Storming Whitehorn. Christine Scott
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