Warrior in Her Bed (2 page)

“Very pretty,” he said, as if considering it as an adornment.

Annie bristled. He had employed the word
pretty
twice now to describe her, albeit once in reference to her nose, and rather than a compliment, he somehow made it sound synonymous with stupid. Never having considered herself a great beauty, she was particularly uneasy with such teasing. Determined to put an end to it, she jerked her head back to free her hair from his hold. In the process, she caused his hand to graze her cheek. It tingled as if she had been caressed not by mere flesh but rather a tangle of loose, exposed wires. Instinctively she reached up to touch the spot with her own hand.

Johnny's dark eyes narrowed. He was particularly
sensitive to the fact that in every movie script written, white women were portrayed as being terrified of the savage “Injun.”

“I didn't mean to scare you,” he said, hoping she wasn't going to faint on him like those fragile ladies of the silver screen. After all, he hadn't thought to bring along the customary packet of smelling salts employed in those same films to bring the fairer sex back from the brink of hysteria.

“You didn't,” Annie responded, keeping her eyes trained upon his.

It was only partly a lie. As big as this man was, Annie wasn't in the least afraid of him in any physical sense—other than the way he made her skin itch and her stomach clench in feminine awareness. After being numb for so long, what really scared her was that he made her feel anything at all.

“Would you mind telling me what I've done to upset you?” she asked him, ready to put an end to all of his play-acting and get to the bottom of his grievance without further ado.

What she wasn't ready for was the lyrical, lilting quality of his voice. The rhythm and cadence were specific to the man's unique culture. To her ears, it sounded foreign. Exotic.

And erotic.

“Crimson's mother thinks you're to blame for putting wild ideas into her head about leaving the reservation to pursue an art degree in some fancy college in St. Louis.”

Troubled clouds passed over the clear skies of Annie's eyes. “I didn't advance any ideas that weren't already there,” she told him frankly. “I'm sure
you're well aware that your niece has remarkable talent. I would assume you'd want to encourage it.”

Johnny rubbed his chin. The faint fragrance of tuberose and subtle musk from where Annie's hair had touched his hand lingered upon his fingers and imprinted itself upon his subconscious. Like the woman herself, the scent was intriguing. Obviously strong enough to make her way in the world on her own, there was nonetheless an aura of vulnerability about Annie Wainwright to make a man want to challenge that sense of independence.

“When Crimson asked for my opinion, I simply told her that I thought she has what it takes to make it out in the ‘bigger world,' if that's what she really wants to do. I hardly see how that could be misconstrued as meddling.”

“Lady, in case you don't know it, just being an outsider working on the reservation makes your motives suspect to a lot of people around here.”

The very idea confounded Annie. Her forehead wrinkled in consternation. “I'm just here to teach a class. A noncredit, community interest, elective class, at that,” she added defensively.

“Are you sure you aren't really here to save the Indian nation?”

The sarcasm dripping from Johnny's words voice underscored his disdain.

Caught completely by surprise, Annie replied honestly. “God, no!” I'm having a hard enough time saving myself, she almost blurted out.

What exactly was it was about her that gave others the impression she was a huge bleeding heart willing to single-handedly rescue the world and ready to accept the blame when it became apparent that she
wasn't up to the task? Annie rubbed her eyes, vainly trying to massage away the headache that was staking out a permanent residence inside her thick skull. Superwoman she was not.

“It appears that you don't understand how desperately we need talented young men and women like my niece to remain on the reservation to provide leadership to our people,” Johnny told her, speaking slowly as if he were addressing someone who was mentally challenged. “What we don't need is foreigners pushing the idea of assimilation at the expense of our native culture. As someone who spent years in the white man's world, I'm back on the reservation of my own volition to tell you and anybody who'll listen that it's not all it's cracked up to be.”

Annie threw up her hands in surrender. When she spoke again, it was with a detached professional tone clearly designed to bring this impromptu conference to an end. “I'll be sure to take that under advisement.”

“See that you do,” Johnny snapped, angry with himself for putting that wounded look upon her face. If he didn't get out of here within the next minute or two, he was afraid she would be blowing her nose on a piece of his world-weary heart.

