Читать книгу The Prodigal Cowboy - Kathleen Eagle, Kathleen Eagle - Страница 9

The tiny reservation town of Sinte, South Dakota, hadn’t changed much, but the house Bella had grown up in looked different. In only five years weeds had taken over Ladonna Primeaux’s flower beds. A swing set occupied what had been the vegetable garden, and an old Jeep had muscled in on the shrub roses that still more or less lined the driveway. Mom had fussed over that yard the way some women gravitated toward babies. With her gone, it looked like most of the other yards in the neighborhood—a cottonwood tree or two, a bunch of kids’ toys, maybe a deck and some struggling grass.

Bella could hear her mother now. Don’t ever let your yard go, Bella. All it takes is a little interest. People who take an interest, those are the interesting people. They’re the ones you always want to talk to.

Ladonna Primeaux was an interesting person. Everyone thought so. Bella had been certain of it. Her mother was as knowledgeable as she was opinionated, which was fine by Bella. Nothing wrong with having opinions if you had the knowledge to back them up. Mom was also dependable, practical and psychic. It wasn’t always easy being the only child of a woman who was constantly one step ahead of the one Bella was about to take. But she’d followed the deep imprints of her mother’s footsteps until there were no more.

The home they’d shared wasn’t there anymore, and the house alone gave no comfort. No point in lingering, hoping for more than memories. Bella didn’t need guidance or approval anymore—she knew who she was and where she was going—but with her mother’s death she’d been cut off at the roots. She was growing as a journalist, but every time she looked at her résumé, she felt like a fraud. Maybe not on the outside—she had the look, totally—but deep down she was missing something.

Her KOZY-TV News assignments rarely touched on Indian issues, so she’d started blogging as Warrior Woman, and her site was gaining followers. But the comments from people who claimed to be Native were few and far between. Maybe they were out there but just weren’t saying so. Or maybe they weren’t even there. Maybe what was missing was new growth. Her interest in Lakota issues was real, but what about Lakota life? What about the home she’d left as quickly as she could and the mother who’d encouraged her daughter to fly while she’d remained in the nest? What about the remnants of those severed roots? Deep down they were still there, like shorn whiskers creating an itch that needed attention.

Guess what, Bella, you’re not a kid anymore. You need to touch up your roots or grow some new ones.

A stop sign and two right-hand turns took her to Agency Avenue. The old Bureau of Indian Affairs building with its spacious offices had been turned over to the Tribal government, and the BIA had moved into the building once occupied by the Tribe. Sign of the times, Bella thought as she took in all the changes. There were more windows, fewer walls, and the colors of the four directions—red, white, black and yellow—had replaced BIA green and tan. There were new names on the directory. Indian names. But there were no office numbers, and so she asked the receptionist whether Councilman Logan Wolf Track was in the house. He’s around here somewhere was the old familiar answer. Monday-through-Friday casual.

“Of course I remember you.” Logan greeted her with a handshake when he came out to greet her. He was lankier than his son but not as tall, not quite as handsome. “Full scholarship to a fine college on the East Coast, right?”

“University of California at Berkley.”

“I meant West Coast.” He smiled easily. “I remembered the important stuff. Full scholarship, terrific college and Bella Primeaux. Your mother was so proud of you we could hardly stand it.”

She lifted one shoulder. “Sorry about that.”

“Hey, just kidding. We’re all proud of you.” He glanced through the plate glass that separated the sparsely furnished lounge from a small parking lot. “And we sure miss your mother. She was something else, wasn’t she?” He turned back to Bella, assuring her with a nod. “In a good way.”

“She was the best nurse Indian Health ever had.”

“She sure was.”

“She could have been a doctor.” It was something she’d always thought, but she couldn’t remember saying it out loud before, giving due credit, open admiration. She’d felt it, but she hadn’t said it within range of her mother’s ear. What kind of range did Ladonna Primeaux’s hearing have now?

“She was a damn good nurse.”

“Yes, she was.” But she could have been a doctor. She’d said so herself, many times. What she’d never said was that she’d had a child to feed. “I ran into Ethan the other night.”

