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“When Crimson asked for my opinion, I simply told her that I thought she has what it takes to make it out in the ‘bigger world,’ if that’s what she really wants to do. I hardly see how that could be misconstrued as meddling.”
“Lady, in case you don’t know it, just being an outsider working on the reservation makes your motives suspect to a lot of people around here.”
The very idea confounded Annie. Her forehead wrinkled in consternation. “I’m just here to teach a class. A noncredit, community interest, elective class, at that,” she added defensively.
“Are you sure you aren’t really here to save the Indian nation?”
The sarcasm dripping from Johnny’s words voice underscored his disdain.
Caught completely by surprise, Annie replied honestly. “God, no!” I’m having a hard enough time saving myself, she almost blurted out.
What exactly was it was about her that gave others the impression she was a huge bleeding heart willing to single-handedly rescue the world and ready to accept the blame when it became apparent that she wasn’t up to the task? Annie rubbed her eyes, vainly trying to massage away the headache that was staking out a permanent residence inside her thick skull. Superwoman she was not.
“It appears that you don’t understand how desperately we need talented young men and women like my niece to remain on the reservation to provide leadership to our people,” Johnny told her, speaking slowly as if he were addressing someone who was mentally challenged. “What we don’t need is foreigners pushing the idea of assimilation at the expense of our native culture. As someone who spent years in the white man’s world, I’m back on the reservation of my own volition to tell you and anybody who’ll listen that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Annie threw up her hands in surrender. When she spoke again, it was with a detached professional tone clearly designed to bring this impromptu conference to an end. “I’ll be sure to take that under advisement.”
“See that you do,” Johnny snapped, angry with himself for putting that wounded look upon her face. If he didn’t get out of here within the next minute or two, he was afraid she would be blowing her nose on a piece of his world-weary heart.
“Before you leave, let me give you a little free advice,” Annie offered in a gentle tone she hoped belied the harshness of the message she was about to deliver. “If you think you can control any adolescent by controlling what I might happen to say, you are sadly mistaken. The dreams of the young belong solely to them, Mr. Lonebear. Personally I won’t be a party to killing anyone’s dreams—however large or small or ill conceived anybody else might consider them to be. While I have no desire to meddle in anyone’s business, especially yours, I would like to remind you that as an educator, my business is helping children attain their dreams. If you really care for your niece, as I suspect you do, you’ll respect her enough to let her make her own way in the world. After all, there is a distinct possibility that she might return home as you did with a whole lot more to offer than when she left.”
Johnny stared at this audacious woman for a long time before responding. To be put in his place in such a calm, forthright manner deeply disturbed him. As the one who plucked the name Dream Catchers from native folklore and personally attached it to this school, he resented the accusation that he was into squelching anyone’s hopes and aspirations. Especially considering the fact that he had dedicated his life to helping others turn those dreams into reality. It was as insulting as this woman’s belief that young people would have to leave the reservation in order to be truly successful.
When he spoke at last it was with stony self-control.
“I’d advise you to be more careful in the future, Ms. Wainwright,” he said, purposely ignoring her earlier invitation to call her by her first name, “of how you address your supervisors. I might not have been the person who hired you, but let me assure you, I most certainly have the power to fire you if I see fit.”
With that he turned his back on her, leaving the lady with yet another crucial bit of information to solder into the stained-glass mosaic that was destined to interlock his complicated life with hers.
Two
Having recently given up a much better paying position in St. Louis with the understanding that she could come back anytime she wanted, Annie was sorely tempted to gather up her things and do one Mr. John Lonebear a gigantic favor by quitting right then and there. It certainly wasn’t the money that kept her from walking. The pittance she was making as an adjunct faculty member at Dream Catchers High was hardly enough to buy groceries and pay the phone bill. Luckily, her friend Jewell, whose house she was sitting while she was away at summer school working on her master’s degree, insisted on taking care of the utilities. Although Jewell maintained that Annie was really doing her a good turn, she was the one who felt truly indebted.
