A Wolf in the Desert by Bj James

the understatement of the obvious. “Maybe next time.”
    â€œYou and who else?” Patience chose bravado to mask her turmoil.
    â€œOnly Indian, my dear girl.”
    â€œI’m not your dear, and I’m certainly not your girl,” she flung back at him.
    Indian drew a weary breath, his chest rising and falling beneath the vest. Angry welts left by her nails were vivid on his coppery skin. “I’m aware of that.”
    â€œGood.” Crossing her arms over her breasts she continued to glare up at him. “At least we got that straight.”
    â€œVery straight.” On the heels of the clipped response, he reached for her. “Come here.”
    â€œNo.” Patience skidded back a step, but not far enough.
    He pulled her closer, forcing her down with him to the ground, fitting himself snugly at her back, his knees bent at her sides.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” she demanded as she tried to turn.
    Folding his hands around the back of her head, he turned her firmly to the front. “Be still, unless you want this twig to become so entangled in your hair we have to cut it free. If that’s the case, I can make quick work of it. Then your only decision will be whether you want to start a trend of being half scalped and half not, or wear a crew cut.”
    He released her, pulling the knife from the scabbard in which it had only just been sheathed. Holding it in front of her, he turned it slowly, letting her absorb the impact of what he’d said. “There’s another way. You can behave. If you do, I think I can work it free.”
    He turned the knife again. “Which will it be?”
    Patience started to speak, but words of surrender clogged her throat. She drew a long, hard breath, cleared her throat, and licked lips as parched as the desert at midday. Her voice was barely a breath itself. “I’ll be still.”
    â€œWhat was that?” He leaned close, his cheek brushing her hair, his lips nearly touching her ear. “Did you say something?”
    â€œYou heard me.” She raised her voice a decibel.
    â€œDid I?”
    â€œDammit, Indian!”
    â€œTut, tut.” His breath was warm on her neck. ”You’re getting angry again.”
    â€œI’m not angry.”
    â€œIf you’re not, I’d like to see the fireworks when you are.”
    â€œShut up,” Patience snapped. “Just shut up and cut it.”
    Indian leaned away from her, stroking her hair with one hand, stealthily sheathing the knife with the other. Clasping a strand that gleamed like burnished rubies, he let it drift through his fingers. “What a shame.” His hand tightened again, tugging lightly. If the edge of the other hand pressing down on the stunning mass were really a knife, the lock he held would have been shorn at the scalp.
    â€œWait.” She caught his wrist in her healing hands. ”Don’t.”
    â€œDon’t what?” he asked with a wicked innocence.
    â€œDon’t cut my hair. I’ll be still.” The words didn’t come any easier from repetition.
    Indian laughed and released her. “I thought you might.”
    â€œPut your knife away.” If she clenched her teeth any harder they would break.
    â€œMy knife is in its scabbard.”
    â€œIt has been all along.” Patience finished for him. “You never intended to cut my hair.”
    â€œI’m an Indian, not a criminal. Cutting hair like yours would certainly be a crime.”
    â€œYet I shouldn’t brush it? That makes no sense.”
    â€œIt would if you understood the men you’re dealing with.”
    â€œIf it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be dealing with them.”
    â€œNo,” he agreed with deceptive mildness, “by now you wouldn’t be dealing with anyone, anywhere. If you don’t count Saint Peter at the pearly gates.”
    Biting down on her tongue she stopped its runaway harangue.