“Where?”

“In a bar,” Bella said, an answer that clearly surprised Logan. “Rapid City. I live there now.”

“I watch you all the time on TV.” He lifted one shoulder. “Well, not every day, but whenever I watch the news.”

She smiled. It was good to be watched and even better to be acknowledged. She owed him something in return. “Ethan’s following in your footsteps.”

“How’s that?”

“Training horses. He mentioned the wild horse training competition. He says he’s going to win the big prize.”

“I hope he does. Help him make a fresh start. Hope he’s not spending too much time in the bars.” He glanced away. “I haven’t seen much of Ethan since, uh …”

“Since he went to prison?”

“He told you about that?”

“He didn’t have to,” she said quietly.

Logan gave a mirthless chuckle. “Made the news all the way out to California, did it?”

“The news is what the media makes it, and I’m part of the media now. I know these things.” She smiled. “All we talked about was high school and what we’re doing these days. He gives you credit for raising him to be a cowboy.”

“A cowboy? That’s down to his older brother, Trace. Although outside the rodeo, I’d say Ethan’s the better hand when he’s of a mind to be. They’re both good, mind you, but Trace goes in for a wild ride, and Ethan … well, he’s wild enough on his own.”

“He was drinking iced tea.”

“In a bar?” Apparently even more surprising.

Bella nodded. “Straight iced tea.”

“I saw him at the Double D earlier this summer,” Logan recalled. “First time in two years. Said he was entering the training competition. Said he was working for a rehab program.”

“He told me he was a ranch hand. Square One Ranch. Something like that.”

“Square One?” His tone put the news on par with tea in a bar. “That’s a program for kids in trouble. Hell, that’s right outside Rapid City. I didn’t know he was living that close by. He didn’t, uh …” Logan’s wan smile spoke of a father’s discomfort with being the last to know. “He didn’t say.”

“I thought it was a cattle ranch. That’s interesting.” What was left out was always more interesting than what was said. Bella added it to her mental file marked Ethan. Also interesting was the way she’d filed him under his first name.

Maybe because it was an old file. She was just realizing how far back it went and how carefully she’d kept it up. No surprise that he’d joined the army after he graduated. No surprise that he’d been gone awhile and come back home. No word of his military experiences, which was also no surprise. The return to Indian Country was never questioned. But he hadn’t stayed around long, and the next Ethan Wolf Track news flash had been surprising. Dirt sells, he’d said, and if she’d been a little further along in her career, she might have tried to track him down. Not because he was in trouble—no surprise there, either. Not because the story involved a woman—most of Ethan’s stories undoubtedly involved women. But there was an odd political connection.

Ethan Wolf Track and a senator’s daughter? Now that was interesting. And Bella would have bet her new mobile phone that what was left out was far more interesting than what was reported.

“He’s pretty sensitive about Senator Garth, isn’t he?” she asked.

“Couldn’t say.” Staring out the window at a young couple getting into a pickup with a washing machine in the bed, Logan didn’t blink. No sensitivity there. “Ethan spent two years in prison for taking Garth’s car. His daughter was the one who took it, but she wouldn’t stand up for him. I’d say he was sensitive about her, but I’d just be guessing.” He turned to give Bella a what’re-you-gonna-do look. “Too damn stubborn for his own good.”

“He said he worked over at the Double D when he was a kid.”

“Couple of summers, yeah. Like I say, Ethan’s a good worker. I’ll bet he’s real good with those kids in the Square One program.”

Bella wondered why Logan seemed so clueless about his son. If she were still alive, Ladonna Primeaux wouldn’t be betting or guessing, she would be asking. On the other hand, Bella herself wasn’t exactly being subtle about fishing for clues about the man’s family, and he was trusting her with what few he had.

A twinge of guilt pushed her to switch tracks.

“The Double D took some grazing land away from a neighboring rancher, didn’t they? I know some of it was public land, but wasn’t there a Tribal lease, too?”

“Yep.” Logan smiled. He liked this topic. “We decided the Wild Horse Sanctuary took precedence. The Lakota are horse people.”

“But Senator Garth has a longstanding friendship with Dan Tutan, who is—”

“My wife’s father.” His smile broadened. “We just got married. Haven’t told Ethan yet.”

“So, uh …”

“Whose side am I on? The horses’ side. So’s my wife. I haven’t heard any objections from the senator. What’s he gonna do? The Tribal Council determines how the land will be used nowadays. It’s called self-determination.”

“That term is so twentieth century,” Bella teased.

“Yeah, well, some of us go back that far.”

“All of us do. The whole relocation program and termination of reservations policy in the 1950s, and then the switch to Indian self-determination in the 1970s, seems like it was only yesterday.” She smiled. “We studied it in our high school history class. Ethan sat behind me.”

He laughed. “Now that must’ve been interesting.”

“It was unsettling.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts and held on tight as she glanced away. “What was interesting was twentieth-century American Indian history and how we’re supposed to finally have a say over what we do with our lives. And our land.” And the fact that Ethan remembered the mole on the back of her shoulder.

Bella shifted her stance, cleared her throat and her thoughts, and turned back to the Lakota leader. “So you don’t think the senator can interfere with the Wild Horse Sanctuary? He sits on a couple of key committees.”

“Let him sit.”

“I was thinking of doing a story.” He gave her a look that that reinforced his suggestion. If the story had to do with Garth, she was wasting her time. She gave a diffident shrug. “Maybe a series on the Tribe’s involvement with the Wild Horse Sanctuary.”

“Involvement?”

“In a good way,” she added hastily.

“Kind of a feel-good story about Indians and horses? That always works. Sally’ll take all the TV spots she can get. You know Sally Drexler—I mean Sally Night Horse—is the woman behind the whole program. You talk about a white tornado…” He chuckled. “That’s from an old TV commercial. White tornado.”

“Must’ve been before my time.”

“Mine, too. Even before self-determination, but around here some things are as timeless as Indians on horses. Especially now that you’ve got YouTube.” He grinned. “So I say go for it. If you need me, I’m in.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. “Actually, it wouldn’t be for KOZY-TV News. My suggestions there fall on deaf ears. They hand me an assignment, and I make it happen. Whether it means anything to anyone …” She glanced away, gave her head a little shake and turned back to a man who was known for having good ears. “That’s what I was doing at the bar the other night. I was looking for different types of singles’ hangouts. The place is called the Hitching Post. Doesn’t that sound like a place to connect?”

“Depends on your idea of hitching, I guess. Never really got the hang of hangin’ out. But Ethan …” He shrugged. “I don’t know, Bella. If you’re asking me about—”

“I’m not,” she said quickly. But she had asked, and she shouldn’t have. “I only meant to say that I’d run into him. You know, just saying.”

“Not telling.” He smiled indulgently. “Just saying.”

“Do you know anything about Square One? Is it a good program?”

“It’s pretty new, but they’re building a good reputation. We’ve had some kids placed there through Tribal Court.”

“Why don’t we go out there and take a look? You haven’t seen much of Ethan lately, and I’m looking for connections.”

“I’m not much of a connection, Bella. I don’t think Square One qualifies as a singles’ hangout, and I don’t qualify as a single. My wife’s coming home for good pretty soon. The army’s letting her go.”

“Her choice?”

“Yeah.” Again he grinned, but this time it was purely for personal pleasure. “I’m gonna be a father again.”

“Congratulations. Wow.” Apparently he’d wasted no time. “So how about it? Do you have some time today?”

“I do, but if Ethan’s there, I’m not gonna show up uninvited. He only let me visit him once when he was in prison. Took me off his visitors list after that.”

“Why would he do that?”

Logan shook his head. “I married his mother, and he took to me right away. After she left, he was different. For a while we thought sure she’d come back. His brother and I did, anyway, but Ethan never asked about her. Never jumped for the phone the way Trace did, never expected any more from her. He kinda became his own little man, you know? He got a little older, he tried to find his father. We didn’t have much to go on, so it didn’t pan out. Far as I know.”

“You helped him?”

