Montana Mavericks, Books 1-4

by Diana Palmer

  “You think he’s using me somehow? To harm the tribe?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  She gaped at him for a second, then firmly shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t do that. I know he wouldn’t.”

  “For God’s sake, Maggie, how naive are you?” Jackson stood and paced the length of the room and back. “If you really believe that, you need to go to the library and read the history of federal policy toward Indian tribes. Look up the Allotment Act, the relocation program and the termination policy.”

  “Oh, come on, Jackson. That’s all in the past.”

  “Are you willing to stake the tribe’s survival on it? I’m not. Any time whites have wanted our land, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, we’ve lost it. Kincaid wants our land, and believe me, he’s got plenty of powerful friends to back him up.”

  “But he can’t possibly win in court. Can he?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard that possession is nine-tenths of the law? The leases were supposed to expire in January, but he’s already managed to get a six-month extension. And damn it, we need those acres. If we can ever get them back, we’ve got plans that will put one hell of a dent in our unemployment problem.”

  “But I still don’t see how anyone could use me or my work to help Kincaid. Mr. Baldwin asked me to report the truth about conditions here. That should help you, not hurt you.”

  Jackson shrugged. “Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with your report. For all I know, he might already be drafting legislation to force us to renew the leases or sell the land, and he wanted you out of the office so you wouldn’t be around to protest if you found out about it.”

  “That’s a pretty paranoid—”

  “I’d rather be paranoid than stupid.”

  “Well, gee, thanks a lot.” Maggie got up and walked stiffly to the doorway.

  “Wait a minute.” Jackson hurried after her. She turned to face him, hurt showing in her eyes. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m just afraid you’re too trusting.”

  “Well, it’s obvious you don’t trust me, either,” she said, thumping her chest with one finger. “After all, I do work for the evil congressman.”

  She was so damn cute when she was furious, Jackson had to grin. “Actually, I kind of admire your loyalty to your boss. I only wish I knew how much loyalty you feel toward the people here. You don’t have any real connection to us.”

  She raised her chin to a proud, almost haughty angle. “I’m as Northern Cheyenne as you are, Jackson Hawk. And I happen to have a very direct connection to the Laughing Horse Reservation.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Take a look at your tribal rolls. I’m listed as Margaret Speaks Softly. My mother was listed as Beverly Speaks Softly.”

  Jackson frowned. He’d heard that name before—recently, in fact. When the memory surfaced, he had even less reason to trust Maggie. “I’ve heard of her. She left over twenty years ago and never came back. Married some big-shot white man, didn’t she? The guy who owns all those motels?”

  “That’s right. My father’s name is Calvin Schaeffer.”

  “Then you’re half-white? You don’t look—”

  “No. My biological father was Northern Cheyenne, too. He abandoned Mama before I was born. When he died, Cal adopted me. He’s been a wonderful father, Jackson. I love him very much.”

  Well, that explained a lot of things about Maggie Schaeffer, Jackson thought. “You never even said you were Cheyenne. Why the hell didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “You were so busy judging me and telling me I didn’t belong here, I didn’t think it was any of your business. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t spread this around. It’s no one else’s business, either.”

  “You have family here, Maggie.”

  “I know, but I’m not too sure I want to meet them. My mother must have had her reasons for staying away. Until I find out what they were, I’d rather not have any contact.”

  It was too late for that, Jackson thought, grimly shaking his head. She’d already met her grandmother, Annie Little Deer. Annie’s husband of fifty years had died a month ago, and Jackson remembered her mentioning her long-lost daughter. He believed Annie would love to know Maggie was her granddaughter. But it was Maggie’s decision to make.

  “All right,” he said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Thank you. Since you’re not going to be able to help the kids, do you mind if I take a shot at it?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “You still don’t trust me….” she said, shaking her head as if in amazement.

  “Should I?”

