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Storming Whitehorn
Christine Scott















Stories of family and romance beneath the Big Sky!


Storm knew he was courting trouble.

He had never met a more beautiful woman than Jasmine. The longer he was with her, the greater his desire for her grew. But even more disturbing than desire, what he felt for her was respect.

Like everyone else in town, including the members of her own family, Jasmine could have gone out of her way to avoid him. After all, Raven’s death was his problem, not hers. She was under no obligation to help him.

But instead of running away, she’d taken on the responsibility of seeking the truth. She was risking wrath from her own family to help him. He had never known a woman quite like her.

Desire and respect, Storm mused.

A dangerous combination.











Storming Whitehorn

Christine Scott





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CHRISTINE SCOTT


says, “Since I was a kid, I’ve either been reading books or trying to write them. Growing up at our house, bedtime was strictly enforced—lights out at eight o’clock. But that didn’t stop me from sneaking the flashlight under the covers and reading until the wee hours of the morning. It wasn’t until I found my real-life hero, married him and had our three children that I gave serious thought to writing a romance. Then I finally got that first call from an editor at Silhouette, telling me she wanted to buy my book. For me, it was a dream come true. Now, many books later, I’m still hooked on romances.” Christine Scott grew up in Illinois, but currently lives in St. Louis, Missouri. A former teacher, she now writes full-time. In between car pools, baseball games and dance lessons, Christine always finds time to pick up a good book and read about…love.


To Bill, a great brother and a cowboy at heart.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue




Chapter One


“She’s never been this late before.” Jasmine Kincaid Monroe crossed her arms at her waist and stared out the large front window of the Big Sky Bed & Break fast.

Jasmine’s aunt, Yvette Hannon, joined her at the window. A tall, striking woman with classic features and graying hair, she exuded an enviable grace and confidence. Her smile reassuring, she placed a warm hand on Jasmine’s slender shoulder. “Knowing your mother, she probably bumped into an old friend in town and has lost all track of time. I’m sure Celeste is all right.”

“My mother hasn’t been all right in a long time. Not since—” Jasmine stopped, frowning as she averted her gaze.

“Not since they found Raven Hunter’s remains,” Yvette finished with a sigh.

Raven Hunter was a name from the past, which had only recently resurfaced with a vengeance. Thirty years ago, Raven and Jasmine’s aunt, Blanche Kincaid, had been illicit lovers. When it had been discovered that Blanche was pregnant, their affair had caused a scandal in the Kincaid family, as well as in the town of Whitehorn. Blanche’s brother, Jeremiah, had vehemently opposed any suggestion of his sister marrying a member of the Cheyenne. It hadn’t been long after Blanche’s pregnancy was revealed that Raven disappeared. Some say Jeremiah had paid him off, that Raven had taken what money he could get and run. Others say he’d loved Blanche too much, that he wouldn’t have abandoned her. They believed Raven was dead, most likely at the hand of Jeremiah Kincaid.

Apparently, the latter was true.

For, at the construction site of the new casino/resort that straddled the Laughing Horse Reservation and the Kincaid ranch, Raven’s remains had been recently uncovered. A bullet lodged in the rib cage confirmed Raven had died a violent death. The discovery set into motion a chain of events that had led to two more deaths, the most recent of which had hit too close to home. Jasmine’s family was still reeling with the news of their cousin Lyle Brooks’s death.

“This investigation into Raven Hunter’s murder is wearing on Mother. Why won’t she talk to us? If she’d just tell us what’s wrong…” Jasmine let the words drift into a frustrated silence.

Choosing her words carefully, Yvette said, “Darling, you have to understand what this must mean to your mother. I was at school in Bozeman when Raven disappeared, but Celeste was still there at the ranch. Despite Jeremiah’s opposition, she stood by Blanche during her pregnancy and when she gave birth to your cousin, Summer. She was also with Blanche when she died. It was a very trying time for everyone, but most of the burden fell on Celeste. Discovering Raven’s body has dredged up a lot of painful memories. Is it any wonder that your mother might be upset?”

“No, I suppose not. But she isn’t sleeping, Aunt Yvette. I hear her up at night, pacing. Last night, at two o’clock in the morning, I found her sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of her bedroom, surrounded by candles, burning incense and chanting.” She shook her head at the thought. “When she turns to the spiritual world, there has to be something more than just memories troubling her.”

“She was chanting?” Yvette’s brow furrowed. “Celeste does have a strong belief in the spiritual here after. Perhaps she was calling upon the spirits to help Raven find peace at last.”

“It isn’t Raven Hunter who needs to find peace, it’s my mother,” Jasmine said, her voice sharper than she’d intended. She sighed. “I’m sorry, Aunt Yvette. I didn’t mean to snap.”

“It’s all right, dear,” she said gently. “I know you’re worried.”

Absently, Jasmine touched the gold-plated compass hanging by a chain around her neck, and felt her heart catch with emotion. The compass had been a gift from her mother when she’d turned twenty-one and had returned home after finishing her training at the culinary school. Because of Jasmine’s love for hiking in the mountains, Celeste had told her it was her reassurance that Jasmine would always find her way home.

With the memory strengthening her resolve, Jasmine strode to the front desk and snagged her purse from behind the counter. “She should have been home hours ago. I’m not waiting any longer. I’m going to Whitehorn to look for her.”

Yvette followed her to the desk. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll take care of things here at the B and B while you’re gone. You will call, won’t you? If you find anything…anything at all.”

At the sound of her troubled voice, Jasmine squeezed Yvette’s arm. “I’ll call.”

Releasing her aunt, Jasmine strode to the front door. The heels of her cowboy boots tapped against the lobby’s pinewood floor, matching the nervous beat of her heart. She wiped a clammy hand down the length of her short pleated skirt. Despite late August’s cooling temperatures, she felt hot and sticky. Her eyelet shirt clung uncomfortably to the curves of her body. Pushing aside her discomfort, she stepped outside onto the large, open porch that ran the length of the front of the house.

By the time she reached the first step of the wooden stairs, however, she noticed a cloud of dust being kicked up on the lane that led into town. Jasmine stopped, squinting at the rapidly approaching car. From what she could see, the luxury car was a silvery gray, one that she didn’t recognize. An unexpected guest for the B and B, she supposed. With an impatient scowl, she reminded herself that she didn’t have time to greet a visitor. Yvette would have to handle this new arrival.

Gravel crunched beneath its tires as the car slid to a quick stop in front of the manor house. Coughing, Jasmine waved a hand in a vain attempt to clear the air of the dust whipped up by the skid. A fine layer of grit floated over her like a powdery blanket. Once the dust settled, the driver’s door opened and a tall, dark, handsome Native American man stepped out onto the driveway.

He was muscular, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His hair was straight and black, with touches of gray at the temples. He wore it long, to the collar of his buttoned-down shirt, and all one length. Lifting his sun glasses from the bridge of his nose, his dark brown eyes glimmered in the sunlight as he fastened a gaze upon her.

Jasmine froze, unable to move as he slowly raked his eyes up and down the length of her body. Never before had she been subjected to such a blatantly assessing stare. She nearly trembled beneath its weight. It felt as though he were undressing her with his gaze.

Despite the differences in their ages—his she guessed to be late thirties, or early forties; hers a mere twenty-three—she felt an instant stirring of awareness deep in the pit of her belly. A sensual heat warmed her blood. She was surprised by her strong reaction to this total stranger, but not intimidated by him. Instead, she returned his stare with a curious gaze of her own.

The stranger was the first to break the spell that seemed to hold them both. His deep voice rumbled in her ears as he asked, “Is this the Big Sky Bed & Break fast?”

“Y-yes, it is,” she said, stumbling over an assent. Rolling her eyes at her clumsiness, she cleared her throat and began again. “I’m Jasmine…Jasmine Monroe. My family owns the B and B. May I help you?”

