Книга - Apache Dream Bride

Apache Dream Bride
Joan Elliott Pickart


CELEBRATION 1000 THE MAN ON THE BEDROOM FLOOR… was straight out of Kathy Maxwell's dream.But she could only stare at the lone Apache, wearing nothing but formfitting buckskins and a scowl, who rose to stand at the foot of her bed. "I am Dakota," he said. "Why have you brought me to this strange place?" Kathy was astonished at the sight before her.Somehow during the night the Native American dreamcatcher that hung above her bed had snuck into her sleep, stolen her dream man out of the 1870s and transported him here, into her present-day bedroom! Gee whiz, what was a twentieth-century girl to do?CELEBRATION 1000: Come celebrate the publication of the 1000th Silhouette Desire, with scintillating love stories by some of your favorite writers!









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#ue7cb2279-ef02-5d9d-a0d0-46e306112bd5)

Excerpt (#u63a5a41c-5909-5415-b768-b09be867d456)

Dear Reader (#u69ee9f40-0062-5cc6-ad65-90fc0c88dca9)

Title Page (#udd56a3c6-008a-52e1-b7b4-0ecb01ebc7c6)

Dedication (#u4bad8252-13d1-5439-af88-5643acc6f623)

About the Author (#u0f235dbb-1c6a-5548-9f54-63d23703d58f)

Dear Reader (#ua6860737-9c70-5040-ac8a-0572da7db104)

Chapter One (#u22437738-94d0-5f95-b29c-eff05ae86c40)

Chapter Two (#u7bb621c2-3dde-5b6e-9995-52ba270fb094)

Chapter Three (#ub4c14ee1-ffbf-5255-96d6-2da0be95174a)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




“Kissing Was An Excellent Discovery,”


Dakota observed, appearing extremely proud of himself. “We’re moving closer to the time of joining.”



“No, we’re not,” Kathy said, her voice rising. “Yes, okay, I want you, I want to join with you. It’s called making love, if the proper emotions are involved. But it isn’t going to happen between us, Dakota.”



“Why not?”



She folded her arms over her breasts. “Listen to me carefully. I do not take the act of making love lightly.”

“Nor do I.”



“Fine. Then you should be able to understand that it’s too risky. What if I…Darn it, what if I fall in love with you and then you zoom back to 1877?”


Dear Reader,



It’s the CELEBRATION 1000 moment you’ve all been waiting for, the publication of Silhouette Desire #1000! As promised, it’s a very special MAN OF THE MONTH by Diana Palmer called Man of Ice. Diana was one of the very first Silhouette Desire writers, and her many wonderful contributions to the line have made her one of our most beloved authors. This story is sure to make its way to your shelf of “keepers.”

But that’s not all! Don’t miss Baby Dreams, the first book in a wonderful new series, THE BABY SHOWER, by Raye Morgan. Award-winning author Jennifer Greene also starts a new miniseries, THE STANFORD SISTERS, with the delightful The Unwilling Bride. For something a little different, take a peek at Joan Elliott Pickart’s Apache Dream Bride. And the fun keeps on coming with Judith McWilliams’s Instant Husband, the latest in THE WEDDING NIGHT series. Our Debut Author promotion introduces you to Amanda Kramer, author of the charmingly sexy Baby Bonus.

And you’ll be excited to know that there’s more CELEBRATION 1000 next month, as the party continues with six more scintillating love stories, including The Accidental Bodyguard, a MAN OF THE MONTH from Ann Major.

Silhouette Desire—the passion continues! Enjoy!








Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3




Apache Dream Bride

Joan Elliott Pickart



















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Herm Harrison

Professional Football Player!

Super Star!

Hero!

But most of all…my friend.


JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART

is the author of over sixty-five novels. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys watching football, knitting, reading, gardening and attending craft shows on the town square. Joan has three daughters and a fantastic little grandson. Her three dogs and one cat allow her to live with them in a cozy cottage in a charming, small town in the high pine country of Arizona.


Dear Reader,



When I was first published as Robin Elliott with Silhouette Desire back in June of 1985, I was delighted to become a member of the Silhouette family.



Through the years, Silhouette Desire has become a favorite of readers across the country and around the world, a fact that doesn’t surprise me. The Silhouette family has grown, and I have the privilege to be surrounded by very talented writers.



What does surprise me is how quickly the years have passed since that first Robin Elliott book was published. I feel as though I’ve traveled forward in time just as Dakota does in Apache Dream Bride.

To be chosen to be a part of the celebration of the 1000th Silhouette Desire novel is a tremendous honor. I salute the authors, who have contributed to the success of the Desire line, the editors, who have been those authors’ partners, and I salute all of you who have been steadfast readers of our books through the years. You, too, are members of the Silhouette family.



While I began my Silhouette career as Robin Elliott, I am now writing under my own name of Joan Elliott Pickart.



Many thanks to all of you for your loyalty and support.

With warmest regards,









One (#ulink_44b02a5c-b694-5b7f-9768-c722746061f1)


The June day was so perfect, Kathy Maxwell decided, it was as though Mother Nature had reached an agreement with the Prescott Chamber of Commerce to present the small northern Arizona town at its very best.

Kathy took a deep breath of the clean, cool air, and marveled yet again at how clear the bright blue sky was at an altitude of five thousand feet. The lack of smog and exhaust fumes was just one of a multitude of reasons that made her extremely glad she’d moved to Prescott from Chicago a year ago.

“Hi, Kathy,” a woman called from across the street. “Are you playing hooky this afternoon?”

Kathy laughed. “You caught me, Beth. Sally is covering the store. I’m going to the craft show on the plaza with Lily.”

“Enjoy yourselves,” Beth said, waving as she went into a shop.

The people here were always so friendly and warm, Kathy thought as she smiled.

She had spent several summers in Prescott with her cousin, Lily, and had loved every minute of the visits. During her last trip west, she’d found herself consumed with an ever-growing sense of dread when envisioning a return to her life in Chicago.

The violence at the inner-city school where she taught increased each year, making it necessary to spend more time attempting to maintain order in the classroom than teaching the belligerent students.

During the previous school year, she’d lost weight, developed what were diagnosed as stress headaches and had difficulty sleeping. Admitting that she was burnedout had been difficult and had given her a feeling of failure. So, she’d hightailed it to Prescott, certain that a relaxing summer with Lily in the peaceful little town would render her as good as new. But by the end of August she realized it was not to be.

Not a risk-taker, and preferring order in her life, it had taken every ounce of courage Kathy possessed to quit her teaching job just weeks before the fall term began. Gathering that courage, as well as her savings, she had made a permanent move to Prescott and opened her store, The Herb Hogan. Her longtime hobby of growing herbs and studying their various uses had provided her the means to start her own business, which was thriving.

