Heroes In Uniform (281 page)

He barked out a laugh. Definitely not new age woo-woo.

With a pair of sticks, he gingerly retrieved the small round patella from the fire ring. “It's a Cree rite to divine the future, one that traditionally predicts the outcome of a bear hunt.”

“Oh.” She crossed her arms, frowning.

“If you put a bear's knee cap on a hot rock and it wobbles around, it means a successful hunt,” he explained.

She looked torn between curiosity and dread. “Did it wobble?”

“No.”

She let out a breath. “Thank God.” She studied the bone cooling on his blanket. “So, you'll be unsuccessful, then.”

“Not necessarily.”

“But you said—”

“The
traditional
ritual is for bear.” He pursed his lips. “I may have other game in mind.”

Her eyes flicked to his. “Would it still work?”

Good question. Would it work for poachers? And did a negative outcome mean
they
would be unsuccessful, or would
he
be?

He leaned back on one elbow. “You believe in that stuff?” He indicated the bone with a chin jerk and a thrust of his bottom lip.

Her brow hiked. “Don't you?”

He picked up a smooth stone, rubbed it between his fingers, and ignored that last question. “I don’t know if it would work. I guess the whole thing comes down to whether or not an ancient rite is open to modernization.”

“And what do you think?”

“Hell, I don't know. I never even passed my medicine man exam.”

She chuckled, and he sat up and flung the stone far into the lake, where it landed with a quiet
plonk
.

“I just did it out of curiosity.” He shrugged. “Not a lot of opportunity to test out the old ways in the urban jungle, you know.”

“No, I s'pose not.”

He chuffed out a breath and lay back on the blanket again. “When I was young, I thought it was possible to transfer value systems from one culture to the other. I should know better by now.”

She rolled on her stomach and rested her chin in a curled up fist, gazing at him. “Yeah. Depressing, isn't it?”

He laced his hands together over his stomach and flexed his fingers once in a spurt if irritation. She acted as if she knew what it was like, but how could she possibly? He'd lay bets no one had ever lectured her on her savage ancestors, or subtly pushed her to try out for track and field, just because “her kind” was supposed to be good at running long distances, when all she really wanted was to play tennis.

“What would you know about depressing?” he said, not even trying to disguise the mild resentment.

She gave him a hard look. “Native Americans don't own a monopoly on having a hard time fitting in, Coop.”

This conversation was
really
beginning to annoy him. He scowled up at the sky, and crossed his arms stiffly over his chest. He probably looked like a goddamn cigar store Indian that had fallen over. “I don't want to fit in,” he muttered.

“That's a choice you Native Americans are lucky to have,” she shot back. “The culture I come from is five thousand miles away.”

He snorted. “And when have you ever had trouble fitting in, blondie?”

Barely Dangerous: Chapter Eighteen

Maggie looked through the flames of the fire at the harsh lines of Cooper’s face. Fit in?
Ha
. When had she ever?

Not because of hunting rituals or skin color, but because of a heritage that valued solitude over community, privacy over communication, measured reserved over showing one’s feelings. What if you didn’t agree with that culture of coldness? And were envious of the warmth you saw all around you? But were never quite accepted into it, because you’d never learned how to navigate all that public emotion...?

Hurt and anger swamped over her in a surge of bad memories.

“Yeah, you're right,” she muttered. She jumped up and brushed her hands together furiously. “The girl next door. That's me.”
Of all the blind, self-centered
— “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His scowl deepened, but when she started to stalk off, he rose to his feet. “Hey! How about the petulant half-breed buying the girl next door a drink?”

She clamped her jaw. “I don’t think so.”

He walked up to her. “That's what you came here for, isn't it?”

She struggled to keep her anger from boiling over at his presumption. It was obvious what he thought she’d come for.

The very worst part was, he might have been right. On both counts.

She was completely mortified with herself.

She froze a smile in place. “No.” She infused the word with sweetness and promise.

He looped a thumb over the leather belt holding his silver belt buckle. The shadow of his arousal rose subtly under his knuckles. “Tell me, pup.” His voice was low and inviting. “What
do
you want?”

