by Rita Karnopp
She glanced down at the old spindle wood frame. "You might consider the age of that chair. I'm going to talk to Wyatt tomorrow. I have a feeling he's the key to this whole mess."
"This feels good, doesn't it?"
She glanced up at him, her fork midway to her mouth. "What?"
"Talking, you and me. It feels good. Lorraine didn't have time to sit down and talk. She liked her movies or she wanted to go out for drinks and dancing. Usually I was too tired for either."
"She went without you?" Willow asked.
"Every Friday and Saturday night. Don't know what she did. I didn't care then, and to be honest, I don't care now."
Willow placed her palm over his hand and felt a current of heat flush her body. She pulled back. "I know the feeling. Gordon did the same, only he didn't bother asking me if I wanted to go along, he just went. Who knows, they probably were out drinking and dancing together. It’s kinda funny when you think about it. They probably knew each other better than you and me," she said, scooping up the last bite of Dutch apple pie.
Brett suddenly became sullen.
After a moment, she said, "I was just joking. I didn't mean to insinuate anything."
"Yeah, I know. I was . . . never mind. I'd better get upstairs before it's morning. Maybe you should come up and tuck me in."
"You go on up like a good boy. I don't need any trouble from you."
Brett's chair flipped backward and crashed to the floor.
Willow rushed to lean over his still body and found herself pulled on top of him.
"Gotcha!" He laughed. "Damn, think I bumped my head," he admitted, rubbing the back of his skull.
"Doubt if anything could be hurt back there. I've gathered that it's pretty thick."
"So much for a little sympathy. I could have broken my neck with a fall like that."
"Don't suppose you remember me warning you about sitting like that? Men are nothing but oversized boys. You really aren't hurt, are you?"
"Now you ask. I'm dizzy and my head aches. I think you should tuck me in after all."
"You're impossible." She stood. "Up with you, and no more tricks. I'm tired enough to fall asleep standing up. Good night," she added in a softer tone.
He got to his feet somewhat awkwardly and pulled her into his arms.
"I need to ask you something."
"Anything."
"Do you still see an Indian when you look at me?"
He dropped his arms, standing only inches away, without touching. "What do you think?"
His gaze burned. She hadn't expected his response. She shouldn't have asked. He'd been honest with his explanation, and she'd said she understood. "I can't help wondering if it bothers you to kiss an Indian, after hating them all your life."
"I never do anything I feel uncomfortable with. If I hold you against me, it's because I feel you belong there. If I look in your eyes and see my future, it's because I want to see my future. No, I never expected to fall in love with an Indian woman. No, I never believed I'd admit I'm part Indian, and finally it doesn't matter. You've changed me, Willow. It's a good change. I know it because I feel better about things. It's your questioning me that doesn't feel right."
Willow smiled. She placed her palms on the side of his cheeks and kissed him, warm and gentle. "I apologize," she whispered, brushing her lips across his. "Thank you for your answer. It was more than I expected."
She allowed his strong arms to envelop her, and she welcomed his embrace. She raised her mouth to receive his kiss. It had all the demands of a lover. He loved her, she could tell. She answered his kiss from her heart.
Chapter Ten
Wow, Mom, you should see how much Little Thunder and Shadow have grown in two days," Lance said before stuffing a cookie into his mouth. "They're just like us."
Willow glanced at the boys. "Don’t talk with your mouth full. What do you mean by us?"
"They're different but it doesn't matter to them. They're connected by blood, just like Sean and me."
"Yes, I see the similarity," she agreed, watching the boys rub their thumbs together. "What would you think about you two and Grandma Turner going to the Res for a few days?"
"You serious?"Sean asked, excitement edged his words. "I'd love to go to the reservation. Gosh, there'd be Indians all over. You think we could watch one of those dances where everyone dresses up with feathers and stuff?"
"Lance could invite you to dance with him at the Pow Wow. I think you'd have a great time," she said, pleased with his reaction. "You could spend time with Lance's uncles. They have much knowledge to teach a young warrior."