“Kathy, I’m coming, I’m coming,” a voice said, bringing Kathy from her thoughts.

She turned to see Lily waddling toward her, moving as fast as anyone who was eight months pregnant could. Her cousin was short, and very round at the moment. She had carrot red hair and a generous supply of freckles.

“Whew,” Lily said, stopping next to Kathy. “I’ll be so glad when this baby isn’t getting free rides anymore. I swear he weighs more than the other three did, despite what the doctor says.”

“You didn’t have to rush. We have all afternoon to ourselves.”

“What a heavenly thought,” Lily said as they started down the sidewalk. “Brad was making lunch for the girls when I left the house. Oh, mercy, I don’t even want to think about what my kitchen will look like when I get home. Brad is wonderful with the kids, but he’s a disaster on cleanup detail.” She paused. “So, tell all. How did your date with Roy go?”

Kathy wrinkled her nose. “Ask me anything you ever wanted to know about rodeos. I had a four-hour dissertation on the subject.”

“Oh, dear, another dud. That’s not good, not good at all.”

“Lily, I’m going to say this…again. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve discussed the subject. Are you listening?”

“No.”

“Yes, you are. I’m happy in Prescott, very contented. Granted, there are adjustments to make when moving here from a large city like Chicago, but I’ve settled in quite nicely over the past year. This town is as close to perfection as a place can be.

“However, because it’s so small, there isn’t an abundance of eligible men. I’ve accepted that fact, and I’m aware that there’s a very good chance that I’ll never marry and have children. I’ll spoil your kids rotten and be their eccentric spinster aunt. I’d rather live here alone than in Chicago where there were beaucoup men. And that, Lily Benson, is that.”

“It certainly is not,” Lily said with an indignant sniff. “There’s a man for you in this town…somewhere. It’s simply a matter of staying alert. Prescott is growing, you know. There are people moving here all the time.

“I made Brad promise to tell me if any bachelors retain him as their attorney. You’ve got to work on your attitude, Kathy, or you’re liable to miss seeing a real hunk of stuff when he’s right in front of your nose.”

“Lily…”

“And,” she went on, “let us not forget your many attributes, my dear. You’re tall, disgustingly slender, have naturally curly blond hair, gorgeous blue eyes, and not one freckle, because I have your share. You’re twenty-seven, intelligent, have your own business, adore children…The list goes on and on. You’re a super catch, Kathy Maxwell, and a fantastic man is going to come out of the ether and realize that.”

Kathy rolled her eyes heavenward but kept silent, knowing it was useless to argue the subject further with her lovable and stubborn cousin.

The plaza, also called the square, was located on the main street and was a block long on each of its four sides. A majestic courthouse sat in the center, surrounded by trees and lush green grass. A charming gazebo had been built on one section of the lawn. Ongoing activities took place on the plaza, Kathy’s favorites being the craft shows.

Handmade items were on display in the seemingly endless number of booths edging the grass of the square. Some of the people manning the booths were local citizens, others had come from across the country.

Kathy was slowly collecting items with Southwestern, as well as native American, themes to decorate her tiny cottage, which she adored. The one-bedroom house had a white picket fence, a tall juniper tree on one side, and a large backyard, where she grew herbs. Her home was “cozy and cute,” she often told Lily, and it suited her needs perfectly.

“My stars,” Lily said, “would you look at all the people on the square? What a crowd. See? I told you that Prescott is growing, and there’s the evidence of it. Well, let’s plough in and ogle the goodies.”

“Did it ever occur to you that a majority of those folks are tourists?”

“Hush. Don’t be negative. Mark my words, they live here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kathy said, laughing. “Anything you say, ma’am.”



Late that night Kathy stood next to her double bed, a hammer in one hand. She cocked her head to one side, then the other, finally nodding in approval. She was delighted with the purchase she’d made at the craft show, and now it was properly placed on the wall just above her pillow.

“A Dream Catcher,” she said, smiling. “I love it.”

The native American creation was comprised of a three-inch circle covered in soft pink felt. Minute, taut webbing crisscrossed the interior of the circle, leaving a small hole in the center. Several felt streamers, six and eight inches long and decorated with beads and feathers, hung from the circle.

The legend of the Dream Catcher was enchanting, Kathy mused. Hung above where a person slept, the ornament would catch dreams that floated through the night air. Only good dreams would be allowed to pass through the hole in the center, while bad dreams were snared in the webbing and would perish at dawn’s light.

“Pleasant dreams guaranteed,” she said with a decisive nod.

She put the hammer away, locked the doors, then went to bed. She looked at the Dream Catcher once more before turning off the small lamp on the nightstand. With a sigh of contentment, she snuggled into a comfortable position.

What a lovely day it had been, she thought. As more and more time passed, she was emotionally reassured that she’d made the right decision when moving to Prescott. Her life was once again in order and her health restored. Everything was fine.

Except…

Kathy sighed. If she was totally honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she often yearned to have a special man to share with, to laugh and talk with; someone she loved and who loved her in return.

She wished to marry, have children, and still continue to nurture her growing business. She wanted it all, fairytale perfect, greedy person that she was. But the man, his love and the subsequent babies were missing.

She was learning to accept that fact. She refused to allow that empty place in her life to diminish her happiness and the sense of rightness about the choice she’d made to leave Chicago.

Who knows, she thought sleepily, maybe her Prince Charming was out there somewhere. He’d suddenly appear in her life and fall madly in love with her as he captured her heart.

Maybe…maybe…

Kathy drifted off to sleep.

* * *

She was standing in a field of glorious wildflowers, the vibrantly colored, fragrant blossoms dancing in the breeze as far as the eye could see. Her simple dress of pale yellow cotton fell to the tops of her bare feet. A sunbonnet covered her hair, tied loosely beneath her chin.

She was comfortable in the clothes, knew they were hers and were the proper attire for the West in 1877.

Raising one hand to shield her eyes against the brilliant sun, she stared into the distance with a sense of wondrous anticipation and excitement.

He was coming. Yes, she could see him now, racing toward her on his gleaming horse. Closer and closer he came, becoming clearer with every rapid beat of her heart.

Bronzed and beautiful, he rode bareback, clad only in buckskin pants and moccasins. His broad, tawny, muscled chest was glistening, his shoulder-length hair shining like ebony. His eyes were as dark as a raven’s wing, and his features were bold, rough-hewn, with high cheekbones that were further evidence of his Indian heritage.

This was her love, her magnificent brave; proud, strong, riding like the wind, and coming to her, only her. He pulled the horse to a stop and dropped to the ground, striding toward her with sensual grace.