“Before you leave, let me give you a little free advice,” Annie offered in a gentle tone she hoped belied the harshness of the message she was about to deliver. “If you think you can control any adolescent by controlling what I might happen to say, you are sadly mistaken. The dreams of the young belong solely to them, Mr. Lonebear. Personally I won't be a party to killing anyone's dreams—however large or small or ill conceived anybody else
might consider them to be. While I have no desire to meddle in anyone's business, especially yours, I would like to remind you that as an educator, my business is helping children attain their dreams. If you really care for your niece, as I suspect you do, you'll respect her enough to let her make her own way in the world. After all, there is a distinct possibility that she might return home as you did with a whole lot more to offer than when she left.”

Johnny stared at this audacious woman for a long time before responding. To be put in his place in such a calm, forthright manner deeply disturbed him. As the one who plucked the name Dream Catchers from native folklore and personally attached it to this school, he resented the accusation that he was into squelching anyone's hopes and aspirations. Especially considering the fact that he had dedicated his life to helping others turn those dreams into reality. It was as insulting as this woman's belief that young people would have to leave the reservation in order to be truly successful.

When he spoke at last it was with stony self-control.

“I'd advise you to be more careful in the future, Ms. Wainwright,” he said, purposely ignoring her earlier invitation to call her by her first name, “of how you address your supervisors. I might not have been the person who hired you, but let me assure you, I most certainly have the power to fire you if I see fit.”

With that he turned his back on her, leaving the lady with yet another crucial bit of information to solder into the stained-glass mosaic that was destined to interlock his complicated life with hers.

H
aving recently given up a much better paying position in St. Louis with the understanding that she could come back anytime she wanted, Annie was sorely tempted to gather up her things and do one Mr. John Lonebear a gigantic favor by quitting right then and there. It certainly wasn't the money that kept her from walking. The pittance she was making as an adjunct faculty member at Dream Catchers High was hardly enough to buy groceries and pay the phone bill. Luckily, her friend Jewell, whose house she was sitting while she was away at summer school working on her master's degree, insisted on taking care of the utilities. Although Jewell maintained that Annie was really doing her a good turn, she was the one who felt truly indebted.

No, the necessity of a steady income was not the reason Annie stubbornly refused to cut her losses on
this particularly lovely day the first week in June and call it quits. A practical sort, she had almost a whole year's salary in reserve while she figured out what it was she wanted to do with the rest of her life. Her decision to stick it out at Dream Catchers had more to do with wanting to finish the ambitious mural that she had designed, was in the process of constructing, and ultimately planned to dedicate to the school that John Lonebear so presumptuously claimed as his own. Unless there was no other option available to her, Annie Wainwright liked to finish what she started. There was also the matter of a pleading look in Crimson Dawn's eyes when she had tentatively approached Annie seeking approval and advice. And last but not least, she suspected that there was a certain amount of spite involved in her decision not to let
anyone
goad her into making a decision that she wasn't good and ready to make on her own.

No matter how self-important he thought he might be.

No matter how undeniably sexy he was.

Having professionally advised any number of clients that geographic changes did little to address the pain that one carried deep inside, Annie knew it was futile to try to outrun one's problems. Still, as she bumped along the washboard road leading to her friend's cozy log cabin, she couldn't help but feel this was the perfect place for mending broken hearts and healing wounded spirits. Nestled at the base of the Wind River Mountains, Jewell's isolated home boasted a view of the river that carried the same name as the mountain range that cast its shadow over the surrounding countryside. Though not nearly as famous as its sister, the Tetons, the Winds were just
as magnificent in their own right. The fact that they were relatively undiscovered by tourists made them all the more attractive to someone looking for respite from big-city woes.

Watching the sun slowly slide into place like a diamond being positioned into its proper setting in a crown of sheer granite was enough to make Annie forget her troubles for a moment and melt into a landscape that, with the exception of the dust rising from behind her car, seemed virtually unchanged since the dawn of time. The fact that the sun rose and set predictably every day behind this mountain did not make the spectacle any less miraculous. Taking time to enjoy such pleasures was yet another reason Annie wanted to hang around a while longer—at least until the end of summer when monetary matters would dictate the choices that would likely have to be made out of necessity.

