Warrior in Her Bed by Cathleen Galitz Page B

wasn’t opening my past up to conversation,” he told her sternly.
    Having already been cast in the role of a meddler by his sister, Annie was more than willing to change the subject to accommodate his need for privacy.
    â€œFine by me.”
    She was relieved that he had no idea that she had been referring to her own memories.
    â€œHow about buying me a pop for the road?” she asked.
    â€œGreat idea. In spite of what my war buddy might think, the less we talk about the past, the better off you and I will both be.”
    Although Annie’s background in counseling told her otherwise, she wisely kept that to herself. Having never believed in forcing people to reveal pieces of themselves when they didn’t want to, she figured that the time would naturally come when Johnny would be ready to talk. Her suspicion that that would belong after she was a presence on the reservation made her inexplicably sad.
    Recalling her vow not to become entrenched in other people’s problems, Annie made herself focus on the ice-cold soda burning as it slid down her throat and slaked her thirst. She held the can to her forehead to help cool off her feverish body. As silly as she might have felt in a cowboy hat, it would have provided welcome respite from the sun. The dry air and higher altitude made skin as fair as hers more susceptible to damaging rays.
    â€œYou should have worn some sunscreen, little pale face,” Johnny told her. “You’re burning up.”
    From the inside out! she was tempted to admit.
    Instead Annie simply joked back in kind. “I guess that makes me more of a redskin than you, then.”
    She felt on firmer ground playing with words rather than emotions—or physical responses that left her all a jumble—either of which could land her in a world of trouble. Annie reminded herself that she could ill afford any more trouble at this juncture in her life. Turning more serious, she pondered her choice of words.
    â€œStrange how that expression was historically used to describe your race when tomorrow I’ll be the one who looks like a lobster. I suspect you’ll just be enjoying a deeper tan.”
    â€œOh, we get burned plenty. It’s just not as visible as yours. Personally, I’ve always been wary of skin-deep expressions,” Johnny admitted. “They only serve to categorize people too easily and inflame feelings of hatred. I’ve seen battles start over nothing more than angry words tossed back and forth overlines drawn in the sand. And I’ve witnessed firsthand the carnage they bring about.”
    Annie shuddered. Recalling the gang wars that besieged her old school, she hastened to assure him, “Myself, I’m more into peace pipes than pipe bombs.”
    â€œâ€˜Make love, not war,’ huh?” Johnny quipped, reciting a popular mantra of the sixties.
    The breath caught in Annie’s throat as their eyes locked and held for a long, tense moment. That such an innocent expression had the power to conjure up wanton images and alter the very molecules separating the two of them was beyond rational explanation. As the seconds lengthened and Johnny made no attempt to look away, Annie focused her resources on squeezing the air out of her lung and trying to make her mouth form any kind of recognizable syllables.
    â€œUh-huh” was the best she could manage.
    It came out in a breathless murmur that did nothing to dissipate the sexual tension vibrating between them. Having promised both herself and Johnny that she would remain a neutral observer during her limited tenure here, Annie knew what she was feeling was as far from impartial as one could get. As clear as her mind was about the dubious advisability of becoming involved with her boss and his hot-blooded extended family, her body stubbornly refused to heed the warning sirens going off in her head. Logic was of no use whatsoever when the man standing next to her was capable of