Storming Whitehorn

Again, Storm hesitated. He’d heard of the tribal leader’s burden some schedule firsthand, from Jackson Hawk himself. Jackson had been a childhood friend. Recently they’d reconnected when he’d tracked down Storm to tell him of the discovery of Raven’s remains. Since his arrival in Whitehorn, Jackson had already made a play to convince Storm to return to Laughing Horse, using guilt as his tool of choice.

Now, in the presence of his last remaining family, Storm had no intention of showing any false interest in returning to a life that had caused him nothing but pain. He’d made his choice to leave the reservation many years before. He saw no reason to change his mind now.

As though sensing his growing discomfort, Summer released an impatient breath. “Gavin, please. Just because you’ve returned to the reservation and have accepted the ways of our people, that doesn’t mean you need to pressure everyone else into doing the same.” Her eyes twinkled with undisguised mischief. “Give Storm sometime. Perhaps he’ll change his mind on his own.”

Gavin laughed, a deep hearty laugh that chased away any tension that remained between the men. “Forgive me, Storm. I’ve become something of a zealot, when it comes to talking about the res. Summer tells me you’ve done pro bono work for the Navajos in New Mexico. And that you’ve taken on some civil liberty cases. Tell me about them.”

For the next hour, between ordering their dinners and tackling their food, Storm, Gavin and Summer embarked on a lively discussion on the right and wrong ways to help their people. A conversation that revolved totally upon the world of the Native American.

During this time, Jasmine remained noticeably silent.

Storm tried not to feel guilty. While he hadn’t set out to exclude her from the conversation, he hadn’t made an effort to include her, either. Though she seemed to listen with polite interest, he wondered if she felt bored, or uncomfortable. He almost wished she did.

It would reinforce what he’d known all along. That they were from two entirely different worlds. Jasmine from the privileged world of the white man. Himself from the hard, struggling life of a Native American. It wasn’t surprising that they would be unable to relate to each other on an everyday basis.

Just as they’d finished ordering dessert, Gavin’s pager went off. Unclipping it from his belt, he held it up to the light and glanced at the number. “It’s the clinic.”

Before the words were out of his mouth, Summer’s pager chirped a warning beat. Frowning, she said, “The clinic’s paging me, also. If they want us both, there must be an emergency.” She sighed as she rose to her feet and joined her husband, looking from Storm to Jasmine for understanding. “I’m sorry for leaving so early. But we really must go.”

“Don’t be silly, Summer,” Jasmine assured her, breaking her silence. “Of course, you have to leave.”

“I enjoyed the dinner, and our discussion. I hope we’ll be able to spend more time together before I return to New Mexico,” Storm said, surprised to realize he’d meant the polite words. He scooted his chair back and started to rise to his feet, preparing to leave.

“Stay,” Summer insisted, shooing him back to his seat. “Just because Gavin and I have to miss dessert, that doesn’t mean you must, too. Finish your coffee, eat your apple pie. Enjoy your selves. There’s no need to rush off.”

Slowly, Storm returned to his seat. He glanced at Jasmine, sitting next to him. If she felt uncomfortable at the prospect of being alone with him, she gave no outward sign.

Instead she focused her attention on saying good-bye to her cousin. It wasn’t until they were finally alone that she turned her head to look at him. If he thought she would remain the shy, retiring woman who’d said little for the past hour, he’d been wrong. Her cool, confident gaze sent a shiver of trepidation down his spine.

Leaning an elbow on the table, her chin resting on the palm of her hand, she looked him in the eye and said, “So, tell me, Mr. Hunter, what sort of game do you think you’re playing?”

“Game?” Storm sat back in his chair and studied her carefully. “I assure you, Ms. Monroe, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She raised a finely sculpted brow. “Don’t you?”

Not trusting himself to answer, he raised his hands in mock surrender, feigning a confusion he did not possess. “Really, I haven’t a clue.”

She ran a slender finger over the rim of her water glass as she considered his response, the action catching his attention. Finally, without so much as a blink of an eye, she said, “You kissed me yesterday. An unexpected experience, yes, but special, nonetheless. Both of us seemed to have enjoyed ourselves. Since that time, however, you’ve been avoiding me. I’d like to know why.”