“My name’s Storm Hunter,” he said, his eyes never leaving her face, as though testing for her reaction. He stepped toward her, closing the distance between them. “And I believe that I’m the one who can help you.”

Hunter? Jasmine’s heart skipped a beat at the name. Storm Hunter, Raven Hunter’s brother. She’d heard he was back in town. Her cousin David Hannon, a special agent for the FBI who’d been on a leave of absence since shortly after the remains of Raven Hunter had been found, had mentioned Storm’s tempestuous arrival in Whitehorn. The two men had nearly come to blows when Storm had refused to accept the lack of progress in the investigation of his brother’s murder. Apparently he bore a personal grudge against anyone with a connection to the Kincaid family.

Goodness only knew why this forceful man was now standing on the driveway of her family’s bed-and-break fast.

“I don’t understand,” she said, unable to hide the skepticism from her voice. “You want to help me?”

A corner of his mouth lifted in a semblance of a polite smile. “Perhaps I should clarify. What I meant was, I believe I have something that belongs to you.” With a sweep of his hand, he gestured toward the front seat of his car.

For the first time Jasmine noticed another person inside. There, slumped against the passenger door, was Celeste Monroe, Jasmine’s mother.

“Mother!” Jasmine gasped in alarm. She turned, calling over her shoulder for her aunt’s support. “Aunt Yvette, come quick. It’s Mother.”

Not bothering to wait for her aunt, she pushed past the disturbing Storm Hunter and hurried to her mother’s side. Wrenching open the car door, she was stunned by her mother’s pallid complexion. Her short, russet hair looked disheveled. A fine layer of perspiration dampened her skin.

Gravel crunched beneath his shoes as Storm joined her. She glanced up at him, her gaze accusing. “What have you done to her?”

He flinched at her bitter words. A reaction that he quickly hid behind a stony mask of in difference. His expression cool, he said, “I haven’t done a thing to your mother. She fainted at the sheriff’s office in Whitehorn. I was there when it happened. I offered to drive her home. She accepted. That’s the extent of my involvement.”

Jasmine’s face grew hot with embarrassment as she realized how unjust her accusation must have sounded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

The skin around his finely sculpted cheek bones grew taut. His jaw stiffened, his strong chin lifting in defiance. “There’s no need to apologize, Ms. Monroe. I assure you, I’m used to the white man thinking the worst of me merely because of the color of my skin.”

Jasmine felt as though she’d been struck by the words. “The color of your skin? Don’t be ridiculous. I never—”

“Jasmine…” Celeste’s fragile voice interrupted.

Forgetting all else, Jasmine leaned forward, reaching for her mother’s hand. “Mother, are you all right?”

“Take me inside,” she whispered.

“Of course,” Jasmine murmured.

“Jasmine?” Yvette’s breathless voice caught her attention. Her aunt’s cheeks were flushed from hurrying. Worry lines creased her careworn face. “What’s happened? What’s wrong with Celeste?”

“She fainted in town,” Jasmine said quickly. She glanced at Storm. “Mr. Hunter brought her home.”

“Mr. Hunter?” Yvette’s troubled gaze traveled to Storm.

“Yes, Storm Hunter. Mr. Hunter, this is my aunt, Yvette Hannon. I believe you’ve already met her son, David?”

The reminder of his and David’s ill-fated meeting, the one that had nearly ended in a fist fight, was uncalled for. But so was his accusation that she would judge another man by the color of his skin. When she saw Storm’s eyes narrow in irritation, she couldn’t help but feel a bitter sweet sense of satisfaction.

Now they were even.

Gracious as always, Yvette extended a hand in greeting. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Hunter. It’s, uh, good to finally meet you.”

If Storm seemed surprised by this show of cordiality, he didn’t show it. Instead he accepted Yvette’s proffered hand with a smooth smile. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Hannon. I hope your sister will soon feel better.”

“Celeste, right.” Yvette gave a quick nod, as though gathering herself to take control of the situation. “Jasmine, help me please. Let’s get your mother inside.”

Together, the two of them half lifted Celeste from the car. Celeste’s white cotton, Gypsy-style shirt had come untucked from the waist band of her long broom stick skirt. The gauzy fabric sagged against her shapely curves. As was her mother’s habit, somewhere along the way, she’d kicked off her sandals and was barefoot. Jasmine plucked the wayward shoes from the floor of the front seat to carry inside.

Flanking her mother on both sides, Yvette and Jasmine each held her by one arm. Slowly the three women headed for the front porch. As they neared the top step, Jasmine turned, glancing over her shoulder at the quiet figure still standing beside the silver car. “Mr. Hunter,” she said, “if you wouldn’t mind waiting, there’s something I’d like to tell you.”

Not bothering to wait for his answer, Jasmine turned away and led her mother inside.



Storm Hunter didn’t like being told what to do. Not by anyone. But most especially not by an outspoken young woman who was nearly half his age.

A part of him wanted to get into his rented car and leave this place, this home of the Kincaid family, and never look back. The other part, the impulsive, illogical part, was curious as to what Jasmine might have to say.

“Jasmine,” he murmured her name out loud, savoring the sound of it as it tripped over his tongue. An exotic name for an exotic beauty, he mused silently as he stood beneath the glaring sun on the white rock-covered driveway of the B and B, with his hands on his hips, staring at the door through which she had disappeared. Her image was as fresh in his mind as though she were still present.

Jasmine the woman, he decided, was a contradiction in terms. A delicate flower, as her name might suggest, though one who’d found roots and strength in the wild, untamed lands of Montana. With her black hair cut short in a pixie style, she seemed so young and innocent. The cut and color emphasized the paleness of her skin, the smooth perfection of her complexion and the classic lines of her features. Yet, at the same time, he saw the wisdom of an older woman in her eyes, one who’d experienced much of life. She was tall and slender, but with enough womanly curves to make any man stand up and take notice. Her eccentric way of dressing—black cowboy boots, a red pleated skirt and a white eyelet blouse—certainly made him wonder. Yet, the outfit hinted at a personality that was free-spirited and vivacious. Traits that he envied. Traits that he’d lost over the years, somewhere along the way.

Storm blew out an irritated breath. What was wrong with him? He was spending entirely too much time speculating about a young woman who was destined to play nothing more than a fleeting role in his life. She was a Kincaid. He was a Hunter. As history had already proven, the two did not mix. If it hadn’t been for her mother and his misguided sense of chivalry, their paths would never have crossed.

Earlier, when he’d stopped by the sheriff’s office on yet another fruitless call upon the investigator in charge of his brother’s murder case, he’d happened to bump into Celeste Monroe. To say her reaction to his appearance had been strong would be an understatement. One fearful look at his face and the woman had collapsed in a dead faint. She’d looked as though she’d seen a ghost.

It wasn’t until after she’d reluctantly accepted his offer of a ride home that he’d realized who Celeste Monroe really was. Celeste Kincaid Monroe, sister to Blanche and Jeremiah Kincaid, the very people he’d blamed all these years for the loss of his brother. The family who’d been at the very heart of his troubled life.

And now he was being unwise enough to let his hormones blur his judgment. He’d allowed himself to become intrigued by a Kincaid—a family he’d sworn to hate. Jasmine…

Though she’d never invited him inside, curiosity got the better of him. Quietly, Storm crossed the gravel driveway and climbed the steps of the large front porch. The double doors stood wide open, allowing anyone to enter.

Even an unwanted Cheyenne, he told himself, allowing his rancor to fester.

The floors were of polished pine. The rooms were large and spacious. The ceilings were high, measuring at least ten feet; rough-hewn beams graced the dining room ceiling. Natural wood trim stretched as far as the eye could see. The house itself was mostly furnished with the clean lines of the mission-style decor, but there were enough chaise longues and over stuffed club chairs to make a guest comfortable.

