by Diana Palmer
“No need. I’m not staying.” He went around her to the kitchen and kissed Leta goodbye where she stood at the counter making sandwiches.
“Make up before you go,” she pleaded with her son.
“I did,” he lied.
She touched his cheek sadly. “Stubborn,” she murmured, then she smiled. “Like your father.”
The mention of Jack Winthrop closed his face. “I’ve never hit you.”
She caught her breath and her hand came down. She gnawed her lower lip. “Someday,” she said hesitantly, “we must have a talk.”
“Not today,” he countered, oblivious to the guilt in her face. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“You don’t like Senator Holden.” She said it abruptly and without thinking, just as she’d said he was like his father. He didn’t know who his father was. She still couldn’t bring herself to tell him.
He turned. “There’s no one I like less,” he agreed. “He’s wrong down the line about Wapiti Ridge and what’s good for us, but he won’t see reason. He doesn’t know a thing about the Lakota, and he couldn’t care less!”
“He grew up here,” she said slowly.
“What?”
“He grew up here,” she continued. “Before his mother was a widow, she came here to teach at the school. He had friends on the reservation, including Black Knife.”
“You never told me that you knew him,” he accused.
“You never asked me. I’ve known him for a long time.”
He stared at her curiously. “If he knows the situation here, why is he fighting us on the idea of the casino?”
“He hates gambling,” she said. “I haven’t seen him in many years,” she added, “not since he married that pretty white woman and ran for the senate the first time.”
“His wife is dead.”
She nodded. “I read it in the papers.” Her eyes searched his. “Cecily says you have a pretty white woman of your own.”
“Damn Cecily!” he said through his teeth, hating his own stupidity for touching Cecily in the first place and frustrated by the painful attraction he couldn’t satisfy. “What I do is no business of hers! It never was, and it never will be!”
“Amen to that,” Cecily said from the doorway, a little less confident because of his biting remarks, but calm just the same. “Why don’t you go home to Audrey?”
“I don’t understand this,” Leta said worriedly as she studied her son. “You keep saying you don’t want to be involved with a white woman…”
“Only with a plain white woman,” Cecily corrected. “Isn’t that right, Tate? But Audrey is beautiful.”
It was only then that he realized how Cecily must feel about his relationship with the other woman, as if he’d bypassed her because she was no beauty. It wasn’t true. He’d been responsible for her for years, even if she hadn’t known it until recently. He’d fought his attraction to her because it was like exploiting her, taking advantage of her gratitude for what he’d done for her. How did he explain that without making matters worse than they already were?
Leta could have wept for Cecily, standing there with such dignity and poise, even in the face of Tate’s hostility.
“It has nothing to do with beauty,” Tate said finally.
Cecily only smiled. “I’ll finish the sandwiches while you see Tate off,” she told Leta.
“Cecily…” Tate began hesitantly.
“We all act on impulse occasionally,” she said, meeting his eyes bravely. “It’s no big thing. Really.” She smiled, avoiding Leta’s probing gaze, and turned to the refrigerator. “Are you eating before you go?”
He scowled fiercely. She thought he regretted touching her. Perhaps he did. He couldn’t remember being so confused.
“No,” he said after a minute. “I’ll get something at the airport.”
Leta went with him and waited while he got his suitcase and carried it out to his rental car, which was parked beside the one Cecily had rented. The reservation was a long drive from the airport, so a car was a necessity.
“You two used to get along so well,” Leta murmured.
“I’ve been blind,” he said through his teeth. “Stark staring blind.”
“What do you mean?”
He stared out across the rolling hills that were turning golden as autumn approached. “She’s in love with me.”
It was a shock to hear himself say it. Until then, he hadn’t really considered it. But Cecily had lain in his arms as trusting as a child, clinging to him. Her eyes had been rapt with pleasure, joy glistening in them. Why hadn’t he known? Or was it that he hadn’t wanted to know?