For right now it was enough to simply park her dusty little blue sports coupe beside the cabin and take a seat on the porch swing where an unrestricted view of the painted sky made Annie wish she could somehow capture those vivid colors in glass. She wanted to include every shade of that incredible sky in the life circle that was to be the backdrop of her own masterpiece. The peaceful scene featured a tepee with a family gathered in front of a gentle campfire. Rotating in the background were both the seasons and the time of day. Six feet in diameter, the impressive panorama was held together by thin metal strips woven by design to look like a dream catcher, symbolic of the school that bore its name.

The fact that Annie found herself wondering what the antagonistic Mr. Lonebear would think of her
tribute to his culture made her cross with herself for even remotely caring what that big bully thought. It made her furious that the mere remembrance of his touch sent another frisson of heat sizzling through her body, conjuring up X-rated images that were completely out of character for someone of her usual, refined sensibilities.

Hearing the phone ring, she hopped off the porch swing, stepped inside the front door and reached for the sound of a friendly voice. Though the solitude of this place was far more peaceful than that of her old apartment, which had been located on a busy downtown street, it also became oppressive at times, as well. Grateful to hear Jewell's warm, familiar greeting, Annie didn't hesitate to tell her old friend all about the “beast” who had accosted her earlier in the day.

“Johnny?” Jewell asked, sounding incredulous. “As much as I hate to question your judgment, he's never been anything but nice to me and professional in every respect. In fact, the entire staff is as devoted to him as the student body is. I can't imagine what you could have possibly done to have gotten off on the wrong foot with him.”

Indignation rose like bile in Annie's throat at the implication that she was somehow at fault for the rude behavior to which she'd been subjected earlier in the day.

“Johnny?” she mimicked, recalling the formality that he had demanded of her. It seemed she was the only one not at liberty to call the man by his more familiar moniker. In the future Annie vowed to address him as
sir
and leave it at that.

“I was given the definite impression that your fel
low teachers at Dream Catchers are in the habit of addressing one another by their last names,” she said stiffly and added softly under her breath, “And saluting their superior officers.”

“Only in front of students,” Jewell told her, choosing to ignore her friend's mumbled jab. “Coming from the unruly environment you just left, I'd think you'd prefer a more structured environment. Our teachers sure do. The truth of the matter is that most of the kids do, too. So many of them have no rules at home to speak of, and school provides them a safe haven.”

Even though Annie could believe it, she wasn't inclined to agree at the moment. Not when doing so would cast the villainous Mr. Lonebear in an angelic light. Cradling the phone between her shoulder and cheek, she opened the refrigerator door, took out a pitcher of lemonade and grudgingly encouraged her friend to enlighten her further.

“Go on,” she muttered, wrestling with a tray of ice cubes that had shrunk to strange powdery shapes. “I'm listening.”

“Maybe you just caught him on an off day, Annie. Or maybe his reaction had something to do with him not hiring you personally, although he's never struck me as the type to care about protocol when it comes to filling positions with qualified people. I do know that he was in Washington lobbying during the week you were interviewed. There's always the possibility that he didn't get the backing he was seeking, and that's what put him in such an ill humor, though I seriously doubt it. The man is a genius at procuring funding—and in being instrumental in making
Dream Catchers High one of the most successful magnet schools in the country.”

The pride in Jewell's voice was unmistakable.

“Gosh,” Annie muttered, unable to keep the skepticism from her voice. “He sounds like a veritable saint.”

“Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say that,” Jewell said, laughing. “Just ask some of the elders to reminisce if you get the opportunity, and they'll be happy to wax on and on about their favorite son's misspent youth. Affectionately, of course, and with obvious admiration for what he's overcome.”

“Misspent youth?” Annie prodded, curious despite herself.

“It seems Johnny Lonebear was every girl's bad-boy heartthrob back in high school. They say he packed an attitude as big as the Great Plains, rode a Harley to school instead of the bus and was a gifted athlete. Rumor has it that his enthusiasm for academics was limited to maintaining his eligibility for extracurricular activities, and he was indifferent to all the girls who threw themselves at him. There's still some speculation as to whether he actually fathered any of those children running around on the reservation that some people claim he did.”

Crunching down hard on what once might have passed for an ice cube, Annie took pleasure in feeling it splinter beneath her molars. She fought the urge to spit it out, along with the bad taste left in her mouth. That was more than enough for her to relegate her new boss to the status of a world-class jerk. Annie told herself it was none of her concern that her dear friend could be deceived by such a nasty piece of work.

