"What did you think you were doing, stealing my horse?" he demanded, as if she were a juvenile delinquent.
"I… I didn't know it was… yours," she gasped at her captor. Trying to regain some measure of composure, she tried to still her pounding heart. "I have to get away, Delaney. I have to find my brother." She wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. "You can't understand. Whatever this is you're living in, isn't my place and time. I have to get back to my own time. My own people. My own version of … of reality." The tears were burning her eyes and she felt helpless to fight them and him together.
His blue eyes darkened with more annoyance, if that was possible. "Time? What madness are you talking about? There is no time but right now."
Pushing her hair back again, she sniffled while noticing that most of the tribe was gathering at the shoreline and watching. She knew she was making a spectacle of herself, yet it didn't matter. "Something's happened. I don't know what. Either you're mad or I am, and I have to get out of here and away from you to prove it isn't me!"
He stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. His gaze traveled down her body, and suddenly, Mairie was acutely aware of the thin wet Spandex outlining every detail of her breasts. Every detail, and she cursed her body's reaction to the cold water.
Delaney's eyes darkened with something more than anger and she managed to pull her arm free, crossing both arms over her chest for protection.
"It's high time you bathed," he muttered in a thick voice. "You saved the women from doing it. Now, get back to the lodge. I will think about taking you tomorrow to the Las Vegas ranch, but tonight you are the honored guest of these people and you will not insult their hospitality."
Knowing she was defeated, Mairie tried walking, but stumbled, and Delaney reached out to help her. She shrugged off his hand and hobbled a few steps through the water when the horse, as if startled by her action, moved its rump into her shoulder and down again she went under the surface. Within seconds she was lifted not only out of the water but up into the air and flung like a sack over Delaney's shoulder as he walked out of the creek.
"Put me down!" she demanded, with a punch to his back. Outraged by his macho behavior, Mairie tried kicking him with her good foot. "How dare you? How dare you treat me like this?"
She felt a muffled grunt from her assault and then her legs were captured in a tight hold as Delaney walked out of the creek and back toward the camp. His shoulder cut into her solar plexus with each step and Mairie whimpered her useless protest. She tried pushing her hair away from her face, yet since her face was upside down, it too appeared useless, and besides, it helped to hide her shame, for she could hear murmurings and even a few chuckles from the spectators.
She would get Delaney for this. She vowed that somehow she would get even.
He dumped her in front of the lodge, allowing her to slide down the front of his body, and held onto her waist for just a moment too long. Mairie felt his strength, his power, rushing from his large hands and racing through her body.
"You will go inside and wait for the women," he said with a deep breath which hinted to more than exertion. "I'm posting a guard here, so don't even think of making another attempt." His eyes scanned her face, as though searching for sanity.
Mairie felt his gaze move over her and suddenly she knew exactly how to get even. Her lips moved into a smile of shy surrender and she whispered, "I'll behave, Delaney. But you'll take me to the ranch tomorrow? You promise?"
He seemed startled and suspicious by her sudden change of mood. "I said I would think about it. I will come when the women are finished preparing you. Do not disgrace yourself or me, madam. Or that promise to think about it is null and void."
"You needn't threaten me," she whispered. "I'll be good."
"Hmm… well, that would be a welcome change, now, wouldn't it?"
She could tell he didn't believe she was capable of such behavior, so she merely smiled again, trying to hide the rush of pleasure that ran through her when she saw Delaney's reaction. Now why didn't she think of this before? Feminine wiles…
Turning without another word, she entered the lodge and sat down to formulate her plan.
A throughly modern woman, she felt it went against her principles to resort to hormonal subterfuge. She knew all about the communication war between men and women, about sexual harassment and intimidation, and all that was fine and good when one was in a sane, or near sane, environment. This was neither. This was not a place of equality. Here a man had power over her, not power she had given, power assumed. This must be how women had felt before laws had tried to protect them against such abuse of power. So since the scales were unequal, and so out of balance, she would simply use what women had used for thousands of years… her innate feminine power.
Now, how was she going to do that, since Delaney was convinced that she was a crazy woman? She thought for a few moments and then smiled as she flipped her wet hair off her face. Hah… as hard as he'd tried to hide it, she had seen that look of male interest first at the creek with the wet top and then just now before he left. He might think she was crazy, but it was obvious he was not above being attracted to a crazy female. It was kind of flattering, since it had been so long since she'd even entertained the thought of male interest, and she had to be honest… he was gorgeous, but he was also nuts, so she'd have to proceed cautiously.
First things first, she thought, as she looked around for the primitive comb. Spying it on the rabbit skin rug, she reached down and started dragging it through her damp hair. Well, soon the women would come and she'd figure out what else she might use to transform herself into an Indian maiden. She already had the black hair. All she needed was a little help, and…
Her thoughts stopped and her hand froze midway through her hair.
A part of her didn't like the plan. It was deceptive, and she knew enough about cause and effect to know that whatever she gave out could have a boomerang effect and come around to slam her in the back of the head. But what were her options? She simply had to get him to promise to take her to that ranch tomorrow. She had to find civilization again. A phone. A car. A modern person! Enough was enough, and she'd played by his rules way too long.
