Warrior in Her Bed (8 page)

“Is that a challenge?” Annie asked, returning his wink with a flirtatious one of her own.

She found his quirky sense of humor refreshing and his comments enlightening. Having attended the mission school as a rebellious teenager, Johnny was far more informative than any literature she could have picked up. What Annie found most fascinating of all were the bits and pieces that he accidentally dropped about his own checkered past. For instance, as she was pouring the wine, he made the comment that, “Sister Margaret Eleanor would frown upon any but sacramental wine being consumed on the premises.”

He shook his head and made a low whistling
sound. “Talk about a lady who loved a challenge in the classroom. She claimed I turned all the red hair under her wimple completely gray over the course of a single semester. I was glad to hear it. Up until then, I thought she was bald. All of us did.”

Annie laughed again. It was easy to see him as a precocious adolescent defying authority at every turn. Picking up together the pieces of his past and soldering them together like the delicate fragments of glass with which she worked every day, she strove to complete a more-detailed composite of the man he was now. Because he was so relaxed today, she dared to get him to open up to her.

“Something tells me that you broke more than one rule around here once upon a time,” she remarked.

“You mean more than one ruler…” he quipped.

Annie's jaw dropped. “I always thought those stories were exaggerations.”

The concern in her voice was almost enough to make Johnny ashamed of teasing. With a twinkle in his eye, he held up one hand. The fingers were twisted into an unnatural pose.

“I've been like this since first grade,” he told her solemnly. “I was hoping you would kiss it and make it all better.”

Realizing that she had been had, Annie swatted his hand away. “Shame on you for leading me on like that,” she told him. She thought about telling him to kiss her posterior but was far too ladylike to actually suggest it. Knowing him as she did, she worried he might well take her up on the offer right then and there.

“You're such an easy mark I just can't help my
self,” he told her, holding out a chicken leg to her as a peace offering.

“So I've been told,” she mumbled.

The bile that rose in her throat at the memories of her past made it hard to take even the tiniest of bites. A swallow of wine did little to help wash away the bad taste in her mouth.

Although Johnny raised an inquiring eyebrow at the odd expression on her face, she refused to oblige his curiosity. It was far too lovely a day to let melancholia ruin it. Lying back upon the blanket, Annie stared at the wisps of white clouds overhead. Wyoming skies had to be the bluest and the clearest in the world. She couldn't remember the last time she had allowed herself the luxury of watching the clouds parade overhead.

“That one looks like a white buffalo,” Johnny said, pointing to one charging toward them.

Annie started to ask him the significance of that particular image when he leaned over and kissed her tenderly. All thoughts of everything other than the warmth of his lips upon hers fled instantly. The way the earth moved beneath her as he deepened that kiss felt as if a real herd of buffalo was stampeding across that football field. Annie had never been given to romantic hyperbole. She was inclined to scoff at images such as fireworks and earthquakes to describe something as abstract as passion. Today, however, the cynic in her was overcome by the intensity of the blue sky overhead, which amplified the feeling that the world was spinning off its axis.

Closing her eyes, Annie succumbed to the delicious sensation of letting go. Only the fact that she had her arms wrapped around the broad expanse of
Johnny's back kept her from flying off the face of the planet. He tasted of fried chicken and sweet wine and unspoken promises. How easy it would be to become drunk on such a heady combination.

“I think I can say with surety that Sister Margaret Eleanor would not approve of this public display of affection,” Johnny told her, drawing back to study her reaction. The look he gave her was tender as he added, “But I think she would definitely approve of you.”

Annie smiled. She was both grateful and disappointed that he had shown the restraint to end that mind-boggling kiss when he did. It wouldn't do either of their reputations any good were they to carry things too far in public.

“She would?” Annie squeaked, delighted with the rare compliment from him.

She very much liked the thought of some fire-breathing dragon from Johnny's past putting her seal of approval on their relationship. It made her feel good that someone he held in such high regard would accept her for who she was. Annie breathed deeply. It pleased her that he had gone to the trouble of wearing cologne for her. The masculine scent of sage and musk suited him. And intoxicated her.

“She'd probably think you should be canonized for putting up with me,” Johnny told her in all honesty.

