by Diana Palmer
“I’ll call Mr. Baldwin,” Maggie said.
“You go right on back and use his office. I’ll even bring you a fresh cup of coffee.”
“Bribery, Bonnie?” Maggie asked with a grin.
Bonnie winked at her. “Whatever works, hon. Don’t you know that’s the first rule of politics?”
Five minutes later, Maggie found herself ensconced behind Baldwin’s big desk, a steaming cup of coffee at hand and the phone’s receiver clamped to her ear.
“Maggie, it’s good to hear from you,” her boss said, using the hearty politician’s voice he usually reserved for constituents. “How are you?”
“Fine, Mr. Baldwin. I sent my report by express mail this morning. You should receive it tomorrow.”
“Excellent. We’ll be glad to have you back in the office. Do you mind staying on for Jeremiah Kincaid’s funeral? Bonnie filled you in, didn’t she?”
“Yes, sir. Actually, I was hoping to take my vacation now,” Maggie said.
“I thought you’d requested time in August.”
Maggie considered telling him of her intention to resign, but an odd flash of intuition made her opt for caution. “That’s right, but I’ve gotten involved with some things at the reservation I’d like to finish before I leave.”
“Couldn’t you represent me at the funeral and still do those things at the reservation? You can take your vacation then, and I’ll throw in an extra three days off. I really would appreciate this, Maggie.”
“All right, sir,” Maggie said.
“Great. Stay in touch these next few days. The new president of the Whitehorn Ranchers’ Association will probably want to talk to you at the funeral.”
“About the Northern Cheyennes’ grazing leases?”
“What do you know about that?” Baldwin asked, his tone suddenly sharp.
Maggie raised her eyebrows at the receiver, then said, “Only that the tribe doesn’t intend to renew them. Is there something else I should know, sir?”
“No, no. Nothing important.” His voice was hearty again. A shade too hearty. “If anyone says anything to you, just tell them everything’s under control.”
“Mr. Baldwin, I hope you’ll read my report before you take any action on that issue,” Maggie said. “I’ve discussed it at length with the tribal leaders, and I think you’ll see they’ve developed some impressive plans.”
“I’ll read it as soon as it hits my desk. I’ve got to run now. Give Jeremiah’s family my condolences, and why don’t you send a bouquet of flowers to the funeral home? Bonnie can take care of the bill for you.”
Maggie hung up the phone and sat at the desk for another moment, feeling uneasy about the conversation with her boss, but unable to pinpoint the exact cause. Then she shook her head, told herself Jackson’s paranoia had probably started to rub off on her, and went out to tell Bonnie she wouldn’t have to bite her tongue bloody. Leaving the smiling secretary typing at top speed, she got into her car and headed for the res.
It was time to talk to Jackson.
Jackson paced from the kitchen into the living room, glared out the window for a moment, then paced back to the kitchen again. Damn it, where was she? He looked at the kitchen clock, swore under his breath and made another trip to the living room window.
He should be at the office, but Uncle Frank had thrown him out two hours ago, telling him not to come back until he stopped feeling so damn irritable and distracted. He’d come home and started pacing, and he’d been pacing ever since. He knew he was acting like an idiot. He also knew he wouldn’t be able to stop until Maggie came home from Whitehorn.
Damn it, where was she?
And why was he so afraid she wasn’t coming back? Her laptop was still on the kitchen table. Her clothes were still in his bedroom. Her makeup was still in his bathroom. She wouldn’t just go off and leave all that stuff behind. Irrational though it was, however, his fear persisted.
It was all because of that damn report, of course. Knowing she’d gone to Whitehorn to mail it, that she would no longer be able to use it as an excuse to avoid discussing the future, had his gut tied in knots and a battalion of ants crawling around under his skin. She’d told him she loved him—“quite a lot, actually”—and he’d tried to content himself with those words. But he had too much lawyer in his soul to settle for anything less than a legal commitment.
Just as he reached the kitchen again, a car door slammed out front. His heart lurched, then started to race as he rushed to the window. Oh, God, she’d come back. And she was smiling. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Of course it was.
He ran to the front door, threw it open and charged down the steps. He didn’t stop until he had her in his arms, whirled her around in a giddy circle and planted a kiss on her lips that stole his breath and hers. When he finally let her up for air, she looked up at him with a startled laugh.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“Nothin’ special.” He grabbed her hand and practically dragged her into the house. “I’m just damn glad to see you. Maggie, we’ve really gotta talk.”
She turned to him with a smile that made his poor heart hammer even faster. “I know, Jackson, it’s time. But there’s some news you should hear first.”
He opened his mouth to tell her he didn’t give a damn about any kind of news, but she didn’t give him a chance.
“Jeremiah Kincaid is dead,” she said, looking at him expectantly.
“What? Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Evidently he had an accident in the shower this morning. Will this affect your case for the leases?”
Jackson thought about it, then shook his head. “Not really. The suit was filed by the Whitehorn Ranchers’ Association, not Jeremiah personally. A guy named Bob Myers will probably take over. He’s damn near as rotten as Jeremiah.”
“Jackson, the man is dead.”
