IN THE WORKS
Los Angeles, CA
Skye had dreamed of him again last night, a tall dark man clad in a long black leather coat. Hair the color of ebony fell to his waist, the perfect compliment to his copper-hued skin and deep blue eyes. His features were strong and beautifully masculine, from his fine straight brows to his high cheekbones and hawk-like nose.
It was the same dream she'd had every night since she'd gone to the Natural History Museum to photograph their Indians of North America exhibit three weeks ago.
Skye didn't know why she was dreaming about an Indian who had lived over a hundred and fifty years ago, or why, in her dreams, he wore faded blue jeans and a black tee shirt instead of the breechclout and feathers he wore in the museum's life-sized cut-out. A placard stated that his name had been Wolf Who Walks in the Wild Wind, and that he had been a man of some importance in his tribe.
Skye blew out a sigh. Perhaps she dreamed of him simply because his image had captured her imagination, so much so that she had spent the last thirty minutes standing in the museum staring at his picture, thinking it was a shame that men like Wolf Who Walks in the Wild Wind didn't exist any more. Of course, it was probably just as well. Most of today's women wouldn't know what to do with a strong, independent, alpha male. They wanted men who were caring and sensitive, men who were willing to help with the dishes and change the baby's diaper.
Today's women didn't want to be taken care of. They wanted to go out into the world and earn a living and be treated as equals. They didn't want to stay home and raise children. They wanted to prove they could do anything a man could do, and do it better.
Kick-ass heroines, that was what the women of the world wanted to be these days. A part of her wanted to be a woman like that – strong-willed and confident, able to fight her own battles, dependent on no one, and yet another part of her couldn't help thinking it might be exciting to live with the kind of man who took what he wanted, a man strong enough to defend her honor, or her life, if need be. A man who would climb the highest mountains, cross the deepest rivers, or slay a fire-breathing dragon to save her. Not that there was much call for that kind of thing these days, she thought with a grin. Still, it would be nice to have a man like that, a combination of Superman and Mick St. John, with a dash of Tom Cruise, and a smidgen of a young Clark Gable added for good measure.
Skye sighed as she gazed at the Indian's face again.
And had the oddest sensation that he was looking back at her.
Wolf rested his foot on the bar rail, one hand curled around a glass of rye whiskey. Standing there, he found himself thinking of the woman in the museum again. She had been much in his mind since he had first seen her in Los Angeles three weeks earlier - a petite, slender woman with an abundance of wavy chestnut hair and beautiful, honey-brown eyes. She had been standing in front of a life-sized cut-out that been blown up from a picture some Western photographer had taken of him back in the late 1800s.
Keeping out of sight, Wolf had watched her as she studied the cut-out from every possible angle. It was an amazing likeness, if he did say so himself.
Curious to know more about her, he had followed her out of the museum. She had gone shopping at Nordstrom's, taken in a movie, had dinner with a tall, blond young man who had driven her home and kissed her goodnight at her door step. Wolf had been surprised by the sharp stab of jealousy he had experienced while he watched the two of them embrace.
Wolf had lingered in the shadows outside her house long after she had gone inside, bemused by his jealousy over a woman he didn't know. Later, after he had dined on a succulent brunette, he had returned to this place, safe from the hunters and the bleeders, but determined to see her again.