by Diana Palmer
The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. Clutching one hand to his chest as if he’d been mortally wounded, he said, “You don’t see me as a great Indian mystic?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Chuckling, she rolled her eyes at him. “You’re too hardheaded for that. Too much of a lawyer. Too modern.”
He accepted her description of him with one of his half shrugs. “It’s not easy to shed all those years of living in the white world, Maggie.”
“They’re a part of who you are, Jackson,” she said. “Why would you want to shed them?”
“They’re what makes it so hard for me to grasp all the mystical stuff that came so naturally to my father. He wasn’t stupid, by any means, but he was a very simple man in a lot of ways. I mean, he didn’t have to stop and think about right and wrong in any situation. He just always seemed to know what was best for the family and for the tribe.”
“He lived in simpler times. He probably didn’t have to make as many choices as you do,” Maggie said.
Giving her a sad smile, Jackson nodded in agreement. “You’re right. He didn’t have many choices to make, because Indians had very little control over their lives back then. But he had such…vision. He was a true spiritual leader. I wish I’d listened to him more.”
The regret in his voice tore at Maggie’s heart. It sounded to her as if Jackson had set up his father as some kind of a saint whose standards he could never meet.
“Jackson,” she said softly, continuing only when his gaze rose to meet hers. “Different times call for different skills and styles of leadership. The tribe desperately needs your particular skills right now, and you were only able to develop them because of the years you spent in the white world. Don’t deny those years. And don’t discount the contribution you’re making because it’s not what your father’s might have been.”
“Thanks,” he said, his voice equally soft, equally sincere. “I hadn’t thought of it that way before.”
She turned toward him, lifting one knee to balance more comfortably on the log. “So tell me about your vision. What do you want to see happen for the tribe in the next ten years?”
His mouth curved into a thoughtful smile, and he gazed into the distance. “I want to see economic security and independence, our own businesses and entertainment facilities. I want us to have a real hospital, staffed with our own doctors, nurses and medicine men. I want us to have our own schools, where our kids can learn to be proud of who they are before they have to deal with whites. I want our young people to have job opportunities right here on the res. They shouldn’t have to choose cultural annihilation or welfare to survive.”
“What else?” Maggie asked, when he paused for a moment.
“I want to see more tribal unity. People taking more pride in themselves and more responsibility for themselves. We’ve got to find some answers to the drug and alcohol problems before they damage another whole generation. And I want us to stop seeing ourselves as a conquered people. As powerless victims.”
“How would you accomplish that?”
“I like what I’ve seen happening since you’ve been here, Maggie. Especially with the kids. But I think we need to focus more attention on the old ways, too. Our religion has a lot to teach about living a meaningful life.”
“And you think you don’t have vision?” Maggie asked, raising both eyebrows at him. “That’s a pretty tall order for only ten years, Jackson.”
He shot her a self-conscious grin. “You think it’s too much?”
“My dad always told me you might as well shoot for the stars. It seems to me, though, that what you’re really wanting is for the tribe to withdraw from the white world even more than it already has.”
“Absolutely,” Jackson said. “We need to rebuild our strength from within. In order to do that, we’ve got to limit the amount of white interference in our affairs. The grazing leases are one example. The Whitehorn schools are another.”
“I can see that,” Maggie said, searching for words to suggest an alternative view that wouldn’t raise his hackles.
“I can already hear the ‘but’ in your next sentence,” he said, heaving an exaggerated sigh that made her smile.
“But,” she said, “I think you’ll need to maintain a careful balance there, Jackson. The tribe can’t employ everyone, and the white world is not going to go away while you’re rebuilding from within. You’ll need people who can cope effectively in both worlds.”
“I agree.” He leaned closer, gazing so deeply into her eyes, she felt as if he could see down into her soul. “We’ll need people like you, Maggie. Why don’t you quit working for Baldwin and come to work for the tribe? You could coordinate our social programs and help us develop new ones. Write grant proposals. Help us plan economic development.”
Unable to believe she’d heard him correctly, Maggie stared at Jackson in stupefaction. He calmly returned her regard, as if he expected her to be pleased with his suggestion. And the really astonishing thing was, she was almost tempted to consider it. But, of course, she couldn’t. Not without breaking her promise to her mother, which she would never, ever do.
“That’s impossible,” she said, forcing a flat note of finality into her voice.
“Why?” he asked. “Uncle Frank’s crazy about you. A word from him to the tribal council, and—”
She stood, cutting him off with a vehement shake of her head. “No. Don’t even think about it, Jackson. And don’t you dare bring it up with your uncle.”
“Maggie—”
“No.”
He rose to his feet and held out his hands, as if in a plea for a reasonable discussion. “Just think about it for a second.”
She backed up, shaking her head even more vehemently. “Which part don’t you understand, Jackson? The n or the o? I already have a career.”
“So, you’ll have another one. You wouldn’t make as much money, but—”
“Money is not the issue.”
“Then what is the issue?”
“I don’t belong here. You’ve said it yourself often enough.”
“That was weeks ago. And I was dead wrong, Maggie. You could belong here just fine, if you wanted to.”
“I don’t want to,” she said, knowing, even as she said them, that those words were not entirely the truth.
“Okay,” Jackson said, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “It was just an idea.”
Eyes narrowed with suspicion, she studied him for a moment. “Why are you giving up so easily?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes.” She stepped closer, frowning at him in confusion. There was something seriously out of whack with this conversation, but she couldn’t quite grasp what it was. It was almost as if she were talking to a slightly different Jackson from the one she was used to. “But it’s not like you to be so agreeable.”
“Excuse me?” he said, giving her a wounded-puppy look. “Are you saying I’m a disagreeable kind of a guy?”
