Apache Nights

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  “It gave me something to do while you were working all that overtime.” He gestured to the enclosure. “Want to try it out?”

  “Absolutely.” She started up the stairs first. The entire structure was made of spruce logs, giving it a rustic quality. “Did you build this yourself?”

  “Yes.” He climbed the steps behind her. “I usually buy or lease the props in here, but I wanted to make this one.”

  To her, it was more than a prop. It was a heartfelt gift, something she would never forget.

  Once they reached the top, they both dived into the scratchy bedding. Although it was warm and absorbent, it grazed their skin, clinging to their hair and clothes.

  They looked at each other and laughed.

  “This isn’t what horses eat,” he said. “This is what they sleep on.”

  “I know.” She lifted a handful of the golden stalks, letting it flutter like rain. “I’m not that much of a city girl. I know the difference between hay and straw.” She paused to contemplate her situation. “I guess this makes you my roll-in-the-straw lover.”

  Her leaned over her. “I guess it does.”

  She lay beneath him, studying the handsome angles of his face. “Did you really miss me that much?”

  He nodded. “It frustrates me. Thinking about a woman when she isn’t around.”

  “You don’t seem frustrated now.”

  “Because you’re here.” He closed his hand over her blouse. “And I can touch you.”

  “You’re good at that.”

  One by one, he released her buttons. He seemed so intense, so completely absorbed in what he was doing. He removed her tennis shoes and tugged on her jeans, determined to undress her.

  When she was naked, he kissed her. A kiss so warm, so compelling, she wondered how she was ever going to replace him.

  She undressed him, too. She wanted to explore his body, to roam his muscles, to skim his scars, the healed-over bullet wounds that marred his skin. She’d noticed them before, but she hadn’t focused on them until now.

  But tonight, everything seemed different.

  More powerful. More real.

  She circled the scar on his chest. “Is this from the war?”

  He nodded.

  “And this one?” She gestured to his leg. She knew Olivia had accidentally shot him.

  “That was nothing, just a scratch.” He studied her expression, her sneaky smile. “But apparently you already know that.”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t help it.” She removed a piece of straw from his hair. “Olivia told me about it.”

  “We’ve told each other things, too.”

  “You and her?”

  He shook his head. “You and me. I’ve never confided in anyone like I have with you.”

  “Me, neither.” Her pulse tripped and stumbled. Here she was in a makeshift hayloft with a man who’d become more than her playmate. He’d also become her dearest, most treasured friend.

  “Are you ready for me?” he asked, holding her close, his body warm against hers.

  “Yes.” She knew he was talking about sex, about a physical joining. But for her, it was more than that.

  Suddenly Joyce knew exactly what was happening.

  She was losing her heart.

  To a man she’d vowed not to love.

  Eleven

  On Wednesday afternoon Kyle conducted a training session with Allie Whirlwind, Olivia’s younger sister. He and Allie stood on a sparring mat in his gym, with barely any communication between them.

  Kyle couldn’t concentrate on the lesson.

  “You’re not paying attention,” Allie said.

  “Yes, I am,” he lied.

  “No, you’re not.” Peeved, she put her hands on her hips.

  Kyle analyzed Allie. She was tall and lean with waist-length hair and striking features. He used to think she was hot, but over time she’d become like a little sister to him. He’d quit noticing her in a male-female sense. Not that she’d ever noticed him that way. Allie used to think he was dumb.

  He squinted at her. Maybe he was dumb, at least dumb enough to keep lusting after a cop. Joyce was working today, putting in long hours, as usual.

  And he couldn’t quit thinking about her.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Allie asked.

  “Nothing.” He walked over to the mini fridge and removed two bottled waters, handing her one.

  She frowned at the offering. “I’m not thirsty.”

  “Too bad. We’re taking a break. Besides, you need to drink water during a session. I’ve told you that before. Getting dehydrated is a health risk.”

