Cherokee Baby

Bobby looked like a mirage, a masculine shadow of denim and leather. A buckskin shirt fitted across his chest and a pair of cowboy-cut jeans hugged his hips. A Stetson, decorated with a silver hatband, shielded his eyes, creating an air of mystery.

“Did you hear that?” Kay asked.

Julianne couldn’t hear anything above the pounding of her own heart.

“It’s lady’s choice, Jul. Go ask Bobby to dance before someone else snags him.”

Lady’s choice. That gave her a perfect excuse to approach him, yet as she made her way through the other guests, she wanted to turn tail and run.

She’d barely taken a moment to breathe, to calm her schoolgirl anxiety.

He glanced up and saw her, and she realized it was too late to skitter off like a jackrabbit.

“Hi, Bobby.” She stopped in front of him, conjured a smile and tried to look more confident than she felt.

“Hello.” His gaze traveled over her body, settled on her breasts for a millisecond and shot back up to her face.

Julianne shifted her feet. He’d noticed her protruding nipples. The twin peaks she’d blasted with Binaca.

“Do you want to dance?” she asked before she lost her nerve.

When he stalled, she knew she’d made a mistake. Apparently he didn’t like forward women. Apparently the backless, braless dress had been the wrong thing to wear. Apparently—

“All right,” he said.

All right. He didn’t sound particularly enthused about holding her in his arms, but he’d agreed. To be polite, most likely.

Mortified, Julianne decided this potential affair was a pipe dream. A foolish notion going nowhere.

He led her onto the dance floor.

And suddenly everything changed.

Their eyes met and their bodies brushed, the music tempting them with a warm, slow, country ballad.

He slid his arms around her waist; she put her head on his shoulder. And the rest of the world seemed to disappear.

The twinkling lights flashed like a hundred wish-inspired stars glittering from an oak ceiling.

Julianne inhaled the scent from his cologne, the subtle mix of musk and man. He ran his fingers up and down her spine, caressing her bare back.

They could have been making love, she thought. Making love to music. She felt the flex of muscle, the hard, solid wall of his body swaying to accommodate hers.

He toyed with the ends of her hair. “Gi-ga-ge-i,” he whispered in a guttural tongue. “So red. So powerful.”

She wanted to respond but she couldn’t. Her entire body was melting. All over him.

When the song ended, they stood in the center of the dance floor, just holding each other. Until Bobby dropped his hands and stepped back.

“Wa-do,” he said. “Thank you for the dance.”

“You’re welcome.” Still a little dazed, she smiled. “Is that the Cherokee language?”

He nodded. “I don’t speak it fluently. But my grandparents did.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Wa-do,” he said again. “Thank you.”

The band started another song, but Bobby didn’t reach for her. And she didn’t reach for him. They separated, walked in opposite directions, and then turned back at the same moment to look at each other from across the room.

Giving her a connection she hadn’t expected to feel. A fleeting embrace from heart to lonely heart.

On Thursday afternoon Bobby saddled his horse. He wasn’t going to let last night’s dance affect him. He wasn’t going to obsess about the luxury of holding Julianne McKenzie, of swaying to a slow, silky song, of being immersed in the airy fragrance of her perfume.

He stole a glance at Julianne. She waited beside Caballero, with her hair blowing gently in the breeze.

Oh, hell. Who was he trying to kid? He was already obsessing about her. About the slim, sleek texture of her naked back and the erotic impression her nipples had made against her dress.

He’d gone to bed aroused and had awakened the same damned way.

He finished saddling his horse and went to Julianne. “Do you need a leg up?” he asked.

She gave Caballero a serious study. The sorrel gelding, at 15.2 hands, possessed a generous chest, a wide girth and a strongly muscled back. He made Julianne, with her petite frame and translucent skin, look like a pixie.

“I think I can make it on my own,” she said.

Good girl, Bobby thought. He knew she was more than capable of climbing into the saddle.

She put her left foot in the stirrup and heaved herself up, grabbing the horn for support. The leather creaked beneath her rear.

Bobby mounted his horse on the “wrong” side, on the right rather than the left. Julianne gave him a confused look.

“I’m favoring an old injury,” he said, telling her what he told anyone who was astute enough to notice. “And since it’s easier for me to mount on the right, I train my horses to accommodate me.” Which also included hand signals and the dispersal of his weight rather than the pressure of his legs.

Julianne merely nodded, apparently too polite to prod him for details.

