by Renee Simons
"How're your folks and your sister?"
"Step-sister - and you'll have to ask her. We don't talk much."
She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. As if sensing she needed some privacy, Stormwalker moved to the end of the counter and turned his back to them. Hunter and the girl talked quietly for a few minutes. Zan got the impression things weren't going well, but because she couldn’t hear their conversation, she felt justified in staying in the shadows. Stormwalker turned toward them just as Hunter shook his head. Zan tried to catch his eye, but he didn't appear to see her.
"I wish I had something for you," Hunter said. "But I just hired on someone to help. I can't afford to pay two of you."
Stormwalker rejoined them. "What's the problem?"
"This one needs a job to start her life up again but she's having a problem convincing anyone to trust her."
"Do you trust her?"
"Yeah, I'd take her on if I could."
"Is she able to handle the heavy stuff?"
"I'm strong," the girl said. "I can do it."
Stormwalker looked at her. Zan was certain he saw what she did from a distance: the fear and anger in the young woman's dark eyes and a sturdy, uncompromising pride in the set of her shoulders.
"Give her the job, Kola." Stormwalker spoke softly, but with authority.
"You sure?" Hunter asked.
"I'm sure."
Stormwalker nodded and went to the door without acknowledging Zan’s presence. Confused by what she’d seen, she slipped out just behind him. She needed answers, although the questions would leave no doubt that she’d intruded on a private moment.
"Why did you do that? You needed the job."
He turned to her. His features bore no expression, not even surprise that she'd witnessed the scene. "Guess snooping is another family trait."
Zan felt her cheeks flame, but said nothing. She’d set herself up for his scorn.
"She needed the job," he said. "For me, it was just camouflage. Something else will turn up."
"Well, that was a good thing you did back there. I just wanted you to know that I thought so." Awkward, unsure of herself and of what to say, she stepped down into the street.
"You seem surprised," he said.
She faced him. "I wouldn't have expected. . . ." Her next words would have been insulting so she left them unspoken.
"How would you know what to expect?"
The accusation behind his question heated her cheeks again. She shrugged. "I know what I need to know."
He followed her down the steps and stood beside her, his height and solid build nearly overpowering her. Able to look most six-footers squarely in the eye, at this moment she wished for another two inches in height or, at least, some breathing room. She fought the impulse to take a backward step and open up some space between them. She would not retreat before this man.
"Are you all moved in and hooked up?"
The softness in his tone proved as distracting as his touch had been. "Yes."
"Then I'll see you around."
Relieved that he'd gone, she went back inside. She’d long ago lost her appetite, the reason why she’d come over in the first place, but she wanted to meet the store keeper.
John-Two Hunter watched her approach from behind his counter. She held out her hand. "Mr. Hunter, I'm Alexandra McLaren."
"You're the one who's gonna be working with Mike Eagle."
She considered his choice of words, then decided they were close enough to the truth.
"He asked me to give you whatever help I could. Bein' just a storekeeper, I don't know what that might be, but I'll start a tab for you. If you need supplies but are short of cash you just come on in and pay me when you can. How does that sound?"
"That's very kind of you."
He nodded. "Anything else you need?"
"I saw what happened before with the young woman and Stormwalker. I was . . . surprised."
His lips tightened for a moment, then relaxed. Had she offended him?
"If you knew him as well as we do around here, you wouldn't have been."
"Why not?"
"He's always done things like that - looked out for folks, stepped in and helped without bein' asked. Been that way since he was a kid. Around here, we don't expect anything else from him." He pulled a rag from his back pocket and swiped at the already spotless counter top. "If you stay awhile, you'll see some things different from how the newspapers and television make 'im out to be. I'd keep an open mind if I was you."
Disturbed by the man's remarks, she nodded and left without making any purchases. The scene had altered her preconceptions about Stormwalker, adding an unexpected dimension to his character. She didn't want to think he possessed qualities of compassion, generosity or concern. Such traits would punch a gaping hole in her concept of him as a cold-hearted killer and make her personal mission harder than she'd anticipated.
On his way to the newspaper building, Stormwalker recalled his conversation with Alexandra McLaren. She'd granted him a big concession, but that didn't mean he'd won her over. He would have to be careful around her, holding a tight rein on his own anger and allowing her the time she needed to change her mind about him. Her opinion had become important to him. Was it only because he needed her help?
He stepped inside. The great barn of a building was brightly lit, but the presses were silent. He called out, "Uncle? You here?"
"I'm in the office, Nephew. C'mon back!"
With a grin of pleasure, Stormwalker strode to the rear of the building, welcoming the reunion and its accompanying bear hug that had been postponed by Zan's appearance.
"You bulked up some, while you were . . . away. Been workin' out, I guess?"
"Yeah, well, there wasn't much to do but work out."
"I noticed the change as you came up the street yesterday. Guess I can't think of you as little Mike anymore. You've outstripped me."
Stormwalker looked at the man with affection. "Never, Uncle. You're too big a man for that to happen."
