A Man of His Word (6 page)

She only had one suit?

He must have been staring, because she began gathering up files. The movement did little to hide the embarrassment on her face.

“What happened to your copier?” The question was out before he knew where it came from. Somehow, he knew the answer was connected to a lawyer that only owned one suit.

He could see the tension ripple along her shoulders. “It's broken.” She hefted the banker's box and made a break for the door. “Good day, Mr. Armstrong.”

The door shut behind her.

As Dan's eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight in the parking lot, he noticed the man immediately. The black Crown Victoria, the full-wrap sunglasses and the black suit were hard to miss in this heat. Some kind of law was trying mighty hard to look casual in the middle of the parking lot at four in the afternoon.

The guy looked a little like a Lakota Indian—right color, but wrong everything else. His hair was short and that suit probably set him back a cool grand. Not the local police. And the man was watching him behind those glasses. Dan could tell by the way his chin moved.

This place must be throwing him for a loop because right now, Dan felt like he was walking into a trap and he wished with all his might he had his gun.

“Dan Armstrong?”

“Depends. Who's askin'?” Yep. Old-timey talk was just pouring out of him.

“Tom Yellow Bird.” He stuck out his hand, his jacket flashing open to reveal a Glock.

Good grip, Dan thought. Not a grip of dominance, but there wasn't an ounce of weakness in the man. “What can I do for you, Mr. Yellow Bird?”

Yellow Bird gave him the once-over. “Depends on what you're doing here. Heard you were looking into the Donnelly suicide.”

“Word gets around.”

“It's a small rez. Going to get a lot smaller if Cecil Armstrong gets his way.” Yellow Bird waited, but Dan was in no hurry to set the man's mind at ease. Yellow Bird broke first. “You've met Rosebud?”

“I have. You know her?”

“Knew her brother.” The way he said it made it sound like he considered Rosebud to be the pesky little sister—always had, always would. For some reason, that made Dan want to smile—but he didn't. “We lost a good one in him.”

The
we
said Indian first, FBI second. “You don't buy the suicide ruling?”

Yellow Bird scratched his throat. “Officially, that's what happened. The case has been closed for two years.”

“Unofficially?”

Yellow Bird smirked, which gave his face a hard edge. Not a man to be taken lightly, that much was certain. “You know that by this time next year, where we're standing will be under about ten feet of water?”

Unofficially, Yellow Bird was still on the case. “I'm aware that that's the current plan.”

“Things can always change.” Yellow Bird pulled a card out of his jacket. “Unofficially.”

Dan watched as the Crown Victoria pulled away, then did a slow circle to see if anyone else had witnessed the meet
ing. The lot was still empty, and he didn't see any faces at the narrow windows.

What the hell had that been about? For some reason, the conversation had struck Dan as being less about Tanner Donnelly and more about Armstrong Holdings. If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn that, unofficially, Yellow Bird was leaving a door open, just in case.

Damn hunches. Dan had no idea if this one was right.

 

As far as Rosebud was concerned, the rest of the week was simultaneously better and worse than that first meeting with Dan. He showed up at nine each morning, sat in the wobbly chair and took notes while Rosebud reviewed her case for the upcoming hearing on the preliminary injunction against the dam construction. It should have been boring, dry work, but it wasn't.

On Tuesday, Dan brought homemade chocolate-chip cookies. Wednesday was brownies and Thursday was cupcakes for the whole office. By Friday, he knew the names of everyone in the building and brought in extra cinnamon rolls for Rosebud to take to Aunt Emily. She couldn't tell if he was just buttering them—her—up or if he'd been doing his homework and knew that bringing gifts was a Lakota custom, but either way, it seemed to be working.

Judy was officially crushing on the man, and Rosebud couldn't blame her. He was easy on the eyes, smart as a whip, quite possibly richer than sin and just all around thoughtful. Add in the fact that not only did he not wear a ring, but he didn't even have the telltale faint tan lines. And one thing was certain: Dan Armstrong was eminently crushable.

Rosebud kept her defenses up, but she got the feeling that was a waste of energy. Dan was nothing if not a gentleman. He didn't make another attempt to touch her, much less kiss her. He didn't even bring up that kiss again. Instead, he did a
reasonably good job of acting like the whole thing had never even happened. Conversation was kept strictly to the facts of the matter, and the fact was, he seemed to believe her about Tanner.

