Heart of the Storm

Chase felt the tickle of her dark hair against his mouth as he whispered into her ear, “The first mistake was that you didn’t pay enough attention to your surroundings.” Hard, sharp gasps exploded from her lips. “Secondly, you allowed me to draw you to where I was hiding, by sending out my cougar spirit.” He saw her face drain of color, her eye narrowing with rage. Good, she wasn’t a rabbit, after all. “Lastly, a warrioress always has her ally guarding her, but you didn’t send your own guide out to look for danger.”

With a grunt, Chase released Dana. He stepped back, hands on his hips, and watched her with veiled interest.

Dana scrambled to her knees, breathing raggedly. Leaping upward, she whirled around, wildly aware that her captor stood only a few feet from her. When she met his narrowed golden eyes, she checked the urge to run. She saw hints of amusement in those large, intelligent eyes of his. He was laughing at her! Fear turned to fury.

“Who are you?” Dana demanded, her voice low and off-key.

Chase gestured for her to sit down.

Dana refused, glaring at him.

He forced himself to ignore her primal beauty, the way she was crouched and ready to fight him all over again, if necessary. “Sit. Your knees are shaking so bad you’re going to fall down if you don’t.”

Grudgingly, Dana glanced down. He was right. She was feeling terribly shaky from the adrenaline rush flaring through her bloodstream. “How do I know you won’t attack me again?” she retorted angrily.

She took a few steps away from this giant of a man. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans, but no shirt, and his chest was broad, massive and without hair. He was Native American, no doubt about it. And powerful. Again, she saw laughter in his eyes. He hadn’t made a move toward her. Yet. Nervously, she wiped her damp palms against the thighs of her jeans.

“I don’t make a habit of attacking or raping helpless women. Sit down.”

Dana felt that same confusion overwhelm her once more. This man had attacked her. Then he’d released her. Was he her enemy? If so, why had he let her go? Her knees buckled abruptly, and she threw out her hands, cushioning her fall. Landing with a thump on the red sandstone, she felt weak and vulnerable before this warrior.

Searching his tanned, square face, Dana felt a sizzling sensation build within her and momentarily wipe out her fear and uncertainty. Her first impression, of a cougar, had been right. He had topaz-colored eyes that lightened or darkened with his mood changes. His face was hard, weathered by the elements. She couldn’t tell if he was a full-blooded Indian; his nose was hawklike, his nostrils now flared to catch even the faintest of scents.

The only hint that perhaps he wasn’t a killer appeared in his mouth—the corners curved naturally upward. Her darting gaze took in the powerful breadth of his shoulders. His chest was massive, his arms tight and thick with muscles. But he was far from musclebound; no, this man’s body was taut, in shape and honed to perfection. The sunlight made his copper skin glow with an almost unearthly radiance.

Dana blinked, unable to assimilate all that she saw and felt around this man, who stood like a nearly naked god. The jeans he had on were thin and faded from use. And he was wearing leather Apache boots, with their distinctive curled tip—designed for picking up snakes and hurling them off to one side. That way, the wearer was not bitten, and the snake lived to go about its business.

This man was indeed a cougar, coiled and waiting to leap upon her at any moment.

A sour grin edged Chase’s mouth as he studied her.

“Who are you?” Dana said resentfully.

“Chase Iron Hand. Your teacher.”

Shock bolted through her. Grandma Agnes had said he would meet her at the winter hogan, but she hadn’t found him there. “You can’t be…” she choked out, all her bravado dissolving. This man was powerful, physically as well as energetically. There was nothing soft or vulnerable about Chase Iron Hand. Dana could understand why he’d been given such a name. Indeed, he was like a piece of forged metal, far stronger than she would ever be.

Chase watched the fleeting emotions cross her stunned face. Her skin had a golden sheen wherever the sunlight caressed it. She sat with hands flat on the sandstone, her legs crossed. “Grandmother told you to meet me,” Chase informed her.

“At the hogan,” Dana snarled, anger once again replacing her fear. She felt the terror begin to leak out of her and into Mother Earth. “I thought—” She gulped, her voice tightening. “When you attacked me, I thought you were the same man who murdered my husband and my mother.”

Pain slammed into Chase’s heart. Damn! He hadn’t meant to do that to her. He could see anguish in Dana’s wide cinnamon eyes, which were now filling with tears. He opened his mouth to apologize and then snapped it shut. Right now she didn’t need his pity. She needed to learn how to work through emotional pain and keep her focus on the job ahead. “And if I had been, you’d be dead, woman. You’re supposed to be trained to take back the Storm Pipe,” he sneered. “And what did you do when confronted? You didn’t think about how to escape.”

His words stung her. Gulping back her tears, Dana saw the lack of respect he had for her. Chase was right: she had failed to look for escape. Not exactly what a real warrior would do.

“But then,” Chase added, “you have a habit of running away when things get tough, don’t you?”

Pain over that truth gutted Dana. She hung her head and placed her hands over her face. It hurt too much to speak.