She opened her arms to receive him into her embrace.

“Hurry,” she whispered. “Oh, please hurry, my love.”

He was one step away, reaching for her, desire radiating from the depths of his obsidian eyes.

Then…

* * *

Kathy jolted upward in bed, her heart pounding. She heard the insistent shrill of the alarm clock and smacked it off.

“Blast,” she said aloud. “I missed the best part of my wonderful dream.”

She looked over her shoulder, intent on glaring at the Dream Catcher for not poking the dream through the hole earlier so it wouldn’t have been cut short by the rude ringing of the alarm.

But the Dream Catcher wasn’t there.

“Darn it,” Kathy said, tossing back the blankets and leaving the bed.

She was certain she’d secured it firmly with a nail tucked through the loop at the top. Apparently, though, both nail and Dream Catcher had fallen to the floor during the night.

“That’s strange,” she said, seeing the nail still in the wall.

Kathy dropped to her knees and peered under the bed, discovering only a few dust bunnies. Rising, she slid her hand between the mattress and the wall. Nothing.

Where on earth had the Dream Catcher disappeared to?

“Coffee,” she mumbled, starting toward the door. “Coffee, then a more thorough search.”

She yawned just as she reached the foot of the bed, then stopped, statue-still. Her mouth remained opened from the now-forgotten yawn and her eyes widened. A strange squeak escaped from her throat, and she snapped her mouth closed. The sound of her frantically beating heart echoed in her ears.

The missing Dream Catcher was on the floor between the bed and the wall.

But it was no longer three inches around. It was six feet across!

And there, caught half in and half out of the center hole, lying on the carpet with his eyes closed, was the Indian brave from her dream!

Her trembling legs refused to hold her for another instant, and Kathy sank onto the edge of the bed, her horrified gaze riveted on the enormous Dream Catcher and the man caught in the webbing. He hadn’t moved. The steady rise and fall of his chest were the only indication that he was even alive.

No, Kathy thought frantically, he wasn’t alive. Well, he wasn’t dead, either. But he was most definitely not alive in the sense that he was actually there in her bedroom. That was ridiculous. Impossible. Absurd.

Kathy jumped to her feet, stomped back to the head of the bed, then yanked her Mickey Mouse T-shirt straight over her bikini panties. After getting into bed, she pulled the blankets up to her chin and squeezed her eyes tightly closed.

That Indian, she told herself, that absolutely gorgeous-beyond-belief man, was not in her bedroom because she was still asleep and dreaming. It was one of the most wide-awake-seeming dreams she’d ever had, but it was a dream, nonetheless. The alarm would go off at any moment now and she’d begin her daily routine on a perfectly normal Monday morning. Fine.

Several minutes passed as Kathy stayed ramrod stiff under the covers. Then she very tentatively opened one eye to sneak a peek at the clock.

“Oh, dear heaven,” she said, with a near-sob.

It was long past time for the alarm to ring because it had already rung!

She was awake. She was honest-to-goodness awake. The empty nail on the wall above her head seemed to scream at her that the pretty little three-inch Dream Catcher was no longer there, because it was now six feet around and holding fast to the most magnificent man she had ever seen.

Kathy Maxwell, she admonished herself, stop it. Just cut it out. This was not really happening, because things like this didn’t really happen. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for this nonsense, but, oh, mercy, she wished she knew what it was.

She eased herself slowly upward, hardly breathing, then crawled on her hands and knees toward the end of the bed.

There was, Kathy told herself, nothing on that floor but a section of brown carpet that needed vacuuming.

As she came to the foot of the bed, she closed her eyes, causing her to nearly fall off the end.

Slowly, very slowly, she opened her eyes. At that exact same moment, the Indian opened his eyes and looked directly at her.

“Aaak!” Kathy screamed.

She scrambled off the side of the bed and came to a stop at the man’s feet. He turned his head to stare at her, a frown knitting his dark brows.

“Oh. No. Oh, dear,” Kathy said in a voice that was more of a whimper. She hopped from one foot to the other, wringing her hands. “No, no, no.”

“A death dance?” the Indian said. “I’m dead. So be it.”

Kathy stopped in mid-hop, and leaned slightly forward. “My goodness, you have a marvelous voice. It’s so deep and rich. Well, that figures. You’re a big man and your voice is exactly right for your size. I suppose your tan is natural, what with your being a native American and…No! I’m not talking to you. I refuse to say another word, because you’re not really here. Are you getting this, mister?”

“I’m dead,” he said, then sighed. “I thought I had lived my life with honor befitting a Chiricahua Apache, but apparently I have angered the gods. I have been sentenced to spend my eternal beyond with a shrieking witch-woman.”

Kathy planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “That was very rude. I am not a shrieking witch-woman, for Pete’s sake. How would you feel if your Dream Catcher grew from three inches to six feet and plopped a guy from your dream on the floor in your bedroom? Huh? Answer that one. You’d be shook up, too.”

“Dream Catcher?” he repeated, glancing at the apparatus surrounding him. “Yes, this is a Dream Catcher, but I have never seen one this large. Why am I being held captive in this enormous Dream Catcher?”

“Beats me,” Kathy said, shrugging. She giggled, realizing at once that there was a hysterical edge to the sound. She pressed one hand to her forehead. “No fever. Drat. But, darn it, this is not happening. It just can’t be.”

The Indian began to shift, struggling to escape from the tight webbing surrounding the center circle where he was held fast.

“Don’t you move,” Kathy said. “I’m warning you, I’ll call the police, and the sheriff, and the fire department, and…and…I mean it, you stay right there.”

The Indian glowered at her and continued to wrestle with the Dream Catcher. Kathy inched backward until she thudded against the wall, then wrapped her hands around her elbows in a protective gesture.

She watched with wide eyes as the man worked his way free.

One part of her exhausted brain was terrified at the thought of what he might do to her.

Another section of her frazzled mind was mesmerized by the intriguingly sensuous and blatantly masculine play of the bunching muscles beneath his taut, tawny skin.

Yet another piece of her mind continued to deny that this bizarre scenario was taking place.

“Mmm,” the Indian said as he accomplished his goal. He rolled to his feet in a smooth, graceful motion, standing close to six feet tall.

“Don’t kill me,” Kathy said, her voice trembling. “Don’t scalp me. Don’t do anything, except go away.” She flapped her hands at him. “Shoo. Be gone. Disappear. Right now.”

“Woman,” he said gruffly, crossing his arms over his broad chest, “you talk too much. I must be dead. There’s no other explanation for this. Unless…” He narrowed his eyes. “It is possible, although I seriously doubt it, that you possess magical powers that you combined with those of the Dream Catcher. Indian legends and folklore should not be tampered with. Not ever.”