Mike motioned, and Stormwalker sat down opposite him. "How come they let you come home? They decide to let bygones be bygones now that we're such good friends with our old enemies? Or maybe they figure no one cares about something that happened all those years ago?"
Stormwalker shook his head. "More important - they learned something that indicates I've been telling the truth all along. But if we can't prove my case this time, they'll lock me away for good."
"Since I might be helping that McLaren woman to send you back, what can I do to help you stay?"
"Her name is Alexandra, Uncle. And I would like you to help her. She's got a tough job to do. Your cooperation could make it easier."
Mike raised one eyebrow, but said only, "Sure thing."
"As for me, I need to find work. I thought I had a job but it went to someone else. Can you find something for me to do? The pay is unimportant. I just need to show I'm doing something."
"You should have come here first."
"I didn't want to take advantage of our relationship."
"What else is family for, if not to help out?" Mike leaned forward in his seat.
"When do you want to start?"
"The first of the week, if that's all right. I need a little more free time. I'm going out to Grandmother's place from here."
"Give her my best. Tell her we need to see her face around here more often."
"The last time I looked, she had no way of getting here."
"I'd come for her if I knew when she was ready to make the trip."
"How about smoke signals?"
Mike answered Stormwalker's grin with one of his own. "I'm game."
"I'll tell her you said so." Stormwalker stood. "About this job, Uncle. Most times, I'll be able to give you an honest day's work. But I might have to take off at a minute's notice and I won't be able to explain. If you have deadlines, that could be a problem."
"Nope. Paper gets out when it's r
eady. You do what you have to."
The two men walked out together. The newspaperman reintroduced Stormwalker to the machinery as they went. "It's been a long time since I worked the presses," Stormwalker said. "I hope I remember how."
"It'll come back - like making love. You never forget."
"It's been a long time there, too."
Mike winked. "Seems you've got a lot of catching up to do. I'd get to it, if I were you."
"No more one-shot deals for me." Stormwalker shook his head. "But I'll need a life before I can share it with someone."
Chapter 3
In the shade of the back door overhang, the thermometer registered 99 degrees. Out in the sun, it felt more like 105, but the lack of humidity made it bearable. Stormwalker welcomed all of it, even the hot wind caressing his face. In a cloudless sky the color of a robin's egg, an eagle rode a thermal, its great wings spread and motionless as it glided at the apex of an invisible column of heated air. His heart lifted in his chest and he smiled. Perhaps wanbli's presence was a good omen.
"I sure could use the help," he said softly.
He watched for a moment or two longer, then saddled his old horse. When they'd both been a lot younger, he'd given the animal the old Lakota name, Sunka Wakan: Holy Dog. He was old now, and soon would be unable to carry anyone but a small child. Though he let the animal move at his own pace, a small rasp sounded deep in the horse's belly. When Stormwalker spoke to him, Sunka'kan pricked up his ears and lifted his head proudly, as if to say, "There's still some life left in this old body."
They crossed the gently rolling countryside covered with tall prairie grasses turned gold and russet and pale brown by the summer's heat and lack of rain. They'd ridden about ten miles when Stormwalker's gaze fixed on a long, low house sheltered by a grove of cottonwoods. It hadn't changed much during the five years he'd been away, except to become a little more weathered, a little more settled beneath its leafy canopy.
He approached slowly and dismounted without a sound to avoid disturbing his grandmother, who dozed in a high-backed wicker chair. The hair framing her face had turned white. Lines beside her mouth and a furrow across her forehead marked her once smooth skin. She's gotten so much older, he thought with a shock, then remembered she was near ninety and still looked younger than her years.
She opened her eyes and smiled at him. "You haven't changed much, I see, Grandson. Still trying to surprise me like you did when you were a boy."
"And you're still a breath ahead of me, Unci." He knelt beside her chair and wrapped his arms around her. "I came as soon as I could, Grandmother."
"I knew I'd see you when you were ready," she said.
He'd expected her to feel light and reed-like. Instead he felt an iron strength in her slender body and drew away in amazement. "I'll bet you could rope and throw a calf if the whim struck you."
"Probably, though I don't get many whims like that these days." She smiled. "I prefer quieter activities." Emma Redfeather examined her grandson. "Have you come home to stay, Takoja? Have you, Grandson?"
"I don't know."
"I had a dream the other night that you had. I was surrounded by my grandchildren and we were happy. Even our loved ones who have departed this life smiled down and were at peace."
"That was a good dream, Grandmother. I hope for my sake it comes true."
"An end to these bad times waits nearby. I feel it. And something good will come, even from the worst of it, though we can't tell what that is right now."
"I can't imagine what." He thought about Mac's sister and the damage she could do.
"What is this thought that clouds your eyes?"
He explained what he could about his quest for the truth and the woman who held his future captive.
"Will she help you?"
"If I can prove myself to her. Until then, she has the potential to hurt me. Badly."
"How could your friend Mac do this to you? Put your life and career in her hands?"
"I don't think he would have done it if he thought there was real danger. It's a sign of his confidence - in me and maybe even in her."
His grandmother nodded. "I would like to meet her."
