Joan Pickart - Apache Dream Bride

That thought must be ignored. The matter of importance was to find a way to have the Dream Catcher send him back to where he’d come from. It was lonely and empty there, but at least he knew it for what it was.

Dakota narrowed his eyes as he stared at the Dream Catcher, willing it to speak to his mind, give him the answers he needed.

But the Dream Catcher was silent.

His attention was drawn to the carpet, and he hunkered down, running one hand over it.

How did Kathy grow soft, brown grass in her house? What manner of soil had she packed hard for her floor to have produced this crop of vegetation?

He placed his hands on his thighs and pushed himself upward to stand staring at the Dream Catcher again.

“Dakota?”

He spun around at the sound of his name being spoken in a quiet voice.

He saw Kathy in the doorway, wearing a red shirt of some sort, and man-pants of dark blue. She’d painted her mouth with light red, and her short, sun-colored hair was damp, curling over her head and brushing her pale cheeks.

The heat of desire rocketed through him again. Was she casting a spell over him, causing him to lose control of his basic needs, the command of himself, that he took great pride in?

“Are you all right?” Kathy asked.

“Yes, I’m all right.”

“While I was dressing I thought perhaps I’d imagined—” she swept one arm through the air “—all of this, you, the huge Dream Catcher. But what has happened to us is true. You are here, Dakota, and we have no choice but to deal with that fact.”

“Mmm.”

Kathy sighed. “I’m exhausted. The day has hardly begun and I’m so tired. This has been a very draining experience. I…Oh, my gosh, I have to get to work. I’m going to be late opening the store.”

She started from the bedroom, then halted her step, turning to face him again.

“I can’t leave you alone all day,” she said. “There are too many things here that would be new to you and you might hurt yourself. Besides, we need to concentrate on finding a solution to this…this mess. I’ll call Sally and ask her to cover the store.”

She hurried into the living room and telephoned Sally, who cheerfully agreed to run The Herb Hogan.

“I’ll be.fine tomorrow,” Kathy said. “I don’t feel well because…because my allergies are bothering me.”

“I didn’t know you had allergy problems,” Sally said.

“I didn’t, either. Life is full of little surprises,” Kathy said. And six-feet-tall surprises, too.

“We have herbs for helping allergies, Kathy.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Silly me. I forgot. I’ll probably come into the store later and fix myself up as good as new. Thanks for covering on short notice. Bye.”

As Kathy replaced the receiver she turned to see Dakota standing in the doorway.

“Where is your man?” he said.

Kathy blinked. “My man? I don’t have one.”

“He died?”

“No, I’ve never been married. In this time era, women often live alone.”

“Then who protects you? Feeds you? Makes a home for you?”

“ I do,” she said, splaying one hand on her chest. “I take care of myself.”

“That’s not the natural order of men and women. Women do not have the skills or strength to do men’s work. Wearing man-pants won’t help you achieve what you are not capable of doing.”

“Man-pants? Oh, you mean my jeans. It’s appropriate for women to wear…well, man-pants. These,” she went on, lifting one foot, “are tennis shoes. They come in all colors. I have on white ones, but I own a blue pair, a red pair, a…Never mind. I have a feeling you don’t give a hoot about tennis shoes.”

Dakota shrugged.

“You’re positive you feel all right?” Kathy said. “It occurs to me that it might be very hard on a person to be hurled through time.”

“I’m fine, except for being hungry.”

“You need some food? Well, all right. Maybe if we do something ordinary like having breakfast we’ll be able to approach this whole thing more calmly. Yes, that’s a good idea. When in doubt…eat.”

In the kitchen, Kathy immediately decided that if she attempted to explain to Dakota what a stove, refrigerator and microwave were, they’d never get around to eating. For now, she’d just let him be totally confused about all the paraphernalia.

She opened the refrigerator and removed bacon, a carton of eggs and a quart of milk. A few minutes later, the bacon was sizzling in a frying pan as she wirewhipped eggs and milk in a bowl.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dakota tentatively touching things, sometimes leaning forward for a closer look, before moving on to the next item that beckoned.

This kitchen, Kathy thought, was too small. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t big enough when she was sharing it with Dakota. There was more than just his size causing her to feel suddenly crowded and unsettled, it was also the aura of masculinity emanating from him. His raw, earthy, male essence was sensuously overwhelming.

She was acutely aware of her own femininity to the point that her skin tingled. Dakota was man. She was woman. Those facts should be nothing more than simple data. But it wasn’t simple for some mysterious reason.

No, she’d covered that topic while she was getting dressed. She was not going to fall prey to Dakota’s male magnetism. He wasn’t a man, he was a problem to be solved.

With a sigh, Kathy forked the bacon onto a pad of paper towels, drained the majority of the grease into a coffee can at the back of the stove, then poured the frothy egg mixture into the pan. Staring off into space she stirred the eggs in a steady rhythm with a slotted spoon.

A problem? Oh, dear, that was putting it mildly. She wished she could decide that this whole scenario couldn’t possibly have taken place and, therefore, it hadn’t. But she’d run out of ways to attempt to convince herself that it wasn’t true. Dakota was most definitely there.

“Smoke,” Dakota said, from where he stood behind her.

“What?” Kathy said. “Oh, my gosh, I’ve burned the eggs.”

She quickly lifted the frying pan to another burner on the stove, muttering under her breath as she vigorously stirred the eggs.

“Woman,” Dakota said, “you don’t cook well. I think perhaps you’ve spent too much time trying to do men’s work and have neglected learning how to properly perform your duties.”

“That’s great, just dandy,” she said, glaring at him. “I have a 1877 chauvinist on my hands. So, okay, this meal is a disaster, but I’m not my usual organized self this morning. This is not the way I ordinarily start my day. Got that? And don’t call me ‘woman’.”

“You are a woman.”

“I realize that, but the way you say it is demeaning. My name is Kathy.” She paused. “Oh, Dakota, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so cross with you. I’ m upset by all that’s happened. Let’s take a deep breath and eat breakfast, such as it is.”

She carried the meal to the table. Dakota followed her and stared at a chair. He watched Kathy settle onto one, then splayed a hand on the seat, pressing down on the smooth wood to determine its strength.

“It will hold your weight,” Kathy said. “Trust me.”

Dakota eased himself onto the chair, his muscles tensed should he find it necessary to move away quickly. A few minutes later he relaxed and scrutinized the offering on his plate.

The bacon was crisp, but the eggs were burned in spots and runny in others. He looked at Kathy, and watched in fascination as she shoveled eggs onto a fork.

“What is that tool?” he said.

“This? It’s a fork.” She poked it into her mouth, pulled it back out empty of eggs, then chewed and swallowed. “See? It’s a way of getting the food where it needs to go. Try it.”