Cheyenne Dad

“Where Am I Supposed To Sleep?”

Dakota patted the space next to him and grinned. “Right next to your husband, darlin’, like a good little wife.”

Annie blew an agitated breath. So Dakota had agreed to marry her and adopt the kids. That didn’t mean she had to offer herself to him like a sacrificial lamb.

She stopped pacing and stared down at him. There he was, his arms resting behind his head, looking like the King of Siam in her bed. She narrowed her eyes. “I should have found another Cheyenne to marry.”

He grinned back at her. “You don’t know any other Cheyenne men. Now quit acting like a baby and get in bed. I don’t bite.”

No, but he could turn her insides to mush with a kiss. Annie breathed deeply for strength and stepped toward the bed. Thank goodness she was no longer a crush-crazed teenager, marveling at his virility. So what was that fluttering in her stomach…and in her heart?

Dear Reader,

Silhouette is celebrating its 20th anniversary throughout 2000! So, to usher in the first summer of the millennium, why not indulge yourself with six powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire?

Jackie Merritt returns to Desire with a MAN OF THE MONTH who’s Tough To Tame. Enjoy the sparks that fly between a rugged ranch manager and the feisty lady who turns his world upside down! Another wonderful romance from RITA Award winner Caroline Cross is in store for you this month with The Rancher and the Nanny, in which a rags-to-riches hero learns trust and love from the riches-to-rags woman who cares for his secret child.

Watch for Meagan McKinney’s The Cowboy Meets His Match—an octogenarian matchmaker sets up an ice-princess heiress with a virile rodeo star. The Desire theme promotion THE BABY BANK, about sperm-bank client heroines who find love unexpectedly, concludes with Susan Crosby’s The Baby Gift. Wonderful newcomer Sheri WhiteFeather offers another irresistible Native American hero with Cheyenne Dad. And Kate Little’s hero reunites with his lost love in a marriage of convenience to save her from financial ruin in The Determined Groom.

So come join in the celebration and start your summer off on the supersensual side—by reading all six of these tantalizing Desire books!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Cheyenne Dad

Sheri WhiteFeather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Nikki WhiteFeather and his cousins:

Rachel McCafferty, Laicee Chandler, Miles McCullough,

Patrick and Parker Henry.

You are all great kids.

SHERI WHITEFEATHER

lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, summer powwows and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be a part of the Silhouette Desire line. When she isn’t writing, she often reads until the wee hours of the morning.

Sheri also works as a leather artisan with her Muscogee Creek husband. They have one son and a menagerie of pets, including a pampered English bulldog and four equally spoiled Bengal cats. She would love to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 5130, Orange, California 92863-5130.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

One

How many days had she pleaded her case? Begged Harold to change his mind?

Annie Winters sat at her desk in the back room of her retail store, cradling the phone to her ear. “Please, be reasonable.”

Harold’s breath rasped through the receiver. The eighty-six-year-old Cheyenne lived on a reservation in Montana, nine hundred miles away from Annie’s hometown in Southern California, yet he held her future in the flick of a ballpoint pen. She needed his signature. Desperately.

“My granddaughter was married,” he stated stoically. “She had a husband.”

Annie stared across the room, as an image of her dear friend came to mind. Jill with her shining black hair and crooked smile. Jill, the biological mother of the children Annie intended to adopt, the boys she had come to love with all her heart. Yes, Jill had been happily married to the father of her children until a car accident had taken both of their lives two years before, making orphans of their three young sons.

Annie sighed. “I don’t have a man in my life, Harold. I can’t just pull a husband out of a hat.”

“I won’t sign the adoption papers unless you get married. You can’t be both parents no matter how hard you try. My great-grandchildren need a father.”

Annie shifted the phone. After Jill’s death she had altered her life-style, knowing the children needed her. She’d started a new business, bought a new home, grieved with the boys, cradled them, kissed their skinned knees and watched them grow.

How could Harold expect her to survive without gap-toothed grins and sweet, warm hugs? Youthful chatter and jelly-stained clothes? “You can’t take them away from me. You just can’t.”