No, the necessity of a steady income was not the reason Annie stubbornly refused to cut her losses on this particularly lovely day the first week in June and call it quits. A practical sort, she had almost a whole year’s salary in reserve while she figured out what it was she wanted to do with the rest of her life. Her decision to stick it out at Dream Catchers had more to do with wanting to finish the ambitious mural that she had designed, was in the process of constructing, and ultimately planned to dedicate to the school that John Lonebear so presumptuously claimed as his own. Unless there was no other option available to her, Annie Wainwright liked to finish what she started. There was also the matter of a pleading look in Crimson Dawn’s eyes when she had tentatively approached Annie seeking approval and advice. And last but not least, she suspected that there was a certain amount of spite involved in her decision not to let anyone goad her into making a decision that she wasn’t good and ready to make on her own.
No matter how self-important he thought he might be.
No matter how undeniably sexy he was.
Having professionally advised any number of clients that geographic changes did little to address the pain that one carried deep inside, Annie knew it was futile to try to outrun one’s problems. Still, as she bumped along the washboard road leading to her friend’s cozy log cabin, she couldn’t help but feel this was the perfect place for mending broken hearts and healing wounded spirits. Nestled at the base of the Wind River Mountains, Jewell’s isolated home boasted a view of the river that carried the same name as the mountain range that cast its shadow over the surrounding countryside. Though not nearly as famous as its sister, the Tetons, the Winds were just as magnificent in their own right. The fact that they were relatively undiscovered by tourists made them all the more attractive to someone looking for respite from big-city woes.
Watching the sun slowly slide into place like a diamond being positioned into its proper setting in a crown of sheer granite was enough to make Annie forget her troubles for a moment and melt into a landscape that, with the exception of the dust rising from behind her car, seemed virtually unchanged since the dawn of time. The fact that the sun rose and set predictably every day behind this mountain did not make the spectacle any less miraculous. Taking time to enjoy such pleasures was yet another reason Annie wanted to hang around a while longer—at least until the end of summer when monetary matters would dictate the choices that would likely have to be made out of necessity.
For right now it was enough to simply park her dusty little blue sports coupe beside the cabin and take a seat on the porch swing where an unrestricted view of the painted sky made Annie wish she could somehow capture those vivid colors in glass. She wanted to include every shade of that incredible sky in the life circle that was to be the backdrop of her own masterpiece. The peaceful scene featured a tepee with a family gathered in front of a gentle campfire. Rotating in the background were both the seasons and the time of day. Six feet in diameter, the impressive panorama was held together by thin metal strips woven by design to look like a dream catcher, symbolic of the school that bore its name.
The fact that Annie found herself wondering what the antagonistic Mr. Lonebear would think of her tribute to his culture made her cross with herself for even remotely caring what that big bully thought. It made her furious that the mere remembrance of his touch sent another frisson of heat sizzling through her body, conjuring up X-rated images that were completely out of character for someone of her usual, refined sensibilities.
Hearing the phone ring, she hopped off the porch swing, stepped inside the front door and reached for the sound of a friendly voice. Though the solitude of this place was far more peaceful than that of her old apartment, which had been located on a busy downtown street, it also became oppressive at times, as well. Grateful to hear Jewell’s warm, familiar greeting, Annie didn’t hesitate to tell her old friend all about the “beast” who had accosted her earlier in the day.
“Johnny?” Jewell asked, sounding incredulous. “As much as I hate to question your judgment, he’s never been anything but nice to me and professional in every respect. In fact, the entire staff is as devoted to him as the student body is. I can’t imagine what you could have possibly done to have gotten off on the wrong foot with him.”
Indignation rose like bile in Annie’s throat at the implication that she was somehow at fault for the rude behavior to which she’d been subjected earlier in the day.
“Johnny?” she mimicked, recalling the formality that he had demanded of her. It seemed she was the only one not at liberty to call the man by his more familiar moniker. In the future Annie vowed to address him as sir and leave it at that.
“I was given the definite impression that your fellow teachers at Dream Catchers are in the habit of addressing one another by their last names,” she said stiffly and added softly under her breath, “And saluting their superior officers.”
“Only in front of students,” Jewell told her, choosing to ignore her friend’s mumbled jab. “Coming from the unruly environment you just left, I’d think you’d prefer a more structured environment. Our teachers sure do. The truth of the matter is that most of the kids do, too. So many of them have no rules at home to speak of, and school provides them a safe haven.”
Even though Annie could believe it, she wasn’t inclined to agree at the moment. Not when doing so would cast the villainous Mr. Lonebear in an angelic light. Cradling the phone between her shoulder and cheek, she opened the refrigerator door, took out a pitcher of lemonade and grudgingly encouraged her friend to enlighten her further.
“Go on,” she muttered, wrestling with a tray of ice cubes that had shrunk to strange powdery shapes. “I’m listening.”
“Maybe you just caught him on an off day, Annie. Or maybe his reaction had something to do with him not hiring you personally, although he’s never struck me as the type to care about protocol when it comes to filling positions with qualified people. I do know that he was in Washington lobbying during the week you were interviewed. There’s always the possibility that he didn’t get the backing he was seeking, and that’s what put him in such an ill humor, though I seriously doubt it. The man is a genius at procuring funding—and in being instrumental in making Dream Catchers High one of the most successful magnet schools in the country.”
The pride in Jewell’s voice was unmistakable.
“Gosh,” Annie muttered, unable to keep the skepticism from her voice. “He sounds like a veritable saint.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Jewell said, laughing. “Just ask some of the elders to reminisce if you get the opportunity, and they’ll be happy to wax on and on about their favorite son’s misspent youth. Affectionately, of course, and with obvious admiration for what he’s overcome.”
“Misspent youth?” Annie prodded, curious despite herself.
“It seems Johnny Lonebear was every girl’s bad-boy heartthrob back in high school. They say he packed an attitude as big as the Great Plains, rode a Harley to school instead of the bus and was a gifted athlete. Rumor has it that his enthusiasm for academics was limited to maintaining his eligibility for extracurricular activities, and he was indifferent to all the girls who threw themselves at him. There’s still some speculation as to whether he actually fathered any of those children running around on the reservation that some people claim he did.”
Crunching down hard on what once might have passed for an ice cube, Annie took pleasure in feeling it splinter beneath her molars. She fought the urge to spit it out, along with the bad taste left in her mouth. That was more than enough for her to relegate her new boss to the status of a world-class jerk. Annie told herself it was none of her concern that her dear friend could be deceived by such a nasty piece of work.
Parts of her past were private, and she didn’t want to share them with anyone. Not even Jewell, who, had she known of Annie’s own troubled high school years, surely would not have joked so offhandedly about such things. Deliberately Annie changed the topic of conversation to something less serious in nature, promising her friend that she would water her straggly bed of marigolds.
And silently promising herself not to give the enigmatic Mr. Lonebear another thought beyond how to best avoid him in the future.
Someone as sweet and naive as Jewell might easily be taken in by a man’s dark good looks and colorful past, but Annie knew better than to trust the word of any male, particularly the promises he might utter in the throes of passion. As an expert in the field, Annie wondered whether she should volunteer to teach a class in it as a way of supplementing her meager income. She would label it a self-defense class for the heart and make a case that it was as critical as any other course in the martial arts.
The thought of presenting Mr. Lonebear with such a proposal gave Annie grim satisfaction. The memory of him ordering her to stick to the prescribed curriculum and leave her personal beliefs out of the classroom made Annie far more uncomfortable than he could ever imagine. Used to doing things on her own terms, she wasn’t sure whether she was capable of separating one from the other. Such a task was akin to holding the myriad pieces of a stained-glass mural together with nothing more than wishful thinking.
Recalling to mind that it was also what had prompted her to resign from her old position and had sent her searching for a career less hazardous to her emotional well-being, she vowed to do her best to follow John Lonebear’s directive. If other people were able to do their jobs, collect their paychecks and go home at the end of the day without investing their hearts along with their time, Annie told herself, there was no reason she couldn’t do the same.