They finished their lunch in a languid, summertime fashion reminiscent of the picnics Annie had shared with her family on the shores of Lake Michigan. There were no mosquitoes here, however, nor hordes of tourists vying for a blanket-size spot on the beach. No traffic jams nor standing in line waiting to buy a
beverage from some surly vendor. There were only Johnny and her, earth and sky, and the pristine air holding them all together.

Annie wondered if she had been wrong in encouraging Crimson Dawn to leave such an idyllic, undiscovered place.

She might have said as much to Johnny except that she didn't want to spoil Johnny's good humor. Or to second-guess herself. Long ago she had come to the conclusion that all anyone could expect of themselves was to do the very best they could at any given moment. And to cherish the good times while they lasted.

They put the remnants of their lunch in the pickup before embarking upon their tour of the old mission. First among the landmarks was a dilapidated building that Johnny told her was supposedly haunted. Well over a hundred years old, the convent house was one of the oldest structures on the reservation. Out of an apparent sense of generosity the resident ghosts presently shared the facility with rattlesnakes and rats and all sorts of creepy, crawly critters.

“I don't believe in ghosts,” Annie announced in no uncertain terms.

“Most white people don't,” Johnny replied. “Maybe that's because they're so much better than we Indians are at shutting out the voices of the past. While I'd generally have to say that the clergy who served here were well-intentioned people, it would be a lie to pretend that many injustices didn't occur over the past century. Can you imagine what it must have felt like to be a young Indian child forced to leave your family and renounce your native name to become one of the many Shakespeares or Smiths on
the reservation? It's almost as if, by cutting off a boy's braids and erasing his name, they hoped to transform a child into a member of a different race. At the same time, the government created a special reservation to keep the dirty Indian away from respectable white folk.”

Both fascinated and uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken, Annie said little as they resumed their tour of the grounds. She was glad to leave the shadow of the haunted nunnery behind and progress toward the immaculately maintained chapel itself. As much as she was sorry for historical transgressions, she felt no personal responsibility for it. She hoped Johnny didn't presume to lump her into the same category as those about whom he spoke with such bitterness.

Perhaps he was implying that her own good intentions regarding Crimson Dawn were not as sound as she first believed when she encouraged his talented niece to follow her dream wherever it may take her.

“You believe what you want to,” Johnny said, guiding her by the elbow down a dirt footpath. “But people I know and admire swear to have heard moaning and the sound of basketballs pounding in empty gymnasiums, to have felt cold drafts pass through them in the middle of a hot summer day like this one and to have seen pieces of pipe that no living creature could bend twisted into useless pretzels when no one was on the premises.”

Annie felt a shiver run through her. Despite her avowal that she was not afraid of ghosts, Johnny was giving her the willies.

“You're just trying to scare me,” she accused in a reproachful tone of voice.

“Just trying to instill a healthy respect for the dead,” he maintained. “Ever notice all the boarded-up houses on the reservation that appear perfectly serviceable to the naked eye.”

Annie nodded her head. In truth she hadn't known what to make of it.

“Some Indians refuse to live in a house in which someone has died.”

Johnny himself had boarded up the windows on his grandmother's house shortly after she passed away. He believed that even kindly spirits deserved an undisturbed rest, not to mention that the old place was hardly livable in the first place. He would be ashamed to show Annie, who had posed in a family portrait in front of their lovely brick home, the hovel in which he had grown up. The realization reminded him of just how wide the chasm was separating him from the beautiful woman whom he had taken as a lover.

They came to a stop in front of a glass-encased statue of a Native American saint by the name of Kateri Tekewitha. With a benevolent expression painted upon her face, she stood guard over the cemetery nestled beside the church and an old adobe building. Cherubim standing atop white headstones harkened to the many children sleeping there, and a sparrow alighted on the hand that a marble Saint Francis held out.

Annie felt a sense of peace as they passed on by and made their way to the front steps of the church. The exterior of the building itself was remarkable. Painted a bright white that fairly glistened in the midday sun, it was decorated with geometric native designs. A stained-glass sunburst design in bright reds
and yellow directly beneath the bell tower caught and held Annie's attention as she admired the craftsmanship that had gone into its design and assembly.

As they stepped into the entryway, Johnny reverted back before Annie's very eyes to the impish child he must have once been. With a sly smile he grabbed the rope attached to the bell and gave it a hardy tug. The deep sound of the bell's peal resonated with magic.

“I can remember when the rope would lift me off my feet,” Johnny said, looking every bit as mischievous as when he had risked a whipping as a lad for such a transgression.

