“We Should Wait Until The Baby Is Born To Come Up With Names,” Bobby Said. “That’s The Cherokee Way.”
Still struggling for composure, Julianne merely nodded.
“In the early days, a Cherokee baby was named in a ceremony by an elder in the community. A Beloved Woman. But things have changed. Today the father names the child.”
And that was important to him, she realized. To adhere to tradition, to play a significant role in naming their baby.
“A lot of things have changed,” he went on to say. “In an ancient Cherokee household, a man moved in with the woman he married, and he was restricted in his authority over the children. Now, a man is the undisputed head of the household.”
She didn’t know how to respond, not when his words barely applied. How could he be the head of the household when they didn’t even live together?
“I want the baby to have my last name,” he said.
Then marry me, Julianne thought hopelessly. Love me and marry me.
Dear Reader,
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Our compelling yearlong twelve-book series DYNASTIES: THE BARONES continues with Where There’s Smoke… (#1507) by Barbara McCauley, in which a fireman as courageous as he is gorgeous saves the life and wins the heart of a Barone heiress. Next, a domineering cowboy clashes with a mysterious woman hiding on his ranch, in The Gentrys: Cinco (#1508), the launch title of THE GENTRYS, a new three-book miniseries by Linda Conrad.
A night of passion brings new love to a rancher who lost his family and his leg in a tragic accident in Cherokee Baby (#1509) by reader favorite Sheri WhiteFeather. Sleeping with Beauty (#1510) by Laura Wright features a sheltered princess who slips past the defenses of a love-shy U.S. Marshal. A dynamic Texan inspires a sperm-bank-bound thirtysomething stranger to try conceiving the old-fashioned way in The Cowboy’s Baby Bargain (#1511) by Emilie Rose, the latest title in Desire’s BABY BANK theme promotion. And in Her Convenient Millionaire (#1512) by Gail Dayton, a pretend marriage between a Palm Beach socialite and her millionaire beau turns into real passion.
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Melissa Jeglinski
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Cherokee Baby
Sheri Whitefeather
SHERI WHITEFEATHER
lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, American Indian powwows and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be a part of the Silhouette Desire line. When she isn’t writing, she often reads until the wee hours of the morning.
Sheri is married to a Muscogee Creek silversmith. They have a son, a daughter and a trio of cats—domestic and wild. She loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 17146, Anaheim, California 92817.
As writers, we often try to “become” our characters, live in their shoes, so to speak. In this case, the shoes I attempted to fill were custom-made cowboy boots belonging to Bobby Elk, a left-leg amputee. In my quest to delve into Bobby’s world, I connected with some amazing people who taught me how fragile and triumphant the human spirit truly is. To Tony Barr, a foot amputee, expert horseman and e-mail friend, for explaining how Bobby would ride and train his horses. To Laurie, a lovely lady and double amputee, for sharing intimate details about her life.
To Margo Severson for phantom pain references. To Al Pike, Teja Gilmore, Matthew Baughman and Ken Hung, the CPs who answered questions and/or took me on a tour of their prosthetics and orthotics facilities. If I made any technical errors in this book, I apologize. I studied my research notes and applied them to Bobby’s life the best way I knew how.
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
One
Thirty-nine and counting.
Good Lord. Julianne McKenzie trailed behind her cousins, wondering why she’d agreed to let them fuss over her upcoming birthday. Not that she didn’t relish the “girls only” vacation they’d agreed upon, she just didn’t understand why they’d insisted on arranging one of those tongue-in-cheek, over-the-hill parties to go along with it.
What did her cousins know about turning forty? Mern and Kay were still in their early thirties, nearly a decade away from the big 4-0, from the onset of gray hair, crow’s-feet and sagging rear ends.
And to top it off, they were both happily married. Julianne’s philandering spouse had left her for a cliché. A younger woman. A loyal secretary, the kind middle-aged wives feared and middle-aged husbands couldn’t seem to resist.
As her cousins reached the big wooden door of the lodge at Elk Ridge Ranch, Julianne dragged her luggage up the stone path and sighed.
Her life was falling apart at the seams.
“Are you coming, Jul?” Kay called back.
She waved the brunette on. “I’ll catch up.”
Kay rolled her eyes. “You and Grandma’s ancient suitcase. I can’t believe you brought that thing.”
“It’s my good luck charm.” And because it was nearly as old as she was, she wasn’t about to trade it in for a younger model. The ugly green case, with its temperamental clasps and scuffed exterior, wasn’t ready to be put out to pasture. It still had a few good years left.
And so do I, she thought as her happily married, thirtysomething cousins entered the lodge without her.
In spite of her dwindling bankbook and the job she’d just lost, Julianne had come here to have fun, to enjoy the amenities this Texas guest ranch had to offer.
She climbed the wraparound porch and caught sight of a cowboy exiting the building and heading in her direction.
She tried to appear unaffected by his presence, but as he moved closer, she stole several quick, curious glances. He was, after all, the first true cowboy she’d ever seen. He even walked with the stiff, rugged gait of a horseman.
Attired in varying shades of denim, he looked dark and exotic, rough around the edges, with a straw hat dipped low on his forehead and a silver buckle glinting at his waist. Broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, he stood tall and strong.
A man’s man. Or possibly a woman’s dangerous fantasy.
Not hers, of course. These days, she knew better than to fantasize about the Y-chromosome gender.
“Do you need some help?” he asked, casting a courteous glance at the pea-green monstrosity in her hand.
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure?