Sacred Ground

by Rita Karnopp

  * * *

  "Come in, Mike." Willow held the screen door open for him. "Brett's inside."

  "Hey, good to see you." The men shook hands, and Mike sat at the table across from Brett.

  "Did Wyatt fold?" Brett asked.

  Willow smiled. Ever so blunt, her Brett was. "Let me guess," she said, pouring coffee for the men. "He whimpered like a newborn calf."

  "Close," Mike said. "He tried convincing everyone that Gordon Jenkins was alive. That he killed a bum to take his place. Wyatt admitted he lured the bum up to the site, but that Gordon shot the stranger. Said Gordon wanted to be invisible so he could bankrupt Brett and buy him out. Wyatt couldn't explain why his property, where no trace of oil could be found, was important to Gordon."

  "What did the judge say?" Brett worked a table knife into the edge of his cast to scratch at the dry skin.

  "He doesn't believe a word about Gordon being alive. Sent Wyatt to jail without bond. He's been charged with the first-degree murder of Gordon Jenkins and attempted murder of both of you. His lawyer is Dennis Cratters. He told me he's suggesting Wyatt put his ranch up for sale. He'll need the money so he can pay restitution for all the damages he's most likely going to be found guilty of committing. Doesn't sound good coming from the man’s attorney, innocent before proven guilty, but he's admitted to most of it. I would say Wyatt will be looking at bars until he meets his maker."

  "Mike, you know John Steals Many Horses, don't you?" Brett asked.

  "Definitely. I’ve spent a lot of time with him and I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve learned from him. He and my dad are good friends. The three of us do a lot of hunting and fishing together. Never mentioned it much, I knew how you felt about Indians."

  "Was I that transparent?" Brett asked, glancing at Willow.

  "Nothing transparent about it,” Mike answered. “You were damn opinionated.”

  Brett laughed. "I was certainly that, wasn’t I? I want to tell you something, Mike. Don't want you to hear it through the gossip vine. Besides, I believe I'm proud of it."

  "You've got my attention." Mike slid to the edge of his chair.

  Willow knew Brett chose his words carefully. She wondered if he knew it was an Indian trait, one developed over the years by the elders. It was considered wise and polite to think over ones words before speaking, lest anger or confusion encouraged a person to speak before thinking how the words sounded first.

  "John Steals Many Horses is my father." Brett’s tone was even, his jaw set proud.

  "I'll be damned! How did you find that out? I can't imagine him raping your mother. He's a kind, gentle kind of guy. Knows just about everything there is to know. I can't―"

  "He didn't rape my mother. They were lovers. I'm their son and they've protected me from the truth because of how my fath—because of how Harold Turner would have reacted to the truth."

  "Lordy. You've been borderline interesting all these years, but right now I’d say you're one happening guy. To think we finally know who your dad is. Remember all the times we tried figuring it out? We even tried comparing who you looked like. You know, now that you mention it, you look a hell of a lot like John. Lovers? I would never have guessed your mother would have had such a secret in her closet. I mean, she didn't seem the type to have a secret lover. Everyone knew her life with Harold was hell, so good for her. Harold Turner was a bastard, if you’ll excuse me for saying so."

  "He was a bastard and it’s a damn good thing he died before I was old enough to kill him."

  "I'm glad too, Brett." Mike said.

  "Say, we're going to get the boys and my mom from the reservation tomorrow," Brett said. "John is riding down with us so he can drive my mother's car back. We haven't told her. I'm still having trouble believing all this."

  "Can't blame you," Mike admitted. "Don't stay down there too long. You both will be needed to testify. I've been thinking, and I know you both might not agree, but all this stuff about the old ones and the drums and such. Well―"

  "No need to say it, Mike," Willow interrupted. “Brett and I agreed it's best left to rest. We want Wyatt to pay for what he did to that stranger. He needs to pay for all the destruction and trauma he and Gordon caused Brett and his mother. I doubt any of the jury would believe Brett’s ancestors saved him from Rattlesnake Cliff, or that they fixed his leg."

  "Heck," Brett said, "I'm having trouble believing it myself. Did you check for all those artifacts and the ghost shirt?"

