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“You speak of yourself as though you are, indeed, Navaho, yet by birthright, you are not,” Stephan
ie said, again speaking without first thinking. When she saw his frown, she just as quickly regretted what she had said.
“In every way I am Navaho,” Runner answered. He tried not to allow her innocent questions to anger him, when what he truly wanted was to take her into his arms. “Since I was six winters of age, I have been raised in the tradition of the Navaho. I am proud to be called Navaho.”
Stephanie recoiled when she realized the bitterness in his last statement. “I’m sorry for being so thoughtless,” she said, swallowing hard. “Of course I can see how proud you are of your adopted heritage. It’s wonderful to see someone who stands so firmly behind his beliefs.”
“And your beliefs are?” Runner said, tempted to reach his hands to her hair, to feel its softness. He fought off the temptation, as he still did not know enough about her to allow his heart to rule his actions.
“My beliefs?” Stephanie said, feeling uneasy. She had seen how quickly Runner had reacted to things Adam had said that had annoyed him, and only moments ago, to what she had so absently said. She had to guard her words much more carefully until there was some trust built between them. Yet, when she looked into his eyes she felt as though she were drowning beneath his dark, penetrating gaze. Her pulse was racing. Her knees felt strangely weak again.
Certainly, she wanted no hard feelings between them, instead, something wonderful and sweet, where they could share everything, even their deepest hopes and desires. Even her desire to be a successful photographer. She feared that Runner’s desire might be to make sure that this did not happen in Navaho land.
“Yes, your beliefs,” Runner said, trying not to speak so stiffly. He did not want these moments to be this awkward, yet he wanted answers, the same as she. “You have brought a camera to Arizona. Is it for making yourself a great profit? Or do you do it for enjoyment?”
While the silence grew, his gaze slowly moved over her as the moon spilled onto her lovely features. Her lips were ripe. Her eyes were innocently wide, and although she was petite, he could see her breasts pressed sensuously against the inside of her white, cotton blouse, the shape of her nipples defined as she held herself stiffly.
“You say that you like horses,” Stephanie said, her voice drawn. “Do they not give you a sense of being, of fulfillment while being with them?”
“Yes, that is so,” Runner said, now gazing into her fascinating gray eyes.
“That is how I feel while with my camera,” Stephanie said, sighing to herself. “While taking photographs I truly feel fulfilled.”
She paused, then added, “I would not venture to deny you the pleasure of your horses, the same as I would hope you would not take it upon yourself to deny me the pleasure of my camera.”
“It is easy to see that you are an intelligent woman,” Runner said, clasping his hands behind him. “So you must know that no Indian, whether it is Navaho, Shoshone, or Ojibway, wants to be exploited by anyone’s cameras. Do you see how impossible it is for me to tell you that I see how your pleasure of a camera compares with mine for horses? Horses are loved by all Indians. Cameras are hated.”
“Are you saying that I will not be able to take photographs in Navaho land?” Stephanie said in a low gasp.
“At this moment, I would prefer not to say,” Runner said, his jaw tightening.
“And when can I expect for you to make up your mind?” Stephanie said, anger welling up inside her.
“In due time,” Runner said. His eyes danced into hers. He found her even more beautiful while she was on the edge of anger. “The Navaho as a whole should decide.”
“I plan to start taking photographs tomorrow,” Stephanie said, stubbornly lifting her chin. “I will not wait for any Navaho’s permission. I have traveled too far not to use my camera.”
“This Navaho will not stop you,” Runner said, admiring her independence. Like his adopted mother, Leonida, this woman was the sort of person who would fight for her rights.
“Why, thank you,” Stephanie said, surprised that he would give in so easily, yet doubting that he truly was. Tomorrow might be a different matter.
It seemed that the moonlight was affecting them both. She could see it in his eyes. She could feel the vibrations of some unseen power moving between them.
She shuffled her feet nervously, her heart pounding as he took one step closer to her, his dark eyes almost hypnotic in their steady stare.
“Do you mind being called the ‘White Indian’?” she blurted, trying to find something to say that could fill the sudden, strained silence between them.
“I pay no heed to the ignorance of those who feel they are ostracizing me by labeling me a ‘White Indian,’” he said thickly. “In truth, I am always quite proud of any reference to my being Indian.”
“You lived in the white community for enough years to become attached to their ways,” Stephanie said softly. “Do you ever hunger for the ways of the white man?”
Runner thought for a moment. Then he placed his hands at her waist and yanked her against his hard body. “E-do-tano, no, I haven’t,” he said huskily. His steely arms quickly enfolded her. “Not until I saw you.”
Everything happened so quickly then, Stephanie’s head began to spin. His mouth closed hard upon hers. She clung to him as he kissed her deeply and passionately, with a fierce, possessive heat.
For the moment, Runner cast aside his dislike of her being a photographer. All that he saw when he looked at Stephanie was a woman. A lovely, alluring woman, who he could no longer resist.
Sweet currents of warmth swept through Stephanie, leaving her weak. She had not been prepared for the intense passion his kiss was arousing within her. The euphoria that was filling her was almost more than she could bear. She felt his hunger in the seeking pressure of his lips. Without thought, she began to answer his kiss with a need that rose up inside her. It was so deliciously sweet, she clung even harder to him.
