by Trisha Telep
He lifted an eyebrow. “Seems Charlie and I aren’t the only ones with agendas.”
“Damn straight!” she exclaimed. “I’m tired of writing stories that any eighth-grader could write.”
“Regardless of the truth?”
“Of course not,” she replied with heat in her voice. “I don’t want lies – I want the real story.”
“No one would believe it,” he murmured more to himself than her.
Her breath quickened. This guy was weakening. If she played it right, if she could convince him to be honest with her. She took a step closer. “Sure they would. I’m good, really good,” she insisted. “Give it to me straight and that’s the way I’ll write it. Cross my heart.”
He startled her by placing a hand on her cheek. “I can’t,” he said sadly. “There are some things that can never be revealed. Forget about the story, Ruth Baxter, and go home. We’ll find another reporter.”
Looking into his eyes, she felt the full force of his magnetism and, without thinking, moved in until they were almost touching.
She heard his sharp intake of breath and time seemed to slow. His eyes glowed in the night with desire and with something else. A wildness that she’d never seen before. His face lowered to hers.
When his mouth touched hers, she felt the thing that had been coiled inside of her for so long smooth. Her driving ambition faded and her entire focus was on the mouth pressing against hers. Stealing her hands up his arms, they settled on his shoulders and pulled him closer. Her lips parted and she felt, more than heard, his groan. She tasted him while his scent surrounded her. The strangest feeling came over her. It was if she were gliding toward the heavens, no longer tied to the earth. Suddenly his mouth left hers and began a trail across her cheek, down her neck, to a place right below her ear. Heat shot through her as his tongue began to trace lazy circles on her sensitive skin. She tipped her head to the side and gripped his broad shoulders. His hand stole down her back, cupping her bottom and bringing her closer.
This is crazy registered somewhere in the corner of her mind. She’d known him less than twenty-four hours and she wasn’t even sure she liked him. Yet all he had to do was kiss her and she turned into a wild thing.
Abruptly he released her and jerked away.
Dazed, R.J. tottered while a cool breeze chased away the heat.
“Wh-wh—” she stuttered.
Grabbing her arm, he began to drag her down the hill toward the Jeep. “We have to leave.”
She stumbled. Sean righted her. When they’d reached the vehicle, he opened the door and tried to bundle her in. The rush down the hill had cleared her thinking and she dug in her heels, refusing to budge.
“Wait a second. What’s going on? One minute you’re all over me like a rash, then—”
“I don’t have time to explain. I’m needed at the Center.”
The expression on his face told her not to argue. She shoved the keys into the ignition and jerked her head at the passenger side. “Let’s go.”
“No, you go back to the motel—”
“No you don’t,” she interrupted, “you’re not ditching me. Get in.”
“But,” he said with a glance over his shoulder, “I can travel faster if I—” His hand hit the side of the Jeep. “Damn!” Slamming the door shut, he ran to the other side and jumped in. He barely had his seatbelt fastened when she hit the gas and sped off down the road. Minutes later, they were at the Center. They opened their doors at the same time, but before she could leap out, his hand restrained her.
“You stay,” he hissed, jabbing a finger at her. Without giving her a chance to answer, he was out of the Jeep and running into the Center in loping strides. He disappeared inside.
Fuming, R.J. gripped the steering wheel. Every instinct told her she was missing out on the action, but what? Only one way to find out. Leaning over, she grabbed her can of mace out of the glove compartment then, exiting the Jeep, quietly stole up the walkway. Inside, she paused and let her eyes adjust to the shadows. Slowly she crept down the hallway, one finger on the trigger of the mace while her other hand trailed the wall, guiding her.
She stopped halfway and listened. Silence. She began to feel foolish. What was she doing sneaking around in the middle of the night, hanging on to a can of mace like her life depended on it? That Sean O’Brien was playing her. He ran hot then cold. Next he scares her into thinking that something big is happening. Nothing was happening. And he was just plain weird.