  “Yes, damn it. What have I done to make you believe I would ever willingly hurt anyone?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “But I told you, I can’t afford to deal with any other legal hassles right now.”

  “I won’t create any. All I plan to do is visit the superintendent of schools tomorrow morning. There’s got to be Federal funding for Indian children in this school district. I think I can rattle his cage enough to make him take some action.”

  Jackson smiled at the thought of her doing that. She’d go after the guy like a mama grizzly protecting her cubs. It would serve the son of a bitch right.

  “All right,” he said. “The superintendent’s name is Edward Reese. We’ve got BIA records of all the funding allocated for our kids during the past five years. Would you like to see them?”

  Her mouth curved into a wicked grin. “Would I ever!”

  He led her into Frank’s office and dug the appropriate file out of the cabinet. She scanned the contents and tucked the folder under her arm. Promising to let him know how the meeting went, she left with a cheery wave. Jackson shook his head in bemusement.

  Maggie Schaeffer had a healthy temper, and she wasn’t afraid to show it. But when an argument ended, she didn’t seem to hold a grudge. He liked that about her. That, and a lot of other things.

  In fact, the only thing he didn’t like about her was her boss. Damn it, an Indian woman as intelligent and educated as Maggie had no business working for a jerk like Baldwin. She should be working for her people in some capacity. So why the hell wasn’t she? They could use her talents right here at Laughing Horse.

  “Forget it,” Jackson muttered. “Calvin Schaeffer’s daughter would never live on a reservation. Not in a billion years.”

  Eager to study the file Jackson had given her, Maggie drove to Whitehorn, stopped at a fast-food restaurant for dinner and hurried back to her motel room. Two hours later, she set the folder aside, confident she was prepared to tackle Mr. Reese. If the man proved difficult, Jackson had given her plenty of ammunition to handle him with.

  She got up and wandered over to the window, telling herself she shouldn’t be thinking about Jackson. He was suspicious and irascible, and sometimes he could be an absolute stinker. He was also intelligent; though he invariably infuriated her, she had to admit she enjoyed the challenge of arguing with him.

  And she still thought he was the most attractive man she’d ever seen. Lord, those eyes of his made her feel all shivery and jittery inside. However, unless he was yelling at her, Jackson masked his emotions so well she usually found it difficult to guess what he was feeling or thinking.

  It had seemed as if they’d reached some level of understanding this afternoon. His giving her the file had been a demonstration of trust. Hadn’t it? Surely he didn’t think she would betray her own people, even if she hadn’t ever lived with them.

  “You probably don’t want to know what he really thinks of you, Schaeffer,” Maggie muttered to herself.

  Sighing, she turned away from the window, crossed the room and flopped down on the bed. Linking her hands behind her head, she stared up at the water-spotted ceiling. Every time she talked with Jackson Hawk, she ended up feeling confused about something. Her attraction to him, her background, her career—after today, especially her career.

  Darn him, anyway, she’d
worked long and hard to get a job on Capitol Hill. Congressman Baldwin was a good boss and a kind, decent human being. He had an impeccable record; she’d checked it out before accepting a position with him. He couldn’t be involved in the sleazy kinds of things Jackson had implied. He just couldn’t.

  She wasn’t nearly as naive as Jackson obviously thought she was, either; if Mr. Baldwin was involved in corruption, she would have seen or heard something about it by now. So why was she suddenly doubting him? And her own judgment?

  The phone on the bedside table rang before she could find a suitable answer. She picked up the receiver and smiled when she heard her father’s voice.

  “I haven’t heard from you in ages, Maggie,” he scolded. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Dad. I’ve just been awfully busy.”

  “Busy doing what?”

  Touched by his interest, she launched into a description of her activities during the past two weeks, finishing with the story about the kids. She wasn’t ready to talk about Jackson yet. As always, her father listened intently. And, as always, he picked up on her turbulent emotions without her having to tell him directly.

