No one had mentioned the man she would be assisting was mouthwatering. His black hat was tipped low over his smooth, angled face, accentuating his sharp cheekbones and a strong chin, and the man’s jade eyes were such a light green Shakota could almost see into his thoughts.
She let her eyes trace down his body, and she wasn’t disappointed. He obviously worked hard, his biceps and the muscles in his forearms toned and bulging, and the black and white plaid flannel stretched tight over what had to be an impressive chest. His waist and hips were narrow, creating a perfect V, and she wondered if he carried a six-pack over his belt. The jeans fit tight, dark denim that showed strong legs rather than the skinny legs most men had, and they were tattered at the hem over his Laredo boots. Not only was he eye candy, he also had a sense of style most men lacked.
And he stared at her like a spirit warrior had just stepped through his door and manifested twelve heads.
“I appreciate the thoughtfulness,” Shakota replied, amused at his dumbfounded expression. “It smells delicious.” She took a seat, reaching for a biscuit and some bacon from the dishes in the middle of the table. She didn’t add anything to her coffee, preferring it black, and as she prepared to eat, smearing butter on her biscuit, she watched Garrett from the corner of her eye. He still hadn’t moved, and she glanced up at him with an eyebrow raised in question. “Aren’t you hungry? You look a little…pale.”
He seemed to shake himself and sat in the other chair. “Yeah, I’m starving.” But he didn’t reach for the food. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting…” He trailed off, and Shakota tried not to laugh out loud. A woman, she thought to herself. That was the end of his sentence. He started over. “I’m Garrett. Thanks for coming.”
“You’re welcome,” Shakota replied. “I’m Shakota Clearwater. Chief Solid Fist is my great-uncle, my grandfather’s brother.” She pointed to the biscuit that practically melted in her mouth. “Did you make these from scratch?”
He shook his head. “It was a mix.”
“You should have taken credit for them. They’re delicious.”
“Thanks.” He looked like he was still at a loss for words. Shakota got the impression he wasn’t typically this awkward. He stared at his plate as he chewed and swallowed a bite. “Shakota is a nice name.”
“Thank you,” she told him. “It means ‘power.’ My mother wanted a strong daughter who could take care of herself.” He didn’t respond, and Shakota grew curious what went through his head. Hoping to shake Garrett out of his stupor, she changed the subject. “So, tell me what we’re tracking. I don’t have all the details.”
It was a good call; he seemed to snap to attention immediately, and though his expression darkened, he lost the awkwardness. His sex appeal multiplied, and Shakota worked to concentrate on his words rather than his mannerisms. “Our sheriff disappeared. No one’s heard from him for four days now, and we can’t find any clues as to where he might be, except some tracks on my land. They lead nowhere, and everyone’s convinced I killed him.”
Shakota blinked at him, freezing with a bite of bacon halfway to her mouth. She put the meat back down and folded her hands in front of her face. “I’m assuming I wouldn’t have been sent if you were guilty, so why don’t we start at the beginning, and you give me all the details.”
She watched his facial expressions and his demeanor as much as she listened to the story and his tone, assessing his honesty as he spoke. “Our deputy rode out here two days ago and handed me the badge, saying no one had heard from Hoyt in two days. We called in Search and Rescue to take a look at his property and his office. He left his phone behind in his car, and there was nothing that pointed toward him going anywhere. Lou, the owner of the diner in town, said a couple of guys came in asking all sorts of questions a couple weeks ago, and she thought it was suspicious, but they were supposedly just passing through.”
He paused to take a bite, and Shakota sipped at the coffee, waiting patiently. She wouldn’t comment until she had the whole story. He shifted in his chair and continued, “Yesterday, we started early and combed the town and all the houses here on the mountain, and then the team headed into the woods looking for clues. But I got excluded because the deputy and his search partner found Hoyt’s tracks by my stables, and they decided I had plenty of motive just from that circumstantial evidence.”