"What about Little Thunder and Shadow?" Lance asked. "Who's going to take care of them if we go? Besides, what about school?" he asked, stepping between Willow and Sean.
She recognized the slight play for her attention. "I've decided you need a couple days off to rest up from your ordeal. As for the buffalo calves, I'm sure I can take care of them."
"You could ask Brett to help you," Lance offered.
"Yeah, help works," Sean piped in. "My dad could help you with all sorts of stuff. A ranch is a lot of hard work for a woman. Without Lance you might need Dad."
"I'll keep that in mind," she promised, smiling to herself. The little con!
"You get along better, now, don't you?" Lance asked.
Looking at Sean and Lance’s serious expressions, she struggled to keep from laughing. "Well, I guess you could say we do manage to speak a few words without arguing. That’s almost a miracle, wouldn't you say?”
"You could try harder," Sean encouraged.
"Try what harder?" she asked.
"You know, get along. My dad's a real nice guy if you give him a chance. Ask Grandma." Sean’s tone rose with excitement. "Yeah. You should talk to Grandma. My mom and dad screamed at each other all the time. I didn't like it. It's better when she's gone."
Willow slowly slid her arms around Sean’s shoulders until he leaned into her. She hugged him tight; aware he clung to her as though his life depended on it. She gave Lance a quick glance and returned his warm, giving smile. He approved, and it made her feel better than the hug she received.
"My mom never hugged me," Sean said, barely above a whisper.
"My mom will give you a hug anytime, won't you Mom?" Lance asked.
"Any time."Willow smiled and opened her arm for him to join them. "Any time," she repeated tenderly. It felt incredibly gratifying to hold the boys close to her heart.
* * *
"I don't think this is such a good idea," Brett said, climbing into the pickup. He felt on edge and sensed Willow was too. Neither of them trusted Wyatt, and they both knew anything could happen.
"We don't have a choice.” Willow snapped on the seat belt. “If Mike is part of this, we'll find out soon enough."
"Mike can't be part of this, he's my best friend.” Brett started the vehicle. “I think Wyatt killed Gordon, I just haven't figured out why. I think Mike either saw it, or he happened upon the scene when Wyatt was in the act. Of course it might have happened just as Mike said."
Willow breathed deep and released a rush of air. "I think you're right, I just can't figure out what Mike would have been doing out there. What if he was with some woman, a woman he shouldn't have been with?"
"Wyatt threatened to squeal unless Mike kept silent," Brett added.
She shivered in the cool evening air.
He tossed a jacket into her lap. "I'm usually angry with Sean for leaving his stuff lying around, this time I'm actually glad," he admitted, shifting gears.
"Thanks."
As she slipped her arms into the blue and green plaid shirt jacket, he noticed that it matched his. It somehow felt intimate.
"I wonder if it's Pastor Knight's wife. I heard rumors about something between them. It's an election year. Can you imagine the stir from that kind of gossip?” I'm still not convinced even that would make Mike cover up a murder." He took the corner faster than he should have. His lights cut through the blac
k night, offering a road before him.
"You might be right," she said, hanging onto the armrest. "Whatever they're up to, you can be sure it's big. Wyatt doesn't really have any friends, so I'd guess he's blackmailing Mike.”
"That's if Mike is involved. I know him and I can't believe he's part of this." Brett brought the truck to a gravel-sliding stop. "I'd better climb under that tarp. Over the next hill he could watch us with binoculars. Now, Willow," he said, turning to place his hand on her shoulder, "I want you to be careful. Don't take any chances and for God's sake, don't give him the slightest impression you suspect him of anything."
"I won't. I'm not convinced he has any evidence, but I'm certain he's up to something. If he comes on to me, don't charge in there right away. I can handle myself. If he's going to talk it might take some persuasion," she said, looking away from him.
"Now wait one minute," Brett snapped. "You go in there swaying your hips and it'll get you one thing."
"You're right, Information. If things get out of hand, you'll be there to help."
