Rainsinger (6 page)

“Mr. Lynch—” Joleen began.

He heard the warning in her voice a moment too late.

“What an original observation!” Winona said with joviality.

It was only when he looked up that he saw that she was deeply angry—just as she had been when he’d made the comment about native land.

“It doesn’t have to be original to be true.”

He watched her bring her temper under control. It was actually observable. Her eyes lowered, the flush on her cheekbones faded, her mouth eased. She swallowed. When she looked at him again, there was only the faintest hint of banked fury in the light-blue irises. “The desire to help others is not always a self-serving impulse.”

“You don’t think a lot of people out there are shoving the great Western way down the throats of native people all over the world?”

“Of course there are!” She scowled. “That doesn’t mean
everyone
who chooses a life of service is on a crusade.”

“I can only speak from my experience, and lady, you wouldn’t believe some of the do-gooders I’ve run across in my time.” Dozens of them. “Every last one of them sure they had The Answer.”

“And I can only speak from mine.” Winona held her fork loosely in her hand, her thumb on the blunt end, moving back and forth meditatively, as if she’d like to suddenly grip it and shove it into his chest. “My father taught me that service is the highest possible calling. When I had a skill that would be useful to my fellow humans, I put myself at the disposal of an organization designed to teach people all over the world how to fend for themselves so they don’t have to depend on governments or people with a secondary agenda to take care of them.”

The color flowed back into her cheeks. Her nostrils flared, and her chest rose and fell with quick breaths. Daniel felt a strange, sharp pinch in his lungs. She was not only beautiful, but passionate, too. “Surely you’ll agree that self-sufficiency is a far better road than dependence on government,” she added. “I believe the American government has even learned that lesson.”

For a moment, Daniel said nothing. Faintly he was aware that her passion aroused him. A flush of liquid heat filled his limbs as he looked at her. And he’d be hard-pressed to imagine anything more sexist than to use her anger for his own gratification. But that didn’t change the behavior of certain annoying body parts.

“If I insulted you,” he said, suddenly ashamed of himself, “I apologize. You seem sincere. You just have to understand where I come from.”

His capitulation surprised her. She stared at him with a barely discernible frown on her brow, then nodded. “We’ll just agree to disagree for now. Eat before it gets cold.”

Joleen looked at Daniel over her cat-eye glasses. Tiny rhinestones glinted on the wings. The eyes were big and blue, a blue like the mountains, and the expression in them was all too readable.

You idiot.

He’d have to agree. In the silence following their verbal tussle, Daniel ate the magnificent food and wondered what meanness in him always made him push people away. He counted literally hundreds of people among his acquaintances, but very few friends—and it was by his own choosing that it was so.

Jessie had been his closest friend for a long time, but she’d found something deeper with Luke, who was his oldest friend. Fitting, somehow, and he was pleased that he’d been instrumental in their union despite the sorrow it had brought into his own life.

He envied their union sometimes, but it terrified him, too. They had the kind of marriage in which others were largely unnecessary. They were each other’s best friend as well as being lovers. Daniel once asked Luke if it didn’t worry him to have all his eggs in one basket like that. What if something happened to her?

Luke had only smiled. “I’ll take my chances.”

Daniel couldn’t imagine being so cavalier. Not even with Jessie had he let down his guard entirely. He kept vast areas of his thoughts and his soul apart from the world, safe from the wounding hands of fate.

But this tall woman with her pale-crystal eyes and spun-silver hair had managed to make him reveal something twice today. Without even remembering he ordinarily didn’t share such strong feelings with his closest friends, he’d opened his mouth and spoken this afternoon in the orchard about things that went deeper than maybe anything else about him.

With the taste of sweet potatoes and savory chicken in his mouth, Daniel warned himself to be on guard. He didn’t know why, but Winona Snow somehow softened his walls.

Joleen scooted back from the table. “Can I go watch a movie now?”

“What about the dishes?” Winona asked.

“I’ll do them,” Daniel volunteered. “It’s only fair—you two cooked.”

“Thanks,” Joleen said, beaming.

“You’re welcome.”