  She uncapped the bottle and took a small sip. “Maybe we should spar outside today. You’re always going on and on about environmental training. New challenges. A change of scenery and all that.”

  “I don’t want to go outside.”

  “Fine.” She plopped down on the mat, sitting cross-legged, scowling at him.

  Kyle wondered if he should end the session early, if he was wasting her time.

  Suddenly she quit sulking. In an instant, her mood turned chipper. “I just figured out what’s bugging you.”

  Great. Now he had to listen to one of her addle-brained theories. He adored Allie, but her constant chatter got on his nerves.

  Her dark eyes lit up. “You’re falling in love with Detective Riggs.”

  Kyle’s breath rushed out. No way was he going to let Allie mess with his emotions, not about Joyce. Not about the pact they’d made. “You’re full of crap.”

  “Yeah, right. It’s written all over your face, lover boy.”

  “Keep it up and I’m going to knock you on your butt.”

  She lifted her hind-end a smidgen, raising one cheek in the air. “I’m already on my butt. And you’re just getting ticked off because you know it’s true.”

  He crossed his arms. “I made a promise to Joyce, and she made one to me. We agreed not to let it happen.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” She shook her head. “I’ll bet Joyce has already figured out how she feels.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes, way. She’s a detective. It’s her nature to solve crimes.” She grinned a little. “And her being in love with you is a crime. You’re a terrible catch.”

  “I am not. I—” He stopped. He wasn’t about to let her trick him into some sort of half-cocked admission. He was sexually obsessed with Joyce. She’d gotten under his skin. But that wasn’t the same as being in love. “You’re wrong, and I’m going to prove it.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her up. “We’re going to your house to talk to your sister. Olivia will set this straight.”

  “Why? Because she’s psychic? I knew she was in love with West before she did. And I knew he loved her, too.”

  “It’s different with Joyce and me.” He nudged Allie toward the basement door, practically pushing her up the stairs. “There’s another man in Joyce’s future.”

  An hour later, Kyle and Allie sat across from Olivia in the loft where both women lived. To him, the mystic décor only intensified the moment: the velvet sofa, the fantasy mural, the scented candles.

  “I don’t like to delve into people’s lives without their permission,” Olivia said, denying his request.

  “That’s bull,” Kyle retorted. “You do readings for police work all the time.”

  “Joyce isn’t under investigation,” she informed him.

  “No, but your pain-in-the-carcass sister is claiming that Joyce and I are in love, and Joyce would hate that worse than an unauthorized reading.”

  Olivia sighed. “Why don’t I do one on you instead?”

  “Fine.” He glanced at Allie, irked by the smug look on her face. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  Olivia left her chair and scooted between him and Allie on the couch. She took Kyle’s hand and held it. He didn’t say anything. He knew it was easier for her to get an accurate reading if she was touching someone. Of course, she could draw information from photographs, too.
Or simply from her mind. Olivia was clairvoyant, clairaudient and empathic. In addition to having visions, she heard voices and sounds in her head. But her strongest gift was feeling other people’s emotions.

  She tilted her head, her expression difficult to discern. Her short, choppy hair fell in multiple layers, spiking around her face. Her psychic energy came from her ancestors. All of the women in her family, aside from her and Allie, were witches—a disgrace in their culture. But she and Allie had managed to overcome it.

  Finally Olivia released his hand.

  “Well?” he said.

  She kept her expression blank. “You’re the man Joyce is meant to be with.”

  He cursed, using the crudest word he could think of. “You’re just saying that to side with Allie.”

  “No. I’m not. You’re going to have a baby with her. A little girl.”

  “She’s pregnant?” His stomach tensed, fear clawing at his gut. “But we used protection. We were careful. We—”

  Olivia interrupted. “This baby hasn’t been conceived yet. It isn’t happening now. But it’s part of your future.” Her voice turned soft. “And Joyce is going to be an incredible mother.”