Sometimes people questioned him further, and sometimes they didn’t. When they did, he chalked up his “old injury” to an “accident” and nothing more.

On occasion, the truth leaked out. His staff, along with plenty of folks in town, knew that he was a below-the-knee amputee.

But so far, no one had told Julianne. Of that much, he was certain.

He glanced back at her. “Are you ready to hit the hills?”

She sat up a little straighter. “Yes, sir.”

For nearly two hours they traveled a path Bobby reserved for inexperienced riders. The trails were wide and scenic, the trees tall and shady, the terrain smooth yet lush with foliage.

When they reached a grassy plain near the river, he stopped. Julianne had booked a half-day tour, which included a picnic. Most folks preferred to do this tour with a group, but Bobby knew why Julianne had chosen a private session.

She wanted to be alone with him, to relax, to talk. And he didn’t mind obliging her. He enjoyed her company. And in spite of that romantic dance, he was professional enough to keep his hormones in check. At least in front of her. His private fantasies, his late-night and early-morning arousals, were his own business.

Besides, she was leaving in three days, right after her party.

Speaking of which. “I ran into your cousins this morning,” he said as he dismounted. “And they talked to me about your birthday.”

Julianne slid from her horse. “Oh, goodness. What did they say?”

“They asked for my advice. And I told them I wasn’t too keen on the over-the-hill theme. I suggested that a classy dinner at the lodge and a night on the town might be more appropriate.”

She gave him a pleased smile. “You did?”

He nodded. “There’s a local honky-tonk I think you’d enjoy. It’s perfect for a fortieth birthday.”

“You mean I can get drunk there and forget how old I am?”

He laughed. “Yes, ma’am, you can.”

“Will you come to my party, Bobby?”

He adjusted his hat to look at her, to count the freckles sprinkled across her nose, to admire the fire in her hair. “Your cousins already invited me.”

“Does that mean you’ll be there?”

He moved his gaze lower, taking in the column of her neck, the curve of her waist, the flare of her hip. “Yes. That’s means I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure.” Before things got awkward, he tended the horses and gave her the task of spreading the blanket and unpacking the food.

When he joined her, she was in the process of filling their plates.

“Your chef is amazing.” She handed him his lunch, a grilled chicken and pita sandwich, accompanied by several gourmet salads. “Do you eat like this all the time?”

“Except when I cook for myself.” He tasted the wild rice medley, then went onto the mango and jicama concoction. “I can throw a meal together, but nothing this fancy.”

“Me, neither.” She eyed the dessert, a colorful array of freshly baked tarts. “I’d get fat if I lived here.”

“I’ve learned to curb my appetite for sweets.” And those sweets included women, he thought as he swallowed the food in his mouth.

She looked around, and he followed her gaze to the lull of the river and the flowers sprayed across the bank.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she said.

“Yes, it is.” And so was she. An Irish fairy with invisible wings.

She turned her attention back to him. “I met your nephew. He speaks very fondly of you.”

“Michael wasn’t easy to raise, but I love him like a son. I wouldn’t trade that experience for the world.”

Julianne sighed. “I don’t have any children. I wanted them, desperately. But it didn’t happen.” She picked at a piece of chicken in her sandwich. “We tried for years to have kids. And then we decided to have some tests done. Joe, my ex-husband, tested just fine. So that told us the problem was with me.” She paused, sighed again. “But since our insurance didn’t cover infertility, we didn’t pursue it any further. I was willing to adopt, but Joe wasn’t comfortable with the idea.”

Bobby studied her expression, the sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter anymore. He cheated on me anyway.”

“He sounds like a jerk.”

“You think so?” Looking up from her sandwich, she smiled.

“Yeah, I do.” He reached for his fork, instead of reaching for her, instead of touching her cheek.

Her smile fell. “Our relationship had become rather mundane, I suppose. But he should have come to me. He should have told me he was unhappy.”

“How long were you married?” Bobby asked.

“Twenty years.”

“Damn. That’s a long time.”

She blew a frustrated breath. “Too long, considering what he did. Joe was thirty-nine, pushing forty when he hopped into the sack with his twenty-year-old secretary.”

Bobby froze. His wife had been twenty when he’d met her, twenty-one when they’d married, twenty-two when she’d died.

Julianne picked at her sandwich again, tearing it into small bites. “I know those kinds of age differences don’t bother some people. But it was quite a blow to my ego. Why is it that men get away with everything?” She ate a slice of the grilled chicken, casting the pita aside. “Can you imagine me sleeping with a twenty-year-old? It’s absurd.”