Storm stepped through one of the living room’s set of French doors and onto a wide screened-in porch. The porch ran the length of the back of the house. From here, the view of Blue Mirror Lake was spectacular. Its flat, shiny surface, indeed, looked like polished glass. A dense forest of pine trees surrounded the property, and the air was thick with their pungent scent. In the distance, he saw the mountains of the Laughing Horse Reservation.

His breath caught painfully at the sight. Though he’d traveled many miles to escape from his past on the reservation, he could never completely leave behind its harsh memories. He glanced around the bed-and-break fast, at the casual display of Kincaid wealth, and felt a bitter taste rise in his throat. No matter how many college degrees he might acquire, or how much money he made in his law practice in New Mexico, he would never forget his troubled past, his poor, hand-to-mouth up bringing. He would never be able to stand tall in a world that included the Kincaid family.

With the ghosts of the past chasing him, Storm whirled away from the sight of the reservation and strode back into the house. The heels of his shoes pounded against the pine floor as he made his way to the front door. But he didn’t care about the noise. He didn’t care about anything but escaping.

“Mr. Hunter…Storm.” There was a note of desperation in Jasmine’s sweet melodic voice.

Storm clenched his jaw in annoyance and told himself to keep walking. Don’t look back. Don’t stop, no matter how great the temptation might be.

Her boots tapped an urgent beat against the wood floor as she hurried toward him. Guiltily, he heard the breathless quality of her voice as she called, “Please wait. I’d like to talk to you.”

A heavy hand of frustration pressed against his shoulders, slowing his pace. Though he was only a few steps from a clean getaway, he couldn’t find the strength to abandon her. He chided himself for being so weak-willed and wondered what it was about this woman that, when she was near, made him lose all sense of judgment.

Wheeling to face her, he didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. “Ms. Monroe, I’m very busy. I don’t have time—”

“This won’t take long,” she assured him. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion. Her chest rose as she took in a steadying breath. “I—I just wanted to thank you.”

He raised a brow in disbelief. “You want to thank me?”

She nodded. “That, and to apologize.”

He didn’t respond. Instead he waited for her to continue, purposefully schooling his face to be void of expression, uncertain whether to trust her unexpected change of heart.

“Earlier I jumped to the wrong conclusion. When you brought my mother home, she looked so weak and helpless, I—I was shocked. I said the first thing that popped into my mind. I accused you of hurting her, without knowing the facts. For that I’m truly sorry. Please don’t think that I would judge you, or anyone else, for that matter, solely on the color of their skin. Because it just isn’t true.”

He believed her.

During her plea for understanding, Jasmine had looked him straight in the eye. Her gaze had never wavered, not once. Either she was the coolest liar he’d ever met, or she was telling the truth.

He’d bet the house on the latter.

Grudgingly he asked, “Your mother, is she all right?”

“She’s fine,” she said, striving for a light hearted tone, and failed. Blushing, she gave a self-deprecating smile and added, “Or at least she will be, now that she’s home. Thank you, once again, for taking care of her.”

Then, with the impetuousness of the young, she reached out and enfolded him in an innocent hug of gratitude.

While he told himself the gesture was probably not unusual for this woman who seemed so open with her own feelings, he wasn’t prepared for such a free-spirited reaction. To his chagrin, his body reacted in a most uncordial manner.

With her soft curves pressed against him, he felt himself harden in response. His hands caught her waist with the intention of pushing her away. Instead he found himself pulling her closer.

As though she sensed a shift in the mood, Jasmine pulled back. With her hands still linked behind his neck, she lifted her eyes to his. A slight frown wrinkled her brow. Her look was not one of alarm, but rather of curiosity.

Her face was turned upward to his. Her lips, so soft and full and inviting, proved too much of a temptation. Once again, he lost his battle with will-power.

Knowing full well all the reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this, Storm was unable to stop himself. Slowly, his eyes never leaving her face, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers.

He heard the quick inhalation of her breath, felt the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest, and waited for her to resist. But she didn’t. Instead she leaned forward, tilted her head in a more accommodating position and silently encouraged him to deepen the kiss.

Logic and reason escaping him, he brushed his tongue against her lips and felt them open to him. Gently he explored the moist heat of her mouth, savoring its sweet taste.

Closing her eyes, she collapsed against him, letting her softness mold his body. She clung to him, burying her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck, bringing a delicious shiver coursing down his spine.

A low moan of desire escaped his throat as he tightened his grip on her waist and let the kiss deepen. Storm had never felt this way before, this recklessness, this intense yearning for more. Proof was in the fire in his belly, as well as in his heart. This was different. Jasmine was different. After a lifetime of loneliness, it had taken him only a moment to realize what had been missing.

She was the one.

He had finally found his soul mate.

The unexpected thought came from out of no where, chilling him. Abruptly he ended the kiss. Winded, he sucked in deep drafts of air as he stared down at her flushed face. Her lips were swollen from his caress, and her eyes sparkled with an excitement that he had ignited. He felt another surge of desire for this woman deep in his loins.

He tore his gaze from her face and forced himself to look at the pale, white arm that rested against his own coppery skin. Once again, the differences in their lives came crashing down upon him, screaming out to him what a fool he’d been.

Jasmine Kincaid Monroe would never be his soul mate. The only thing they shared was a star-crossed history. What he felt for her was lust, plain and simple.

As his brother before him, he wanted what he could not have. The sooner he realized that, the better.

With the harsh reminder echoing in his mind, he pushed himself from the tempting warmth of her embrace and turned away. He hurried outside. Rocks crunched beneath his shoes as he strode to the car. He slung himself into the front seat, gunned the engine to life and shifted the car into gear. Gravel and dust spewed from beneath the tires as he spun out onto the driveway.

Midway down the lane into town, he allowed himself to glance into the rearview mirror. Like a dream that had disappeared upon waking, Jasmine was no longer there.




Chapter Two


Jasmine felt numb the next morning as she stared across the rolling green slopes of the Whitehorn Cemetery. The sky was overcast, the sun hidden behind a bank of storm clouds, making the white marble head stones and the simple lime stone crosses appear almost luminescent in the false twilight. A cool breeze swept the grounds, carrying with it the promise of the long winter ahead. She shivered in her simple black dress, wishing she’d remembered to bring a sweater.

Moodily, she blamed her lack of fore thought on Storm Hunter. Him, and his damned kiss. Since yesterday she’d been unable to think of little else. Thoughts of Storm and their encounter had left her restless and preoccupied. He’d come and gone in a blink of an eye like a fast-moving tornado, but the damage he’d left behind had been devastating.

Her womanly pride had been shattered.

Pushing the troubling thought from her mind, she concentrated on the ceremony taking place. Along with a small gathering of the Kincaid clan, Jasmine had come to pay her respects to a cousin she barely knew. For this was the day that Lyle Brooks was being laid to rest.

While they’d been close in age, only a year apart, Lyle had spent most of his life in Elk Springs. It wasn’t until recently that he’d made his presence known in Whitehorn. A presence that had spelled trouble from the start.

Though the details were still sketchy, Lyle’s fateful business dealings had rocked the small town of Whitehorn. He’d been a major player in the planning of the casino/resort that would encompass both the Kincaid property and the Laughing Horse Reservation. His grandfather, Garrett Kincaid, had entrusted him to oversee the family interest in the project. A decision that an obviously distraught Garrett now regretted.

For reasons unknown, Lyle had killed one of the construction workers at the building site by pushing him off of a forty-five-foot ledge. When Gretchen Neal, the lead detective on the case, uncovered his culpability in the crime, Lyle had tried to kill her to silence her. Before he could carry out his plan, Jasmine’s cousin, David Hannon, had shot and killed him in a gun battle.

Construction on the new casino/resort had been halted, its future in limbo. The business deal, which would have been profitable for both the town of Whitehorn as well as the members of the Laughing Horse Reservation, had been dealt a lethal blow. One from which no one was certain it would recover.

Now they were gathered here to pay their respects to a man who hardly deserved them. Even before they’d discovered the extent of Lyle’s evil, Jasmine had never felt comfortable around her cousin. He’d had such a dark aura, and there were always too many bad vibrations emanating from him.

