A Rainbow in Paradise Read online

  "Stop right there." Many nights over the past two months, Eden's sleep had been haunted by Chris's attractive best man. She smiled, letting a glimmer of anticipation show through. "So, did you call him?"

  "Of course I did! I saw the way you two were looking at each other at the wedding. Anyone who didn't know better might have thought you were the bride and groom."

  "Really." Eden laced the comment with friendly sarcasm. "I'm surprised you noticed anything but your own groom. You seemed pretty far gone to me."

  Sarah conceded, "You're right. I was pretty far gone. But that doesn't mean I couldn't see what was happening right before my face. There was enough electricity flying between you two to light up all of Rainbow Rock—and most of the Four Corners! And I'm not the only one who noticed, either, so don't even bother with denials."

  Eden remembered the jolting power of the attraction. Even now it was almost enough to take her breath away. "Okay, I'm not denying it, but I'm not sure about pursuing it, either. There is Logan's notorious attitude toward belagaana, especially women."

  "Didn't he dance with you at the reception?"

  "It was a courtesy," Eden answered. "Basic wedding etiquette. The best man is supposed to dance with the maid of honor."

  "Over and over again?"

  Eden shrugged. "I don't think either of us knew anyone else."

  "And what about the picnic? Meg and Alexa said you two went into Holbrook together to the Fourth of July picnic."

  "With a group, Sarah. It wasn't like we were on a date or anything. There were other people there."

  "You mean other couples," a deep voice intruded. The women looked up as Chris entered through the back porch, pausing to wipe his feet. "Hi, Eden," he added as he walked into the dining room. He came around the table to give her a quick hug, and then paused at Sarah's chair, standing behind her for a moment, rubbing her shoulders, dropping a kiss on her hair. Then grabbing a glass, he poured himself a lemonade and straddled a chair, plunking down beside them. "I heard about the picnic, too," he added needlessly, "and the way you two walked off together."

  Eden, already embarrassed to know Chris had heard her comment, tempered her tone. "I was explaining to Sarah that there's no point in trying to set me up with Lo—"

  "She didn't need to," Chris cut in. "I called him as soon as I heard you were in town. He's really looking forward to seeing you again."

  Eden gasped. "You called him, too?"

  "He'll be coming into town tomorrow evening. I thought we might go out to dinner together. You know, sort of a double date."

  "He still wants to see me?"

  Chris nodded. "He seemed quite eager. I'd say you made a fairly strong impression."

  "He wanted to see me," she said again, clarifying the point. She had almost convinced herself that the power she had felt between them was her imagination—or at least, one-sided.

  "He asked me to call him whenever you were in the area," Chris added, strengthening his point.

  Eden gave him a searching look, narrowing her eyes. "You're not making this up as you go along?"

  Chris laughed. "Not at all. I think Logan was really impressed with you, Eden. But then again..." He gave his wife a playful look. "What's not to like? Why, if I were single..."

  "Watch yourself, McAllister." Sarah poked him in the ribs, drawing her brows together in an exaggerated frown, but Chris chuckled as he caught her elbow and leaned forward to nuzzle Sarah's neck. The casual teasing showed Eden more than anything else how much warmth and respect the couple shared. If she'd had any doubts about Sarah's marriage, they instantly evaporated.

  Withdrawing from her husband's embrace, Sarah asked, "So how about tomorrow evening, Eden? Want to paint the town with Logan and Chris and me?"

  Eden chuckled at the idea of painting tiny Rainbow Rock, but nodded anyway. It might be worth seeing what Logan had in mind. "Sure. Why not?"

  "We'll count on it, then," Chris said. He pushed his chair away from the table. "What do we have for dinner, wife?"

  Sarah answered sweetly, "Whatever you're cooking, husband," and Eden smiled, reassured to see her friend so comfortable and at ease. If Sarah could find happiness, maybe it wasn't too late for her, either.

