Cheyenne Dad

Three

Dakota gazed around Annie’s kitchen. Daisies popped out at him from everywhere. The wallpaper, towels and pot holders all displayed the white-and-yellow flower motif. Even the sunny-colored dining table sported a centerpiece sprouting silk replicas of the sissy blooms. The kitchen, he decided, along with the rest of the colorful house, had not been decorated with a man in mind.

The fifty-some-year-old ranch-style structure itself wasn’t the problem. It offered plenty of windows, quality carpeting, fresh paint and well-crafted cabinetry. The master bathroom had been an addition, but it flaunted an antique claw-footed tub big enough for two. And the front porch presented a California-country view and an old-fashioned swing perfect for cuddling.

He looked over at Annie, who at the moment prepared dinner while bouncing Jamie, their two-year-old on her hip. Dakota shook his head. He actually had a wife and kids. Him. The confirmed bachelor.

Dakota scooped the tomato wedges he’d sliced into a wooden-style salad bowl and studied Jamie. The boy had a cherub’s face, full and round with animated features. A mop of black hair, similar to his own, dusted the child’s ears and fell upon his forehead in neatly sheared bangs. Jamie had attached himself to Annie like a clinging monkey, his big brown eyes watching Dakota’s every move. The boy had been three months old when his parents died. Annie was the only mother he would ever remember.

When Dakota smiled and winked, the boy fisted Annie’s T-shirt with chubby brown fingers and buried his face against her shoulder, tiny lips quivering in what looked like fright. Great. His son thought he was a two-headed monster in cowboy boots.

Annie stirred the simmering spaghetti sauce. “How’s the salad coming?”

He glanced down at the bowl filled with a lush variety of fresh vegetables and fragrant herbs. She had an impressive little garden out back and plenty of room for a barn. Temecula, the small Southern California town in which Annie lived, offered sights, sounds and smells Dakota considered cowboy friendly. Its Old West history included the Pechanga Indians, the first of the Butterfield Overland Stages and turn-of-the-century cattle drives.

“Fine. About ready for the dressing.”

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.”

“But that’s my drawer, with my things.”

His seductive smile widened. Apparently he’d gotten a good glimpse of her lingerie preferences. “There weren’t any empty ones, so I figured we could share. Is there a law against my things being next to yours?”

Thinking of his briefs next to her silk panties and demicup bras sent a forbidden tingle up and down her spine. “I’ll clear a different drawer for you.”

She strode past him, straightened the lampshade, then peered into the open drawer. As she removed his articles and placed them atop his duffel bag, several foil packets slipped out from the bundle.

Condoms? “What are these?” she asked stupidly.

Dakota knelt beside her, and damn if he didn’t almost laugh. “If you don’t know, squirt…”

Flustered, she picked up the colorful packets and smacked them into his palm. “Get rid of them.”

As though dumfounded, he stared down at his hand. “But I always use protection.”

Annie crossed her arms. “Well, your days of getting lucky are over. You don’t need them anymore.”

This time he actually had the gall to laugh. It rumbled from his chest like a quick blast of thunder. “All right. But you can’t avoid me forever. We’re married, ya know.”

She pushed her lingerie drawer closed. “I was forced into this situation, remember?” As much as she appreciated him coming to her rescue, she wasn’t about to be bullied into lovemaking. Nor did she want protection available for his convenience. “And stop laughing. This isn’t funny.”

He swallowed the last of his mirth and tossed the condoms back onto his duffel bag. “I’ll get rid of them tomorrow.”

“No. You’ll throw them away right now,” she said in her bossiest mom-voice. “And be sure to put them in the big trash can outside so the boys don’t find them. Miles is obsessed with water balloons.”

Dakota grabbed the packets, then burst back into laughter. “You don’t really think…I mean…water balloons?”

Annie caught her husband’s eye only to find herself humored right along with him. Miles was capable of all sorts of odd shenanigans. Dakota would find out soon enough. “Would you just get out of here and throw those away.”

He tipped an imaginary cowboy hat and lunged to his feet. “Yes, ma’am.”

She shook her head. The man hadn’t even stopped to slip on a pair of jeans. What would the neighbors think if they saw him taking out trash in his underwear? Oh, good grief. What neighbors? The nearest house sat an acre away.

She cleared the middle drawer and shoved the previous contents into the bottom of her closet to deal with another time. Stretching, she rose to her feet and headed for the master bathroom. The kids were down, and Dakota’s bed was made up on the couch. A much needed bubble bath and a warm bed with her favorite designer sheets awaited.

Twenty minutes later Annie emerged from the bathroom, her skin smoothed and scented, her body draped in a blush-rose nightgown—a modest yet feminine garment she had created for every mom who needed a little luxury in her life. Soft cotton swirled around her ankles, and a hint of lace added texture to a sweetheart bodice.

“I’ve been wondering what you sleep in.”

