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Hummingbird Kisses

By Delia Latham

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Chapter 1

“GOOD MORNING, LITTLE ONE.” TONI Littlebird spoke softly to the tiny creature perched on her outstretched hand. As always, a thrill of pleasure coursed through her blood at the simple but exhilarating contact. “Aren’t you a beauty!”
The hummingbird cocked his head one way and then the other. When another hummer landed on Toni’s opposite shoulder, his wings fluttered with the lightning speed typical of his species but then settled again without further protest.
Toni laughed—a gentle purr of delight that wouldn’t frighten her little feathered friends.
“That’s right…be nice. I know you guys like to guard your turf, but here in the hollow, you’re on my territory. You’re all welcome, and I’ll not have you running each other off.”
As if they understood every word, the hummers seemed content to allow each other a bit of space. Within moments, small jewel-toned birds lined both of Toni’s arms and shoulders. A couple of them nestled into the palms of her hands.
She continued a stream of quiet conversation…a variation of the same words she spoke to her tiny visitors every day. A few she addressed by names she’d given them, though she could never explain how she recognized those few hummingbirds apart from the others.
“I must go inside, my sweet darlings. The Coming Up Valentines Dinner and Dance is tonight, so there’s a lot to be done today. Will you all be on your best behavior for my guests, please? Diamond, you keep the peace out here, OK? Sapphire will help, won’t you, sweetness?”
She gently lifted her arms and, as a matter of routine, began to turn in gentle, swaying circles, honoring her hummingbirds in what she thought of as a ritual “see you later” dance. Eyes closed, she drank in the warmth of the sun on her face and the near-zero weight of the birds lining her arms and riding her shoulders. Her favorite part of every morning was this time spent with the lovely, fascinating birds who so inexplicably loved the hollow and her gardens as much as she did.
But this time her dance wasn’t destined for the customary slow-to-a-standstill finale—the gentle farewell to the birds, who always remained in place as she danced, never lifting off to soar away until she’d blown kisses and spoken soft, loving words of goodbye.
Instead, an ugly roar split the air. Distant at first, it became more abrasive and disruptive with every moment. Loud music accompanied the discordant, mechanical growl. As the noisy intrusion reached a decibel of such intensity that Toni’s ears ached, the tiny birds on her arms and shoulders first began to tremble—despite her quiet reassurances—then lifted and darted away, almost as one.
A sudden, overwhelming chemical smell filled the air. Toni’s hands flew to her face, but covering her nose didn’t reduce the unpleasant odor. The distinct stench of oil and gas billowed over and around the house in a noxious cloud. Never had Hummingbird Hollow been subject to such odorous and ear-crunching company!
Anger bordering on outrage drove Toni toward the inn, set on giving a proper tongue-lashing to whomever was responsible for the rude intrusion on the peace and quiet of the hollow…but mostly on her treasured morning interlude with her tiny, winged friends.
She rushed through the kitchen, ignoring the wide-eyed, questioning glances of the kitchen staff. On she went, past a formal dining room and through the huge common room with its impressive rock fireplace. Today she didn’t give the striking floor-to-ceiling feature a fleeting glance.
