Wind Song (21 page)

College kids in snow-country clothes and cowboys in heavy sheepskin coats hunkered down by Pulliam Airport’s see-through fireplace, waiting the next plane out or in, not a regular occurrence in that airport that looked more like a ranch house headquarters, with its shingled roof and native stone facade. Every so often someone would toss a log on the fire to keep it properly glowing. A Hopi Indian sat reading a college text on the Continental Congress while his redheaded neighbor absorbed a book on Kiva art.

Abbie, dressed warmly but fashionably in riding boots and a calfskin leather skirt and jacket, plunked several coins into the vending machine and retrieved her package of cigarettes from the tray below. Her nerves were badly frazzled. The confrontation with Cody the previous day had wreaked havoc with her composure. She felt like some medieval tapestry being plundered by a raiding cossack . . . frayed and rent by his angry lance.

Oh, Cody hadn’t as much as touched her the day before, when she had announced her planned excursion with Marshall. He had simply stared at her with eyes that scorched her with their loathing, which terrified her more than his few demonstrations of frustrations ever had. Then he had coolly swung away from her and left her apartment.

As she tore off the cigarette package’s cellophane wrapper, she reminded herself that she had achieved the freedom from Cody that she had sought with relatively little problem. Or so she thought . . . until the turquoise-inlaid lighter appeared with its tongue of flame in front of the cigarette she held.  Her fingers visibly trembling, she looked up into Cody’s dark eyes.

“Where’s Marshall?” he asked.

“Parking the car.” She tipped her cigarette to the flame and inhaled. Lifting her head, she let the smoke drift slowly from between her lips, then said, “I suppose it’s a coincidence that you’re here.”

“Quite.” His eyes laughed, crinkles fanning from their outer edges, but she caught the challenge reflected in their depths. He was dressed in tobacco brown corduroy slacks and a down vest of lambskin. “I’m flying out to L.A. to negotiate an art show.”

“You don’t expect me to believe that.”

He grinned and pocketed the lighter. “I would be surprised if you did—after I warned you how relentless we Indians are.”

“Why?” It was a husky whisper.

He leaned back against the airport bulletin board that was covered with notices and flight information and crossed one boot over the other. “After I left you, I started thinking more rationally. Call it male ego, if you wish, but I know you, Abbie. Better than you realize. And I know that the child you carry is mine.”

“I told you that—”

He held up a forestalling hand. “And I also know that, even if I weren’t the father of the child, I’d still want you.”

She felt like screaming right there before everyone. “Don’t you understand,” she sputtered, “that
I
don’t want
you?
I don’t want any man! Now go on back to your hogan and your hermit’s life.”

He grinned. “Sorry. I’ve already made up my mind to have you. Besides, like I told you, I have to fly out to L.A.”

“I just bet!”

“There you are,” Marshall called out. Looking extremely handsome in a white ski jacket that enhanced his suntanned face, he crossed to her. “Cody, great to see you!”

“He was just leaving,” Abbie said.

“On my way to Los Angeles,” Cody explained. Marshall sighed. “Looks like we might as well be. Sky West just informed me that there’s a layover at Page followed by a change of flights in St. George, Utah, before we ever make it to Las Vegas.”

Above the high ridges of his cheekbones Cody’s eyes glinted, and Abbie knew what was coming. “I pass right over Las Vegas, Marshall. Why don’t you let me drop you two off there?” Marshall arched a questioning brow at Abbie. “It would save us a lot of time.”

“And airfare,” Cody said. “You can invest a couple of dollars for me on the roulette table.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Marshall said.

“We . . . I can't.” Abbie looked at Marshall pleadingly. “I get a nervous stomach when I fly in light aircraft.”

“That’s no problem,” Cody said smoothly. “I keep a packet of air sickness tablets in the Cherokee’s glove compartment.”

“Great!” Marshall said.

“Great,” Abbie echoed dully.

So, Cody was flying them to Las Vegas. He wouldn’t dare invite himself along.

He would.

He did.

The plane was winging low over Hoover Dam, with her in the copilot’s seat, when he flicked a leering grin at her. He turned to Marshall in the back seat. “It just happens that I don’t have to be in L.A. until the day after tomorrow. You wouldn’t mind if I lay over here, would you, Marshall? I’d find something to do with my time while you two are . . . busy. I could take in the shows, sit in on a couple of hands of twenty- one. . . .”

“Of course not,” Marshall said. “We could even arrange to meet for dinner.”

Abbie could think of no objection to raise. Cody’s air sickness tablet was having its tranqui lizing effect on her, so she could only acquiesce to whatever the predator suggested. And predator he was. He was stalking her as the primitive Indian did the helpless deer.

No, she wasn’t completely helpless. She managed to glare at him later while Marshall withdrew their luggage from the baggage compartment at the rear of the Cherokee. “You’re taking advantage of Marshall’s friendship for you,” she accused.

His eyes made love to her lips. “I’m merely making certain I keep what’s mine.”

“I am not yours!”

Her denial had little effect on Cody. She found herself wedged between him and Marshall on the cab trip into Las Vegas, with Cody’s arm across the back of the seat, subtly staking his claim to her. She thought about explaining to Marshall just what Cody was up to, but the story wasn’t very pretty. And it could only hurt Marshall. She liked him too much for that.

They checked into the hotel, and Marshall insisted that Cody get a room on the same floor as theirs. “That way we can check in with each other,” he said congenially.

If ever Abbie had considered staging an orgy, her hotel room would have served as an excellent location. It had a royal purple velvet spread and window curtains, plush carpeting of lavender blue and, incredibly, mirrored walls—and ceiling. She looked into the mirror and said, “You won’t get away with it, Cody Strawhand.”