The girl bounced downstairs, two tennis-shoe-clad feet making as much noise on the wooden steps as three buffalo.

Winona smiled and stood up. “Coffee?”

“Sure. But you don’t have to wait on me. I’ll get it.” Her gaze was quizzically amused. “It’s really a long walk over there to the counter. What—maybe three whole steps?” She grinned. “I don’t know. Daniel. Maybe you’d better walk the ten over here and do it yourself.”

Just that fast, he was snagged again. A deep-seated twinkle gleamed in her eye, and a dimple showed in her cheek. A dimple. He stared at it, imagining his tongue teasing into the seductive little hollow. It aroused him instantly, and he shifted in his chair, bewildered at his response to her. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway?

Winona, still smiling faintly, reached over the table for the decimated dish of chicken. Daniel wasn’t looking—he swore it—but as she reached, one button of her simple blouse came undone. The sudden gap didn’t reveal much, only a tantalizing glimpse of one full breast spilling over the cup of a surprisingly sexy, black lace bra, but his formerly low-level arousal leaped to raging full attention. His mouth went dry. Damn. He didn’t know women really wore such things.

She straightened, evidently unaware of the problem, and put the plates in the sink. Daniel stared at her back, his vision flooded by that searing, beautiful glimpse of breast. When she turned back, the gap was demure enough that it only showed the slightest hint of swelling flesh.

He warred with himself for a minute over whether he should tell her the button had come undone. His anatomy—that most adolescent of creatures—protested vigorously. His dignity and intellect urged him to speak.

Before he could say anything, she turned around with a mug in her hand and leaned over to give it to him. Dog that he was, his gaze strayed once more. Only the edge of the lace showed this time, scalloped and transparent against her flesh.

She noticed his gaze and straightened quickly, one hand flying to her buttons. Bright-red color flooded her cheeks. “Sorry.”

Without thinking, he chuckled at her apology. “Hey, it was a hardship,” he drawled. “You know how men hate that kind of thing.” He added sugar to his cup and stirred, then added wickedly, “I didn’t know women really wore underwear like that.”

She buttoned the flap hastily, a pale showing of color running all the way up her neck. She didn’t look at him. “A woman has to have some kind of luxury in her life.”

She seemed frozen at the counter, her back to him.

“Hey, there,” he said gently. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. I should have said something.”

She took a breath, shaking her head with a reluctant smile as she turned. “I’m just embarrassed, that’s all. No big deal.”

Another teasing comment rose in his throat, and Daniel realized he was actually flirting. Flirting.

With an abrupt move, he stood up. “Why don’t you go sit on the porch and get some air while I finish in here?”

She inclined her head the slightest bit. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Gruffly he said, “I’m sure. Go on.”

With a shrug, she picked up her coffee. “I’d be happy to help.”

He shook his head, his gaze firmly fixed on his cup. He could still smell her, though, skin mixed with heat and food, and a faint, spicy undernote in her long-faded talcum powder.

She walked to the door and paused. “If you have some time tomorrow, maybe we could talk a little about some ideas I have for the orchard.”

“Fine.” He wanted her to go. Now. Take her black lace underwear and siren smile with her before he lost his head and thought up some reason to put his hands on her.

She left, and Daniel let go of his breath, swearing. As he stacked plates and ran water in the sink, he tried to puzzle out his strange reaction to her. He wasn’t particularly vulnerable to women. He selected them with his head, not his hormones.

The notable exception was Jessie. One look at her and he’d reacted the same as he had with Winona—ached to put his hands and mouth on her, all over.

He never had with Jessie, of course. Their relationship had been purely platonic, but that hadn’t kept him safe from the pain of unrequited love. How much worse would it have been to make love with her before he’d lost her?

No, there were good reasons for men and women to make love only when the mating was true and clean and honorable, equal and committed. It was too damned painful otherwise.

He’d managed to keep Jessie Callahan out of his lustful thoughts—most of the time, anyway—for nearly seven years. A few months with Winona Snow under his roof would be a piece of cake in comparison.