Jasmine frowned. Dark aura? Bad vibrations? Good grief, she was starting to sound like her mother. She sighed. Mystical nonsense, or not, Lyle Brooks was one man whose spirit she wanted to see settled, not roaming free to cause more heart ache.

She scanned the group, looking for familiar faces. Her mother and her sister, Cleo, were nearby. As well as Aunt Yvette and Uncle Edward, with their daughter, Frannie, and her husband Austin, at their side. Noticeably absent, however, was their son, David, the man responsible for Lyle’s death, and his fiancée, Gretchen Neal, whom he intended to marry come spring.

Garrett Kincaid, with his distinctive head of silver hair, stood tall and straight at the front of the group, supporting his grief-stricken daughter, Alice Brooks, Lyle’s mother. Alice’s husband, Henry, hovered at his wife’s side, helplessly patting her arm, trying to ease her sorrow. Henry looked pale and hollow-eyed, devastated by the loss of his only son.

Across the way, Jasmine spotted her cousin, Summer Kincaid Night hawk. When Summer’s mother, Blanche Kincaid, had died, Yvette and Celeste had taken her under their wing, raising her as their own daughter. Inseparable since childhood, Jasmine and Summer were like sisters. Now, though Summer wore a somber expression and her long dark hair was gathered into a severe bun at the back of her head, Summer glowed with an internal happiness that couldn’t be dimmed even in the darkness that surrounded this day. Obviously marriage to Gavin Night hawk agreed with her.

Some of the new cousins were in attendance also. These were the illegitimate sons of Larry Kincaid, Garrett’s only son, who’d recently been united on the Kincaid ranch. While Jasmine barely knew this new batch of relatives, it felt good to have them gathered around her. It gave her hope for a new beginning, the possibility of a familial closeness yet to come.

The minister’s final blessing rose above the cry of the wind and Alice Brooks’s sobs of grief, signaling an end to the service. With a nod toward Garrett, the minister picked up a handful of newly spaded dirt and tossed it onto the bronze casket as it was lowered into the ground. In turn, Garrett and Henry Brooks followed suit, letting a fistful of dirt sift through each of their hands.

When it was Alice Brooks’s turn to perform the ritual, she stood beside the gravesite, shaking uncontrollably. Then, with an ear-piercing scream of anguish, she threw herself onto the casket, wailing in consolably. The winches holding the coffin shuddered at the added weight. The grounds keeper operating the lift fumbled with the switch, cutting the power. A communal gasp of surprise arose from the crowd.

“For God’s sake, Alice. What are you doing?” Garrett called, reaching for his daughter.

At first Henry Brooks stood frozen to the spot, his eyes wide, his mouth dropping open in surprise. At the sound of his father-in-law’s gruff voice, he gave a visible shake, ridding himself of his stupor. Quickly he grabbed for his wife.

Alice clung to the casket, stubbornly refusing to relinquish her death grip. Jasmine’s heart went out to the woman. Though Alice had a reputation for being shrewish, no one deserved to suffer such grief. After a few agonizingly discomfitting moments, the two men finally coaxed her to loosen her hold. They pulled her away, half carrying, half leading her from the gravesite.

The crowd dispersed amid murmurs of shock at the dramatic scene they had just witnessed.

Shaken by the unexpected events, Jasmine turned to leave. As she did so, she spotted a tall figure at the fringe of the gathering. He stood apart from the group, almost hidden beneath the shading branches of one of the many pine trees that stood sentry over the hallowed grounds. But she had no trouble recognizing him.

It was Storm Hunter.

Her heart skipped a beat as she stopped and stared at him, wondering why he’d come. Though he saw her, he didn’t move, nor did he look away. Instead he held her gaze without flinching.

In deference to the day’s event, he wore a black, double-breasted suit. His starched-white shirt complemented the darkness of his skin. His long hair was slicked back GQ-style, emphasizing his high cheekbones and the sculpted line of his jaw. Despite his grim expression, he looked breath-stealingly handsome.

Memories of the kiss they’d shared flooded her mind, warming her skin with a sensual flush of heat. She could still feel the pressure of his mouth against hers, could still taste his lips. Desire still pulsed through her body.

Though her pride had taken a blow when he’d left her without a word of explanation, she found herself drawn to him like a willow branch to water. She stepped toward him, her mouth curving into a tentative smile of greeting.

But the cold, prohibitive look in his eyes stopped her. Jasmine stumbled to a halt, shivering beneath his frosty glare. Holding her gaze for just a moment longer, he turned away, spurning her once again.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t think what to do next. An unfamiliar chill of rejection enveloped her, stiffening her limbs, numbing her mind. Never before had she been rebuffed by a man twice in as many days. The experience was as humiliating as it was crushing to her ego.

Until now she’d thought of herself as a desirable woman. At least, the men in town had certainly made her feel that way. She’d never wanted for a date, not since she’d turned a sweet sixteen. But with all their clumsy attempts to woo her, none of the local men had ever come close to arousing in her the earth-shattering sensations she’d experienced with Storm’s single kiss. What made his rejection even harder to understand was that she could have sworn Storm had felt the same way.

“Jasmine?” Summer’s soft voice interrupted her pensive thoughts. She linked arms, pulling Jasmine close to her side. “You’re trembling. Are you all right?”

Jasmine watched Storm’s departure through the cemetery while trying to focus on her cousin’s words. “It’s just the wind, the cold. I’m fine, really.”

Summer frowned. “You don’t look fine. You look as though you’ve lost your best friend.”

No, just a chance at something wonderful.

Summer followed the direction of her distracted gaze, her frown deepening. “Do you know that man?”

Jasmine bit her lip, hesitating before answering, uncertain what to say. Storm Hunter was Summer’s uncle. Though Storm had left Whitehorn long before her birth, and had never bothered to contact her since, he was still her closest living relative on her father’s side. She wasn’t sure what Summer’s reaction might be to his appearance.

Unable to lie to her cousin, Jasmine said, “That man was Storm Hunter, your uncle.”

Summer flinched at the words. Her gaze startled, she looked across the cemetery grounds to the chapel’s parking lot where Storm was climbing into his car. Pain and confusion filled her eyes. And Jasmine realized she wasn’t the only woman feeling rejected.

Jasmine muttered an oath beneath her breath. Damn the man. Since arriving in Whitehorn, Storm Hunter had caused nothing but trouble for every single person his presence had touched.

Hadn’t he done enough damage?

For her sake, as well as her family’s, perhaps it would be best if he returned to where he’d come.



One hand clenching the steering wheel, Storm put the cemetery far behind him. With his free hand, he loosened his tie and wrenched it from the collar of his shirt. Fumbling blindly with the top button, he breathed a sigh of relief as it popped open. A suit and tie were his daily lawyer’s uniform, but today the outfit felt as though it were choking him.

At least, that was the excuse he allowed himself for his agitated state. He refused to blame his foul mood on his reaction to seeing Jasmine again. He told himself that the white-hot flash of desire he’d felt had nothing to do with his quick departure from the cemetery. Nor did it have anything to do with the lingering conviction that somehow he and Jasmine were fated to be together. No, he wasn’t running away. He’d merely accomplished what he’d set out to do—see for himself the family that had destroyed his life. The Kincaids.

Only, until he saw her standing alone amid the mourners, he’d forgotten that one of the Kincaids included a member of his own family. Summer Kincaid, his brother’s only child.

Storm drove slowly through Whitehorn’s downtown area, passing the police station and the movie theater. Down the street from the court house, he spotted the Hip Hop Café. Though it was too early for lunch, he didn’t think he could face the four silent walls of his hotel room. He needed a place where he could go to unwind and not have to listen to the sound of his own guilty conscience.

