Montana Mavericks, Books 1-4

by Diana Palmer

  The excitement had died down quickly after that. When she first returned to Washington, the danger to the tribe’s survival had been too immediate for her to be able to afford the luxury of tears over Jackson’s betrayal. The minute she returned from the White House, however, all the pain and rage she’d been forced to repress had hit her like the proverbial ton of bricks.

  She’d wept off and on for the better part of three days. Then she’d pulled herself together and spent the next three days going through the mountain of mail she’d received from all over the country. Now it was time to get on with her life.

  There would be no melodramatic depression over her failed romance with Jackson Hawk. She refused to sit around whining and feeling sorry for herself. She’d gambled and lost, and she’d acknowledged the hurt. As far as she was concerned, that should be the end of it.

  The only problem was, she couldn’t stop thinking about Jackson. Couldn’t stop dreaming about him at night. Couldn’t stop missing the wretched man, though why she would miss someone who had believed such vile things about her, she hadn’t a clue. Perhaps she should see a shrink about these masochistic tendencies.

  Sighing in disgust, she flipped through the job offers again, setting the most appealing ones to the right. Now wasn’t that interesting? All the congressional offers had landed on the left, as had the ones from other government agencies and national Native American organizations that wanted her to become a lobbyist. It must be time to get out of Washington.

  Shoving that stack to the edge of the table, she went through the remaining letters more slowly, again setting the most appealing offers to the right. Now she could count out the universities that wanted her to teach Native American studies or public administration courses. Great. She was finally making progress.

  Piling the newest rejects on top of the others, she repeated the process. This time it bogged down completely. She hadn’t been offered a million-dollar advance for a book about her experiences at Laughing Horse, but the offer she had received was certainly respectable. The idea of writing such a book intrigued her more than the money involved, anyway. Okay, so she wanted to write the book.

  But what would she do after that? It wasn’t as if she anticipated a long career as a writer. She could do a credible job with this one project, but she didn’t have any other stories screaming to be put on paper.

  The other offers were from Indian tribes all over the country. Some wanted her to coordinate social programs. Others wanted her to conduct a needs assessment similar to the one she had done at Laughing Horse. She couldn’t even decide what kind of work she wanted to do, much less which tribe she wanted to work for.

  The Seminoles in Florida? The Lakota in South Dakota? The Blackfeet in Montana? The Oneida in New York? The Apache in Arizona? The Choctaw in Oklahoma? Perhaps she should hire herself out as a roving consultant and travel from tribe to tribe. Did she want anything to do with Native Americans at all?

  Yes. Nothing had ever given her as much personal satisfaction as helping the Northern Cheyenne had. Would she feel the same way about another tribe? Or had knowing she was working for her mother’s people, her own people, added a special dimension?

  Flipping through the stack one last time, she pulled out the letter from Frank Many Horses. Her throat constricted, and a film of tears blurred her vision. Damn it, she wanted to go home. Not to Denver, although she would love to visit her father soon. But somehow, home had come to mean Laughing Horse.

  She couldn’t go there, of course, because she wasn’t ready, might never be ready, to see Jackson. The temptation to try again would be too strong. God, it had been so hard to walk away from him that day after the hearing. So hard not to fling herself into his arms, when he’d apologized so sincerely. Even after all this time, it hurt to remember that conversation. Had she made a mistake?

  “No,” she said aloud, pushing herself away from the table. “You did what any self-respecting woman would do, so don’t start second-guessing yourself. You’re lonely and confused, but you’ll get over it.”

  The phone rang. Grateful for any form of distraction, Maggie lunged for it.

  “Pave-voona o! Maggie. This is Rose.”

  “Good morning to you, too, Aunt Rose,” Maggie said with a smile. “Ne-toneto-mohta-he?”

  “I’m fine,” Rose replied. “Your Cheyenne is improvin’.”

  “Thanks, but you’ve now heard most of my working vocabulary, so you’d probably better stick with English.”

  Rose chuckled. “Well, hey, you should come home and get to work on it. That’s why I’m callin’, Maggie.”

