Fancy car. From anyone else it would have been considered just a casual remark. Coming from a fellow Cheyenne, it was a jab at his show of wealth, of his apparent adoption of the white man’s ways. Storm stared at Jackson, his defenses on instant alert.
After a long moment Jackson filled the gaping silence. “I’m glad you’re here, Storm. I wondered when you would finally come back to the reservation.”
At the subtle censure in Jackson’s tone, Storm’s wariness grew. It took all of his will power to not turn on his heel and run, to escape from this unsettling meeting. Instead, gathering his courage, he set his jaw in a determined line and said, “I’m here…for now.”
Jackson rose to his feet, stretching to his full six-foot-plus height. Rounding the desk, he closed the distance between them. The two men stood eye-to-eye, their gazes guarded.
“So you’re a big-shot lawyer in New Mexico,” Jackson said, the words sounding like a taunt.
Anger flared inside Storm. Refusing to be baited into an argument, he returned calmly, “I have a practice in Albuquerque.”
“A lucrative practice from what I can see.” The man who’d once been his friend, raked an assessing glance, taking in his professionally styled haircut, the gold watch on his wrist and his casual yet expensive clothes. The corner of Jackson’s mouth lifted into a smirk. “You’ve learned to blend in well with the white man’s world.”
“I didn’t come to discuss my business practices,” Storm said, unable to keep the defensive note from his voice.
Crossing his arms against his chest, Jackson sat on the edge of his desk. “Then why did you come?”
“I saw you this afternoon,” Storm said.
“Ah, yes.” Jackson nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “I wasn’t sure if you’d noticed my presence. You were otherwise—” He tapped a finger against his chin, lifting a suggestive brow. “How shall I say it? You were occupied with a beautiful woman. A beautiful white woman.”
Storm’s hands balled into fists of rage at the innuendo. It took all of his strength to hold them stiffly at his sides. “You have no right to judge whom I choose to see.”
“Someone has to use good judgment. It’s obvious that you’re not.”
“What are you talking about?” The harsh demand reverberated throughout the small room. The force of the words surprised even himself. Coming here, Storm’s intention had been to tell Jackson that he’d misread what he’d seen that afternoon. That there was nothing between him and Jasmine.
Instead he was defending his right to be with her.
Jackson’s measuring gaze never wavered. “I’m talking about your involvement with a white woman. A Kincaid, no less.”
The sharp reminder struck like a blow, leaving its mark.
“Did you forget? Raven died because he fell in love with a Kincaid,” Jackson said, shaking his head and looking disappointed. “Can’t you see that you’re repeating your brother’s mistake? You and I both know you’re asking for more trouble than you can handle.”
“Stay out of it, Jackson. It’s none of your damn business,” Storm said, his voice shaking with barely controlled emotion.
“Or what? Are you going to push me away, too, just like you pushed your family away when Raven died? Or have you lived so long in the white man’s world that you don’t even know when you’re turning your back on your people?”
Hot anger flowed through him, setting his blood on fire. Storm’s heart pounded in his chest, the sound echoing in his ears. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jackson. My parents pushed me out of their lives long before I left the reservation. They chose to drown themselves in alcohol. I wasn’t going to stay and watch them do it. And I haven’t forgotten my people. I’ve done more work for Native Americans than any other attorney—”
“In New Mexico perhaps. But not here in Whitehorn.” Jackson stood, a vein pulsing at his temple, his face set in a hard, condemning line. “Why don’t you admit it, Storm? You’ve shunned your life on Laughing Horse and the Cheyenne people. You’ve even found a white woman, a trophy wife to prove yourself worthy to live in the white man’s world.”
In a blaze of red heat, something exploded deep inside him. Grabbing a fistful of Jackson’s shirt, Storm slammed him against the wall. The impact shook the framed documents hanging nearby. Through clenched teeth, Storm said, “Don’t you ever talk about Jasmine in that way. She would never be any man’s trophy wife. She’s too special to settle for something like that.”
To his surprise, instead of continuing the argument, Jackson smiled.
