Sacred Ground

by Rita Karnopp

  "What the hell is that?" Aware his tone sounded cold and impatient, he added, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to . . . it's all new to me. You know so much and I know shit." He liked how her smile softened her features.

  "You might be the son of a medicine man. Ni-namp'-skan is what we call a medicine man. It actually means man horned toad, but no one among the Blackfeet appears to have any idea as to why it's attached to a medicine man."

  "I'm impressed you know how to speak the language of your people. I like the sound of it. It seems kind of a waste, doesn't it? I mean, you don't have anyone to talk to," he added, then wished he hadn’t.

  "Many of the People speak Blackfoot. The more who learn, the more there'll be to pass it on to our future generations. Unlike the white man's dictionary, we pass our stories, our heritage, and our language verbally. Much was lost when we weren't permitted to speak our language. The old ones were punished if they spoke Blackfoot."

  He stared at her, struggling to believe what she said. "What do you mean by punished?" he finally asked, leaning back into the pillow.

  "My grandmother told me she wasn't more than six when she lived at a white mission school. If she spoke Blackfoot, she spent the rest of the day kneeling on a broom handle. Once she was placed in a small, dark closet. She soon learned it wasn't worth the punishment. She spoke her language in her mind and one day she taught it to her daughter, my mother. She taught me, and I teach hundreds of children and adults each year."

  "Now I know where you get your stubbornness from," he stated, laughing softly.

  "You joke, but the word determined suits us better." She brushed the back of her palm across his forehead. "You're not one to be calling another stubborn. I think we've had this conversation before."

  He smiled, remembering how spirited and beautiful she looked that day with her hair loose and moving around her like a free, wild horse. "I'm worried about you. What are you going to do when Gordon shows up?"

  She tensed. "I don't know. I keep hoping this is a nightmare, that he's still dead. But seeing you injured here is a reality check. I don't know what to do about him. I can't do anything until he shows himself. Who's going to believe me if I say he's alive?"

  "Mike Ferrell will. I've given it a lot of thought, and I think you should call Mike out here. He's not involved with Wyatt and Gordon. I just know it. If I'm wrong, well, I trust him. He'll do right by us. I just know it." Brett read uncertainty in her expression.

  "If that's what you want me to do, I'll call him. I was certain he'd be in the middle of all this, but now, after overhearing what Wyatt and Gordon have said, I'm convinced he's on our side. If we're wrong, and Mike is part of this cover-up, we won't live another day."

  Every word she said rang true. Would a lifetime of friendship be enough? Brett pulled her hand in his. It comforted him. "Gordon told me an interesting story about that night he supposedly died." He told her about his conversation with Gordon. He didn't miss the hurt in her eyes, especially when he told her Gordon's comments about Lance.

  Brett kissed her palm. "Call Mike. I need his help." He glanced at her misty eyes. "They can have the ranch, the oil, all of it, if I can have you and the boys."

  He opened his arms and welcomed the warmth of her against him. He felt a surge of relief and happiness holding her. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. Tell me one thing. Did you have to, I mean, did Wyatt and you . . . I should never have put you in that position. It’s eating me up, Willow. I just have to know."

  "I thought I told you before! I got him drunk, he passed out, and I left. A couple disgusting kisses were all he got out of me."

  "I thought of nothing but getting to you before he tried to get you in his bed. I don't believe I felt half as angry when I found out Lorraine was sleeping around. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you and Lance. It feels right to be with both of you. Our sons are like brothers."

  "They are brothers," Willow said.

  "What the hell do you mean by that?" he frowned, pushing her away from him.

  "I didn't mean it the way you think, because of what Gordon said, honest, I didn't. Have you noticed a small x on both boys’ left thumbs? It's a blood brother thing. Some cut the palm, some the wrist, others a finger or thumb. They've made a vow of brotherhood."

  "Damn. I chewed his butt royal when I saw his thumb. He said he and Lance were seeing how deep they could cut an x on their thumbs without flinching. I won't begin to tell you how ticked I was. He has great potential as a sculptor and making things with wood. He needs his thumb for that."