The smug bastard
.

She stepped closer to him, tilting her face up so they were nose to nose. And murmured, “I want you to move your campsite away from my tower.
Far
away.” The sweetness turned to acid. “You said you don't want to fit in? Well, you don't. I liked my view the way it was.
Uncluttered
.” She bent down and swiped her flashlight off the blanket. “Break camp in the morning.” She spun to leave. “Go somewhere else.”

“You can't throw me off my campsite,” he called after her.

“Watch me, cowboy.”

“You don't have a reason. I haven't done anything wrong.”

An unladylike snort escaped her as she spun back to him. “No?” She planted her fists on her hips. “I am hereby revoking your fire permit. Effective immediately.”

“You can’t be serious.”

She looked around and feigned surprise. “I am shocked,
shocked
, to see you have a fire going.” She
tsk
ed. “And you with no permit.” She gave him a smug smile. “We don't tolerate lawbreakers in the National Forest, Mr. Cooper. You'll have to leave.”

With that she strode out of the clearing.

Barely Dangerous: Chapter Nineteen

Cooper's jaw dropped as he stared after Maggie’s retreating form.

What the
hell
had just happened?

He stood there staring into the darkness for a full minute before carefully dousing the fire. Returning the patella to his leather pouch, he took it to his tent and hung it just above his pillow in the
taawpwaataakan
—the dreaming place.

Then he grabbed his helmet and riding gloves.

They’d just see about that.

Barely Dangerous: Chapter Twenty

Maggie stormed up the path and onto the gravel pad under the lookout tower. She swallowed a strangled gasp when the beam from her flashlight struck Cooper sitting calmly on the hood of her truck, slowly buttoning his shirt.

Damn his hide, how on earth had he managed to sneak past her?

A frog that had set up housekeeping in the permanent puddle under the shower drainpipe croaked in the pitch blackness, the sound scraping against her raw nerves.

He jumped off the truck. “Point that somewhere else, will you?” He began tucking in his shirttails.

She faltered, and the beam dropped for a few seconds to the denim riding low on his hips. A bronze hand disappeared down the front of his jeans, riding a wave of blue cotton.

Quickly, she swung the light to the foot of the tower stairs and started toward them. “I don't expect you to pack up at night. Tomorrow will be fine.”

“I have no intention of packing up. You asked me to Gina's for a drink.”

She stopped dead and turned to stare at him. Honest to God, the man had some frigging nerve.

He rolled up his sleeves to below the elbow and looked calmly into her wide, incredulous eyes.

“I'm ready.” He leaned negligently against the truck, then lowered his gaze to the front of his clothes. “Is my fly open or something?” He looked back up, his face the picture of calm guilelessness.

Against her will, she glanced down at his zipper, then back up, in time to see the dim reflection of the flashlight sparkle off his grin.

He pushed off the truck and took a step toward her.

She backed away, thinking fast. “Fine. I’ll need my purse.”

She practically ran the whole way up the stairs. Her heart was pounding a hard rhythm by the time she reached the top. Two months of conditioning flouted the notion that her breathlessness was all from the quick climb. Or from the anger which was quickly dissolving into panic.

Holy crap
.

She stumbled inside, collapsing against the door as she shut it. She dragged two trembling hands through her hair, then launched herself into the darkened cab.

And tried to decide whether she should go for her purse...or straight for the nearest weapon.

Barely Dangerous: Chapter Twenty-One

Cooper pulled a pair of thin leather gloves out of his back pocket and slapped them against one palm. He wasn't sure what had gone wrong down at camp. One minute he was baring his soul, and the next, Maggie was throwing him off his campsite.

He would have to think about it sometime when he was able to have more than a single coherent thought. Right now, the only thing on his mind was the way her lips had parted just a fraction as she'd watched him tuck his shirt down his pants. And how he'd like to part those lips wider. A lot wider.

Okay, so two things.

