Cheyenne Dad

She adjusted the wary child, opened a cabinet and removed a package mix. When she stood beside him arranging the ingredients, he reached for the vinegar bottle and their hands collided.

As a jolt of electricity shot up Dakota’s arm, Annie staggered a little as though she too had been shocked. She snatched her hand back and they stared at each other.

Intently.

She moistened her lips, catching a strand of white-blond hair in the corner of her mouth. He swallowed. She brushed the silky lock away. He reached out to stroke her cheek. She shivered and closed her eyes.

He leaned in to kiss her, only to meet with resistance from the two-year-old still clutching her top.

“No!” Jamie pounded Dakota’s shoulder. “Mommy mine.”

With a guilty flush, Annie soothed and corrected the child all at once. “Oh, honey. Be nice to Kody. He wants to be your daddy.”

Jamie scrunched his cherubic face in blatant disapproval, and Dakota’s heart fell to the floor. Annie shook her head and carried the scowling child into the living room to watch TV with his brothers. When she returned to set the table, neither said a word.

A short time later they shared their first dinner as a family. Jamie, living proof of the stage Dakota had heard referred to as the “terrible twos,” sat beside his mother, demanding her undivided attention.

The middle child, Miles, wiggled in his seat, humming as he twirled a glob of spaghetti around his fork. Miles’s hair, cropped short and spiky on top, reminded Dakota of porcupine quills. Much to his relief, Miles accepted him without the slightest resistance. The talkative five-year-old seemed pleased to have a man in the house. Unlike Jamie, the older boys remembered him and understood his place in Jill’s life. They’d spoken on numerous occasions about what Dakota had deemed the Dog Soldier Ceremony, the ritual that had made Jill his blood sister.

“Know what, Uncle Kody?” Miles asked, adding even more pasta to his already-packed fork.

“What?”

“Tye’s getting a pair of glasses tomorrow. Funny-looking black ones. I’m glad I don’t have to wear ’em. Don’t want nobody callin’ me four-eyes.”

The boy in question, eight-year-old Tyler, stuck out his bottom lip in a gesture that hadn’t decided whether to be a frown or a pout. He wore his wavy hair long and slicked back in kind of a fifties style. “I’m not a four-eyes.”

Miles, the chatty porcupine, laughed. “You will be.”

“Shut up!”

“No, you, shut up.”

Annie quieted them both with a stern look. Dakota made a mental note. If the kids act up, just glare at them.

She dabbed her lips with a paper napkin, a daisy-printed napkin. “Miles, you know what I’ve told you about calling people names. And besides, there’s nothing wrong with wearing glasses.”

Dakota watched Tyler tear apart a slice of garlic bread. Apparently he thought there was something wrong with having to wear glasses. His expression looked pained—a quiet child worried about looking different from his peers. Not many eight-year-olds wore glasses, Dakota supposed.

“Hey, how about you guys hanging out with me tomorrow instead of going to the baby-sitters?” he suggested.

Miles said excitedly, “Yeah! Can we, Annie-Mom? Can we?” while his older brother barely managed a noncommittal shrug.

Annie turned to her husband with one of her stern looks. “This might be a little soon.”

“No, it’s not,” Miles chimed in, his sauce-smeared mouth twitching in excitement. “We want to hang out with Uncle Kody, don’t we, Tye?”

Once again Tyler only shrugged.

Dakota sprinkled another layer of cheese over his spaghetti, his heart aching for the boy. “You know, Tyler, I’d be glad to take you to the eye doctor tomorrow to pick up your glasses. Heck, I might even get a pair myself.”

The eight-year-old smiled for the first time that evening. “You wear glasses?”

“Well…no, not exactly, but I’ve always thought they made guys look kinda smart…girls, too,” he added, stealing a quick glance at Annie, who watched him curiously beneath her lashes. So what if he had twenty-twenty vision, Tyler seemed as though he needed a friend. “Maybe I’ll get a pair just like yours.”

“Really?” Tyler’s soulful eyes widened. “Would you wear them all the time?”

“Sure. Why not?” He wore sunglasses while he drove. A regular pair probably wouldn’t look or feel much different. And that smile on Tyler’s face made him feel sort of warm and fatherly, as if he’d done and said the right thing.

When they finished dinner, the boys cleared their plates and went back into the living room. Dakota and Annie remained in the kitchen where they shared the task of rinsing dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. Dakota detested housework but felt obliged to help on his first night there.