  He stood up, fighting the air in his lungs, struggling to breathe. He hadn’t told Olivia about Joyce’s secret. He hadn’t told anyone.

  “Is he going to be a good dad?” Allie asked her sister, while Kyle’s knees nearly gave out.

  “I don’t know,” the psychic answered. “My feelings didn’t go in that direction.”

  “Hmm.” Allie considered the situation. “I’ll bet he will be. He’s weird, but he—”

  “Stop talking about me as if I’m not here.” He rounded on both women, not surprised that their ancestors were witches. “You cooked up this little scheme, didn’t you? You put your evil heads together and came up with a plan to coerce me into marrying Joyce.”

  Olivia rose to her feet, looking him in the eye. “Don’t be such an imbecile. I have better things to do with my time.”

  “I told you he’s always been a bit dense,” Allie interjected. “But deep down he knows better. He’s just scared, the way you were when you fell in love with West.”

  “I can’t handle this.” He couldn’t picture himself as a husband and father. But worse yet, he couldn’t imagine being married to an officer of the law, to a woman who would force him to conform, to change who and what he was. “I have to go.”

  “Where?” Allie called out after him. By now, he was halfway to the door.

  To end his relationship with Joyce, he thought. To talk to her as soon as she got home. To stop Olivia’s prediction from coming true.

  After an exhausting day, Joyce walked into her apartment to find Kyle waiting for her. Surprised to see him, she set her belongings on a nearby end table. This was the first time he’d used the key she’d given him.

  He rose from the couch and turned to look at her. Joyce’s pulse zigzagged. Just knowing that she loved him made her nervous. Sweetly, strangely excited.

  He blew out a rough breath, and she realized that he seemed anxious, too. But not in a good way. And in addition to that, he was wearing the kind of T-shirt and sweatpants he normally sparred in, which seemed odd.

  “Did you come here to fight?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “To talk. I’ve been here for hours.”

  Which meant he had something important on his mind. And instinct told her what it was. She didn’t have to be a genius to figure it out, to read the expression on his face. “You don’t want to be with me anymore, do you?”

  He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut. Then he opened them. “Can we go outside? Maybe go for a walk so I can explain why?”

  “Yes, of course.” She prayed that she could keep her emotions intact, that her eyes didn’t water, that her voice didn’t crack.

  They left the apartment and headed down the stairs. From there, they took a cement path that cut across a greenbelt.

  Dusk had fallen, leaving the October sky with a deep lavender hue. Joyce was dressed in black slacks and a matching blazer, and although the weather was mild, she fought a chill.

  She glanced at Kyle and noticed his frown. She didn’t have the courage to admit that she loved him. Not now. Not like this.

  “I had a panic attack today,” he said.

  She stopped walking. “You did. Why?”

  “Because of something Olivia said.” He pulled a hand through his unbound hair. It flowed to his shoulders, rain-straight and as dark as the night. “I went to see her because I was trying to prove Allie wrong. Allie thinks the pact you and I made is stupid and that we’re already in love.”

  Joyce struggled to respond. Suddenly everything inside her ached. “Allie has always been a dreamer.”

  “I know. And that’s why I wanted Olivia to set her straight.”

  She buttoned her jacket, warding off another chill. “So what did Olivia say?”

  “She did a reading on me. And—” He stalled, fidgeting with his hands, as if he didn’t know what to do with them. His sweats didn’t have pockets. “She messed with my mind. She told me that I was going to be the father of your baby. That we were going to have a little girl.”

  Joyce nearly swayed on her feet. “There’s no way I’m pregnant. My menstrual cycle was on time.”

  “This little girl is supposed to be part of our future, a baby that hasn’t been conceived yet.” He stepped back. “Can you imagine us getting married? Raising a kid? You, a cop. Me, a guy who carries an illegal firearm and plots robberies. It would be insane.”

  She knew he was right, that as a couple they made no sense. But that didn’t stop her from loving him, from wishing that he loved her, too.