He walked over and looked at the Yamaha. Anticipation spilled through his veins like a drug. He smacked the gloves in his hand again, looking up at the small cab atop the tower. Yep, a trip to Gina's on the bike should do nicely to convince her not to send him packing.

Even if it might prove his own undoing.

His gaze landed on the truck next to the bike. He frowned.

Well, hell
.

Barely Dangerous: Chapter Twenty-Two

When Maggie finally clattered down the stairs, the croaking of the frog ceased. A low whisper of breeze through pine needles was all Coop could hear.

He was sitting on the Yamaha, coaxing his gloves onto his hands. “Will you drive, or shall I?” he said into the darkness.

“I can drive,” she said. It sounded as much a statement of conviction as one of intent. “We'll take the truck.”

Scooting around him, she fumbled in her purse for the keys. She’d stabbed at the lock three times by the time he’d reached her. He grasped her shoulders and they stiffened in his hands.

He lowered his voice to a deep whisper. “You haven't ridden my Warrior yet. Wanna give it a whirl?”

She turned and shook her head. “It's not big enough.” Her eyes widened. “I mean—”

A second later, his surprised laughter echoed through the trees. “A smaller man might have taken insult at that, little pup,” he said. “But I assume you are referring to the bike's saddle.”

She covered her eyes and nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”

He pretended to consider. “You're right. That seat wasn't meant for two.” He reached behind her, relocked the truck, and grabbed her keys. “We'll take yours.” He guided her to the Yamaha with a firm hand at the small of her back.

“Wait. What’s wrong with the truck?”

He gave her a knowing smile. “Why? Scared to ride with me?”

“Ya think?” She tucked her thumbs under the sleeves of the flannel shirt she’d tied around her waist. “Why did you call me little pup?”

She was almost too easy. “It's what we call a baby bear in Cree.”

She blinked as he started the bike.

He pinned her with a gaze. “It's also a name we give to a messenger-bear sent by Memekwesiw, the Great Owner of the Animals, to tell a hunter where to find his prey.”

Even in the darkness he could see her face go pale. “But why would you call me that?”

He just smiled. Before she could protest, he slipped her helmet onto her head. “Come on. You promised me a beer.”

She eased gingerly onto the bike behind him and grasped the edges of the saddle instead of putting her arms around him.

Really? She thought he’d let her get away with that?

He let out the clutch and headed down the steep service road that wound its way down the mountain to the highway below. It was rough and rocky, and it didn’t take more than ten seconds before her hands clutched at his waist.

At first she tried holding onto him demurely, but he aimed for every pothole and rock in the road. Soon, she was clinging to him for dear life.

Much better
.

He thundered over a large bump in the road. Her arms tightened around him and her body pressed into his for a brief moment.

Good fucking night
. She wasn't wearing a bra.

Instantly, he was searching for another bump or pothole. And another. When they reached the blacktop highway, he took every curve going ten miles over the speed limit. Anything to keep her sweet curves pillowed up against him. And her tight little nipples drilling erotic holes in his back. Thank
God
she hadn’t put on that flannel shirt.

By the time they got to Gina's, he was hard as his Mossberg and loaded for bear.

He had to give himself a minute to cool down or he would definitely blow it.

He pulled into the lot and parked. “You go on in,” he told her after they dismounted. “I think a distributor wire might be coming loose. It’s running a bit rough.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “I can wait.”

“Go. I’ll just be a minute.” He knelt down and started examining the engine.

Because if she didn’t leave immediately, he was in danger of ripping off that flimsy tank top and tasting every inch of those succulent, tempting breasts.

And then starting in on the rest of her.

Barely Dangerous: Chapter Twenty-Three

Maggie strode toward the bar’s entrance, slipping on her flannel shirt to hide the embarrassing state of her breasts.
Holy cannoli
. Her nipples hadn’t been this hard since getting caught in a freak snowstorm two winters ago.

Well, at least Cooper had bought her a few minutes to come up with a plausible reason they were having a drink together. She had to tell the guys something that would make them understand it was just a drink. Nothing more.