Once a Father (7 page)

“I wouldn't say that. Each one is doin' his own thing in his own way.”

“Where's Ethan?”

“Last I heard he was in Colorado. It's been a while since I saw him. He keeps in touch with Trace.”

“So you know he's safe and healthy.”

“If he's not, he knows where to find me.” He tossed the stick into the flames. “Never turn your back on family. Those ties are thicker than blood. You get 'em all twisted up, you can choke on 'em.”

“I'm not the one who's twisted,” she said quietly.

“Then you'll be okay.” A sudden breeze sent wood smoke into his face. He slid closer to her, turning a coughing jag into a laugh. “Hey, you feel like you're choking, step back. Catch your breath. Come out here and…” He coughed again. “…and be with your horse. This is why the man sits opposite the tipi door.”

She glanced at the structure that towered nearby, wondered what it was like inside, when she would be invited in, how long she would stay.

“Are you still married? Technically, or…”

“No. Not technically or any other way. You can't tie the knot from just one string.”

“Well, you
can
, but…”

“All you'll have is a tangled string.” He jacked one knee up for a forearm rest and eyed her frankly. “You be straight with me, I'll return the favor, and we'll get along fine.”

“Look.” She nodded toward the pen. No longer glued to the far side, the mustang peered at them. “He's listening to us.”

“Sure feels like it.” Logan wasn't looking at the horse directly. “He can't get away from us and he's too smart to beat himself up trying, so he's trying to put the pieces together. We don't eat grass, but we're not looking for horsemeat, either. We're not loud. We don't smell too dangerous. Maybe we got separated from our own herd and we're putting together a new band.” He chuckled. “What should we call ourselves? Mary and the Contraries?”

“Clever. Just call me Mare.”

“So that's what he smells.” He glanced at her and smiled. “The Indian way, a contrary is like a clown. He does everything backward—the opposite of the way everyone else does. We traveled in bands, too, and there was always a
heyoka.
”

“To entertain?”

“He makes people laugh, but it's really about balance. Everyone has a role to play.” He nodded toward the pen. “Our boy understands this, probably better than we do.”

“Are we assigning roles? Is that why he's listening?” She squared her shoulders, tucked her chin
and lowered her voice. “Sound off when your role is called.”

“He doesn't use words. Sometimes I think they hear thoughts.”

“Oh, yes, dogs do, too. I know they do. They read people's minds.”

“Deeper than that,” he said. “They go deeper than the part of the mind that forms words. They don't read. They sense.”

“Vibes?”

“Yeah, maybe. They're prey animals. They have to be sensitive to everything around them, be able to detect the slightest change in their surroundings. Sharp senses don't lie. We put it into words, we lose something. Or maybe we add something.”

“You're using words right now. Are you losing or adding?”

“I don't know. I'm just sayin'.” He chuckled. “I generally don't talk this much.”

“Neither do I. I can control what I say, but those vibes…” He was moving closer. “Good thing most people have trouble sensing.”

“Yeah. Good thing.” He touched her chin, turned her face and kissed her softly. “Mary, Mary,” he whispered.

“Never contrary.” She closed her eyes and inhaled the spicy scent of sage and wood smoke. “I felt that coming.”

“I felt wanted.”

“I want—”

He hooked his arm behind her head and opened his mouth over hers and stole her next breath with the kiss she wanted, the kind that gave back and kept on giving. She welcomed him, her tongue touching his, her lips taking the measure of his. Full and moist, they took the lead in a sexy slow dance meant to bring more dancers to the floor, meant to get things going up and down their bodies, bundles of nerves dying to become entangled in utterly wild ways. In the end he touched his forehead to hers, and they mixed breath with breath and sigh with sigh.

“Good vibrations.” He lifted his head. “Would you like to stay with me tonight?”

“It's not a good time.”

He nodded and got to his feet. As soon as she started to follow suit, he offered her a hand. He didn't seem to mind the rejection, which was almost funny because she minded it very much. She touched his sleeve.

He slipped his arm around her shoulders and started walking her toward the round pen. Or her borrowed pickup—she wasn't sure which.

“It's complicated, Logan.”

“No, it isn't.” He gave her a little squeeze. “You gave me a straight answer. Don't tangle it up now.” He gave a questioning glance. “Is there someone else?”

“No.”

“Good.” They reached the pen. He grabbed the top rail with his free hand and eyed the mustang. “We should come up with something to call him. We can change it later if we need to.”