Chase watched how Dana took his powerful words. She could hide nothing from him. Part of him was delighted with the discovery, but another part disdainful. Warriors showed no feelings, no matter if they were in the worst pain or on a natural high. He didn’t look too closely at himself, however. After six months of daily torture, he’d finally surrendered to the pain and given his enemies the information they’d wanted. Was he any different from Dana? Unwilling to go there, Chase hardened his heart against her and his own hidden shame.

“So, you’re a coward and you ran,” he drawled.

Dana’s head snapped up. Rage tunneled through her as she held his merciless stare. “Don’t give me that male superiority garbage!”

“Call me Chase.” He held out his hand to her. “Come on, let’s go down to the hogan, Dana. You’ve had enough for one day.”

Staring at his outstretched hand, Dana saw so many little pink scars on it that she recoiled. There was nothing warm, comforting or nurturing about this man. Her teacher. Oh, Great Spirit, he was her teacher? Dana had felt a lack of confidence sitting before Grandma Agnes, as she’d asked her to bring back the Storm Pipe. Now, in the shadow of this mighty warrior, all the rest of her confidence fled.

Scrambling to her feet, Dana lashed out and knocked his hand away. He laughed. It was like listening to the far-off rumbling of her beloved thunder beings.

Chase Iron Hand was beautiful in a rugged way. But in that moment, Dana detested him, because she had none of his confidence or strength within herself. Without a word, she scrambled down the sandstone wall and headed toward the hogan. To hell with him! She wasn’t about to walk at his side and chitchat, pretending nothing had happened. He’d scared her to death! He’d made her think she was going to die, as Hal and her mother had. Hatred toward him rose within Dana as she hurried down the escarpment.

Chase grinned and watched Dana storm down the canyon. Her shoulders were now thrown back with pride, her chin jutting out at a very defiant angle. He eyed her appreciatively as he followed, noting her hips swaying like a willow tree in a summer breeze. Mesmerized by that liquid motion, Chase felt a new trap—longing for a woman. Again he squelched that need. It had no place here, for sure.

There was a barbed wire fence on the last tier of sandstone, a wooden corral nearby for sheep and goats brought up to forage. As Dana bent to slip between the strands, the barbed wire caught on the back of her blouse between her shoulders. She was trapped. She tried to free herself without tearing a hole in the material, and by the time Chase arrived, he saw frustration in her features.

“Go on,” she snapped at him.

“I can help.”

“That’s the last thing I want from you! Get out of here. I’ll see you at the hogan.”

Chase smiled briefly. Well, Dana was showing some pluck now. “Let me help.”

She jerked her head, and Chase saw loathing in her furious eyes. Good, he’d use that to train her with, too. He didn’t take her anger toward him personally. No, the Indian way of thinking was that the feelings a person had were his or her own—not someone else’s. Why should he take responsibility for how she felt?

Lifting her blouse, he delicately eased the barbed wire from the fabric. “A warrioress knows when to ask for help, too.”

What the hell was he talking about? This was the second time he’d made a reference to her being a warrioress. Chase was crazy!

The brush of his fingertips on her back sent a tingling feeling across Dana’s flesh. As soon as she was freed, she slipped through the wire fence and hurried away without even a thank-you. Gulping for air, feeling hurt winding through her, Dana walked with resolve toward the winter hogan. Right now, all she wanted to do was run—again. Away from this coldhearted bastard. Away from her mission.

CHAPTER SEVEN

AS DANA WALKEDTOWARD THE hogan, she asked herself, What did I get into? Grandma Agnes was so loving. So nourishing to her starved and aching soul. This dude, well, he was an irritating, stinging salt in her wounds! Maybe this was a mistake.

Dana plowed on through the rabbitbrush, the yellow flowers scenting the air. Mouth set, she felt fear. Only fear. Chase had scared her to death.

Dana had thought she was being attacked, yet when she stopped being such a drama queen long enough to look at the experience, she had to admit Chase hadn’t hurt her at all—at least not physically. Oh, he’d made damn sure she got the message: that she was blind, deaf and dumb out here in the wilderness.

Dana dodged several smooth, red boulders on the steep slope to the hogan below. The wind was warm. The sun felt wonderful on her body. Mulling about Chase Iron Hand, Dana recalled a story her mother had told her as a child. There had been a race of fierce male and female warriors from the stars who had come to Earth to intermarry with the red people. The race was very tall, muscular, powerful and confident. Just like Chase. The star warriors had lived with their people and shown them how to weave, make weapons and defend themselves against invaders. Was he one of them?

Chase was too rough and unpolished, more animal than man, she decided. More wild than civilized. That scared the hell out of Dana. No man had ever sharpened her awareness of herself as a woman like he had in just one, potent meeting.

Pushing open the wooden door to the hogan, Dana stepped inside. She’d placed her luggage on the south side of the structure. The smell of sacred sage and juniper encircled her, calming and grounding. Some had been burned earlier in an abalone shell sitting atop the woodstove. Chase must have smudged the place, Dana guessed.

Rubbing her perspiring brow, she felt her heart opening. And with it came so much hurt and grief that she was momentarily overwhelmed. Chase had been brutal. But Dana was sure he would disdain her feelings and the hot tears that swam in her eyes. Valiantly, she choked down all her boiling emotions.