She handed him the empty salad bowl. “You were wonderful with Tyler. He’s had such a hard time since his parents died. He stresses about everything.”

“It takes time to get over that kind of loss,” Dakota responded, grateful he still had both of his parents. His folks supported him, no matter what he chose to do. They’d pretty much let him go his own way, recognizing his spirit for what it was. When he’d called and told them that he’d married Annie, they were shocked but pleased. They’d always considered her family. The kids, too.

Dakota wanted to be a good dad. Different from Annie’s dad. Clay Winters had disappointed his daughter, often making promises he didn’t keep. Dakota knew her childhood had been rocky at times. He assumed her devotion to Jill’s boys had stemmed from her own tragedies. Annie had lost her mother to an illness three years before, so she had no one left but Mary and the kids. And now him. She had a husband, whether she wanted one or not.

Annie exited the kitchen to check on the boys, and Dakota stared out the window. He wasn’t about to reveal the worries plaguing him. Could he make this marriage work? Become a good father? A proper husband? The kind of provider Annie and the kids deserved? He had to, he realized. This marriage was his Cheyenne duty, a responsibility he couldn’t turn away from, no matter how much it scared him.

The first thing he needed to do, Dakota thought, was get settled in. Prove to his wife and children that he intended to stick around. He touched the windowpane and took a deep breath. Ignoring the covered patio, he focused on the uncultivated acres beyond. A barn was definitely in order. Maybe he’d look into one of those prefab models, hire a company that could put up a building right quick. Dakota had to find a way to establish roots, and his horses would help tie him to the land.

He stepped away from the window. He could renovate the inside of the house as well. The place was a bit small for five people, so a few additions wouldn’t hurt. A man should look after his family, make them as comfortable as possible.

He rolled his shoulders and thought about Annie once again. She looked pretty tonight, sexy in an unpretentious way, wearing cotton shorts and tennis shoes, her tummy peeking out from beneath the shortened hem of a pastel T-shirt. She used to dress like that when she was a kid, too. A little girl in play clothes, feisty but feminine. Dakota smiled. Tiny Annie with her generous heart, always mooning after him.

His smile faded. She sure as heck wasn’t mooning after him these days. Lovemaking didn’t appear to be a priority in her mind.

As far as that went, Dakota decided, he’d have to give her some time and hope for the best. Of course, he’d still tease her the way he always had, laugh and act casual. Anything to keep her from knowing just how much her rejection hurt. He wasn’t about to expose his wounded pride. No more brooding. From now on, he’d keep the ache inside.

Two hours later Annie tucked each child into bed with a prayer and a kiss, then went to her own room. She opened the door to find a shirtless Dakota leaning over the top drawer of her dresser, the one that contained her lingerie.

“What are you doing?” she snapped in a panic. He looked big and looming. Dangerous. Not at all like the surprisingly gentle man who had charmed Tyler over dinner, the man she’d started having dangerous fantasies about. For one crazy instant in the kitchen, she’d actually liked the idea of Dakota being her husband. But now, seeing him like this, she knew better. That dangerous side of him would never go away, that wild spirit that made men like him too much of a risk.

Dakota shot up and bumped his head on a brass floor lamp, knocking the scalloped shade askew.

Ignoring the lopsided lampshade, he stood to face her, clad in nothing but his underwear. Annie meant to look away but couldn’t. Dakota’s body had been sculpted for admiration. A broad, copper chest tapered to a washboard stomach, then moved to narrow hips and rock-hard thighs. The springy hair dusting his arms and legs managed to skip his chest, only to resume in a thin line that whorled around his navel.

Intrigued by the dark line that disappeared into the waistband of his Aztec-printed shorts, she blurted the first thing that came to mind. “You’re wearing boxers. You had briefs on the other day.”

A semblance of a smile floated across his lips. “I sleep in boxers. And how do you know what I was wearing the other day?”

“The top of your jeans were unbuttoned.” Embarrassed that she’d commented on his personal attire, she felt a blush coming on. “I guess I noticed because I design underwear.”

A slice of his hair connected with a raised eyebrow. “Do you design men’s underwear, too?”

“No.” She tugged on the front of her cropped T-shirt, suddenly wishing her own navel wasn’t exposed. “Now what were you doing in the top drawer?”

He glanced back at the oak dresser. “Unpacking.”