He pulled into a space and parked the car. Tossing his suit coat into the back seat, he headed inside the café. A country tune by Garth Brooks greeted him at the door. A handful of patrons were scattered around the café, some at the counter, others in booths. Heads turned at his entrance. Curious glances followed him as he made his way to a booth in the back. Whether they were staring at him because he was a Native American or because he was over-dressed for the lunch time crowd, he wasn’t sure.

Since arriving in Whitehorn, he hadn’t felt an open hostility from any of its residents. Though he couldn’t say he felt welcomed, either. Bigotry was alive and well across the country. Whitehorn was no worse or no better than any other town. No matter how much he’d like for it to be different, he would never be able to convert everyone to a world of complete acceptance.

A waitress with a bright smile and long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, joined him at his booth. She plunked a menu down onto the Formica-topped table and set a coffee mug next to it. Without asking, she filled his cup to the brim with the steaming brew. “If you’re looking for break fast, you’re half an hour too late. We’ve already got the grill set up for lunch.”

Storm shook his head. “That’s okay. Coffee’s fine for now.”

“Sure thing,” she said with a nod. “My name’s Janie. If you need anything else, just holler.”

Storm watched as Janie made her way to the front counter. His mind drifted back to the haunting scene he’d witnessed at the cemetery. Other than Alice Brooks’s histrionics, he had to admit the Kincaid family had seemed normal. They weren’t the monsters he’d remembered them to be as a child.

For years he’d clung to his hatred of the Kincaid family like a lifeline, finding solace and strength in bitterness. He’d blamed them for Raven’s unexplained disappearance, not wanting to believe that his brother would have abandoned him unless he’d felt he’d had no other choice. While Raven had talked little of his affair with Blanche Kincaid, Storm knew he’d been disturbed by Blanche’s older brother, Jeremiah. Jeremiah had been the devil incarnate. He’d belittled Raven in public and had threatened him in private. There was little doubt in Storm’s mind that Jeremiah Kincaid had played a role in Raven’s death.

If only he could get the police to agree.

Storm picked up his mug, blew the steam off the top and took a sip of the hot coffee. Once the mystery behind his brother’s death had been officially solved, he intended to be on the first plane back to Albuquerque. There was nothing here to keep him in Whitehorn.

Nothing but a family he’d turned his back on.

And a niece he did not know.

Storm set the mug back on the table. He stared at the clouds swirling across its cooling surface, as though searching for a way to soothe his guilt. In the days since he’d returned to Whitehorn, he’d seen Summer a handful of times. Always from a distance, never face-to-face.

He’d told himself he was waiting for the right moment to approach her. Only that moment had yet to come. Today he’d been just a few feet from finally meeting her. But as was too often the case, when it came to facing up to his personal responsibilities, he’d chosen the easy way out. He’d run.

Storm closed his eyes and took in a painful breath. For thirty years he’d lived with the thought that his brother had abandoned him. Wounded and betrayed, he’d purposefully distanced himself from the town and the people that had reminded him of his loss.

But now he knew the truth. Raven had died all those years ago.

Storm had run out of excuses to hide. His brother was gone for good. But Raven’s daughter was still alive and well. And she was his last link to the only person he’d ever loved.

With a deep sigh, he opened his eyes. Glancing around the cafГ©, he caught the eye of the blond-haired waitress.

Smiling, she strolled over to his booth. “Did you change your mind about lunch?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d just like to pay the bill.”

“That’s too bad,” she said, tearing a page from her receipt book and placing it on the table in front of him. “Fried chicken’s the special today. The cook fixes a mean bird.”

Storm gave a polite smile. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry. Maybe you could help me with something, though. I’m looking for someone. Summer Kincaid. Do you know her? Or where I might find her?”

“Summer? Sure, I know her. She’s a doctor. Your best bet at finding her would be at the Whitehorn Memorial Hospital, or the clinic she runs at the Laughing Horse Reservation. If you can’t find her at either of those two places, she’s probably at home taking care of her baby step daughter, Alyssa. Her number’s in the phone book. Only look under the name Night hawk.” The waitress winked as she turned to leave. “She’s a married lady now.”

Night hawk. So Summer had married a Cheyenne. Despite being raised by the Kincaids, she’d chosen to live her life with a Native American. He felt vindicated by the thought.

He knew her name and how to reach her. Now all he needed was the courage to call her.



Slowly, Jasmine replaced the receiver in its cradle. Frowning, she stared at the phone. Summer had just called. Shortly after Lyle Brooks’s funeral, she’d received an unexpected call from her uncle, Storm Hunter.

He’d asked to meet with her. Summer had agreed.

Only, Gavin was busy and unable to be with her. Summer felt the need for family support at this initial meeting with her long lost uncle and had asked Jasmine to join her.

Jasmine bit her lip. She’d do anything for her cousin, and she’d felt honored that Summer had turned to her in her time of need. As the baby of the family, Jasmine had spent most of her life being taken care of, not caring for others. She’d longed for the chance to prove herself to be mature and responsible in her family’s eyes. Finally she’d been given that chance.

If only Storm Hunter wasn’t a part of the picture.

She dreaded the thought of seeing him again. She didn’t know how much more humiliation she could take in one day. Even if he was Summer’s uncle, the man was unforgivably rude.

“Jasmine, who was on the phone?”

She looked up to see her mother approaching the front desk. This afternoon Celeste looked more like her old self. A healthy flush colored her cheeks and dressed in a tea-colored tunic and loose-fitting pants, she looked relaxed and at ease for the first time in days. Jasmine hated the idea of disrupting her fleeting moment of peace. “It was Summer,” she admitted.

“Summer? Is everything all right? The baby isn’t sick, is she?”

“No, nothing like that…it’s just—” She stopped, struggling to find the right words. Knowing there was no easy way to break the news, she said, “Storm Hunter called. He wants to meet with her.”

The healthy color drained from Celeste’s face. She sat heavily on a tapestry-covered chair. “Oh, my. I knew it was only a matter of time before he’d seek her out. I suppose there’s no avoiding it.”

“He is her uncle,” she reminded her mother.

“I know. Believe me, I know.” Her hands shook as she brushed a strand of russet hair from her face. She took in a deep, cleansing breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. “I only wish Summer didn’t have to face him alone.”

“She’s not,” Jasmine said carefully. “I’m going over to her house now. She’s asked me to be with her when he arrives.”

Her mother surged to her feet. “Absolutely not. I don’t want you anywhere near that man.”

Jasmine blinked, stunned by the outburst. “Mother, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious. The man’s a Hunter. He belongs to a family that has brought us nothing but heart ache. I forbid you to see him.”

“You forbid me?” Jasmine’s voice rose in self-righteous indignation. Since she had returned to the B and B and had taken over all of the kitchen duties, her mother had been treating her as an adult, with respect and admiration. Having Celeste now treat her like a strong-willed teenager was devastating to her ego. “Mother, I’m not a child. I’m twenty-three years old. You can’t send me to my room if I don’t want to do what you tell me.”

“Believe me, if I thought it would do any good, I’d try,” her mother said, releasing an exasperated breath. “When it comes to men, you haven’t paid attention to me in years. Not since you filled out your first training bra.”

Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Mother, really, would you listen to yourself? Since when have you been distrustful? Storm may be a Hunter, but so is Summer. Are we supposed to abandon her, just because you don’t approve of the other half of her family?”

Celeste took in a sharp breath, seemingly shocked by the question. “You know I’d never abandon Summer. I’ve raised her since she was just a baby. I love her as much as I love you and Cleo.” She heaved a resigned sigh. “If Summer needs our support, then we will give it to her.”

Jasmine felt the tension ease from her muscles. Finally, she told herself, they were making progress.

The thought had no more than surfaced when her mother threw another curve at her self-esteem. With her brow furrowed into a tight frown, Celeste said, “But that doesn’t mean it has to be you, Jasmine. Surely David or Cleo could be with Summer.”

“Mother,” she said, her tone a warning note. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t suggest that.”