"Willow, I meant it when I said I'm falling in love with you." He leaned over and brushed a kiss across her lips.
"I know," she whispered. "I feel it, too, but until we can put our pasts behind us, we can't go on with a future."
"Damn you're stubborn. What if there aren't answers for all the things that are shadowing us from the past? Hell, there's no way I'll ever find out who my father really is. Does that mean we can never be together?"
"Don't be so pessimistic. I have a feeling―"
"Indian feeling?" Brett felt her tense beneath his fingertips. He bolted from the truck and slammed the door. He hadn't meant to say that, not that way. It just slipped out, but the pain in her eyes told him it hurt every bit as much as a slap would have.
Out of the corner of his eye he watched her slide behind the steering wheel. He moved from the door so she could open it. Instead, the old pickup roared forward. Brett grabbed onto the truck side and swung into the bed with a hard, painful landing. She hadn't slowed a bit, and it angered him. He was her protection. At least he felt that way, obviously she had other ideas.
Through the back window, he could see her grip the steering wheel tight, her shoulders hunched forward. He couldn't blame her for being angry, but he couldn't understand her willingness to meet Wyatt alone.
His heart beating fast, Brett slid beneath the heavy tarp. He rubbed his clammy palms together. Years of bitterness and hatred had made him say those two words to Willow. Years of denying he had any Indian blood in him. Years of hurting because of what happened to his mother. Years of worrying she would hate him because he was a constant reminder of the terrible thing those men did to her.
"Damn," he cussed under the tarp. He had to take control of this anger before it destroyed the love growing between him and Willow. He thought about the dream he'd had and realized he had to face his Indian self.
The truck stopped. Brett strained to listen.
"There you are," Wyatt called out. "I was beginnin’ to think you changed your mind, love."
"Why would I change my mind? You asked me here with the intent of sharing something about Gordon's death," she said. “I appreciate your willingness to help me.”
Brett didn't miss the softness of her voice. She slammed the truck door and he jumped. More than likely, she'd done that just for him.
"Come on in and we'll have a drink and talk."
Brett wanted to punch Wyatt right in the nose. There wasn't one thing about that man Brett trusted.
"Thank you, Wyatt. I could use a drink. It's been a long time since I've shared a drink with an interesting man. Gordon wasn't much for talking," Willow said, her tone sweet and encouraging. "I must apologize for my bad mood the other day."
"Glad to see you've forgiven me for my behavior. We'll call it even. You won't be sorry. I don't always put my words in the best way, but I'm not afraid to speak up either. You're a fine looking woman, Willow. It's a shame to waste all that."
"Now, Wyatt, you flatter me. I'm still getting use to Gordon's death. It's not easy, you know."
The front door of the house slammed and Brett knew they were inside together. He gritted his teeth. He eased himself out from under the tarp, then raised his head just enough to see over the sides. The run-down condition of Wyatt's ranch surprised Brett. It had been a fine looking place years ago. No doubt the rumors were right; Wyatt had fallen on hard times.
Working around to the side of the house, Brett eased his way behind a row of tall pines, inching toward the double French doors. The sheer curtain did little to obstruct his view of Willow and Wyatt sitting on a worn, yellowed couch that had been fashionably white at one time.
"To us, love," Wyatt stated with a chuckle.
"Slow down. I'm here out of good faith. We haven't always seen eye-to-eye, but I've been harsh with you and I decided you deserved a second chance. But don't misunderstand, you either treat me fair and with kindness or I'll head straight for the door. You won’t get another chance with me again."
Brett marveled at her composure. She looked great in her full denim skirt and blouse. Silver sconce boots, western belt and bolo added to her country look, but on her it looked nothing but feminine. Seeing the way Wyatt looked her over, Brett couldn't fight back the jealousy and anger that filled him.
"Gordon wasn't much of a husband. I know that, you know that, and so does the whole town. I can't name nary a person who felt grieved over his death."
"But that doesn't excuse murder."
Wyatt took a long, steady drink from his glass. "Love, life takes some unexpected turns. Gordon stuck his nose into my business."
