by Diana Palmer
She grinned openly at that. What he wouldn’t give to kiss that sassy little smile right off her face. She’d probably deck him, but he figured the pain just might be worth it.
“Be honest, Mr. Hawk,” she said. “You’re not the least bit sorry about the way you treated me. You’re just afraid I’ll make trouble for you with Mr. Baldwin.”
Jackson stiffened. Man, she could really be a snot when she put her mind to it. “I’m not afraid of you, or of Baldwin.”
“Not personally, maybe,” she agreed. “But I think you’re afraid of anything that might threaten your tribe. If I were in your position, I know I would be.”
Jackson shrugged again. She was right, of course. But he’d be damned if he’d admit it out loud. “Are you gonna accept my apology or not?”
She rolled her eyes in disgust, then leaned inside the car and grabbed her briefcase. “Don’t worry, Mr. Hawk,” she said, straightening to face him again. “I’m not in the habit of blaming a whole group of innocent people for the actions of one rude jerk. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find the BIA office.”
Punching the lock button, she stepped out from behind the door, shut it, and would have brushed right past him if he hadn’t reached out and grabbed her arm. She stiffened, but didn’t try to pull away. Oh, no, she had too much dignity for that. She simply glanced down at his hand, then looked up at him again, her expression one of bored patience.
Jackson couldn’t hold back a chuckle of admiration. She was small, all right, but every inch of her was packed with feisty determination. Releasing her, he held both hands up beside his head in a classic gesture of surrender.
“All right, all right. I really am sorry, Ms. Schaeffer. My behavior was inexcusable. Please accept my apology.”
“Why should I?”
“Because Frank Many Horses is my uncle, and he’s gonna kick my butt up between my ears if you don’t,” Jackson admitted with a sheepish grin. Encouraged by her startled laugh, he rushed on. “And because, honest to God, that’s the best apology I know how to make. Besides, the BIA can’t help you as much as I can.”
She smiled back at him, naturally this time, as if she finally believed in his sincerity. Damned if she wasn’t cute after all. “And just how do you intend to help me?”
“We could start with a tour of our social agencies. That’ll give you an idea of what we’re trying to accomplish.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hawk,” she said. “I would appreciate that very much.”
He eyed her pumps doubtfully. “Do you have any boots with you? We’ll have to walk, and it’s pretty muddy in places.”
She shook her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll manage.”
Jackson held out his hand in an after-you gesture. She rewarded him with a gracious nod and set off in the direction he’d indicated. Oh, brother, he thought, falling in step with her businesslike stride. This was gonna be a long afternoon.
To his surprise, however, it didn’t turn out that way. Though she didn’t loosen up much with him, Maggie radiated a genuine warmth toward everyone else she met that excused her occasional lapses in Indian manners. She did more listening than talking, and she asked intelligent, probing questions that made people eager to tell her more. Even crusty old Earnest Running Bull at the alcohol rehabilitation center invited her to come back when she had more time.
They arrived at the day-care center fifteen minutes before the start of the story hour. To Jackson’s surprise, after checking out the facility, Maggie sat right down on the floor with the kids and listened to Annie Little Deer’s rendition of the Cheyenne creation story as raptly as any of the three- and four-year-olds. When little Emma Weasel Tail crawled onto her lap without an invitation, Maggie smiled and cuddled her close, as if she honestly enjoyed holding the child in her arms.
At that point, even Jackson, with his well-developed cynicism toward government employees in general and Feds in particular, couldn’t deny he might have been a tad hasty in judging her. In fact, he could almost believe he’d finally met a Fed with a heart. Unbelievable as it seemed, he was actually starting to like Maggie Schaeffer.
The thought made him nervous. It was okay to give her a grudging sort of respect. It was even okay to think she was cute and lust after her curvy little body. But it wasn’t okay to feel well…drawn to her. And it definitely wasn’t okay to want her to smile at him the way she’d smiled at Earnest Running Bull—not as much as he wanted her to, anyway.
