He would help his people toward a better life. He would win against those who plotted his downfall. He would stop them from using the woman.
The woman. His hand faltered and he felt his connection slip. She had tried to charm him, slip under his defenses. She'd almost succeeded, but it wasn't her dimples that had drawn him, but her refusal to be intimidated.
It was a new experience for him. Most of the people on the reservation had always steered clear of him—either due to the rumors that had circulated about his family, or because they didn't trust him. Whatever the reason, it no longer mattered to him. His only concern was saving their culture.
He needed to remember that. He needed to remind himself even though she might look like a Native with her dark hair and dark eyes, the heart that beat beneath the pretty exterior was white. He'd sensed her ambition, her self-serving attitude. He knew she wanted more than he was willing to give.
What of her reaction to the sacred staff? He knew she wanted to touch it, and would've had he not stopped her. Why? Was it just the need to handle something "unique", or had the staff called to her?
Her face took over his mind, chasing away the buffalo, the wolf, the snow owl. The whispers died. No! His questions hadn't been answered.
He pounded the drum harder; pounded until his fingers ached, trying to banish thoughts of the woman and to regain his link with his ancestors. No good. All he saw in his mind's eye was her face smiling at him, and all he felt was the pull of a culture he'd left long ago.
Laying the drum aside in frustration, he rose and left the lodge.
The sun had set and the evening star shone in the night sky above the cottonwoods. Gleaming with perspiration, he paused and glanced toward the trees while steam rolled off his naked body. His eyes were sharp and he saw what the darkness hid. Night creatures—like him—hunting their prey. A longing to join them came over him. To run free and wild. To forget the woman, forget his questions. He tamped it down. He'd bent to bundle his clothes when he felt the air stir. He looked up. Above him white wings glistened in the starlight.
"Little Brother," he murmured acknowledging the owl then with heavy steps walked away from the lodge.
Like a disembodied spirit, the white bird hovered over him, guarding his back.
*
The thin drapes did little to block the wavering light of the motel sign outside R.J.'s window. It flashed like a strobe light across the yellowed ceiling. She lay on her back and watched while thoughts of half-remembered dreams lingered in her mind. She'd been on the prairie, walking through tall grasses blooming with yellow, purple, and white flowers. In the distance, from a branch in a tall cottonwood, a white owl seemed to beckon her. Her steps quickened. Then...nothing. Whatever had happened next in the dream eluded her. Baffled, she flipped over on her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. "Forget it, go to sleep," she mumbled.
But she couldn't. Not when her pillow smelled like a hunk of month old bread. She rolled back over and stared at the lights once again.
She had to reach a decision. Did she pursue the information that Charlie Two Horses had given her, or did she write the story Sean O'Brien expected of her? If the first story was as juicy as Charlie hinted, it could be THE ONE. Her toes curled at the thought of what such a story could bring into her life. Recognition, respect, money.
But what would an exposé do Sean O'Brien's life? If what Charlie said was true, and he had sold out, then he had it coming. So what if he was one of the best looking men she'd ever seen? Hormones had no place in journalism. She was a pro, not some simpering female blinded by a guy's smile.
A prickle of conscience hit her. Even the truth could come in shades of gray, and as a pro, she knew she could spin the story anyway she wanted. She had the power to make Sean O'Brien either the hero, or the villain, of the piece. Which would it be?
Tossing the covers to the side, she swung her legs off the bed and pulled jeans over her gym shorts. She grabbed her sweatshirt and threw it on, too. She couldn't think straight in this musty, smelly room. She needed fresh air. A drive would clear her mind.
Moments later she was flying down a black ribbon of highway, while the moonlit prairie whizzed by her open window. Without knowing why, she found herself back at the same spot where she'd stood and watched the storm roll in. She shut off the ignition and scanned the landscape. Yesterday, she'd felt eyes upon her. If she got out of the car, would she feel it again? It was the middle of the night and she was alone. How did she know what might be lurking in the tall grass?
