Montana Mavericks, Books 1-4

by Diana Palmer

  Realizing he hadn’t even gotten around to thinking about her body yet made his chest feel tight. He took a deep breath to calm himself, but a sick sensation invaded his stomach. Damn it, he shouldn’t like her so much.

  His relationship with Nancy had started out the same way. The liking had grown into love, of course, but not even love had been enough to hold their marriage together. He’d been so hurt and humiliated when she left him, he’d wanted to crawl into a hole and never come back out. Only his anger at learning she’d never really loved him at all had kept him going. Not the real him, anyway. The Indian him.

  The sick feeling in his gut came from realizing that Maggie fascinated him more than any woman he’d ever met, including his ex-wife. He might be able to fall in love with her, but she would never be able to love the real him, any more than Nancy had. Damn it, he wouldn’t go through that again. He couldn’t.

  At the same time, he knew himself well enough to know that his attraction to her was not going to go away on its own. Avoiding her hadn’t helped a bit. So, maybe Uncle Frank had the right idea. If he spent more time with Maggie, he might discover things about her that would turn him off.

  If that didn’t happen, well, he still didn’t have to get romantically involved with her. He was thirty-six, not sixteen. He could control his libido, and he’d outgrown having affairs years ago. Since an affair was all he’d ever be able to have with Maggie, sex wouldn’t be an issue between them. Hell, for all he knew, she wasn’t even attracted to him.

  Liar! a voice inside his head shouted at him. Jackson shrugged in dismissal. He’d caught her looking at him with more than professional interest a few times. He’d noticed that her eyes lit up whenever she saw him, and she smiled at him in a way that always made him aware of his masculinity. So what?

  Maggie didn’t strike him as a woman who gave herself lightly. She knew she’d be leaving in a few weeks. He doubted she was any more interested in starting an affair than he was. She’d probably deck him if he tried to kiss her.

  That thought wasn’t nearly as comforting as it should have been, but Jackson figured that was just his ego talking. He’d already promised his uncle he would get to know Maggie better, and he would. He might even allow himself to develop a friendship with her. But he wouldn’t go one step farther than that. He just couldn’t afford to do otherwise.

  So why did he still have this awful, sinking feeling in his gut that the decision might not be his alone to make?

  Five

  After leaving Jackson’s office, Maggie grabbed a set of casual clothes she’d stashed in the car and changed in the women’s rest room at the tribal center restaurant. The aromas of french fries and hamburgers sizzling on the grill made her stomach rumble. She glanced at her watch, noting with surprise that it was almost noon. Heavens, where had the morning gone?

  She hurried back out to her car, dumped her suit and pumps into the back seat, then returned to the restaurant. Three people nodded and smiled at her as she seated herself in a booth by the window, and with a jolt she realized she was beginning to feel as if she belonged here. That was silly, of course. She would be going back to Washington in a few weeks to resume her career and her “real” life.

  And yet, when she considered it for another moment, the idea of belonging at Laughing Horse didn’t seem quite so ridiculous. These people didn’t see someone “different” when they looked at her; they simply saw a woman who looked like themselves. She was one of them. It was a liberating concept, in a place few people would have associated with freedom.

  Maggie glanced around, met with more nods and smiles, and felt a warm glow ignite deep in her chest. These people were her people. She’d known that intellectually from the beginning, but this was the first time she’d actually felt it.

  That was why she’d taken up the teenagers’ cause. Why she’d felt such a strong sense of accomplishment when she told Jackson and Frank about her morning’s work. Why she’d risked her job when her boss reprimanded her.

  Though she rarely held a grudge, the memory of that phone call still rankled. She hadn’t thought Congressman Baldwin could ever be so insensitive to any of his constituents’ needs, not to mention their civil rights. But after what he’d said to her, she had to wonder if perhaps Jackson was right to be suspicious of Baldwin’s sudden interest in the tribe’s welfare.