“You mustn’t let her see that you know,” Leta instructed grimly. “She is proud.”
“Yes.” He touched his mother’s shoulder. “There are so few of us left who are full-bloods,” he said, wondering why Leta grimaced. Perhaps she’d hoped that he might marry Cecily one day, despite her pride in their heritage.
“And you won’t marry a white girl,” she said.
He nodded solemnly. “Audrey is costume jewelry. I wear her on my arm. She’s sophisticated and savvy and shallow. It means nothing. Just as the other handful meant nothing.”
Leta’s eyes fell to his chest. “That isn’t all.”
He sighed. “I’ve taken care of Cecily for eight years,” he reminded her. “Even without the cultural differences, I’m in the position of a guardian to her, whether she likes it or not. I can’t take advantage of what she feels for me.”
“Of course you can’t.” Leta linked her fingers together. “Drive safely.”
He pulled a small package from his jacket pocket. “Give this to her after I’m gone. It’s her birthday present.” He smiled ruefully. “We weren’t speaking, so she didn’t get it on her birthday.”
“She may not want it.”
He knew that. It hurt. “Try.”
She watched him drive away down the winding dirt road that cut through to the main highway. She knew that one day soon she was going to have to share a painful truth with him. Things were happening that he didn’t know about. Things that involved herself and Matt Holden and some vicious men in chauffeured limousines and the tribal chief. It was not a prospect she relished.
Chapter Four
Cecily lived on dreams for a week while she tried to come to grips with the monumental change in her relationship with Tate. Even if he’d resorted to bad temper to get out of a potentially embarrassing situation, he’d felt something. Lying in his arms, feeling his hungry kisses on her mouth, the touch of his hands on her face and her throat, she could sense his hunger for her. The wonderful thing was that she hadn’t been afraid. It occurred to her that the revulsion she felt with other men wasn’t completely because of her traumatic flight from home. Part of it was because her heart was set on Tate. He was the only man for her. She’d always known that he was fond of her. Until he kissed her, though, she hadn’t known that he wanted her, too.
But it was obvious that Tate wasn’t going to give in to his feelings, regardless of how strong they were. In a way she couldn’t blame him. They’d had this discussion before, almost two years ago, when she’d teased him about the mythical prophylactics she carried around with her. By exaggerating her feelings for him, she’d hidden them. But now, after her headlong response, he probably knew the truth. It had been, she recalled, much too obvious that she loved his kisses.
She wasn’t sure that she could handle seeing him again so soon. She stayed away from the coffee shop she’d seen him frequent. There was a nice little seafood restaurant near her new office at the museum, and she started having lunch there, since she knew Tate didn’t care for fish.
But one day at lunch she did spot a familiar face. Senator Matt Holden was standing just inside the doorway, with his hands jammed deep in his pockets and a ferocious scowl on his face. He was looking around as if searching for someone when he spotted her and made a beeline for her table.
She paused with her fork in m
idair. “Why, Senator…” she began.
He held up a hand, pulled a chair up close to her and leaned forward with his forearms on the table. “Cecily, I’m up to my neck in trouble. I need to speak with you privately, as soon as possible.”
This was unprecedented, and a little flattering. If he had a problem she could help him with, certainly she would, although she couldn’t think how someone like herself could help a powerful senior United States senator. Still she owed him her new job. So, having already paid for her lunch, she put down her fork, and followed him out to his waiting limousine.
He closed the curtain between them and the driver and leaned back.
“What is it?” Cecily asked.
He held up a hand and shook his head. “I thought you might appreciate a ride back to your office,” he said lazily, as if he didn’t have a problem in the world. “And I need to speak with your boss about that new exhibit in the Sioux section.”
Cecily caught on at once. “I’m grateful for the lift. In fact, I wanted to ask what you thought of the beaded moccasins and the textile samples I brought back from my trip to the Wapiti Ridge reservation.”
“I’d love to see them!” he said with a grin.