She decided that he'd been telling the truth—or something close to it—about keeping that kiss from his uncle. That should have made her happy. As much as she'd enjoyed it, she just couldn't bring herself to throw her body at the man, and it was clear he wasn't asking her to. He was a gentleman of the highest order.

Except that she was having dreams about that kiss—and more. In the dreams, the kiss was just the beginning. One night, they went riding and wound up a tangled mess of naked arms and legs on the banks of the Dakota. The next, an old-fashioned tepee hid them from the world. She was waking up hot and all kinds of bothered, only to have to ignore everything she actually liked about Dan to go to work. By Friday, she was officially irritated with the whole situation.

At least she wouldn't have to see him this weekend. Assuming her car could get her there in one piece, she was going to drive to her alma mater, the University of South Dakota. She needed to find out a hell of a lot more about Dan Armstrong, and she needed a computer with internet access to do it.

She only had four weeks left.

D
an stood over the huge architectural drawing, comparing the plans on the blue sheet to the engineering report. Virgil Naylor, the chief of Naylor Engineering, hovered behind him, pointing out the details. Naylor was a slight, nervous man, no doubt made all the more nervous by Dan's silence.

Something about the engineering report didn't add up, but he was having a hell of a time nailing Naylor down. He flipped to a footnote in the middle of the report. “But you say here that a run-of-river dam would generate almost as many megawatts.”

“Given optimum conditions.” Naylor's hands fluttered as he waved the suggestion away.

“Yes, given. So why aren't we doing a run-of-river dam?” Because that would make the most sense. A run-of-river dam wouldn't flood that pretty little valley or any significant part of the Red Creek reservation.

Naylor's mouth puckered like he was sucking on a lemon.
“Because run-of-river dams cannot store any electricity for slow times.”

“And the cost benefit of that storage is?”

Naylor seemed to get a shade pinker. The effect was not a pretty one. “Over the life of the dam, it averages out to a .019 cent gain per kilowatt.”

Dan stared at the man in surprise. “With a peak operating capacity of 150 megawatts?”

“Yes.” Naylor snapped the word off.

Dan did the math. “That's a difference of less than three thousand dollars a year.”

“Mr. Armstrong, I'm sure you can understand the advantages of long-term hydroelectric storage…” Naylor launched into all the reasons why it was best, for the third time in the last two hours.

Hell of a way to spend a Saturday, Dan thought in increasing frustration. He wondered if he could get Jim Evans, his engineer down in Amarillo, up here to look over this mess. Just then, his phone buzzed.
Thank God,
he thought as he unsnapped it from the holster. He didn't recognize the number, but it was a South Dakota area code. “Hello?”

“Dan? This is Rosebud. Donnelly,” she added, like he knew tons of Rosebuds.

She was calling him. All those cookies must have worked. Dan ordered his face not to smile as he excused himself and hurried outside, away from any prying ears. “Hey. What's up?” Sheesh, what was he—thirteen again?

“Um, well, I'm…well, I'm stuck.” She sounded thoroughly miserable about it. “My car died, and no one else can come get me. I need help.”

A damsel in distress. And she was calling him. She was either really desperate or…well, no use getting ahead of himself. “I'm just finishing up a meeting. Where are you?”

He thought the call had been dropped, but finally she said, “Do you know where the University of South Dakota is?”

“No. Why are you at a university?”

“Um…research. Can you pick me up or not?”

The damsel was really desperate, it seemed. “Give me fifteen minutes to finish this meeting.”

“I'm in parking lot D, behind the library. You should get here in an hour.”

“Then I'll be seein' you in an hour.” He ended the call and stared at the phone. Research? Did the university even have a law library?

“Mr. Armstrong?” Naylor hovered his way out onto the porch. “It's getting late. Do you have any other questions?”

“Just one.” It took a second to get his brain off Rosebud waiting for him and back onto engineering reports. “Who else have you told about the run-of-river option?”

The man turned positively red, which was an ugly shade on his sallow skin. “I assure you that all the work at Naylor Engineering remains completely confidential at all times. We take client privileges—”

Dan cut him off with a wave of his hand. “You haven't told any of the members of the Red Creek tribe?”