  "Yep. The last haul was still in the trunk of Wyatt’s Mustang. What you going to do with them?" Mike asked.

  "Let's take it all with us to the reservation. The elders will know what to do," Willow suggested. "If they return it to the sacred grounds, which I think they will, there will be ceremonies and such to go with it. Shadow Chaser will play a big part in it."

  "Who is Shadow Chaser?" Mike asked, looking puzzled once again. "I can't keep up with you two."

  "Brett's father calls him Shadow Chaser. John said Brett has always chased his own shadow, wondering who he is. He finally caught his shadow and I think he likes what he's found." Willow slipped her palm into Brett's.

  "I'm not so sure I want to. It all seems so strange. I'll feel foolish," Brett admitted.

  "It's a great honor. Of course your father will introduce you to the People and will give you your Indian name," she informed them. "Just think how proud and happy it'll make Sean. He's always wanted to be part of Lance's Indian culture."

  "Never thought I'd be discussing such a thing. Besides, Sean really isn't . . . I mean the boy doesn't really have any Indian blood. Someday I'll have to tell Sean he isn't my son by blood, only by heart. I'll have to tell him that Gordon is his biological father. What will that do to him? I wonder if it wouldn't be best to tell him when he's older and better able to understand these things," Brett said, pulling his hand free.

  Willow felt his reserve. She couldn't help wondering if his resistance came from shame. "You didn't approve of your parents keeping their secret. You've told me many times it would have been best had they told the truth. The truth a person can deal with. Aren't you thinking of doing the same thing to your son?" she asked.

  "I agree," Mike said. "I don't have a right to tell you what you should or shouldn't do, Brett. I know how much you love Sean. Maybe it's time your family started being honest."

  "I know you're right, but how do I tell Sean he isn't mine? It'll tear him apart. I might lose him."

  Willow watched the man she loved and felt his pain. "Sean is a great kid. He loves you and I don't think it'll make a difference. There's more to being a father than just a name, you ought to know that more than anyone."

  "Willow's right. I think Sean will accept the truth and it won't make a bit of difference." Mike added, "Let him get use to the idea that John is his grandpa, then when the time feels right, talk to him."

  "The boys have always been close," she said, grabbing a cookie. "I wonder if they felt the tie deep inside. Of course that's taking for granted Gordon is father to both boys. It's like never meeting a sibling, yet when you finally do, it feels right. Maybe the boys have always known or felt they were brothers."

  "Suppose it's possible. They certainly didn't let anything get in the way of their friendship, including me." Brett gave Willow a sheepish grin.

  "Well, I have things to do." Mike stood, tossing the last of his cookie into his mouth. "I'll let you know if anything changes. In the meantime, bring your boys back here in a hurry, in case I need you. You know the hardest thing to believe in all this?"

  "What?" Willow prompted.

  "You two!" Mike said, heading toward the door. "I'd never have believed you two could mend those fences. I'd be wary of the power of your boys together. As far as I'm concerned, they created a miracle with you two!"

  Willow chuckled softly and enjoyed the deep sounds of Brett's laughter. "You might have a point, Mike. When we get back, Brett will give you a call. Would you and a lady friend be interested in joining us for
dinner one night?" she asked, surprising herself since she never had guests over. Gordon wouldn't allow it, and she'd never really had any friends to ask.

  "We’d love to. You know Betsy Long Fringes, don't you?" he asked.

  "Yes,” Willow said. “I've known her for years. She attends many of the Indian events with her family. You two are dating? I never knew that. Gosh, I haven't seen her in ages. We use to be pretty good friends in school. She works at Beads & Things in Lewistown, doesn't she?"

  "Yup. I'm thinking of popping the question," he confided.

  "You're kidding!" Brett teased. "The man who needs to stay impartial? The self-imposed loner who says he likes it that way? I didn't hear right."

  "I'm not getting any younger. Neither are you." He laughed as he opened the door.