  * * * * *

  Logan stood holding the telephone receiver in his hand, struggling again with the internal conflict that had occupied him for weeks, every time he thought of Eden—an event that occurred far too often for his peace of mind. The dilemma seemed unresolvable. Why am I doing this? he asked himself. Because I want to, that's why, he answered. Isn't that reason enough? Yes, he needed to begin thinking about marriage and no, Eden Grant was not a suitable candidate. That didn't mean he couldn't take her out to dinner, did it?

  Petulantly, like a child defying a parental edict he considered unfair, he punched in the number Chris had given him. "Hello, Eden? It's Logan Redhorse," he said when she answered. Then he firmly told himself that the pause on the other end of the line did not disappoint him. I shouldn't expect her to be happy to hear from me.

  "Logan?"

  The warmth rushed through him. So he hadn't imagined it! Even now the power between them was just as real, even over the phone lines.

  "Chris told me you were in town. He said you might like to go out with us tomorrow evening."

  There was another slight hesitation. "I'd love to."

  "Let's say I pick you up around six-thirty and drive you out to the farm. That way Chris and Sarah won't have to worry about getting you home." He didn't add it would allow them to extend their time together, if they both wanted to—or cut it short, if that's the way the evening tended.

  Again the brief pause. "That will be fine," she answered, and gave him her home address. He hung up a few minutes later, his spirits buoyed by the prospect of seeing the beautiful belagaana again. He calmed his conscience by telling himself there was nothing serious between them. We're just two adults enjoying each other's company, he told himself firmly, but he walked away from the telephone humming an old love song.

  Eden changed her denim jumper for a pair of navy slacks, then decided against them and changed back. Studying her reflection in the bathroom's full-length mirror, she frowned in frustration. For someone who had had more first dates than any six women she knew, she certainly was having a hard time getting ready for this one.

  So what do I wear to go to dinner with a man who...? She stopped herself when she realized she had no clear way to finish her thought. Well, one thing was certain: there was no established dress code for this situation. She didn't even know what—if anything—was going on between herself and Logan Redhorse. Maybe if they spent enough time together, she'd find out. Yes, maybe I'll just ask him.

  Eden cocked an eyebrow. Why not? After all, they weren't kids, and there was little need for them to play games. She made a mental note. That decided, she hung up both the jumper and the navy slacks and chose instead a pair of black leggings topped with a hot-pink tunic. Sarah had said to dress for comfort, and Eden always got compliments when she wore bright colors. She studied herself in the mirror again and decided she'd do.

  She touched up her makeup and was just running a brush through her hair when she heard Logan's truck pull up outside. He was early. An unexpected tremor ran through her, and her hand shook so hard she nearly dropped the brush. She steadied herself with a long, calming breath, amazed by her case of nerves. Veteran though she was, she couldn't seem to help being rattled by this particular first date with this particular man.

  "Hi," she said as she answered the door.

  "Hi yourself," he answered, giving her outfit a quick once-over. "You look great."

  Eden smiled. "Thanks. So do you." Dumb thing to say, she chided herself as she stood holding the door. The man looked so good, she was having trouble thinking. Had it not been for the feel of the wood under her hand, she might have stood there indefinitely, just staring at him. "Um, we're a little early for Chris and Sarah yet. Would you like to come in for a minute?"

>   "Yeah. Thanks." Logan stepped inside.

  "This way." Eden showed him down the hall into the front room. "The place is a little cluttered just now..." she began.

  "Sarah said you're getting ready to paint," he offered helpfully.

  "Yes. There's a lot of work to be done before I can put the house on the market." She paused, stuck for words again, and then picked up a stack of old newspapers from the couch. She planned to spread them over the carpet when she painted. "Here, have a seat. Can I get you a drink? I'm not sure what I have on hand, but—"

  "Water is fine. Ice if you have it."

  "Sure. I'll be right back." Eden grimaced as she left Logan sitting in the living room. Great going, Grant. Stupefy the man with your scintillating conversation, she reproved herself as she walked to the kitchen. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so stiff and uncomfortable with a date.

