Warrior In Her Bed. Cathleen Galitz

she crossed her legs and grabbed hold of the overhead strap as the pickup lurched forward down a road that resembled the washboard ripples of her driver’s hard belly. The stiff suspension of the vehicle rattled Annie’s teeth, making pleasant chitchat difficult if not impossible. Concentrating on the scenery rolling past her window, she did her best to dismiss the sexual tension building between them like storm clouds gathering forces in the distance with the potential of unloosing a tornado in the general vicinity.

      Johnny was of the impression that his passenger would have preferred riding in the bed of the truck rather than being strapped into a seat next to him. Annie Wainwright’s body language couldn’t have been any more unsociable had she erected a stone wall between them. He was thinking along the lines of the Great Wall of China. The way she wrapped her one free hand around her stomach reminded Johnny of a seashell curled protectively around itself. He wanted to tell her that she had nothing to be afraid of but couldn’t bring himself to utter the lie. The way his body was reacting to this woman’s proximity confirmed the fact that her fears were not completely groundless.

      That he wanted her came as a surprise to him.

      Reminding himself that Annie Wainwright was not his type did nothing to lessen the desire pulsing through him. He was naturally drawn to taller women of a similar complexion and background to his own. Usually the raven-haired beauties in a crowd caught his eye. Not to mention that he preferred women comfortable enough in their sexuality to flirt outright. Women willing and eager to make the first move.

      Painful experience had taught him that making the last move was far more to his liking.

      That a light-skinned, fair-haired woman of a rather prudish nature was having such a peculiar effect upon his senses was alarming, to say the least. His sister would surely be outraged by the thoughts playing havoc with his imagination. And while Johnny promised his niece that he would put forth an honest effort to give her mentor a fair chance to prove herself, he hadn’t expected to feel anything more for this woman than for any other of the other teachers he supervised.

      What he was feeling at the moment was decidedly not of a professional nature.

      Johnny reached over and turned the air-conditioning on full blast. Unfortunately, it did little to cool him off. For that reason alone he was relieved to reach the outskirts of Fort Washakie. Having traveled all over the world, it never failed to amuse Johnny to see the city population sign proudly announcing all 271 inhabitants of the small outpost to passing motorists. Some of the locals maintained that the reason that particular number stayed so constant was because every time a baby was born, another man left town. Having been on the receiving end of such questionable humor himself, Johnny refrained from repeating the old chestnut as he pulled into the dirt parking lot.

      The smell of fry bread wafting on an almost imperceptible breeze brought home memories of the grandmother who had raised Johnny and his sister Ester after their parents had been killed in a tragic car accident. Grandma dubbed the deep-fat fried treat squaw bread and, to this day, Johnny could think of nothing sweeter for the body and soul than rolling fresh, hot twists of it in pure sugar. Others preferred the bread plain or filled with seasoned meat and cheese, not unlike a taco. A single whiff was enough to announce the beginning of three days of singing, dancing and contests. It put him in a fine humor.

      After parking the pickup, Johnny proceeded to take Annie on a tour of the premises. The powwow was held in a circular arena surrounded by benches and protected from inclement weather by wooden awnings. Vendors set up stands around the perimeter. The jewelry was predominantly made of silver, turquoise and jade. Also on display was a wide variety of beadwork, leather crafts and toys, as well as an incredible array of food in quantities that astonished Annie.

      She expressed surprise that no admission fee was charged and kept looking over her shoulder as if someone might ask her to leave. Their first stop was at a concessionaire’s where Johnny bought her a cola and a sample of the fry bread that always took him back to a childhood home that might have been described as a hovel had it not been filled with the sound of his grandmother’s humming and the pride she instilled in her grandchildren as patiently and meticulously as the fancy beadwork she sold to make ends meet. For himself, Johnny ordered a “Big Indian”, a hamburger concoction served on fry bread that spilled over the edges of a large dinner plate.

      Glistening with the inquisitiveness of a sparrow, Annie’s blue eyes darted everywhere, reminding Johnny of the excitement he felt the first time he had attended a powwow. Even though Johnny warned her that she would end up a sticky mess, she nonetheless decided to fill her fry bread with honey. Moaning in delight over the concoction, she appeared to have absolutely no idea how delectable she herself appeared with a spot of sweet stuff dribbling down her chin.

      “Here,” Johnny said, stopping her in her tracks and pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket. “Let me help you.”

      Annie felt like an errant child only until the next moment when his eyes locked upon hers and the rest of the world faded away. Suddenly there was nothing between them but an expression of totally unexpected and inappropriate longing shimmering beneath the blue sky for anyone happening by to see. Annie tipped her chin up as if inviting a kiss. Johnny paused, considering the wisdom of licking the offending honey from her flesh before dragging her off to one of the surrounding tepees and making passionate love right then and there. Instead he put his forefinger beneath her chin and with staggering tenderness wiped away the sweet trickle with the corner of his handkerchief.