“Doesn’t change what he was, Maggie. I’m glad the old coot’s dead. In fact, I hope he’s already startin’ to sizzle.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.” She shot him an appalled look, then walked into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee.
“It’s the truth.” Jackson followed her into the kitchen, put his arms around her waist from behind and pulled her back against him. “Jeremiah Kincaid doesn’t matter anymore. You mailed the report, didn’t you?”
“Uh-huh.” She tipped her head back and grinned up at him. “It’s gone.”
“Good.” He leaned forward and gave her an upside-down kiss that made her laugh. “So, Ms. Schaeffer, what are your plans?”
She turned to face him, laying her palms flat on his chest. “Well, I have a few things to do for Mr. Baldwin in Whitehorn for the next three days, and then I’m going to take my vacation. I know you’re going to be busy in court, but I’d like to spend whatever time you can spare with you. Preferably alone.”
Oh, the smile she was giving him now made him think of hot sex and rumpled sheets. “What about after your vacation?”
“What do you want me to do after that, Jackson?”
“As if you didn’t know,” he said reproachfully.
“Well, a woman can’t be too careful these days, and you’re one of those tricky lawyers.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Maybe I’d like to hear you spell it out.”
He put his hands on her waist, picked her up and plunked her little tush down on the work island, which put her at eye level with him. Then he said, “I want you to stay here, Maggie. For good.”
“Here, as in Laughing Horse? Or here, in your house?”
“Both. If I had my way, I’d never let you out of my bed.”
“And why should I agree to this proposition, Mr. Hawk?”
“Oh, honey, it’s not a proposition. It’s a proposal.”
“Of marriage?”
“Sure is. I’ll even give your grandmother both of my horses. I love you, Maggie.”
“I love you, too, Jackson.”
“So, is that a yes?”
“It’s a definite maybe.” Looping her arms around his neck, she rested her forehead against his. “It’s an awfully big step. Maybe you should carry me upstairs and show me why I should put up with you for the next forty or fifty years.”
He looked deeply into her teasing eyes. So, she wanted to play, did she? No problem. Crouching down, he grasped her right wrist and gave it a good yank, pulling her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Then he put his left hand on her bottom to hold her steady and headed for the stairs.
Shrieking with laughter, she pounded on his back, complaining that this wasn’t what she’d had in mind at all. Jackson dumped her unceremoniously in the middle of his bed, and followed her down, kissing her whole face while he stripped her of her clothes. She giggled and wiggled and attacked his clothing with equal fervor.
When the loving was done, he held her in his arms, content at last. She still hadn’t given him a straight answer to his proposal, but she had given herself to him freely and completely, and he hadn’t seen that worried, haunted look in her eyes even once. Sooner or later, he was confident, she would accept him. If he had anything to say about it, it would be sooner.
Fourteen
After a long, delicious night of lovemaking, Maggie groaned when the sun rose the next morning, assaulting her with bright, obnoxious rays at what had to be an ungodly hour. Raising her head, she squinted at the clock, then groaned again and yanked the covers over her head. When she went into Whitehorn today, she was going to buy blackout shades for the bedroom windows.
She heard Jackson chuckle and felt a hand give her fanny an affectionate pat through the sheet and blanket. Then the mattress dipped, she heard his big bare feet hit the floor, and a second later the mattress shifted again. Smiling to herself, she imagined his every move from the sounds he made.
Now he was at the window, no doubt stretching his magnificent body while he made a visual check on the world outside. A zipper rasped. Okay, he had his jeans on. And he was whistling. Before coffee, no less! Did she really want to marry one of those disgusting morning people?
Several silent minutes passed. Then she heard water running downstairs and the lovely grating whir of an electric coffee grinder. The nice thing about those disgusting morning people was that they sometimes got up and made coffee for nonmorning folks. Chuckling, she rolled onto her back and pulled the covers off her face.
On second look, the sunbeams were actually rather pretty. If she got up right away, they could share a shower and breakfast before Jackson had to leave for the office. She’d go into Whitehorn after that, order the flowers and, if she was lucky, finish her duty call on the Kincaids by noon. Then she could buy the shades, hit the grocery store on the way home, take a nap and still have time to cook a romantic dinner.
“Sounds like a plan,” she said, forcing herself to crawl out of bed.
The first part of her plan worked well enough. Jackson was standing near the bottom of the stairs when she streaked from the bedroom to the bathroom. Never one to pass up an opportunity for fun in the shower, he was hot on her heels, and as naked as she was before she could turn the water on. The trouble didn’t start until they returned to the bedroom and he saw her take one of her business suits from the closet.
His eyebrows swooped into a scowl, and he crossed the room, zipping up a fresh pair of jeans on the way. “Why so formal today?” he asked, eyeing her intended outfit with distaste.
Maggie sat on the bed and gathered up one leg of her panty hose. “I told you yesterday, Jackson. I have some things to do for Mr. Baldwin in Whitehorn, and I need to dress for the office.”
“What things?”
She poked her toe into the toe of the hose, pulled the stocking to her thigh and gathered up the second leg. “He can’t come out here for Mr. Kincaid’s funeral. I’m going to act as his official representative.”