It seemed that he was as obstinate and perverse as she was—and as cunning as Geronimo. He was with Marshall when they met before dinner for drinks at the hotel bar. Abbie never heard the entertainer at the piano. She was too disconcerted by the hand that stroked her knee under the table, his fingers smoothing their way up the inside of her thigh.

And, worse, she found her thighs betraying her. Through no volition of her own, her thighs parted allowing ever so slightly, his long dexterous middle finger to deliver several arousing strokes against her silk panties before deserting the hollow of her thigh’s juncture, leaving her responsive sigh near audible and her panties definitely damp.

He was with them when they visited the casino. While he and Marshall played several chummy hands of single-deck twenty-one, she desultorily dropped quarters into a one-armed bandit, unwilling to risk more of her teacher’s salary. Every so often she glanced at the two men. Cody, with the bandana about his forehead, was every inch the handsome savage and drew frequent visits from the cigarette  and bar girls.

He was with them when they took a cab to another hotel to watch a famous comic’s act. In the darkened room she was squeezed into the circular booth between him and Marshall. Marshall held her hand—while Cody’s fingers idly stroked the back of her neck.  For her part, she kept her legs tightly pressed together against any future foraging fingers.

He was with them when they returned to the casino, where Marshall lost at roulette and Cody won at craps. The two men drank and laughed like old war buddies, and she watched. She listened to the clicking whir of the ivory ball on the roulette wheel, the incessant ringing of the slot machines, the raucous laughter—and wondered what she was doing there.

He was with them when they returned to their hotel to catch the midnight show. Before curtain time, while Cody engaged Marshall in a lively debate over Indian subsidized housing, she sat and smoked and fumed.

And he was with them when they rode the elevator up to their rooms. By that time, after several screwdrivers, Marshall was feeling too good to give her much more than a merry peck on the cheek and saunter off to his own room, still chuckling over some quip of Cody’s.

Abbie felt that Cody had missed his calling; he should have been a recreation director on some cruise ship. She jammed her cardkey into its doorslot. When it didn’t release the lock, Cody said affably, “Here, let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help, thank you.”

He unlocked the door easily, but when he pushed it open, she whirled to block his entrance. “Oh, no, Cody Strawhand, you sneaking, conniving excuse for a human being. You may get your way with Marshall, but you won’t with me.”

He smiled amiably. “It was a miserable way to start off your vacation, wasn’t it?”

“You know it was,” she gritted.

“You’re here to gamble and have fun, Abbie. Gamble with me”—he shrugged—“and maybe you can have your fun after all.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Just what are you suggesting?”

“Can’t we sit down and talk about it?”

“No.”

He feigned a sigh. “You don’t trust me.”

“Correct.”

“All right, then. What I propose is simple. You choose your game of cards—poker, twenty-one, gin, what have you. If you win, I leave you and Marshall alone.”

Her teeth nibbled on her lower lip. “And if I lose?”

“You spend the rest of the week with me.”

She was desperate—but not that desperate. “Tell me, Cody,” she said sweetly, “doesn’t it bother your Indian’s sense of honor to do this to your friend?”

He bent his head to kiss her on the ear. “Not when I know Marshall would make a better mate for Dalah.”

“But Dalah—she’s in love with you, isn’t she?”

He chuckled. “Wrong. We’re from the same clan, Abbie, and Indians don’t marry within the clan. She considers me more a big brother.”

Goose bumps broke out where his tongue flicked her neck. “But you can’t be sure that she would make a better mate for Marshall.”

“She’s been in love with him since she was in the ninth grade. And he might have seen her worth had you not come and blinded him with your aristocratic beauty.”

“You say that almost as if you hate it—my aristocratic beauty, as you call it.”

He straightened and, bracing his hand against the door frame above her head, looked down at her. The amusement, mingled with shrewd determination, that had flickered in the depths of his eyes ever since they had left Pulliam Airport temporarily gave way to solemnity. “I hate exposing myself to the weakness that comes in loving you.”

“A weakness?” she asked breathlessly.

“Perhaps I should say pain. Any time someone opens himself up, reveals his innermost feelings, he’s exposing himself to the pain of possible rejection. Rejection—it’s a word Ie had learned as a child. Am I being foolish, Abbie—battling for you against common sense, not to mention rejection?

She steeled herself against the chords of compassion her heart was beginning to play. “I have the feeling that you don’t expect to lose.”

“No, Abbie, I don’t. I don’t take risks unless the odds are in my favor.”

“And what makes you think the odds are in your favor this time?”

“Number one,” he ticked off on his fingers. “I know you want me wildly and passionately.”

“Modest, aren’t we?”

“And number two—I spent years working on oil rigs in the most forsaken spots of South America, passing the time by playing cards. I’m a damned good card player.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I’m not going to take up your challenge. Marshall and I can manage just fine despite your obnoxious presence. Good night, Mr. Straw hand,” she finished with the slam of her door.

The next day, dressed in a stunning black panne velvet sheath, she felt ready to take on Cody. Aggressive men she knew how to handle. Or should have.

But Cody put her through the same routine as the day before, ignoring her haughty looks and condescending smiles. He began the day by suggesting a champagne brunch. Then it was a celebrity tennis tournament at noon, in which his extraordinary good looks and self aplomb put the shorterJohnny Depp to shame. Following that came a classy lunch and a tour of the strip. When Cody went to hail a cab to take them back to the jai alai games at the hotel, Marshall put his arm about her waist and said, “You know, I have the distinct impression that I’m not the only one interested in you, Abbie.”

She didn’t pretend ignorance. “You mean Cody, of course.”

He grinned. “Something like that.”

“I—I think he’ll probably go on to L.A. tomorrow.”

Marshall kissed her on the temple. “I value his friendship, but I would also like to value this time with you—alone.”