“Did what I could. He had a picture and the little bit his mother told him. The guy was part Indian. Don’t know where he was from, though. Ethan looks a lot like the guy in the picture. I don’t know what would’ve happened if we’d found him.”

“Ethan didn’t seem like one to dwell on the past. History didn’t interest him all that much.”

Logan smiled wistfully. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s as smart as they come.” He punctuated a cocked finger with the cluck of his tongue. “Ethan’s your connection to Square One.”

Without a GPS Bella would have missed the turnoff to Square One Ranch. The sign stood so low to the ground that the dancing heads of the tall crested wheat grass obscured the small print. Rebuilding Our Lives From the Ground Up. The two visible roofs turned out to be a hulking old barn and a spanking-new two-story box. It wasn’t until the access road took a dip that she saw the small ranch-style house that had to be a good place to start searching for someone in charge of the operation.

An attractive young blonde opened the front door before Bella mounted the steps. Bella knew the routine. Country dwellers saw visitors coming a mile off. At half a mile they had the vehicle categorized—known or unknown, in- or out-of-state, on target or gone astray. In good weather they met you outside. In bad weather they opened the door just enough to check you out with eyes that challenged your motivation, not to mention your common sense.

But Bella had an advantage. “I’ve seen you on TV.” The woman offered a handshake. “Shelly Jamison.”

“Bella—”

“Primeaux, right? You’re even prettier in person.”

“Thank you. I’m aiming for professional.”

“You’ve hit that target, too, but my observation stands.” Shelly tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “What can I do for you?”

“Show me around and tell me about your program.”

“You think we might be newsworthy?”

“I met with a councilman from my reservation. He suggested I come out and take a look.”

“Tribal Courts have sent us a few kids since we started the program.” The hands came out of the back pockets and the arms were quickly folded up front. “We haven’t had any complaints.”

“And you still don’t.” Bella shaded her eyes with one hand so she could offer an unsquinty smile. “Councilman Wolf Track said you were doing a good job here.”

“Wolf Track? We’ve got a Wolf Track on the payroll here.” Shelly glanced toward the weathered barn as her shoulders relaxed and dropped a full two inches. “Hell of a good worker.”

“Ethan,” Bella supplied. “I went to school with him.”

“He can’t be on the Tribal Council, can he? He hasn’t been … I mean, he keeps busy around here, like, 24/7.”

“His father’s the councilman.”

“He never mentioned that. You don’t think that’s why we get … I mean, we didn’t hire Ethan as a favor to any—”

“His father didn’t know he was working here. Really, I’m not here to, um, dig up any dirt.” Recalling Ethan’s words, Bella almost smiled. “KOZY loves a feel-good story, and I thought we might find one here. Ethan has been—”

“I know where he’s been.” Shelly grabbed a chunk of hair that had strayed from her low ponytail and hooked it behind her unadorned ear. “You tell anyone who asks, Ethan Wolf Track is doing just fine. The boys really look up to him. Tell the truth, he’s quickly becoming indispensable around here.”

“I’m not here on any kind of assignment. I’ve heard only good things.” Bella followed the direction of Shelly’s gaze toward the hulking barn. Noisy swallows darted in and out the tiny doors of the clay row houses tucked under the edge of the gambrel roof. “I’m interested in the wild horse part of your program, and I thought maybe I could take a tour.” She lifted her shoulder. “And if Ethan’s around, I’d like to say hello.”

“Oh, he’s around. Dependable as they come, that guy.”

Bella smiled. “If anyone asks, I’ll relay the message.”

“I don’t know anything about Ethan’s family.” Shelly stepped down to ground level, putting them on par, height-wise. “It’s just that good help is hard to find when you’re paying in hot dogs and beans.”

“There must be other rewards,” Bella prompted.

“You get to be around wild things. Wild kids, wild horses and what’s left of wild country.” Shelly moved into the shade of a tall cottonwood, and Bella followed suit. “Wild hearts attract each other.”

“How’s yours?”

Shelly grinned. “I’m the maypole they all get to dance around. I have to crunch the numbers and find the wherewithal.”