But he could, and they both knew it. Without Harold’s consent she would lose the children. Harold was their only legal living relative. He had the power to grant the private adoption she had been pursuing.

She squeezed her eyes shut, dreading her fate. Harold wasn’t insisting she marry just any man; he’d firmly stated that her future husband must be a registered Cheyenne, someone able to teach the children about that side of their heritage.

And there was only one man in her acquaintance who fitted that description.

Dakota Graywolf.

Drawing a deep breath, Annie opened her eyes. Dakota had scheduled a trip to see the boys. He’d be arriving within two weeks. That gave her fourteen days to muster the courage to propose to the last man on earth she wanted to marry.

Two weeks later, a single-lane highway led Annie to the Sleep Shack, a motel as tired and run-down as its name. The dilapidated pink structure sat on the outskirts of a dusty California town, blistering and peeling in the harsh desert sun.

Of the three trucks parked in the narrow lot, she recognized his immediately. He drove a bright-red pickup, an American-made model displaying generous mud flaps, squashed bugs on the windshield and wide tires with plenty of tread.

She exited her minivan and smoothed her blouse, straightening the embroidered collar. As she made her way to the motel door, the desert winds played havoc with her hair and billowed her ankle-length skirt, taunting yards of blue silk.

Annie knocked, and Dakota Graywolf flung open the door and stared down at her from his towering height. His black eyes sparked beneath even blacker brows before he offered a familiar greeting.

“Hey, squirt.”

She cringed at the nickname he wouldn’t allow her to outgrow, then tried to summon a smile. Dakota used to tease her unmercifully when they were kids, knowing full well she’d had a painful crush on him. And by the time they were both adults, he’d taken that crush and used it against her, smiling that rakish smile, undressing her with those ebony eyes. Of course, it was all a game, part of his flirtatious nature. Women, she surmised, were a form of entertainment to Dakota Graywolf.

Annie lifted her chin. He wasn’t exactly white-picket-fence material, but she didn’t have a choice. “Thanks for agreeing to see me.”

“Sure. Come on in.”

He stepped away from the door, and she walked into his seedy motel room, struggling to keep her nerves in check.

The unmade bed and Dakota’s rangy form were both slightly tousled. Thick black hair teased his nape and fell rebelliously across his forehead. A pair of cowboy-cut jeans hugged his hips, the top snap undone, exposing the elastic waistband of his briefs. His bronze-toned chest, slightly scarred and generously muscled, made her all too aware of their gender difference.

Annie glanced back at the bed again and couldn’t help but wonder if he’d shared it with someone the previous night. If anyone was capable of finding a lover in the middle of nowhere, it was Dakota Graywolf. He collected beautiful women the way fleece garments collected lint.

Should she care? No, but the nature of her visit explained why she did.

“Have a seat.” Dakota offered her a cold soda and pointed to the Formica table positioned by the window.

She settled into one of the wobbly chairs and watched him move toward the other one. Although he limped a little, she marveled at his determination. Two years before, Dakota had suffered a rodeo injury that could have left him paralyzed, had he not had the will to walk again. Too many tragedies had occurred that year. Dakota had been trampled by a bull in the same month that Jill and her husband had died.

Annie studied him, wishing her stomach would settle. He looked well. Better than well, but she decided to keep the compliment to herself. She knew he didn’t like to talk about the accident or discuss the details of his recovery. And since he had been in Montana rehabilitating from his injuries, and she lived in California, they hadn’t seen each other in over two years.

What a reunion, she thought, twisting her hands on her lap.

Would he accept her proposal? Surely he, of all people, would understand. Jill had been like a sister to him. He wouldn’t turn his back on her children. He was their “Uncle Kody,” the famous cowboy, the World Champion Bull Rider who called regularly and sent bushels of toys.

He reached for the cigarette pack on the table, slipped one out, then flicked open a sterling lighter. The cigarette bobbed as a half smile curved one corner of his lips. “So here we are, squirt.”

