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that you were just…you.” He didn’t add that part of it had to be the massive attraction he felt anytime they were together. Of course it had been hard to get through dinner without jumping her bones too. His dick was trying to push its way out through the front of his jeans, but he really wanted to see her artwork.
    “Thanks.” She lifted their clasped hands to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. “I like you too. Now here. These drawings on the wall came from my first book—the story of How Grandmother Spider Stole the Sun .”
    She pointed to a series of six framed black-and-white drawings that nearly took his breath away with their simplicity and beauty. The animals were stylized, almost like the fetishes he’d seen in museums, but they were very clearly full of life and personality.
    The first showed the backs of a group of animals, all staring at a very clever-looking fox.
    Dash studied the second, which looked like some kind of rodent, but with a big, fluffy tail. “So what’s the story?”
    “When the Earth was first made, this side of it had no light, but the Fox had heard that there was sun on the other side. The Opossum had a big bushy tail, so he volunteered to go steal the sun from the other side of the world, and hide it in his tail to carry it home.”
    “But opossums don’t have bushy tails,” Dare said. “At least the ones we have in Chicago sure don’t.”
    “They’re the same animal,” she said with that light, sweet laugh. “But this is a story.
    Just listen. The opossum tried to steal a piece of the sun, but it burned all the hair off his tail and the people there caught him and took their sun back.” Pointing to the next 28
    Eagle’s Redemption
    frame, she showed him the opossum, this time with his familiar naked tail, which had smoke steaming from it.
    “Ah, I get it.” Dash looked at the next picture. “Eagle?”
    “Nope. Buzzard. When he tried to steal the sun, it burned all the feathers off his head.” Sure enough, the next one showed the same bird with a bare, smoldering pate.
    “This is really cool. Comanche legend?”
    “Cherokee—my paternal great-grandmother used to love telling me these stories when I was little. Do you want to hear how it ends?”
    “Well, I’m guessing the spider is involved.” The sixth and seventh pictures showed a large spider, sitting in a dark tree at first then, in the end, on a web holding a round jar with a brilliant sun shining in the sky. Odd, how all that could be portrayed with just white paper and black ink, but Carmen had managed it beautifully.
    “Grandmother Spider made a jar out of clay and spun a web. Then after she captured the sun in her jar, she scurried home along the silken strands. Not only did she bring the sun to the Cherokee people, she also gave them the gift of pottery.”
    “Damn,” he said, staring at the collection and shaking his head. “I expected you to be good, but these are…phenomenal. Carmen Whitefeather, you are one multitalented woman.” He dropped her hand to cup her face with both of his and kissed her slowly and deeply—the way he’d been wanting to since he arrived.
    “Holy crap,” she gasped after they came up for air. “You’re pretty talented yourself.
    I think I need another glass of wine. Want one?”
    “I’m driving back to my place,” he reminded her. “It’s not far, but I doubt there’s cab service available.”
    Shoot, she thought she was being obvious, but clearly she was rustier at this sort of thing than she’d thought. “You could stay awhile.”
    The little groan he almost managed to suppress was the best sound she could have heard. “Not a good idea.”
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    Cindy Spencer Pape
    “Isn’t it?” She inched along the back of the sofa then reached out and laid her hand over his. “Last time I checked we were both consenting adults.”
    “Yeah, but your grandfather is a friend of mine—and he carries a big-ass shotgun.”
    “Grandfather knows I’m not a vestal