Turning on her heel, she started back the way she came. She’d leave him here, go back to the motel, write the stupid story, then blow this place. Her mother would be happy. She’d be home in time for the baby shower. So what if this story didn’t pan out as she’d hoped. One of these days—
A loud crash followed by a shriek startled her. Spinning, she ran down the hall to the Council room and skidded to a stop inside the door.
Moonlight streaming through the windows lit the scene playing out before her. Two men crouched in the middle of the room with arms stretched over their heads, weaving and bobbing, while a white owl circled above them. With a screech, the owl extended its talons and dive-bombed the men. The bird sliced at their faces. One man cried out. Wheeling, it soared back towards the ceiling, getting ready to make another run.
R.J. turned to race away but an arm, shooting around her neck, jerked her backwards. She slammed into a body and her adrenaline surged. Without thinking, she lifted her heel and brought it down full force on the foot next to hers. His grip loosened while his yelp joined the cries of his buddies. Pivoting, she sprayed him in the eyes with the mace and fled. She had to get out of there. She didn’t know what was going on, but she didn’t want any part of it. Some reporter!
She was almost to the door when she heard the beating of wings behind her.
Shit, the damn owl was after her now.
Hearing a thump, she whirled, ready to give the owl a shot of mace.
Up close, it was huge. Staring at her with yellow eyes, it expanded its wings until they stretched wider than a man’s body. R.J. gasped and in the blink of an eye, the shape in front of her changed.
The owl disappeared and Sean O’Brien stood in its place.
Staggering back, she hit the wall and felt her face turn white. The can of mace slipped from her nerveless fingers and rolled down the hall. Her eyes, never leaving Sean, watched him bend and snag it.
He took one step.
Knees buckling, her last thought before hitting the floor . . . what a story!
The not-so-soft tapping on the side of her cheek was the first thing she felt. She opened her eyes to find herself sprawled on the floor with Sean kneeling beside her. Sitting up, she scooted until her back hit the wall. “What hap—”
“You tripped and hit your head,” Sean said quickly, cutting her off. Standing, he offered her his hand.
She brushed it away and scrambled to her feet. A wave of nausea hit her. She clutched her stomach and took a deep breath. “No, I didn’t.” Straightening, she looked him square in the eye. “An owl was chasing me – only it wasn’t an owl – it was—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He gave a quick glance over his shoulder. “You need to leave.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and held her ground. “No way. Not until I get some answers.”
“There are no answers,” he spat out and marched to the door. Flinging it open, he waited for her. “The Center’s been vandalized and the men escaped. You have to leave before Charlie and his goons show up.” Reaching out, he grabbed her arm and pulled her forwards.
Yanking away, she glared at him. “Why? We can explain what happened.”
“And what are you going to say?” he asked, his eyes drilling into hers. “How are you going to explain what you, a white woman, were doing at the Center in the middle of the night?” He pointed toward her Jeep. “Go.”
Giving up, she followed him down the path. Her mind felt muddled. Did she see the owl change into Sean? Like
he said, it was ridiculous. Things like that just didn’t happen in the real world. Sean had been in the shadows. She’d been scared. Her eyes had played tricks on her. When he stepped out, it only appeared that the owl transformed.
But what had happened to the owl? She opened her mouth to ask, but before she could speak, Sean opened the Jeep’s door and hustled her into the driver’s seat. Slamming it shut, he turned back toward the Center.
“Wait,” she called out. “Aren’t you coming with me?” With a deep sigh, he shook his head. “No, I’ll be needed here.” He faced her. “It would be better for both of us if you left and forgot this place.”
Sean stood before the Council and tried not to look at Charlie Two Horses, sitting at the end of the table. He longed to shred the smug grin from Charlie’s face as he spun his lies to the Elders. With a will of their own, Sean’s fingers curled talon-like at his side, but he remained still. Next to him, his grandfather, rigid with indignation, glared at the tribal leaders.
