Apache Dream Bride. Joan Elliott Pickart

you shave?”

      “What?”

      “Do you grow hair on your face that you cut off each day?”

      “No,” he said slowly. “Kathy, are you talking nonsense?”

      “No. White men grow hair on their faces. I’ve read that most Indians don’t, and I guess it’s true. Okay. Cancel the shaving cream and razor. Do you—” she paused, feeling the now-familiar warm flush creep onto her cheeks “—use underwear?”

      “I don’t know the meaning of that word.”

      Dandy. Go for it, Kathy. “Do you have anything on beneath your pants?”

      Dakota frowned. “For what purpose? Do white men wear pants under their pants?”

      “Well, yes.”

      “Strange. No, I don’t have this underwear you speak of.”

      “Good. I’ve never bought Jockey shorts in my life. Dakota, listen to me. You must promise that you’ll stay inside the house while I’m gone. You can’t go wandering around until I think of a way to explain who you are and why you’re here.”

      “I need to breathe fresh air. The walls are closing in on me.”

      “Oh, dear. Well, all right. Let’s go into the backyard and have a stroll. I’ll show you my herb garden. Then will you be able to stay inside while I go shopping?”

      “Shopping is what you do to get me a shirt?”

      “Bingo. I mean, yes, that’s correct.”

      He nodded. “I’ll agree to your plan. We’ll see your herb garden now.”

      They left the living room, went through the kitchen, then Kathy stopped on the enclosed sun porch beyond.

      “This is where I dry my herbs,” she said, sweeping one arm in the air.

      Dakota looked at the multitude of plants covering the walls of the sun porch. Kathy had designed, then hired a handyman to build, the drying walls with pegs where she hung the herbs, utilizing every spare inch of space.

      “I can’t grow everything I need for the store,” she said, “but I’m pleased with what I’m able to add to the inventory myself. I get most of my teas from a woman in Sedona, and the oils and lotions from Flagstaff. I also sell commercial vitamins.

      “I dry the herbs here, then put them in brown paper bags because they must be kept in a dark, dry place. I take the bags to The Herb Hogan. That’s the name of my store.”

      “It’s good,” Dakota said, nodding. “You’ve tended to your herbs as it should be done. No Apache woman could do better.”

      “Oh, well,” she said, smiling, “thank you. That was a very nice compliment.”

      She was pleased to the point of ridiculous by what Dakota had said. It shouldn’t matter what he thought of her talents, but the warm, fuzzy feeling she was registering was evidence that it did. She was as adept as an Apache woman would be at growing and caring for herbs? Goodness, wasn’t that something?

      Dakota continued to scrutinize the herbs, then finally nodded again.

      “Are you ready to go outside?” Kathy said.

      Dakota started toward the door, then stopped, looking through the window.

      “No. It’s too open, with nowhere to conceal myself if the soldiers come.”

      “Dakota, there aren’t any soldiers trying to find you to take you to the reservation. Your people are free now. Free. They can go anywhere they want to. They live, work, play, right beside white men if they choose. Some are still on Indian land, on reservations, but it’s because they want to be, not because they’re forced to stay there. You have nothing to fear by leaving the shelter and safety of this house.”

      He looked at her for a long moment. “I’ll trust what you say, Kathy. These are peaceful times?”

      “Not everywhere, I’m afraid, but here in Prescott it’s peaceful.”

      “Mmm,” he said, then followed her out the back door.

      It was another picture-perfect day. The air was clean, the sky a brilliant blue with a sprinkling of fluffy white clouds.

      Dakota spread his arms wide, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. Opening his eyes again, he swept his gaze over the multitude of neat rows of Kathy’s herb garden.

      “This is good,” he said, nodding. “The soil is rich here?”

      “Yes, it’s excellent. I have it tested to be certain it’s in proper balance. This year I added some iron.”

      “Mmm,” he said, walking forward.

      Kathy watched as Dakota started along the first row of the garden. He stopped often, hunkering down to gently grasp a leaf between his thumb and forefinger, then rose again and went on.

      He moved with such a smooth flow of motion, she mused, like a graceful animal in the wilds. He was comfortable in his own body, his command and control over it a given.