“Yes, here we are.” In a seedy motel room. Together. His jeans unsnapped and her skin as warm as the desert air.

Annie opened the soda, eager to taste the cool liquid. Once again, her gaze strayed to the bed. She should have asked him to meet her at a coffee shop, someplace bright and busy. Impersonal. Suddenly she didn’t feel as though she’d known this man for eighteen years or that they’d kept in touch by phone for the past two. Dakota seemed like a stranger, not the self-imposed uncle of the children she intended to adopt. He was, at the moment, a half-naked man in a dimly lit motel room.

He followed her glance, to the rumpled sheets. “Hey I know this place is a dive, but I just drove halfway across the country. When you’re on the road, any bed will do.”

True, but he hadn’t slept in just any bed, she thought. He’d slept in the one only a few feet away, the imprint of his head still on the pillow.

Annie cursed that unmade bed and the man who had slept in it. Dakota never seemed to mind the heat that sizzled between them, but she did. She’d gotten tangled up with his type before, a man she thought she could tame. Maybe her ex-fiancé wasn’t a reckless cowboy, but he’d been a womanizer just the same.

And then there was her father, the handsome rake who’d charmed her mother as often as he’d cheated on her. Annie’s dad had been a bull rider, just like Dakota. Only he hadn’t survived his career.

Annie hated the rodeo and everything it represented. Guilt gnawed at her whenever she thought about her father. Even as a child, she’d understood why her mother had divorced Clay Winters. Her dad had overindulged in the fringe benefits of being a professional cowboy, getting drunk in honky-tonk bars and sleeping with easy women. It had hurt to love a man who had disrespected his family so blatantly. But it also hurt to think about that bull puncturing his lung, stealing his youth and vitality.

“What’s going on?” Dakota asked, drawing her attention back to him. “Why did you drive clear out here instead of waiting for me to come to your house? I was on my way to see the boys.”

The boys. Her babies. She had to talk to Dakota without the children present. She didn’t want them to know she’d been railroaded into making this decision. She tried to keep a sense of normalcy in their lives, and this situation was anything but normal.

“When’s the last time you saw Harold?” she asked. “Did you visit with him before you left Montana?”

“Yeah, I saw him. He sends his love.”

“He didn’t say anything else? You know, about me adopting the kids?”

“Of course he mentioned the kids, but he didn’t say anything about the adoption.” Dakota drew on the cigarette, then blew a stream of smoke to the ceiling. “But then that’s between you and him.”

Not anymore, Annie thought. Dakota had just been tossed into the mix. “Harold won’t give me legal custody unless I get married,” she began, watching Dakota’s startled expression. “He wants the boys to be raised in a traditional setting, with a mother and a father.”

He leaned into the table. “You’re joking, right? An arranged marriage? That sounds like something from the Dark Ages.”

Annie swallowed another sip of the drink. “There’s more to it than that. Harold expects me to marry a Cheyenne, someone who can teach the boys about their heritage.” She wrapped her fingers around the can, held it tight. “And that’s when I thought of you. You’re already like an uncle to the kids, and in your culture, an uncle is practically a second father.”

Rather than respond, Dakota studied her through those dark, indiscernible eyes. She felt his gaze on her face, her hands, her nervous fingers as they gripped the soda. Once again she became aware of the tousled bed, the dimness of the room, the breadth of his shoulders. Now she wanted to throttle him for answering the door half-naked. A gentleman would have slipped on a shirt and fastened his jeans.

“Damn it, Dakota, say something.”

A column of dusky gray ashes gathered on the end of his cigarette. He squinted through the haze of smoke, then flicked the ashes, nearly missing his mark. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

Annie lifted her chin, feigning a sense of bravado she didn’t quite feel. This was, by far, the most humiliating experience of her life. “I’m asking for the sake of the kids.”

He stared at her again, another long, thoughtful stare. Annie exhaled a shaky breath. Was he going to refuse? Say, Sorry, you’ve got the wrong guy. I like my freedom. A wife will cramp my style. Marrying you is going above and beyond the call of duty.

All she was asking for was a marriage of convenience. She would never expect a man like Dakota to be a real husband. Besides, that wasn’t what she wanted, either. What she wanted, Annie decided, was to turn and walk away. Yet she couldn’t. She had three little boys depending on her. And those children were far more important than her pride.

Dakota stamped out his cigarette, then dragged a hand through his hair. The unsettling look in Annie’s whisky-colored eyes told him plenty. She was worried he would brush her off with without a second thought.

Well, she was wrong. He intended to accept her proposal. But then why wouldn’t he? He’d known it was coming long before Annie did. He’d known for two years.

Dakota had agreed to be Jill’s blood brother when they were kids, vowing to honor and protect her—a Cheyenne vow that later included her children, as well. So with that in mind, he hadn’t been surprised when Harold had approached him about adopting Jill’s orphaned boys. The shock had come when Harold had proclaimed, “It’s your duty to marry Annie and give the children a proper home.”

“Mar-r-y Annie?” Dakota had stuttered.

“You want to bed her,” Harold had responded in that stoic manner of his.

Dakota had raised an eyebrow at that, an emotional ache poisoning his gut like a snakebite. It was true, he’d been lusting after Annie for over a decade, fantasizing like a randy schoolboy over the pert little blonde. But he couldn’t bed anyone. His legs didn’t work, and neither did the body part he’d always taken for granted. His crippling injury had left him impotent.

“I’ll adopt the kids, but I won’t marry Annie.”

“It’s your place to do so,” Harold insisted, invoking his status as Dakota’s elder. “Annie needs a husband as much as the boys need a father. I won’t allow her to raise those children by herself. If you refuse to marry her, I’ll find someone who will.”

Dakota stared at his lap, cursing the legs that wouldn’t move. How could Harold expect him to become Annie’s husband?

Because, he told himself several days later, he was supposed to be a warrior. A fighter. A man who had no right to turn his back on a woman and three children, no matter how much the idea of marriage scared him.

Dakota’s life had been spared in that accident, so maybe now Maheo, the Creator, was asking him to give something back. Duty and honor were a part of his heritage he had neglected for far too long.

“If it’s my place, I’ll marry her,” he announced, “but not until I can walk again.” And make love, he added mentally, deciding then and there that he’d be the best damn lover Annie Winters had ever had. All he needed was time. Determination. And plenty of prayer.

So Harold had agreed to keep the arranged nuptials a secret from Annie until Dakota regained the use of his legs. Only Dakota had taken it a step further. “She has to do the asking,” he’d told the older man. “Marrying me has to be her idea.”

Dakota studied Annie’s anxious expression. No, he couldn’t tell her the truth. She didn’t need to know that he had battled his injury so he could play ball with the kids, race through a meadow on horseback, ease himself into her arms on their wedding night.

He swiped his drink and took a huge swallow. He would never reveal that he had been preparing himself to become a husband and father—a family man.

Yeah, right. He scowled and placed the soda back on the table. Dakota Graywolf was, and probably always would be, a troubled cowboy. A rodeo champion who’d been trampled by the orneriest, most infamous bull in existence—a wreck that had inflicted more than just a physical challenge. Dakota had been plagued with anxiety ever since the accident, reliving the fall, over and over in his mind. The only cure, he knew, was getting back on that bull. And he would someday, but for now he had another priority.

“So you’re looking for a husband, huh?” he asked, faking nonchalance.

“Because of the children,” she reiterated.

“When would I have to do this?”

She gripped her soda can a little tighter. “As soon as possible. Are you saying yes?”

He wondered if he should hedge, drag out his answer. If he seemed too eager, she might figure out that he’d been forewarned. “I don’t know, I mean…” He watched her eyes cloud with fear and felt a lump of guilt form in his throat.

“Sure, I’ll do it. You know, for the kids. I am their uncle, and you’re right, in my culture that pretty much makes me their father already. And marrying you won’t be that bad,” he added for effect. “Hell, we’ve known each other for over half of our lives.”