  A waitress came and took her order. While she waited for her cheeseburger and fries, Maggie tried to sort out her troubled thoughts. She had always considered herself a loyal employee. She’d thoroughly enjoyed researching the political issues the congressman dealt with, and she’d seldom questioned how he would use that information or how his actions would affect peoples’ lives. Now, for the first time in her career, she had to question both of those things.

  Just where did her own responsibilities for what happened in the political process begin and end? And where did her loyalties lie in this instance? With Congressman Baldwin and the U.S. Government? Or with the Northern Cheyenne? If they were really her people…

  “Hey, the food’s not that bad here,” an amused male voice said from somewhere above her head.

  Startled, Maggie looked up and found herself gazing into Jackson Hawk’s dark, dark eyes. Her stomach did a little flip that had nothing to do with hunger. Sweet, merciful heaven, when he smiled, he was one handsome hunk of man.

  “Mind if I join you?” he asked.

  Maggie gestured toward the opposite bench seat in invitation. “By all means.”

  Suddenly nervous, she cleared her throat, then sipped from the glass of ice water the waitress had brought her. Jackson’s long legs bumped against her knees as he settled himself in the booth. The resulting jolt of sexual awareness raised her temperature five degrees. She took another sip. Oh, this was absurd. She saw handsome men every day on Capitol Hill without getting hot and bothered.

  Propping his forearms on the table, he leaned closer. She caught a whiff of a clean, outdoorsy scent. His braids hung down in front of his shoulders, and she had a sudden urge to reach out, tug off the leather strings tied to the ends and see what his hair looked like unbound. Judging from the plump, shiny coils of his braids, she suspected it would be thick and smooth. It would probably glide through her fingers like warm—

  “You were on top of the world this morning,” he said. “What put that frown on your face?”

  She shook her head, trying to dispel the pleasurable, caressing effect his deep, quiet voice had on her ears. Lord, it made her think of darkened bedrooms and murmured intimacies between lovers. Get a grip, she told herself, praying he hadn’t already noticed her reaction to him.

  Jackson had been friendlier than usual since yesterday, but she couldn’t forget he’d already called her stupid, naive, and an apple. She doubted he even thought of her as a woman. It would be absolutely humiliating if he knew she was sitting here lusting after his bod.

  “Nothing important,” she said. “I was just thinking about something.”

  He looked as if he wanted to question her further, but the arrival of her lunch provided a distraction. Jackson ordered an identical meal, then sat back and watched while Maggie piled condiments on her cheeseburger. His intent regard made her feel jittery inside and turned her fingers into uncoordinated sticks at the ends of her hands.

  “I liked your uncle,” she said, hoping to distract him again. “Is he your mother’s brother, or your father’s?”

  “My mother’s. He liked you, too.”

  “Good. I want to interview him, when he’s well enough.”

  “He’s well enough now,” Jackson said. “In fact, he’s coming back to work tomorrow. That’s why I tracked you down. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

  “Oh, really?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at his word choice. “Would you care to explain that?”

  Jackson grinned and pointed at her plate. “Go ahead and eat while it’s hot, Maggie. Mine’ll be coming in a minute. I’ll talk while you chew.”

  She
dunked a french fry in a puddle of ketchup and popped it into her mouth, then looked at him expectantly.

  “Since Uncle Frank’s coming back, I’ll have some free time,” he said. “You haven’t seen much of the res beyond the tribal center. I’d be happy to drive you around, so you can see the rest of it and meet more of the people. Are you interested?”

  An hour ago, she would have eagerly accepted his offer. Given the way her attraction to him appeared to be getting out of hand, however, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to be cooped up in a vehicle with him for hours at a time. On the other hand, she needed to explore the outer reaches of the reservation. She’d probably spend half her time being lost if she tried to travel those lonely back roads alone.

  For heaven’s sake, she chided herself, dithering about this was ridiculous. She was an adult, and a professional. She could handle this…infatuation or hormonal surge or whatever the heck was wrong with her. The way they tended to fight with each other, she’d be over it in no time.