“I like that image. This could be a good story, and KOZY isn’t the only media outlet I can access.” Bella smiled. She didn’t mind throwing her TV connection into her pitch. Most people—local people, anyway—were dazzled by it. If they had nothing to hide they eventually opened their doors. Sometimes they couldn’t resist even if they did have something to hide. Besides, everything she was saying was true. “Do you have time to show me around?”

Of course Shelly did.

She led the way with a “follow me,” and they started toward the barn. “The bunkhouse is new.” She pointed toward what might have passed for a truncated no-name roadside motel—plain white, no-frills. “Kitchen and commons area downstairs, bunks upstairs. You wanna see inside? Nobody’s there now except the cook.”

Bella shook her head. “Another time. Who paid for the improvements?”

“We qualified for a government grant and scored some private funding, as well. We get community support, too. People come in and teach whatever skills they have to offer.” Shelly glanced over her shoulder. “TV reporting must require all kinds of skills.”

“You mean, besides talking to the camera?”

“Are you kidding? You’re talking to thousands of people.”

“I don’t think of it that way,” Bella said absently as they rounded the corner of the bunkhouse and headed toward the barn.

“I’d be shaking in my boots and tripping over my tongue,” Shelly said.

“You get used to it. The scary part can be trying to get information out of people who don’t want to talk or pictures of things they don’t want you to see.”

“We tell the kids, once you find out what a relief it is to come clean, you’ll never want to—” They turned another corner and ran into an old flatbed farm truck with its hood up, one guy standing and another guy squatting next to the front tire, and one pair of boots sticking out from under the orange cab.

“Did you guys run over somebody?” Shelly called out. She glanced back at Bella and nodded toward the two faces now turned their way. “There’s your man.” She raised her voice. “You’ve got a visitor, Wolf Track.”

“You patted her down, didn’t you?” Ethan wiped his hands on a rag as he rose to his feet. “Was she packin’?”

“Packing what?” Shelly asked.

“A .38.” Grinning at Bella, he touched the brim of his straw cowboy hat in salutation. “Smith & Wesson, right?”

Bella’s eyes widened as she and Shelly approached the truck. “That was you?”

“You saw the pickup that cruised past? That was trouble.”

“You followed me?”

“Trouble followed you. I followed them.” Beneath the bent brim of his hat a smile danced in his dark eyes. “You don’t wanna tip your hand out on the street like that, Bella. Some people might find a Smith & Wesson even more tempting than a Bella Primeaux.”

She returned a level stare. “Neither one was there for the taking. As I said, I know how to use it.”

“If you really knew how to use it, you wouldn’t be giving away your advantage by broadcasting it.”

“This sounds like an interesting reunion,” Shelly injected, amused. “I’m guessing high school sweethearts.”

“No. Never.” Bella laughed. “I was a lowly underclassman when Ethan was the cock of the walk.”

“The what?” Ethan said.

“You were the captain of everything except the cheerleading squad.”

“And our little two-man history team.” He winked at her, and she wondered whether the gesture had become pure reflex. “I dropped the ball on that one. It was your leadership that got us on the A list.”

“Well played, captain. Credit your teammates. We’d love to hear a play-by-play. Sounds like the makings of an excellent lesson in humility.” Shelly slipped an arm around Bella’s waist. “Please stay for supper so the boys can watch their hero recover whatever he’s fumbled.”

“Thank you, I will.” Bella gave Ethan a sweet smile. “I’m interested in seeing how a cock walks the straight and narrow walk. We already know how he talks the talk.”

“You do know a cock is a rooster, right?” Ethan said.

“Of course. My mother had one. Beautiful plumage. But the hens got tired of him, and the neighbors complained about the crowing.” She shrugged. “So we ate him. I made a tiny dance bustle out of his tail for my little cousin.”

It took a moment, but Ethan burst out laughing. The boy standing near the truck joined in, and the one underneath called out, “Whoa!”

“Are you watching what you’re doing there?” Still chuckling, Ethan returned to his duty. “Has the oil finished draining from the filter?”

“How am I supposed to tell?”