Jasmine was confused and hurt by her mother’s sudden lack of confidence. She didn’t understand what was wrong. Normally a very liberal, open-minded person, Celeste had raised her daughters to be free-spirited and independent. It wasn’t like her to be so overly protective. But then again, Celeste hadn’t been acting normal since the Hunter family had resurfaced in their lives. Jasmine truly doubted that, if she were to meet anyone but Storm Hunter, her mother would care.

“Mother, I love you,” she said, struggling to remain calm, “and I will always respect your concern and advice. But this time you’re wrong. Summer needs me. And I’m going to help her, whether you approve or not.”

Without waiting for a reply, she gave her mother a quick hug goodbye and hurried out the door. Midway to her Jeep Wrangler, her heart was still pounding and the muscles in her legs felt like jelly. She’d never felt so awful. This was the first major disagreement she’d ever had with her mother. A disagreement over a man, of all things.

But not just any man, she told herself as she rested her hand on the door of her Jeep. A man whose mutual history had had such a devastating affect upon their family. Storm Hunter.




Chapter Three


“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jasmine asked. She studied the delicate lines of her cousin’s pensive face as she rocked her step daughter, Alyssa, in her arms.

Summer didn’t answer right away. Instead she glanced down at the sleeping child, her gaze softening. Jasmine envied the look of maternal pride shimmering in her dark brown eyes. Quietly Summer said, “Storm is the last of my father’s family. It’s time we finally met.”

“Right,” Jasmine said, not bothering to hide the doubtfulness from her tone. She glanced at her wristwatch for the second time in as many minutes. “If and when he shows up, that is.”

Storm was late. He should have arrived thirty minutes ago. Jasmine wished she didn’t have to voice the concern she knew Summer shared. That Storm had changed his mind. That he wasn’t going to come, after all.

“He’ll be here,” Summer said, her voice firm with conviction.

Jasmine sighed. “I wish I could be as certain of this meeting as you are. I’m not sure I’d be quite as for giving of an uncle who’d ignored my existence for twenty-nine years.”

“I’m sure he had his reasons, Jasmine. What matters is that he’s making the effort now,” Summer murmured. She stood, gathering Alyssa close. “I need to put Alyssa in bed for her nap. I won’t be long.”

Jasmine nodded, resisting the urge to sigh again. Instead she rose to her feet and began pacing the floor. Her protective instincts billowed inside her. She swore, if Storm Hunter didn’t show up after putting her cousin through all this turmoil, the man would have to answer to her.

She stopped, frowning as she reconsidered the threat. For some reason she didn’t picture Storm as a man who answered to anyone, let alone an irate woman who barely stood higher than his chin.

The doorbell rang, jarring her out of her skeptical thoughts. Jasmine jumped at the sound, her stomach knotting with unwanted tension. She took in a quick breath and released it with a whoosh, trying to relieve some of her pent-up anxiety. She was being ridiculous, she chided herself. Summer was the one who should be nervous, not her.

Speaking of whom…where was Summer? Jasmine glanced down the hall and saw no sign of her cousin. Swallowing hard at the lump of trepidation that had stuck in her throat, she forced herself to move. Her hand shook as she reached for the knob. Pasting a polite smile on her face, she opened the door to greet the newcomer.

Storm’s brooding scowl stopped her. With a quick glance that grazed her from head to toe, he demanded, “Where’s Summer? I was expecting your cousin, not you.”

Jasmine’s smile faded to a grimace. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Hello to you, too, Mr. Hunter. Your presence is as pleasant as usual.”

The sarcasm was lost on this stony-faced man. He half turned from the door, looking ready to escape. Given the choice, Jasmine had no doubt that he wouldn’t want to find himself alone with her. If he were, he just might have to explain his own imprudent behavior. As in, why he had kissed her, then run the day before.

Swinging his gaze back to her, he said impatiently, “Is Summer here or not?”

“Yes, she’s here. She’s putting the baby down for a nap.” Jasmine stepped away from the door, motioning for him to enter. “Won’t you come in, Mr. Hunter? I’m feeling a bit of a chill in the air.”

He ignored the jab. Instead he strode past her, without a second glance, leaving behind a familiar whiff of musky cologne. The scent triggered a sensory overload in Jasmine’s fickle mind, setting her nerve endings on instant alert, reminding her just how good it had felt to be held close in his arms. Oblivious to her wavering thoughts, he let his gaze travel around the living room, taking in the carpet, the painted stucco walls, and the framed photos of family scattered around. Wryly, she noted that he looked everywhere, but at her.

The silence lengthened between them, the tension in the room growing thicker by the second.

Jasmine crossed her arms at her waist, sent him an impudent glance and did nothing to lessen his unease. Admittedly she took an undeniably wicked pleasure in his discomfort. Considering his own rude behavior, she told herself, Storm was one man who deserved to squirm under pressure.

Summer breezed into the room. “Jasmine, I thought I heard the doorbell. Who was—” She stopped to stare at Storm, the look in her eye one of surprised uncertainty.

Jasmine felt a new surge of protectiveness at Summer’s presence. No matter how angry she might be at Storm, she refused to let her own feelings cause her cousin any awkwardness. She stumbled over an attempt to ease the situation. “Summer, this is your uncle…Storm Hunter. Storm, this is Summer.”

For a long moment neither Storm nor Summer spoke. They simply looked at each other, their gazes frank and assessing. There was no denying a resemblance. They shared the same high cheek bones, the large, dark brown eyes and the sculpted features. Summer had definitely inherited her dark beauty from the Hunter side of the family.

Summer was the first to find her voice. She gave her uncle a heart warming smile. “Welcome to my home, Storm.”

He gave a genuine smile in return. The transformation was remarkable, surprising Jasmine. The grim set of his face was softened by a tenderness she had no idea he was capable of showing. Grudgingly she acknowledged that perhaps there was reason to hope a caring man lived beneath that gruff exterior, after all.

“Won’t you sit down?” Summer asked, motioning in the direction of the couch.

“Yes, thank you,” Storm said. He took a seat. Then, frowning, he glanced meaningfully from his niece to Jasmine.

Taking the obvious hint, sensing that it was time for the two of them to be alone, Jasmine searched her mind for an excuse. “Why don’t I make us some tea?”

Summer turned a startled look her way.

Reaching out and squeezing her cousin’s arm, she murmured a brief reassurance before leaving the room. “I won’t be long. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

Summer nodded, still looking uncertain.

Jasmine lingered in the doorway. She waited long enough to see Summer take her seat next to her uncle on the couch. The smiles on both of their faces and the soft murmur of their voices eased her qualms. She had no reason to fear leaving Summer alone with Storm. He appeared as anxious as her cousin to make this initial meeting as comfortable as possible.

In the kitchen, she put the teakettle on a low heat, giving it ample time to boil. Gathering cups and saucers, she arranged a tray that would have made her mother proud. For good measure, she even threw in a plate of cookies that she’d found in the cupboard.

After several long minutes had passed, she returned to the living room to rejoin her cousin. From the expression on Summer’s face, the meeting was a success. She wore a look of utter joy, and her dark eyes glimmered with unshed tears of emotion.

Even Storm appeared moved by the encounter. His intense gaze never left Summer’s face. He seemed fascinated by everything she had to say. At the moment she was talking fondly of her husband, Gavin Night hawk.

“Gavin was so disappointed that he was unable to be here today. He’s anxious to meet you.”

Jasmine set the tray on the coffee table and began to fill the cups with tea.

“I’d like to meet him also,” Storm said, an undeniable ring of sincerity in his deep voice. “Perhaps we should arrange another meeting soon?”

“Why not tonight?” Summer suggested, her enthusiasm bubbling. “I’m sure I could find a baby-sitter. We can go out for dinner. Give our selves a chance to relax and talk without worrying about Alyssa interrupting us.” A worried frown touched her brow as she glanced anxiously at Storm. “That is, unless you have other plans.”