  “Oh, Aunt Rose,” Maggie said, “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet.”

  “I didn’t mean forever. I’ll nag you about that some other time. This time, I just want to make sure you’re comin’ to Mama’s birthday party on Saturday. You got a plane reservation, don’t cha?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Don’t give me no buts,” Rose said. “She’s gonna be eighty years old, and she wants to hold a giveaway in your honor. Everyone in the family has contributed. You must be there, or you will shame her.”

  Maggie gulped. Holy smokes, there was no graceful way to get out of this one. According to Northern Cheyenne tradition, you simply did not shame your elders, intentionally or otherwise. Not unless you never intended to see any of your relatives again.

  “Well, um,” Maggie stammered, “I, uh, I really don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes,” Rose demanded. She was silent for a moment, but when she spoke again, her voice was soft with sympathy. “Maggie, we know you and Jackson broke up. He won’t be at the party. You won’t have to see him. Losin’ Bevy hurt Mama enough. Don’t you hurt her, too.”

  “All right. I’ll be there.”

  “Good. We’ll hold a sweat tomorrow night. Someone will meet you at the airport in Billings.”

  “Fine, but I’d rather rent my own car, Aunt Rose.”

  “Whatever you want. We’ll see you soon.”

  Maggie hung up the phone, then stood there and stared at it for a moment, trying to convince herself there hadn’t been a sneaky undertone to her aunt’s voice. Aunt Rose wouldn’t lie to her, would she? No, that was silly and paranoid. If Rose said Jackson wouldn’t be there, then he wouldn’t.

  So why did she feel so…alive, all of a sudden? Granted, she was pleased to be wanted at her grandmother’s birthday party. And having a traditional giveaway ceremony, a public expression of love and respect from one’s family, held in her honor was certainly a thrill.

  Deep down inside, however, she knew her excitement had nothing to do with her relatives. No, it had everything to do with the possibility that while she was at Laughing Horse she would somehow manage to run into Jackson.

  Cursing under her breath, Maggie whacked her forehead with the heel of her palm, as if she could knock some sense into her own head. Unfortunately, it didn’t help. Not even a little.

  Sixteen

  Maggie was welcomed back to the res like a long-lost daughter. Tipped off by a child posted to watch for her, the aunts, uncles and cousins rushed out of Annie’s house as she parked her car. Unbearably touched by all the talking, laughing and hugging, she wiped away happy tears and went inside to greet her grandmother.

  Annie wept for joy at the sight of her, kissed her cheeks and demanded to hear all about meeting the president and what it was like to be on TV. When Maggie had finished, her uncle, William Little Deer, told everyone to get ready for the sweat. The experience was similar to the sweat she had shared with Jackson, with a few notable exceptions.

  The lodge was large enough to accommodate fifteen people; the number of family members present required three separate ceremonies, two of which had already taken place. Uncle William conducted the ceremony Maggie attended. Her cousin, Mike Weasel Tail, served as the fire keeper, and Uncle Henry Little Deer was the drummer.

  The heat and darkness didn’t frighten her this time. All of the prayers
were offered in Cheyenne, but the spirit of closeness and safety and belonging with these people was the same. It was as if the sacred steam had cleansed them of all harsh thoughts and feelings.

  Because the night was warm and Annie’s little house had only one bathroom, everyone plunged into a nearby creek to bathe when the sweat was over. Then they all trooped back to the house, changed into dry clothes and gathered in the kitchen for a feast. Listening to the affectionate teasing and bickering, Maggie told herself she owed Jackson a huge debt for helping her reconnect with this family.

  Even in the midst of forty-some loving relatives, she found herself missing him. Wanting him. Loving him. And hating herself for it. For God’s sake, she was twenty-seven years old, and she’d never been one of those women who desperately needed a man to make her happy. She should be getting over him by now. Why didn’t the nagging ache of longing for him just go away?