I
n the cool, crisp, post-supper hour several days later, Winona and Joleen walked to the crude basketball court that lay to one side of the house, protected by the thick arms of three cottonwoods. They were not cotton-less, and as predictably as the blossoms on the peach trees had disappeared, the flying cotton of these trees wasn’t far off. Winona eyed the plump seedpods expertly, figuring one or two days before the trees lost their covering, less if there was a wind. They didn’t bother her, but her mother had been unable to come anywhere near the trees when they were in season. Joleen might have the same trouble.

Idly bouncing a basketball, Winona moved onto the court. Nets hung at either end, and the concrete was in decent shape, considering how long it had been there.

“Uncle Jerry had this done when I was about five,” Winona said. “Somewhere...” She peered at the edges of the rectangle in the smoke-colored gloaming. “Look, right here.” She pressed her sneakered toe into the clear marks on the concrete. “Those are my hands and feet.”

Joleen dropped to her knees and put her hands over the imprints. Her thirteen-year-old hands were only a bit larger than the five-year-old Winona’s. “You were always big, weren’t you?”

From anyone else, the thoughtless comment might have been wounding. From tiny Joleen, who wanted to be big and strong, it simply bespoke envy. “Yes. They stopped letting me get kid prices at most places when I was nine.” Absently she dribbled the ball. “You gonna play or not?”

“I guess.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t feel like it.”

“You always win.”

“I’ll take it easy on you, I promise.” Winona aimed and made a basket, the ball swishing through the net with barely a sound. She grinned at her sister. “Practice makes perfect.”

Joleen rolled her eyes. “Maybe for you. I’m obviously not athletic.”

“Okay.” Winona dribbled the ball and shot again. “You need to have some exercise, though. Why don’t you jog a few laps around the court?”

Joleen groaned. “I hate running even more than basketball.”

Winona laughed. “Okay, babe. You just sit there. I’ll play.”

She tossed off the sweatshirt she’d brought with her, aiming directly for Joleen’s head. “Two points!” she said when it landed with sleeves flapping over the baseball cap.

“Winona! Who’s the kid here, anyway?”

Laughing, Winona dribbled and shot once more, then ran to the other end, feeling the familiar pleasure stir in her limbs. From the trees came the whistling of a magpie and the lower twitterings of sparrows and wrens. The air was crisp on her skin, and she felt her ponytail swish back and forth, whispering against her neck. She shot from midcourt, and missed, ran forward and caught the ball and tried again. It bounced off the rim with a clang.

Winona frowned in annoyance.

“You need a man to show you how it’s done,” said a low voice from the edge of the court.

Daniel, who was already moving forward, held out one lean, beautiful hand for the ball. She gave him a secretive smile. “Oh, really?” Over her shoulder, she winked at Joleen, who shook her head and buried her face in her hands. She knew what was coming.

Winona tossed him the ball. “Show me, then, big boy.”

He flashed that mocking grin and caught the ball. Winona stepped back, gesturing with a flourish. “Go ahead.”

The ball thudded against the concrete and Winona watched his arms, his body, his form as he aimed, jumped and tossed. Not bad. He’d played a little—but, then, most men fancied themselves hoopsters of high standing.

The ball sailed home perfectly. Daniel turned, spreading his hands in a typically male gesture that said, “See?”

Winona reeled him in. Even when they actually watched her play, men discounted her ability. Even when they were shorter by a half a foot and as scrawny as little rats, every man thought he could beat any woman on any basketball court in the world. Naturally this man, tall and obviously somewhat athletic—not to mention Navajo, who took their basketball very seriously—would take her challenge personally.

It was one of her great pleasures in life to show all of them how very wrong they were. She rolled her eyes. “One lucky shot.”

“Lucky?” he said with a snort of laughter. “I was all-state in high school.”

“You don’t say,” Winona drawled, her voice dripping with obviously ironic wonder.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Gracefully he shot again. This time Winona watched more closely, taking pleasure in the swell of biceps in his bare, brown arms, the play of lats in his back—sleek, clean muscle. He sprang like a cat, as if there were no effort involved, as if legs and hips naturally lifted a man a foot off the ground.