The interior of the small edifice rendered Annie speechless. It was the most amazing blend of Christianity and American Indian culture she had ever seen. A floor-to-ceiling painting of a Native American Virgin Mary took her breath away. The beautiful woman cradled the world gently in her hands. It was a world illuminated by a stream of light pouring through stained-glass windows that mirrored the geometric design on the outside of the church. It was repeated in bright hues of paint on the domed ceiling overhead. The effect was nothing short of dazzling.

Another wall-size painting depicted a warrior heading into a maelstrom of stormy colors on a painted horse. Feeling herself similarly pulled into a tempest of emotions, Annie related on a visceral level to the image. The whole church was decorated with Native American symbols. A huge drum with a glass top served as the altar. Behind it hung a life-size crucifix carved from wood, the poles of a tepee intersecting it. Dangling from Christ's palms were
two sacred feathers. The theme was repeated in a wooden lectern that was shaped like an eagle.

An undeniable feeling of holiness about this place imbued Annie with a sudden sense of peace. Looking up at Johnny with eyes wide with wonderment, she squeezed his hand in thanks for bringing her here.

“Sister Margaret Eleanor might not approve of what I'm about to do,” Johnny said, succumbing to the urge to kiss her in the very spot where his own parents had been married some thirty years earlier. “But I don't think God will mind a bit.”

B
eneath the light streaming through the stained-glass windows, Johnny tipped her head to an accommodating angle and pressed his lips to hers. Annie felt a shiver slip down her spine as she fell into that kiss like someone tumbling out of an airplane without a parachute.

Free-falling in love…

Madly, passionately, head-over-heels in love!

The shock of that revelation made her cling all the more desperately to Johnny as her knees wobbled and she felt herself sway unsteadily. Experience had taught her just how unwise it was to give herself too easily to a man, but ever since Johnny Lonebear came crashing into her life, caution had flown out the window—right along with good sense. That she had given him her heart along with her body was nothing short of terrifying.

Or tremendous.

Pressed against the length of his hard, lean body, Annie poured her whole soul into that kiss, hoping to convey her love without having to use words at all. Words were inadequate to express what Annie was feeling. Her lips trembled beneath his, then parted, inviting him to delve deeper. His tongue engaged hers in an erotic dance of give and take. Annie's moan echoed in the sanctuary of the church.

Behind them someone cleared his throat.

Annie jumped back, belatedly remembering to take her skin with her. Her reaction caused Johnny to grin.

“You wouldn't by any chance be here to set the date for an upcoming wedding?” asked a young priest who nervously stepped up to the altar. Wearing a short-sleeved, summertime shirt of traditional black, he looked both hot and uncomfortable.

As crazy as it sounded, Annie found herself wishing fiercely that they were indeed the young couple in question who was planning a ceremony to announce to the world that they were committing to each other for eternity. When Johnny laughed out loud at the inquiry, Annie blushed. Feeling like a teenager caught necking by the local authorities paled in comparison to being interrupted midkiss by a priest.

She tried not to hold Johnny's reaction against him. The thought of marrying someone he barely knew would, of course, seem ludicrous to a man who made no secret of his aversion to the institution. What struck Annie as even more absurd was the fact that in the short time they had been together, she
somehow felt as if she knew Johnny Lonebear better than he knew himself.

That wasn't to say she knew as much about his childhood as she would have liked, and she probably would never know all there was to know about his years in the military. But what she did know with every fiber of her being was that he was truly a good man; a man who used both gruffness and humor to hide his sensitivity; a man devoted not only to nurturing young people's dreams but also to making them come true; a man who felt obligated to be a positive role model for an entire generation; a man who for some unfathomable reason felt himself incapable of making a lifetime commitment to a woman. Any woman.

 

For the life of him Johnny couldn't understand the pained expression on Annie's face. By laughing at the priest's misguided assumption he'd intended only to beat her to the punch. Instead of being grateful that he had just saved them any embarrassing explanations, she was standing there looking as if he had slapped her.

Johnny couldn't imagine that she wanted to be marched back to the confessional any more than he did. As far as he was concerned, no amount of penitential rosaries could ever atone for the greatest sin of all: letting down his buddy on the field of battle. The only possible reparation Johnny could think of was to put down his gun for good and dedicate the rest of his life to helping young people on the reservation have a better life. A life without poverty, or fear of bullets or bombs. The thought of holding Mi
chael in his arms as he died in a pool of his own blood turned the blood in Johnny's own veins to ice.