Bobby frowned, recalling his attraction to Sharon. Their age difference had made their relationship more exciting in the beginning. And more painful at the end. “It is a double standard, I suppose.”

“No kidding.” Julianne reached for her drink, took a small sip.

When they both fell silent, the lull of the river intensified. The wind blew a warm breeze, and the sun shone, dappling the water with specks of gold.

“I’m sorry.” She glanced down at her plate, at her torn sandwich. “I shouldn’t have vented my frustrations out on you.”

“It’s okay.” At least now he understood why turning forty was such an issue with her.

“It’s not okay. I feel like an idiot. Forcing you to listen to all that.”

“Hey.” Giving in to the need to touch, he leaned forward and lifted her chin, encouraging her to look at him. “I don’t mind being your friend, Julianne.”

She blinked, smiled. “You’re a good man, Bobby.”

He pulled his hand back. “Michael says that to me, too.” But it felt different coming from her. It felt like even more of a lie.

They finished their lunch and cleaned up, working quietly. Bobby squinted at the sky, at a hawk soaring above the trees.

Julianne walked over to Caballero. “Is it a two-hour ride down the hill?”

“We’re going down the same way we came up,” he said by way of an explanation.

She made a face. “My butt’s going to be really sore later, isn’t it?”

He checked out her cute little rear and nodded. Strange how she could make him emotional one minute and humor him the next. “I suspect. Some folks do complain about their butts afterward.”

She heaved herself onto the gelding. “I guess this is nothing for a former rodeo cowboy. What event did you compete in?”

He finished packing his horse. “Bareback.”

“Is that where you get bucked around without a saddle?”

Humored once again, he grinned. She was already favoring her rear, wriggling in her seat. “That’s about the size of it.”

“And you deliberately chose that as your profession?”

“I surely did.” He watched her grimace through another city-slicker wriggle. “You could schedule a massage later,” he suggested. “And soak in the whirlpool.”

“Or I could tough it out like a true cowgirl.” She pushed her heels down, settling into her stirrups. “Will I see you tonight, Bobby? Maybe at dinner?”

“I don’t think so. I’m going to turn in early. I’ve got some business in San Antonio over the next few days. I’ll probably be heading out before dawn.”

“So when will I see you again?” she asked.

“At your party,” he told her. “I won’t miss your birthday, Julianne.”

“Are you going to bring someone?”

He mounted his horse, tried to act casual. “No. I think I’ll go alone.”

“I’m always alone.” When a strand of hair blew across her face, she shifted the reins to free her hand, to tuck the fiery locks behind her ear. “I haven’t dated since the divorce. It’s just not that easy.”

He chose not to comment, not to admit that he knew how she felt.

Side by side, they started across the grass, heading for the trail back to the barn. As a stream of silence ensued, a butterfly winged by, reminding Bobby of his borrowed time with Sharon, of summer days, colorful flowers and shattered dreams.

“Maybe you could be my date for the party,” Julianne said.

Bobby’s pulse quickened. Suddenly he ached for what she was offering. A romantic evening with a pretty lady. Flirtatious conversation. A sip of wine. A long, lingering kiss.

He glanced her way and saw that she watched him with shy anticipation.

“Sure, I could do that,” he said.

What harm was there in being her date?

In pretending, just for one night, that he was still the man he used to be.

Four

The Corral, a shabby-chic bar, presented sawdust floors, rustic oak tables, a collection of pool tables and a small bandstand. A trio of female singers belted out familiar country tunes as cocktail waitresses squeezed through the Saturday-night clientele, delivering drinks and ready smiles.

Julianne sat at a crowded table, sipping a glass of wine and looking around. Kay and Mern had invited the other Elk Ridge Ranch guests and some of the staff to her party.

Everyone was here, toasting her with well wishes. Everyone except Bobby, the man who’d promised not to miss her birthday.

Disappointed, Julianne watched the door. Was he merely late? Or had he decided not to be her date, after all?

Glancing across the room at the dance floor, she spotted Jim Robbins and his wife stomping and clapping to the music. Jim was the friendly fellow who’d startled her and Bobby on the porch that first day.

Another couple, much younger and much hipper than Jim and his wife, laughed when they all missed the same line-dance step.

She reached for her wine and glanced at the door again.

And then she saw him.

Bobby entered the bar, carrying a single white rose. She excused herself from the table and went to greet him.

For a moment they just gazed at each other.

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