Now it was time to even out the playing field.
Chapter 4
His breath caught at the back of his throat as the women left the lodge with big smiles of accomplishment. Fires burned brightly, illuminating the circle of stones in the middle, and Jack found himself still not breathing as she finally made her appearance. It wasn't possible… It wasn't! Mairie Callahan, incredible wild gift from the heavens, was magically transformed into a… beautiful Indian maiden. No other description suited her. She wore a light shift to her ankles that was gathered at the waist with a wide beaded sash. A choker of brightly colored beads surrounded her neck, with matching beads braided into the tips of her dark hair. The shy smile on her face seemed to soften her features until he was hard pressed to remember the angry woman he had dropped at the lodge earlier.
Finally releasing his breath, Jack couldn't pull his gaze away from her. The women motioned for her to move closer to the fire, and once seated, she slowly lifted her face and stared across the flames at him. Her eyes seem to sparkle in the firelight and he swore an unseen force entered his chest, infusing him with a tingling heat.
Dear God… she is exquisite.
The steady beating of a drum signaled the beginning of the ceremonial meal. The women sat on one side of the fire, the men on the other. Mairie was surrounded by those who had prepared her and the younger girls of the tribe. Jack watched as she smiled and laughed while attempting to converse with the females through hand gestures. She appeared to have made friends, was very polite, was even enjoying herself. While the food was passed around, he continued to watch her from under the cover of his lashes. As hard as he tried, he simply couldn't seem to tear his gaze away.
A part of him realized he was making a fool of himself, that all those sur
rounding him must surely think he was besotted with the woman. He told himself to pay attention to the talk of the men… the recounting of the successful hunt, the coming celebration, anything to distract him from the woman who also was sneaking glances in his direction. What was happening? He didn't want to think that she could actually be his gift. He reminded himself of her perverse nature, of her stubborn insistence that it was over a hundred years into the future and she was capable of miraculous things such as flying and speaking over great distances.
Perhaps she was a witch.
That thought hadn't occurred to him before, and suddenly it made a bizarre kind of sense. He had never believed in such superstitions. Witches were fanciful characters used to frighten children into behaving. They were not beautiful women falling from the sky. But it was a thought…
Tonight the Indian shaman would travel into the other world and speak with the Great Spirit of the Wolf, and express his gratitude for the appearance of Mairie Callahan. If a shaman could enter another world, why couldn't a witch enter this one?
Damn, he could use a long drink of whiskey. Of course, from the way his mind was wandering with such fantastic thoughts, he could already be drunk … drunk with the vision of a beautiful, beguiling witch who was… yes, who was now glancing at him, with a definitely seductive smile playing across her lips. She was teasing with her eyes, toying with her smile. He'd had enough women and enough experience to recognize a blatant flirtation.
He took a deep steadying breath and concentrated on his brother's tale of expert tracking. Male companionship was safe. Hunting made sense. He had enough worries as it was… he would not be bewitched, too.
Yet as he selected his portion of roasted deer meat, he suddenly felt like the one being hunted. It was not a comforting premonition.
Mairie had almost forgotten what it felt like to flirt with a man, to focus all her energy inward and capture the essence of seduction and then to project it outside herself. Somehow, over the last several months, she'd lost sight of the rush of pleasure to be derived when a direct hit was scored. And in the last fifteen minutes, she'd had several direct hits. The flirtation had not yet been returned, but that didn't bother her in the least. Delaney's reaction was satisfaction enough… for now.
The poor man's expression changed from stunned appreciation at her appearance to confusion and just now settled into a strained discomfort. The time spent on her costume had been worth it, and to be honest, she actually enjoyed the company of the females. It was soothing to allow them to attend her. She had always been so self-reliant, so independent, and these simple, giving people were teaching her to receive without guilt. Amazing.
It was then she stared into the fire, wondering what in the world she could say to them to encourage them, when she knew that the modern world held little for the Indian. She thought about the history books she had read in school and again felt a stirring of anger. America… land of the free and home of the brave. Dear God, Americans had stolen a continent and nearly annihilated an entire race of people and felt justified. And how much better was she? She enjoyed those freedoms, those luxuries… but at the expense of the rightful owners? She had never really thought about the plight of the Indian. Maybe she hadn't wanted to, maybe she was the ignorant one, uneducated in truth. But what could she say?
Certainly, not the truth.
She thought back to when the younger women knelt around her and wove the tiny beads into the ends of her hair, when she had experienced a feminine bonding that went beyond the color of skin or culture. There wasn't a separation of them and me, of being different, and when she'd seen her reflection in a small silver bowl, she'd felt like a pampered Indian princess. How natural the transformation. She knew it was a silly thought—ridiculous, really— yet she kept that image when she left the lodge, wanting Delaney to see her as one.
If she was supposed to be this visitor from the heavens, a messenger from above, then she was going to play the part with gusto.