Parts of her past were private, and she didn't want to share them with anyone. Not even Jewell, who, had she known of Annie's own troubled high school years, surely would not have joked so offhandedly about such things. Deliberately Annie changed the topic of conversation to something less serious in nature, promising her friend that she would water her straggly bed of marigolds.

And silently promising herself not to give the enigmatic Mr. Lonebear another thought beyond how to best avoid him in the future.

Someone as sweet and naive as Jewell might easily be taken in by a man's dark good looks and colorful past, but Annie knew better than to trust the word of any male, particularly the promises he might utter in the throes of passion. As an expert in the field, Annie wondered whether she should volunteer to teach a class in it as a way of supplementing her meager income. She would label it a self-defense class for the heart and make a case that it was as critical as any other course in the martial arts.

The thought of presenting Mr. Lonebear with such a proposal gave Annie grim satisfaction. The memory of him ordering her to stick to the prescribed curriculum and leave her personal beliefs out of the classroom made Annie far more uncomfortable than he could ever imagine. Used to doing things on her own terms, she wasn't sure whether she was capable of separating one from the other. Such a task was akin to holding the myriad pieces of a stained-glass mural together with nothing more than wishful thinking.

Recalling to mind that it was also what had prompted her to resign from her old position and had
sent her searching for a career less hazardous to her emotional well-being, she vowed to do her best to follow John Lonebear's directive. If other people were able to do their jobs, collect their paychecks and go home at the end of the day without investing their hearts along with their time, Annie told herself, there was no reason she couldn't do the same.

 

Despite her renewed resolve not to become emotionally attached to her students, Annie was genuinely happy to see Crimson Dawn back in class the following day—and relieved that her exasperating uncle was absent. Since time to work with her students on their respective projects was limited, she didn't dally when it came to taking roll and getting class under way. She spent only a few minutes looking over her shoulder to see if a certain unwanted visitor was going to make a follow-up appearance. Once Annie centered her attention upon her pupils, time flew as it always did whenever she was actively involved in the creative process. Something about helping others discover their own natural talents was utterly gratifying in a way that oddly superseded her professional training in more analytic areas.

Brushing off Crimson Dawn's stiff apology on the part of her uncle as being completely unnecessary, she squeezed the girl's shoulder reassuringly.

“Your work is coming along wonderfully. At this rate you'll be able to start another project well before this term is up.”

Despite the possible repercussions, Annie's stubborn heart bade her continue. She considered her words carefully, however.

“In case you don't know it, Crimson, I've been
expressly forbidden to direct your talents outside of this classroom. Nonetheless, I want you to know that you have been given an incredible gift. However you choose to use it is up to you.”

The knowledge that her teacher was referring not only to the unique stained-glass sculpture that she was in the process of finishing, but also the other artwork she had so shyly shown her earlier caused the girl to smile tremulously.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, not nearly as capable of expressing her feelings with words as with her hands. That Ms. Wainwright's praise didn't waver in light of the family feud it was causing at home made her heart swell with appreciation. Shyly she ventured words of advice to the teacher who had such faith in her abilities.

“Don't let Uncle Johnny buffalo you. He's really just a big old teddy bear.”

Annie tried not to choke on the image. If the man were any kind of bear, a grizzly was what came to mind. Nevertheless, she offered Crimson an appreciative smile for her concern, all the while offering up a little prayer that this girl's beloved uncle had gone into early hibernation and that he would stay there until her own limited tenure was over.

A few hours later, after all her students had vacated the art room, Annie became so completely absorbed in her own work that she had no idea she was not alone. It would take something far louder than a man's studious gaze to disrupt her concentration when she was thus engaged in her work. Even a man whose presence was as disquieting as the one focused so intently upon her at the moment.

“Very nice,” Johnny Lonebear murmured, step
ping behind her to see what it was that held her attention so completely.

Startled, Annie almost dropped the sizable piece of glass that she held in her hand. She could have sworn he had deliberately sneaked up on her wearing moccasins rather than the pair of work boots he favored. Strangely enough, his compliment burgeoned inside her like a rare tropical flower blooming in the desert. Though Annie knew he was referring to the intricate pattern laid out upon her workbench, she couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to hear this man speak in such silky tones about the scent of her perfume or the cut of her hair or the swell of her breasts as he fondled them in both hands.