Читать книгу Apache Dream Bride - Joan Elliott Pickart - Страница 10

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.