Heroes In Uniform (297 page)

She loaded up her plate with ribs smothered in spicy sauce, corn-on-the-cob, and crisp-skinned potatoes. She and Rollo had nearly finished eating when they were besieged by a circle of the guys from the battalion.

Pete grabbed her plate and handed it to Gus. “Come on, Maggie! Let's dance.”

She'd been effectively shanghaied, so she just relaxed into the country two-step Pete led her in.

On the other side of the dance floor, Maggie spotted Cooper. Black Levi's, cowboy boots, and a shirt the color of the sky on a moonlit evening clung like shadows to his tall, masculine frame. His hair was tied back in the braid he favored. It was all she could do to keep her eyes off him. She stumbled badly when he led a shapely brunette onto the dance floor.

Pete helped her regain her balance, following her gaze. “Glad to see Coop’s enjoying himself.”

When Cooper bent close to hear the brunette’s coy whisper, his smile flashed almost as brilliantly as the silver wolf's head bollo-tie at his neck. Maggie turned away. “Not wasting any time, looks like.” She tried not to limp.

Or to cry.

“Can you blame him?” Pete said. “After you've spent the last hour cozying up to Roland Timmons?”

“I wasn't cozying,” she said, coolly studying the strings of colored lanterns crisscrossing the dance floor. “We were eating.”

The song ended, and as they waited for the band to start up again, Pete gave her a brotherly smile. “You sweet on this Rollo guy?”

“Hell, no.” Maggie laughed. “I hear he doesn't date anyone old enough to vote.”

Pete snickered. “So, you'd turn him down?” His gaze darted to the dance floor, then back to her.

She gave him a withering look. “I
did
turned him down. What are you looking at?” She pivoted, and saw Cooper watching her fixedly over a head of black curls. He had that look on his face, again—the one from the dream, just before he put the arrow in her heart.

Music filled the air as the band struck up a new number, but Maggie couldn't hear it over the ringing in her ears. Wordlessly, she walked off the dance floor.

She fled all the way to the ladies room where, with a shaking hand, she reached for a toothpick from a bowl on the sink. When she had finally calmed down, the counter was littered with broken toothpicks, and the bowl was nearly empty.

No matter where she turned, how tightly she closed her eyes, she kept seeing his face. That look frightened her more than the poachers, or blue sedan guy, or Whitney coming after her, or anything else in her entire life. With that look, he saw right through her layers of reluctance, defense, and denial, to pierce her very soul.

That look exposed her for the fraud she was.

It didn't matter how dangerous it was—she wanted him.

When he looked at her like that, there was no doubt he
knew
she wanted him. And when he looked at her like that, there was no doubt in her mind that he meant to take her.

Her body shivered down to her toes with fear.

And excitement.

She tried to convince herself she was wrong, that she was reading things into his expression that weren't there. She told herself she
could
resist him—for his own safety. And she insisted to herself that it
did
matter that he'd probably break her heart in the end.

She had herself just about believing it, too.

Just about.

Taking a steadying breath, she made herself walk out into the warm, sultry evening. The noise of the party rolled over her like a stickery tumbleweed, jarring her back to reality. She wanted to escape, to run back to her tower and hide, to avoid Cooper like an IRS audit.

She reached for another glass of champagne. Or...oblivion. That seemed a pretty good option, right about now.

She spotted Tommy and Gina lounging on a couple of lawn chairs under a giant oak.

So, how's life treating you?” Tommy asked jovially when she plopped herself down in a chair next to them. “Anything happen?” He gave Gina a sidelong wink and squeezed her hand.

“What would give you that idea?” Maggie crossed her legs and arranged her skirt decoratively around her.

“What's this I hear about Blue Wolf Cooper camping out by you?”

She lowered her gaze to her sandals. Was
everyone
was obsessed with the man? “Yep. Unfortunately.”

“What's the problem?”

“The man's a certified menace.”

“Sounds to me like you've got a good old-fashioned crush,” Tommy said, grinning.

“Clearly, you've had too much champagne.”
Him and Jane
. Totally delusional.