Something about her assignment smelled fishy. For one thing, Jackson just couldn’t buy the story about the House Subcommittee on Native American Affairs suddenly noticing the problems at Laughing Horse. For another, Congressman Baldwin had never been interested in helping the Northern Cheyennes, or any of the other tribes in Montana. Why was he interested now?
Though he was intrigued by and attracted to Maggie Schaeffer, Jackson couldn’t afford to forget she worked for Baldwin. Hell, according to Bennie, she might even be sleeping with the bastard. Whether or not that was true, Jackson sincerely doubted she would ever choose the tribe’s interests over those of her boss. She seemed too ambitious for that.
He also couldn’t afford to like her enough to let down his guard just because she’d let a little girl climb into her lap. Well, he’d finish giving her this damn tour, and then he’d go back to work and mind his own business. He didn’t have time for Feds. Not even cute ones.
Entranced with the story and the child who had unabashedly climbed into her lap, Maggie gently brushed her cheek against the little girl’s glossy black hair. Her mother must have heard this story when she lived here. Why had she never shared such a beautiful tale with her own daughter?
The children were as bright, sweet and eager to learn as any of the kids Maggie had baby-sat when she was in high school. But after brief conversations with the people at the employment office, the welfare office, the Indian Health Service clinic and the drug and alcohol rehab center, she knew the chances for long, happy lives were slim at best for too many of them.
Hearing about the poverty and despair so many of the adults on this reservation lived with had been disturbing enough. Realizing these adorable little ones were destined to face the same problems made her fighting mad. If there was any way she could help these people, she intended to find it.
She felt a tingly, almost itchy sensation at the back of her neck. Great. Jackson Hawk was staring at her again. What was the man’s problem? Was he this suspicious of everyone who visited the reservation? Or the res, as most of the people called it, she reminded herself.
But back to Mr. Hawk. What did he think she was going to do to these people, anyway? What did he think she could do? Maybe the real question was, what did he have to hide? Everyone she’d met had greeted him with friendliness and respect, but had there been a subtle attitude of reserve toward him? Or had she simply imagined that?
Well, if there was some kind of skulduggery going on, she would find out what it was, and she’d best be getting on with the process. Releasing the little girl, Maggie climbed to her feet and tiptoed across the room, so as not to distract the children’s attention. Then she thanked the center’s director for the tour and followed Jackson outside.
There was still quite a bit of snow on the ground, but surely, with all this sunshine, spring couldn’t be too far off. Hundreds of questions formed in her mind as she walked beside Jackson, but she kept them to herself. He definitely was not the chatty type.
The last stop on the tour turned out to be what Jackson called the “Indian school,” which was housed in a barnlike prefabricated structure northeast of the tribal center.
“It’s pretty quiet around here right now,” he said, flipping on the lights in the entryway. “But it’ll really be busy when the school buses from Whitehorn show up at four o’clock. This program’s my favorite.”
Maggie followed him down a hallway, occasionally pausing beside him and peeking into the rooms. “Why is that, Mr. Hawk?”
“This is wher
e our children learn how to be Indians. It meets a lot of other needs in the community, too. The kids have a place to go after school and get help with homework their parents may not be able to provide. We try to have at least two volunteer tutors available every day.”
They moved on to the next room, and he continued. “This is the crafts room. The older women come in a couple of times a week and teach the girls how to sew and do beading. There’s also a room where the boys can learn to make bows and arrows and drums, and we have a peer counseling center for the teenagers.”
There was also a dining hall, and, finally, a gymnasium. Jackson raised one hand and gestured toward the vast open space. “The elders teach our traditional dances in here. We also hold community meetings here, and when it’s not in use for some other purpose, the boys play basketball.”
He led her back to the entrance then, extinguished the lights and turned to her when he’d locked the door. “If you want to meet a good cross section of folks from the res, this is the place to come. You’d probably learn more here than you would from a tribal council meeting.”