Kathy shook her head. “I don’t have any magical abilities. And I certainly didn’t tamper with the powers of the Dream Catcher.” She paused. “I hung the Dream Catcher above my bed, deciding its legend was enchanting. Then just before I fell asleep I was thinking about how wonderful it would be if a special man…I had a dream about…Oh, dear heaven. No, forget it. This whole thing is impossible.”

“I agree. Therefore, I am definitely dead.”

“No,” she said, sighing, “you’re not dead. I can’t explain this. I don’t really believe it, but…I wish you’d crawl back into that Dream Catcher and transport yourself to 1877 where you belong.”

“If I am not dead, if I am actually here, I would prefer not to be. But I do not possess the power to command a Dream Catcher.” He shook his head. “No, I refuse to believe this is happening.”

Kathy inched her way carefully around him to sink onto the edge of the bed.

“Look,” she said, “we agree that this really isn’t taking place, but repeating over and over that it can’t be true isn’t getting us anywhere. Let’s just stop for a minute and take the approach that it did happen. That’s probably very foolish, but I’m getting a tad desperate here.”

The Indian shrugged. “It is foolish, but I do not have a better idea right now.”

“Fine. We’ll just calm down and discuss this like mature adults. I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Kathy Maxwell. Do you have a name?”

“Dakota.”

“Dakota what?”

“Dakota what?” he repeated, obviously confused.

“Don’t you have a last name? Two names?”

“One man. One name.”

“Oh, well, that’s reasonable, I guess, considering the fact that no one in your tribe would be putting together a telephone book.”

“Pardon me?”

“Never mind. Dakota, this is not 1877. It’s 125 years later than that, give or take a handful.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“I know, but for now we’re pretending that it isn’t ridiculous. Okay? Do you remember what you were doing before you woke up here?”

He nodded. “I was riding my horse on open land. There were wildflowers in all directions. My thoughts were—” He stopped speaking and frowned. “An Indian brave deals with his own problems, solves them privately.”

“Dakota, please,” Kathy said gently, “I understand and respect that, I truly do, because I often keep troubling things within myself, too. But this is so important. Share with me, tell me what you were thinking as you rode through the wildflowers. Your inner feelings are safe with me, Dakota.”

He stared at her for a long moment, and she met his gaze directly, aware that he was weighing and measuring, deciding if he would do as she’d asked.

“Yes, all right,” he said with a weary-sounding sigh. “I was dwelling on the condition of my life, the emptiness of it, the loneliness. My people have all gone to the reservation, but I chose not to go, not to be penned up like an animal. I could not survive like that, and I knew I had to stay behind. Yet at that moment, I was wishing I had a place to belong, somewhere I could call home.”

“Oh, Dakota,” Kathy said, hearing the pain in his voice, “I’m so sorry.”

He cleared his throat. “My thoughts were interrupted as I saw a woman standing in the distance. A white woman. I did not know her, but then…I did know her. I was going to her, she was waiting for me. This does not make sense, because I would never approach a white woman.”

Kathy got to her feet. “Yes, it does make sense, because that was my dream. Oh, my gosh, Dakota, don’t you see what this means? I somehow connected to your airwaves, or brain waves, or something. That was me standing there in that yellow dress. Do you understand?”

“Then you did tamper with the powers of the Dream Catcher.”

“Not intentionally. I bought it at a craft show because I thought it was pretty and I liked the legend it represented. Dakota, I hate to say this, but I think we’d better start accepting the fact that you really were transported through time in the Dream Catcher.”

“I do not know, I just do not know. How is it that you speak Apache?”

“I don’t. I’m speaking English and so are you.”

“No. I know only my native tongue.”

Kathy threw up her hands. “This is more evidence that this whole thing is true. We’re both talking in our own language, but we can understand each other. That must be part of the Dream Catcher’s power.”

“I will have to think about this,” Dakota said, shaking his head. “I speak so you can understand me in this era, yet I wear my own clothing.” His gaze slid over the soft T-shirt Kathy wore. It clearly outlined the swell of her breasts. “Is that your usual attire? Is that an image of the god you worship?”

For the first time since the bizarre beginning of the morning, Kathy became acutely aware of her scanty attire. The Indian’s dark eyes seemed to be peering through her shirt, scrutinizing her bare breasts beneath.

She could feel the heat from his penetrating gaze. It touched a place deep and low within her, churning, swirling, causing a flush to stain her cheeks. She was pinned in place, unable to move, having to remind herself to breathe.

This man, she thought hazily, was real. He was there. Denying his existence was foolhardy. There was no lingering doubt in her mind that he had been flung through time and space to arrive in the present from the past.

She had somehow managed to dream about a living, human being, rather than a creation of her imagination. The potent powers of the Dream Catcher had then captured him and brought him to her.

But why?

The magnitude of what had taken place was too enormous, too overwhelming, to be chalked up to some weird cosmic glitch.

Why had this happened to her and Dakota?

“Kathy?”

“What? Oh, my clothes. I don’t go outside like this. I wear this to sleep in, that’s all.”

“And that image? Is that who you worship?”

“Heavens no,” she said. “That’s Mickey. He’s not a god, he’s a mouse.” She paused. “Dakota, the only way that I can deal with all of this is to accept the facts as they stand and give it all a semblance of reality, even if it’s not reasonable reality. Oh, dear, I’m not making sense. What I’m saying is, until I have just cause to change my mind, I’m going to believe you were transported from 1877 to now through the Dream Catcher.”

“You have the right to do what you wish.”

“And you? What do you believe is happening here?”

Dakota sighed. “I do not want to believe it. There’s no purpose to my being here. Yes, I was feeling lonely, alone, but there’s no life for me here in the future, in the white man’s world. I do not belong here, Kathy.”

“We don’t know that, Dakota. If we accept this scenario as being the truth, as being what actually happened, then we have to move on to the question of why it occurred.”

“The why is because you tampered with the powers of the Dream Catcher. The question is not why, it is how. How do we send me back to my own time? I don’t want to be here, Kathy, and I have no intention of staying.”

“Dakota,” she said quietly, “maybe there is something important that you’re supposed to do here. Yes, all right, to be fair to you we should be trying to figure out how to send you back. But I truly believe we should also be considering the question of why you are here, what it all means.”

“Mmm,” he said, frowning.

“Will you think about both issues? Please, Dakota?”

He stared at her for a long moment before answering.

“Yes,” he said finally, “I will think about both. That will enable me to postpone, at least for a while, the bleak thought that we may never know the answer to either of those questions. We may never know.”




Two (#ulink_b1b0131f-c27f-569d-9df7-edc151aea3e8)


Why?