They rode in silence the few blocks to the new museum, where the driver let them out. Senator Holden sent him off with instructions to return in an hour. He took Cecily’s arm and led her up the steps to the shining new building, where workmen were still scattered around adding glass panels and wallpaper and paint to the few areas that hadn’t been completed on schedule. The interior decorator was there, too, pointing out flaws in workmanship while a morose man in white painter’s clothing sighed helplessly.
Cecily opened the door to her office, noting that her secretary, Beatrice, had left a note on the computer keyboard reading, Gone To Lunch.
Senator Holden glanced at it before he followed Cecily inside and closed the door. He leaned back against it, staring at Cecily as she dropped into her swivel chair and waited.
“You’re quick,” he said with admiration. “I didn’t want to talk in front of the chauffeur. He’s a replacement for my regular one and I don’t trust him. Hell, I don’t trust anyone right now except you.”
“I’m flattered. What’s wrong?”
“Has Leta mentioned anything about a gambling syndicate sniffing around the reservation?” he asked bluntly.
She frowned. “Gambling syndicate?”
He sighed angrily. “She hasn’t. Maybe she doesn’t even know what’s going on.” He ran a hand through his thick silver hair and began to pace. “I’ll be damned if I know what to do! I can’t back down now. These people are dangerous. If they aren’t stopped, they’ll get a stranglehold on the reservation that nothing can ever break. Besides that,” he continued, oblivious to Cecily’s puzzled stare, “I’ve just given a freelance job to Tate Winthrop, upgrading the security in my office after the attempted shooting a few months ago in the capitol building. If that gets out, I could find myself in front of an investigating committee. I have to pull him off the job, and he isn’t going to understand why. And I can’t tell him!” He glanced at her and saw her confused expression. He smiled wanly. “You haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about.”
“Fair assessment,” she agreed. “Why don’t you sit down and stop pacing?”
“I’ll go mad.”
“Please?”
He hesitated for a few seconds before he resigned himself to sitting in the chair beside her desk. He leaned forward, deeply troubled. “What do you know about Tate Winthrop’s…father?”
The pause between those words was curious, but she answered him without pondering them. “Not a lot. He was mostly away on construction jobs while I stayed with Leta, and I only know about him from her. He was a brutal man who drank to excess when he was at home and beat Leta and hated his only child,” she said simply. “Leta said that Jack Winthrop tormented Tate every chance he got, and if she interfered, he knocked her around. At least, he did until one day Tate came home unexpectedly and found her after Jack had finished with her. They still talk about Jack Winthrop running like a madman from his son afterward, barely able to get out of the way in the condition he was in.” She wondered about the look on Holden’s face. He was furious. “Tate said once that if Jack Winthrop hadn’t died of natural causes, he’d probably have killed him one day. I don’t think he was kidding.”
Holden stared at his big hands. “Leta’s such a tiny little thing,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I can’t imagine anyone brutal enough, cruel enough, to hurt her deliberately.”
“You know Leta?” she asked abruptly.
“Most of my life,” he replied gruffly. “My mother taught at the school on the reservation after my father died. I grew up around the Lakota. In fact, Tom Black Knife and I served together.” He glanced at her. “I’ve heard rumors that he’s on the take. I’ll never believe it. He’s one of the most honest men I’ve ever known. He wants the casino, but he wouldn’t resort to underhanded means to get it, and he’s the last man who’d embezzle tribal funds.”
“What does any of this have to do with Leta and Tate?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
He leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret? A big secret?”
“If keeping it won’t hurt anyone,” she said finally.
“Telling it will hurt people more,” he assured her. “Cecily, thirty-six years ago, about the time I won my first senate race, I had an affair with a lovely Lakota girl I’d known since childhood. But I had just married and my wife was my chief backer in the campaign. I couldn’t have won without her support.” He picked at a fingernail. “I chose position above passion, and there hasn’t been a day in my life that I haven’t regretted it.” He looked up. “But there was a complication that she never told me about. There was a child. And now there’s a renegade gambling syndicate on the outs with the Vegas group that’s trying to leech its way onto Wapiti Ridge, where it can have total control over the casino it wants there. Since Wapiti is small, and near a major tourist attraction, it has the potential to draw a lot of customers. There’s big money involved and this syndicate has ties to some rather nasty people up north.”