"You're nuts, R.J.," she muttered, her hands gripping the wheel. "Go back to the motel."
She remembered the haunting dreams, the stale room, the flickering lights. A tightness squeezed her chest and she took a deep breath to ease it. The scent of sweetgrass and wild clover seemed to fill the Jeep and she looked longingly across the plains. So fresh and clean.
"Quit being a ninny." She pushed the door open and climbed out. "It was only a stupid owl," she whispered with a glance at the lone pine tree.
High grass brushed against her pant legs as she tromped up the hill, and in the stillness, it sounded as loud as a troop of soldiers marching. At the top of the rise, she stopped and took a deep breath. Nothing but miles and miles of heaven and earth. No houses, no lights, no fences. A strange feeling of aloneness came over her, and with it, a sense of freedom. Is this how the Native Americans once felt, wandering a land with no boundaries?
A sudden whoosh followed by the soft rustling of grass made her spin around. Her eyes scanned the ground between her and the Jeep. As empty as the space behind her.
She turned back to the endless landscape. Quit dithering she told herself, thinking of the paper Charlie had given her. It wouldn't hurt to meet a few people; ask a few questions. She wouldn't let Charlie use her anymore than she intended to let Sean O'Brien. She could—
"What are you doing here?" a voice behind her whispered.
She twirled so fast she almost lost her balance while her heart seemed to stutter in her chest. In the moonlight, she recognized Sean, climbing the hill toward her. Her temper flamed.
"What am I doing?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "What are you doing, sneaking up on me?"
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as if he were pleased that he'd startled her. It vanished. "It's not smart to be out here alone. People have been known to disappear."
She lifted her chin a notch. "I'm not afraid."
"Maybe you should be."
"Are you threatening me?" she shot back.
"Of course not. I'm well aware of the power of the press." A real smile flashed in the dark. "I wouldn't dream of threatening a woman who buys ink by the gallon."
Damn, he could turn on the charm when he wanted and she felt her anger soften. She shored it up.
"You didn't answer my question."
"What am I doing here?" He lifted a shoulder. "Like you, I couldn't sleep."
"How did you—"
His low voice cut her off. "Look over there." He pointed to a spot on the left. "Do you see them? A mother coyote with half grown pups."
R.J.'s eyes searched the prairie, trying to see what he did, but she only saw waving grass. "I can't."
He stepped away from her. "Ah, well, I come out here a lot at night." He hesitated. "I guess my eyes are accustomed to the dark."
"I'll say," R.J. said, still trying to pick out the coyote. "I can't see a—"
"I love it out here," he said, suddenly changing the subject. "At night, I can imagine how it must've been two hundred years ago."
"The freedom."
He glanced at her, surprised. "You felt it too. I didn't realize you were so perceptive."
She recalled Charlie's words about their way of life. "You can't go back, you know."
Moving a few paces away, he bowed his head for a moment before squaring his shoulders and facing her. "I know. We have to go forward if our culture is going to survive."
"The Center."
> "Yes..." his voice trailed away. "Charlie talked to you, didn't he?"
It was her turn to be surprised. "How did you know?"
He gave a soft snort. "I've known Charlie a long time. He's using you."
R.J. crossed the distance between them. "Please. Don't insult my intelligence by stating the obvious. I know he has an agenda." She stopped and looked up at him. "But then again, so do you."
"My only goal is to help the tribe have a better life."
"Not according to Charlie."
"What did he say?"
"Oh, that's not the way this works," she said, cocking a hip and shaking her head. "If you want information from me, you have to reciprocate."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Seems Charlie and I aren't the only ones with agendas."
"Damn straight!" she exclaimed. "I'm tired of writing stories that any eighth grader could write."
"Regardless of the truth?"
"Of course not," she replied with heat in her voice. "I don't want lies—I want the real story."
"No one would believe it," he murmured more to himself than her.