“Certainly not.” Naylor actually stamped his foot on the porch, looking for all the world like an indignant parakeet. “And those—those—those
savages
destroyed several thousands of dollars' worth of equipment. I wouldn't be caught dead anywhere near the lot of them.”

The little man sounded just like his uncle. Dan hadn't gotten out much around here—just making the rounds between the rez, the ranch house and the dam site. Did everyone here talk like that? Was that why Rosebud had shut down that kiss so quickly—she was afraid he'd call her a savage?

He knew better. Compared to this wart with an engineering degree? Dan had no doubt that Rosebud could fit in any
where from a honky-tonk to the boardroom to one of those garden parties Mom was fond of having in the summer. As he watched the little man get into his sedan, he knew who the real savage was—and it wasn't the pretty lawyer.

By the time he found parking lot D, it had taken him almost an hour and a half.
Damn GPS,
he grumbled to himself as he kept an eye out for an old car and a young woman. He could track the value of the euro versus the yen from up in the saddle, no wires required, but with this GPS, left versus right turns seemed to be beyond the stupid thing. It was almost five o'clock on a Saturday night, and the campus was nearly deserted. There was Rosebud's old car, parked at the far end of the lot. He didn't see her—until he pulled into the parking space.

She was sitting in the driver's seat, a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. Her hair was long and loose, and she was wearing a pale green T-shirt that was wonderfully snug. She almost looked like a college student instead of a top-notch legal eagle.

When she saw him, she hopped out of the car, her eyes darting around. What was she so afraid of? But that thought was arrested by the sight of Rosebud stretching herself out. Dan decided that, no matter what came out of this evening, it was all worth seeing her in that particular pair of jeans, held tight to her hips with a respectable-looking buckle.

He took it back. College girls never looked as good as she did.

“Hi,” she said with a careful smile. Her eyes darted up, and her grin grew. “Nice hat.”

Dan tipped the new beaver-fur felt at her. “Thanks. I'm hoping to keep this one hole-free for at least a few days.”

She tilted her head to one side, and all that black silk she called hair tipped over her shoulder. His mind immediately pulled up a memory from that first ride in the valley.

It had to have been her. Sure, he'd heard some clueless idiots in the town outside the reservation claiming that all Indians looked alike, but no one else looked at him like she did. Again, he wondered what the hell her reason was. Most everybody had a reason, after all. His eyes darted down to the passenger seat. He didn't see any gun-shaped lumps—but there was a lot of glove-box room. “I'm still asking around.” She was less than convincing, almost like she was tired of the lie.

Dan let it slide. It was Saturday night in what passed as a big town in this state, and he was officially in the company of a beautiful, if slightly dangerous, woman. “You didn't have to wait in the car. It's a nice night out.”

She gave him a look he couldn't read. “Safer that way. The library's already closed.” Before he could ask her what that was supposed to mean, she visibly shook herself and favored him with a sweet, almost shy smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“What's the problem with your car?”

The weariness he thought he'd heard in her voice spread to her eyes. “It refused to start. It sounded a little funny on the drive down, but I thought it might at least get me home.”

After she popped the hood, Dan poked around. He'd taken an engine or two apart in his time, but this thing was a dinosaur. The verdict wasn't good. He could see one belt in pieces and another that looked like it could go at any time. When he had Rosebud try to turn over the engine, the whole thing clicked. The starter sounded deader than a doornail and he was pretty sure the battery was corroded to the car. “When was the last time you had this thing checked out?”

She shrugged, but he noticed that she bit her lip. That was her tell. “A few years ago.”

“Years?” He shook his head at her, and she managed to look sheepish. “You're probably lucky you got here.”

She stuck out her chin, a move he recognized as defi
ance now. But she also stuck her hands into her back pockets, which emphasized her chest. “I'm lucky you were able to come get me.”

Dan had long prided himself on reading the signals from the opposite sex, and he'd be damned if that particular signal didn't say “Saturday night on the town.” “I guess we're both lucky, aren't we?”

Her gaze took its time working over him. By the time she got back to his face, he was working with a whole different definition of
lucky.
“That remains to be seen.” He swore she purred it.

He might never figure this woman out, but he was going to have a fine time trying. “Did you call a tow truck yet?”

That was the wrong thing to say. All that goodness she'd been telegraphing his way died. “No.”