“Speaking of which.” Gina looked pointedly at Tommy. “How about
you
playing barmaid for a change?”

“A pleasure, my dear.” A look of affection passed between them, and he ambled off.

Gina turned to her. “You shouldn't be afraid of him.”

She raised a brow. “Tommy?”

“Blue Wolf.”

“I can't help it.” Maggie grimaced. “I just don't know what to do about him.”

“The bears are the Messengers,” Gina said. “Listen, and they will tell you.”

“I don't understand.” Maggie said, a knot of barbecued uneasiness growing large in her stomach. “How can I listen to bears?”

“You will know.” Gina's gaze sought out Cooper, who was sitting on the edge of a nearby table, tipping a last forkful of apple pie into his mouth. “You should tell him your dreams.”

Maggie stared at her in consternation. “What dreams?”

Gina just smiled. “Okay, then tell
me
about them.”

She bit her lip, debating with herself. “Well, I
have
been having some weird dreams lately,” she admitted.

“Tell me,” Gina said.

So, she did. Haltingly, she told her about the caribou dream—leaving out the part about the warrior being Blue Wolf. “He said he was going to kill me because he knew I loved him and wanted him to do it. Then he shot an arrow in my heart and I died.” She took a shaky breath. “He had this strange look on his face. It was completely unnerving.”

The sound of violent choking erupted behind them. She turned to see Cooper doubled over a bottle of beer, staring at her aghast, Gus pounding on his back.

She whirled back. She could actually feel the blood drain from her face.

Tommy returned just then, and handed her a glass of champagne, and one to Gina.

“Thanks,” Maggie murmured, and took a large, fortifying gulp.
Crap
. How much of her dream had Cooper heard?

Barely Dangerous: Chapter Sixty-Seven

Cooper was livid. Ignoring Tommy and Gina, he stalked up to Maggie, yanked her to her feet, and forcibly set aside her glass. “We need to talk.”

She must really have done some heavy-duty research to come up with
that
so-called dream. A Cree hunting dream. Really?

The kind of dream he had been trying so hard to receive for the past few nights. The kind of dream he had done special rituals to entice his way. The kind of dream that had eluded him in favor of a breathlessly carnal variety.

She must have been watching him closely to realize what he’d been doing.

But
why
?

“Leave me alone,” she gritted out as he dragged her away, out of earshot of the crowd.

“What the
hell
was that all about?” he demanded.

“It was just a stupid dream. Let me go.” She tried to yank her arm free.

He held her fast, and glanced over at the dance floor.

She balked. “I do
not
want to dance.”

Towing her to the large wooden platform, he hissed in her ear, “Dance, goddammit, or I'll take you somewhere more private for this discussion.”

“Wolf, please.”

He glared at her. “Do not call me that. Don't
ever
call me that again.” He pulled her roughly onto the floor and muscled her into a dance position. She shrank away from him, from the hostility he felt pouring from every inch of his body.

“What's wrong with you? What have I done now?”

He quelled her struggles with a look. But in her eyes he saw only pain and confusion.

Damn it
.

Damn it to
hell
.

He needed to calm down.

Earlier at the bar, Gina had
told
him Maggie was having dreams.
His
dreams. He owed her the chance to convince him this caribou dream was genuine.

He also recalled Gina's other words—that he had to tell Maggie the way of things. And his promise to do so.

He took a ragged breath and centered himself, closing his eyes, unclenching his jaw.

He’d been wrong about Maggie and Timmons—he'd overheard her telling Pete she'd turned the man down. The elation he'd felt knowing that she wasn't Timmons’ lover flooded back over him.
He still had a chance with her
...

But not if he acted like a thug.

He cracked loose the vise grip he held her in, and forced himself to uncoil his tense muscles.

He needed that chance. Regardless of her dream, he needed her. He couldn't blow it now. Not when she was within reach.

He had to convince her he was more important to her than whatever hold the poacher had over her. Convince her, one way or another, to be honest with him.

Or leave this place in defeat.

