Cherokee Baby

Guests were already gathered at rustic tables, sipping margaritas and chatting companionably. The chef had prepared an array of Southwestern appetizers. Julianne could see colorful trays garnished with tomatoes, peppers and cilantro leaves.

The dance floor accommodated Western-clad couples swaying to a beat provided by a country band. The room itself twinkled with white lights, giving the rugged atmosphere a touch of romance.

Julianne sat with her cousins and scanned the area for Bobby, and then made eye contact with a young man who smiled and came her way.

He resembled Bobby, with his long, lean body and jet-black hair. A relative, she decided. A member of the Elk family.

He stopped at their table. His skin wasn’t quite as dark as Bobby’s, but he had the same strong-boned features and rough-and-tumble appeal.

“Evening, ladies.” He introduced himself as Michael Elk, then turned to Julianne. “You must be the good-looking redhead my uncle mentioned.”

Stunned and flattered, she extended her hand. “Julianne McKenzie.”

After they shook hands, he sat in the empty chair next to her. She reached for a corn chip and dipped it into a bowl of guacamole. “So Bobby’s your uncle?”

“Yes, ma’am. And a damn good one. He gave up his rodeo career to raise me.” Michael poured a margarita from the pitcher on their table and handed it to her. “He stepped in when my mother died. I was thirteen years old, and full of pi—” He paused to rethink his statement. “Pickles and vinegar. I was quite a handful.”

And probably still was, she thought, catching the dark, dangerous gleam in his eye.

They talked for a few more minutes before Michael rose to mingle. “Enjoy the dance.” He smiled at Kay and Mern. “Try the sopes,” he said, pointing to a platter of small, ridged, pork-filled tortillas. “They’re my favorite.”

Taking his advice, Kay reached for one of the Mexican appetizers. “Hunky,” she commented when he was out of earshot.

“Just like his uncle,” Mern put in, nudging Julianne to glance toward the door, where Bobby had just arrived.

Instantly she became aware of her nerves, of the girlish flutter in her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she removed her jacket and placed it on the back of her chair. Suddenly she was warm. Much too warm.

Bobby looked like a mirage, a masculine shadow of denim and leather. A buckskin shirt fitted across his chest and a pair of cowboy-cut jeans hugged his hips. A Stetson, decorated with a silver hatband, shielded his eyes, creating an air of mystery.

“Did you hear that?” Kay asked.

Julianne couldn’t hear anything above the pounding of her own heart.

“It’s lady’s choice, Jul. Go ask Bobby to dance before someone else snags him.”

Lady’s choice. That gave her a perfect excuse to approach him, yet as she made her way through the other guests, she wanted to turn tail and run.

She’d barely taken a moment to breathe, to calm her schoolgirl anxiety.

He glanced up and saw her, and she realized it was too late to skitter off like a jackrabbit.

“Hi, Bobby.” She stopped in front of him, conjured a smile and tried to look more confident than she felt.

“Hello.” His gaze traveled over her body, settled on her breasts for a millisecond and shot back up to her face.

Julianne shifted her feet. He’d noticed her protruding nipples. The twin peaks she’d blasted with Binaca.

“Do you want to dance?” she asked before she lost her nerve.

When he stalled, she knew she’d made a mistake. Apparently he didn’t like forward women. Apparently the backless, braless dress had been the wrong thing to wear. Apparently—

“All right,” he said.

All right. He didn’t sound particularly enthused about holding her in his arms, but he’d agreed. To be polite, most likely.

Mortified, Julianne decided this potential affair was a pipe dream. A foolish notion going nowhere.

He led her onto the dance floor.

And suddenly everything changed.

Their eyes met and their bodies brushed, the music tempting them with a warm, slow, country ballad.

He slid his arms around her waist; she put her head on his shoulder. And the rest of the world seemed to disappear.

The twinkling lights flashed like a hundred wish-inspired stars glittering from an oak ceiling.

Julianne inhaled the scent from his cologne, the subtle mix of musk and man. He ran his fingers up and down her spine, caressing her bare back.

They could have been making love, she thought. Making love to music. She felt the flex of muscle, the hard, solid wall of his body swaying to accommodate hers.

He toyed with the ends of her hair. “Gi-ga-ge-i,” he whispered in a guttural tongue. “So red. So powerful.”

She wanted to respond but she couldn’t. Her entire body was melting. All over him.

When the song ended, they stood in the center of the dance floor, just holding each other. Until Bobby dropped his hands and stepped back.

“Wa-do,” he said. “Thank you for the dance.”

“You’re welcome.” Still a little dazed, she smiled. “Is that the Cherokee language?”

He nodded. “I don’t speak it fluently. But my grandparents did.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Wa-do,” he said again. “Thank you.”

The band started another song, but Bobby didn’t reach for her. And she didn’t reach for him. They separated, walked in opposite directions, and then turned back at the same moment to look at each other from across the room.

Giving her a connection she hadn’t expected to feel. A fleeting embrace from heart to lonely heart.

On Thursday afternoon Bobby saddled his horse. He wasn’t going to let last night’s dance affect him. He wasn’t going to obsess about the luxury of holding Julianne McKenzie, of swaying to a slow, silky song, of being immersed in the airy fragrance of her perfume.

He stole a glance at Julianne. She waited beside Caballero, with her hair blowing gently in the breeze.

Oh, hell. Who was he trying to kid? He was already obsessing about her. About the slim, sleek texture of her naked back and the erotic impression her nipples had made against her dress.

He’d gone to bed aroused and had awakened the same damned way.