At first Storm didn’t understand the other man’s reaction. Then, suddenly, the meaning became all too clear. His heart skipped a beat. His head felt light, as though he were floating above his body, as an observer, not a participant in this farce. He realized that he’d just been coerced into revealing his true feelings for Jasmine.
Slowly he released his old friend. His strength seemed to have seeped away with his anger. Raking his fingers through his hair, Storm sank into a nearby chair.
“I’m sorry, my friend. I never meant to hurt you,” Jackson murmured, straightening his shirt as he returned to his seat on the edge of the desk. “But I knew you would never admit to me, or to anyone, just how far your relationship with Jasmine had gone, if I didn’t use a little deception. I had to know the truth.”
Storm shook his head. “You want to know the truth? The truth is, I don’t know what’s happening between me and Jasmine.”
“But there is something,” Jackson said.
Storm fell into an uneasy silence, unable to admit his own feelings, even to himself.
Jackson heaved a strained sigh. “Storm, do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into—”
“I don’t need a lecture, Jackson,” Storm said, abruptly cutting him off. “I know all the reasons why I should stay away from her.”
“Yet, you still see her.”
A statement, not a question. Storm felt the unnecessary need to explain. “Jasmine’s helping me. We’re trying to find out the truth behind Raven’s death.”
Jackson gave a harsh laugh. “And you trust her? What if she discovers something that will hurt her family? Do you really think she’d betray them in order to help you?”
Struggling to hide his own uncertainty, Storm said, “Jasmine is the most honest woman I have ever met, white or Native American. If she finds something that will answer the questions behind Raven’s death, then she will tell me.”
Jackson didn’t answer. The skeptical look in his eye spoke volumes.
He was wasting his time. Jackson was almost militant in his jaded opinion of the white man’s intentions. Storm would never be able to change his mind. Feeling tired and defeated, more lost and alone than he’d ever felt before, he rose to his feet, unwilling to continue the useless debate.
Storm had returned to Whitehorn with the intention of finding peace, for himself and Raven. So far, all that he had found was bitterness and turmoil.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.
Before he’d gotten far, Jackson said, “It’s not too late to come home, Storm. You can still be a part of our people’s lives. Here on Laughing Horse you can make a difference.”
Storm’s step faltered. Reluctantly he turned to face his old friend.
“I know that I’ve told you this before, but now that I’ve taken over the duties of tribal chief, the council could use a new tribal lawyer.” Jackson smiled, his sharp features softening with amusement. “Especially a lawyer who has had experience handling pro bono civil liberty cases.”
His own words came to haunt him. Having no answer for his friend, Storm turned and left.
Her mother was waiting for her when she returned to the Big Sky Bed & Breakfast. She was outside on the porch, curled up on a wicker chair, sitting alone in the dark. Her quiet voice startled Jasmine as she climbed the front steps. “You’re home, Jasmine.”
“Mother, I didn’t
see you,” Jasmine said, pressing a hand to her breast, stilling her pounding heart. She glanced through the closed doors into the brightly lit living room. “Where are our guests? And Aunt Yvette? Is anyone else here?”
“The Humphreys went into town for dinner. The Sterlings are taking a walk around the lake before they leave, also. Things have quieted down, so Yvette went home to be with your uncle Edward.” Her mother motioned with a beringed hand to a nearby chair. “Sit down and join me.”
Jasmine felt a shiver of trepidation at her mother’s wooden tone. She knew her mother too well not to know that something was wrong. Reluctantly she did as her mother requested. She took a seat in the wicker rocking chair, sinking into the overstuffed cushion.
Despite the cool night air, Celeste wore only a thin cotton shirt and matching skirt, with no sweater or shawl. Her legs were bare, as were her feet. Her russet hair was unkempt, as though she’d dragged nervous fingers through its carefully coiffed style. The circles beneath her eyes looked even darker in the twilight hour, giving her a haunted expression.
Troubled by her mother’s appearance, Jasmine reached out, covering her mother’s trembling hand with her own. “What is it, Mother? What’s wrong?”
