The Borrowed Bride Read Free Page A

and fortune with the Urban Natives?”
    “Depends on your standards for fame and fortune.The band did okay. The last album went gold, and it got me into this place.”
    “I noticed the name of this place on the door—The Tomunwethla Lodge.” She brushed her hand over a woven wicker bean jar on a side table. “What does that mean?”
    Ah, she had trained herself well. He had always hoped she would acknowledge the past, maybe even come to cherish it as he did. But given Isabel’s background, that wasn’t likely.
    “Cloud Dancer Lodge,” he said. “‘Cloud Dancer’ is a song I once wrote. A really bad, crying-in-your-beer song. Probably the most popular thing I ever did.”
    Isabel rose and stood on a braided oval rug in front of the massive hearth. “So what’s the point?”
    “Of the song?”
    “Of everything.”
    He set down his beer and took her hand, leading her to the huge sofa facing the fireplace. A moose head with baleful glass eyes stared down at them.
    “The point of everything,” he echoed, blowing out his breath. He tried another grin on her, but she remained solemn. “Lady, you asked a mouthful.” He half turned, hooking a booted foot over his knee. God, he wanted to touch her, really touch her, to wake up the passion he knew was only sleeping inside her. But the way she was looking at the moment, he was afraid she might shatter.
    Just as she had five years ago.
    “First, my granddad got sick,” Dan said after a moment. “I moved to the town of Thelma to help look after him. And damned if I didn’t start to like it out hereagain.” He linked his hands behind his head and stretched out his legs. “Used to be, I couldn’t wait to get away from the rez, from the country.” Through half-lidded eyes, he watched her for a reaction. There was none. If anything, she seemed even more subdued. More withdrawn.
    Well, what did you expect, Black Horse?
    “My granddad died.”
    “Dan, I’m sorry.”
    “He was eighty-three. He left me a grant of land that’s tied to a treaty with the government dating back to the 1880s. Right around the time of his death, a timber company approached the tribal council, wanting to make a deal on clear-cutting.”
    “But this area is sacred ground,” she blurted out. Then she looked surprised at herself and fell silent.
    “Exactly,” he said. “But the deal was real tempting. When you don’t know where your next meal’s coming from, lunch with a grizzly bear looks pretty appetizing.”
    That coaxed an extremely small smile from her.
    “So I did some research. The lands are protected, but the council was leaning toward the timber company. I made a counteroffer. Got a special grant to develop a recreational area, sank everything I had into it and built this place. Just put the finishing touches on it a week ago.”
    “It looks as if it’s been here forever,” she said. “The lodge is really beautiful, Dan.”
    “It’s supposed to have that rustic flavor.” Flipping his wrist outward, he did a perfect imitation of Andy, the band’s former keyboard player, who had switched careers to interior design. “Without skimping on creature comforts.”
    Isabel laughed softly. The sound gripped Dan where he felt it the most—in his heart.
    “So that’s the short version,” he said. “If this is a success, I could open lodges in Alaska, maybe Belize or Tahiti in the winter—”
    “Why?” Her question was sharp and humorless.
    “Because I know what I’m doing.” Sort of. “Somebody else would come in and build a theme park. Probably stick totem poles up everywhere and sell shaman baskets for yard ornaments. I wanted something better. I wanted to do it right.”
    She stood and crossed the room, inspecting a cloth wall hanging and the tuber mask beside it. “This is just right. Really.” Even as his chest filled with pride, she paused. Maybe she was beginning to unbend a little. “I take that back. The snowshoes hanging on the wall are marginal. And the