She would mesmerize him tonight and extract his promise to take her to the ranch in the morning. She felt like Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, and Anne Boleyn all rolled into one. Of course, one committed suicide, one lost her head, and another was portrayed as a deceitful woman driven by passion or an innocent victim of her own beauty, depending on the male or female version. Not exactly promising endings to extraordinary lives, yet they had lived, not settling for a passive, servile existence, submissive to men. They knew about feminine power.
Shyly glancing at Delaney, she lifted the corners of her mouth in a flirtatious smile and almost giggled at his startled reaction. As he was about to bite into a piece of meat, his hand froze in mid-air.
This was definitely going to be fun.
She thought about all her struggles with him since he had appeared in the desert, her anger and frustration. Scenarios ran through her mind. She envisioned him bathing in that waterfall and then smirking at her confusion. She almost heard his laughter once again when he explained her to his Indian brothers and said she didn't know if she was a warrior or a maiden. Well, tonight she was both. Her stomach muscles could almost feel his shoulder digging into her as he humiliated her at the creek earlier. How could she have forgotten that old adage?
Don't get mad, get even.
Yeah… tonight she would have some fun and accomplish her goal without his even knowing what happened. Where reason failed to penetrate, femininity would prevail. Her smile was filled with impending victory. Soon. Soon, she would prove to him she was right, and a reunion with her brother would take place.
She just loved being a woman.
Once the meal was over, the dancing began. To Mairie, it seemed disorganized at first, as though everyone was doing his own thing, but she soon realized that the Indians were slowly forming a circle. She was asked to join and reluctantly stood. Looking across the fire, she saw that Delaney was already beginning to stamp his feet lightly in time to the drums. She noticed that he was graceful for a man and tried to make her movements match his. Soon everyone was joining hands and moving very slowly to the left. The dancers moved in a circle, with clasped hands and, dragging their steps, singing with a rhythmic swing the songs of the dance, over and over in a dizzying trancelike movement.
Mairie was always a decent dancer and, even now as she dragged her bruised foot, she picked up the rhythm quickly. She found the beating of the drums soothing—hypnotic, even—as her ears and mind were filled with a song that she couldn't understand, yet expanded her heart. Something special was taking place; she could feel it in the energy surrounding her. She looked across the fire and found Delaney staring at her as he moved in the dance, and she automatically smiled softly at him. From somewhere in the recesses of her brain came the realization that her smile wasn't planned or forced. In that instant she had actually felt affection for him, maybe even a thread of gratitude for this incredible experience with the Indians. It was as if she were now falling under a spell…
Round and round went the circle, slowly, entrancing her even more. It was tranquilizing. Suddenly a young man staggered from the ring and swooning, fell to the ground. Mairie was immediately concerned, yet the woman holding her hand on the left smiled and nodded, as if saying it was all right, that it was to be expected. The dance continued, the singing was uninterrupted, and Mairie searched out Delaney. He was looking at her.
Their gaze connected with such intensity that Mairie was stunned. Across the fire, Delaney seemed to be speaking, communicating with her. It wasn't words. More like concepts that filled her mind. It was as if he were saying, Don't be afraid. She watched as he withdrew from the circle, making sure those on either side of him clasped hands to keep the circle intact. He slowly walked around the others until he came to her. The women on either side of her joined hands, leaving her outside the circle, next to Delaney.
"Come," he whispered. "Let's sit down and I'll explain what's happening."
She followed him back to her place behind the dancers. She felt a s
trange kind of energy running through her body, as if she were in a church, or a sacred place of worship.
He sat next to her, clad in his jeans and a vest made of deerskin and rabbit fur. His long dark hair was swept away from his face and fell behind his shoulders. His eyes were intense in the firelight, yet Mairie found it hard to concentrate on anything but his mouth as he began to speak.
"This is the Spirit Dance," he said in a low voice. "It's an invitation to the Great Spirit to communicate, and it opens a window for that exchange. The young man who fell into a trance is now taking a journey into that world of Spirit and will come back with a message. The dancing and singing continues until he awakens and describes his vision of the spirit-world."
She simply nodded, as if it made all the sense in the world. A part of her, that irascible dark angel, seemed to whisper in her ear that she was being naive, actually falling for a primitive hypnotic suggestion… that she should laugh it off and merely observe it all as if she were watching a documentary. She mentally shrugged her shoulder and shut up the annoying voice of fear. Something was happening here, something inside of her, some part that was telling her to pay attention, to learn, to grow, not to judge what she didn't yet understand.
"See through the dancers… see him begin to awaken." Delaney pointed to the man who had collapsed. "His name is Wovoka. His father was a disciple of Wodziwob, who began his own form of the Ghost Dance, sometimes called the Dream Dance. But first, from what I've learned, there was Smohalla, from the northwest. Smohalla was a… a mystic. He was kin to the Nez Perce and Yakima. After taking part in the Yakima wars, he believed that he had died and been resurrected by the Great Spirit. His followers gave him the name of the Dreamer."
Anywhere You Are Page 7
