Lindsay McKenna - Heart of the Storm

“So, you’re a coward and you ran,” he drawled.

Dana’s head snapped up. Rage tunneled through her as she held his merciless stare. “Don’t give me that male superiority garbage!”

“Call me Chase.” He held out his hand to her. “Come on, let’s go down to the hogan, Dana. You’ve had enough for one day.”

Staring at his outstretched hand, Dana saw so many little pink scars on it that she recoiled. There was nothing warm, comforting or nurturing about this man. Her teacher. Oh, Great Spirit, he was her teacher? Dana had felt a lack of confidence sitting before Grandma Agnes, as she’d asked her to bring back the Storm Pipe. Now, in the shadow of this mighty warrior, all the rest of her confidence fled.

Scrambling to her feet, Dana lashed out and knocked his hand away. He laughed. It was like listening to the far-off rumbling of her beloved thunder beings.

Chase Iron Hand was beautiful in a rugged way. But in that moment, Dana detested him, because she had none of his confidence or strength within herself. Without a word, she scrambled down the sandstone wall and headed toward the hogan. To hell with him! She wasn’t about to walk at his side and chitchat, pretending nothing had happened. He’d scared her to death! He’d made her think she was going to die, as Hal and her mother had. Hatred toward him rose within Dana as she hurried down the escarpment.

Chase grinned and watched Dana storm down the canyon. Her shoulders were now thrown back with pride, her chin jutting out at a very defiant angle. He eyed her appreciatively as he followed, noting her hips swaying like a willow tree in a summer breeze. Mesmerized by that liquid motion, Chase felt a new trap—longing for a woman. Again he squelched that need. It had no place here, for sure.

There was a barbed wire fence on the last tier of sandstone, a wooden corral nearby for sheep and goats brought up to forage. As Dana bent to slip between the strands, the barbed wire caught on the back of her blouse between her shoulders. She was trapped. She tried to free herself without tearing a hole in the material, and by the time Chase arrived, he saw frustration in her features.

“Go on,” she snapped at him.

“I can help.”

“That’s the last thing I want from you! Get out of here. I’ll see you at the hogan.”

Chase smiled briefly. Well, Dana was showing some pluck now. “Let me help.”

She jerked her head, and Chase saw loathing in her furious eyes. Good, he’d use that to train her with, too. He didn’t take her anger toward him personally. No, the Indian way of thinking was that the feelings a person had were his or her own—not someone else’s. Why should he take responsibility for how she felt?

Lifting her blouse, he delicately eased the barbed wire from the fabric. “A warrioress knows when to ask for help, too.”

What the hell was he talking about? This was the second time he’d made a reference to her being a warrioress. Chase was crazy!

The brush of his fingertips on her back sent a tingling feeling across Dana’s flesh. As soon as she was freed, she slipped through the wire fence and hurried away without even a thank-you. Gulping for air, feeling hurt winding through her, Dana walked with resolve toward the winter hogan. Right now, all she wanted to do was run—again. Away from this coldhearted bastard. Away from her mission.

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