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Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
Dedication
About the Author
Dear Reader
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Copyright
“Kissing Was An Excellent Discovery,”
Dakota observed, appearing extremely proud of himself. “We’re moving closer to the time of joining.”
“No, we’re not,” Kathy said, her voice rising. “Yes, okay, I want you, I want to join with you. It’s called making love, if the proper emotions are involved. But it isn’t going to happen between us, Dakota.”
“Why not?”
She folded her arms over her breasts. “Listen to me carefully. I do not take the act of making love lightly.”
“Nor do I.”
“Fine. Then you should be able to understand that it’s too risky. What if I…Darn it, what if I fall in love with you and then you zoom back to 1877?”
Dear Reader,
It’s the CELEBRATION 1000 moment you’ve all been waiting for, the publication of Silhouette Desire #1000! As promised, it’s a very special MAN OF THE MONTH by Diana Palmer called Man of Ice. Diana was one of the very first Silhouette Desire writers, and her many wonderful contributions to the line have made her one of our most beloved authors. This story is sure to make its way to your shelf of “keepers.”
But that’s not all! Don’t miss Baby Dreams, the first book in a wonderful new series, THE BABY SHOWER, by Raye Morgan. Award-winning author Jennifer Greene also starts a new miniseries, THE STANFORD SISTERS, with the delightful The Unwilling Bride. For something a little different, take a peek at Joan Elliott Pickart’s Apache Dream Bride. And the fun keeps on coming with Judith McWilliams’s Instant Husband, the latest in THE WEDDING NIGHT series. Our Debut Author promotion introduces you to Amanda Kramer, author of the charmingly sexy Baby Bonus.
And you’ll be excited to know that there’s more CELEBRATION 1000 next month, as the party continues with six more scintillating love stories, including The Accidental Bodyguard, a MAN OF THE MONTH from Ann Major.
Silhouette Desire—the passion continues! Enjoy!
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Apache Dream Bride
Joan Elliott Pickart
For Herm Harrison
Professional Football Player!
Super Star!
Hero!
But most of all…my friend.
JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART
is the author of over sixty-five novels. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys watching football, knitting, reading, gardening and attending craft shows on the town square. Joan has three daughters and a fantastic little grandson. Her three dogs and one cat allow her to live with them in a cozy cottage in a charming, small town in the high pine country of Arizona.
Dear Reader,
When I was first published as Robin Elliott with Silhouette Desire back in June of 1985, I was delighted to become a member of the Silhouette family.
Through the years, Silhouette Desire has become a favorite of readers across the country and around the world, a fact that doesn’t surprise me. The Silhouette family has grown, and I have the privilege to be surrounded by very talented writers.
What does surprise me is how quickly the years have passed since that first Robin Elliott book was published. I feel as though I’ve traveled forward in time just as Dakota does in Apache Dream Bride.
To be chosen to be a part of the celebration of the 1000th Silhouette Desire novel is a tremendous honor. I salute the authors, who have contributed to the success of the Desire line, the editors, who have been those authors’ partners, and I salute all of you who have been steadfast readers of our books through the years. You, too, are members of the Silhouette family.
While I began my Silhouette career as Robin Elliott, I am now writing under my own name of Joan Elliott Pickart.
Many thanks to all of you for your loyalty and support.
With warmest regards,
One
The June day was so perfect, Kathy Maxwell decided, it was as though Mother Nature had reached an agreement with the Prescott Chamber of Commerce to present the small northern Arizona town at its very best.
Kathy took a deep breath of the clean, cool air, and marveled yet again at how clear the bright blue sky was at an altitude of five thousand feet. The lack of smog and exhaust fumes was just one of a multitude of reasons that made her extremely glad she’d moved to Prescott from Chicago a year ago.
“Hi, Kathy,” a woman called from across the street. “Are you playing hooky this afternoon?”
Kathy laughed. “You caught me, Beth. Sally is covering the store. I’m going to the craft show on the plaza with Lily.”
“Enjoy yourselves,” Beth said, waving as she went into a shop.
The people here were always so friendly and warm, Kathy thought as she smiled.
She had spent several summers in Prescott with her cousin, Lily, and had loved every minute of the visits. During her last trip west, she’d found herself consumed with an ever-growing sense of dread when envisioning a return to her life in Chicago.
The violence at the inner-city school where she taught increased each year, making it necessary to spend more time attempting to maintain order in the classroom than teaching the belligerent students.
During the previous school year, she’d lost weight, developed what were diagnosed as stress headaches and had difficulty sleeping. Admitting that she was burnedout had been difficult and had given her a feeling of failure. So, she’d hightailed it to Prescott, certain that a relaxing summer with Lily in the peaceful little town would render her as good as new. But by the end of August she realized it was not to be.