“Let's get out of here,” he said brusquely, taking Annie by the hand and leading her out the side door without so much as pausing to genuflect as the good sister had taught him.

Annie didn't think that the romantic mood of a moment ago could have been shattered more effectively than if someone had thrown a rock through the stained-glass windows of the charming, picturesque church they were leaving. As they made their way back to Johnny's pickup, a couple pulled up in a dated El Camino with a flaking gold paint job. Before opening his companion's door, the young man leaned over and gave her a passionate kiss that clearly marked them as the couple for whom the priest was waiting.

“Hey, Henry, I heard that you finally let Roberta catch you,” Johnny joked, stopping to make small talk with two recent graduates.

The young man shook Johnny's hand and thanked him for the welding skills he had learned while attending Dream Catchers. “Got me a good job—and a good woman, too,” he told his mentor. “Thanks for making me stay in school, for dragging my butt back all the times I said I wasn't comin' back.”

Annie smiled at the thought of any of Johnny's students having the audacity to even think about dropping out. The pride in young Henry's voice made Annie's throat feel tight. She felt an unexpected stab of jealousy, watching the young lovers stare moonily at one another. Dark-skinned, black-eyed, and of similar build, they were a physically striking couple. Their children would never have to
question their identity in a world that set such store by hurtful labels like “half-breed”. The sins of their ancestors would never be held against their offspring based on skin color alone. Nor would they have to build a bridge across a cultural chasm as wide as the Grand Canyon.

The ride home was quiet as Annie thought about telling Johnny that she loved him. The first and only time she had admitted that to a member of the opposite sex at the tender age of seventeen, the boy had disappeared faster than a magician's assistant. It hadn't helped that at the time she had been pregnant with his child. That she had not carried the baby to term had not dulled the razor-sharp pain of being betrayed by his father. Nor lessened the impact of her vow to never again trust another man.

Despite the fact that Annie maintained she didn't believe in spirits, sometimes she was awakened in the night by the sound of an unborn baby crying out in her dreams for its mother. No matter how many people told her it was for the best to lose the infant before she had begun to even show, Annie would forever mourn that terrible loss. In spite of what well-meaning friends said to ease her pain, she could never believe that a miscarriage was a gift from God.

“Guess it's a good thing you keep your door locked after all,” Johnny said, peering down the dirt driveway leading to Jewell's house. “Looks like some renegade has staked out a claim on your porch.”

Lost in her thoughts, Annie was surprised by how quickly they had arrived at her home. She was also startled to see a figure huddled upon her porch swing
with a battered old suitcase propped against the railing.

“Probably just a salesman,” she suggested, hoping to lighten a mood that had turned somber too quickly and remained that way for too long.

“It's not,” Johnny assured her. The grim set to his lips boded no good.

The mysterious figure stirred to life as he parked the vehicle. Annie's pulse skittered with panic when she realized who it was.

“Crimson Dawn!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

The tracks of the girl's tears had dried into telltale rivers upon her lovely face. The dust of the trail covered her from head to foot, leading Annie to believe she had walked all the way there, lugging that awful-looking piece of luggage with a piece of rope improvised for a handle. As the crow flies, it would have been at least a five-mile journey.

Ignoring the thunderous look upon her uncle's face, Crimson Dawn hopped off the porch swing and threw herself at Annie with open arms.

“I've run away from home to come to live with you!”

 

Ten minutes later the three of them were all seated in Annie's living room sipping glasses of lemonade as Crimson told her version of the horrendous fight that had prompted the decision to leave home for good. Although Annie was the picture of serenity as she listened to the girl's story without interruption, inside she was trembling with trepidation. She had left Chicago in hopes of removing herself from the midst of just such complicated personal matters.
Having simply wanted to piece her own life back together again, she hadn't realized that wherever she traveled, the misbegotten and the needy would be drawn to her compassionate nature.

“I don't care what anyone says—I'm not going back,” Crimson Dawn announced, tossing a defiant look at her uncle. “You're the only one who understands me, Miss Wainwright. Mother treats me like a child—a ‘spoiled and willful' one at that. The rest of the family is too scared to stand up to her.”