  “You sound like you could use a hug,” he said. “I wish I could be there to give you one.”

  Imagining her big, burly father, with his unruly red hair and his hazel eyes that usually sparkled with laughter, Maggie felt a lump form in her throat. He gave the world’s best hugs, and she suddenly missed him desperately. “Me too, Daddy.”

  “Oh, it’s Daddy, huh?” he said with a soft chuckle. “That sounds pretty serious. What’s wrong, honey?”

  Maggie shrugged, then remembered he couldn’t see her. “It’s nothing, really. I mean, nothing’s happened that I can’t handle. I’m just feeling a little…”

  “Confused and overwhelmed?” he asked.

  “Yeah. That about covers it. The reservation is exactly what I expected in some ways, but not in others.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “I knew I’d see a lot of problems, of course. And I’ve certainly seen them. I just didn’t realize I’d feel so personally affected. When those girls told me what was happening to them, I felt like it was happening to me.”

  “Aw, Maggs, it’s natural for you to identify with those people. They’re Indians, and so are you.”

  “Am I?” Shaking her head, she choked out a bitter little laugh. “I look like them on the outside, but I don’t have all that anger and despair on the inside. I guess I really am an apple.”

  “You’re not an apple. You’re just Maggie. And Maggie’s one heck of a special lady.”

  “You’ve always made me feel that way,” Maggie said. “But here, I feel so ignorant. I don’t know anything about being a Northern Cheyenne. I don’t know their stories or their customs or their history. Why didn’t Mama ever teach me those things?”

  Her father was silent for a long time. Fearing she’d upset him, Maggie tried to smooth things over. “I’m sorry, Dad. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s okay. I’m just not sure how to answer your questions, that’s all,” he said. “But go ahead and ask them.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Of course, not. Honey, you know I loved your mother, but she wasn’t a saint. I always thought you should know about your Indian heritage, but she’d get so angry when I’d try to talk about it, I finally stopped bringing it up.”

  “Was she ashamed of being an Indian?”

  “No, I really don’t believe she was. I think she faced an awful lot of discrimination, though, and she would have done anything to protect you from it.”

  “Even give up her own family?”

  “That’s what she did, all right. She never would tell me why, either. She didn’t seem to be angry with them, but…well, who knows what really goes on in someone else’s family? All I can say for sure is, I never understood her attitude. Have you met any of her relatives?”

  “I don’t think so. There’s one older lady who tells stories at the day-care center who gives me funny looks sometimes, but she’s never said anything.”

  “I know your mother had at least one sister and a brother. And I’m pretty sure her parents were still alive when she left. Maybe you should look them up.”

  “I don’t know, Daddy. Mama would be furious if she knew what I was doing. I feel like I’m betraying her memory, just being here.”

  “You couldn’t do that if you tried.” Her father sighed. “Maggie, your mother chose the way she wanted to live. But she’s gone now, and you need to make your own choices.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But nothing. Her family is your family, too. When I’m gone, you won’t have anyone from my side. And besides that, I hate to think of you living the rest of your life with so many unanswered questions. It’s not fair to you.”

  “I’ll, uh…” Her voice cracked, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “You do that. And trust your instincts, honey. They’ve always been pretty darn good ones.”

  “I will. Thanks, Daddy. I love you.”

  “I love you, too—and remember, I’m so damn proud of you I can hardly stand it.”

  Maggie hung up the phone and wiped her streaming eyes with the back of one hand. Then she crawled off the bed and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Honestly, she rarely cried, and she didn’t know why she’d started to now.

  “It’s just stress,” she muttered, turning away from the mirror. “You’ve been under too much stress.”

  She suspected the reasons were a lot more complicated than stress, however. Her father was right in at least one respect. She did have a lot of unanswered questions about her mother. Maybe it was time she found some answers. But first, she was going to help those kids—or die trying.