  Eden took a moment to prepare two glasses of ice water, adding a fresh lemon wedge to each, and placed them on a black lacquer serving tray, one of the few remaining treasures from her mother's long-ago reign in the kitchen. She added a pitcher for refills, then, starting down the hallway, vowed to have something interesting to say by the time she reached the living room, but found herself slowing her steps as she neared there, her mind still a blank. Ask him about his work, she advised herself. Experience had shown her that most men enjoyed discussing what they did for a living, whether she followed any of it or not.

  "So," she began as she crossed the room and handed him the glass. "Chris tells me you do legal work for the Navajo nation."

  "Thank you," he said, taking the glass, "but Chris gives my work more credit than I do. I represent the People—the Dineh—in several business enterprises, but very little of it is real legal work. Mostly I put my people in touch with other people, trying to get things done."

  Eden smiled warmly. "That sounds worthwhile."

  "You wouldn't think so if you saw what we do," Logan answered with a self-effacing shrug. There's that smile again. Eden caught her breath. Think, girl, think!

  "Like what?" Eden asked, pleased that she sounded so calm.

  Logan hesitated. "You really don't want to hear this stuff," he warned. "It's pretty boring."

  Perversely, that declaration was enough to pique her interest. "Try me," she said. "What are you working on right now?"

  His expression looked doubtful. "Goats."

  "Goats?"

  "Yeah. You know, baaaa. Goats."

  He looked so adorable when he made that bleating noise that Eden chuckled. "Tell me about it."

  So he did. Over the next few minutes, Eden learned that the Dineh had long been herders of sheep and goats—the sheep for both their meat and wool, and the goats largely as meat animals. "But the gene pools that fed our herds were primarily from dairy stock raised in Europe," Logan explained. "We didn't have any meat breeds. Lately, it's become a tribal priority to increase both the quality and quantity of protein available on the rez, especially to growing children, so we've begun a project to bring in goats that reproduce quickly and put on meat faster than other breeds." He interrupted himself with a shrug. "See? I told you this was boring."

  "Not at all!" Eden answered, surprised to find that she really was interested. "Remember?" She refilled his water glass. "My best friend is a vet. Have you found goats like you describe?"

  "Yeah," he answered, apparently pleased at her interest. "There's a couple in Canada who've been importing Boer goats from South Africa. They call them the first true meat breed. We've been working with them to build a herd here."

  "Boer goats? Like the Boer War?"

  "Exactly," he answered, and began telling her about them. By the time they left to pick up Chris and Sarah, Eden had learned that Boer nannies, properly called does, typically dropped triplets and quads in each birth, compared to other breeds which usually delivered twins or single births. Not confined to an annual fall breeding season, Boers were fertile year-round and, properly managed, could give birth three times in two years compared to the once-yearly births of other breeds. Their young developed rapidly as well.

  "Do they need an exotic diet?" Eden asked, searching her memory for tidbits she'd picked up when she'd heard Sarah and her father talk livestock.

  "That's the real beauty of the breed," Logan answered. "They do great on mesquite, sage, black brush—all native to the reservation desert lands."

  "So," Eden said as they pulled up in Chris and Sarah's dooryard, "the Boers adapt easily to local conditions, produce almost twice as many young that grow nearly twice as fast, and yield close to half again as much meat as other goats."

  "Exactly," Logan answered as he stopped his truck. "Here, let me get the door for you." Hopping out on his side, he came around the front to open her door.

  With a start, Eden realized that a goat she'd never before heard of had helped them hurdle their conversation barrier. She smiled at the irony. The relative ease of the last few minutes gave her the courage to press a little. "I think I'd like to meet your goats," she said as Logan took her arm, helping her down from the truck. The touch, heated as an electrical jolt, brought them close enough to look directly into each other's eyes. Warmth and power surged between them, almost knocking her breath away.

  Logan felt it, too; she could tell. He stood, studying her with a long, searching look. "I think I'd like to introduce them to you," he said after a moment. "They'd probably like to meet you, too—the goats, I mean."

  "Goats, pigs, sheep... The man's a veritable walking encyclopedia when it comes to farm animals. Hi, Eden." Chris walked up beside them, Sarah at his side, and Eden realized they must have been waiting on the porch, camouflaged in the September twilight—and getting an earful about goats.