“Why not?”

She was right back to looking embarrassed, and he hadn't even kissed her. Yet. “Joe can tow it home for me.”

“When?” She didn't answer, which was answer enough. This hunk of steel might be here for days before someone towed it—and chances were it would be towed to the impound lot. He got his cell phone out and punched up an entry. “I've got Triple A.”

“No!” She moved lightning-fast. Before he could react, her hand was on his wrist. “I mean…please.”

Her touch was light, but she had a hell of a grip. That was not a bad thing. “Give me one good reason.”

He prayed she couldn't feel his blood pumping as he looked down into her eyes. Then she batted her eyelashes, and he stopped caring about his pulse. “I haven't allocated the funds for a situation such as this.”

Allocated the funds?
It took a second for him to translate that statement to English. “You don't have the money to fix your car?”

She dropped his wrist like it was a hot potato and backed away from him, looking for all the world like a cornered animal. “No, okay? I don't have the money.”

A broken copier. One suit. Handwritten notes. Driving an hour south to do “research.”

She had no money. Period. A true damsel in distress.

To hell with this. It only took a second before he knew what he had to do. He began to dial. “Actually, you do.” She spun on her heels, looking all sorts of angry. He held up a hand before she could let loose on him. “I've been taking up a lot of your time. My lawyer in Texas charges a hundred and twenty-five dollars an hour for consulting. Figure, what? Six hours a day for five days? That's about four thousand.”

Her jaw dropped. “Dollars?”

“Yup.”

“I can't—”

A voice crackled over the phone. “Yeah, I need a tow to a repair shop.”

By the time he got off the phone, Rosebud was sitting on the curb, her knees tucked up under her chin. She didn't look happy about being rescued. Instead, she looked nervous. Trapped.

Dan sat down next to her. “Will you believe me if I tell you that no one knows I'm here?”

She shrugged, making sure to keep a solid eight inches between them. “Should I?”

“You might consider the option, as it happens to be the truth.”

He caught the corner of her smile in his peripheral vision. Took a lot of work not to stare. “I'm a lawyer, Dan. The truth is highly relative.”

“I'm more of a black-and-white guy, myself. My mom always said to be up front about the black and white because it makes lyin' about the gray a hell of a lot easier.” She
snorted in what he hoped was appreciation. “The fact of the matter is that I told no one about the kiss. After you left, I checked the kitchen for bugs and came up empty. Today, I took your call outside where no one could hear me, and told no one—not even Maria—who called or where I was going.”

Her head nodded as she thought about it. Thinking was progress. “So what's the gray area here?”

Dan looked out. The summer sun was just scooting behind some of the taller buildings, throwing cozy shadows over the parking lot. “I'm going to be hungry by the time we get out of here. We're going to stop somewhere and get dinner, and I'm buying.”

She was on her feet, backing away from him. Cornered, he thought again. “I can't—”

He climbed to his feet and took a chance by taking her hand. She didn't pull away—yet—but her hand was like a bar of steel. “You can, and you will. The gray area is that I'd like to call it a date—a date between you and me,” he hurried to add when she tried to yank her hand away. This was not going as well as he wanted it to. “I'd like it to stay between you and me. No uncles, no aunts, no corporations, no tribes.”

“What if I say no?”

“You wouldn't be the first.” It had been close to a year since he'd parted ways with his last lady friend. There wasn't anyone left in Wichita Falls who was interested in him instead of his money. He was usually too busy to try to make the Fort Worth social scene anymore. But he still managed to have a few dates every now and then. She wouldn't be the first, and she wouldn't be the last.

She was chewing on the inside of her lip again. Thinking was definitely progress. “You've only got four weeks left. You might get desperate and tell someone.”

“I might get desperate.” He went for broke. Keeping a tight hold on her hand, he stepped in real close and ran a thumb
over her cheek. Her eyes fluttered and, ever so slightly, she leaned into his hand. “But not
that
kind of desperate.”

She let him kiss her, let him entwine his fingers with hers, let him pull her into his chest close enough that he could feel her nipples harden under her shirt. He'd give anything to get her out of that shirt so he could see those nipples for himself. God help him, her body was saying yes to a date and maybe a whole lot more. He had no idea what her mouth would say, though, so he hung back. Just a simple kiss, that's all.