Storm’s breath caught at her bluntness. Taken aback, once again, by her penchant for complete honesty, he was at a loss as to how to answer. The truth was, she scared the hell out of him. The kiss they’d shared had been more than special. It had been magical. An experience he’d like to sample again and again. But he’d be damned if he was going to admit that much to her.

Buying himself time while he thought of a way out of this tenuous situation, he lifted a hand and motioned for the waitress. When the heavy, round faced Cheyenne woman arrived at their table, he said curtly, “We’re finished. I’d like the check.”

The waitress blinked in surprise. “But what about dessert? I was just about ready to bring out the pies—”

“We’ve changed our mind,” he said, refusing to look at Jasmine for her reaction. “You can add the cost to the bill, but we won’t be staying to eat them.”

The waitress heaved a tired sigh and shook her head. “Yes, sir, whatever you want.”

Flipping through her receipt book, she totaled up the cost of dinner and handed him the check. Without looking at the amount, Storm handed her his credit card, not wishing to delay his departure a minute longer than necessary.

Raising a brow, the waitress said, “I’ll run this through the machine. Be back in a jiffy.”

With that, he was alone once again with Jasmine. And he realized he could no longer avoid what must be done. Once and for all he must make it clear to her that there was no possibility of a relationship between them. There were too many obstacles standing in their way.

Whatever means he must take, it was Jasmine’s turn to be scared away.

Leaning forward in his chair, keeping his tone confidential, he said, “I’d be careful what I ask for if I were you. You might not want to know the answer.”

A slow smile stole across her beautiful, exotic face. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, my dear Jasmine, that you are just a child,” he said, keeping his voice smooth and silky, like a caress. “And I am a man of many, many experiences. The kiss that we shared was nothing compared to the things I know to please a woman. And you, little one, are nowhere near ready to handle what I can do for you.”

The smile faded. Her lips parted in a silent gasp of surprise. She looked…stunned.

Satisfied, Storm rose to his feet. Tipping his hand in mock salute, he turned and left, not daring to glance back at the woman he was leaving behind, lest he changed his mind.

Her mouth still drooping in surprise, Jasmine stared after Storm’s departing figure. He moved through the crowded restaurant with the primal grace of a predator. With his wide shoulders and narrow hips, he reminded her of a sleek mountain cat, coiled and ready to spring into attack.

Suddenly the room felt as though the heat had been cranked up by at least twenty degrees. Feeling flushed, on a shaky breath, she murmured, “Oh, my.”

The waitress chose that moment to return. She glanced at Storm’s empty chair. “What happened to tall, dark and in-a-hurry?”

Jasmine’s face warmed with embarrassment. “He had to leave.”

“What am I supposed to do with his credit card?” She held up the gold card for Jasmine’s inspection. Its shiny surface glittered beneath the muted lights of the restaurant.

The slow smile returned. Jasmine told herself he may be cool and collected on the outside, but Storm Hunter wasn’t as in control of his emotions as he’d like for her to believe. She held out a hand for the forgotten card. “I’ll take that.”

The waitress frowned, looking uncertain. “I don’t know. The restaurant policy is—”

“Mr. Hunter and I are close friends, practically family,” she assured her, giving the woman what she hoped was a most sincere look. “His niece is my cousin.”

“Family, huh?” the waitress asked, her gaze skeptical.

Jasmine nodded. “Family.”

“Well, okay.” Reluctantly, she handed Jasmine the card. “The bill’s still going on his account, with or without his signature.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that. Just as soon as I see him again.”

Anxious to leave, Jasmine scooted her chair back. Her legs felt wobbly as she stood. The sound of her heart pounded so hard in her ears, she could barely hear the voices of the restaurant patrons around her. Gathering her sweater, she hurried for the exit.

Storm was a man who obviously had pressing things weighing on his mind, proof of which was resting in her hand. She hadn’t bought his Casanova routine. Beneath that cool exterior, she sensed there was a man with deep emotions just waiting to be tapped.

It was time she found out if she was right.

Chapter Four