“Akecheta stopped the vandals,” his grandfather insisted.
“Did he stop them, or did I stop him?” Charlie asked before any of the Elders could speak. “When I arrived, the place was a shambles and he was alone.”
As his grandfather focused the full weight of his stare on Charlie, Sean felt a small wave of pleasure when Charlie squirmed, but he kept his face blank.
“That makes no sense,” his grandfather said with a wave of his hand. “Akecheta worked hard to build this place. Why would he want to destroy it?”
“Insurance,” Charlie replied.
His grandfather shifted his attention from Charlie to George Eagle Feathers as if Charlie’s words had no importance. “Only a foolish man says foolish things.”
Rebuffed, Charlie’s face lost some of its smugness while he leaned forwards and addressed George. “I checked. There was no sign of a break-in and, other than the Council, Sean is the only one who has keys. If there were three men as he claims, how did they get in?”
Moving past Sean, his grandfather stood directly in front of Charlie and, placing his hands on the table, leaned in. “I know what you’re trying to do—”
A sudden commotion at the door interrupted him. All eyes turned toward the sound and watched R.J. blunder into the room.
Sean suppressed a groan. Ah hell, what’s she doing here? Steeling himself, he didn’t look her way when she came to stand beside him.
“I apologize,” she began, focusing on the Elders and ignoring Charlie, “I don’t mean to intrude in private matters, but when I heard Sean had been accused, I felt I needed to help.”
“Why?” Charlie barked. “You barely know him.”
Shifting her attention to Charlie, she gave him a stiff smile. “True, but I know for a fact he isn’t responsible.”
“How?” Charlie scoffed.
Turning back to the Elders, she showed her dimples. “I was here, too.”
From behind him, Sean heard his grandfather’s gasp.
Charlie shifted forward. “Really? Why?”
“I recently received some information,” she replied, giving Charlie a pointed look, “and I wanted to give Sean a chance to respond.” She turned her attention to George. “When we arrived, there were three men . . . at least I think it was three . . . it was dark.” She glanced at him as if she expected him to confirm her story. When he didn’t, she gave a shrug and glossed over what really happened. “They saw us and ran off.”
George’s eyes shifted from R.J. to Sean. “Is this true? Why didn’t you speak of her?”
Sean’s jaw clenched and unclenched. He appreciated R.J. coming to his defence, but in reality she’d only made the situation worse. He’d kept an eye on Charlie during R.J.’s explanation. Speculation had played across Charlie’s face the whole time. Not good. By aligning herself with him, she’d just made an enemy. He had to get this inquisition over quickly and get her out of town.
“I didn’t think it right to involve her in tribal business.” He finally allowed himself to look at her. “She has her story and will be leaving town today,” he said, with emphasis on ‘today’.
R.J. refused to meet his eyes.
George placed his hands on the table and stood. “Thank you for stepping forward. If you’ll excuse us?”
She took the hint. And after casting a triumphant look first at Charlie then at George, she left the room.
It didn’t take long for the Council to dismiss Charlie’s allegations. Relieved, Sean and his grandfather quietly walked to the door. Sean could feel the disapproval rolling off his grandfather in waves and he wasn’t looking forward to the explanations he’d have to make. He’d acted foolishly last night, letting the woman distract him. Only by luck had he won this battle. If he were to continue to win, he had to forget her and step up his guard.
His grandfather didn’t wait long to jump him. They stepped into the hallway and he pulled him to the side.
“What were you thinking,” his grandfather hissed. “Why did you bring the woman here? Did she see—”
Sean held up his hand, stopping him. “Yes, but I think I convinced her that she imagined it.”
His grandfather exploded. “You think? For god’s sake, she’s a reporter – a white reporter.”
“Grandfather, I mean no disrespect, but who would believe her if she wrote the truth? A story like that would destroy her reputation as a reporter. And trust me, she’d never risk her career.”
