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Cheyenne Dad
Sheri WhiteFeather
Even champion bull rider Dakota Graywolf could not defy Cheyenne tradition. So when Annie Winters asked him to be her husband– and father to three Native American boys– he accepted with reluctance…and pride. Dakota expected his honor to bring a reward– his wife' s passion. He longed to know voluptuous Annie in every way, every night. But she held their paper marriage like a shield, protecting her innocence. Still, this modern warrior would have this woman in his marriage bed. And she would cherish him body and soul…But how long before Dakota realized the only way to capture Annie… was to love her?



“Where Am I Supposed To Sleep?”
Dakota 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.
She 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. 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. Annie breathed deeply for strength and stepped toward the bed. Thank goodness she was no longer a crush-crazed teenager, marveling at his virility. So what was that fluttering in her stomach…and in her heart?
Dear Reader,
Silhouette is celebrating its 20
anniversary throughout 2000! So, to usher in the first summer of the millennium, why not indulge yourself with six powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire?
Jackie Merritt returns to Desire with a MAN OF THE MONTH who’s Tough To Tame. Enjoy the sparks that fly between a rugged ranch manager and the feisty lady who turns his world upside down! Another wonderful romance from RITA Award winner Caroline Cross is in store for you this month with The Rancher and the Nanny, in which a rags-to-riches hero learns trust and love from the riches-to-rags woman who cares for his secret child.
Watch for Meagan McKinney’s The Cowboy Meets His Match—an octogenarian matchmaker sets up an ice-princess heiress with a virile rodeo star. The Desire theme promotion THE BABY BANK, about sperm-bank client heroines who find love unexpectedly, concludes with Susan Crosby’s The Baby Gift. Wonderful newcomer Sheri WhiteFeather offers another irresistible Native American hero with Cheyenne Dad. And Kate Little’s hero reunites with his lost love in a marriage of convenience to save her from financial ruin in The Determined Groom.
So come join in the celebration and start your summer off on the supersensual side—by reading all six of these tantalizing Desire books!
Enjoy!


Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Cheyenne Dad
Sheri WhiteFeather


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Nikki WhiteFeather and his cousins:
Rachel McCafferty, Laicee Chandler, Miles McCullough,
Patrick and Parker Henry.
You are all great kids.

SHERI WHITEFEATHER
lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, summer powwows and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be a part of the Silhouette Desire line. When she isn’t writing, she often reads until the wee hours of the morning.
Sheri also works as a leather artisan with her Muscogee Creek husband. They have one son and a menagerie of pets, including a pampered English bulldog and four equally spoiled Bengal cats. She would love to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 5130, Orange, California 92863-5130.

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue

One
How many days had she pleaded her case? Begged Harold to change his mind?
Annie Winters sat at her desk in the back room of her retail store, cradling the phone to her ear. “Please, be reasonable.”
Harold’s breath rasped through the receiver. The eighty-six-year-old Cheyenne lived on a reservation in Montana, nine hundred miles away from Annie’s hometown in Southern California, yet he held her future in the flick of a ballpoint pen. She needed his signature. Desperately.
“My granddaughter was married,” he stated stoically. “She had a husband.”
Annie stared across the room, as an image of her dear friend came to mind. Jill with her shining black hair and crooked smile. Jill, the biological mother of the children Annie intended to adopt, the boys she had come to love with all her heart. Yes, Jill had been happily married to the father of her children until a car accident had taken both of their lives two years before, making orphans of their three young sons.
Annie sighed. “I don’t have a man in my life, Harold. I can’t just pull a husband out of a hat.”
“I won’t sign the adoption papers unless you get married. You can’t be both parents no matter how hard you try. My great-grandchildren need a father.”
Annie shifted the phone. After Jill’s death she had altered her life-style, knowing the children needed her. She’d started a new business, bought a new home, grieved with the boys, cradled them, kissed their skinned knees and watched them grow.
How could Harold expect her to survive without gap-toothed grins and sweet, warm hugs? Youthful chatter and jelly-stained clothes? “You can’t take them away from me. You just can’t.”
But he could, and they both knew it. Without Harold’s consent she would lose the children. Harold was their only legal living relative. He had the power to grant the private adoption she had been pursuing.
She squeezed her eyes shut, dreading her fate. Harold wasn’t insisting she marry just any man; he’d firmly stated that her future husband must be a registered Cheyenne, someone able to teach the children about that side of their heritage.
And there was only one man in her acquaintance who fitted that description.
Dakota Graywolf.
Drawing a deep breath, Annie opened her eyes. Dakota had scheduled a trip to 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.” She wrapped her fingers around the can, held it tight. “And that’s when I thought of you. You’re already like an uncle to the kids, and in your culture, an uncle is practically a second father.”
Rather than respond, Dakota studied her through those dark, indiscernible eyes. She felt his gaze on her face, her hands, her nervous fingers as they gripped the soda. Once again she became aware of the tousled bed, the dimness of the room, the breadth of his shoulders. Now she wanted to throttle him for answering the door half-naked. A gentleman would have slipped on a shirt and fastened his jeans.
“Damn it, Dakota, say something.”
A column of dusky gray ashes gathered on the end of his cigarette. He squinted through the haze of smoke, then flicked the ashes, nearly missing his mark. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
Annie lifted her chin, feigning a sense of bravado she didn’t quite feel. This was, by far, the most humiliating experience of her life. “I’m asking for the sake of the kids.”