  Four

  Deciding the occasion called for a professional appearance, Maggie dressed in her gray pinstripe suit the next morning. Then she slid the file Jackson had given her into her briefcase and drove to the school-district administration building. She introduced herself at the front desk, asked to see Mr. Reese and followed his secretary down a carpeted hallway to an office at the end. The secretary, Mrs. Adams, knocked on the door and opened it.

  Before she could say anything, Maggie brushed past her into the large office. Flashing what she hoped was a brilliant smile, she crossed the room to the massive teak desk and extended a business card to the scowling man sitting behind it.

  Edward Reese appeared to be in his mid-to-late fifties. He wore his gray hair in a bristly crew cut. A pair of black horn-rimmed glasses perched precariously in the middle of his sharp nose. His navy wool suit, white shirt and subdued tie fairly shrieked, “Conservative.”

  He accepted the card without speaking, glanced at it and did a double take—when he caught Congressman Baldwin’s name, no doubt, Maggie thought cynically. Suddenly all smiles and cordiality, he heaved his considerable bulk out of his high-backed leather chair and shook the hand Maggie offered him.

  “This is quite a surprise, Miss Schaeffer,” he said. “Welcome to Whitehorn.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Reese.” She glanced apologetically at his pristine desktop, then smiled at him again. “I’m sorry to interrupt your busy schedule.”

  “I’m never too busy for a member of Bill’s staff.” Reese waved toward a chair to Maggie’s right. “Have a seat.”

  So it was Bill, was it? Maggie thought, mentally raising an eyebrow. Mr. Reese had obviously had years of practice at power games. Well, he would soon learn she was no amateur. She settled herself in the chair he had indicated and smoothed the hem of her skirt over her knees. Then she opened her briefcase and took out a legal pad and a pen.

  “This shouldn’t take long,” she assured him, closing her briefcase and setting it on the floor. “I’m here on a fact-finding trip for the congressman. I need to ask you a few questions about the students from the Laughing Horse Reservation
who attend your schools.”

  His eyes narrowing slightly, Reese leaned back in his chair. “Ask whatever you want.”

  “Thank you. How many Native American children are you presently serving, Mr. Reese?”

  “That varies from week to week,” he said. “The Indian families are frequently unstable. I’m afraid their children’s attendance records tend to be rather hit-and-miss.”

  Ignoring the condescension in his smile, Maggie continued. “Could you give me an average number?”

  “It’s usually somewhere between four and five hundred.”

  “I see.” Maggie dutifully wrote down the man’s answer. “What percentage of your budget comes from federal funds for these children?”

  “Approximately twenty percent.”

  Though Maggie knew the figure was closer to forty percent, she noted the answer without commenting. “Would you say the funds you receive for Native American children are adequate?”

  Reese pushed his glasses up against his face and studied her for a moment. Maintaining a neutral expression, Maggie calmly returned his scrutiny.

  “Frankly, Miss Schaeffer, they’re not,” he said. “Students who come from a deprived background, such as most of our Indian students have, need extra help and attention. We could do much more if our funding were increased, of course, but we do the best we can under the circumstances.”

  “I’m sure you do, Mr. Reese.” Maggie made a show of consulting her legal pad. That should be about enough rope to let this pompous ass hang himself, she thought, giving him a disarming smile. “I just have a few more questions. Could you tell me what percentage of the Indian high school students actually graduate?”

  Reese sighed and sadly shook his head. “I’m afraid only about twenty percent of them graduate.”

  “Eighty percent of them drop out?” Maggie widened her eyes in feigned astonishment. “My goodness, isn’t that an awfully high rate? Even for a minority group?”

  He raised his hands in a what-can-you-do? gesture. “As I said, we do our best for all of our students, but the Indian kids simply don’t have the discipline they need to succeed academically. They start drinking and taking drugs. Some of them commit suicide. Many of the girls get pregnant. You, of all people, must know what it’s like on a reservation, Miss Schaeffer.”