"You killed him?"
"What I'm about to tell ya will be your word against mine. You could tell another fella I said it, but I'll deny every word. Just so you understand where I'm coming from." His tone echoed a warning.
“I understand.”
"I was out hunting the day Gordon died. It was starting to get dark and I'd just spotted a big bull elk. I figured I had about a half-hour before it was illegal to shoot. I came over a ridge and there he stood. I aimed and fired."
"You shot Gordon by mistake?" she asked.
"The elk dropped where it stood. You can't imagine my excitement. I ran up to him . . . then I saw―"
"What?" Willow interrupted.
"Sheriff Ferrell and Gordon were fighting. I don't mean just yelling at each other, I mean fist fighting."
Brett nearly laughed at Wyatt's story. Mike had no bruises the next day. Besides, if Wyatt had just shot a rifle, Gordon and Mike would have heard it for sure.
"Could you hear what they were arguing about?" She sipped her wine.
"No doubt about it. Gordon was screwing Mike's sister. I'm sure you knew he wasn't exactly a faithful husband."
"Yes, I knew."
"That's my property they was fighting on, so I went down to them and fired my rifle to get their attention. Mike, being a sheriff automatically grabbed his pistol from his holster and leveled it at me. I laughed 'cause it seemed right out of Gunsmoke."
"What happened then?"
"Gordon must have realized it was me, we was good friends you know, and so he jumped at Mike. I think he wanted to make sure I wouldn't get shot by mistake. Mike's gun fired, and I was sure it shot wild. I figured I'd get their attention by shooting my rifle into the air once more, just for emphasis. When I stepped back to fire my gun I twisted my ankle on a rock and landed on my ass . . . butt. Anyways, when I hit the ground my finger pulled the trigger, purely by mistake you understand."
She set her drink on the coffee table. "So you shot Gordon after all. Why didn't you admit it and explain the accident that it was? You had Mike there to back up your story."
"There was more to it than that. My bullet entered Gordon's heart, and Mike's bullet went right through his head. We don't know which of us killed him."
"Good Lord! It still was an accident. Mike knows that and you should too. Why make
it look like a pack of wolves attacked him and tore his body apart?"
"Mike didn't want questions about why he and Gordon were out there that night. He has reports to file if he shoots his gun, and he didn't need any questions asked. Mike said he could cover it up and save us both a lot of grief. So, that's what we decided to do. No one has questioned it except you."
"There has to be more to it than Gordon and Ella having an affair. I can't imagine Mike and Gordon fist fighting either."
"You saying you don't believe what I'm telling you? Damn it, Willow, I didn't have to tell you what happened. I just figured you deserved to know. I'm interested in you, and I didn't want this between us."
"I think I've been unfair to you, Wyatt. I thought you were after my property and horses, but you could have hidden this from me and still have gone after those things. It's sweet of you to trust me. It does make sense, it being an accident. I doubt Mike cared for Gordon misusing his sister. I've often thought you and she might get married."
"Ella and me?" Wyatt asked. "Where did you get an idea like that?"
"Gordon mentioned it. Maybe he thought telling me about the two of you would discount any gossip about him and her. It gets somewhat complicated, doesn't it? I know this is going to seem strange coming from me, but have you heard about Brett Turner's misfortunes?"
"What?"
"Seems Brett is being plagued by all sorts of catastrophes."
Wyatt took a gulp of his drink and bolted to his feet. "What kind of catastrophes?"
"I think Brett has it figured out, though," she said, sitting back down.
"Has what figured out?"
"I suppose I can tell you, I mean, after all you did share what you know with me. Everything seems to lead to Mike Ferrell."
"What leads to Ferrell?"
Brett watched Willow stand and walk around the room. He was impressed with how she was handling things. Wyatt must have forgotten they found three bullets in Gordon's body. The weasel was lying through his teeth.
Branches rustled behind him. Brett turned just in time to see a fist slam into his jaw. His legs turned to rubber, and his body slammed into the ground.