“Why would we need to?”

“It's a big commitment, accepting a name from someone. He might not be ready.”

“How about Khaki?” She opted to take his point literally. “Isn't that a good name? You called him a claybank. It's a color we've all worn. You're wearing it now, and my khakis are never too far away.”

“The color of dirt.”

“Earth,”
she amended. “Good camouflage. We blend, like a proper band. It goes along with being quiet and unscented.”

“You have a scent.” He turned his nose to her hair. “It pleases me.” He kissed her temple. “Even after you've gone.”

“Yours is powerful. It attracts me.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “And stays with me.”

“In a good way?”

“Oh, yes.”

He nodded toward the mustang. “Earth on the outside, fire on the inside.”

“And wind all around.” She slipped her arm around his lean waist. “I used to think the prairie was monotonous. The same mile after mile. Sky, grass, rocks, dirt and wind all around. Until you run into the Black Hills, and then…” She flashed one thumb up.
“But now that I've been to places that seem to have even less variety, and I see all this through new eyes. Or older eyes and new perspective. There's more than meets the eye.”

“I don't much like desert,” he said.

“Grass is good. The deeper the roots, the better the sod.”

“We'll take him out tomorrow,” he decided. “Put him on grass.”

“Let him go?”

“He's with us now.” He lifted his voice and tried out the name. “Khaki.” But he shook his head. “Uhuh. That's not it.”

“I know! Adobe!” The mustang's ears rotated forward. “He likes that better.”

“I do, too.” Logan squeezed Mary's shoulders. “Much better.”

M
ary listened halfheartedly as she watched her mother stow the last of their grocery purchases in the refrigerator. Guilt dogged the better part of her heart, which was already halfway out the door and on its way back to its new desires. She'd had the good sense to decline Logan's invitation for a sleep-over, but,
damn,
she was dying to get back out there. While Audrey chattered happily about the survival of her tomatoes thanks to Mary's timely weeding and watering, Mary counted the minutes. Now that her mother was in good spirits, had Mary done her duty for the day?
May I be excused now, Mother?
Mary was nothing if not dutiful, but suddenly duty
couldn't hold a candle to desire, and her desire was to head for the hills.

Especially when her father invaded the kitchen, dragged a chair away from the table and made himself comfortable. “Is dinner ready?”

“It will be in just a few minutes.” Audrey glanced at Mary and then at the clock as she hurriedly stowed staples—eggs, butter, juice—into the refrigerator. It was only eleven-thirty. Half an hour early. Father had always expected his main meal promptly at high noon. “We just got back from Hot Springs. I needed some things from the store, and Mary said—and she's right—might as well go the extra mile as long as she's driving and shop for what we'll need for—”

“It's dinner time. I came in to eat.” He hauled himself out of the chair and shouldered his wife out of his way. “I don't have time for some big report.”

“It'll only take me a minute to make you—”

“Get out of the way,” he insisted. “I'll get it myself. You couldn't wait until Wednesday? I told you I wanted to go up to Rapid City on Wednesday.” He looked like a turkey the way he craned his neck to get a bug-eyed peek at Mary over Audrey's head. “You've got your friend's pickup parked in the way out there.”

“I was bringing in groceries.”

“You've got Drexler property blocking access to
my
property.”

“What in hell are you talking about?” Mary
shoved a handful of folded paper bags into a storage rack inside the broom closet. The days of her dancing to this man's tune were long over.

“Puts a bad taste in my mouth. Ruins my appetite.” He ducked back down as Audrey backed away, cradling a carton of eggs. “Only taste I want in my mouth right now is…” He pushed a carton of cottage cheese to one side and swatted at a package of bagels. “You went to the store? What did you buy? I don't see any ring boloney. No summer sausage. What am I supposed to eat?”

“I got some smoked turkey, some ham, two kinds of bread. And I was going to make some—”

“Just stay out of the way.” Brandishing a tube of liverwurst, he turned his scowl from his wife to his daughter. “You're supposed to be looking after her. She doesn't need to be running all over the country.”

“I haven't been anywhere except the hospital in I don't know how long, Dan,” Audrey said quietly.

“You don't need to go anywhere. You need to—”

“Don't yell at her.” Mary returned her father's scowl. “I took my mother away from here for a few hours. If you have a problem with that, you can settle it with me.”