Shakota shook her head, confused. “Okay, but what motive are they looking at? I could see maybe wanting the badge, but you seem a little too levelheaded to do something so rash just for a badge.”
His eyes clouded, no longer that crystal clear green but a stormy, mossy shade that showed how disturbed he was by whatever thought came to mind. His brows knit, and he looked like he’d just walked into a pigsty and been hit by the stench. “Ten years ago, this guy, Titus, got pretty drunk and started a brawl in the town bar. My father pulled him off some other guy, and the sheriff went out to check on things. He should have arrested Titus, but Hoyt let him go on a warning and a promise not to let it happen again. He didn’t have a record or anything, so Hoyt trusted him.
“My mom and dad gave him a ride home and made sure he got inside without any problems, and as they left and got in their truck, he busted out the door and shot them both. Then he shot himself through the chin. I was a teenager, and I was angry. I said some stupid things, and at one point, I blamed Hoyt for my parents dying because he didn’t arrest Titus.” He ran a hand over his face like he was trying to erase a vision of the horrible scene. “I just needed an outlet, someone to blame; Titus was dead, so I couldn’t let it out on him.”
Shakota could understand that. She worked with troubled youths all the time, trying to channel their anger and frustration into productivity. “You never acted out or had any violent tendencies, right?” she asked.
“Not at all. The closest I’ve come to violent tendencies was when I came home from the funeral and spent two days chopping firewood.” A hint of a smile curled one side of his mouth. “I might have been a little pissed off when they kicked me out yesterday, and I stormed out.”
“That’s it? You stormed out? I wouldn’t call that violent,” she said with a laugh. She believed every word he said, and she knew in her heart, without question, he was innocent in this matter. If she’d had any doubt, she would have turned and left instantly, no hesitation. She could still help find the sheriff and prove him guilty, but she wanted no association with a guilty man and would have gone home.
But Garrett Woodward intrigued her. She felt drawn to him somehow, and she couldn’t explain it. She wanted to clear his name. It was an urge that tugged at her soul, and she wouldn’t stop until the truth prevailed.
He gave her a reluctant smile. “I guess most people wouldn’t consider it violent. It’s just out of character for me.”
She could see that. He seemed like a very low-key, even-keel guy, and that intrigued her even more. She glanced around the kitchen. It was clean, except for the dishes he’d used to make and serve breakfast. In fact, she could have eaten off the floor, it was so clean. “Do you live alone?” she asked.
He nodded. “I built this place from the ground up. My brother helped me, before he went out west.”
He looked lonely as he said it, and she could see he had a vulnerable side that didn’t come out often. “And you don’t have a maid or anything?”
He gave her an offended look. “Not all bachelors are filthy, you know. I like neatness and order in my life. It’s the only way to make it feel like home. I cook and clean for myself, I take care of horses, a pig, and cows, I have a dog around here somewhere, and I buy my own groceries. I eat at the diner maybe once a month and otherwise make my own meals.”
He really was unique, Shakota thought as she marveled at his description of himself. “I apologize for my quick judgment, and I’ll refrain from making assumptions in the future on one condition. You can’t judge or make assumptions, either.”
Garrett scowled. “I don’t judge.”
Shakota rol
led her eyes. “Please, spare me the holier-than-thou crap. You expected a man to show up this morning, and you’re still reserved about the whole thing. You don’t think I’m as good as a man. I’d call that a judgment.”
His sheepish expression and refusal to meet her gaze spoke volumes. “I guess I didn’t think the Crow Nation allowed women to become trackers.”
“Normally, they don’t,” she confirmed. “Now and then, they make special exceptions, when the circumstances are right. I told you, my mother wanted a strong daughter who could take care of herself. She taught me a lot of things women don’t normally learn, and my father supported that, until the day he died.”
She cringed internally, remembering the day her father had passed. He’d suffered too much, cancer eating away at his body, but he’d refused treatment, and though his soul finally rested without pain that day, Shakota felt her world shatter. It had taken her months to recover, and she’d redoubled her determination to become the person her parents wanted her to be.