Not a risk-taker, and preferring order in her life, it had taken every ounce of courage Kathy possessed to quit her teaching job just weeks before the fall term began. Gathering that courage, as well as her savings, she had made a permanent move to Prescott and opened her store, The Herb Hogan. Her longtime hobby of growing herbs and studying their various uses had provided her the means to start her own business, which was thriving.
“Kathy, I’m coming, I’m coming,” a voice said, bringing Kathy from her thoughts.
She turned to see Lily waddling toward her, moving as fast as anyone who was eight months pregnant could. Her cousin was short, and very round at the moment. She had carrot red hair and a generous supply of freckles.
“Whew,” Lily said, stopping next to Kathy. “I’ll be so glad when this baby isn’t getting free rides anymore. I swear he weighs more than the other three did, despite what the doctor says.”
“You didn’t have to rush. We have all afternoon to ourselves.”
“What a heavenly thought,” Lily said as they started down the sidewalk. “Brad was making lunch for the girls when I left the house. Oh, mercy, I don’t even want to think about what my kitchen will look like when I get home. Brad is wonderful with the kids, but he’s a disaster on cleanup detail.” She paused. “So, tell all. How did your date with Roy go?”
Kathy wrinkled her nose. “Ask me anything you ever wanted to know about rodeos. I had a four-hour dissertation on the subject.”
“Oh, dear, another dud. That’s not good, not good at all.”
“Lily, I’m going to say this…again. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve discussed the subject. Are you listening?”
“No.”
“Yes, you are. I’m happy in Prescott, very contented. Granted, there are adjustments to make when moving here from a large city like Chicago, but I’ve settled in quite nicely over the past year. This town is as close to perfection as a place can be.
“However, because it’s so small, there isn’t an abundance of eligible men. I’ve accepted that fact, and I’m aware that there’s a very good chance that I’ll never marry and have children. I’ll spoil your kids rotten and be their eccentric spinster aunt. I’d rather live here alone than in Chicago where there were beaucoup men. And that, Lily Benson, is that.”
“It certainly is not,” Lily said with an indignant sniff. “There’s a man for you in this town…somewhere. It’s simply a matter of staying alert. Prescott is growing, you know. There are people moving here all the time.
“I made Brad promise to tell me if any bachelors retain him as their attorney. You’ve got to work on your attitude, Kathy, or you’re liable to miss seeing a real hunk of stuff when he’s right in front of your nose.”
“Lily…”
“And,” she went on, “let us not forget your many attributes, my dear. You’re tall, disgustingly slender, have naturally curly blond hair, gorgeous blue eyes, and not one freckle, because I have your share. You’re twenty-seven, intelligent, have your own business, adore children…The list goes on and on. You’re a super catch, Kathy Maxwell, and a fantastic man is going to come out of the ether and realize that.”
Kathy rolled her eyes heavenward but kept silent, knowing it was useless to argue the subject further with her lovable and stubborn cousin.
The plaza, also called the square, was located on the main street and was a block long on each of its four sides. A majestic courthouse sat in the center, surrounded by trees and lush green grass. A charming gazebo had been built on one section of the lawn. Ongoing activities took place on the plaza, Kathy’s favorites being the craft shows.
Handmade items were on display in the seemingly endless number of booths edging the grass of the square. Some of the people manning the booths were local citizens, others had come from across the country.
Kathy was slowly collecting items with Southwestern, as well as native American, themes to decorate her tiny cottage, which she adored. The one-bedroom house had a white picket fence, a tall juniper tree on one side, and a large backyard, where she grew herbs. Her home was “cozy and cute,” she often told Lily, and it suited her needs perfectly.
“My stars,” Lily said, “would you look at all the people on the square? What a crowd. See? I told you that Prescott is growing, and there’s the evidence of it. Well, let’s plough in and ogle the goodies.”
“Did it ever occur to you that a majority of those folks are tourists?”
“Hush. Don’t be negative. Mark my words, they live here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kathy said, laughing. “Anything you say, ma’am.”
Late that night Kathy stood next to her double bed, a hammer in one hand. She cocked her head to one side, then the other, finally nodding in approval. She was delighted with the purchase she’d made at the craft show, and now it was properly placed on the wall just above her pillow.
“A Dream Catcher,” she said, smiling. “I love it.”
The native American creation was comprised of a three-inch circle covered in soft pink felt. Minute, taut webbing crisscrossed the interior of the circle, leaving a small hole in the center. Several felt streamers, six and eight inches long and decorated with beads and feathers, hung from the circle.
The legend of the Dream Catcher was enchanting, Kathy mused. Hung above where a person slept, the ornament would catch dreams that floated through the night air. Only good dreams would be allowed to pass through the hole in the center, while bad dreams were snared in the webbing and would perish at dawn’s light.
