Cheyenne Dad. Sheri WhiteFeatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
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