  “Yes, I’m interested,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. We’ll start tomorrow afternoon.”

  The waitress arrived with Jackson’s order. He put his cheeseburger together and bit into it enthusiastically. A drop of mustard squirted out the side and clung to the corner of his mouth. Maggie stared at that little yellow dot and gulped.

  She’d never thought there was anything even slightly erotic about watching someone eat, but at this moment, she wanted to lick that drop of mustard away and then kiss him. Long and hard. Until he gasped for air. No doubt about it, she was losing her mind.

  And then, bold as any hooker in downtown D.C., Jackson looked up, winked at her, and went back to munching his burger. He knew! Oh, God, the wretched man knew exactly what she’d been thinking all along! She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or howl with mortification.

  A fourth option—hitting him over the head with the ketchup bottle—held enormous appeal. Unfortunately, Al Black Bird, one of the tribal policemen she had interviewed, was sitting at a nearby table. She didn’t particularly want to tangle with all six foot six and two hundred and fifty pounds of him.

  Jackson continued to eat as if nothing unusual had passed between them. Promising herself she’d get even one of these days, Maggie picked up her own burger and forced her concentration onto her meal. When they were finishing, a short, wiry-looking white man wearing a dark gray uniform entered the restaurant. The room suddenly fell silent as everyone turned to stare at him. His face flushed beneath his curly blond hair, but he murmured something to the cashier, then walked quickly to Maggie’s booth.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, “are you Maggie Schaeffer?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “My name’s Harvey.” He pointed to the white letters embroidered on his shirt.

  Hoping to ease his obvious tension, Maggie smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Harvey. May I help you?”

  He pulled an envelope out of his hip pocket and handed it to her. “I have a delivery for you, ma’am. If you’ll sign that top form, and tell me where you want the stuff, I’ll unload it for you and be on my way.”

  Mystified, Maggie opened the envelope and found a bill of lading from Conway Electronics in Billings. She gasped at the listed inventory, then quickly flipped the top sheet over and read the note her father must have faxed from Denver to the store. Barely suppressing a delighted whoop, she stuffed the papers back in the envelope and grinned at Jackson, who was staring at her with a perplexed frown.

  Then she stood, stuck one hand out and wiggled her fingers at him. Lowering her voice, because everyone else was staring at her, too, and listening with avid interest, she said, “Your keys, Jackson. I need to get into the Indian school.”

  “What for?”

  “I don’t want to explain it here,” she said. “It’s sort of a surprise for the kids.”

  “Do you mind if I tag along?”

  “You’ll get put to work if you do,” she warned him.

  He slid out of the booth and plunked his Stetson on his head. “I’ll take my chances.”

  Harvey headed for the exit as if he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Maggie followed him, leaving Jackson to bring up the rear.

  “Hey, Maggie, what about your check?” the cashier called as she hurried past.

  Maggie looked over her shoulder and grinned at the woman. “Give it to Jackson, Gretchen.” It wasn’t much of a payback for that outrageous wink, but for now it would have to do.

  Jackson paid both checks, then left the restaurant, chuckling to himself. He knew exactly why she’d stiffed him with her bill, and he figured he deserved it.

  He really shouldn’t have winked at her like that, but he hadn’t been able to resist. How anyone with a face as expressive as hers had ever survived in Washington was beyond him. Her reaction to their knees’ bumping under the table had confirmed his suspicion that she was attracted to him and stroked his ego at the same time. The fun part had been watching her try to hide what she was feeling. And fail miserably.

  If he had any smarts at all, he wouldn’t have found it so amusing. Or so endearing. But, hey, it was no big deal. Just a little harmless teasing between friends, right?

  Ignoring the jeering inner voice that shouted Liar! at him again, Jackson shoved his sunglasses on his face and left the restaurant. Maggie and the delivery man stood beside a long white van parked at the curb, talking about the great spring weather. When Jackson joined them, they all piled into the front seat of the vehicle, with Maggie in the middle. She gave the driver directions, then shot Jackson an excited grin.