He stared at her again, another long, thoughtful stare. Annie exhaled a shaky breath. Was he going to refuse? Say, Sorry, you’ve got the wrong guy. I like my freedom. A wife will cramp my style. Marrying you is going above and beyond the call of duty.
All she was asking for was a marriage of convenience. She would never expect a man like Dakota to be a real husband. Besides, that wasn’t what she wanted, either. What she wanted, Annie decided, was to turn and walk away. Yet she couldn’t. She had three little boys depending on her. And those children were far more important than her pride.
Dakota stamped out his cigarette, then dragged a hand through his hair. The unsettling look in Annie’s whisky-colored eyes told him plenty. She was worried he would brush her off with without a second thought.
Well, she was wrong. He intended to accept her proposal. But then why wouldn’t he? He’d known it was coming long before Annie did. He’d known for two years.
Dakota had agreed to be Jill’s blood brother when they were kids, vowing to honor and protect her—a Cheyenne vow that later included her children, as well. So with that in mind, he hadn’t been surprised when Harold had approached him about adopting Jill’s orphaned boys. The shock had come when Harold had proclaimed, “It’s your duty to marry Annie and give the children a proper home.”
“Mar-r-y Annie?” Dakota had stuttered.
“You want to bed her,” Harold had responded in that stoic manner of his.
Dakota had raised an eyebrow at that, an emotional ache poisoning his gut like a snakebite. It was true, he’d been lusting after Annie for over a decade, fantasizing like a randy schoolboy over the pert little blonde. But he couldn’t bed anyone. His legs didn’t work, and neither did the body part he’d always taken for granted. His crippling injury had left him impotent.
“I’ll adopt the kids, but I won’t marry Annie.”
“It’s your place to do so,” Harold insisted, invoking his status as Dakota’s elder. “Annie needs a husband as much as the boys need a father. I won’t allow her to raise those children by herself. If you refuse to marry her, I’ll find someone who will.”
Dakota stared at his lap, cursing the legs that wouldn’t move. How could Harold expect him to become Annie’s husband?
Because, he told himself several days later, he was supposed to be a warrior. A fighter. A man who had no right to turn his back on a woman and three children, no matter how much the idea of marriage scared him.
Dakota’s life had been spared in that accident, so maybe now Maheo, the Creator, was asking him to give something back. Duty and honor were a part of his heritage he had neglected for far too long.
“If it’s my place, I’ll marry her,” he announced, “but not until I can walk again.” And make love, he added mentally, deciding then and there that he’d be the best damn lover Annie Winters had ever had. All he needed was time. Determination. And plenty of prayer.
So Harold had agreed to keep the arranged nuptials a secret from Annie until Dakota regained the use of his legs. Only Dakota had taken it a step further. “She has to do the asking,” he’d told the older man. “Marrying me has to be her idea.”
Dakota studied Annie’s anxious expression. No, he couldn’t tell her the truth. She didn’t need to know that he had battled his injury so he could play ball with the kids, race through a meadow on horseback, ease himself into her arms on their wedding night.
He swiped his drink and took a huge swallow. He would never reveal that he had been preparing himself to become a husband and father—a family man.
Yeah, right. He scowled and placed the soda back on the table. Dakota Graywolf was, and probably always would be, a troubled cowboy. A rodeo champion who’d been trampled by the orneriest, most infamous bull in existence—a wreck that had inflicted more than just a physical challenge. Dakota had been plagued with anxiety ever since the accident, reliving the fall, over and over in his mind. The only cure, he knew, was getting back on that bull. And he would someday, but for now he had another priority.
“So you’re looking for a husband, huh?” he asked, faking nonchalance.
“Because of the children,” she reiterated.
“When would I have to do this?”
She gripped her soda can a little tighter. “As soon as possible. Are you saying yes?”
He wondered if he should hedge, drag out his answer. If he seemed too eager, she might figure out that he’d been forewarned. “I don’t know, I mean…” He watched her eyes cloud with fear and felt a lump of guilt form in his throat.
“Sure, I’ll do it. You know, for the kids. I am their uncle, and you’re right, in my culture that pretty much makes me their father already. And marrying you won’t be that bad,” he added for effect. “Hell, we’ve known each other for over half of our lives.”
She reached for his hand, touched it lightly. “Thank you. I’m sure Harold will approve. I’ve been so worried about losing the boys, but now…”
Although Annie’s voice quavered, her smile radiated genuine warmth, sending heat flaring through Dakota’s veins. He gazed at her lips, the rosy color and soft texture. She was beautiful. Dangerously beautiful. A feisty kid who had blossomed into an incredible woman.
“We need to make arrangements,” she said.
He studied the length of her hair, the pale color. With her white-blond hair and amber eyes, she reminded him of a lioness, a naturally sexy creature. And she owned a lingerie store, which had him constantly wondering what sort of lacy little under-things she wore. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“We need to set a wedding date, so I can tell Harold. I want to make sure he gets the adoption proceedings started.”
A lioness protecting her cubs, Dakota decided. “Yeah, okay. How about Las Vegas? Weddings are quick and easy there. I know Vegas pretty well.” The National Finals Rodeo was held in Las Vegas every year. He knew that town better than well.
“That’s fine. We should get this done as simply as possible. And I should probably get a sitter for the kids, too. Traveling would only wear them out.” She brushed a lock of hair from her eye. “Besides, it’s not as if this is going to be a real marriage. There’s no reason to make a fuss over the ceremony.”
