quickly averting her eyes before he noticed the direction they had taken.

  But it was too late for that. The spark of pure devilment that flashed in Johnny’s eyes let Annie know he hadn’t missed a thing.

  “You’re welcome to keep your hands all over me. I don’t mind a bit,” he joked with measured indifference.

  At a loss for a clever quip, Annie’s only response was to remove her hand from Johnny’s thigh, reach for her seat belt and belatedly strap herself in. Having never been particularly adept at flirting, she was especially leery of engaging in such behavior when she suspected that the flirtee in question was not one to encourage teasing of a sexual nature unless it was actually going somewhere. Worrying her lower lip between her teeth in a nervous habit that she carried from childhood, she took a stab at polite conversation as a way of regaining her composure and setting their relationship back on a platonic level. Johnny’s terse responses hardly promoted her cause, however, and before long she fell to furtively studying his profile.