“No.”
Maggie glanced up and felt her heart sink. Jackson had folded his arms across his bare chest. His feet were spread apart in a classic fighting stance. The expression on his face could only be called implacable. She didn’t like it one bit.
“I beg your pardon?” she said, pulling up the other leg of her hose.
“No. You’re not gonna have anything to do with Kincaid’s funeral.”
She stood and pulled the waistband up where it belonged. Then she calmly walked over to the dresser, took out a bra and put it on. She reached for the pink silk blouse next.
“Did you hear what I said?” he demanded.
“Yes, I did.” She whipped the blouse around her shoulders and poked her arms into the sleeves, ignoring his ominous glare as best she could while she buttoned herself up. “I’m hoping you’ll realize how absurd you sound before I have to point it out to you.”
“Maggie, you can’t do this.”
“It’s just a courtesy thing, Jackson.” She took her skirt off the hanger and stepped into it. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. All right?”
“No, it’s not all right.” He put his hands on his hips, making his chest look even broader, his frown more intimidating. “Jeremiah Kincaid was an enemy of this tribe.”
“Well, he may have been, but this is part of my job.” She dragged her pumps out of the closet and slid her feet into them. “I’m still on Mr. Baldwin’s payroll, and I don’t think this is an unreasonable request. Therefore, I’m going to do it, and you can’t stop me.”
Stepping around him, she opened her jewelry pouch and dug out a pair of gold earrings. Leaning toward the mirror, she inserted the posts into the holes in her earlobes.
Jackson grasped her shoulder with one hand and turned her around to face him again. “You don’t understand what you’re doing here. If you go to that funeral, the people on this reservation will see it as a betrayal.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it’s not,” he insisted. “Sometimes you can’t straddle the fence between the white world and ours. If you want to maintain your credibility, you’re gonna have to choose a side, and it had damn well better be the tribe’s.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that if you did less choosing sides around here, you wouldn’t have so many problems with the white community?”
“I’m sure there are some occasions when that’s absolutely true. But, honey, trust me, this isn’t one of ’em. Go call Baldwin and tell him you can’t have anything to do with this.”
“What about Mary Jo?” Maggie asked, putting on her watch. “She’s been coming out here every day for weeks to tutor the kids. Don’t you think it’s appropriate for someone from the tribe to show her an act of friendship when there’s been a death in her family?”
“Send her a card. Hell, send her flowers.” He rolled his eyes and snorted, as if the thought of doing even that much disgusted him. “But don’t go there. Jeremiah Kincaid was a symbol of the white oppression these people have suffered. They won’t understand why you’re doing this. Much as they’ve come to respect you, you’ve got so many ties to the white world, they’re gonna think you’re sleepin’ with the enemy.”
Maggie stepped back, as hurt as if he’d slapped her. “I see. If I want to be accepted, I have to turn my back on my boss, and on a woman who has befriended this tribe because she picked the wrong father-in-law. I suppose I should turn my back on my father, too, while I’m at it.”
Jackson didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm dripping from her last remark. “Until this case with the grazing leases is resolved, it might be a good idea not to draw any extra attention to him.”
Unable to believe he could be serious, Maggie gaped at him. “Do you honestly mean that?”
“It’s just for a few weeks. Maggie, I don’t think you understand how ugly this thing with the leases is liable to get. Even if the court rules in our favor, we may have to call in federal officers or even troops to enforce the decision.”
“I don’t care how ugly it gets or what anyone has to do, I won’t treat my father like some dirty little secr
et.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Jackson protested.
“That’s exactly what you meant. We’re in a war with the whites. They’re all our enemies, even the ones who’ve never done anything mean to an Indian. If they’re white, they’re bad. Isn’t that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“You’re exaggerating what I said, and you’re overreacting,” Jackson said. “I don’t think all white people are bad, Maggie. All I’m saying is, this is going to be a very emotional time for the tribe. When emotions run that high, people don’t always think straight, and appearances become very important. For a while, you’ll have to be careful to make it absolutely clear your loyalty rests with us.”
“What if I think the tribe is wrong, Jackson? Am I supposed to just swallow it down and blindly follow along?”
“For a few weeks—”
“I can’t do that.” She fiercely shook her head. “This tribe needs more communication with the white community, not less. I can facilitate that. But if I stay here, the people are going to have to accept me the way I am.”
“Maggie, be reasonable.”
“No, you be reasonable. I don’t turn my back on people because it happens to be convenient. If I have too many ties to the white world, that’s tough. Nobody chooses who I will or will not associate with but me. And nobody owns me or controls me.”
“I’m not trying to control you.”
“Baloney!” She grabbed her jacket off its hanger, draped it over her arm and picked up her purse from the dresser. “I was planning to accept your proposal this morning, but perhaps we’d better rethink this whole relationship. When you come right down to it, I still may not be Indian enough to suit you.”
“You’re overreacting again.”
She walked to the doorway, then looked back over her shoulder at him. “I think not. And I also think the real question isn’t whether the people will trust in my loyalty as much as it is whether you will trust in it.”
“Honey, if I didn’t trust you one hell of a lot, we wouldn’t be here right now.”