  "It's just a cut, shallow on the surface, deep in meaning."

  He pulled her gently against his chest. "I know that now, but at the time I could only imagine all the awful things that could have happened. I have to protect him." Brett hated explaining himself. He'd done what he thought best for Sean.

  "I understand. I recognized the cut for what it was. I knew what the boys had done, and I worried what you'd have said if Sean explained it. I knew how you felt about us Indians. I only hoped that if Sean told you the truth, you wouldn't restrict the boys from being together."

  "I've been a blind fool for so many years. You think I can change?"

  "As you said earlier, you have changed. I agree. Look at you. You have an ancient leg cast that even I don't know how to make. You see and hear the old ones sing and pray. They protect you as though you are of importance. They know something we don't. They’re protecting you. It can only mean one thing."

  Brett rose up on his elbow. "What?"

  "Your destiny is entwined with that of the old ones. Maybe if they protect you, you will in turn protect them."

  "I don't understand. How can I protect them?"

  "I'm not sure. We won't know until . . . they'll show you, that much you can be sure."

  "This is getting too weird for me," he admitted. "Willow, you won't go back to Gordon, will you?" His voice caught in his throat. He closed his eyes and held his breath, afraid of the silence that followed his question. She answered by brushing her lips against his.

  He kissed her back, a gentle reply. He cherished the softness, the sweet taste of her, and the feel of her warm breath against his cheek. Like a soft wind blowing, he felt the magic of her touch his heart.

  "We were meant to be together, I feel it," he whispered, hearing the huskiness of his voice.

  "Yes, I feel it too. But we have unfinished business before we can even think about us. I'll be honest; I wish Gordon was still dead. If I had the guts, I'd kill him myself. How could I legally be charged with killing a dead man? I'll admit, I thought about it . . . but I can't. Somewhere deep inside, I couldn't do it. It's knowing I could even consider killing him that scares me."

  Brett blew out a breath. "If only I wasn't hurt. I feel helpless, and it's frustrating the hell out of me."

  "I'm grateful you're alive. I don't think I need to call Doctor Alfara. You're doing remarkably well. You're not feverish, and I don't even see any swelling of your leg. Whatever this cast is made of, it's working wonders. We should have it analyzed."

  "Not a bad idea," Brett said, looking down at the strange cast. "Can you imagine the healing powers it might possess for animal legs? It keeps the swelling down and the bones immobile. I'm going to check into this."

  "Always thinking about being a vet, aren't you? Your mother said she never wanted you to quit your schooling to handle the ranch. She's right."

  "I have a son to raise. Can't do that without an income. Can't do that chasing across the country saving the animals of the world. I made my choice, and I'm not sorry for it, not one minute of time I've spent with Sean," he said, knowing she understood his feelings.

  "How did I get such a wrong impression of you all these years? I thought you ran around drinking and womanizing."

  "Good, God, what gave you that idea?"

  "You're a rodeo star, aren't you?"

  He laughed, sliding back to the pillow. "I rode a few bulls. That doesn't make me some wild stud. I haven't rid
den for years. Closest I get to being bucked off a twisting, bucking bull these days is on film. Sean and I watch them together and wonder how I didn't get my skull cracked in half."

  "I'm glad to hear it. Never thought a man getting on the back of a bull had much for brains," she teased.

  "Thank you. When Lance decides that he's riding the rodeo circuit, I'll remind you of your infamous statement."

  "He'll never do such a thing. I'll stand in his way, you can be sure of that."

  He laughed, enjoying the sparks of her spirit. "You have to get one thing straight. A man doesn't hide behind his mama. One day he isn't going to need your protection. He'll do everything you don't want him to do, just to prove he's man enough to do it. You don't want him going down a particular trail, don't tell him."

  "A man of wisdom, I presume. Lance will never go against my wishes. He'll always be there for me and I'll be there for him. I don't expect any trouble from that boy."

  "I'm not expecting any trouble from either of our boys, Willow." He pulled her back against him and turned her chin to look into the dark brown depths of her sultry eyes.

  She moved closer and offered her lips. He captured them, kissing her more with his heart, than his mouth. Her response told him all he needed to know.