The question beat against Kathy in time with the water from the shower.

Perhaps she was placing too much emphasis on that question, adding to the situation further complexity that didn’t need to be there.

It could very well be that it was all a fluke, an unexplainable event that had been created by the powers of the Dream Catcher. There was no mysterious, hidden meaning and purpose to discover. It had simply happened.

The magic of the Dream Catcher had interwoven with the thoughts she’d had just before falling asleep of wishing for a special man in her life. She’d dwelled on what was missing from her life, rather than counting the blessings that she had. Her musings had created the dream of seeing Dakota in the field of wildflowers.

Back in time Dakota had been thinking similar thoughts, acknowledging his loneliness, yearning for a place to belong, a home that was once again his.

Like a silken thread from a tapestry, the Dream Catcher had woven through her dream and onto Dakota’s thoughts, pulling them together, uniting them.

But why?

Oh, darn it, Kathy thought as she dried herself with a fluffy towel. She couldn’t seem to move past believing that there was an important and definite reason for what had happened.

She stopped for a moment and stared at the bathroom door.

What if she’d imagined the whole thing? She’d return to her bedroom, the pretty little Dream Catcher would be hanging on the wall and there would be no Dakota, because he didn’t exist.

What was more terrifying? That Dakota was really there, or that he wasn’t, meaning she was slowly but surely losing her mind?

“Fine, Kathy,” she muttered, “ask yourself some more questions to boggle your brain.”

Dakota. If he was real, truly there, she was going to have to be very, very careful. For that one brief moment he’d had an unsettling effect on her. Man to woman. Like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

That was not going to happen again.

Dakota stood in Kathy’s bedroom, his eyes darting around. He felt claustrophobic in the small space and had to draw on inner strengths to keep from finding the way to the outdoors as quickly as possible. Even the windows were covered in some sort of hard, clear substance that he could see through, but which sealed the room further.

He moved to the end of the bed to stare at the giant Dream Catcher where it lay on the floor, a frown on his face.

The powers of a Dream Catcher were well known and respected by his people. He had, indeed, been carried far into the future to a place like none he’d seen before and was held captive there.

He dragged both hands down his face, then shook his head.

No, he didn’t want to believe that, because he did not want to be here. This was the white man’s world that offered him nothing but danger and a lack of acceptance. He would be feared and, therefore, hated.

Dakota laughed, the sound harsh and short, having a bitter ring to it.

It was no different for him in his own time. He faced danger at every turn from the soldiers who sought him. Indians of all tribes were feared and, thus, hated for the color of their skin and the way they chose to live their lives.

He had told Kathy Maxwell that he wanted to go back to where he belonged. Belonged? He belonged nowhere, as everything he had possessed had been taken away and was no longer his to have.

The white people were greedy and cruel. They’d claimed the Apache land for their own, sending the Indians to reservations like penned animals.

But he hadn’t gone. Not Dakota. For many, many moons now, he’d been alone, roaming the land, hiding whenever he saw soldiers riding near. He’d not spoken to another living being in a very long time.

Until Kathy.

She was the first white woman he’d seen up close, and he’d been startled by the blue of her eyes. It was as though the gods had given her pieces of sky to see with. Pretty eyes. Eyes like the sky, hair like the sun. Very pretty. She would give a man fine sons.

Kathy.

Her name was moving easier through his mind now; and did not seem quite so strange. When he first beheld her, looked at all of who she was, which was the custom of his people, he had felt the shaft of heat streak within his body to coil low and tight. He’d wanted to join with her, man and woman.

That thought must be ignored. The matter of importance was to find a way to have the Dream Catcher send him back to where he’d come from. It was lonely and empty there, but at least he knew it for what it was.

Dakota narrowed his eyes as he stared at the Dream Catcher, willing it to speak to his mind, give him the answers he needed.

But the Dream Catcher was silent.

His attention was drawn to the carpet, and he hunkered down, running one hand over it.

How did Kathy grow soft, brown grass in her house? What manner of soil had she packed hard for her floor to have produced this crop of vegetation?

He placed his hands on his thighs and pushed himself upward to stand staring at the Dream Catcher again.

“Dakota?”

He spun around at the sound of his name being spoken in a quiet voice.

He saw Kathy in the doorway, wearing a red shirt of some sort, and man-pants of dark blue. She’d painted her mouth with light red, and her short, sun-colored hair was damp, curling over her head and brushing her pale cheeks.

The heat of desire rocketed through him again. Was she casting a spell over him, causing him to lose control of his basic needs, the command of himself, that he took great pride in?

“Are you all right?” Kathy asked.

“Yes, I’m all right.”

“While I was dressing I thought perhaps I’d imagined—” she swept one arm through the air “—all of this, you, the huge Dream Catcher. But what has happened to us is true. You are here, Dakota, and we have no choice but to deal with that fact.”

“Mmm.”

Kathy sighed. “I’m exhausted. The day has hardly begun and I’m so tired. This has been a very draining experience. I…Oh, my gosh, I have to get to work. I’m going to be late opening the store.”

She started from the bedroom, then halted her step, turning to face him again.

“I can’t leave you alone all day,” she said. “There are too many things here that would be new to you and you might hurt yourself. Besides, we need to concentrate on finding a solution to this…this mess. I’ll call Sally and ask her to cover the store.”

She hurried into the living room and telephoned Sally, who cheerfully agreed to run The Herb Hogan.

“I’ll be.fine tomorrow,” Kathy said. “I don’t feel well because…because my allergies are bothering me.”

“I didn’t know you had allergy problems,” Sally said.

“I didn’t, either. Life is full of little surprises,” Kathy said. And six-feet-tall surprises, too.

“We have herbs for helping allergies, Kathy.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Silly me. I forgot. I’ll probably come into the store later and fix myself up as good as new. Thanks for covering on short notice. Bye.”

As Kathy replaced the receiver she turned to see Dakota standing in the doorway.

“Where is your man?” he said.

Kathy blinked. “My man? I don’t have one.”

“He died?”

“No, I’ve never been married. In this time era, women often live alone.”

“Then who protects you? Feeds you? Makes a home for you?”

“I do,” she said, splaying one hand on her chest. “I take care of myself.”

“That’s not the natural order of men and women. Women do not have the skills or strength to do men’s work. Wearing man-pants won’t help you achieve what you are not capable of doing.”

“Man-pants? Oh, you mean my jeans. It’s appropriate for women to wear…well, man-pants. These,” she went on, lifting one foot, “are tennis shoes. They come in all colors. I have on white ones, but I own a blue pair, a red pair, a…Never mind. I have a feeling you don’t give a hoot about tennis shoes.”