Despite her renewed resolve not to become emotionally attached to her students, Annie was genuinely happy to see Crimson Dawn back in class the following day—and relieved that her exasperating uncle was absent. Since time to work with her students on their respective projects was limited, she didn’t dally when it came to taking roll and getting class under way. She spent only a few minutes looking over her shoulder to see if a certain unwanted visitor was going to make a follow-up appearance. Once Annie centered her attention upon her pupils, time flew as it always did whenever she was actively involved in the creative process. Something about helping others discover their own natural talents was utterly gratifying in a way that oddly superseded her professional training in more analytic areas.
Brushing off Crimson Dawn’s stiff apology on the part of her uncle as being completely unnecessary, she squeezed the girl’s shoulder reassuringly.
“Your work is coming along wonderfully. At this rate you’ll be able to start another project well before this term is up.”
Despite the possible repercussions, Annie’s stubborn heart bade her continue. She considered her words carefully, however.
“In case you don’t know it, Crimson, I’ve been expressly forbidden to direct your talents outside of this classroom. Nonetheless, I want you to know that you have been given an incredible gift. However you choose to use it is up to you.”
The knowledge that her teacher was referring not only to the unique stained-glass sculpture that she was in the process of finishing, but also the other artwork she had so shyly shown her earlier caused the girl to smile tremulously.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, not nearly as capable of expressing her feelings with words as with her hands. That Ms. Wainwright’s praise didn’t waver in light of the family feud it was causing at home made her heart swell with appreciation. Shyly she ventured words of advice to the teacher who had such faith in her abilities.
“Don’t let Uncle Johnny buffalo you. He’s really just a big old teddy bear.”
Annie tried not to choke on the image. If the man were any kind of bear, a grizzly was what came to mind. Nevertheless, she offered Crimson an appreciative smile for her concern, all the while offering up a little prayer that this girl’s beloved uncle had gone into early hibernation and that he would stay there until her own limited tenure was over.
A few hours later, after all her students had vacated the art room, Annie became so completely absorbed in her own work that she had no idea she was not alone. It would take something far louder than a man’s studious gaze to disrupt her concentration when she was thus engaged in her work. Even a man whose presence was as disquieting as the one focused so intently upon her at the moment.
“Very nice,” Johnny Lonebear murmured, stepping behind her to see what it was that held her attention so completely.
Startled, Annie almost dropped the sizable piece of glass that she held in her hand. She could have sworn he had deliberately sneaked up on her wearing moccasins rather than the pair of work boots he favored. Strangely enough, his compliment burgeoned inside her like a rare tropical flower blooming in the desert. Though Annie knew he was referring to the intricate pattern laid out upon her workbench, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to hear this man speak in such silky tones about the scent of her perfume or the cut of her hair or the swell of her breasts as he fondled them in both hands.
“I’m happy that it meets with your approval,” she said tersely, hoping to banish such images with uncharacteristic brusqueness.
Ignoring the obvious ploy to send him on his way, Johnny lingered over her design. He ran a lazy finger over the intriguing bumpy texture that was destined to become part of an amethyst horizon representing both nightfall and daybreak. Though Annie thought it would serve him right if the rough edge cut him, she refrained from saying so, hoping that by keeping silent, he would simply take the hint and leave.
He didn’t.
“I’ve received a lot of unsolicited and contradictory advice lately in regard to you,” he told her in a matter-of-fact tone of voice that caught Annie off guard. He leaned his weight on the workbench and gave her what could almost pass as a conciliatory grin.
Annie willed herself not to give in to the temptation of pressing for information that she suspected would only be hurtful.
“Is that so?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could manage over a heartbeat that was galloping out of control.
“My niece insists I should apologize to you,” he explained. “And a certain teacher on my staff whom I greatly respect called me up out of the blue yesterday to scold me on your behalf. But my dear sister is still under the impression that you have snakes in your head and wants me to fire you before you completely ruin her daughter.”
“Snakes in my head?” Annie parroted. Her confusion was reflected in the furrows in her forehead.