"Come back with me now," Stormwalker urged. "I'll put you up on Sunka'kan."
With an indulgent smile, she tapped the back of his hand as it rested on the arm of her chair. "That old thing? He's too tame for me. I have an animal of my own."
Stormwalker grinned at her. "This is the perfect time for a visit. We can ride back together and you won't have to use smoke to tell Mike you're coming in."
She laughed. "Can't you just see me waving a blanket over a signal fire? Now that would take more work than I have patience for."
She packed a small duffle and they rode home with a darkening sky at their backs. A feeling they were being watched nagged at Stormwalker. He pulled gently on the reins to halt Sunka'kan. His grandmother did the same.
The low hum of an engine filtered through the breeze-tempered silence. The saddle creaked as he dug his feet into the stirrups and raised himself up to look around.
To the north lay two narrow lanes of asphalt that ran from east to west through the middle of the reservation. He couldn't see the road or the vehicle paralleling his course. He could have crossed the parched grassland and confronted whoever it was, but confrontation was for later. For now, the fact that someone might be following him was enough.
*****
On her way back to the camper, Zan glanced at the huge plate glass window built into the rear wall of the newspaper plant. Mike Eagle sat at his desk. She walked around to the front of the red brick fortress and stepped inside, making her way through the silence to his office.
He turned to face her. "Can I help you?"
"I came to thank you for talking to Mr. Hunter on my behalf. Why did you do it?"
"My nephew asked me to help you. He feels it will get you to the truth faster than if I stand in your way."
That Stormwalker had been responsible surprised her, but she said only, "I appreciate what you did."
"There's a place here for you." He pointed to a small table beside the window. "It isn't much, but if you want to look at any of my files, there's room."
"And you can keep an eye on me?"
Mike grinned. "That too." He turned back to his work.
Zan left to interview Stormwalker's mother. She had taken an active role in his defense. Perhaps she would have answers to some of Zan's questions.
The air had cooled. To the west, a bank of gray clouds hovered above the open prairie and jagged flashes of lightning streaked to the earth. The fading light took on an eerie yellow hue, convincing her the storm would soon reach them. She walked down the deserted street toward one of the few two-storied houses in the village. A strange tingling upset the rhythm of her pulse.
As she came abreast of the building, measured hoof beats broke the silence. A moment later, a man on horseback emerged from the gloom. He sat easily on his mount, his body swaying with the movement of the horse, his broad shoulders relaxed and the reins draped loosely across his fingers. He and his animal seemed surrounded by a strange aura her mind told her had more to do with the approaching storm than the supernatural.
"You looking for me?" His deep voice coaxed her from her musings.
"I wanted to ask your mother a couple of questions, but I'll ask you."
"You'll have to. She's at a teacher's conference in Pierre."
Another rider halted beside him. Stormwalker dismounted and held out a hand. "Can I help you, Grandmother?"
"Maybe next time. Today, I'm still able to manage on my own." She removed a bag from the saddle horn.
"I'll take care of your horse," he said. "You go inside and get out of this weather."
"Did your mother leave any food in the house?"
"Enough to feed everyone on the rez."
"Good. I'll cook dinner."
Dressed in an oversized canvas greatcoat and wide-brimmed Stetson, the woman gave
Zan a brief, but intense once-over. Zan had read she was a healer and a seer and held still for the woman's examination. This first meeting would not be the last, but it might be the most crucial.
"You can invite your friend, if you want," Stormwalker's grandmother said before heading into the house.
Zan suspected she'd passed a test. Next time, perhaps, she would do the examining.
Stormwalker came closer. His strength was a quiet, palpable presence hovering between them, unsettling her.
"I need to take care of the horses," he said. "We can talk while I work."
They went into the barn. In the shadow cast by a dimly lit bulb she watched him tend to his animal.
"What do you want to know?"
"Why did you let Mac recruit you for that assignment in Vlad?"
"I had some naive notion that my actions would spell redemption for both the Corps and my people."
"Why you?"
"The lance corporal who got into trouble with that foreign agent was Sioux, a Lakota, like me. I hoped to find out how much damage had been done, maybe even catch the bad guys and make something positive from a negative situation."
"So what went wrong?"
"The unseen hands running the show ambushed me and left me swinging in the breeze."
"How?"
"It wasn't difficult," he replied without self-pity. "I was an amateur, armed with six weeks' training and an intense desire to right a wrong. My zeal was a poor weapon against a network of operatives and someone inside the Agency who would divert my reports."
"How do you know they were diverted? Maybe they were never received."
"They were received all right. Coded acknowledgments told me that, but when Mac's people tried to track them down, everyone had disappeared into the ether."
"They searched everywhere?"
He shrugged. "As far as I know."
"Mac says you're a pretty good marine but a lousy spy."
He gave her a sidelong glance. The self-deprecating smile softened his features, providing a glimpse of the young man he'd once been. She tried to ignore the butterfly flutters in her abdomen, but without much success.
"Mac's right. When you're a soldier, you come to expect that the guy fighting beside you is a friend. When you're a spy, chances are he's just waiting to put a knife into you. I never could remember that."