“It's settled. I don't want her getting sick again.” He dropped the liverwurst on a cutting board and pulled a slicer from the knife block. “I've got enough
to worry about without her going down again.” He took after the end of the tube of mashed meat with the point of the knife. “All she has to do is cook. That's all.”

“And clean up your litter and take care of your laundry and your—”

“Not when she's sick. Are there any red onions around here?”

Mary imagined pulling her mother away from the pantry door, but she couldn't bring herself to add insult to injury. Her mother's very identity was at stake.

“That's why you're here, isn't it?” her father was saying. “Taking time off to look after your mother. That's what we thought, anyway.” He held out his hand for the onion Audrey had fetched him. “I keep this place going, Daughter. I bought it, built it, kept it going with no end to the predators and little enough help. Regular meals is little enough to expect. That and loyalty.” Poised to slice the onion, he pointed the knife tip at Mary. “You get yourself an Indian boyfriend, you'd better find out which side he's on.”

“Dan,” Audrey put in. “Please don't.”

“Don't what? If I wanna yell in my own house, I'll yell.” He threw a slice of onion on a piece of bread, added a thick slab of liverwurst, topped it with another piece of bread, smashed it down, snatched it up and slammed the back door on his way out. Blessed silence.

“He's upset about that land,” Audrey said quietly, as though he might be able to hear her from the yard. “The lawyer told him he can't sue.” She gave a wan smile. “He's not himself.”

“He's
exactly
himself,” Mary insisted. No way would she keep her voice down.
Loud and proud.

But her mother hadn't been to boot camp. “I want to be here with you, Mother,” she said gently. “I meant to spend some time just hanging out, talking, getting you out of this house when
you
feel like going somewhere rather than…”

“It means the world to me, having you here. I know it isn't easy.” Audrey glanced at the back door. “I know how you feel, Mary.”

“Oh, Mother,” Mary said, mimicking her adolescent not-so-loud, hardly-proud voice. She laughed. “You've always been able to read me like a book. I used to resent it, but now it's reassuring. Somebody gets me. I only wish I understood you better. I don't know why you stay.”

“Where would I go?” Audrey ran her hand over the Formica countertop. She couldn't be in the kitchen five minutes without cleaning perfectly clean counters. “This is my house. Everything else is his, but not this house, no matter what he says.”

Hey, Mary thought. That sounded almost loud and proud.

Her mother must have thought so, too, because her face brightened considerably. “You know, Crazy
Horse said, ‘My lands are where my people lie buried.' Well, my house is where my children grew up.”

“Crazy Horse, Mother?”

“I might not get out much, but I do read. And not just magazines.” She was a magazine junkie. Subscriptions galore. Her eyes twinkled, as though she were holding a cookie behind her back. “I read actual books. I'll bet you didn't know that about me.”

“Of course I did.” Sort of. “I didn't know you were into history.”

“Mr. Wolf Track is a kind man. I could tell, just by the way he—”

“Now, don't
you
start.” Mary folded her arms and held off on a smile. For about five seconds. “Yes, he is. He is.”

“And you really like him.” Audrey waved off any thought of denial. “I'm still your mother, Mary.”

“We've come a long way with the horse already. Did I tell you what we named him?”

“Adobe.” Audrey sat down at the little kitchen table. “I do listen. You've taken the horse to heart. And maybe the man.” She nodded as she gave Mary the take-a-seat signal. “He's different.”

“I'm learning from them. I work with animals, too, but his way is about—” she smiled into her mother's loving eyes “—listening. Different how?”

“Different in your eyes. I don't know what you see, but I know you feel good about it and you want
to see more.” She leaned closer. “So
do it.
Give him a real chance.”

“How do you know he wants a chance?”

Audrey smiled to herself. That enigmatic,
Mother knows
smile. Suddenly Mary wanted to jump across and get the truth out of the woman.
What do you know, and when did you know it, Mother? Are you that intuitive? Or are you just recycling used dreams?

“Having you here has been good medicine for my heart,” Audrey said. “I'm feeling stronger every day. You tell me about your dogs and now this wild horse, and you just light up. You talk about Mr. Wolf Track's way—”

“Logan.”

“He's on the Tribal Council, Mary. He's an important man.” Audrey reached for Mary's arm. “Don't hang around here too much. I want to see what you can do with that horse. Make a video.”