His smile was one of patient indulgence. “No, not at all. Dinner tonight sounds like a wonderful idea. I’ll look forward to it.”

Summer’s own smile returned. She glanced at Jasmine. “And, of course, Jasmine will have to join us. Then we’ll be an even four for dinner.”

“D-dinner…tonight?” Jasmine stammered. She nearly dropped the teacup in surprise. Her gaze flew to Storm’s stunned face. He appeared almost as pleased as she was by the unexpected invitation. Obviously he wanted her to say no. “I—I don’t know, Summer.”

“Jasmine, please,” Summer persisted, a silent plea in her eyes. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

“It is late notice, Summer. I’m sure Jasmine has made other plans,” Storm said, smoothly providing her with a way out.

Jasmine glanced at him sharply, wary of any sort of helpful overture on his part. His expression had shifted from one of surprise to one of complacent smugness. He looked so damned certain that she was going to refuse Summer’s invitation.

If she had half a brain, that was exactly what she should do. After all, what woman in her right mind would want to spend any more time than necessary with a man who was rude, over bearing and impossible to deal with?

But no one ever said Jasmine was smart when it came to dealing with men. Instead, as was too often the case, she let her emotions override her good judgment. Before she had a chance to reconsider, she smiled brightly and blurted, “Dinner tonight? Sounds good to me. Just tell me when and where.”

For that one moment in time, Jasmine decided, the vexed look on Storm’s face was almost worth the misery she’d surely suffer tonight. If only she knew how she’d explain to her mother that her dinner partner was to be Storm Hunter.



Later that evening, feeling the need to vent some pent-up tension, Storm decided to walk to the restaurant. Neela’s, the restaurant, was only a few blocks from his hotel room. A short distance, one that would only take minutes to accomplish. Besides, he could use the exercise. The last few days he’d spent too many hours cooped up in his hotel room on the phone, handling his law practice in New Mexico via long distance.

With the sun down, a chill had settled over the town. The cool night air felt invigorating. He breathed deeply, welcoming its mind-clearing embrace. The longer he was in Whitehorn, the more confused he seemed to become. He didn’t understand what was happening to him.

Normally he was a man who prided himself on complete control of his emotions. But now, if he wasn’t losing his temper at some in competent police officer involved in his brother’s murder investigation, he was mooning over a woman. One particular woman, that is. Jasmine Monroe.

She was driving him crazy. No matter how hard he tried to avoid her, she kept popping up wherever he went. If he were a superstitious man, he’d say it was fate’s way of telling him they were meant to be together. An idea that, considering the troubled history their families shared, was utterly ridiculous.

Even worse, he seemed to be enjoying their chance encounters. Whenever she was near, he felt energized. She challenged him on a level that went beyond a mere physical attraction. Despite her youthfulness, she was smart, witty and totally unpredictable. No woman had ever made him feel the way she did. Whether it was trading barbs, or simply staring into her large, doelike green eyes, he looked forward to being with her.

Before he was ready, he arrived at his destination. Reluctantly, he stepped out of the night’s soothing darkness and into the harsh lights of the restaurant. Neela’s, as Summer had explained to him, was a cut above the Hip Hop Café. Owned and operated by a fellow Cheyenne, Neela Tallbear, it was comfortable yet classy, boasting a rough-hewn plank flooring and polished wood tables. As a French-trained chef, Neela had made locally grown beef her specialty. The restaurant had quickly grown in popularity, often becoming crowded.

Storm, as he soon realized, was the last of his party to arrive.

Seated at the table was his niece, Summer, and a fit-looking Native American man, whom he presumed to be her husband, Gavin Night hawk. And last, but not least, was his dinner partner for the evening, Jasmine.

Dressed in a simple, sleeveless burgundy dress that emphasized the darkness of her hair and the paleness of her skin, she took his breath away. No matter how hard he’d tried to fight it, the pull of attraction was just as strong now as it had been the first moment he’d met her.

Storm felt as though he were fighting a losing battle.

Gratefully, he hid his unease behind the polite motions of an introduction to the man who had married his niece. He studied Gavin Night hawk as they shook hands. Gavin’s grip was strong, self-assured. He wore his hair short, anglo-style. His taste in clothes was casual yet expensive. From what Summer had told him, he was a surgeon who split his time between work at the Whitehorn hospital and the clinic on Laughing Horse Reservation. While his features were that of a Cheyenne, he appeared to be a man comfortable with the white man’s ways.

Frowning thoughtfully, Storm took his seat as he realized that he and Gavin Night hawk had much in common.

As he settled himself at the table, his knees bumped against a pair of smooth, silky legs. An electrical shock of awareness traveled up his thigh. He glanced at Jasmine as she sucked in a sharp breath and shifted in her seat, her actions telling him what he already knew. She’d been the owner of those slender legs.

“Summer tells me you’re a lawyer,” Gavin said, unaware of the sensual undercurrents traveling between Storm and Jasmine.

“That’s right, I’ve set up a practice in Albuquerque.”

Gavin nodded. “That’s quite a way from home.”

Storm’s muscles tensed defensively at the remark. “New Mexico is my home. I’ve lived there for almost thirty years.”

“I meant, from your family here in Whitehorn, those still living on the Laughing Horse Reservation,” Gavin said. He placed a protective hand over Summer’s, his meaning clear, his expression unapologetic.

Storm hesitated before answering. Obviously he’d misjudged Gavin. His ties to life on the reservation were still strong. His loyalty to Summer, unquestionable.

He didn’t blame Gavin for being protective of Summer. If the roles were reversed and someone he cared for was faced with a relative who, after almost three decades, decided he wanted to establish a newfound relationship, he’d question the man’s motives, also.

Aware of Jasmine sitting next to him, her gaze curious, Storm quietly said, “I was thirteen when I left Whitehorn. At the time the reasons for going seemed compelling. There have been many times that I wished I had reconsidered my decision. But, as we all know, what is done is done. No man can change the past.”

“No, but they can change the future,” Gavin murmured, lacing his fingers with Summer’s. “I’m curious. Why did you choose New Mexico to work, instead of Montana?”

Because New Mexico was as far as he could run away from Whitehorn without leaving the country in which he’d been born, he admitted to himself. Out loud, however, he said, “There were many more opportunities in New Mexico. I was able to put myself through school and earn my law degree. Even now I find the work in Albuquerque challenging.”

“That’s too bad,” Gavin said with an even smile. “We could use a good lawyer here on the reservation. Jackson Hawk is the tribal attorney at Laughing Horse. Now that he’s assumed the duties of tribal leader, he’s having a hard time juggling both jobs.”

Again, Storm hesitated. He’d heard of the tribal leader’s burden some schedule firsthand, from Jackson Hawk himself. Jackson had been a childhood friend. Recently they’d reconnected when he’d tracked down Storm to tell him of the discovery of Raven’s remains. Since his arrival in Whitehorn, Jackson had already made a play to convince Storm to return to Laughing Horse, using guilt as his tool of choice.

Now, in the presence of his last remaining family, Storm had no intention of showing any false interest in returning to a life that had caused him nothing but pain. He’d made his choice to leave the reservation many years before. He saw no reason to change his mind now.

As though sensing his growing discomfort, Summer released an impatient breath. “Gavin, please. Just because you’ve returned to the reservation and have accepted the ways of our people, that doesn’t mean you need to pressure everyone else into doing the same.” Her eyes twinkled with undisguised mischief. “Give Storm sometime. Perhaps he’ll change his mind on his own.”

Gavin laughed, a deep hearty laugh that chased away any tension that remained between the men. “Forgive me, Storm. I’ve become something of a zealot, when it comes to talking about the res. Summer tells me you’ve done pro bono work for the Navajos in New Mexico. And that you’ve taken on some civil liberty cases. Tell me about them.”

For the next hour, between ordering their dinners and tackling their food, Storm, Gavin and Summer embarked on a lively discussion on the right and wrong ways to help their people. A conversation that revolved totally upon the world of the Native American.