Johnny wasn't about to dispute that fact, but he nonetheless felt the need to intercede on his sister's behalf. “Before we go any further with this discussion, I'm going to call your mother and let her know where you are. I'm sure she's worried sick about you. If she comes riding up here on her war pony looking for you, I can't vouch for anyone's safety.”

Over Crimson's loud and vehement protests, Annie handed him the telephone. While he was dialing the number, she proceeded to take control of the situation in the most calming manner Johnny had ever witnessed. It didn't take him long to realize that this was not Annie's first time in dealing with a distraught adolescent. She dealt with his niece's fragmented ego as expertly as she handled fragile pieces of glass. As valuable an asset as she was in the classroom, Johnny suspected the lady would do far more good in the field of counseling. Too many of the professionals with whom he'd worked were either too clinical to be effective or were on some self-serving crusade to save the noble savage from extinction. Wary of both types, the students at Dream Catchers High spit them out without so much as chewing.

Annie offered his niece a tangible solution to ease the tension at home. “If money is the issue, tell your mother that I can help you access some incredible scholarships and grants that should lessen her financial worries considerably.”

“Money isn't the only issue,” Johnny interjected softly, thinking about the cultural issues that faced any child who left the reservation alone. Those who succeeded were often branded as traitors by those left behind and consequently had little desire to return home. All too often those who failed came home defeated and bitter. Those unable to deal with the stress of straddling two separate cultures and identities often succumbed to the lure of drugs. They returned to their families in coffins.

Attempting to bridge the gap between ethnicities was every bit as treacherous as it was a hundred years ago. Johnny knew firsthand how difficult it was to keep one foot firmly planted in his native soil and the other in the white man's world. Certain days he felt like a veritable wishbone.

Although Crimson Dawn didn't much like what Annie had to say to her about respecting her elders and working out differences politely, she listened nonetheless. She finally agreed to return home if Johnny would promise to stay with her until she and her mother worked out a truce.

“As much as I really would love having you live with me, we can't ignore your mother's wishes. As a minor, you're legally bound to remain at home unless your parents or guardians give you permission to live elsewhere,” Annie told the girl as she escorted her to the front door. She wrapped one arm
lovingly around her as she continued speaking in a gentle tone.

“Of course, ultimately no one can make you do anything you don't want to do. Your life is your own to live as you see fit. However, you only have one mother, and whether you're angry with her or not, you still owe her your respect.”

Johnny gave her a hard look as he loaded Crimson Dawn's tattered luggage into the back of his pickup and helped her into the cab. This was a side of Annie Wainwright that he hadn't seen before. Clearly this wasn't the first time she had worked with a troubled adolescent. That her past was a mystery to him shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. In general, he liked to keep his relationships with women as uncomplicated as possible.

And, speaking of complicated women, he wasn't looking forward to facing his sister any more than her daughter was. As good-hearted as she was, Ester could sometimes be cruel in getting her point across. It was little wonder Crimson Dawn had decided to take charge of her life in such an uncharacteristic, rebellious manner. Johnny was surprised it hadn't happened sooner.

Poor Annie was sure to get the blame for being chosen as Crimson's champion. After she finished with Crimson, he fully expected Ester to lambaste him about getting mixed up with the crazy white woman who had set out to willfully destroy their family. He doubted whether his sister was prepared to hear what he had to say in Annie's defense, but he was not about to let her be badmouthed in his presence. As far as he could tell, Annie's only crime was caring about others too much for her own good.

 

Although Annie was in bed, she was not asleep when Johnny returned a couple of hours later. Assuming that he would come back and let her know how the meeting with his sister had gone, she left the porch light on and the front door unlocked. He looked tired as he came to sit on the edge of her bed. Cradling his head in his hands, he gave her a brief update.

“The two of them are engaged in a major power struggle that no one is going to win.” Deliberately leaving out any mention of his “discussion” with his sister about his involvement with her, he took Annie's hand into his own. “But for now, at least, they're both settled down enough to agree to remain under the same roof until Crimson graduates this coming May.”

Annie sighed with relief. As tempted as she was to let the girl move in with her, she knew it wouldn't have been the right thing to do. Badly burned by another young girl who had reached out to her for help, she had vowed never to let her sense of compassion put her in such a perilous situation again. It was becoming far harder to keep that promise than she had ever imagined.