Apache Dream Bride

“We haven’t solved the mystery of the Dream Catcher’s powers,” he said. “We don’t yet understand the Dream Catcher’s spirit call to enable us to send me back. So while I’m here we will live for the moment we hold in our hands.”

Dakota’s words echoed in Kathy’s mind as she stayed nestled against his warm, massive body. He felt wonderful, smelled wonderful. Being held in his strong arms was wonderful. Desire was beginning to churn hot and low within her.

But there was more than basic physical yearnings involved. Dakota was touching an emotional place deep within her that she hadn’t even known existed. She was beginning to feel connected, bonded to him. She had felt his pain as he’d spoken of what had been done to his people. The chill of his loneliness as he’d roamed the land alone was an icy fist within her.

While I am here, we will live for the moment we hold in our hands.

Did she have the courage to actually do that? Could she live for the moment, treasure what they might share, then be prepared to let him go? How long would she ache for him when he was gone? How long would she cry?

Oh, she couldn’t think straight. Too much was happening so quickly that she was off kilter and terribly confused. She was going to put her emotional turmoil on hold, she had to.

Dakota inhaled Kathy’s feminine aroma once more, then moved her gently away from him.

“What discovery do you want to make first?” he said.

Kathy laughed in spite of herself. “You make this sound like research for a term paper.”

“A what?”

“Never mind. I’m such a wreck that a dose of practical thinking is called for. Therefore, we’ll shift our focus. You need some clothes.”

“I have clothes.”

“Yes, but you don’t have a shirt. Men in this era are free to go without a shirt, but not all of the time. You need a shirt.”

He shrugged.

“So, I’m going shopping and buy you a shirt. I’ll get you some jeans, too. Man-pants. Do you shave?”

“What?”

“Do you grow hair on your face that you cut off each day?”

“No,” he said slowly. “Kathy, are you talking nonsense?”

“No. White men grow hair on their faces. I’ve read that most Indians don’t, and I guess it’s true. Okay. Cancel the shaving cream and razor. Do you—” she paused, feeling the now-familiar warm flush creep onto her cheeks “—use underwear?”

“I don’t know the meaning of that word.”

Dandy. Go for it, Kathy. “Do you have anything on beneath your pants?”

Dakota frowned. “For what purpose? Do white men wear pants under their pants?”

“Well, yes.”

“Strange. No, I don’t have this underwear you speak of.”

“Good. I’ve never bought Jockey shorts in my life. Dakota, listen to me. You must promise that you’ll stay inside the house while I’m gone. You can’t go wandering around until I think of a way to explain who you are and why you’re here.”

“I need to breathe fresh air. The walls are closing in on me.”

“Oh, dear. Well, all right. Let’s go into the backyard and have a stroll. I’ll show you my herb garden. Then will you be able to stay inside while I go shopping?”

“Shopping is what you do to get me a shirt?”

“Bingo. I mean, yes, that’s correct.”

He nodded. “I’ll agree to your plan. We’ll see your herb garden now.”

They left the living room, went through the kitchen, then Kathy stopped on the enclosed sun porch beyond.

“This is where I dry my herbs,” she said, sweeping one arm in the air.

Dakota looked at the multitude of plants covering the walls of the sun porch. Kathy had designed, then hired a handyman to build, the drying walls with pegs where she hung the herbs, utilizing every spare inch of space.

“I can’t grow everything I need for the store,” she said, “but I’m pleased with what I’m able to add to the inventory myself. I get most of my teas from a woman in Sedona, and the oils and lotions from Flagstaff. I also sell commercial vitamins.

“I dry the herbs here, then put them in brown paper bags because they must be kept in a dark, dry place. I take the bags to The Herb Hogan. That’s the name of my store.”

“It’s good,” Dakota said, nodding. “You’ve tended to your herbs as it should be done. No Apache woman could do better.”

“Oh, well,” she said, smiling, “thank you. That was a very nice compliment.”

She was pleased to the point of ridiculous by what Dakota had said. It shouldn’t matter what he thought of her talents, but the warm, fuzzy feeling she was registering was evidence that it did. She was as adept as an Apache woman would be at growing and caring for herbs? Goodness, wasn’t that something?

Dakota continued to scrutinize the herbs, then finally nodded again.

“Are you ready to go outside?” Kathy said.

Dakota started toward the door, then stopped, looking through the window.

“No. It’s too open, with nowhere to conceal myself if the soldiers come.”

“Dakota, there aren’t any soldiers trying to find you to take you to the reservation. Your people are free now. Free. They can go anywhere they want to. They live, work, play, right beside white men if they choose. Some are still on Indian land, on reservations, but it’s because they want to be, not because they’re forced to stay there. You have nothing to fear by leaving the shelter and safety of this house.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “I’ll trust what you say, Kathy. These are peaceful times?”

“Not everywhere, I’m afraid, but here in Prescott it’s peaceful.”

“Mmm,” he said, then followed her out the back door.

It was another picture-perfect day. The air was clean, the sky a brilliant blue with a sprinkling of fluffy white clouds.

Dakota spread his arms wide, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. Opening his eyes again, he swept his gaze over the multitude of neat rows of Kathy’s herb garden.

“This is good,” he said, nodding. “The soil is rich here?”

“Yes, it’s excellent. I have it tested to be certain it’s in proper balance. This year I added some iron.”