  "I'll go call Mike," she said, moving back. “I brought some fruit, a couple egg salad sandwiches and a jug of water. I'll be back before you know it.”

  "Willow, don't trust a thing Wyatt says. Don't let yourself be alone with the bastard. He and Gordon aren't playing games. They've crossed the line to killing. That makes them more dangerous than a rattlesnake."

  She nodded, and he stared after her. He missed her already.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Willow crossed the drive deep in thought. Her ranch had the water and horses. Brett's ranch had the oil. Wyatt's ranch had nothing but debts, yet Gordon wanted it all. How did he expect to get away with it?

  Absently, she allowed the screen door to slam behind her. Gordon. Only Gordon could have planned this out. His devious mind could only hurt those around him. She reached for the phone and dialed.

  "Mike Ferrell please"

  "Hello, this is Mike, may I help you?"

  Willow cleared her dry throat. "Mike, this is Willow Howling Moon. I hate to bother you but Brett Turner asked me to call you if something happened to him. He’s in trouble. He said you were his friend; he could count on you to be there for him. Is that true?"

  "I'd do anything for Brett. You two are talking to each other? Damn, I'd never have believed it. Did Brett have another incident at the ranch?"

  "It's more serious than that," she paused, wondering how to explain it. "I think someone is trying to kill him." She caught a movement to her right.

  "Are you sure? Who the hell would want Brett dead?"

  Willow hesitated in answering. "He's missing and I fear the worst for him."

  "How long has he been gone?" Mike asked.

  "Since yesterday afternoon. I know that doesn't sound very long, but with all those terrible things happening on his ranch, well, I think you should check it out."

  "It's too early to file a missing person's report. I'll have a talk with Mrs. Turner, but I doubt if there’s anything to worry about. I'll look into it."

  Willow wondered if she heard uncertainty, even slight worry in his tone. "Thank you. You realize I don't have the time of day for Brett Turner, but I certainly don't wish him ill. I appreciate your checking into it."

  "My pleasure, Willow. I'll stop by and let you know if I've found out anything."

  "That would be nice. When you talk to Mrs. Turner, tell her I said to get those boys packing. Talk to you later, Mike." She placed the receiver back into its cradle.

  "Nice performance!"

  Willow jumped and turned toward the knowing voice. "It really is you, isn't it?"

  "What, not surprised? You're lacking enthusiasm, my dear. How warm a welcome is this? Why, you're dearly departed husband is back after nearly six months? Surely a passionate kiss and body-grinding hug would be more appropriate, don't you think, wife?"

  "Stay away from me. I know what you're up to, and it's not going to work. I'm not marrying Wyatt, and I won't let you destroy Brett or me. You and Wyatt killed that hitchhiker. That’s cold-blooded murder. You've been sabotaging Brett's ranch, that's against the law too." She took a step back toward the counter.

  "First off, I'm dead, not some filthy vagrant. Second, there's no proof I did any illegal acts on Brett's ranch. Don't think I don't know you two are playing house. Where is he?"

  Willow stared at the man she'd married. Hatred and loathing filled her. "What do you mean?" she asked through clenched teeth.

  "You slut. Gave it to a half-breed, didn't you? I'm your husband, and it's me you give it to."

  Another step back brought her spine against the counter top. She leaned her elbow across it, extending her arm down in a smooth gesture. Reaching her destination, Willow enclosed her fingers around the steak knife. "You're one to talk. You've been with more women than I care to count. Not that it matters to me, better them than me."

  "I'll make you pay!" he shouted, stomping toward her.

  "Back," she yelled, holding the knife in front of her chest.

  "Think that toy will keep me from having you? Not likely," he said, snickering.

  She glared at him. All the hurt, all the fear, and all the hatred surfaced. "Don't come near me, Gordon. I won't take your abuse ever again. Leave while you still can, and I won't tell a soul you're alive."

  "Aren't you going to have me arrested for murder? Not so sure you can make anyone believe you, are you? Maybe you and Wyatt were keeping me hostage, and I just got free."