He cocked his head. “Weddings in Vegas are real, Annie. They’re legal.”
She reached for her drink. “I know. But ours will be just a business deal. No love. No sex. That’s hardly a real marriage.”
Dakota’s heart nearly stopped.
No sex?
“You can’t be serious.”
The stern look she shot him said otherwise. She was serious, all right. She had no intention of sleeping with him.
Dakota righted his posture as a hot fist of anger clenched his gut. Anger to mask the pain, he thought. The disappointment. The horrible rejection.
Did she have any idea how long he had struggled to regain the use of his body? Two years. Twenty-four months of promising himself Annie Winters would be his reward at the end of long, grueling road. She was supposed to become his lover, the woman he would stroke and caress, hold on to at night.
“Fine, Annie. Whatever.” He wasn’t about to beg for his conjugal rights. He’d suffered enough humiliation.
She breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief, and he cursed what he was about to become—a man with a gorgeous wife and a nonexistent love life.

As Annie watched Dakota walk across the airport terminal, the butterflies in her stomach fluttered. He moved like a cowboy—long, lean and just a little bit mean. With a duffel bag slung over his arm, a Stetson dipped over his eyes and Wranglers hugging him like a well-worn glove, he drew plenty of attention. Somehow the slight limp rather added to his don’t-mess-with-me charm.
“There he is.” Mary Graywolf leaned forward. “Hmm. He doesn’t look too happy, does he?”
Annie tilted her head. He looked about as ornery as the bulls he used to ride. She had the feeling Dakota wasn’t particularly pleased about the no-sex clause in their marriage, but she knew their union would end once the adoption was finalized. Although grateful for his loyalty to the children, she wasn’t about to allow Dakota Graywolf to have some fun with her, then toss her aside.
“You know how moody your big brother can be.”
“No kidding. Just look at that macho attitude.”
Mary rolled her eyes, and Annie nibbled on a smile. She adored Mary. Her dear friend, Annie had decided long ago, was the only good that had come out of her father’s short-lived career.
Annie’s dad and Mary’s dad had been rodeo buddies, often traveling the same circuit, a teenage Dakota in tow. So consequently, after Annie’s dad had died, she’d spent youthful summers in Montana with the Graywolf family. The Graywolfs, it seemed, had influenced her life for nearly two decades now. It was through them that she had also met Jill.
Annie turned her attention back to Dakota. He strode toward them, dropped his bag onto the chair beside Mary, then glared down at his sister. She stood and glared back at him. The siblings looked like gunslingers preparing to draw.
He fired first. “What are you, the chaperone?”
She flipped the brim of his hat. “That’s right. I’m here to make sure you behave yourself.”
“Great.” He slipped the hat back down. “Just what I need. My bossy sister along on what’s supposed to be my honeymoon.”
Ignoring both women, Dakota slumped onto a chair and crossed his arms over his chest, long legs stretched out before him.
Mary sat down as well. “They’ll probably let us board soon.”
“Wonderful.” Dakota didn’t try to mask the sarcasm in his tone.
Annie leaned over. “Hello, Kody,” she said, using the nickname the boys had given him. She wasn’t about to let his sour attitude intimidate her. They certainly couldn’t snarl at each other in front of the children, so they may as well learn to be polite now. “It’s nice to see you.”
He reached into his front pocket for a cigarette. The Western shirt boasted whipcord trim and a pearl-snap placket. “Yeah, squirt. Likewise.”
Annie studied his brooding posture. How tall was the man who still insisted on calling her squirt? Well over six feet. Of course, the black hat and scuffed leather boots intensified his threatening demeanor. Even seated, he looked rough and rangy.
“It’s a nonsmoking flight,” Mary said when Dakota lit up.
He scowled. “Do we look like we’re on the plane yet?”
Annie noticed he inhaled as though savoring each drag, a reminder that she would have to enforce the No Smoking rule at home. She insisted on a healthy environment for the kids. Dakota would just have to smoke outside.
He stamped out his cigarette when their flight number was called. As he stood, a huddle of attractive young women craned their necks. For some odd reason Annie wanted to scratch their eyes out. Sex or no sex, he’d still be her husband.
Temporary husband, she amended, calming herself. Six months, tops. Annie chewed her bottom lip, then glanced at Dakota. It wasn’t as though she was purposely deceiving Harold. The children would always have Dakota as a father. But common sense told her the adoption would outlive the marriage. Free-spirited men, much like leopards, didn’t change their spots. Dakota Graywolf would be pining for his freedom in no time.
They shuffled into a line and waited for the passengers who either required assistance or were traveling with small children to board first.
After a frazzled woman boarded with her active toddler, Dakota turned to Annie. “You know, I was thinking that there’s no need for you to take the kids to a baby-sitter this summer. I can watch them.”
Disbelief widened her eyes. “But what about your work? Don’t you have orders to fill?” Since Dakota had retired from the rodeo, he’d turned his silversmith hobby into a business. She knew he planned to set up a workshop in her garage.
He adjusted the duffel bag. “Sure, but how much trouble can three little rug rats be?”
Annie caught Mary’s raised eyebrow and they both erupted into one of their giggling fits. The “rug rats,” ages two, five and eight, each had their own special personality. Besides being adorable—possessive, serious and rambunctious described them to a T.
“What’s so funny?” he asked between clenched teeth.