  She found no answers that night, or the next morning. At noon, the family piled into their vehicles and drove to the Indian school in Laughing Horse for the party. The dining hall quickly filled with people. At first, Maggie flinched inwardly every time a new group arrived. As time passed and Jackson never appeared, however, she began to relax.

  Annie received a lovely assortment of gifts from her many friends and relatives. Then, with Uncle Henry announcing an embarrassingly long list of Maggie’s accomplishments, Annie gave away an even larger assortment of gifts. It was a lovely ceremony, a way of expressing gratitude to the community for the love and support that had made it possible for her granddaughter to succeed.

  Since Maggie and Annie were not allowed to help serve the huge meal the women in the family had prepared, they ate together, chatting and enjoying each other’s company. If Maggie had seen Frank Many Horses approaching, she would have made an excuse to leave the room. She was so involved with her grandmother, however, that she didn’t notice him until he was only two steps away.

  To her dismay, her grandmother invited him to join them, and after a few minutes of polite conversation, Annie excused herself from the table. While Maggie smelled a rat the size of a buffalo in this whole setup, she didn’t see any polite way to avoid hearing what he had to say.

  “It’s good to have you back here again, Maggie,” Frank said, giving her a charming smile that reminded her painfully of Jackson.

  “Thank you. It’s nice to be back.”

  “Have you considered our job offer?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Of course. It’s tempting, Frank, but I’m afraid I can’t accept it.”

  “You’re refusing because of Jackson.”

  She started to shake her head, then changed her mind and nodded again. Frank had never been less than honest with her. She believed he deserved the same courtesy. “I think it would be too…uncomfortable for both of us.”

  “You have accepted another job, then?”

  “No. I’m having a hard time deciding.”

  “I see.” Frank clasped his hands together on the table in front of him and gazed down at them for a long moment. “My nephew is sometimes a pigheaded turnip-brain, Maggie.”

  “Oh, Frank…” Maggie sputtered with laughter and shook her head. “He’s not that bad.”

  Frank smiled, but didn’t look up at her. “Yes, sometimes he is. But he has a good heart. He is deeply sorry for the things he said to you, and I know he would tell you so again if you would listen to him. He loves you very much.”

  “Loving someone means trusting them,” Maggie said. “Jackson has never really been able to trust me.”

  “Trust does not come easy for many of us. It takes a long time to grow, especially if a person’s trust has been betrayed before, as Jackson’s was. Is it possible you expected too much, too soon?”

  “I suppose. I was only here for two months.”

  “That is not very long. Did you ever really trust him?”

  “I moved in with him, Frank.”

  He shrugged one shoulder in a near-perfect imitation of Jackson. “So, you trusted him with your body. Did you ever trust him with your heart?”

  “For a woman, one usually goes along with the other,” Maggie said.

  “That is not always the case for a man, Maggie. My nephew needed a solid commitment from you. Perhaps if you had given him one, it would have been easier for him to give you his trust.”

  Maggie thought back to the day Jackson had proposed to her. She had never agreed to marry him, not in so many words. When they argued about Jeremiah Kincaid’s funeral, she had suggested rethinking their whole relationship. After the way he’d opened himself up to her, that must have hurt him. And when he’d accused her of betraying the tribe, she’d run away instead of fighting to convince him he was wrong about her.

  “Maybe some of what happened was my fault, Frank. But I still have a problem with his attitude toward whites. Every time we disagreed over something, my background became an issue. He always said or implied I didn’t understand because I’m just an apple. I can’t live with him if he’s going to continually point out I’m not Indian enough.”

  Chuckling, Frank finally looked up at her, his eyes glinting with deviltry. “And here I thought you were supposed to be such a smart gal.”

  Maggie raised an eyebrow at him. “You mean I’m not?”

  “Sometimes I think you kids with your big college degrees don’t know anything about livin’.”

  “Okay. Explain it to me, then.”

  “Jackson lived with divided loyalties for years, Maggie. He knows how difficult it can be to make choices when a conflict of cultures occurs. He also knows how seductive the white world can be. If he knew in his heart that your first loyalty was to him, I don’t think he’d be so afraid that other influences would take you away from him.”