She reached for his hand, touched it lightly. “Thank you. I’m sure Harold will approve. I’ve been so worried about losing the boys, but now…”

Although Annie’s voice quavered, her smile radiated genuine warmth, sending heat flaring through Dakota’s veins. He gazed at her lips, the rosy color and soft texture. She was beautiful. Dangerously beautiful. A feisty kid who had blossomed into an incredible woman.

“We need to make arrangements,” she said.

He studied the length of her hair, the pale color. With her white-blond hair and amber eyes, she reminded him of a lioness, a naturally sexy creature. And she owned a lingerie store, which had him constantly wondering what sort of lacy little under-things she wore. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“We need to set a wedding date, so I can tell Harold. I want to make sure he gets the adoption proceedings started.”

A lioness protecting her cubs, Dakota decided. “Yeah, okay. How about Las Vegas? Weddings are quick and easy there. I know Vegas pretty well.” The National Finals Rodeo was held in Las Vegas every year. He knew that town better than well.

“That’s fine. We should get this done as simply as possible. And I should probably get a sitter for the kids, too. Traveling would only wear them out.” She brushed a lock of hair from her eye. “Besides, it’s not as if this is going to be a real marriage. There’s no reason to make a fuss over the ceremony.”

He cocked his head. “Weddings in Vegas are real, Annie. They’re legal.”

She reached for her drink. “I know. But ours will be just a business deal. No love. No sex. That’s hardly a real marriage.”

Dakota’s heart nearly stopped.

No sex?

“You can’t be serious.”

The stern look she shot him said otherwise. She was serious, all right. She had no intention of sleeping with him.

Dakota righted his posture as a hot fist of anger clenched his gut. Anger to mask the pain, he thought. The disappointment. The horrible rejection.

Did she have any idea how long he had struggled to regain the use of his body? Two years. Twenty-four months of promising himself Annie Winters would be his reward at the end of long, grueling road. She was supposed to become his lover, the woman he would stroke and caress, hold on to at night.

“Fine, Annie. Whatever.” He wasn’t about to beg for his conjugal rights. He’d suffered enough humiliation.

She breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief, and he cursed what he was about to become—a man with a gorgeous wife and a nonexistent love life.

As Annie watched Dakota walk across the airport terminal, the butterflies in her stomach fluttered. He moved like a cowboy—long, lean and just a little bit mean. With a duffel bag slung over his arm, a Stetson dipped over his eyes and Wranglers hugging him like a well-worn glove, he drew plenty of attention. Somehow the slight limp rather added to his don’t-mess-with-me charm.

“There he is.” Mary Graywolf leaned forward. “Hmm. He doesn’t look too happy, does he?”

Annie tilted her head. He looked about as ornery as the bulls he used to ride. She had the feeling Dakota wasn’t particularly pleased about the no-sex clause in their marriage, but she knew their union would end once the adoption was finalized. Although grateful for his loyalty to the children, she wasn’t about to allow Dakota Graywolf to have some fun with her, then toss her aside.

“You know how moody your big brother can be.”

“No kidding. Just look at that macho attitude.”

Mary rolled her eyes, and Annie nibbled on a smile. She adored Mary. Her dear friend, Annie had decided long ago, was the only good that had come out of her father’s short-lived career.

Annie’s dad and Mary’s dad had been rodeo buddies, often traveling the same circuit, a teenage Dakota in tow. So consequently, after Annie’s dad had died, she’d spent youthful summers in Montana with the Graywolf family. The Graywolfs, it seemed, had influenced her life for nearly two decades now. It was through them that she had also met Jill.

Annie turned her attention back to Dakota. He strode toward them, dropped his bag onto the chair beside Mary, then glared down at his sister. She stood and glared back at him. The siblings looked like gunslingers preparing to draw.

He fired first. “What are you, the chaperone?”

She flipped the brim of his hat. “That’s right. I’m here to make sure you behave yourself.”