Then she noticed a powder-blue teddy bear lying forgotten against the wall. The plush, pillow-like toy was Dakota’s favorite. He liked to sleep with it at night.
Maggie sank to her knees and gathered the plaything to her breast, inhaling the scents of baby powder and milk.
Why her child? He didn’t like going with strangers, preferring only those he recognized, his mother and his caregiver, Mrs. Little Elk.
Please Dakota, don’t cry too much. With all the child abuse and neglect she’d witnessed in the year and a half she’d been on the reservation, she hoped whoever had Dakota wasn’t one of the abusers.
She pressed her face into the teddy bear, squeezed her eyes shut and sent a prayer to God and the Lakota spirits to help Joe find her son. At this point, she didn’t care if he found out he was the father or if he sued for custody. Maggie loved Dakota so much she’d give him up to his father if she could be certain he was alive and taken care of.
Why hadn’t she heard them when they’d entered her house? A good mother would have woken up at the slightest movement. If only she hadn’t slept soundly. If only she’d woken with the dream. If only she’d left the reservation and gone home to Des Moines when Joe went to war. She should have left while she was still pregnant and Dakota was safe in her womb. Her baby would still be with her if she’d gone to Iowa. None of this would have happened.
If only.
She buried her face in the bear’s soft nylon fur, her shoulders shaking, her body racked with dry, silent sobs. Alone in the middle of the prairie, her son was nowhere to be found.
The phone in her bedroom rang twice before Maggie heard it, so deep was she in her misery.
She lurched to her feet, the teddy bear still in her hand, and raced for the cordless phone on her nightstand.
“Hello?” She practically hyperventilated with her hopes and fears tangled in her chest.
“We’ll trade the baby for what was stolen from us. Coyote Butte. Saturday, midnight. Come alone or we kill the kid.”
“My baby? Is Dakota all right?” Maggie asked in a strangled whisper. “Please. Is he okay?”
An infant’s cry could be heard in the background, before the line went dead.
“Dakota!” Maggie crushed the receiver to her ear, straining to hear her baby. Her hands shook so much she banged the phone against her temple, the pain barely registering. “Dakota! Oh, please, let me have my baby!”
“Maggie?”
As her vision blurred, the phone slipped from her ear. They had her baby and he was alive. Blackness curled around her and her knees buckled.
“Maggie!” Joe was there, gathering her into his arms, holding her up when her legs gave way. He smoothed her hair from her face and muttered soothing words.
She stood for several moments, reminding herself to breathe, telling her heart to go on beating, absorbing the strength, smell and touch of Joe holding her in his arms.
Finally, Joe tilted her chin up and stared down at her intently. “What happened, Maggie?”
“I heard my baby.” Her fingers clutched at the lapels of his shirt. “They have Dakota. He’s alive.”
THANK THE SPIRITS. Joe held her face against his shoulder. “Shhh, he’ll be okay.” He hoped to hell they found the child before the kidnappers did something stupid. The tribal police were already combing through a list of possible suspects and the state police had issued an Amber Alert throughout South Dakota and the bordering states. The FBI would be there within the next two or three hours. For now, the best he could do was to hold Maggie and help her through the terror of her loss.
With her body pressed against his and the scent of herbal shampoo stirring his senses, memories flooded in.
It had been extremely hot the summer he’d first met Maggie. He’d hung around the activity center on the pretext of working out with the young people. What he wanted was information about drug abuse and drug dealing involving the teens. What he found was a pretty white woman playing a lousy game of basketball with the young adults. Sweaty, her hair curling wildly around her flushed face, she’d looked so alive, so vibrant. Joe couldn’t resist hanging around. And she’d been so good with the kids, concerned and caring about everything in their lives.
Even after he identified the teens involved in the drug trafficking, he still went by the center with one excuse or another to talk to Maggie. His fascination for the auburn-haired social worker with the sunny smile was pretty obvious.
Charlie Tatanka, a recovering teen drug abuser, had agreed to assist in a DEA sting operation to bring the dealer in. Because of the rapport and level of trust he had with Maggie, the teen insisted she be close at hand as the bust went down.
Within the first two minutes of the maneuver, the dealer realized it was a setup and freaked, pulling a gun. Charlie was shot in the arm before the DEA and the tribal police could disarm the perpetrator.
Joe remembered how upset Maggie had been. As distressed as any parent would be over her own child, she’d accompanied the boy in the ambulance to the hospital where she’d stayed half the night ensuring Charlie was comfortable and had the proper treatment.
After the drug dealer was handed over to the state police, Joe dropped by the hospital to check on Charlie and Maggie. Charlie’s father was there to take him home in his pickup truck. Joe offered to give Maggie a lift. That’s when his inward struggle began.
She was still wired, talking nonstop during the trip back, riding an adrenaline high. Although worried about Charlie she couldn’t contain her excitement over ridding the reservation of another dealer. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shining.
She’d been so beautiful, Joe had had a tough time concentrating on the road. When they’d arrived at Maggie’s small house on the reservation, he’d insisted on checking out the place to make sure she was safe. Reluctant to leave her, he’d been caught up in her exuberance, the passion of her conviction spilling into him and kindling a similar passion of another nature.
When Joe started to leave, Maggie made the mistake of throwing her arms around his neck to thank him for caring about the teenagers. Unable to resist, he’d returned the embrace, kissing her until he was breathless, amazed at the burst of desire surging through his body.
In the heat of that embrace, he hadn’t given a thought to what color, race or religion she was. That she wasn’t Indian didn’t cross his mind once. He only knew he had to hold her, touch her and feel her skin against his. The kiss didn’t end until morning. He’d spent the night in Maggie’s arms feeling as if he’d been given a gift from the spirits.
Then he’d woken to reality and a vast amount of guilt. He’d made a promise to his father that he’d continue the ways of his people. There was no room for a white woman in the Indian culture—no place for her in his promise to his father. He’d left that morning without a word, before she’d awakened.
He’d taken two days off from work and escaped to the bluffs on a vision quest, his mind a confused mass of old beliefs and fresh desire. The quest turned into a reaffirmation of his Lakotan beliefs, but he moved no closer to resolving his feelings for Maggie.
Nor would he be given the chance to work through them.
Upon his return, the first thing that hit him was the message on his answering machine from the South Dakota National Guard. “You’ve been ordered to active duty. You have twenty-four hours to report to your assigned duty station.”
His world had rushed in around him and he’d made a decision. For the next fourteen months, he’d lived with the result in the hell of Iraq.
But now he stood with Maggie once again in his arms and knew what a terrible mistake he’d made. Her soft curves had blossomed even more as a mother and he liked it—almost too much. She was his stepbrother’s