LITMIR.BIZ

      “I want my son back.”

      Her head hung down and her shoulders shook with the force of silent sobs.

      Joe stood helpless in the face of Maggie’s despair. When words wouldn’t come, he pulled her into his arms and pressed her face against his shoulder. He held her for a long time without speaking.

      “It’s so cold outside,” she whispered, her breath warm against his chest. “They didn’t even take his blanket.”

      Joe swallowed the knot of regret in his throat. “We’ll find him.”

      With Joe’s arms around her, Maggie felt as if she’d come home. Hope feathered the inside of her stomach. Even after her tears dried, she didn’t lift her head, didn’t want to move from the certainty of Joe’s embrace. Despite the pain of their past, he was the only man she trusted to find her son alive.

      And she’d sell her soul to the devil himself to get Dakota back.

      Lakota Baby

      Elle James

      This book is dedicated to my children—Courtney, Adam and Megan—and to my grandson—Reily. If ever I lost one of you, I’d be as frantic as my heroine, Maggie, to get you back. Children are to be loved and cherished. They outgrow their parents entirely too fast. I love you guys!

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Golden Heart winner for Best Paranormal Romance in 2004, Elle James started writing when her sister issued the Y2K challenge to write a romance novel. She managed a full-time job, raised three wonderful children and she and her husband even tried their hands at ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas) in the Texas Hill Country. Ask her and she’ll tell you what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry 350-pound bird! After leaving her successful career in information technology management, Elle is now pursuing her writing full-time. She loves building exciting stories about heroes, heroines, romance and passion. Elle loves to hear from fans. You can contact her at [email protected] or visit her Web site at www.ellejames.com.

      CAST OF CHARACTERS

      Joe Lonewolf—Painted Rock Reservation tribal police chief, sworn to carry on the ways of his Lakota ancestors.

      Maggie Brandt—Joe’s former lover and widow of his dead stepbrother. Will her secret ruin her chances with Joe?

      Dakota—Maggie’s five-month-old son, kidnapped and ransomed.

      Bill Franks—Ex-con turned vending machine delivery man. Is he delivering more than snacks to the residents of the Painted Rock Indian Reservation?

      Gray Running Fox—Joe’s old friend and manager of the Grand Buffalo Casino.

      Tokala—The mysterious drug dealer supplying methamphetamines to the Lakota youth.

      Marcus Caldwell—National Indian Gaming Commission representative to the Grand Buffalo Casino.

      Randy Biko—The leader of the Sukas gang.

      Delaney Toke—Tribal police officer and Joe’s right-hand man.

      Leotie Jones—A woman obsessed with Joe Lonewolf. Would she do anything to get him?

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter One

      She stood on a slight rise in the middle of a prairie, the golden grasses wilted and dying. Winter hovered on the horizon, gray clouds growing ever larger, harbingers of the snows to come.

      Despite her goose-down jacket, she shivered, wondering where she’d left her gloves and hat. Anyone with sense wouldn’t come out in subzero temperatures without the proper clothing. Had she lost her mind?

      As she pondered this conundrum, she heard a bleating sound as if a lamb had been separated from its mother. Where did the cry come from? She spun three-hundred-sixty degrees but all she could see was prairie for miles and miles. Not another living soul, animal or human, just herself alone on an endless plain.

      Was it an animal separated from its mother? Her heart wept for the frightened creature.

      Thinking she might have imagined the sound, she turned to find her way home. Home to the little cottage on Painted Rock, the South Dakota Indian Reservation where she lived with her son, Dakota.

      The cry sounded again, only this time less like a lamb and more like the plaintive whimper of a baby.

      Her baby.

      “Dakota?” Her heartbeat picked up pace until it pounded against her ribcage. She couldn’t see her son in the vastness of the open prairie. Why was she here? Why had she left Dakota alone in his bed?

      She took off at a run, knowing neither the direction nor the distance to town. All she knew was that she had to get to Dakota. He was crying—he needed her. The more she ran, the slower her legs moved until she slid into a wallow, her legs dragged down by the weight of cold, clammy mud filling her boots and coating her clothes.

      “Can’t stop. Must get to Dakota.” Leaning to the side, she grasped an outstretched branch from a tree she hadn’t seen a moment before. The branch became a hand, locking with her fingers, dragging her to safety, freeing her from the pit of glue-like sludge.

      For a moment, she lay with her face on the ground, gasping for breath. When she lifted her head to thank her rescuer, her dead husband stared down at her, his face slashed with blood, his eye sockets vacant. Again, he held out his hand to help her to her feet.

      Maggie screamed and fell backward into the ditch, the sucking mire like fingers grasping at her arms and legs, dragging her deeper and deeper until mud covered her face, filling her lungs. When she thought her chest would explode from lack of air, blessed blackness swallowed her.

      MAGGIE BRANDT sat straight up in bed, shaking.

      “Dakota,” she said into the darkness, pulling in deep breaths of cool night air.

      Her digital clock glowed—4:15 a.m. It wasn’t due to go off for another two hours. With her heart still pounding in her ears, she knew she wouldn’t get back to sleep.

      Had she been startled awake by the dream? Or had Dakota really cried out in his sleep?

      Shivering, Maggie slung the covers aside and slid from her bed. She padded barefoot across the carpeted floor, her feet moving more freely than they had when mired in the mud of her nightmare.

      Why was it so cold in the house? If it was this chilly in her room, what about the baby’s room? Had he kicked his covers off? Why hadn’t he woken up crying?

      Her steps quickened.

      To conserve

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