see the boys. He’d be arriving within two weeks. That gave her fourteen days to muster the courage to propose to the last man on earth she wanted to marry.
Two weeks later, a single-lane highway led Annie to the Sleep Shack, a motel as tired and run-down as its name. The dilapidated pink structure sat on the outskirts of a dusty California town, blistering and peeling in the harsh desert sun.
Of the three trucks parked in the narrow lot, she recognized his immediately. He drove a bright-red pickup, an American-made model displaying generous mud flaps, squashed bugs on the windshield and wide tires with plenty of tread.
She exited her minivan and smoothed her blouse, straightening the embroidered collar. As she made her way to the motel door, the desert winds played havoc with her hair and billowed her ankle-length skirt, taunting yards of blue silk.
Annie knocked, and Dakota Graywolf flung open the door and stared down at her from his towering height. His black eyes sparked beneath even blacker brows before he offered a familiar greeting.
“Hey, squirt.”
She cringed at the nickname he wouldn’t allow her to outgrow, then tried to summon a smile. Dakota used to tease her unmercifully when they were kids, knowing full well she’d had a painful crush on him. And by the time they were both adults, he’d taken that crush and used it against her, smiling that rakish smile, undressing her with those ebony eyes. Of course, it was all a game, part of his flirtatious nature. Women, she surmised, were a form of entertainment to Dakota Graywolf.
Annie lifted her chin. He wasn’t exactly white-picket-fence material, but she didn’t have a choice. “Thanks for agreeing to see me.”
“Sure. Come on in.”
He stepped away from the door, and she walked into his seedy motel room, struggling to keep her nerves in check.
The unmade bed and Dakota’s rangy form were both slightly tousled. Thick black hair teased his nape and fell rebelliously across his forehead. A pair of cowboy-cut jeans hugged his hips, the top snap undone, exposing the elastic waistband of his briefs. His bronze-toned chest, slightly scarred and generously muscled, made her all too aware of their gender difference.
Annie glanced back at the bed again and couldn’t help but wonder if he’d shared it with someone the previous night. If anyone was capable of finding a lover in the middle of nowhere, it was Dakota Graywolf. He collected beautiful women the way fleece garments collected lint.
Should she care? No, but the nature of her visit explained why she did.
“Have a seat.” Dakota offered her a cold soda and pointed to the Formica table positioned by the window.
She settled into one of the wobbly chairs and watched him move toward the other one. Although he limped a little, she marveled at his determination. Two years before, Dakota had suffered a rodeo injury that could have left him paralyzed, had he not had the will to walk again. Too many tragedies had occurred that year. Dakota had been trampled by a bull in the same month that Jill and her husband had died.
Annie studied him, wishing her stomach would settle. He looked well. Better than well, but she decided to keep the compliment to herself. She knew he didn’t like to talk about the accident or discuss the details of his recovery. And since he had been in Montana rehabilitating from his injuries, and she lived in California, they hadn’t seen each other in over two years.
What a reunion, she thought, twisting her hands on her lap.
Would he accept her proposal? Surely he, of all people, would understand. Jill had been like a sister to him. He wouldn’t turn his back on her children. He was their “Uncle Kody,” the famous cowboy, the World Champion Bull Rider who called regularly and sent bushels of toys.
He reached for the cigarette pack on the table, slipped one out, then flicked open a sterling lighter. The cigarette bobbed as a half smile curved one corner of his lips. “So here we are, squirt.”
“Yes, here we are.” In a seedy motel room. Together. His jeans unsnapped and her skin as warm as the desert air.
Annie opened the soda, eager to taste the cool liquid. Once again, her gaze strayed to the bed. She should have asked him to meet her at a coffee shop, someplace bright and busy. Impersonal. Suddenly she didn’t feel as though she’d known this man for eighteen years or that they’d kept in touch by phone for the past two. Dakota seemed like a stranger, not the self-imposed uncle of the children she intended to adopt. He was, at the moment, a half-naked man in a dimly lit motel room.
He followed her glance, to the rumpled sheets. “Hey I know this place is a dive, but I just drove halfway across the country. When you’re on the road, any bed will do.”
True, but he hadn’t slept in just any bed, she thought. He’d slept in the one only a few feet away, the imprint of his head still on the pillow.
Annie cursed that unmade bed and the man who had slept in it. Dakota never seemed to mind the heat that sizzled between them, but she did. She’d gotten tangled up with his type before, a man she thought she could tame. Maybe her ex-fiancé wasn’t a reckless cowboy, but he’d been a womanizer just the same.
And then there was her father, the handsome rake who’d charmed her mother as often as he’d cheated on her. Annie’s dad had been a bull rider, just like Dakota. Only he hadn’t survived his career.
Annie hated the rodeo and everything it represented. Guilt gnawed at her whenever she thought about her father. Even as a child, she’d understood why her mother had divorced Clay Winters. Her dad had overindulged in the fringe benefits of being a professional cowboy, getting drunk in honky-tonk bars and sleeping with easy women. It had hurt to love a man who had disrespected his family so blatantly. But it also hurt to think about that bull puncturing his lung, stealing his youth and vitality.
“What’s going on?” Dakota asked, drawing her attention back to him. “Why did you drive clear out here instead of waiting for me to come to your house? I was on my way to see the boys.”
The boys. Her babies. She had to talk to Dakota without the children present. She didn’t want them to know she’d been railroaded into making this decision. She tried to keep a sense of normalcy in their lives, and this situation was anything but normal.
“When’s the last time you saw Harold?” she asked. “Did you visit with him before you left Montana?”
“Yeah, I saw him. He sends his love.”
“He didn’t say anything else? You know, about me adopting the kids?”
“Of course he mentioned the kids, but he didn’t say anything about the adoption.” Dakota drew on the cigarette, then blew a stream of smoke to the ceiling. “But then that’s between you and him.”
Not anymore, Annie thought. Dakota had just been tossed into the mix. “Harold won’t give me legal custody unless I get married,” she began, watching Dakota’s startled expression. “He wants the boys to be raised in a traditional setting, with a mother and a father.”
He leaned into the table. “You’re joking, right? An arranged marriage? That sounds like something from the Dark Ages.”
Annie swallowed another sip of the drink. “There’s more to it than that. Harold expects me to marry a Cheyenne, someone who can teach the boys about their heritage.”