He looked down into the frightened eyes that searched his face so nervously, and cursed himself and the crazy fever in his heart that he couldn't seem to control.

What had she done? “Nothing, pup. You've done nothing wrong. It's my fault. All of it.”

Barely Dangerous: Chapter Sixty-Eight

Maggie watched Cooper's expression slowly shift, and wondered what fueled the enormous effort he was going through to conquer his rage. Whatever it was, the results were impressive. All that was left of his former fury was the steady throbbing of a blue vein in his neck.

Even so, she eyed him warily.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and gazed unhappily at the twinkling lights in the surrounding trees. “I’ll understand if you tell me to go to hell.” He slid his hands gently up to her shoulders. “But I want you to stay in my arms.” His eyes sought hers. “I need to hold you. Dance with me, Maggie. Please.”

How could she say no to such a heartfelt plea? “Okay,” she whispered.

The orchestra was in the middle of a soft, romantic slow-dance. Her heartbeat doubled when he took her back into his arms. Every fiber of her flesh was aware of his tender touch.

Why had she said yes? Of all the dumb things to do... She should stay far away from him, not be locked in his silken embrace. She did her best to keep him at arm’s length. But he only gave her a forlorn look, and pulled her body close to his. He imprisoned her with a muscular arm, slipping it all the way around her waist. His other hand rested lightly on her back.

For a long time he just held her as they moved to the music. She could feel his body slowly unwind as they continued to sway. As did her own.

Finally, she couldn't take the silence anymore. “Why were you so angry with me?”

His muscles flinched, then went very still. “Misunderstanding,” he answered at length.

“But—” She glanced up at his face as they drifted under a string of twinkling lights. She gasped. “You're hurt!” His cut lip and the ugly bruise on his jaw had not been visible in the murky darkness, but up close under the lights they were painfully obvious.

He cracked a smile. “It's nothing. A couple of goons tuned me up, is all.”

“But, why?” she blurted out.

He exhaled. “Over you, actually.”

“Me?” she said, shocked. She searched his face. The only possible explanation was— “Rollo? Oh, Coop, you didn't!”

He flashed a smile. “Nah. I could've taken Timmons with one arm tied. Hell, both arms.”

“Then, who?”

Wait. Hadn’t the sheriff said something about a couple of men checking up on him at the station?

Cooper gently pushed her head against his shoulder and brushed his cheek over her hair. “I didn't ask their names.” His grip tightened possessively around her. “They told me I should leave you alone. I assumed they were your brothers.”

“I don't have any brothers.”

The sheriff had said it was something to do with his cousin, though. What could
she
possibly have to do with that?

She pulled away and looked up at Cooper. “What did you tell them?”

“I said no.” He combed his fingers through her hair and nudged her head back onto his shoulder, turning her in a lazy circle on the dance floor. “They didn't like that answer. Thus, the tune-up.”

She was at a loss to explain it, either to herself or to him. “I don't know who they were. I wouldn't ever let anyone hurt you.”

He lightly kissed her hair. “I'm glad to hear that.”

The melody they danced to was slow and sweet, an old number from the forties, when half the world was off at war and the other half waited at home for them, when everyone was lonely as hell and singing the blues. They were in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by couples as lost in the music as they were, oblivious to everything but the partner they clung to.

“Forget about them,” he murmured into her ear, his warm cheek brushing her temple. “I missed you today.”

Her breath caught as he trailed his fingers down her back and over the curve of her bottom. He held his hand there, lightly testing her flesh as he rocked her back and forth to the music.

“I spent all morning with you,” she reminded him.

She tried to relax her bare arms across the rough fabric covering his shoulders, but it was impossible with his fingers stroking so provocatively over her backside. He brushed his other hand slowly, sensually, up over the skin revealed by the low back of her dress.

“Why did you run away from me at the river?”

She fought the fires started by his fingers sliding under the narrow straps that crossed at the center of her back. It was a losing battle. She arched against him when his hand passed over an ultra-sensitive spot on her waist, and again when he reversed his path and went back over it. She could barely speak.