“You.” Mary bumped his shoulder with a sisterly shove. A psychology major with a minor in theater arts, Mary analyzed everyone and offered advice without being asked. “You have no idea what supervising small children is like. You haven’t seen the boys in two years. Maybe you should consider easing into fatherhood.”
“I call the kids all the time,” Dakota argued. “Every week.”
Mary continued to chuckle. “That doesn’t mean they’re going to behave while you work.”
He dismissed her opinion with the wave of his hand. “Yeah? Just wait and see.” He cocked his head toward Annie. “You, too, squirt.”
Annie ceased her laughter. How many times a day must that annoying nickname surface?
They boarded the plane and sat three across. Dakota ended up in the middle because Mary wanted to look out the window and Annie preferred the aisle.
When they were airborne, a female flight attendant came down the aisle offering a drink and two bags of peanuts. Annie and Mary both ordered a soft drink.
Dakota readjusted his long limbs for the third time. “Give me one of those little bottles of—” he glanced over at Annie and their eyes met “—whisky.”
Uncomfortable, Annie looked away. He used to say a man could get drunk on her whisky-colored eyes. Was he trying to make that flirtatious point now, or did he usually drink his breakfast?
After the attendant moved on, Dakota turned to his sister. “Don’t you dare say a word.”
“Sure.” She popped a peanut into her mouth. “Everybody knows 10:00 a.m. is the perfect cocktail hour.”
When the whisky arrived, he apologized for the inconvenience and asked if he could have a glass of water instead. “I changed my mind,” he said, staring into Annie’s eyes once again.
As his dark gaze moved down her body, she crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, glad the fold-out tray concealed most of her. She had chosen to travel in an almond-colored cotton pant-suit accented with a suede belt and sling-back heels. Annie had a professional yet stylish wardrobe; she had graduated from college with a degree in fashion design.
As Dakota’s gaze seared his approval, she swallowed the lump in her throat. She almost felt as though he were mentally undressing her. Almost. He glanced away before she could be sure. Maybe he got as far as popping open a few buttons, she decided, actually checking the front of her blouse to be sure they were in place.
As her hand crept to her second button, his lips twitched. The fleeting smile had a sensuality attached that made her cheeks feel flushed.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
Annie stopped fidgeting with her buttons. “Nothing.”
The twitching smile returned. “Guess what, squirt? I booked us the honeymoon suite.”
Annie glanced over at Mary, hoping she might intervene, but the other woman wore headphones and was tapping in time to the music selection she had chosen.
“Dakota.”
Amusement danced in his black eyes. “What?”
Suddenly she wished he’d go back to his brooding self. “I’m sharing a room with Mary.”
“Yeah, I know. I was just kidding around.” He tore open one of the little peanut bags. “But haven’t you ever wondered about honeymoon suites? Like do they have mirrors above the beds or heart-shaped hot tubs or what?”
Actually she had but wouldn’t dare admit it. “It never crossed my mind.” Images of being with Dakota Graywolf in a honeymoon suite could prove dangerous.
He shifted his legs for what had to be the fourth or fifth time. Definitely too tall for coach, she decided. “Six-one,” she said, thinking out loud.
He answered what he must have thought was a question. “Two. Three in boots. And I hate these coach flights.”
Annie couldn’t resist a smirk. “This suits me just fine. I’m still a squirt.” Teasing about the childhood nickname seemed easier than complaining about it. Besides, maybe it was safer having him regard her as “squirt” rather than a woman.
He finished off the peanuts and stuffed the bag into his empty water cup. “Yeah, you’re still little, but you grew up beautiful. Just like I knew you would.”
Annie turned toward the aisle as the flight attendant neared, grateful for the interruption. Dakota’s hushed tone and gentle words had sounded like a bedroom whisper. Intimate and husky.
The attendant took their empty cups and moved on just as the plane hit a pocket of turbulence.
Several passengers murmured, and more than one pair of eyes popped open as the plane bumped and jarred. Annie, an inexperienced flyer, gripped her armrest for support, unintentionally catching Dakota’s hand.
His fingers curled around hers. “You okay?”
“I don’t like being away from the kids.” She let him hold her hand because the gesture made her feel safe. He had protective hands, large and slightly callused. “If something happened to us…”
He rubbed his fingertips over her knuckles. “Nothing’s going to happen. It’s just a little turbulence.”
“I know. It’s the first time I’ve spent a night away.”
As the plane steadied and the other anxious passengers relaxed, Annie’s gaze locked with Dakota’s, and an awkward silence stretched between them. Although their fingers were still entwined, neither attempted to break the connection.
Annie watched his chest rise and fall, wondering if the contact had made his heart beat as erratically as hers. Not likely, she thought. Things like rapid heartbeats and stomach butterflies didn’t happen to men. Not men like him, anyway.
She slid her hand away and immediately folded up the tray and latched it, telling herself that her reaction had been perfectly normal. Just airplane jitters. She hadn’t been electrocuted by six foot plus of beautifully sculpted male. Tall and sinfully handsome didn’t affect her anymore. Her ex-fiancé had curbed that craving long ago.
Mary popped her headphones off and grinned. “That was fun, wasn’t it? That roller-coaster action.”
“Yeah.” Dakota clasped his hands in front of him as though ensuring they wouldn’t collide with Annie’s again. “We’re having a blast, aren’t we, darlin’?”
“Oh, sure.” Annie nodded, hoping she appeared calmer than she felt. Her heart had yet to resume its steady rhythm.