“I'll take you to see him. And I'll take you anywhere else you feel like going.” The cool feel of her mother's hand was a reminder of her reason for being there. “The army owes me some time off, and I'm spending it with my mother. I want to catch up. Talk the way we used to over chores. I'll be here for some canning. We should have cukes and beans before—”

“Mary.” Her mother's hand lay dappled and slight on Mary's tanned forearm. “The best thing you can
do for me is to follow your heart. When you left home years ago, you were running from heartache and it broke my heart. Not because you left—you did what was right for you—but because there was no way for me to ease the pain. That time was over for me. But you found your way, and I'm so proud of you.”

“Nothing's over for you. I'm your daughter—always will be—and you're not expected to…” Help? She couldn't say that. Couldn't expect it, couldn't say she didn't expect it. “Give yourself credit. I'm here to tell you, Mother, you're stronger than you realize.”

“I admire what you do.” Again she leaned closer, as though she were confiding a secret pleasure. “I watch the animal shows on TV, and I see people training them for service, and I think,
that's what my daughter does.
We raise beef for—”

“For food, Mother. You produce food for people.”

“Yes, I know.” She squeezed Mary's arm. “I'm just so proud of you. I want to see what you do with your wild horse. I know it will be magical.”

Mary smiled. “It'll be even more amazing than that. It'll be natural.”

 

Mary didn't realize how fast her heart was set on the sight of Logan's pickup parked at the campsite until it fell into her gut midthump. There was a round pen, but no pickup. There was a tipi, but no Adobe.
There was a camp, but no fire. She was bearing down a dusty hillside under unrelenting blue sky and summer sun, and she was feeling chilled. She'd let the herd,
the family,
down and they'd gone off without her.

She called out for him anyway, ducked inside the tipi hoping to find him even though her keen senses told her the camp was empty.
Forgive us our trespasses.
Was it trespassing if you were family? How about if you'd been kissed? Not just kissed, but
really
kissed?

She felt strangely secure inside the canvas house, like a mouse taking shelter inside a brown paper bag. Logan's belongings surrounded her. His bedroll, several canvas bags and a folded tarp formed a neat row on one side of the tipi. On the other side a red Pendleton blanket with black and yellow geometric designs was draped over what appeared to be several boxes. A couple of towels were draped over a line strung between pine poles. At the back of the tent two traditional willow backrests looked as though they'd been set up for a tête-à-tête. The grass carpet had been tamped down, and the scent of sage filled the space.

She was tempted to try one of the backrests on for size or peek under the blanket and see if somebody'd left her some porridge, but a few minutes of static air and oppressive heat and she was watering the grass with the sweat rolling off her face. It was midsummer,
and a tent in middle America felt no different from a tent in the Middle East in the middle of the day.

Tall grass swished against Mary's jeans as she made her way down to the creek. She knelt on the bank, splashed cool water on her face and let it sluice down her neck and into her bra. Then she braced her hands on her thighs and considered her next move. She wasn't going back to the house.
Mother's house.
Her mother had given her leave, and she was happy to take it. Relieved to leave the package she'd quietly purchased on their shopping trip, take another day. She didn't need the test. She knew what was going on inside her body. What she needed was to say it out loud. Make it real.
Say it loud and proud.
The din of unseen cicadas enveloped her.
Sound off with us, Tutan. Get real.

She could stay and wait. She'd been invited the night before.
Would you like to stay with me tonight?
Which meant
sleep with me.
Which meant
have sex with me.
Which meant more than she would dare to show, more than he would ever know.

And she didn't know him. She didn't know his other life—his town, his job, his home, his family—and her curiosity had reached the tipping point. She wanted more of him. It was time to go looking for him. She'd start in Sinte.

 

The town of Sinte wasn't on the road to anywhere she'd generally needed to go. Growing up she'd lived
next to Indian Country and rubbed elbows with its people, but she'd rarely ventured near its vital organs. The casino was a place where two worlds overlapped to form a kind of Disneyland for adults, but not for the Tutans, who had done family business in “white” towns. Mary wondered whether she would have felt less like a stranger if she had never been to Sinte at all. The old, unwelcome diffidence was creeping up on her as she parked the Drexler pickup and eyed the front doors of the tribal office building.
Get over it, Sergeant.
She imagined herself in uniform as she marched up to the reception desk wearing her game face.

Her request for Logan Wolf Track's office seemed to amuse the young woman sitting behind the desk. The glint in her dark eyes was a little intimidating.

“His office?”

“Is this the right building?”

“For the council, yeah. There's no meeting today.”