“Pleasant dreams guaranteed,” she said with a decisive nod.
She put the hammer away, locked the doors, then went to bed. She looked at the Dream Catcher once more before turning off the small lamp on the nightstand. With a sigh of contentment, she snuggled into a comfortable position.
What a lovely day it had been, she thought. As more and more time passed, she was emotionally reassured that she’d made the right decision when moving to Prescott. Her life was once again in order and her health restored. Everything was fine.
Except…
Kathy sighed. If she was totally honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she often yearned to have a special man to share with, to laugh and talk with; someone she loved and who loved her in return.
She wished to marry, have children, and still continue to nurture her growing business. She wanted it all, fairytale perfect, greedy person that she was. But the man, his love and the subsequent babies were missing.
She was learning to accept that fact. She refused to allow that empty place in her life to diminish her happiness and the sense of rightness about the choice she’d made to leave Chicago.
Who knows, she thought sleepily, maybe her Prince Charming was out there somewhere. He’d suddenly appear in her life and fall madly in love with her as he captured her heart.
Maybe…maybe…
Kathy drifted off to sleep.
* * *
She was standing in a field of glorious wildflowers, the vibrantly colored, fragrant blossoms dancing in the breeze as far as the eye could see. Her simple dress of pale yellow cotton fell to the tops of her bare feet. A sunbonnet covered her hair, tied loosely beneath her chin.
She was comfortable in the clothes, knew they were hers and were the proper attire for the West in 1877.
Raising one hand to shield her eyes against the brilliant sun, she stared into the distance with a sense of wondrous anticipation and excitement.
He was coming. Yes, she could see him now, racing toward her on his gleaming horse. Closer and closer he came, becoming clearer with every rapid beat of her heart.
Bronzed and beautiful, he rode bareback, clad only in buckskin pants and moccasins. His broad, tawny, muscled chest was glistening, his shoulder-length hair shining like ebony. His eyes were as dark as a raven’s wing, and his features were bold, rough-hewn, with high cheekbones that were further evidence of his Indian heritage.
This was her love, her magnificent brave; proud, strong, riding like the wind, and coming to her, only her. He pulled the horse to a stop and dropped to the ground, striding toward her with sensual grace.
She opened her arms to receive him into her embrace.
“Hurry,” she whispered. “Oh, please hurry, my love.”
He was one step away, reaching for her, desire radiating from the depths of his obsidian eyes.
Then…
* * *
Kathy jolted upward in bed, her heart pounding. She heard the insistent shrill of the alarm clock and smacked it off.
“Blast,” she said aloud. “I missed the best part of my wonderful dream.”
She looked over her shoulder, intent on glaring at the Dream Catcher for not poking the dream through the hole earlier so it wouldn’t have been cut short by the rude ringing of the alarm.
But the Dream Catcher wasn’t there.
“Darn it,” Kathy said, tossing back the blankets and leaving the bed.
She was certain she’d secured it firmly with a nail tucked through the loop at the top. Apparently, though, both nail and Dream Catcher had fallen to the floor during the night.
“That’s strange,” she said, seeing the nail still in the wall.
Kathy dropped to her knees and peered under the bed, discovering only a few dust bunnies. Rising, she slid her hand between the mattress and the wall. Nothing.
Where on earth had the Dream Catcher disappeared to?
“Coffee,” she mumbled, starting toward the door. “Coffee, then a more thorough search.”
She yawned just as she reached the foot of the bed, then stopped, statue-still. Her mouth remained opened from the now-forgotten yawn and her eyes widened. A strange squeak escaped from her throat, and she snapped her mouth closed. The sound of her frantically beating heart echoed in her ears.
The missing Dream Catcher was on the floor between the bed and the wall.
But it was no longer three inches around. It was six feet across!
And there, caught half in and half out of the center hole, lying on the carpet with his eyes closed, was the Indian brave from her dream!
Her trembling legs refused to hold her for another instant, and Kathy sank onto the edge of the bed, her horrified gaze riveted on the enormous Dream Catcher and the man caught in the webbing. He hadn’t moved. The steady rise and fall of his chest were the only indication that he was even alive.
No, Kathy thought frantically, he wasn’t alive. Well, he wasn’t dead, either. But he was most definitely not alive in the sense that he was actually there in her bedroom. That was ridiculous. Impossible. Absurd.
Kathy jumped to her feet, stomped back to the head of the bed, then yanked her Mickey Mouse T-shirt straight over her bikini panties. After getting into bed, she pulled the blankets up to her chin and squeezed her eyes tightly closed.