Annie froze. Dakota, in her bed, dark and masculine amid the floral-printed sheets and hand-painted quilt. She resisted the urge to stroke her bare arms and the goose bumps chilling them. “What are you doing?”

“Admiring you. God, you’re beautiful.”

She ignored the compliment and the husky tone of his voice. “I made your bed up on the couch.”

“I love blond hair. Especially yours. You remind me of one of those movie stars from a long time ago. Silvery-white hair and a body that won’t quit.”

Stop trying to seduce me. She pointed to the door. “Dakota. The couch.”

He shook his head. “Sorry, darlin.’ I had a spinal-cord injury. I can’t sleep on the couch. Doesn’t have proper back support.” He glanced down at the sheet draped over his hips. “Does everything in your house have flowers on it? Daisies in the kitchen, roses in the bedroom…”

She began to pace. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

He patted the space next to him and grinned. “Right next to your husband, darlin,’ like a good little wife.”

Annie blew an agitated breath. So Dakota had agreed to marry her and adopt the kids. That didn’t mean she had to offer herself to him like a sacrificial lamb. If she gave him an inch, he’d surely take a mile. Or two. “Stop calling me darlin.’ It’s annoying.” And kind of sexy. He had a drawl to die for.

“Sorry, dar—” A low chuckle sounded. “Honey.”

Annie stopped pacing and stared down at him. There he was, his arms resting behind his head, looking like the king of Siam in her bed. Her comfortable, warm bed, with its extrafirm mattress and custom-ordered quilt. The sea-foam-and-mauve room had been decorated just to her liking. A rolltop desk and an antique headboard matched the whitewashed dresser. Lace curtains trimmed with a floral valance adorned both windows as baskets of potpourri sweetened the air. A mirrored vanity laden with perfume bottles sat adjacent to the bed—the very one Dakota lolled in.

She narrowed her eyes. “I should have found another Cheyenne to marry.”

He grinned back at her. “You don’t know any other Cheyenne men. Now quit acting like a baby and get in bed. I don’t bite.”

No, but he could turn her insides to mush with a kiss. And that scared the daylights out of her. “I’m not sleeping with you.” She opened the closet and grabbed her robe. “I’ll survive the couch.”

“No way. That’s not fair. Besides, if you sleep on the sofa every night, the kids will think we’re fighting. And then they’ll tell Harold.”

Annie sighed. Dakota was right, of course. Harold had already called twice since they’d returned from Las Vegas. She certainly didn’t want to create a problem in the older man’s eyes. And she’d hate for the kids to think she and Dakota were fighting. Even though this marriage wasn’t likely to last, she intended to keep Dakota as a friend. The screaming matches that had ended her parents’ relationship still left her cold.

“Come on, squirt.” Dakota moved closer to the wall, away from what he’d apparently decided was her side of the bed. “I’ll be good. I swear. I won’t even pester you for a goodnight kiss.”

“Fine. Let’s just get some sleep.” Annie hung her robe in the closet, turned off the light and climbed into bed without the slightest bit of ceremony. She needed to feign an air of indifference. He’d probably laugh if he knew how nervous she was.

Just as she closed her eyes, he rolled over, taking the blanket with him.

“Dakota!”

“What?”

“You’re hogging the blanket.”

The bed stirred as he sat up. “Sorry. Guess I’m not used to sharing.”

Annie turned toward him, then swallowed her next breath. She should have let him keep the blanket. Moonlight trapped his silhouette, highlighting his movements. His hair tumbled forward as he plowed his hand through it, his extended arm perfectly formed.

She wasn’t used to sharing, either. She had given up men years ago. Oh, right. Now there’s a sacrifice, she thought ironically. A virgin giving up men.

They settled in once again, and she tried to keep herself from breathing too deeply. Deodorized soap lingered on his skin, a masculine scent she wasn’t accustomed to. He must have showered in the bathroom the kids used.

Annie couldn’t sleep. The king-size bed seemed suddenly too small. Dakota’s brawn took up too much space, and her nervous stomach had decided to do cartwheels. As a crush-crazed adolescent, she used to marvel at his virility. Dakota was six years her senior, so when she had been an underdeveloped girl swooning over him, he’d stood tall and mature, teasing her about being a squirt. But at the time, his taunting hadn’t deterred her crush. She used to think about him constantly, wishing he wasn’t a bull rider. After the way her dad had lost his life, she couldn’t help but worry about Dakota.

Did he miss the rodeo? she wondered. The thrill, the danger, the recognition. Annie twisted the satin hem on the blanket. The late nights. Easy women. His injury had forced him into retirement. He hadn’t made that choice consciously.

“Annie?”

She startled at the sound of his voice. “What?”

“Now you’re the one hogging the covers.”

She released her grip. She had twisted the blanket so hard, she’d tugged it away from him. “Oh, sorry.”

“Is something wrong?” he asked.