Her breath quickened. This guy was weakening. If she played it right, if she could convince him to be honest with her. She took a step closer. "Sure they would. I'm good, really good," she insisted. "Give it to me straight and that's the way I'll write it. Cross my heart."
He startled her by placing a hand on her cheek. "I can't," he said sadly. "There are some things that can never be revealed. Forget about the story, Ruth Baxter, and go home. We'll find another reporter."
Looking into his eyes, she felt the full force of his magnetism, and without thinking, moved in until they were almost touching.
She heard his sharp intake of breath and time seemed to slow. His eyes glowed in the night, with desire and with something else. A wildness that she'd never seen before. His face lowered to hers.
When his mouth touched hers, she felt the thing that had been coiled inside of her for so long smooth. Her driving ambition faded and her entire focus was on the mouth pressing against hers. Stealing her hands up his arms, they settled on his shoulders and pulled him closer. Her lips parted and she felt more than heard his groan. She tasted him while his scent surrounded her. The strangest feeling came over her. It was if she were gliding toward the heavens, no longer tied to the earth. Suddenly his mouth left hers and began a trail across her cheek, down her neck, to a place right below her ear. Heat shot through as his tongue began to trace lazy circles on her sensitive skin. She tipped her head to the side and gripped his broad shoulders. His hand stole down her back, cupping her bottom and bringing her closer.
This is crazy registered somewhere in the corner of her mind. She'd known him less than twenty-four hours and she wasn't even sure she liked him. Yet all he had to do was kiss her and she turned into a wild thing.
Abruptly he released her and jerked away.
Dazed, R.J. tottered while a cool breeze chased away the heat.
"Wh-wh-" she stuttered.
Grabbing her arm, he began to drag her down the hill toward the Jeep. "We have to leave."
She stumbled. Sean righted her. When they'd reached the vehicle, he opened the door and tried to bundle her in. The rush down the hill had cleared her thinking, and she dug in her heels, refusing to budge.
"Wait a second. What's going on? One minute you're all over me like a rash, then—"
"I don't have time to explain. I'm needed at the Center."
The expression on his face told her not to argue. She shoved the keys into the ignition and jerked her head toward the passenger side. "Let's go."
"No, you go back to the motel—"
"No you don't," she interrupted, "you're not ditching me. Get in."
"But," he said with a glance over his shoulder, "I can travel faster if I—" His hand hit the side of the Jeep. "Damn!" Slamming the door shut, he ran to the other side and jumped in. He barely had his seatbelt fastened when she hit the gas and sped off down the road. Moments later, they were at the Center. They opened their doors at the same time, but before she could leap out, his hand restrained her.
"You stay," he hissed, jabbing a finger at her. Without giving her a chance to answer, he was out of the Jeep and running toward the Center in loping strides. He disappeared inside.
Fuming, R.J. gripped the steering wheel. Every instinct told her she was missing out on the action, but what? Only one way to find out. Leaning over, she grabbed her can of mace out of the glove compartment, then exiting the Jeep, quietly stole up the walk way. Inside she paused and let her eyes adjust to the shadows. Slowly she crept down the hallway, one finger on the trigger of the mace while her other hand trailed the wall, guiding her.
She stopped halfway and listened. Silence. She began to feel foolish. What was she doing sneaking around in the middle of the night, hanging on to a can of mace like her life depended on it? That Sean O'Brien was playing her. He ran hot then cold. Next he scares her into thinking that something big is happening. Nothing was happening. And he was just plain weird.
Turning on her heel, she started back the way she came. She'd leave him here, go back to the motel, write the stupid story, then blow this place. Her mother would be happy. She'd be home in time for the baby shower. So what if this story didn't pan out as she'd hoped. One of these days—
A loud crash followed by a shriek startled her. Spinning, she ran down the hall to the Council room and skidded to a stop inside the door.