“I’ve just gotten off the phone with Doris Atkins,” Celeste said.
Jasmine’s heart sank. Doris Atkins was the owner/ manager of the hotel where Storm was staying. She was also a gossip. Mentally, Jasmine prepared herself for what was coming next.
Celeste’s disappointed sigh whispered in the quiet night. “Are you going to tell me what you did today? And with whom? Or am I going to have to get my information secondhand from my supposed ‘friends’ in town?”
“Mother, I’m sorry.” Jasmine tightened her hold on her mother’s hand. “I should have been honest with you.”
“Yes, you should have.” Celeste clung to her, her grip desperate. “You were with Storm Hunter today, weren’t you?”
Her voice barely a whisper, Jasmine said, “Yes, Mother. I was.”
Celeste loosened her grip, then pulled her hand away. Crossing her arms at her waist, she held herself tight, as though she’d been physically wounded by the admission. “Can’t you see what you’re doing? This relationship with Storm is doomed from the start.” She shook her head, looking older than her years. “We may not be the Capulets and the Montagues, but there is bad blood between the Kincaids and the Hunters. Jasmine, I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Unwanted tears filled Jasmine’s eyes, blurring her vision. The rift between her and her mother was growing, and she felt powerless to stop it. Swallowing hard at the lump of emotion that had stuck in her throat, she said, “I know all the reasons why I should stay away from Storm. But I can’t, Mother. There’s something between us, something I can’t ignore. I’m falling in love with him.”
Celeste closed her eyes and leaned forward in her chair, giving a low, mewling sound of pain.
Jasmine started to reach out to her, to comfort her, but she stopped, not sure that she could give her mother the solace she needed. Instead she said, “Mother, I don’t know what’s going to happen between me and Storm. But you’ve always encouraged me to follow my instincts. Well, my instinct is to listen to my heart. And my heart is telling me I have to see where these feelings for Storm will take me.”
Slowly, Celeste straightened. Though pale and shaky, she rose to her feet.
Jasmine stood, facing her mother.
Gathering her daughter into her arms, Celeste held her tightly. “I love you, Jasmine,” she whispered, “I just hope you won’t be hurt by your decision.”
With that, Celeste released her. She whirled and hurried to the front door. Her bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor, she disappeared into the house, leaving Jasmine to stand alone on the front porch.
Her body shaking from the impact of what had just occurred, Jasmine sat down hard, collapsing back into the wicker chair. The night felt colder, darker. She pulled her knees up, tucking them under her chin, hugging her legs with her arms. Around her she heard the sounds of the Montana wildlife, the cracking of a twig under foot, the quiet scurry of an animal’s step and the distant flap of a bird’s wing. Around her, the rich scent of the pine trees filled the air.
She took comfort most nights from the rustic charm of her surroundings. Tonight she felt only solitude and loneliness.
Her mother’s parting words echoed over and over again in her mind. I just hope you won’t be hurt by your decision.
Jasmine’s dismal mood sank a notch lower as she realized it was as much of a sign of approval as she could hope of getting from her mother.
Jasmine slept fitfully. The wee hours of the night passed slowly as she listened to her mother’s restless pacing in the room down the hall. Though she wanted to go to Celeste, to try to ease her concerns, she knew she couldn’t allow herself to do it.
For she knew in her heart she was the cause of her mother’s pain and distress.
Finally Jasmine closed her eyes and succumbed to an exhausted sleep. But not for long. Just before dawn, she felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her. Someone calling her name.
“Jasmine?” It was her mother’s voice. Yet it sounded so strange, so flat and emotionless. Jasmine blinked, wincing as the sandy grit of sleeplessness burned her eyes. “Wake up, Jasmine. I need you.”
Alarmed, Jasmine sat up. “Mother? What’s wrong?”
The table lamp was switched on and she shielded her eyes against the sudden brightness. It took a moment before she could focus on Celeste standing beside her bed, wrapped in a terry-cloth bathrobe. In the dim light, her mother’s face was so pale against her russet hair that she looked like a ghost.