An over-sized entrance served as the sign-in space for her bed and breakfast, Inn the Hollow. She flew through the archway and zoomed across the floor toward the door, which opened just as she reached it. Toni catapulted into a big, broad, unyielding chest covered in black leather.
“Oh!” She bounced backward, but was saved the indignity of falling on her backside when a strong arm circled her waist and pulled her against the leather-covered chest once again.
“Whoa! Can’t have you falling for me like that.” Amusement lent pleasant undertones to a deep voice that rumbled like silent thunder in the chest against which Toni’s body was pinned. For an inexplicable moment, she found herself longing to simply stay there, held in those strong arms, with the smell of male sweat and warm leather filling her senses.
She gasped and pushed herself away. The contact suddenly felt disturbingly intimate.
“Don’t flatter yourself. You were in my way, and besides, I’m pretty sure you’re the one who interrupted my morning meditation and frightened my friends away.”
Despite her own respectable five-foot, eight-inch frame, Toni found she needed to look up to make eye contact. Right now, she could see nothing but that broad, leather-covered chest. The fact that she was reluctant to look elsewhere stoked the fire of anger already lit within her. She jerked her traitorous gaze upward, and found, instead of a neck, a long, rather unkempt, dark blonde beard.
Ugh. Facial hair. She’d never found it attractive—probably something to do with her Native American ancestry—so she continued her visual journey, but slammed on mental brakes in the next instant. Between the beard and mustache that surrounded them, an amused half smile claimed full, well-defined lips, the lower of which was fuller and even more sensual than the upper. Fascinated, Toni found herself reluctant to look away—until those perfect lips twitched further upward in obvious amusement.
Allowing her gaze to move on past an impossibly straight nose, Toni bit back a gasp when she met a pair of startling blue-green eyes. Kind, gentle, fun-loving eyes that reached out and touched her soul. They were the eyes. The ones she’d known, without being able to describe, would someday turn her world upside down. Eyes that belonged to him—the man God had created just for her. The man she’d always said she’d know when she looked into his eyes.
This man…whoever he was.
Her heart sank. This man…who’d interrupted the peaceful tranquility she so loved about Hummingbird Hollow. This man…who boasted long, untended, dark golden-brown strands—on his chin, on his head, and hanging several inches down his back.
This man, whose name she didn’t yet know, and whose entrance into her life had been anything but romantic, was God’s choice of a life partner for LiTonya Littlebird, better known as Toni, who owned and operated Hummingbird Hollow’s bed and breakfast, Inn the Hollow.
Toni sighed. God never makes a mistake. His choice is always right. Things she’d been taught all her life and believed with all her heart. Still, in this telling moment, she couldn’t help but wonder. Surely, Lord, you didn’t intend to send me this…this barbarian!
Having smoothed her top and brushed off her slacks with slow movements and trembling fingers, she lifted her gaze, determined to appear strong and, most importantly, unshaken by the powerful revelation. With her anger tamped a mere hair by shock, Toni crossed her arms and took a backward step away from the mountainous man in her doorway.
“Well, whatever horse you rode in on needs to be given a proper burial. It’s stinking up my hollow. Tell me what I can do for you, so you can get that thing out of here. I can only hope the stench clears before my guests arrive tonight.”