  "Don't be ridiculous!” she said, gripping the knife. “For what reason would we keep you alive and fake your death? I wouldn't benefit by that. I mean, heck, I got a death benefit and the entire ranch. I’m better off with you dead. Shoots your theory down, doesn't it?"

  "I'm sure I can think of an answer, given time."

  "You’ve made a few mistakes, Gordon. Like the bullet wounds on the hitchhiker that weren't completely destroyed by the wolves’ feeding frenzy. I'll bet if they tested your guns they'd find the murder weapon."

  "True, but that would only point to one conclusion."

  "What conclusion?" How desperately she wanted to wipe that smug look off his face.

  "That you did it. I'm dead, but the murder weapon is where? Police might find that interesting. What do you think will happen to your brat, when they lock you up in prison?"

  "I'm innocent of your death if you escaped your abductors, aren't I?" She hoped he wouldn't notice how her body trembled. "I'm not worried about Lance. His relatives will take good care of him."

  "I won't let him near his heathen relatives. He'll work as a ranch hand. I'll kill all those damn buffalo and have that disgusting burial ground dug up and the bones burned."

  "Over my dead body!"

  "That, my dear, is a certainty." He laughed loud and throaty.

  "I figured out what was going on without much trouble. Are you stupid enough to really think Mike Ferrell won't have it figured out soon? You're more of a fool than I thought." Willow felt the sting of his palm before she had a chance to react. He grabbed at her, and she stabbed the knife into his hand. His howling reaction gave her time to bolt for the door.

  "You bitch!" he snapped, his voice reflecting his pain. "Think you're so damn smart? I'll fix you!" He pulled the knife from the soft tissues of his palm.

  She paused between doors, watching him. She should have put the knife through his heart. "How is that, Gordon?"

  "I sent your lover to the rattlesnakes. He won't be here to help you. You're on your own."

  His smug expression taunted her. She wanted to counter his snide comment with her own revelation, but for Brett's safety, she controlled her anger. "I wouldn't be so sure of anything. You’ve threatened to do great harm to my People and ancestors. The ancient burial gro
unds are sacred. You won't live if you pursue this."

  Blood dripped from his hand, making a puddle on the floor. "Now I suppose I should be shaking in my boots. Right? I don't give one heap of shit about your Indian mumbo-jumbo. If they were so intent on protecting their own kind, why didn't those ghosts save your half-breed lover?"

  "If I were you I'd check and see if they haven't." She glanced at the blood. “It's a shame you can't have that hand treated by a doctor, risk of infection and all that. But you can't, can you?"

  "Why the hell not?"

  "Dead men don't need doctors, or have you forgotten? Looks like Mike Ferrell is heading this way. If you want to remain dead, you'd better disappear," she snapped, stepping out onto the porch.

  * * *

  Brett fought the fogginess that muddled his brain. The medicine helped his pain, but left him incapable of staying awake and alert. How could he help Willow if she needed him?

  He breathed deep, drawing in a pungent pine scent. His heart beat increased, and he realized he was running, hard and fast, through the thick pine trees. Soft, comfortable moccasins had replaced his tight, confining boots. His body was bare except for the breechclout that hung from his waist. A single buffalo stone necklace bounced against his chest.

  In his hand, Brett clenched a bow. His index finger wrapped around an arrow, holding it in place.

  Ahead he saw movement. He pushed his body forward, aware a heavy, cumbersome mud-cast did not hinder his leg. Creeping forward, Brett closed in on his enemy.

  Gordon Jenkins stood warming his hands by a campfire. A woman dressed in black Levis and denim jacket silently stirred a stew. She had her back to him, but he didn't have to see her face to know it was Willow Howling Moon.

  On his belly, Brett moved closer. Campfire smoke burned his eyes, yet he refused to move up wind. He had the feeling he'd been tracking this man his whole life. Looking around, Brett realized they were near Rattlesnake Cliff again.

  He leaned his shoulder against a small bolder, then inched his face around the edge. He paused, settling his gaze on the beautiful face of Willow. Her warm brown eyes stared back at him, and he froze. He read fear and pleading all in one glance. She moved her hand over her heart, and he knew her message of love for him.