were fogged with condensation. Rumor was three-fourths of the babies born out of wedlock in the area had been conceived at Brown Bear Point.
That had been before the junkies and dope dealers decided the point was secluded enough to carry on their drug trade, sending the lot of hormone-driven teenagers to search out less dangerous rendezvous places.
Johnny had never brought Leah here—would not have dreamed of it. He'd cared too much for her reputation. He had, however, come here alone occasionally, long after the lovers had all gone home, and watched the sun creep over the mountains. With the morning sun warming his face and making him drowsy, he imagined building a house for himself and Leah in a place such as this—where the only noise to disturb the dawn peace was the trilling of birds. He imagined carrying her outside on those sparkling, fresh mornings, laying her on a blanket of green summer moss and making love to her beneath shaded trees.
What had brought him back here today, he could not guess. Maybe because he simply was not ready to take Leah home yet. Maybe because some perverse, masochistic need to watch the pale sun kiss her cheeks one more time had taken hold of his logic.
Leaning back against the driver's door, right leg jack-knifed on the console, he sipped hot coffee from a Styrofoam cup and watched as her eyes slowly opened and her head lifted. She stared out at the ball of butter-yellow fire suspended above the distant mountain peaks that were splashed in gold and red streaks.
"Where am I?" Her voice sounded dry and weak.
"Brown Bear Point."
She looked at him, confusion deepening the creases around her eyes. "How long have I been sleeping?"
"An hour." He motioned to the McDonald's sack on the dashboard. "There's coffee if you want it. Cream, no sugar as I recall. There's also a Danish. You still like apple, don't you?"
"You have a memory like an elephant." She reached for the sack. "Mind telling me what we're doing here?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. Sometimes I think this truck has a mind of its own."
She dug like a child into the sack, licking her lips as she pulled out the apple Danish in cellophane.
"Let me." Taking the package from her, he tore it open.
Leah watched, a partial grin on her mouth. "You were always a take-charge kinda guy, Johnny. I could do it myself, you know."
"Just thought you might get tired of doing everything yourself."
"I'm used to it." She tore the bun in two and proceeded to eat, her lids fluttering in pleasure as her tongue slid along her lower lip, capturing slivers of cinnamon and icing. "God, I feel as if I haven't eaten in a month."
"We could go somewhere that serves bacon and eggs if you want."
She shook her head and looked out at the sun. "This really is beautiful, Johnny."
"Aside from White Tail Peak it's my favorite place to kick back and get my thoughts in order."
They remained silent for a while as Leah finished the roll, her gaze locked on the horizon as if she dared not look at Johnny. She was nervous, he could tell. The plain fact of the matter was, so was he. Hell, he'd dated some of the most beautiful models in the world, had bedded a few movie stars who thought it would be cool to screw an Indian, and none of them had stirred the hunger in him as Leah Foster once had. And still did, apparently.
Leah took a deep breath and, without looking at him, said, "Why did you really bring me here, Johnny?"
"Hell if I know," he replied softly.
"I really don't think it's wise."
"Why?"
"We're not the same people we were twelve years ago."
"Yes we are. Maybe our lives have gone different directions, but—"
"Too much water under the bridge. Oh, I forgot. We burned that bridge, didn't we? The fact is, it's still burning. It burns a little hotter every time you slander my father to the press."
"I don't want to talk about your father."
"Why won't you leave him alone, Johnny?"
"I said—"
"How could you go on 20/20 and say what you did about his involvement in the reservation casinos? You're still holding on to your bitterness because he came between us, and what you perceive that he did to your father."
"If you're referring to my father's blowing his head off … I don't blame your old man for that. I blame my father. He made that decision. He pulled the