Dakota shrugged.

“You’re positive you feel all right?” Kathy said. “It occurs to me that it might be very hard on a person to be hurled through time.”

“I’m fine, except for being hungry.”

“You need some food? Well, all right. Maybe if we do something ordinary like having breakfast we’ll be able to approach this whole thing more calmly. Yes, that’s a good idea. When in doubt…eat.”

In the kitchen, Kathy immediately decided that if she attempted to explain to Dakota what a stove, refrigerator and microwave were, they’d never get around to eating. For now, she’d just let him be totally confused about all the paraphernalia.

She opened the refrigerator and removed bacon, a carton of eggs and a quart of milk. A few minutes later, the bacon was sizzling in a frying pan as she wirewhipped eggs and milk in a bowl.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dakota tentatively touching things, sometimes leaning forward for a closer look, before moving on to the next item that beckoned.

This kitchen, Kathy thought, was too small. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t big enough when she was sharing it with Dakota. There was more than just his size causing her to feel suddenly crowded and unsettled, it was also the aura of masculinity emanating from him. His raw, earthy, male essence was sensuously overwhelming.

She was acutely aware of her own femininity to the point that her skin tingled. Dakota was man. She was woman. Those facts should be nothing more than simple data. But it wasn’t simple for some mysterious reason.

No, she’d covered that topic while she was getting dressed. She was not going to fall prey to Dakota’s male magnetism. He wasn’t a man, he was a problem to be solved.

With a sigh, Kathy forked the bacon onto a pad of paper towels, drained the majority of the grease into a coffee can at the back of the stove, then poured the frothy egg mixture into the pan. Staring off into space she stirred the eggs in a steady rhythm with a slotted spoon.

A problem? Oh, dear, that was putting it mildly. She wished she could decide that this whole scenario couldn’t possibly have taken place and, therefore, it hadn’t. But she’d run out of ways to attempt to convince herself that it wasn’t true. Dakota was most definitely there.

“Smoke,” Dakota said, from where he stood behind her.

“What?” Kathy said. “Oh, my gosh, I’ve burned the eggs.”

She quickly lifted the frying pan to another burner on the stove, muttering under her breath as she vigorously stirred the eggs.

“Woman,” Dakota said, “you don’t cook well. I think perhaps you’ve spent too much time trying to do men’s work and have neglected learning how to properly perform your duties.”

“That’s great, just dandy,” she said, glaring at him. “I have a 1877 chauvinist on my hands. So, okay, this meal is a disaster, but I’m not my usual organized self this morning. This is not the way I ordinarily start my day. Got that? And don’t call me ‘woman’.”

“You are a woman.”

“I realize that, but the way you say it is demeaning. My name is Kathy.” She paused. “Oh, Dakota, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so cross with you. I’m upset by all that’s happened. Let’s take a deep breath and eat breakfast, such as it is.”

She carried the meal to the table. Dakota followed her and stared at a chair. He watched Kathy settle onto one, then splayed a hand on the seat, pressing down on the smooth wood to determine its strength.

“It will hold your weight,” Kathy said. “Trust me.”

Dakota eased himself onto the chair, his muscles tensed should he find it necessary to move away quickly. A few minutes later he relaxed and scrutinized the offering on his plate.

The bacon was crisp, but the eggs were burned in spots and runny in others. He looked at Kathy, and watched in fascination as she shoveled eggs onto a fork.

“What is that tool?” he said.

“This? It’s a fork.” She poked it into her mouth, pulled it back out empty of eggs, then chewed and swallowed. “See? It’s a way of getting the food where it needs to go. Try it.”

He wrapped one large hand around the fork handle, jammed the prongs into the eggs, then jerked his hand upward, spilling the contents.

“Slowly, Dakota, gently. Try it again.”

“Mmm,” he said, glaring at her.

Kathy smiled as she watched him attempt to master the strange tool called a fork. He moved cautiously this time, and she could see him assessing the challenge with intelligence and determination. Yet, there was also an endearing, little-boy quality to the scene that caused a warm, fuzzy feeling to tiptoe around her heart.

“You did it,” she said, clapping her hands as Dakota chewed a delivered forkful of eggs.

He swallowed, then frowned. “This tastes terrible.”

Kathy shrugged. “If you don’t like it, don’t eat it. It’s up to you.”

“I need the nourishment. Bad cooking is better than nothing, I suppose.”

“Don’t push me, Dakota.”

“Push you?” he said, looking directly into her eyes. “I would never harm you, Kathy. I am an Apache. I respect women, I respect you. I wouldn’t push you, beat you or strike out at you.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean…”

“If you have your nose split someday, it would be by your choice.”

“Pardon me?”

“An Apache woman who commits adultery has her nose split so everyone will know what she has done, that she was not true to her man.”

“That’s gross. Just eat the awful eggs.”

They finished the meal in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Dakota,” Kathy finally said, “do you have any knowledge, understanding at all, of how to get the Dream Catcher to reverse what it did?”

“No.”

“Great,” she said with a sigh. “What if I have to actually dream about sending you back to where you belong? That would be impossible. A person can’t dictate to their subconscious like that.” She paused. “What if we both sat on the floor by the Dream Catcher and concentrated on the same message? You know, kept mentally repeating ‘Send Dakota back to 1877.’ ”

Dakota shrugged.

“Do you want to try it?”

“The idea has merit,” he said, nodding. “I must heed nature’s call first.” He got to his feet.

“Wait,” she said, jumping up. “I have to explain about bathrooms and…This is so bizarre. Oh, well, come on. I’ve got a nifty little room to show you.”



Two hours later, Kathy flopped back onto the living room carpet and closed her eyes.

“I’m exhausted,” she said. “Brain dead. I can’t concentrate anymore. We’ve been sitting on the floor forever next to this giant menace, and it’s not working.”

“No, it’s not,” Dakota said. “This plan is not the answer.”

Kathy got to her feet, then slouched onto the sofa. “Now what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Dakota, are there people worried about your disappearance. I mean, do you have a family? A…a wife? You said that you were riding alone through the wildflowers but…”

“I don’t have a wife. I have no one now,” he said quietly. “My people have gone to the white man’s reservation. I refused to go. I have been alone for many moons.”

Kathy straightened to look directly at him. “I’m sorry. You’re from 1877. Yes, I’m remembering my history. The Indians in this area were moved to reservations around 1875. Someone who wouldn’t go was called a Bronco Apache, meaning one who is alone, no longer a part of a tribe.” She paused. “I can only imagine what it has been like for you, Dakota. The image in my mind is so stark and empty. An existence of such chilling loneliness.”

Dakota stared at the Dream Catcher, but didn’t reply.