  “What if Olivia wasn’t pulling a scam?” he said. “What if her prediction was real? What if you and I keep sleeping together and we make a baby?” He kept his distance, not standing too close. “I wouldn’t know how to provide for a family, to be that stable. You should be with someone else.”

  Joyce didn’t want anyone else. She wanted him. But she’d seen enough destruction to know that life didn’t always give you want you wanted.

  Still, she battled the hurt, the loneliness, the pain-wrenching loss. In her mind’s eye, she could see the wedding they would never have, the mixed-blood daughter they would never conceive.

  “I didn’t even tell Olivia that you wanted kids.” He dropped his arms to his sides, and suddenly he seemed sad. “But she said you’d make an incredible mom. She didn’t know if I’d make a good dad. That wasn’t part of the reading.”

  She resisted the urge to cradle her womb, to clutch her middle. “Of course you would.”

  “Allie thinks so, too. Me and all my goofy toys, I guess.” He took a step toward her, just one small, cautious step. “Do you understand why we shouldn’t keep seeing each other, Joyce?”

  She nodded, and her eyes filled with the tears she wasn’t supposed to cry. Unsure of what else to do, she blinked, trying to will them away, trying to look strong and steady.

  He reached out to touch her, but dropped his hand instead. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.” Her voice turned fragile, and she cursed her vulnerability. She longed to put her head on his shoulder, to grieve in his arms. But she wouldn’t dare. She couldn’t bear to fall apart in front of him. “You should go now. There’s no point in hanging around.”

  “Promise me that you’ll take care of yourself.” He released an audible breath. “That you’ll be happy. That you’ll find the right guy.”

  “I will.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, knowing she was lying. “Promise me that you won’t get arrested. That you won’t destroy your future.”

  He didn’t respond. He just stood there.

  And as the wind stirred, blowing a soft breeze around her face, she prayed that he would change his mind. That he would tell her that he’d fallen in love with her, that she was worth the risk, that he would alter his choices so he could marry a cop.

/>   But he didn’t.

  He said goodbye and walked away, leaving her alone in the dark. She watched him until he disappeared, until there was nothing left but the emptiness in her heart.

  Two days had passed and Kyle couldn’t sleep. So he burned the late-night oil, rummaging through his storage sheds, looking for the Tiffany lamp he’d considered giving to Joyce.

  He had no idea what he was going to do once he found the damn thing. Send it to her, he supposed. Along with the key to her apartment that he’d forgotten to return.

  He cursed the dust that gathered on boxes, much in the way he’d been cursing himself. His mind had been straying in a dangerous direction. He could almost imagine planting a baby in Joyce’s womb, giving her the child she wanted so desperately.

  Which meant what? That he could imagine marrying her, too?

  Yeah, right. As if he deserved to spend the rest of his life with her. The sweet, beautiful detective he’d shackled and blindfolded. He sounded like a sadomasochist, not a loving, caring husband.

  Finally he came across the carton he was searching for. Frustrated, he opened it with a pocketknife and removed the carefully packed object.

  Mired in confusion, he stared at the stained-glass motif on the shade. Break a woman’s heart, then send her an expensive antique? That made no sense.

  He could tell how much he’d hurt Joyce. He’d seen the tears in her eyes. He’d heard the pain in her voice.

  Was Allie right? Did Joyce love him? And what about himself? Was he too stubborn to admit that he was in love, too? Or too scared, as Allie had suggested?

  He closed his eyes, wondering what he should do. Call Joyce? Go see her? Ask her to forgive him?

  He didn’t like being enthralled by a woman. It went against his nature, his big, bad macho lifestyle. But worse yet was not being with her at all.

  His cell phone rang, jarring him from his thoughts. He checked the readout, hoping it was Joyce. But it wasn’t. The display indicated that the caller was Allie.

  He answered the summons, and her voice rushed over the line.

  “Kyle? I tried your house, but you weren’t there.”