“Good Lord,” she exclaimed. “I had no idea.”
“Neither did I until about a month ago when I started hearing rumors about it. I did some investigating and dug out enough to warrant an investigation. But the syndicate got wind of it, and now it’s threatening to go public with the whole sordid mess unless I stop looking for missing tribal funds and support the casino. And the tricky part is that my son doesn’t even know about me. He thinks another man was his father.”
Cecily’s face paled. She stared at Holden, and it suddenly occurred to her that he was talking about Leta, and that he had more than a surface resemblance to Tate Winthrop. In fact, when he scowled, he looked just like Tate.
“Tate…” she whispered.
“Is my son,” he said, almost strangling on the word. “My son! And I didn’t know until today, until this morning, when I had a visit from a man who works for the gambling syndicate. If I don’t back down, he’s going to the media with it.”
Cecily sat back in her chair with a rough sigh. “Tate thinks he’s full-blooded Lakota. He’s fanatical about it, obsessed with preserving the bloodlines of his culture. He’ll go mad if he knows the truth!”
“He can’t know,” Holden said shortly. “Not yet.” He looked every year of his age. “Maybe not ever, if I can find a way out of this mess I’m in.” He ran his hands restlessly through his hair again. “I thought I’d die childless, Cecily. My wife never wanted children.” His eyes closed. “Leta didn’t tell me. She was probably afraid to tell me, because she knew my political career meant everything to me.” He looked up. “And you know what? Money and power are hollow, empty things when you can’t share them. I have a son, and I can’t tell him.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
She winced. “It isn’t fair to let him go through l
ife thinking Jack Winthrop was his father.”
“It isn’t fair to destroy his illusions of who he is, either. That’s why I’ve got to stop these people, while there’s still time. I need help. You’re the only person I can turn to, Cecily. I can’t have Leta and Tate publicly humiliated for something that’s basically my own damned fault. On the other hand, I can’t let organized crime get a foothold on the reservation.” His dark eyes met hers. “I think the key is what they’re holding over Tom Black Knife. They’ve got something on him, too, maybe, and they’re using it to dip into government allotments the tribe receives from grazing rights and leased land. Will you help me?”
“Do I have a choice?” she replied with a smile. “At least you had good taste in women,” she added dryly.
“She didn’t have good taste in men, though,” he returned curtly. “I loved her, but I was willing to sacrifice her for a glorious career. I spent most of it married to a woman who drank like a fish, cursed like a sailor and hated me because I couldn’t love her. I cheated both of us. Eventually she drank herself to death.”
“Some people are self-destructive,” Cecily told him. “It’s a fact of life. You do what you can to help, but they have to want to help themselves. Otherwise, no treatment will ever work.”
His black eyes narrowed. “Tate practically raised you from what I hear. You love him, don’t you?”
Her face closed up. “For all the good it will ever do me, yes,” she said softly.
“He won’t have the excuse of pure Lakota blood much longer,” he advised.
“I’m not holding out for miracles anymore,” she vowed. “I’m going to stop wanting what I can never have. From now on, I’ll take what I can get from life and be satisfied with it. Tate will have to find his own way.”
“That’s sour grapes,” he observed.
“You bet it is. What do you want me to do to help?”
“It’s dangerous,” he pointed out, hesitating as he considered her youth. “I don’t know…”
“I’m a card-carrying archaeologist,” she reminded him. “Haven’t you ever watched an Indiana Jones movie? We’re all like that,” she told him with a wicked grin. “Mild-mannered on the outside and veritable world-tamers inside. I can get a whip and a fedora, too, if you like,” she added.