Maggie looked up at him and wished he’d take off those sunglasses. Darn it, he really was a handsome man, one she would like to know better. While he hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to charm her this afternoon, he had at least been civil, and she sensed that he cared deeply about his community.
“Is there some reason you don’t want me to attend a tribal council meeting?” she asked.
He raised one shoulder in a half shrug, a characteristic gesture she had noticed from the beginning. “Not really. You’ll have to attend one if you want to learn about our economic development plans. I just wanted you to know there are real people here, not just a bunch of statistics.”
Maggie chuckled, and felt rewarded when he flashed her a broad grin. “I do realize that, Mr. Hawk. Thank you for giving me a wonderful tour.”
They set off for the tribal center again. “How long will you be in the area?” Jackson asked.
“I had only planned on a week, but I’m beginning to see what you meant about needing a year to understand the problems.”
Her remark earned her another grin, which prompted her to consider the possibility of extending her visit. She really couldn’t stay for an entire year but if there were other things she could accomplish in the congressman’s Whitehorn office, in addition to her research at Laughing Horse, a few months might not be out of the question. She glanced at her watch and figured out the time difference between Montana and Washington. If she called in the next fifteen minutes, she could probably catch the congressman at his office.
“Tell me, Mr. Hawk,” she said, halting at the foot of the steps leading up to the tribal office, “is there a pay phone nearby I could use? I need to make a long-distance call.”
“If you’ve got a credit card, you can use the phone in my office.”
Jackson escorted her inside and left her alone to make her call in private, with a gruff “Help yourself.” Perplexed by his sudden mood shift, Maggie stared at the closed door through which he had disappeared for a moment. Then she shook her head and reached for the phone. First things first. If she had any luck with the congressman, she would have time later to figure out what made Jackson Hawk tick.
The temptation to eavesdrop on Maggie’s conversation was great, but Jackson forced himself to move away from the door and start a pot of coffee. Since he’d spent the afternoon playing tour guide, he’d have to stay late to finish the paperwork he’d neglected. He didn’t regret the loss of his work time, however.
As his uncle had said, staying on polite terms with Montana’s congressional delegation was important to the tribe. Jackson figured an afternoon was a small price to pay to repair the lousy impression he’d made earlier. Maggie had obviously enjoyed herself and, he hoped, learned something about the Laughing Horse Reservation.
Now she would spend a few days visiting with people, and then she would go back to Washington. Her report would be filed and forgotten, and he could forget he’d ever met her. At least he hoped he’d be able to forget her.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he ambled over to the window and gazed out at the parking area in front of the building. The sight of Maggie’s rental car brought up a vivid mental picture of her holding little Emma Weasel Tail in her lap. Jackson shook his head in disgust at the warm, fuzzy feeling the vision produced in his chest.
“You’ve just been alone too long,” he muttered, turning back to the coffeemaker.
That was true enough. His marriage had ended four years ago, and he hadn’t been seriously interested in a woman since. What he couldn’t understand was why Maggie Schaeffer, of all people, was the one who had made him realize how much he’d missed spending time with a woman.
Oh, sure, she was cute. Even sexy, in an understated sort of way. It didn’t hurt that she was well educated and intelligent, either. But she wasn’t any more right for him than his wife, Nancy, had been.
If he really wanted to have a woman in his life, he should pursue Sara Lewis, the curator of the Native American Museum in Whitehorn. Sara was every bit as educated and intelligent as Maggie, but she understood and embraced traditional Indian values, and she was as committed to the tribe as he was. Unfortunately, though he liked and respected Sara, he was no more attracted to her than he was to his sisters.
Well, if Maheo, the Creator, intended for him to marry again, Jackson figured, a suitable woman would eventually come along. Meeting Maggie Schaeffer had only served as a reminder that he still had a libido. Maybe he should start paying more attention to Aunt Sally’s attempts to find him a “nice Indi’n gal.”