  “You want to tell me what this is all about?” he asked.

  “Computers.” She handed him the envelope she’d received from Harvey. “Take a look.”

  Holy smokes, Jackson thought as he studied the bill of lading. There must be thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment in the back of this rig. Tens of thousands. Then he flipped over the top sheet and found a note that explained the situation.

  Dear Maggie,

  Kids who work as hard in school as the ones you described to me last night deserve a helping hand. The goodies are for the after-school program. Let me know if they need anything else. Take care of yourself, honey, and God bless.

  Dad

  Playing for time, Jackson carefully folded the papers, poked them back into the envelope and handed it to Maggie. She smiled at him expectantly. Damn. She obviously thought he’d be as delighted as she was to get this equipment for the kids. He wished he could be, if only to keep that smile on her face.

  The driver pulled over in front of the Indian school. Jackson leaned across Maggie and said, “Sit tight for a minute, Harvey. We need to talk about something.”

  He climbed down and offered Maggie his hand. Shooting him a wary look, she scrambled out of the van without his assistance. Her refusal to touch him was irritating, but he clamped down on his annoyance and walked toward the building, turning to face her when he was sure they wouldn’t be overheard.

  Her chin raised to a challenging angle, she propped her fists on her hips. “All right, what’s the matter?”

  Oh, brother, Jackson thought grimly, here we go again. Aloud, he said, “I’m not sure the tribal council will want to accept this stuff.”

  She gave him a perplexed frown. “Why on earth wouldn’t they? It’s just a gift. And a pretty darned nice one.”

  Jackson shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes gifts come with strings attached. We’ve learned that the hard way.”

  Her frown deepened. “When my father gives a gift, that’s exactly what it is, Jackson. A gift. He doesn’t expect anything in return. What could he want from the tribe, anyway?”

  “He’s into motels, isn’t he? Other tribes have them. Maybe he wants to build one here.”

  “Would it be so awful if he did? Laughing Horse could certainly use one, and it would bring in jobs and tourist money.”

  “Yeah, it probably would,” J
ackson said. “But that isn’t the kind of decision we make lightly, Maggie. We have to consider the negative effects it might have, too.”

  “Such as?”

  “More garbage and sewer problems. Strangers coming onto the res, bringing in drugs, and who knows what else?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, come on, Jackson, don’t you think you’re reaching a little bit? Why are you really worried about this? Because my dad’s white?”

  Jackson shrugged again. “That’s part of it. Rich white guys usually try to take something for nothing, not give it. We’ve learned that the hard way, too.”

  “My father is a kind, generous man. He would never try to force a business deal on anyone.”

  “How can you be so sure of that?”

  “I grew up with the man!” She glared at him for a second, then gave her head an impatient shake. “All right, think about it logically. Dad doesn’t need any more motels. Certainly not enough to try to bribe an Indian tribe with a few computers.”

  “A few?” Jackson jerked his thumb toward the van. “I saw the list, Maggie. There must be twenty computers out there.”

  “And printers, software, modems and CD-ROM players,” she agreed with a fond smile—for her father, no doubt. “If I know Dad, there’s probably a case of computer paper and extra printer ribbons out there, too. Believe me, he can afford it.”

  “But why would he give all that stuff away?”

  “That’s just the way he is. He was always donating things to the schools I attended.”

  “Why would he do this for us, Maggie? He’s never been here. He doesn’t know anyone on this reservation but you. Why would he care that much about a bunch of Indian kids he’s never met?”

  “Has it ever occurred to you that you might have a problem with bigotry, Jackson?” She exhaled an angry huff, then shook her head again and continued before he could defend himself.

  “Dad’s always tried to help people take charge of their own lives. Half of his executive staff didn’t have high school diplomas when they started working for him. I couldn’t begin to tell you how many employees he’s sent to college over the years. He never cared what color they were, either.”