“Use your eyes, Dempsey. See anything dripping?”

“Out of the filter, Dempsey, not your face,” the other boy jeered as Dempsey scooted out from under the cab.

Ethan tapped the scoffer’s barrel chest. “You’re not gonna make it as a comedian, so you’d better learn to make yourself useful for something else.” He reached through the cab window and drew out a box. “Step two.”

“I gotta get back under there?” Dempsey whined.

“What do you say, Bongo?” Ethan laid a hand on the big boy. “You wanna do the oil filter?”

Bongo chuckled as he glanced under the hood. “Does it go on top?”

“No, you gotta get down and dirty.”

Dempsey laughed. “Good luck gettin’ him back out.”

“So that was our automotive program,” Shelly said to Bella as she turned her toward the barn. “The next stop on our press tour will be the henhouse. One of the few centers of serious, steady, no-bull productivity on the place. Besides the kitchen, where we have another woman in charge. I swear, Bella, the testosterone …” With a smug smile she glanced back. “Carry on, boys.”

Ethan looked up at Bella as he sank down, butt to boot heels. “You stay for supper, me and the boys’ll show off our table manners. We just learned that passing is our first option.”

“Yeah, but Bongo still wants to run with the bowl.”

“Shut up, Dempsey,” Bongo called out from under the orange cab.

“Count me in, Shelly,” Bella said, amused, hesitant to move on. “I’m really interested in your program.” To be honest, she felt favored, much the way she had the day Ethan had tapped her on the shoulder in history class and pointed his finger in her direction and then his own. You’re with me on this one.

“I’m interested in her .38,” Dempsey said, loud enough to be heard.

“Jeez, Dempsey, what’s wrong with you?” Bongo asked.

“You do know a .38 is a gun.”

“Sure, I do. And I figure she can read the No Firearms sign out at the gate. You’re just rude, Dempsey. Ahh!” Bongo kicked both legs in the air. “Something’s dripping on me!”

Ethan tipped his head and leaned to one side. “Is it hot?”

“No, but it don’t taste too good.”

Dempsey leaned back against the truck and howled.

“Maybe you’d better keep your mouth shut and get done, Bongo,” Ethan said. “I gotta get cleaned up for supper.”

Folding dining tables flanked a large pass-through window that separated the kitchen from the commons area. Two worn sofas, a card table, a TV and a few chairs furnished the opposite end of the great room. The setup was a small version of the commons at the Indian boarding school Bella had attended before her mother decided she should come back home and go to little Sinte High School. It was not Bella’s choice—the South Dakota mission school had a good reputation for preparing kids for college—and she remembered questioning her mother’s judgment, even accusing her of being selfish, which had turned out to be true. Her mother jealously guarded those years, claimed them as her time. But what she really meant was their time, and Bella had had no idea how short the time would be.

She wondered how many of the two-dozen boys who lined up at the window and came away with plates loaded with meat and potatoes would be taken home by their parents if and when the state stepped aside. They behaved like the boys she’d gone to school with, jostling for position, be it in suckling, pecking or batting order. Dying to get noticed, an expression a few of them would take literally if they found no other way. But here they were allowed to be boys while they learned to be men. If they could, and if they would. She’d reported on more than a few who did not.

“You really are their hero,” Bella noted after Bongo and Dempsey had taken the long way around the tables to congratulate Ethan for “scoring.”

“Yeah, they think I’m bad,” he said with a smile.

“Which is good.”

“In their eyes, maybe. Should I leave it at bad, or should I admit to a generous helping of stupid?” He shook his head as he cast a glance at the fluorescent fixture overhead. “I don’t know, Bella. I’m new at this job, and I’m kinda wingin’ it. You never know what’s gonna work with these gangsters.”

“They don’t seem like gangsters.”

“A couple of them are here because they won’t go to school. They’d rather sit in a hole and smoke weed.” He scanned the tables behind her. “Some have done worse.”

“What’s worse than throwing away your best chance to climb out of a weedy hole?”

“How long have you been reporting the news? You tell me.”