Two
Annie sat beside Mary on a gold-flecked bench in the tiny waiting room of the chapel, gazing at the decor. “This place is—”
“Gaudy,” the other woman provided with a smirk.
Annie nodded. Gaudy fit. Everything, including the textured wallpaper, had been gold-leafed. The design on the maroon-and-royal-blue carpet clashed with the green drapes, the kind, Annie mused, Scarlett O’Hara had fashioned a dress from. In her opinion, Scarlett’s imaginative dress certainly looked better than the windows here did. She gazed around again and winced, then widened her eyes when Dakota entered the room, carrying a bouquet of white roses and a yellow corsage. He slipped the corsage onto his sister’s wrist and handed Annie the roses.
“They sell flowers here,” he said by way of explanation, his shoulders rising with a slight shrug.
Pleasantly surprised by the thoughtful gesture, Annie thanked him, while Mary reacted like a dutiful sister and stood to fuss with his hair. As Mary brushed a stray lock from Dakota’s eye, Annie hugged the delicate bouquet to her chest and studied him. Not only had the groom provided flowers, he’d worn a suit, one that appeared tailor-made for his wide shoulders and slim hips. The black jacket intensified the depth of his eyes as a white Western shirt, adorned with chain-stitch embroidery and tiny glass beads, emphasized the copper glow of his skin. In lieu of a tie he wore an engraved silver bolo.
As Mary attempted to right Dakota’s hair, Annie noticed it appeared to have a mind of its own. When the tousled chunk his sister had meticulously finger combed came falling back onto his forehead, she couldn’t help but smile. Annie liked the way his hair rebelled, thinking it fit his renegade style. Even impeccably dressed, Dakota Graywolf had an untamed quality.
Eventually Mary gave up on her brother’s hair, choosing to peck his cheek with a quick kiss instead. Much to Annie’s amazement, Dakota responded favorably to his sister’s affection, returning her kiss with a hug. Apparently the rough-and-tumble cowboy hadn’t outgrown the need to be mothered.
Mary spoke quietly to her brother, then turned to Annie. She looked pretty, her black hair flowing like a river of silk and her strong features softened by an artful hint of makeup. The yellow corsage matched the flowers sprinkled on her chiffon dress, reminding Annie of prom night rather than a tacky Las Vegas wedding.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Mary said. “I need to powder my nose.”
“Okay.” As the other woman headed in the direction of the ladies’ room, Annie chose not to follow. She’d powdered her own nose quite enough. She’d labored over her appearance far longer than necessary, especially considering the circumstances surrounding this wedding.
Besides, if she wanted to peer at her carefully coifed image, all she had to do was gaze into the gilded mirror that, at the moment, reflected the back of Dakota’s head and the thick black mass brushing his collar.
Why were men always graced with the longest eyelashes and most luxuriant hair? An impressive gene pool had certainly given Dakota both. And more. Unfortunately, even his imperfections, like a crooked eyebrow interrupted by a narrow scar, managed to bewitch her.
Dakota tapped a booted foot while Annie nibbled her bottom lip and watched his patience wear thin. The wedding prior to theirs had gotten a late start.
“Shouldn’t be much longer,” she said.
He stopped tapping and looked down at her, dark eyes roving. With an impassive gaze, he examined her from the top of her loosely styled hair to the tips of her satin pumps. She knew what he eyed in between was white silk embellished by a strand of pearls. Annie had chosen a simple yet elegant dress for her unconventional wedding. The timeless style complemented her figure without flaunting the abundant curves she often struggled to conceal. In her opinion, fashionable women should appear lithe with long graceful lines, not top-heavy with hips better suited to a fifties pinup.
Dakota sat beside her, and Annie glanced down at the simple bouquet on her lap, recalling the lavish details of what had almost been her first wedding: the carefully chosen china patterns, the gilded invitations, the Victorian-style gown she’d burned just hours after she’d caught Richard in bed with Sheila Harris.
Three days before their wedding date, she’d stumbled upon her fiancé, her college sweetheart, in bed with a former lover. Richard, a gifted quarterback, had been a popular man on campus with his California tan and easy smile.
Annie had been young and naive where Richard was concerned, believing she could change him. She’d known about his wild flirtations but was certain “the right woman” would make a difference. Annie had fallen into an age-old trap—the good girl hell-bent on redeeming the handsome bad boy.
A good girl. A virgin. That was her, all right. Since she had saved herself for a traditional wedding night, she’d convinced Richard to wait until they were married to consummate their union. And after that devastating relationship had faltered, she’d spent the following years nit-picking anyone who could have been a potential partner. Till this day, she still hadn’t come across a man worth giving herself to.
Annie sighed. Richard had apologized profusely after she’d caught him cheating with his old flame, claiming it had happened in a “moment of weakness.”
Yeah, right. It seemed every man she knew had experienced a weak moment or two with Sheila Harris. Including Dakota.
“Annie, where’d you go?”
Rather than turn to the sound of Dakota’s voice, Annie continued to stare at the roses on her lap. “What?”
“You were zoning out.” He drummed his fingers against his chair. “I guess you were thinking about him, huh?”
“Him?”
“That Joe-college jock you were engaged to.”
Annie flinched, hating that Dakota had tapped into her thoughts. Why, damn it, couldn’t she just forget all the pain associated with her last wedding? The gut-wrenching ache of betrayal? “You know darn well his name was Richard. And I wasn’t thinking about him. I was just wondering what’s taking them so long to get to us.”