  Willow and Brett waited on the porch, waving as Mike drove away. Brett slid his hand across her back and rested on her shoulder. She turned toward him, feeling the heat from his body, liking his nearness. A sensuous light passed between them. She couldn't help staring at him with longing. His warm, persuasive lips couldn't reach hers fast enough. Finally he moved his mouth over hers, devouring its softness.

  When he raised his head, putting a distance between them, she felt a void immediately.

  "Willow Howling Moon," Brett whispered in a husky voice, "Will you marry me?"

  Swallowing hard, she moved to sit on the top step. How she loved this man, yet it seemed they were progressing too fast. She felt the warmth of his thigh through her Levis as he pressed against her. "Don't you think we should give our relationship a little more time? What if we find out―?"

  "Find out what, that we've wasted way too much time already? Willow, we aren't getting any younger and we have the boys to consider. I love you. I want to wake up in the morning with you in my bed, right next to me. I don't want to come sneaking around, hoping the boys won't hear us. We need to set an example and we can only do that by showing them how happy we can be as a family."

  They were all the right words. "I agree, yet I'm scared. What if we continue to fight? I don't want to spend the rest of my life arguing."

  He moved his palm over the back of her hand. "I wouldn't want it any other way. You start agreeing too much with me and things will get downright boring. I like your spunk. I―"

  "Now, but what about later? We have to be sure, especially because of the boys. They don't need any more disappointments."

  "Have you changed your mind about me?" he asked, releasing her hand.

  She turned to face him and smiled. "That's not possible, Brett Turner. I love you as only a woman can. You make my pulse quicken."

  "I hope I affect more than your pulse." His lips touched hers like a whisper, then turned more demanding.

  She could refuse him no longer and gave into the wonderful sensations he stirred. "You do," she whispered, getting to her feet and leading him back into the house.

  They didn't have to pretend where they were headed. She hurried ahead of him. Hearing his cast thudding in a quick pace made her smile. Before he reached her room, Willow pulled the shades and lit several candles and sweetgrass in a dish. She flipped on her CD player. The melodious flute of Andrew Vasquez set a tranquil, yet sensual mood.

  He paused in the doorway of her private room, her special place no man had been welcome before. "This is incredible."

  "I wasn't sure you'd like it. It's a genuine replica of what the inside of a tipi looked like when the buffalo were plenty. I made everything myself, of course the grandmothers helped me. Come." She patted the soft skins spread on the floor.

  "I think I'm going to like this part of the old ways." He maneuvered his cumbersome cast and stretched out across the soft multi-colored rabbit furs spread over genuine buffalo robes.

  Willow worked her hair loose, guiding it to flow over her shoulders before removing her blouse. She didn't pretend shyness or embarrassment, allowing him full view of her nakedness, proud of her full breasts and slim waist. She pushed her jeans to her feet and worked them free, tossing them aside without a glance.

  "You going to participate or merely watch?" she teased. She knelt beside him and worked the buttons on his shirt, tempting him with nipples hardened with anticipation.

  He showered her neck with tiny, hot kisses before removing his shirt. She slid her palms across his bare chest, enjoying the feel of his slightly hairy flesh. Boldly she removed his baggy sweats, working the material over his cast.

  His magnificent, powerful body begged to be loved. She moved alongside him, pressing close, allowing Brett to gather her into his arms. He held her snugly against him and she smiled at his tenderness.

  "I love you," he whispered. "Marry me?" He gently held her face in his large hand.

  She looked into deep, intense blue eyes. His love shone in the way he gazed at her. She had always told herself if there ever was a shadow of hope for a real marriage and father for Lance, she'd take it in a minute. Wasn't Brett offering her that shadow of hope right now? She knew the answer and smiled. "Yes," she finally answered barely louder than the beating of her heart.

  "Yahoo!" he shouted, rolling her beneath him. "You've made me happier than I've been my whole life, save the exception of Sean's birth."

  "I'll confess," she said, looking up at him, "I never thought I could feel this happy. I had no idea being with a man could be this exciting, this―"

  "Demanding? Unsettling? Urgent?" he offered, before covering her lips with his hungry kisses.

  Willow melted beneath his touch. Within seconds she writhed with needs. The drumming and chanting from the Desert Dance CD set a rhythmic tempo. The heady scent of sweetgrass made her senses reel.