Hearing the office door open behind him, Jackson turned and felt his heart slide clear down to the toes of his boots. Wearing an infectious grin almost as wide as her face, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement, Maggie stood in the doorway. How was he supposed to resist her when she wrinkled her impish little nose at him? Didn’t she know bureaucrats weren’t supposed to do things like that?
“Well, I’ve done it,” she announced, holding her hands out like an actor preparing to take a bow.
“Done what, Ms. Schaeffer?” Jackson asked.
She wrinkled her nose at him again, hurried across the room and stopped in front of him. He caught a whiff of the light floral fragrance she wore. He’d noticed it a time or two during their tour. It reminded him of wildflowers. Oh, jeez, wildflowers? What the hell was the matter with him?
Her eyes taking on an earnest, hopeful expression, she laid one hand on his forearm. “We didn’t get off to a very promising start, but I thought we’d made some progress this afternoon. Would you mind very much if we called each other by our first names…Jackson?”
A shiver of pleasure rippled down his spine when she said his name, her voice soft and a little husky. Somehow, at the moment, it didn’t seem to matter that she was all wrong for him. He liked feeling her touch him. Though he knew she only intended it to be a conciliatory gesture, he liked it too damned much.
He pulled back enough to dislodge her fingers from his arm, then, irrationally, wished he hadn’t done that. Man, he was gonna be in big trouble if she didn’t go back to Washington soon. “Well, yeah. I guess we could. If you want, uh…Maggie.”
There went her nose again. “It didn’t hurt that much, did it?” Her eyes glinted with a gentle, teasing light that made it impossible to do anything but smile at her. “Anyway, I’m sure it will make working together more pleasant for both of us.”
“Working together?” Jackson shook his head in confusion. “Have I missed something?”
“Well, we won’t exactly be working together, but I’m sure I’ll be seeing you fairly often during the next two months.”
“Two months?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? No, I guess I didn’t.” She laughed and dodged around him when the coffeemaker started to spit and hiss, a sure sign that the brew was ready. “Ah, plasma…” she said, reaching for the pot. Then she st
opped, as if she’d suddenly remembered she was a visitor. “Sorry. I’m such a coffee hound. Do you mind if I have a cup?”
“Help yourself,” Jackson said, feeling more confused with each passing second. She poured him a cup first and handed it to him before filling one for herself. “What didn’t you tell me?”
“I took your advice, Jackson.”
She sipped, then closed her eyes and sighed with obvious pleasure. If a little swallow of coffee made her sigh like that, what did she do in bed when she—Refusing to allow himself to finish the thought, Jackson shook his head again.
“What advice?” he asked.
“Your advice about living here for a year so I can understand the people’s problems. I knew Congressman Baldwin would never agree to a year, but I did talk him into two months. Actually, I can stay until the middle of May, if I need to.”
“You can?”
“Uh-huh. It was surprisingly easy to convince him. I’ll have to work in the Whitehorn office once in a while, but for the most part, I’ll be right here on the res. Isn’t that great?”
Jackson gulped, then stared at her, wondering where this bubbly little elf had come from. This couldn’t be the same woman he’d disliked so intensely a few short hours ago. He’d found her to be more likable as the afternoon wore on, but he never would have dreamed she could be so…vivacious. Yeah. That was the right word—vivacious. And she was smiling at him. Really giving him her killer-diller smile, and damned if it didn’t make his heart beat a little faster.
“I said, isn’t that great, Jackson?”
With a start, he realized he hadn’t answered her question. “Uh, yeah. It’s, uh, great, Maggie.”
She shot him a puzzled look. “Is something wrong? I know it’s not a whole year, but I thought you’d be pleased I’d be working on this for more than a week.”
“I am, Maggie. Pleased, I mean. It’s more than anyone else from the government has ever done.”
“I really want to do a fair and honest study, Jackson. I know it won’t solve all of your problems, but it could be the start of some good things for everyone here.”