Her father’s memory remained on the reservation, and it was one of the reasons she stayed, despite her drive to find something more in life.
Wanting to get away from the topic that always caused her to withdraw into herself, Shakota stood. “Show me the tracks on your land.”
Impressively, Garrett insisted on cleaning up the breakfast mess before leaving the cabin. Shakota helped him gather dishes to put in the sink while he rinsed them and stuck them in the dishwasher, and he took out storage bags and saved the remaining biscuits and bacon. “Diablo will help me eat it later,” he muttered as he tossed the bags in the fridge.
“Who’s Diablo?” she asked, amused at the name.
“He’s the dog I mentioned. He’s a basset hound that runs loose around the woods, but he always comes back here. I guess he adopted me, not vice versa. He just showed up one day and never stopped showing up.”
Something about the story wrenched at Shakota’s heart. Not only was Garrett a strong, independent man with a vulnerable side, he was also kindhearted and sentimental. Not many people would have cared if a stray dog showed up on their doorstep. In fact, most would purposely ignore the dog until it went away. She was growing more and more fond of the man by the minute.
She followed him through the field, her feet crunching on frozen grass. Most of the snow had melted off his property, except for the patches that didn’t get much sun. She could feel another storm coming. It was in the air, pressing down on them, and she knew if they were going to track down the sheriff, they needed to hurry. She could get a faint trail if it snowed again, but she’d have much better luck in the current conditions.
She stared at the footprints, frowning in confusion. “Obviously, the new footprints belong to people looking around, including you. They’re much fresher. But my first question is, how do you know these are the sheriff’s footprints that abruptly come to a stop after twenty feet? And why don’t they lead from the driveway or something? They just suddenly start right here, next to the stable.”
He scratched the back of his head, causing his hat to slip forward. It cast a darker shadow over his face, accenting the sharp lines in the dim sun. Shakota sucked in a breath at how attractive he really was, stifling the urge to reach out and touch one of those high, pronounced cheekbones. “Well, Hoyt has a limp. He was horseback riding as a teen, and he came up to a creek where there were a bunch of water moccasins. They spooked the horse, who reared back and threw him, and as it took off, it came down full weight on his leg. He’s had a limp ever since. And this track matches that limp, especially since it was made with sneakers. He can’t stand to wear boots. It makes his leg hurt.”
Shakota considered that for a moment as she bent to peer more closely at the tracks. They stretched about twenty-five feet from start to finish, and she could see the pattern of a sneaker with one foot, while the other was smeared from being dragged slightly. It could have been faked, but Garrett seemed convinced these actually belonged to his sheriff. She walked along the trail, and when she came to the end, she looked for a sign of where the man might have gone.
She crouched, scanning the ground, and to her right, about four feet away, she saw exactly what she was looking for. She pointed. “Right there. Your sheriff landed right there and continued walking.” Squinting, Garrett came over to her as she approached the track mark she’d found, and they both bent to inspect it. “Whether by choice or by force, he jumped from where he stood and landed here. Someone hoped no one would find the new tracks in the mud, but see here, where both feet slid. The left one with the limp landed too hard and slipped to the side, and he had to replant it here.” She pointed to a faint second shoe mark. “The trail leads out to the woods from there.”
“Son of a bitch,” Garrett mumbled as he stood, shaking his head. “I can’t believe no one else found that as quickly as you did.”
She stretched and brushed her hands on her jeans. “Yes, well, that’s what I do.” She leveled a taunting gaze on him. “It takes a lot of training to follow a trail like this, one that was purposely hidden, although not very well. I know you probably like to think you can do everything, but this is something that requires an expert.” He made a face and Shakota laughed. “Don’t feel bad. I’m sure you’ve mastered several arts I have no experience with.”