“Liar.”
True, she thought. She had lied. And if there was anything she despised it was lies, betrayals, half-truths. “Being here like this reminds me of what happened,” she said, struggling to steady her voice.
When Annie glanced up, Dakota trapped her gaze. Like polished onyx, his eyes reflected the light spilling from the chandelier. A man had no right being that striking, she thought, that physically appealing. Especially a man like Dakota.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Annie looked away. Was he apologizing for his involvement with Richard’s old girlfriend? For that awful night both he and Richard had made her cry?
Dakota and Richard had met for the first time at Jill’s twenty-first birthday party. And as Annie recalled, they’d despised each other on sight. From the moment she had introduced them, tension filled the air. Anyone within breathing distance could feel their testosterone levels rising. And to make matters worse, they had nearly come to blows over Sheila Harris—the sultry coed who had crashed the party just so she could keep an eye on Richard. The very woman who had ultimately worked her way back into his bed. After she’d tumbled into one with Dakota.
Annie and Richard had quarreled that evening. She had been angry that her boyfriend cared about who his ex-lover had attached herself to, and Richard had insisted that Dakota had hit on Sheila just to taunt him. Sheila, on the other hand, had behaved accordingly. She’d clung to Dakota like a curvaceous vine, flaunting her handsome catch.
Annie had cried herself to sleep that night, believing both Richard and Dakota should have respected her enough to avoid a public scene over Sheila Harris. Of course, like a naive little fool, she’d forgiven Richard just days later, when he’d presented her with a diamond ring and a proposal of forever.
Annie glanced at Dakota. How could this be happening? How could she be minutes away from marrying a man just like Richard?
She took a deep breath and told herself to relax. She wasn’t in love with Dakota, nor had she promised to keep herself pure for him. The wedding night of her dreams wasn’t going to happen with Dakota Graywolf. This was only a marriage of convenience—a business arrangement.
She gazed around the gaudy room, then closed her eyes. And it couldn’t possibly last.

The small wedding party gathered at the back of the chapel as The Reverend Matthews, a white-haired man cloaked in a jeweled robe, took them through a brief narration of the ceremony. Although Dakota’s concentration wavered, he caught what he considered the gist of it. Bea, the minister’s equally tinseled wife, would provide the music, while Dakota stood at the flamboyant altar and waited for Annie to walk down the lavishly carpeted aisle. Mary would be there, as well, serving as witness and bridal attendant.
When the minister lifted his satin-draped arm and explained at what point the rings would be exchanged, Annie piped up. “We don’t have any.”
“I do.” Dakota reached into his pocket and produced a white-gold band set with a marquee-cut diamond and an intricate inlay of semi-precious stones.
Annie studied the ring glinting against his hand. “Is it one of yours?”
He nodded. He’d designed it for her for this day, but he couldn’t tell her that. He doubted she’d be pleased about the secret he and Harold had been keeping. But then Dakota wasn’t about to reveal the role she’d played in his recovery. He would rather die than suffer the mortification of her knowing the truth. Overcoming his paralysis and the impotency that had accompanied it wasn’t something he could discuss with Annie. The loss of his virility, no matter how temporary, had made him feel like less of a man.
Annie leaned in close, drawing his attention back to the ring. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, “but you didn’t have to give me something so extravagant. I didn’t expect a ring at all.”
Her floral scent drifted to his nostrils, reminding him of how long he’d been waiting to bury his face in the fragrance of her hair.
Dakota shrugged and made a fist, pressing the diamond into his palm. “It’s no big deal.”
It was, of course. It hurt that she didn’t want to make love with him. And now he couldn’t help but wish that he’d kept his mouth shut about her other wedding. Richard had cheated on Annie with the same woman that Dakota had been with only months before. Mary had told him how upset Annie had been over that ordeal, how she’d felt as though Dakota had betrayed their friendship by “getting involved with Richard’s old girlfriend.”
Dakota shook his head. His “involvement” had been one stupid night that he’d regretted every day since.
Sheila had been a brazen one. Wearing a skimpy red dress designed to make a man drool, she’d sashayed up to him at that party and tossed her head, spilling golden waves around her shoulders. His immediate thought had been that she’d looked like a harder version of Annie. Blond and luscious, only lacking the inborn grace. But that hadn’t mattered at the time, especially since Annie had been milling around the party with her Joe-college boyfriend.
Sheila made her first move by pressing her hand to Dakota’s forehead. “You’re hot for Richard’s little girlfriend, aren’t you? Burning right up with a fever.”
Dakota’s knees nearly buckled. No one had ever challenged him about his sexual attraction to Annie, the all-consuming ache he couldn’t seem to shake. “Yeah, right. I’ve known her since she was a kid.”
“Well, she’s hardly a kid now,” the blonde purred. “And you get excited just watching her breathe.”
Dakota jerked away. “What the hell do you want?”
Sheila’s painted lips curled into a naughty smile. “To make you forget all about her.”
He should have walked away then. Game playing wasn’t his style, but he wanted nothing more than to get Annie out of his system. Destroy the heat that surged through his blood every time he laid eyes on her.
The night had gone from bad to worse with Richard getting in his face, hissing words that were much too true. “What’s the matter?” the jock had snarled in a quiet, menacing voice, “Are you stuck with my leftovers because you can’t get the real thing?”