She drew a deep breath as she ran down her mental list. She’d interviewed hardheads in all shapes and sizes. “Throwing away your next best chance on top of the first.”

“Which is why they’re back to Square One. It’s a good option for kids who are open to this kind of rural life.”

“Is it good for you?”

“It’s perfect for me. Tailor-made.” She gave him an incredulous look, and he laughed. “No, I’m serious. I’ve got a place to stay, but I’m free go. I get to eat and sleep and shower whenever I feel like it. I’m doing something useful, and they pay me for it. Plus, they let me keep a horse here.” He winked at her. “I’m makin’ progress.”

She poked at her mashed potatoes with her fork. “I went to Sinte this morning to do a little research.”

“Research?”

She nodded without looking up. “I spoke with your father.”

“If you’re interested in horse training, Logan’s your man.”

“I’m interested in the story behind the horses.”

“How much time you got?” He gave her a sly grin. “Some ‘tails’ are longer than others.”

It wasn’t much of a joke, but the way his eyes sparkled, she had to reward him with a laugh.

“And some kicks are harder on the gut than others,” he added, the sparkle fading. “So watch yourself, okay?”

The smile fell from her face. “Are you talking about Logan?”

“I’m talking about poking around behind the horse. I’m talking about being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong questions.” He sipped his coffee, studying her over the rim of the cup. He set it down slowly. “With all this interest in sleeping dogs and horses’ asses, have you thought about doing something useful?”

“Like what?”

He frowned briefly. “Maybe go back to school for veterinary medicine.”

She laughed. “You know, I never had a dog, and I’ve never really ridden a horse.”

“No lie?”

“I try not to do that, either. So I bet you’re thinking, an Indian girl who’s never had a dog? No way.”

“I’m thinking, a girl who’s never been on a horse? That is heartbreaking.”

“I didn’t say I’d never been on one. I got on, got scared, had a very short ride.”

“End of story?”

“Well, I’ve always loved horse stories, but you get up there, and the horse raises his head right away and starts prancing around, and you’re so high off the ground …” She could almost feel the prickly tummy-to-toes whoosh just thinking about it. “I was six years old. That was my one chance, and I blew it.”

“Stick with me, Indian girl.” He cocked a forefinger at her. “I’m all about second chances.” He smiled. “You want one?”

She stared at him. She knew that come-on look, the charismatic smile, the reflexive wink—she’d seen it all, generally directed at someone else. But she’d only been favored a time or two, and her adolescent self had yearned for once more, Ethan. Look at me that way again, and I’ll follow you anywhere.

Thank God he hadn’t. She would be in a fine mess now, wouldn’t she?

“Tomorrow’s my day off,” he said. “Come back in the afternoon and let me take you riding.”

“Today was my day off.”

“That’s right,” he recalled. “They don’t pay you to dig.”

“They do, but only in certain places. They’re called assignments. I’m very good about getting my assignments done before I go back to digging in more fertile—” she demonstrated, sinking splayed fingers into air serving as ground “—loamy ground, dark and loaded with secrets. In my business, there is no right or wrong question, only true or false answers.”

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no …” His smile was slight, almost sad. “Truth is, I’ve got no answers. I’m still looking.”

“My mother told me once that she was taught not to ask questions, but eventually she decided it was no good to hang back.” She sat back in her chair, listening in her mind’s ear, reciting word for word. “‘We live in a world full of people who love to give answers. They might not be generous with anything else, but they have answers to spare. If you don’t ask, they think you’re not interested. And if you’re not interested …’”

“I’m interested. I’m asking.” His smile turned inviting. “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

“What time tomorrow afternoon?”

“Whenever you get off work.”

“I have some flexibility in my schedule. I could try to move some things around.” She pulled her woolen shoulder bag into her lap and fished out her phone. “What’s your cell number?”

“I don’t have one.”

“So you don’t have a phone number?”

“No numbers.” Ethan looked straight into her eyes and gave the two words—true words—a moment to sink in. They were heavy enough to crush her no wrong questions theory. And then he smiled. “I’ll be here all afternoon. Come when you can.” He smiled slowly. “Just call out my name.”