Something flashed in his eyes, but she had no idea what it meant. She read people well, and she had a good sense of this man, but she didn’t know him well enough to recognize every micro-expression on his face. “I appreciate you coming. It’s sort of a life-and-death thing for me, so if…when you track the sheriff down, I’ll owe you big.”
Shakota’s wayward mind thought of several ways he could repay her that would be incredibly satisfying, and it made her blush. She could feel the heat rising in her throat and in her cheeks, and she turned away from him. “Well, we’re not going to get where we need to go on wheels, and we’ll travel too slow on foot. And it could be a pretty good distance, so we’ll need to carry supplies. Do you have a couple of horses up to the job?”
He nodded. “They’re all broken. You can take your pick. I say we go pack up so we can head out.”
She liked his drive. She’d worried he might want to delay, and she was impressed with how ready he was to get on the way. “We should make sure we have what we need, but we need to move fast. I don’t want to get stuck in the storm coming.”
He raised an eyebrow at her as they started back toward the cabin. “I haven’t heard anything about another storm on the way.”
“Neither have I, but you can feel it in the air.” She could smell it now, too. They had about forty-eight hours before the snow came down hard.
Chapter 7
Garrett tightened the saddle on Hunter, his Appaloosa, quickly, the work almost instinctive. It was a good thing, too, because he couldn’t take his eyes off Shakota Clearwater as she packed the saddlebags on Elias, his Friesian, with the supplies they were carrying with them. They’d packed for four days, with the intention of being back in two if possible. And if not, four would get them to a cabin Garrett knew of with more supplies.
He thoroughly intended to stretch this trip out as long as possible.
He gazed at the Native American woman, transfixed. Her raven-black hair shone like silk, and he knew that, if the sun ever broke through the clouds, he’d see purple and blue hues reflected from the thick mass that hung loose and straight to the curve of her ass, which had certainly not escaped his notice. She had eyes the color of a myrtle tree, a dark gray-brown, and their almond setting gave them even more mystery.
He wanted to taste her full lips and trace the lines of her strong cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs while he rained kisses down her slender neck. Her breasts swelled large beneath the fitted knit sweater she wore, and her jeans showed just how shapely her legs were. She wore wool-lined boots over them that came to her knees, and the overall look, paired with the thick, hooded winter coat, was intoxicating.
But what m
ade her all the more attractive had nothing to do with looks. She was independent and sure of herself, and she didn’t look to others for validation. She was also honest, blunt, and full of energy. She showed intelligence in her thought and reasoning, but she balanced that with gut feeling and heart without giving over to an emotional reaction.
If she really could track Hoyt down, she’d be absolutely perfect.
She’d chosen Silas, his Arabian, to ride, and though he would have chosen a tamer breed, he thought it was a good pairing. Silas seemed smitten with her, and he wouldn’t even look Garrett’s way if Shakota was in the vicinity. Garrett couldn’t blame him; he didn’t want to look at anything else, either.
“Do you have blankets?” Her smooth, deep, sultry voice called Garrett out of his reverie, and he frowned in confusion. They’d packed the tent and sleeping bags. Why was she asking about blankets? “Garrett, are there blankets somewhere for the horses?”
He felt like an idiot. “Yeah, they’re in the trunk in the tack room.” Get it together, he chided himself. He’d never lost it over a woman, and he never would. Besides, he knew the Crow tribe too well. They were traditionalists. They may have moved into houses and taken to some modern technology, but their culture dictated their ways of life otherwise. Shakota wouldn’t be any different. Even if he were dumb enough to try to make a move to satisfy his building hunger for her, she’d turn him down. The Crow people were exclusive, and they didn’t mix with outsiders like Garrett.
There had been a few exceptions in history, but those had been white men who moved to the reservation and adopted the ways of the people. Garrett had no intention of forming a relationship in the first place, much less moving to the res, changing everything about his way of life, and selling his ranch. He had a home here, and he wouldn’t leave it unless he moved somewhere more in the present rather than further in the past as the Crow lived.
Courage To Follow (Cowboys of Courage 1) Page 5