Despite her distraught appearance, Celeste’s voice remained unnaturally calm. “I can’t tell you. Not now, Jasmine. I’ve called the family. They’ll be here soon. As soon as you’re ready, come downstairs. I’ll explain everything then.”
With that ominous bit of information, she turned from the bed and left the room.
Jasmine’s heart seemed to have stopped beating. For a long moment she sat frozen in her bed, unable to move. She stared at the empty doorway through which her mother had disappeared, forgetting to breathe. These past few months she’d sensed her mother was deeply troubled, that she was teetering on the edge of some sort of spiritual reckoning.
It would seem the time had finally come.
Her lungs burning in her chest, Jasmine gulped in a cooling draft of air. Her hands trembled as she pushed aside the bed covers. Swinging her feet to the floor, she stood on unsteady legs.
Forcing herself to move, she hurried to the dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans. She slipped them on beneath her night shirt. Tying the long ends of her oversize T-shirt at her waist, she left her feet bare and hurried from the room.
Hushed voices sounded from the kitchen as she made her way down the back staircase. Her mouth watered at the welcoming scent of coffee. She would need more than one cupful of the fortifying liquid to wake her groggy senses.
Aunt Yvette and Uncle Edward were seated at the kitchen table. Yvette, with her gray hair and striking features, looked worried. Edward had a hand on his wife’s shoulder, absently rubbing it in soothing circles. They glanced up at her when she entered the room. From the troubled expressions on their faces, it was apparent they hadn’t a clue what this family meeting was all about.
Before she could greet them, the back door banged open. Bringing with her a draft of cold morning air, her sister, Cleo, entered the kitchen. “I got here as soon as I could,” she said in a breathless tone. Her thick russet hair was uncombed and tangled. She wore a beige trench coat over her pajama pants, looking as though she’d just jumped out of bed. “Summer’s parking her car. She’ll be here in just a minute.”
The door opened again. Summer breezed in, bringing David, Yvette and Edward’s son, along with her. Her eyes widened in alarm as she glanced around the room, taking in the gathering of familiar faces. A deep frown
creased her brow. “I came as soon as I could. Gavin is at home with Alyssa. What’s happened? Where’s Celeste?”
A cacophony of voices erupted at once, each talking, but no one seeming to know what had brought them together. The one person with all the answers to their questions was nowhere in sight. Worriedly Jasmine paced the room. This couldn’t go on, she had to find her mother.
As though she’d read her mind, Celeste entered the kitchen. A hush fell across the room. All eyes were riveted upon the frazzled features of her normally lovely face.
Jasmine’s chest tightened with apprehension, making it difficult to breathe.
Still dressed in her terry-cloth robe, Celeste looked numbly from one person to the other. Frowning slightly, she said, “Where’s Frannie?”
“With Austin,” Yvette said, wringing her hands together in a helpless gesture. “Remember, Celeste? I told you there was a NASCAR event this weekend. She travels with him whenever he’s out of town.”
“Of course, I forgot,” Celeste said, looking chagrined. She sighed, giving a satisfied nod. “Everyone else is here.”
“What’s this all about, Celeste?” Yvette asked, rising to her feet.
“No, sit down please. Everyone.” Celeste motioned to the table, waiting for them to take their seats.
Exchanging nervous glances, Summer and Cleo took a seat at the table. Jasmine remained standing, as did David. He stood next to her at the kitchen counter, an unreadable expression on his lean face.
Celeste seemed oddly calm in the wake of their rising unease. Her voice sounded hollow, almost void of emotion, when she asked, “Would anyone like a cup of coffee before we begin?”
“Celeste,” Summer said, her voice filled with uncharacteristic impatience, “this isn’t a tea party. You called us here for a reason. I for one am anxious to know that reason.”
“Yes, Mother,” Cleo said, unbuckling her trench coat and revealing a yellow print pajama top. “What’s going on? What couldn’t wait until morning for us to hear?”
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