That Indian, she told herself, that absolutely gorgeous-beyond-belief man, was not in her bedroom because she was still asleep and dreaming. It was one of the most wide-awake-seeming dreams she’d ever had, but it was a dream, nonetheless. The alarm would go off at any moment now and she’d begin her daily routine on a perfectly normal Monday morning. Fine.
Several minutes passed as Kathy stayed ramrod stiff under the covers. Then she very tentatively opened one eye to sneak a peek at the clock.
“Oh, dear heaven,” she said, with a near-sob.
It was long past time for the alarm to ring because it had already rung!
She was awake. She was honest-to-goodness awake. The empty nail on the wall above her head seemed to scream at her that the pretty little three-inch Dream Catcher was no longer there, because it was now six feet around and holding fast to the most magnificent man she had ever seen.
Kathy Maxwell, she admonished herself, stop it. Just cut it out. This was not really happening, because things like this didn’t really happen. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for this nonsense, but, oh, mercy, she wished she knew what it was.
She eased herself slowly upward, hardly breathing, then crawled on her hands and knees toward the end of the bed.
There was, Kathy told herself, nothing on that floor but a section of brown carpet that needed vacuuming.
As she came to the foot of the bed, she closed her eyes, causing her to nearly fall off the end.
Slowly, very slowly, she opened her eyes. At that exact same moment, the Indian opened his eyes and looked directly at her.
“Aaak!” Kathy screamed.
She scrambled off the side of the bed and came to a stop at the man’s feet. He turned his head to stare at her, a frown knitting his dark brows.
“Oh. No. Oh, dear,” Kathy said in a voice that was more of a whimper. She hopped from one foot to the other, wringing her hands. “No, no, no.”
“A death dance?” the Indian said. “I’m dead. So be it.”
Kathy stopped in mid-hop, and leaned slightly forward. “My goodness, you have a marvelous voice. It’s so deep and rich. Well, that figures. You’re a big man and your voice is exactly right for your size. I suppose your tan is natural, what with your being a native American and…No! I’m not talking to you. I refuse to say another word, because you’re not really here. Are you getting this, mister?”
“I’m dead,” he said, then sighed. “I thought I had lived my life with honor befitting a Chiricahua Apache, but apparently I have angered the gods. I have been sentenced to spend my eternal beyond with a shrieking witch-woman.”
Kathy planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “That was very rude. I am not a shrieking witch-woman, for Pete’s sake. How would you feel if your Dream Catcher grew from three inches to six feet and plopped a guy from your dream on the floor in your bedroom? Huh? Answer that one. You’d be shook up, too.”
“Dream Catcher?” he repeated, glancing at the apparatus surrounding him. “Yes, this is a Dream Catcher, but I have never seen one this large. Why am I being held captive in this enormous Dream Catcher?”
“Beats me,” Kathy said, shrugging. She giggled, realizing at once that there was a hysterical edge to the sound. She pressed one hand to her forehead. “No fever. Drat. But, darn it, this is not happening. It just can’t be.”
The Indian began to shift, struggling to escape from the tight webbing surrounding the center circle where he was held fast.
“Don’t you move,” Kathy said. “I’m warning you, I’ll call the police, and the sheriff, and the fire department, and…and…I mean it, you stay right there.”
The Indian glowered at her and continued to wrestle with the Dream Catcher. Kathy inched backward until she thudded against the wall, then wrapped her hands around her elbows in a protective gesture.
She watched with wide eyes as the man worked his way free.
One part of her exhausted brain was terrified at the thought of what he might do to her.
Another section of her frazzled mind was mesmerized by the intriguingly sensuous and blatantly masculine play of the bunching muscles beneath his taut, tawny skin.
Yet another piece of her mind continued to deny that this bizarre scenario was taking place.
“Mmm,” the Indian said as he accomplished his goal. He rolled to his feet in a smooth, graceful motion, standing close to six feet tall.
“Don’t kill me,” Kathy said, her voice trembling. “Don’t scalp me. Don’t do anything, except go away.” She flapped her hands at him. “Shoo. Be gone. Disappear. Right now.”
“Woman,” he said gruffly, crossing his arms over his broad chest, “you talk too much. I must be dead. There’s no other explanation for this. Unless…” He narrowed his eyes. “It is possible, although I seriously doubt it, that you possess magical powers that you combined with those of the Dream Catcher. Indian legends and folklore should not be tampered with. Not ever.”
Kathy shook her head. “I don’t have any magical abilities. And I certainly didn’t tamper with the powers of the Dream Catcher.” She paused. “I hung the Dream Catcher above my bed, deciding its legend was enchanting. Then just before I fell asleep I was thinking about how wonderful it would be if a special man…I had a dream about…Oh, dear heaven. No, forget it. This whole thing is impossible.”
“I agree. Therefore, I am definitely dead.”