  "Hi, Chris." Eden returned his light hug, and then gave another to Sarah, glad the darkening sky hid her blush.

  "So tell me. Has the Navajos' answer to Donald Trump been regaling you with stories of his latest business conquests? Or boring you with stuff about farm animals?" Chris asked, giving Logan an elbow.

  "Aren't they the same thing?" Logan asked with a shrug.

  "Don't you know?" Sarah teased him.

  "They seem the same to me," Logan answered. "Everybody tells me I'm advising the tribe on business, but then they set me up with goats and pigs." He shrugged. "Hey, how's a guy supposed to know?"

  Sarah laughed easily, and Eden joined her. Any remaining discomfort vanished like bubbles on the summer air. This dinner was going to be fun.

  * * * * *

  "What about Eden?" Chris asked as they finished their dinner and started toward Sarah's car. He was keeping his voice down, directing his words toward Logan alone while the women lingered behind them.

  "Don't you worry about the pretty belagaana, Logan answered, acting on the choice he'd made hours earlier. "I'll see her safely home."

  Chris gave him a meaningful look. "You like her, don't you, buddy?"

  Logan didn't dare say how much. He didn't even want to think it. He shrugged. "What's not to like?"

  Chris laughed; he'd said the same thing himself. He measured his friend with a look, and then gave him a playful shove. "Just watch how you treat this one, man. She's a lady through and through."

  Logan's grin was slow and lazy. "Don't you think I've noticed?''

  The women caught up with them and Chris suggested they all drive back to the farm, letting Logan take Eden home. Logan watched Eden's face, assessing her response. She met his eyes when she said, "I'd like that."

  That was something else he liked about her—her directness. It had often offended him in other belagaana, especially belagaana women. From childhood, Navajos were taught to defer to those who were older, and women were taught to defer to men. Navajo women seldom looked anyone but each other or young children directly in the eye. That was how he'd been taught it should be. Yet it thrilled him when Eden met his gaze. There was nothing challenging or superior in her look when she did it, only honesty. She was what
she seemed to be, and Logan liked that. He liked it very much.

  He held the door for Eden while she entered the back seat of Sarah's car, sliding nearer the middle than the positioning of the seat belts encouraged. He got in on the other side and did the same so that they sat side by side as they drove along the road toward the farmhouse.

  While Chris and Sarah kept up the light patter they had enjoyed through the evening meal, he and Eden sat quietly listening. He noticed her scent, warm and familiar, like the desert at night. He noticed her hands, lying loosely in her lap and, watching her face for permission, he lifted the closer one, cradling it in both of his. She smiled and leaned nearer, resting her head against his shoulder. It felt good there, as if it belonged. Maybe this whole thing was crazy—crazy and pointless—but it all felt good. Sometime early this evening, he'd decided to go with that, and deal with the consequences later.

  He made quick work of saying good night to Chris and his lady and ushered Eden into his pickup. She scooted into the middle seat belt and sat close beside him for the two- or three-mile ride back to her place. They chatted quietly, talking about the meal and the evening, Chris and Sarah, and goats. It still impressed him that she didn't mind talking about goats. In fact, she seemed genuinely interested in the project. Earlier that evening, when she had asked to see the goats, he had known there was something special about this belagaana, something worth discovering—if only for a while.

  They reached her porch and he found himself hoping she'd ask him in. When she didn't, he reined in his disappointment. "Good night, Eden. I enjoyed the evening."

  "So did I." She looked up at him in the glow of the front porch light, her sky-blue eyes warm and direct and smiling at him, and he felt again that rush of power that always threatened to knock his breath away. Without pausing to examine it, he let it draw him, pulling his mouth down to meet hers.

  She met him halfway, her mouth warm and sweet and giving. Logan felt the heat sweep through him. He felt her arms around his neck, her scent drifting about him, her softness crushed tightly against his chest, her sweet mouth yielding to his own. He was awash in sensation, drowning in it, and he didn't care whether he ever came up again.