“It’s an old Indian expression meaning crazy,” Johnny told her with a crooked grin. His gaze fell upon the array of cutting tools set upon the bench. “Looking at the quality of your work, and word of mouth as to your teaching ability, I’m inclined to agree with Crimson Dawn. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t let her know that, though. Any administrator worth his salt recognizes it’s not good for teenagers to be right too often.”
Annie was as taken aback by his backhanded concession as by the sudden appearance of a wry sense of humor.
“Is that supposed to pass as an apology?” she asked, clearly unsettled by this strange turn of events.
“If you’re waiting for a formal act of contrition, I wouldn’t recommend holding your breath,” he said in a tone that belied the good-natured look in his eyes.
Staring into the dark waters of those eyes was definitely a mistake, Annie realized too late, as she struggled valiantly to fight her way out of their depths like a drowning swimmer paddling for the shore for all she was worth. Although she realized that technique didn’t count for much when survival was at stake, Annie nevertheless attempted some semblance of style.
“Shall we call it a truce, then, Mr. Lonebear?” she queried with one upraised eyebrow.
“For the time being, Miss Wainwright,” he said with a wink that was Annie’s undoing.
In a gesture of peace, he reached for the hand that hung loosely at her side and shook it with all the solemnity of someone entering into a formal agreement.
“And when we’re not in front of any students, you can call me Johnny. All my friends do.”
An all-too-familiar tingling began at Annie’s fingertips, traveled up her arm and raced through her body with all the speed and intensity of a hotwired ignition. In the span of a single second, all her senses roared to life. As disconcerting as the warmth that settled into the pit of her stomach was, for some reason she was reluctant to disengage from the source of that power. The strength in Johnny Lonebear’s hand underscored the sexual promise in those incredible eyes of his. Eyes that spun the world upside down and left Annie feeling as if she had just landed ignominiously on her backside.
Annie drew her gaze away to stare hotly at some offending spot on the floor. Freeing her hand from his grasp, she gestured at her work in progress, hoping to divert attention away from her perplexing physical reaction.
“What do you think?” she asked. “Since I’m planning on dedicating this piece to the school when I’m finished, I’d take any advice you could give me to make it more authentic and meaningful to your students and community.”
Johnny looked so surprised by this announcement that it actually made Annie giggle. The sound was so unexpectedly girlish that it made her blush to hear it. Having had little to chuckle about lately, she decided against apologizing for it.
If he thought her laughter sounded tarnished, Johnny Lonebear refrained from commenting on it. If pressed, he might have admitted that it sounded rather like wind chimes tinkling in an unexpected breeze. A breeze that did absolutely nothing to cool him off but rather served to fan the flicker of interest tickling the inside of his loins.
When he spoke again, he gave absolutely no indication that he was burning up inside. “You might add both a Shoshone and an Arapaho symbol on the sides of the tepee. That way you could unify the predominant tribes on our reservation.”
He saw no need to add that the hope of the government, when they initially placed warring tribes on the same piece of land, was that the natives would kill each other off and go the way of the buffalo, which were so shamelessly slaughtered and left to rot in stinking mounds upon the Great Plains a century ago. Nor did he bother explaining how that travesty had been part of a calculated plan to starve this country’s native population to death. Johnny forced himself to remember the only thing connecting Annie Wainwright with the sins of her ancestors was her pretty golden hair and fair skin. He knew better than most that any bitter remonstrance against this generation would only add to a hatred that spanned the centuries and turned one man against the other. He hadn’t risked his life upon foreign fields of battle in support of America only to undermine it by wallowing in a past over which he had no control. Not that he advocated sweeping all unpleasant historical facts under the rug, either. Indeed, his sister’s wariness was not completely unfounded.
“Thank you,” Annie said with a grateful smile that pulled him back into the present moment and added yet another piece of dry kindling to a bonfire that was devouring his resolve to stay professionally detached.
“My knowledge of native culture is limited to what I’ve read in books, and I’d rather not rely solely upon that,” she told him honestly.
“Glad to hear it,” he replied dryly.
As far as Johnny was concerned, too many people gleaned everything they would ever know about Native Americans from books written by white men intent on either vilifying or glorifying his culture. Recalling his earlier comment that Annie herself was an outsider and as such was suspect, he appreciated her openness to his suggestion.