“Maybe I’m wrong,” she said. “I’m viewing it from how I’d feel. You were having thoughts about loneliness, but on the whole you may have been perfectly happy living like that. You might not need other people.”

“My body can survive if I am alone, but my spirit suffers. A man who is truly a man is complete enough within himself to have room for others. There’s an emptiness in solitude that goes on for too long. I have needs, Kathy. I have needs.”

He turned his head slowly to meet her gaze.

I have needs, Kathy.

His words echoed in her ears and a reply was whispered again and again from her heart. I have needs, too, Dakota.

Dakota nodded slowly, and Kathy registered a flash of panic, suddenly wondering if he could read her mind. If not, then what blatant message of desire was radiating from her eyes and visible on her face?

She felt stripped bare, vulnerable, with no defenses against the potent masculinity of this man.

I have needs, Kathy.

And wants? she thought. Was he as aware of her as a woman as she was of him as a man? Or did he see her as nothing more than an annoying product of the powers of the Dream Catcher?

Oh, Kathy, stop it, she admonished herself. What Dakota did, or did not, think of her was not important. Her reactions to him as a man meant nothing, would not be allowed to mean anything. No.

She had concentrated as hard as she could as they’d sat by the Dream Catcher, sending their mutual message that Dakota be transported back to 1877. She’d tried her best.

Or had she? she now wondered.

Had she held something back from the focus of her thoughts? Had the tiny portion of her heart that didn’t want him to leave…not yet, please, not yet…been more powerful than the truth of what must be done?

Oh, she didn’t know. She was confused, tired, excited, frightened, all in one jumbled maze.

She had so many questions with no answers.




Three (#ulink_7b9d1c29-8efe-5beb-b65c-7990a6cdab7a)


Dakota suddenly rolled to his feet, startling Kathy back to attention.

“The Dream Catcher,” he said, “must be kept in a safe place. I don’t want to stay here, in this world, and if anything happens to the Dream Catcher, I’ll have no hope of returning to my own time.”

“We can slide it under my bed,” Kathy said, pushing herself off the sofa.

“Fine.”

Kathy stopped and looked directly at him. “I realize that this whole scenario is overwhelming. Your traveling through time, and encountering all the new and strange things that you’ve never seen before, must be very unsettling. Even so, I can’t help but wonder if you’ve considered staying here.”

“No.”

“Dakota, what would you be going back to, other than loneliness and danger? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life on the run, hiding from the soldiers, never able to settle in one place?”

He splayed one hand on his chest. “I didn’t choose the way of my existence, it was the white man’s doing. The choice I did make was not to go to the reservation with my people. I’m prepared to live with the consequences of that decision.”

“But you don’t have to, don’t you see? You’d be accepted here, judged only by who you are as a man, not by your heritage. Oh, Dakota, you’ve said yourself that the Dream Catcher has great powers. Couldn’t it be possible that you were meant to be here for some reason?”

“Such as? Do your people need to be taught how to live off the land, fish and hunt for their food, build shelters to live in?”

“Well, no, but…”

Dakota shook his head. “Then the Dream Catcher has no purpose for my being here.”

“You don’t know that to be true.”

“Kathy, there’s no point in discussing this any further. I intend to do everything possible to enable me to go back to 1877.”

“But…”

“That is enough! Let’s put the Dream Catcher under the bed.”

Kathy sighed, then they carried the Dream Catcher into the bedroom and carefully maneuvered it beneath the bed.

Back in the living room, Dakota folded his arms across his chest and frowned as he looked at Kathy.

“There’s something disturbing me that I cannot put to rest,” he said. “Why are you alone? Is there something about you that doesn’t please the men of this time? I beheld you, which is Apache custom. I have seen you on the outer side and sensed who you are within. You please me, Kathy Maxwell. I would give serious thought to making you my woman.”

“I…” Kathy started to reply, then snapped her mouth closed as she realized she had no idea what to say.

A strange warmth swept through her as Dakota’s words echoed in her mind. What he had said was one of the most exciting, yet frightening, things she had ever heard. Dakota’s woman.

Oh, stop. She wasn’t going to dwell on it a second longer. Dakota was simply curious about the customs and social structure of this era.

You please me, Kathy Maxwell.

Kathy, she scolded herself, just cut it out right this second.

“Well, you see, Dakota,” she said, wishing her voice was steadier, “choosing a life’s partner is much more complicated now. It’s done more slowly, carefully. I have to be as pleased, as you put it, with the man as he is with me. Just looking at someone, beholding them, isn’t enough.”

“Why not?”

“Because there are discoveries to be made first.”

“Such as?”

“Well, values. You know, your stand on truth, trust, fidelity. Then there’s stuff like what do we have in common? How do you spend your leisure time? How do you feel about security, a home, children, a woman who has her own business and wouldn’t give it up for the world? Then there’s…Oh, good night, you aren’t really interested in all of this, are you?”

He nodded. “It fascinates me. You’ve listed what people in this time must discover about each other, and most of it is reasonable.” He paused. “No man has pleased you as you made these discoveries?”

Kathy shrugged. “No. Emotions come into play here, too, you know. There has to be love that is real and rich and deep. But, no, I haven’t found the man I want to spend my life with.”

“I please you.”

Kathy blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You beheld me. I can tell from what I’ve seen in your eyes that you desire me. You have had thoughts of joining with me, man to woman.”

A flush of embarrassment heated Kathy’s cheeks. “Well…um…you’re a very handsome, well-built man, Dakota. I’m a healthy, normal woman who…Oh, for Pete’s sake, this is ridiculous.”

“No, it isn’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I did not ask to come here and I do not intend to remain. However, while I’m here I wish to understand this world. To learn and enrich my mind. A man who isn’t constantly attempting to add to his knowledge is lazy, worthless. You have customs that are new to me, things you can teach me during my stay.”

“But what if when you go back you don’t even remember having been here?”

“So be it. It’s important that I live for the moment I am in. That’s the Apache way. Each beat of our heart is to be cherished.

“Apaches also pride ourselves on our patience. If we encounter an enemy who outnumbers us and it would mean certain death to engage them in battle, we withdraw to fight another day when we will be assured of a victory. That isn’t cowardly, it is wise. We place high value on life, living. We don’t treat lightly the gift of the body we were given to walk the earth in.”

“That’s a lovely philosophy,” she said quietly. “People in this time era could use some of that kind of common sense.”

“I haven’t betrayed the Apache way,” Dakota went on, “but I’ve had to struggle to maintain my patience. My people were robbed of their land, their way of life. They were herded like animals to the reservation, never again to be free. Patience will change nothing.”