Moonlight streaming through the windows lit the scene playing out before her. Two men crouched in the middle of the room with arms outstretched weaving and bobbing, while a white owl circled above them. With a screech, the owl extended its talons and dive bombed the men. The bird sliced at their faces. One man cried out. Wheeling, it soared back toward the ceiling, getting ready to make another run.
R.J. turned to race away, but an arm, shooting around her neck, jerked her backward. She slammed into a body and her adrenaline surged. Without thinking, she lifted her heel and brought it down full force on the foot next to hers. His grip loosened while his yelp joined the cries of his buddies. Pivoting, she sprayed him in the eyes with the mace and fled. She had to get out of there. She didn't know what was going on, but she didn't want any part of it. Some reporter!
She was almost to the door when she heard the beating of wings behind her.
Shit, the damn owl was after her now.
Hearing a thump, she whirled, ready to give the owl a shot of mace.
Up close, it was huge. Staring at her with yellow eyes, it expanded its wings until they stretched wider than a man's body. R.J. gasped and in the blink of an eye, the shape in front of her changed.
The owl disappeared and Sean O'Brien stood in its place.
Staggering back, she hit the wall and felt herself go white. The can of mace slipped from her nerveless fingers and rolled down the hall. Her eyes, never leaving Sean, watched him bend and snag it.
He took one step.
Knees buckling, her last thought before hitting the floor...what a story!
*
The not so soft tapping on the side of her cheek was the first thing she felt. She opened her eyes to find herself sprawled on the floor with Sean kneeling beside her. Sitting up, she scooted until her back hit the wall. "What hap—"
"You tripped and hit your head," Sean said quickly, cutting her off. Standing, he offered her his hand. She brushed it away and scrambled to her feet. A wave of nausea hit her.
She clutched her stomach and took a deep breath. "No, I didn't." Straightening, she looked him square in the eye. "An owl was chasing me—only it wasn't an owl—it was—"
"Don't be ridiculous." He gave a quick glance over his shoulder. "You need to leave."
She crossed her arms over her chest and held her ground. "No way. Not until I get some answers."
"There are no answers," he spit out and marched to the door. Flinging it open, he waited for her. "The Center's been vandalized and the men escaped. You have
to leave before Charlie and his goons show up." Reaching out, he grabbed her arm and pulled her forward.
Yanking away, she glared at him. "Why? We can explain what happened."
"And what are you going to say?" he asked, his eyes drilling into hers. "How are you going to explain what you, a white woman, were doing at the Center in the middle of the night?" He pointed toward her Jeep. "Go."
Giving up, she followed him down the path. Her mind felt muddled. Did she see the owl change into Sean? Like he said, it was ridiculous. Things like that just didn't happen in the real world. Sean had been in the shadows. She'd been scared. Her eyes had played tricks on her. When he stepped out, it only appeared that the owl transformed.
But what happened to the owl? She opened her mouth to ask, but before she could speak, Sean opened the Jeep's door and hustled her into the driver's seat. Slamming it shut, he turned back toward the Center.
"Wait," she called out. "Aren't you coming with me?"
With a deep sigh, he shook his head. "No, I'll be needed here." He faced her. "It would be better for both of us if you left and forgot this place."
*
Sean stood before the Council and tried not to look at Charlie Two Horses, sitting at the end of the table. He longed to shred the smug grin from Charlie's face as he spun his lies to the Elders. With a will of their own, Sean’s fingers curled talon-like at his side, but he remained still. Next to him, his grandfather, rigid with indignation, glared at the tribal leaders.
"Akecheta stopped the vandals," his grandfather insisted.
"Did he stop them, or did I stop him?" Charlie asked before any of the Elders could speak. "When I arrived, the place was in shambles and he was alone."
As his grandfather focused the full weight of his stare on Charlie, Sean felt a small wave of pleasure when Charlie squirmed, but he kept his face blank.
"That makes no sense," his grandfather said with a wave of his hand. "Akecheta worked hard to build this place. Why would he want to destroy it?"
Shadow Tales Page 12