“Tell you what,” he said, feeling suddenly charitable and wanting to put the past behind them. “There’s a powwow coming up this weekend at Fort Washakie. I’d be willing to show you around if you’d like to go. Ideas for art abound there.”
He’d be willing to show her around?
Annie wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or flattered by such an offhand invitation. Having made it sound as if he were sacrificing himself on her behalf for the good of the cause, she thought he might as well have offered her the use of a Seeing Eye dog to find her way around the reservation.
Certainly no one could accuse the man of being overly suave. Still, the thought of spending time alone with him outside of a school setting had Annie feeling suddenly flushed. Warning lights went off inside her head as hope warred with fear. Though the idea of attending a powwow as an invited guest appealed to her, Johnny Lonebear’s reputed past was reason enough to give him a wide berth. Not to mention that any fool knew it was risky to become involved with one’s boss outside of the workplace.
Then again, how wise would it be to turn down such an unexpected peace offering?
“Are you by any chance asking me on a date?” she asked, too startled by the possibility of an actual date with him to act coy.
Slow and dangerous, the smile that spread across Johnny’s face was reminiscent of the bad-boy persona that rumor had it once made him a target for every silly little heart romantically inclined to impale itself upon a stake. Somehow the smile managed to give the impression that he was laughing at Annie and with her at the same time. It also made her knees turn as wobbly as the newborn fawn that she had spied with its mother in the meadow behind Jewell’s house this morning. Annie steadied herself by leaning on her workbench in what she hoped came off as an indifferent pose.
“Why don’t we just consider it a homework assignment and let it go at that?” Johnny suggested with a twinkle reflected in the midnight sky of a pair of eyes as completely unfathomable as Annie’s reaction to it.
Three
Annie spent the better part of the next twenty-four hours berating herself for not following up on the offhand remark that the “date” for which she was meticulously preparing was nothing more than a homework assignment. She couldn’t help but wonder exactly whose homework Johnny been referring to. Had he been alluding to her need to familiarize herself with the local culture? Or to the fact that he planned on doing some personal research of his own before reporting back to his sister whether Annie did indeed have snakes in her head and was a danger to the impressionable young minds of this reservation?
Neither scenario appealed to her much.
Furthermore, such contemplation served to make getting ready for what was already destined to be an uncomfortable afternoon all the more difficult. Indeed, Annie had no idea what to wear to a powwow. Neither a true cowgirl nor an Indian, she couldn’t very well bring herself to succumb to the lure of either culture. She could no more envision herself bedecked in Native leather and beads than she could picture herself in Western boots and a mile-high Stetson. Believing it to be hopeless that she could ever blend in at such a local event no matter what she wore, she decided at last to simply go as herself. Since her preferred choice of attire for any given outing was a T-shirt, pair of shorts and tennis shoes, she saw no need to stray from comfort now. Having checked with Jewell beforehand to make sure casual dress was acceptable, she decided a pair of jeans would prove less disrespectful to any participants who might resent her presence at such a traditional, time-honored ceremony.
Annie’s most overt concession to the fluttery feeling that settled into her stomach whenever she thought about the sexy, intimidating man who was due to arrive any minute to pick her up was to pay her hair more attention than usual. Lately she had taken to pulling it back in a practical ponytail that allowed her to meet the world head-on. Today the thought of using her hair as a curtain if necessary—an old trick passed freely among junior high girls—to obscure her face from Johnny Lonebear compelled her to dig out and dust off an old curling iron. After forcing her naturally straight tresses into loose curls that fell about her shoulders, she decided to forgo applying any blush to her cheeks. They were already burning with telltale anticipation.
Laboring under the assumption that it would give Johnny an enormous sense of self-satisfaction to discover just how nervous this impromptu rendezvous with fate was making her, Annie sternly reminded herself that she was no giddy teenager preparing for her first date. The pink-cheeked woman staring at her in the mirror was certainly old enough to know better.
Definitely old enough to separate fantasy from reality.
Fact from fiction.