Right out of an Indian fairy tale!
Despite the twin circles of outrage on the woman’s cheeks, Dax Hendrick found it quite impossible to remove his gaze from her face. She epitomized beauty. Pure, undefiled, completely natural beauty. This creature, whom he’d held in the circle of his own arms, was the stuff of every man’s most creative imagination.
Perfection. He’d found perfection, embodied in this raven-haired woman who could only be of Native American descent. The high cheekbones and blue-black hair bespoke her heritage.
But what of those eyes? Not black, but not brown either. Not green. Somewhere between the three colors, and nearly translucent, her gaze held the power to hypnotize and mesmerize. Dax fought the urge to stare into them as if searching for the meaning of life.
“Well?” She snapped her fingers a few inches from his nose. “Are you going to tell me your name, and why you’ve disturbed the peace of Hummingbird Hollow? I’ll have to pray a million prayers to cleanse the stink from my home.”
“A million? That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think? Do your gods truly require such an over-abundance of pleading before they answer? Because, if so, I can introduce you to—”
“I serve Jesus Christ, stranger, and you are correct—I misspoke. He answers my every sincere prayer, and there is no need to repeat my sincere petitions again.” Those lovely, indescribable eyes glittered across the counter behind which she’d hidden her graceful form. “I guess I’m a little shaken by your thunderous entrance. Between the blaring cacophony you probably call music, and the roar of your engine, I fear my beloved hummingbirds will never make another appearance in this hollow.”
Dax opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak.
“If you’ll tell me how I can help you get back on the road, I’ll be happy—more than happy—to get you on your way.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off the beautiful proprietress, whose blood clearly ran about as warm as a rattlesnake’s. How was it even possible for such astounding beauty to exist in the same vessel with a vitriolic personality of this degree?
Maybe he’d made a mistake, and this big, haphazardly designed residence wasn’t the one he’d seen with disturbing regularity in recent meditative moments. Maybe another, similar hollow existed somewhere in Arkansas, and he’d simply made a mistake. Surely this one, though downright beautiful, couldn’t be the same peaceful little vale he’d seen in every prayer picture he’d been shown for the past six months.
Except it was, and he knew it.
“Well?” The woman drummed her fingernails—clean and well-shaped, but not fake in any way—on the countertop. “I really don’t have all day, sir.” When she spoke again, uncertainty softened the edges of her previously acerbic tone. “Can I help you in some way?”
Dax stood for a moment longer, studying the woman…and his surroundings, which were tastefully decorated and receptive, despite the absence of professional planning and design. Walls jutted off from one another in a sad lack of symmetry. Corners didn’t always meet in perfect harmony, which grated Dax’s nerves and left him vaguely nauseated. Whoever had built this structure hadn’t known a thing about architecture. And yet someone—probably the breathtaking lady who stood frowning at him across the counter—had managed to make it warm, welcoming, and pleasing to the casual eye.
Now if only he possessed such a thing. The only way he knew to look at any structure with walls was purely professional, always assessing the good points and bad ones.
He pulled in a deep breath and held it a few seconds. When he felt certain he could respond with any kind of grace, he smiled. The woman was like a stunning desert cactus—lovely to the eye, but painful to the touch.
“Yes, ma’am. I’d like to claim my reservation, if you don’t mind.”
A soft gasp and a slight widening of the eyes gave away her surprise. “You…have a reservation? Here? At Inn the Hollow?”
At his nod, she ran a finger down one of the pages in an open registry on the counter. At last, she raised her gaze—which bordered on repentant—to his.
“Are you Dax Hendrick?”
“I am.”
“And I—” She broke off and nibbled at her lip. A small storm brewed in her eyes. “I apologize.”
Dax grinned, impressed with the woman’s strong will and easy grace. “Then all is forgiven?”
Her level gaze held a world of…something. Something Dax found himself eager to explore.
“I wouldn’t go that far, Mr. Hendrick. My hollow still smells like oil and gas, and my sweet hummingbirds are still hiding out somewhere in the trees. I can only pray they might return tomorrow.” She laid a pen on the counter. “I’m Toni Littlebird. Welcome to my home. If you’ll just sign the registry, sir. Will you be paying with cash or credit card?”
And just like that, she set the basis for their relationship. Professional. Honest to a fault. Well, he could handle that.
Except…those eyes of hers made him want to scratch “professional” off the list, and dive head first into “personal.”
Oh, well. One couldn’t have it all. Right now, he had a sick Harley to care for, and according to this woman, his ailing baby stank. So he had a little clean-up to do.
Dax carried his one duffel bag inside and checked out his room—clean, neat, and decorated with an eye to the owner’s heritage. A large dreamcatcher hung over the bed. On the opposite wall, a colorful blanket, woven in a design that screamed Native American. A similar one draped the foot of the bed, and a luxurious fur rug added warmth and interest to the floor. He nodded once. This would do.
Yet his trained eye caught the slight imperfections—walls that weren’t quite even, a telltale give in the floor due to discrepancies in measurement, or perhaps craftsmanship. Without meaning to do so, he noticed space-saving measures that had been overlooked. Then again, at the time this place was built, not a lot of consideration had been given to such things.
At the thought, a chuckle rumbled from between his lips. Who knew when it had been built? Without even searching out the structure’s history, he knew that it was an architectural mutt—it had grown a wing here and a room there, over a good many years and quite a few owners, with little thought to aesthetics or proper building techniques. Various sections of the home spread every which direction from the central core. The result provided more living space—clearly the original intent—but brought no dynamics into play. Heating and cooling had to be major costs, given all the randomly added space. He doubted the place had central air and heat. Insulation? Certainly not a given. With all the faulty construction quirks, how could his hostess even afford to keep the doors open?
Not his problem. He tossed his duffel into a small closet, took a moment to splash water in his face and wash his hands, then headed back downstairs. He’d take a quick walk to stretch his legs, and maybe find some out-of-the-way place where he could hide his ugly, stinky Harley until he got it back in shape.

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