“I’m so sorry about what was done to the Indians back then. I’ve only read about it, but I realize you’re suffering the pain of it right now.”

“I’ve been alone these many moons,” he said, his voice gritty, “and questions with no answers have plagued me. Now I’ve been brought here where I don’t wish to be, but at least I can ask questions and have them answered. I can learn.

“I am a man, Kathy, a proud Apache brave. All I wanted was a place, a home, a sense of self and worth. I wanted a woman of my heart and sons of my seed. The white man hasn’t killed my body. I won’t let them crush my spirit.”

Tears filled Kathy’s eyes as she heard the raw emotion in Dakota’s voice, saw it on his face and in the depth of his expressive dark eyes. Before she’d realized she had moved, she had wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and rested her head on his chest.

“No one is going to crush your spirit,” she said, tears echoing in her voice. “We won’t let them, Dakota. We won’t. I’ll teach you whatever you want to know about this era, if that’s what you want, if that will make you feel better about being here.”

Dakota encircled Kathy with his arms, then buried his face in the soft tumble of her curls, savoring the fragrance of flowers.

“We haven’t solved the mystery of the Dream Catcher’s powers,” he said. “We don’t yet understand the Dream Catcher’s spirit call to enable us to send me back. So while I’m here we will live for the moment we hold in our hands.”

Dakota’s words echoed in Kathy’s mind as she stayed nestled against his warm, massive body. He felt wonderful, smelled wonderful. Being held in his strong arms was wonderful. Desire was beginning to churn hot and low within her.

But there was more than basic physical yearnings involved. Dakota was touching an emotional place deep within her that she hadn’t even known existed. She was beginning to feel connected, bonded to him. She had felt his pain as he’d spoken of what had been done to his people. The chill of his loneliness as he’d roamed the land alone was an icy fist within her.

While I am here, we will live for the moment we hold in our hands.

Did she have the courage to actually do that? Could she live for the moment, treasure what they might share, then be prepared to let him go? How long would she ache for him when he was gone? How long would she cry?

Oh, she couldn’t think straight. Too much was happening so quickly that she was off kilter and terribly confused. She was going to put her emotional turmoil on hold, she had to.

Dakota inhaled Kathy’s feminine aroma once more, then moved her gently away from him.

“What discovery do you want to make first?” he said.

Kathy laughed in spite of herself. “You make this sound like research for a term paper.”

“A what?”

“Never mind. I’m such a wreck that a dose of practical thinking is called for. Therefore, we’ll shift our focus. You need some clothes.”

“I have clothes.”

“Yes, but you don’t have a shirt. Men in this era are free to go without a shirt, but not all of the time. You need a shirt.”

He shrugged.

“So, I’m going shopping and buy you a shirt. I’ll get you some jeans, too. Man-pants. Do you shave?”

“What?”

“Do you grow hair on your face that you cut off each day?”

“No,” he said slowly. “Kathy, are you talking nonsense?”

“No. White men grow hair on their faces. I’ve read that most Indians don’t, and I guess it’s true. Okay. Cancel the shaving cream and razor. Do you—” she paused, feeling the now-familiar warm flush creep onto her cheeks “—use underwear?”

“I don’t know the meaning of that word.”

Dandy. Go for it, Kathy. “Do you have anything on beneath your pants?”

Dakota frowned. “For what purpose? Do white men wear pants under their pants?”

“Well, yes.”

“Strange. No, I don’t have this underwear you speak of.”

“Good. I’ve never bought Jockey shorts in my life. Dakota, listen to me. You must promise that you’ll stay inside the house while I’m gone. You can’t go wandering around until I think of a way to explain who you are and why you’re here.”

“I need to breathe fresh air. The walls are closing in on me.”

“Oh, dear. Well, all right. Let’s go into the backyard and have a stroll. I’ll show you my herb garden. Then will you be able to stay inside while I go shopping?”

“Shopping is what you do to get me a shirt?”

“Bingo. I mean, yes, that’s correct.”

He nodded. “I’ll agree to your plan. We’ll see your herb garden now.”

They left the living room, went through the kitchen, then Kathy stopped on the enclosed sun porch beyond.

“This is where I dry my herbs,” she said, sweeping one arm in the air.

Dakota looked at the multitude of plants covering the walls of the sun porch. Kathy had designed, then hired a handyman to build, the drying walls with pegs where she hung the herbs, utilizing every spare inch of space.

“I can’t grow everything I need for the store,” she said, “but I’m pleased with what I’m able to add to the inventory myself. I get most of my teas from a woman in Sedona, and the oils and lotions from Flagstaff. I also sell commercial vitamins.

“I dry the herbs here, then put them in brown paper bags because they must be kept in a dark, dry place. I take the bags to The Herb Hogan. That’s the name of my store.”

“It’s good,” Dakota said, nodding. “You’ve tended to your herbs as it should be done. No Apache woman could do better.”

“Oh, well,” she said, smiling, “thank you. That was a very nice compliment.”

She was pleased to the point of ridiculous by what Dakota had said. It shouldn’t matter what he thought of her talents, but the warm, fuzzy feeling she was registering was evidence that it did. She was as adept as an Apache woman would be at growing and caring for herbs? Goodness, wasn’t that something?

Dakota continued to scrutinize the herbs, then finally nodded again.

“Are you ready to go outside?” Kathy said.

Dakota started toward the door, then stopped, looking through the window.

“No. It’s too open, with nowhere to conceal myself if the soldiers come.”

“Dakota, there aren’t any soldiers trying to find you to take you to the reservation. Your people are free now. Free. They can go anywhere they want to. They live, work, play, right beside white men if they choose. Some are still on Indian land, on reservations, but it’s because they want to be, not because they’re forced to stay there. You have nothing to fear by leaving the shelter and safety of this house.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “I’ll trust what you say, Kathy. These are peaceful times?”

“Not everywhere, I’m afraid, but here in Prescott it’s peaceful.”

“Mmm,” he said, then followed her out the back door.

It was another picture-perfect day. The air was clean, the sky a brilliant blue with a sprinkling of fluffy white clouds.

Dakota spread his arms wide, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. Opening his eyes again, he swept his gaze over the multitude of neat rows of Kathy’s herb garden.

“This is good,” he said, nodding. “The soil is rich here?”

“Yes, it’s excellent. I have it tested to be certain it’s in proper balance. This year I added some iron.”

“Mmm,” he said, walking forward.

Kathy watched as Dakota started along the first row of the garden. He stopped often, hunkering down to gently grasp a leaf between his thumb and forefinger, then rose again and went on.

He moved with such a smooth flow of motion, she mused, like a graceful animal in the wilds. He was comfortable in his own body, his command and control over it a given.





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