Blinded by rage, Dakota had lunged at the other man, knocking him against a wall. Richard had the woman he wanted, and there didn’t seem to be a damn thing he could do about it. Nothing but take Sheila up on her offer. An offer that had made him sick and remorseful the following morning.
Swapping Sheila for Annie hadn’t worked. And in the process he’d humiliated Annie and disgusted Mary and Jill, the women he cared most about.
“Looks to me like you folks are ready.” The minister’s voice boomed in Dakota’s ear, jarring him from his disturbing thoughts.
Ready. Right. To marry a woman who had no intention of making love with him, of forgiving him for his sins. Annie had to suspect how many Sheila Harrises had slithered in and out of his bed. But that was his past, Dakota thought, the type of man he was before the accident.
“Sure,” he said, faking a smile. “We’re ready.”
They took their places quietly, and when Bea began to plunk out a wedding march, brother and sister both turned to view the bride. As her hourglass figure swayed, Dakota’s blood tingled. Annie Winters looked like a goddess: white-blond hair, a flowing white dress and a bouquet of white roses. As unique and pure, he decided, as a freshly fallen snowflake.
She stood beside him and stared straight ahead as the organ music ended and The Reverend Matthews began to speak. Dakota focused on Annie, on the way the sunlight streamed through the windows, highlighting her hair and illuminating her skin with a warm glow. The moment she repeated her vows and her gaze met his, his chest constricted. Her voice was soft and barely audible, but the words sounded sincere, as though they should have been spoken for another man, one she wanted to marry.
Dakota said his vows in the same near whisper, then removed the white-gold band from his pocket. The ring slid easily onto her finger.
“I pronounce you husband and wife,” The Reverend Matthews said in a clear, strong voice, then smiled at Dakota. “Mr. Graywolf, you may kiss your bride.”
Dakota turned toward Annie, and their eyes met. She looked sweet, he thought. Warm and girlish, yet womanly. He leaned in close and swallowed. “I’m supposed to do this,” he whispered, praying she wouldn’t flinch at his touch.
He skimmed his fingers down her back. Her whisky eyes grew doelike, but she didn’t pull away, so he caressed her skin through the silk.
He encountered the outline of her undergarment, a wisp of lace beneath her dress. Closing his eyes, he brought his mouth to hers, then felt an immediate shiver rock them both.
Her lips yielded beneath his, just enough to send red-tipped sparks along his skin. Did she feel them, too? he wondered. The tiny, burning flames?
Annie placed her hands on Dakota’s shoulders, intending to steady herself, but as her fingers crept forward, she caught a lock of his hair. That midnight hair. Thick and rebellious.
Without a second thought she parted her lips and allowed her husband access. Their tongues met in a desperate embrace, like strangers clinging to each other in a storm. No, she thought, a hurricane. A hurricane of desire. And loneliness, at least for her. It had been so long since she’d allowed a man to hold her close.
When the kiss ended, they stared at each other—an intimate gaze that defied all logic, all common sense. She watched him take a breath and felt her own hitch shakily. He towered over her, yet somehow their bodies seemed to fit. Still locked in an embrace, his pelvis brushed her stomach in a sensual tease, his chest a wall of iron against her breasts. Her nipples were hard, she realized. Hard and aching.
He dipped his head again, and she whispered his name and inhaled the faint spice of his cologne. It blended with a hint of leather and a pinch of tobacco, making him smell the way she imagined a reckless cowboy was supposed to smell. Earthy, masculine and forbidden.
He tasted forbidden, too. Heady, like a man who sipped brandy while he made love—satisfying a woman with slow, intoxicating strokes. Annie could almost imagine the naked feel of him, the virile mass of muscle and sinew beneath satin sheets. She moved closer and deepened the kiss, brushing herself against him. He groaned and licked her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth.
Annie dived into a dream…a fantasy…a hotel room for lovers. If they shared a honeymoon suite tonight, they could soak in a heart-shaped tub, he could shampoo her hair, she could lather his….
“Oh, my goodness, they’re going to eat each other alive.”
Bea’s shocked words broke the spell. Annie’s heart jumped to her throat before she gave Dakota a quick, forceful shove. He staggered, frowned, then looked as embarrassed as she felt.
The minister, Bea and Mary all stood together, each with vivid expressions. Bea’s mouth was agape, the minister wore a tight lip even though a smile danced in his eyes, and Mary, her dear friend, grinned like a hyena.
“That’s it, then?” Dakota asked gruffly. “We’re married?”
The Reverend Matthews nodded and extended his hand. “Yes. Congratulations.”
The men shook hands and the minister bumped his wife’s shoulder. “Oh, yes, congratulations,” she squeaked.
Mary embraced Annie. “Now the kids will be legally yours.” She chuckled. “You know, come to think of it, my brother is legally yours, too.”
Annie sent the other woman a weak smile. Legally maybe, but not emotionally. Her honeymoon fantasy was just that. A fantasy. One she would never act upon. Once the adoption was final, this marriage would undoubtedly end. Dakota Graywolf was much too wild to remain married, and she was much too smart to expect otherwise.
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. No matter how luscious Dakota had tasted or how good he had felt, she knew better than to get addicted to the wrong kind of man. The intensity of their attraction meant nothing in the scheme of things. Absolutely nothing.

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.
“I’m having trouble falling asleep,” she admitted.
“Yeah, me, too. Being married is gonna take some getting used to, I suppose.”
