Sheri WhiteFeather - Cheyenne Dad

“Mar-r-y Annie?” Dakota had stuttered.

“You want to bed her,” Harold had responded in that stoic manner of his.

Dakota had raised an eyebrow at that, an emotional ache poisoning his gut like a snakebite. It was true, he’d been lusting after Annie for over a decade, fantasizing like a randy schoolboy over the pert little blonde. But he couldn’t bed anyone. His legs didn’t work, and neither did the body part he’d always taken for granted. His crippling injury had left him impotent.

“I’ll adopt the kids, but I won’t marry Annie.”

“It’s your place to do so,” Harold insisted, invoking his status as Dakota’s elder. “Annie needs a husband as much as the boys need a father. I won’t allow her to raise those children by herself. If you refuse to marry her, I’ll find someone who will.”

Dakota stared at his lap, cursing the legs that wouldn’t move. How could Harold expect him to become Annie’s husband?

Because, he told himself several days later, he was supposed to be a warrior. A fighter. A man who had no right to turn his back on a woman and three children, no matter how much the idea of marriage scared him.

Dakota’s life had been spared in that accident, so maybe now Maheo, the Creator, was asking him to give something back. Duty and honor were a part of his heritage he had neglected for far too long.

“If it’s my place, I’ll marry her,” he announced, “but not until I can walk again.” And make love, he added mentally, deciding then and there that he’d be the best damn lover Annie Winters had ever had. All he needed was time. Determination. And plenty of prayer.

So Harold had agreed to keep the arranged nuptials a secret from Annie until Dakota regained the use of his legs. Only Dakota had taken it a step further. “She has to do the asking,” he’d told the older man. “Marrying me has to be her idea.”

Dakota studied Annie’s anxious expression. No, he couldn’t tell her the truth. She didn’t need to know that he had battled his injury so he could play ball with the kids, race through a meadow on horseback, ease himself into her arms on their wedding night.

He swiped his drink and took a huge swallow. He would never reveal that he had been preparing himself to become a husband and father—a family man.

Yeah, right. He scowled and placed the soda back on the table. Dakota Graywolf was, and probably always would be, a troubled cowboy. A rodeo champion who’d been trampled by the orneriest, most infamous bull in existence—a wreck that had inflicted more than just a physical challenge. Dakota had been plagued with anxiety ever since the accident, reliving the fall, over and over in his mind. The only cure, he knew, was getting back on that bull. And he would someday, but for now he had another priority.

“So you’re looking for a husband, huh?” he asked, faking nonchalance.

“Because of the children,” she reiterated.

“When would I have to do this?”

She gripped her soda can a little tighter. “As soon as possible. Are you saying yes?”

He wondered if he should hedge, drag out his answer. If he seemed too eager, she might figure out that he’d been forewarned. “I don’t know, I mean…” He watched her eyes cloud with fear and felt a lump of guilt form in his throat.

“Sure, I’ll do it. You know, for the kids. I am their uncle, and you’re right, in my culture that pretty much makes me their father already. And marrying you won’t be that bad,” he added for effect. “Hell, we’ve known each other for over half of our lives.”

She reached for his hand, touched it lightly. “Thank you. I’m sure Harold will approve. I’ve been so worried about losing the boys, but now…”

Although Annie’s voice quavered, her smile radiated genuine warmth, sending heat flaring through Dakota’s veins. He gazed at her lips, the rosy color and soft texture. She was beautiful. Dangerously beautiful. A feisty kid who had blossomed into an incredible woman.

“We need to make arrangements,” she said.

He studied the length of her hair, the pale color. With her white-blond hair and amber eyes, she reminded him of a lioness, a naturally sexy creature. And she owned a lingerie store, which had him constantly wondering what sort of lacy little under-things she wore. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“We need to set a wedding date, so I can tell Harold. I want to make sure he gets the adoption proceedings started.”

A lioness protecting her cubs, Dakota decided. “Yeah, okay. How about Las Vegas? Weddings are quick and easy there. I know Vegas pretty well.” The National Finals Rodeo was held in Las Vegas every year. He knew that town better than well.

“That’s fine. We should get this done as simply as possible. And I should probably get a sitter for the kids, too. Traveling would only wear them out.” She brushed a lock of hair from her eye. “Besides, it’s not as if this is going to be a real marriage. There’s no reason to make a fuss over the ceremony.”

He cocked his head. “Weddings in Vegas are real, Annie. They’re legal.”

She reached for her drink. “I know. But ours will be just a business deal. No love. No sex. That’s hardly a real marriage.”

Dakota’s heart nearly stopped.

No sex?

“You can’t be serious.”

The stern look she shot him said otherwise. She was serious, all right. She had no intention of sleeping with him.

Dakota righted his posture as a hot fist of anger clenched his gut. Anger to mask the pain, he thought. The disappointment. The horrible rejection.

Did she have any idea how long he had struggled to regain the use of his body? Two years. Twenty-four months of promising himself Annie Winters would be his reward at the end of long, grueling road. She was supposed to become his lover, the woman he would stroke and caress, hold on to at night.

“Fine, Annie. Whatever.” He wasn’t about to beg for his conjugal rights. He’d suffered enough humiliation.

She breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief, and he cursed what he was about to become—a man with a gorgeous wife and a nonexistent love life.

As Annie watched Dakota walk across the airport terminal, the butterflies in her stomach fluttered. He moved like a cowboy—long, lean and just a little bit mean. With a duffel bag slung over his arm, a Stetson dipped over his eyes and Wranglers hugging him like a well-worn glove, he drew plenty of attention. Somehow the slight limp rather added to his don’t-mess-with-me charm.

“There he is.” Mary Graywolf leaned forward. “Hmm. He doesn’t look too happy, does he?”

Annie tilted her head. He looked about as ornery as the bulls he used to ride. She had the feeling Dakota wasn’t particularly pleased about the no-sex clause in their marriage, but she knew their union would end once the adoption was finalized. Although grateful for his loyalty to the children, she wasn’t about to allow Dakota Graywolf to have some fun with her, then toss her aside.

“You know how moody your big brother can be.”

“No kidding. Just look at that macho attitude.”

Mary rolled her eyes, and Annie nibbled on a smile. She adored Mary. Her dear friend, Annie had decided long ago, was the only good that had come out of her father’s short-lived career.

Annie’s dad and Mary’s dad had been rodeo buddies, often traveling the same circuit, a teenage Dakota in tow. So consequently, after Annie’s dad had died, she’d spent youthful summers in Montana with the Graywolf family. The Graywolfs, it seemed, had influenced her life for nearly two decades now. It was through them that she had also met Jill.

Annie turned her attention back to Dakota. He strode toward them, dropped his bag onto the chair beside Mary, then glared down at his sister. She stood and glared back at him. The siblings looked like gunslingers preparing to draw.