During this time, Jasmine remained noticeably silent.

Storm tried not to feel guilty. While he hadn’t set out to exclude her from the conversation, he hadn’t made an effort to include her, either. Though she seemed to listen with polite interest, he wondered if she felt bored, or uncomfortable. He almost wished she did.

It would reinforce what he’d known all along. That they were from two entirely different worlds. Jasmine from the privileged world of the white man. Himself from the hard, struggling life of a Native American. It wasn’t surprising that they would be unable to relate to each other on an everyday basis.

Just as they’d finished ordering dessert, Gavin’s pager went off. Unclipping it from his belt, he held it up to the light and glanced at the number. “It’s the clinic.”

Before the words were out of his mouth, Summer’s pager chirped a warning beat. Frowning, she said, “The clinic’s paging me, also. If they want us both, there must be an emergency.” She sighed as she rose to her feet and joined her husband, looking from Storm to Jasmine for understanding. “I’m sorry for leaving so early. But we really must go.”

“Don’t be silly, Summer,” Jasmine assured her, breaking her silence. “Of course, you have to leave.”

“I enjoyed the dinner, and our discussion. I hope we’ll be able to spend more time together before I return to New Mexico,” Storm said, surprised to realize he’d meant the polite words. He scooted his chair back and started to rise to his feet, preparing to leave.

“Stay,” Summer insisted, shooing him back to his seat. “Just because Gavin and I have to miss dessert, that doesn’t mean you must, too. Finish your coffee, eat your apple pie. Enjoy your selves. There’s no need to rush off.”

Slowly, Storm returned to his seat. He glanced at Jasmine, sitting next to him. If she felt uncomfortable at the prospect of being alone with him, she gave no outward sign.

Instead she focused her attention on saying good-bye to her cousin. It wasn’t until they were finally alone that she turned her head to look at him. If he thought she would remain the shy, retiring woman who’d said little for the past hour, he’d been wrong. Her cool, confident gaze sent a shiver of trepidation down his spine.

Leaning an elbow on the table, her chin resting on the palm of her hand, she looked him in the eye and said, “So, tell me, Mr. Hunter, what sort of game do you think you’re playing?”

“Game?” Storm sat back in his chair and studied her carefully. “I assure you, Ms. Monroe, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She raised a finely sculpted brow. “Don’t you?”

Not trusting himself to answer, he raised his hands in mock surrender, feigning a confusion he did not possess. “Really, I haven’t a clue.”

She ran a slender finger over the rim of her water glass as she considered his response, the action catching his attention. Finally, without so much as a blink of an eye, she said, “You kissed me yesterday. An unexpected experience, yes, but special, nonetheless. Both of us seemed to have enjoyed ourselves. Since that time, however, you’ve been avoiding me. I’d like to know why.”

Storm’s breath caught at her bluntness. Taken aback, once again, by her penchant for complete honesty, he was at a loss as to how to answer. The truth was, she scared the hell out of him. The kiss they’d shared had been more than special. It had been magical. An experience he’d like to sample again and again. But he’d be damned if he was going to admit that much to her.

Buying himself time while he thought of a way out of this tenuous situation, he lifted a hand and motioned for the waitress. When the heavy, round faced Cheyenne woman arrived at their table, he said curtly, “We’re finished. I’d like the check.”

The waitress blinked in surprise. “But what about dessert? I was just about ready to bring out the pies—”

“We’ve changed our mind,” he said, refusing to look at Jasmine for her reaction. “You can add the cost to the bill, but we won’t be staying to eat them.”

The waitress heaved a tired sigh and shook her head. “Yes, sir, whatever you want.”

Flipping through her receipt book, she totaled up the cost of dinner and handed him the check. Without looking at the amount, Storm handed her his credit card, not wishing to delay his departure a minute longer than necessary.

Raising a brow, the waitress said, “I’ll run this through the machine. Be back in a jiffy.”

With that, he was alone once again with Jasmine. And he realized he could no longer avoid what must be done. Once and for all he must make it clear to her that there was no possibility of a relationship between them. There were too many obstacles standing in their way.

Whatever means he must take, it was Jasmine’s turn to be scared away.

Leaning forward in his chair, keeping his tone confidential, he said, “I’d be careful what I ask for if I were you. You might not want to know the answer.”

A slow smile stole across her beautiful, exotic face. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, my dear Jasmine, that you are just a child,” he said, keeping his voice smooth and silky, like a caress. “And I am a man of many, many experiences. The kiss that we shared was nothing compared to the things I know to please a woman. And you, little one, are nowhere near ready to handle what I can do for you.”

The smile faded. Her lips parted in a silent gasp of surprise. She looked…stunned.

Satisfied, Storm rose to his feet. Tipping his hand in mock salute, he turned and left, not daring to glance back at the woman he was leaving behind, lest he changed his mind.

Her mouth still drooping in surprise, Jasmine stared after Storm’s departing figure. He moved through the crowded restaurant with the primal grace of a predator. With his wide shoulders and narrow hips, he reminded her of a sleek mountain cat, coiled and ready to spring into attack.

Suddenly the room felt as though the heat had been cranked up by at least twenty degrees. Feeling flushed, on a shaky breath, she murmured, “Oh, my.”

The waitress chose that moment to return. She glanced at Storm’s empty chair. “What happened to tall, dark and in-a-hurry?”

Jasmine’s face warmed with embarrassment. “He had to leave.”

“What am I supposed to do with his credit card?” She held up the gold card for Jasmine’s inspection. Its shiny surface glittered beneath the muted lights of the restaurant.

The slow smile returned. Jasmine told herself he may be cool and collected on the outside, but Storm Hunter wasn’t as in control of his emotions as he’d like for her to believe. She held out a hand for the forgotten card. “I’ll take that.”

The waitress frowned, looking uncertain. “I don’t know. The restaurant policy is—”

“Mr. Hunter and I are close friends, practically family,” she assured her, giving the woman what she hoped was a most sincere look. “His niece is my cousin.”

“Family, huh?” the waitress asked, her gaze skeptical.

Jasmine nodded. “Family.”

“Well, okay.” Reluctantly, she handed Jasmine the card. “The bill’s still going on his account, with or without his signature.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that. Just as soon as I see him again.”

Anxious to leave, Jasmine scooted her chair back. Her legs felt wobbly as she stood. The sound of her heart pounded so hard in her ears, she could barely hear the voices of the restaurant patrons around her. Gathering her sweater, she hurried for the exit.

Storm was a man who obviously had pressing things weighing on his mind, proof of which was resting in her hand. She hadn’t bought his Casanova routine. Beneath that cool exterior, she sensed there was a man with deep emotions just waiting to be tapped.

It was time she found out if she was right.




Chapter Four


Jasmine’s heels clicked against the concrete floor, echoing in the quiet night, sounding much too loud in the walkway of the dimly lit hotel. Her stomach fluttered with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Thanks to the help of a former class mate working the front desk, she’d learned the room where Storm was staying. Now she just needed the courage to follow through with her decision to find him.

Shakily she inhaled a calming breath. Never before had she had the nerve to follow a man to his hotel room. Especially not a man as over whelming as Storm Hunter. Defiance, pure and simple, had brought her here. Earlier, before abandoning her at the restaurant, Storm had told her in no uncertain terms that she was a child. And that he was too much man for her to handle. She was determined to prove him wrong.

Only, what if she was the one who was wrong? If sitting next to him in a crowded restaurant had the power to set her pulse racing and her blood warming, goodness only knew what would happen when they were alone. Especially with no one but herself to save her from his obvious charms. A tiny sliver of excitement traveled down her spine, setting second thoughts tumbling around in her confused mind.

Too soon, Room 147 came into sight. Jasmine slowed her pace. She swallowed hard at the lump in her throat as she studied the black numbers on the faded gray door. Gathering her flagging courage, forcing herself to move, she lifted a trembling hand to knock.




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