Not on her part. She didn’t intend to get used to living with him. Not when she knew he’d find a reason to leave after the adoption.
“Do you like your new career?” she asked, changing the subject. She preferred to avoid the topic of marriage, especially while they shared a bed.
He shrugged. “Designing jewelry doesn’t really feel like a career yet. I haven’t sold many pieces.”
“But you will. Your work is beautiful.” The weight of her exquisitely crafted wedding band rested easily on her finger. He had talent, an instinctual gift.
“Thanks. I never expected it to be anything more than a hobby. But when I couldn’t use my legs, I learned how to rely on my hands.”
“They’re great hands,” she commented quickly, recalling how big and masculine they were, how safe they’d made her feel on the plane.
“You think so, huh?” A devilish sort of humor slipped into his tone. “I can do a lot more with them than just make jewelry. Hey, maybe I can give you a demonstration. You know, my hands, your body.”
Annie smiled in spite of herself. “Is that all you think about?”
“It’s tough not to when I’m married to someone who looks like you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nice try. But all these compliments you’ve been tossing my way aren’t affecting me in the least.”
Liar, a small voice in her head challenged.
Annie told it to shut up and raised the covers. He didn’t need to know his words had stimulated her traitorous body. Her nipples felt like pebbles, hard and just a little bit achy.
Dakota plumped his pillow. “I’ll probably be doing some traveling now and again. I thought I’d check out some of the finer Western stores on this coast. You know, to see if they might be interested in carrying my jewelry.”
“You could get a sales rep,” she suggested. “I’m sure there’s plenty of salesmen who’d be glad to promote a product from a well-known cowboy.”
“Yeah, I’d thought of that.” Once again he raked his hand through his hair or she assumed he did by the movement of his arm. The moonlight had faded, darkening the room. “But I like being on the road, and I figured I’d go to a few powwows while I’m out there. You know, meet some other artists.”
Start a new life for himself on the road. It made sense. The gypsy cowboy. The gypsy artist. Just as she suspected, he was already finding excuses to be away from home. No doubt about it. This marriage wasn’t about to last.
Annie sighed. Thank goodness she wasn’t a crush-crazed kid anymore. Not falling for Dakota Graywolf would make his leaving a whole lot easier.

Dakota resisted the urge to cover his ears. Jamie had been bawling nonstop for the past twenty-five minutes, howling like a distressed coyote.
“Does he always do this after Annie-Mom leaves for work?” he asked Miles.
“Nope,” the boy replied. “He never cries at the baby-sitter’s house.”
Dakota winced. The two-year-old, still dressed in his cartoon pajamas, stomped across the couch, screaming as he peered out the living room window. “Jamie just needs to get used to me,” he said, repeating the same thing he’d told Annie earlier when she’d balked about leaving the youngest child with him.
“How long is that gonna take?” Miles complained. “He’s gettin’ on my nerves.”
Dakota shrugged. He’d had the kids less than thirty minutes, and already the living room resembled the aftermath of a small explosion. Miles and Tyler’s miniature car collection dominated the sand-colored carpet, along with every available pillow in the house. Since the boys were building a mountain range, he’d allowed them to haul in a few medium-size rocks. And although leaves and twigs hadn’t been part of the deal, several makeshift trees grew from the pillow tops.
Dakota eyed the shrieking two-year-old. “Should I try another bottle?”
Tyler looked up from the construction-paper road he was creating. Up until now, the soft-spoken eight-year-old had remained quiet about his disgruntled little brother. “He likes candy.”
“Really?” At this point, Dakota thought, Jamie could have anything he wanted. A pound of chocolate, a Cuban cigar, a new Porsche. “Do you have any candy in the house?”
Tyler and Miles exchanged a look. A we’re-not-supposed-to-get-into-the-candy, Annie-Mom-will-get-mad look.
“C’mon you guys, this is an emergency.”
Miles tore into the kitchen, and Dakota followed. “It’s up there.” The five-year-old pointed to a cabinet above the refrigerator.
Dakota reached up, thinking Annie must have used a chair to stash the goods. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder and this was a stretch even for him. He grabbed the yellow jar and peered into it. “Damn. I mean dang, there’s all kinds of stuff in here. A Halloween variety.”
“Uh-huh.” Miles shifted his feet, his tongue darting in anticipation.
Dakota hid a smile and lowered the jar. “You want some?”
“Yeah.” The boy grabbed a handful then called his brother. “Hey, Tye, come get some candy.”
Tyler appeared instantaneously, telling Dakota he must have been lurking around the corner. Choosier than his brother, Tyler carefully picked through the jar. “Annie-Mom doesn’t let us have too much at once,” he said, sounding like eight going on thirty. Then again, he probably was. Dakota knew the boy had a near-genius IQ.
“Yeah,” Miles chimed in. “Annie-Mom says candy makes us hyper.”
“Makes you hyper,” Tyler corrected. “Not me.”
Dakota glanced down at the bouncing porcupine. How much more hyper could the kid get? “All right, what’s Jamie’s favorite?”
“Lollipops,” came the joint reply.
Dakota ventured back into the living room, dodging cars, roads, trees and mountains. Approaching Jamie as cautiously as he would a man-shy colt, he held out a green lollipop.
The child gasped and hiccuped, his tear-lined eyes spying the candy. “Mine,” he said, snatching the sucker and running to the corner of the sofa like a squirrel hoarding a five-pound nut. Dakota sank onto the opposite end of the couch and blew a relieved breath.

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