  “That’s where all of these apple remarks come from? He’s afraid I’ll leave him?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Frank said, “but if you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll ask Jackson that yourself.”

  Maggie studied him for a moment before giving him a rueful smile. “You sly devil. You set me up like a pro.”

  “Yeah. But you know I’m right.”

  “So tell me something. How do you know so much?”

  His eyes dancing with glee, he shrugged again. “Aw, it’s nothing. I’m just a wise old Indian. Like in the movies.”

  For the first time in weeks, Maggie threw back her head and laughed, laughed until her sides ached. Frank laughed right along with her. By the time they’d both regained control, she felt as if the black cloud that had been her constant companion for weeks had finally given way to sunshine.

  “Do you think my grandmother would be offended if I left for a few hours?” she asked.

  “I think she’ll be more offended if you don’t,” he answered. “She went to a lot of trouble to get you out here for this.”

  “I wondered about that.” Maggie dug the keys to her rental car out of her purse, then stood and kissed Frank’s cheek. “Where is Jackson today?”

  “At his house.”

  “I’ll go see him, but I can’t make any promises, Frank.”

  “Just hear him out, Maggie. That’s all any of us will ask of you. I’ll tell Annie where you went.”

  Maggie slipped from the room and hurried out of the building. Her stomach suddenly felt as queasy and nervous as it had the day of the hearing, but she squared her shoulders, climbed into her car and drove toward Jackson’s house. At some level, she’d known all along that any visit to Laughing Horse would eventually come to this.

  She had to face Jackson one more time, and, hopefully, find a way to resolve their differences. Though she had always seen herself as an independent woman, the truth was, her life wouldn’t be any fun at all without him.

  Rip, plunk. Rip, rip, plunk. Rip, rip, rip, rip, plunk. Wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, Jackson glanced at the sun, figured it must be about three o’clock, and went back to pulling weeds. The June heat was
bringing his garden to full production. He’d planted so much this year, it wouldn’t be easy to keep up with the harvesting.

  He usually enjoyed being out in the sunshine and working without a shirt. But today, despite the radio he had blaring on the patio, he couldn’t find the right rhythm for pulling these damn weeds. Rip, plunk. Rip, rip, rip, plunk. Rip. Aw, hell.

  Throwing down the bean plant he’d accidentally yanked out by the roots, he straightened up and brushed the dirt off the scars on his chest from last year’s Sun Dance, sucking in deep breaths to calm himself. It didn’t help, of course. Knowing Maggie was back on the res made it impossible to feel anything close to calm.

  Damn it, he shouldn’t have let his hopes get so high. She wasn’t gonna come to see him today. By tomorrow she’d be gone again. There wasn’t a blessed thing he could do about it, so he might as well get back to work. The women in charge of the canning project for the reservation’s food bank would be glad to get his produce.

  Rip, plunk. Rip, rip, plunk. Rip, rip, rip, rip, rip, plunk. Next year, he’d expand his garden to a half acre. It might not be as exciting a way to provide food for the tribe as it had been in the old days, when Cheyenne men hunted buffalo, deer and elk, but it worked. In fact, he was amazed at how much food a person could get out of a little plot of land.

  If Maggie was here to coordinate this thing, she’d probably be running the county extension agent ragged, testing everybody’s soil and giving classes on how to improve yields. And she’d be infecting everyone with enthusiasm to get involved. But Maggie wasn’t here. She wasn’t ever gonna be here to do things like that again. He had to find a way to accept it.

  “Jackson?”

  He paused for an instant, then shook his head and went back to work. Great. It wasn’t bad enough he had to see visions of her everywhere? Evidently not. Now he was imagining the sound of her voice, too. Before long, he’d be having full-fledged hallucinations. Rip, rip, plunk. Rip, rip, rip—

  “Jackson.”

  Still bent over the plants, he froze. Oh, God, it had sounded so real that time, he was afraid to look. Forcing his fingers to release the weeds, he listened to them plunk into the bushel basket at his feet. Then he slowly turned his head.