  He eagerly kissed her full breasts, giving and taking pleasure. It excited her beyond anything she'd imagined. Gentle, demanding, and pleasingly welcome, he took his time touching and kissing her.

  "I want all of you, Willow. Will you let me show you how beautiful our love can be?"

  "I want you too, Brett. Give me your love, I trust you."

  He moved over her and she tensed slightly, afraid to receive his abuse, like Gordon. Brett kissed her, lovingly, and tender. He licked her erect nipples and suckled them with urgency. She raised her hips, wanting him, surprising herself. He entered her, slow and gentle. He moved inside her, creating a burst of pleasure that shook her entire body. She cried out.

  "Did I hurt you?" He asked, pausing.

  "Don't stop, Brett, it's wonderful," she cried out, pulling him closer. She offered all she had to give, and he took her gift with loving care, giving and taking, until their moist, naked bodies quivered to a still, exhausted contentment.

  They remained entwined. Willow nestled her cheek in the crook of Brett's arm. A dream-like feeling filled her, and she moved into the other world of sleep.

  As she walked, small stones pressed beneath her soft moccasins. She smelled the savory stews from the campfires. Children laughed as they played their games, running about the camp, in and out of tipis, teasing mothers and pleasing grandmothers with their carefree ways.

  Willow watched her village through eyes of a spirit person. She saw her people, but they did not see her. She felt the happiness and harmony of the old ways. Everyone had a job to do, and they did it with a light heart. She sensed much love among the wives who shared the work, as well as for their great warrior husbands.

  A slight breeze caused several leaves from a tree above to drop onto the taut tipi, and then slowly slide down it in a waterfall of yellows, oranges and reds. Soon nothing but red leaves flowed down, like blood.

  Willow woke, unsettled and worried. The dream had to be a sign . . . a warning.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brett woke in the early part of the morning. Willow's steady breathing told him she slept content in his arms. It had been a long time since he'd cradled a woman in his sleep. Willow felt right.

  He took in her beauty, her narrow nose, high cheekbones, and full, inviting lips. Her bronze skin softened her featu
res and added elegance.

  She'd said yes to his proposal of marriage. She had no idea how much he wanted this. He could only imagine how happy Sean would be when he heard the news. Lord, he missed his son.

  Glancing at his watch, Brett realized it would be hours before they headed for Browning. He'd heard stories about the reservation, and although he had lived his whole life in Montana, had never been on a Res.

  There were reasons for that. High on the list was his resistance to accepting his Indian heritage. Secondly, he feared he'd meet his father, eye-to-eye, recognizing the man through his own features. Then, of course, there was always the possibility he'd hear some rumors as to his blood father. All those years of imagining the worst scenario, the drunken, good-for-nothing Indian father. Brett couldn't help wonder how he'd allowed his thinking to become so narrow-minded, so prejudiced, so stereotyped.

  Who would have believed Willow Howling Moon would turn his life around? Lately nothing and everything made sense. He looked around at the room and had to admit, the beauty of it all caused a stirring of pride deep within him.

  The faint ringing of a telephone interrupted Brett's musings. He slid from Willow's warmth and grabbed a terry robe that hung from a peg on the backside of her bedroom door. He rushed down the hall and stairs, struggling to be quiet and quick with the heavy, clumsy cast on his leg.

  Brett reached for the phone, interrupting the ring. "Hello?" His voice sounded gravelly in the early morning.

  "Brett, that you?"

  "Mother?" The hair rose on the nape of his neck, and he suddenly knew something was wrong. "What's happened to the boys?"

  "The Mercy flight is flying them to the Great Falls DeaconessHospital," she said.

  Brett heard the tenseness and fear in her high-pitched voice. "What happened?" His tone revealed nothing. Inside he felt a knot tighten.

  "I woke from a deep sleep. I thought someone had been shaking my shoulder. When I opened my eyes I saw no one. It seemed too quiet in the house. I felt uneasy so I decided to get up and―"

  "What happened?" he interrupted, impatience laced the words.