Slightly mollified, his grandfather continued down the hallway. “Maybe, but stay away from her,” he cautioned.
“Don’t worry, I w—”
The words died as he stepped outside and saw R.J. waiting by her Jeep.
Shit.
When she came running up to them, he had no choice but to introduce her to his grandfather. “R.J. Baxter,” he said, indicating her. “R.J., this is my grandfather, Jon Swifthawk.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she replied, rummaging around in her bag. A second later, she withdrew a pouch of tobacco and handed it to his grandfather. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Reluctantly, he accepted her gift, while Sean felt a glimmer of pride that she’d remembered their custom.
“Miss Baxter,” his grandfather said gruffly. “Thank you for defending my grandson.”
With a shy smile, she nodded. “I appreciate the time he’s given me.”
“Hmm,” his grandfather said with a steely look his way. “I must get home – Sean?”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he said, “I need to discuss something with R.J.”
She waited until his grandfather had reached his pickup then leaned in.
“He doesn’t approve of me,” she whispered.
“It’s not personal, it’s—” his voice faltered. “Look, I don’t have much time. I want you to leave today. You’ll no longer be welcome here.” He made a move to join his grandfather, but she shifted to the side, blocking him.
“Wait, I need to talk to you.”
He made a move around her. “No you don’t. You have your story.”
“Do I?” Her eyes narrowed. “You want me to write about what happened last night?”
“Go ahead,” he answered with a shrug. “We stopped a break-in. That’s it.”
She cocked her hip and gave him a long stare. “Yeah? Well call me crazy, but I think there was a little more to it than that.”
“Such as?”
“Such as . . . who were they? How did they get in? What was their motive?” she replied, ticking off her questions. Her voice dropped and she stepped closer. “And, last but not least – how in the hell does an owl change into a man?”
“That’s impossible. The blow to your head must’ve addled your brain,” he scoffed.
“Really?” She touched the back of her scalp. “If I hit my head, why don’t I have a bump? Now what about that owl?”
“There wasn’t an owl,” he insisted.
Her eyebrows lifted. “Tell that to the grandson of th
e guy who owns the motel.” She whistled through her teeth. “Man, you should see the gouges on the side of that kid’s face—”
“A white boy? I thought—” He stopped and, taking her arm, pulled her around the side of the building. “You recognized him from last night?”
“No, but I can recognize claw marks when I see them.”
He plucked on the white streak at his temple. Great, what did he do now? This woman was too clever for her own good – for his own good. He gave her arm a shake.
“Thanks to your butting in today, they now know you were with me,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s not safe. You have to leave today. Go back to Michael’s Creek. Forget about the story. I’ll square it with your editor.”
Her face took on a mutinous look. “I don’t want to forget.”
“I told you,” he hissed, “people have disappeared on the prairie. You could be next.”
“I’m not afraid,” she blustered.
“You should be. There are ravines deep enough to hide a body until next spring. Do you want to wind up a pile of bleached bones?”
She gulped. “Not really.”
“Then leave.” He spun on his heel, but her hand on his arm stopped him.
“Listen. I’ll leave. Tomorrow. Meet me tonight,” she pleaded, “I can’t walk away without answers. I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut . . .” she hesitated. “I just need to know I’m not nuts.”
His mouth formed in a grim line. “You’re not, but I am. Meet me at eleven.”
Leaning her head against the driver’s window, R.J. waited for Sean. She glanced at the dashboard clock. He was late. Was he standing her up? He’d better not. If he tried, she’d hunt him down like a dog. She wasn’t leaving town without answers.
Regardless of what he’d said, R.J. still had a problem wrapping her mind around what she’d seen. Lying awake last night and staring at the ever-blinking lights, she’d gone over and over the scene in her mind. It had happened so fast. First there was the owl then there was Sean. Being a reporter, her life had brushed up against a lot of odd things and she’d become convinced a long time ago that life really was stranger than fiction. But this?