“Usually.”
Laughing, he casually slung his arm around her shoulders and turned her toward the house. “Okay, be that way, Schaeffer. Come on. Let’s go back to work.”
She walked along beside him, telling herself there was no need to feel so threatened. If Jackson had been more willing to be open about himself today, it was simply the logical result of their growing friendship. He wouldn’t suddenly challenge the boundaries she’d demanded, after he’d accepted them for weeks.
And yet she couldn’t deny a nagging suspicion that something important had changed. Call it a premonition, an intuition, or plain old instinct, she knew darn well he was up to something. Something he knew she wasn’t going to approve of when she figured it out. It really wasn’t like him to be so agreeable.
Nine
A week later, Maggie sat at Sara’s kitchen table, working at her laptop computer. Sara had gone to bed hours ago. Maggie knew she should have done likewise, but there didn
’t seem to be much point. She would only thrash around all night, as she had every other night since her visit to Jackson’s house.
There was simply no ignoring the growing urgency she felt about finishing her report and getting back to her own life—her real life—now, while she still could.
She paused to rub her burning eyes and stretch her stiff shoulders, muttering, “Oh, damn the man.”
Her insomnia was all Jackson’s fault, of course. If he hadn’t suggested she go to work for the tribe, she’d be sleeping at this very moment, instead of sitting here in the dead of night, racing to finish her rough draft. Trying not to think about him or his insane job offer.
And it was insane. Why couldn’t she remember that? Why did the notion of staying here tantalize her imagination to the point of making her question her goals, her life-style, even her own conscience? Was it the job itself she found so attractive—the thought of helping Jackson to achieve his goals for the tribe? Or was it really the possibility of staying close to him?
“Damn the man,” she muttered again, burying her face in her hands.
A vision of his face appeared in her mind’s eye, and she didn’t know whether to burst into hysterical laughter or weep with frustration. He was up to something, all right, and the word for it was temptation. If she hadn’t experienced it herself, she never would have believed he could be so diabolically cunning. The sneaky wretch had her right where he wanted her.
And what, exactly, had he done? Nothing! That was the worst part—feeling the subtle, relentless pressure to do what he wanted, but not being able to call him on it, because he never did anything overtly out of line.
He hadn’t tried to kiss her again, or made any suggestive remarks. But a woman would have to be blind to miss the masculine admiration in his eyes whenever he looked at her now. She’d have to be deaf not to hear the new warmth in his voice when he spoke to her. She’d have to be unconscious or dead to be unaware of the sexual vibrations he’d been putting out all week.
He hadn’t mentioned the job offer again, either. Instead, he had taken a more active role in the interviews she conducted, painting seductive word pictures of what Laughing Horse could be like as he elaborated on his dreams for the tribe’s future. And he always managed to make her feel as if those dreams would never come true without her help.
It was blatant manipulation, but she had precious few defenses against it. When she was with him, she felt sexy, intelligent and wanted—hardly the kind of emotions to put any woman in a mood to resist. But did he want her as a mate for himself, or as an employee for the tribe? And could he ever really accept her for who and what she was, including her white background and father?
Ah, yes, now those were excellent questions, weren’t they? They were also the only things that had kept her from tumbling head over heels in love with Jackson. If she wasn’t extremely careful, he would turn her entire life upside down. Shaking her head in disgust at her own confusion, she went back to work.
A moment later, she heard a noise at the doorway and jerked her head up in time to see her hostess enter the room. Wrapped in a green terry bathrobe, Sara scuffed the toes of her slippers across the floor, filled the teakettle with water and lit a burner. Then she turned around, crossed her arms over her breasts and leaned back against the counter.
“All right, Schaeffer, what’s going on with you?”
“I’m just getting in a little extra work,” Maggie said, resisting the urge to squirm beneath Sara’s probing teacher’s gaze. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“I haven’t been to sleep yet. Too many weird vibes coming out of this kitchen. Are you and Jackson feuding again?”
Maggie wished the problem was that simple. “No, we’ve been getting along fine.”
“I thought you had three more weeks to finish your report.”
“I do,” Maggie admitted.
“Then what’s the big rush?” Sara demanded.
The teakettle shrieked. Sara moved it to a cold burner, spooned decaffeinated instant coffee into two mugs and filled them with hot water. Then she carried them to the table and sat down across from Maggie.
“Do you want me to move out?” Maggie asked.
“Of course not. I just want to know what’s bothering you. Maybe I can help.”
While she was tempted to unburden herself, Maggie was all too aware that Sara had to get up early for work the next morning. “I’m okay.”
“Uh-huh. That’s why you’re typing at 2:00 a.m.? Because you’re okay?”
“It’s not a big deal,” Maggie insisted. “And it would take too long to explain.”
“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Sara said dryly. “Certainly not to sleep, while you’re out here actin’ like a speed freak. You might as well spill your guts.”
Sighing with resignation, Maggie told Sara about Jackson’s invitation to work for the tribe.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Sara said. “Why does it upset you so much?”
“It’s ridiculous, Sara. I can’t just quit my job and move clear across the country.”
“Why can’t you? Is there a man you don’t want to leave?”
“No.”
“Is it the people here? I know some of them can be cantankerous, but—”
“No. They’ve been wonderful, and I’d really like to help them.”
“Is it Jackson?”
“What about him?”
“You know what about him,” Sara told her in a chiding tone. “You’re falling in love with him, aren’t you?”
Maggie opened her mouth to utter a third denial, but found she couldn’t force the short syllable past her lips. Too agitated to sit another second, she shoved back her chair and paced across the room. Sara silently watched her make three round-trips to the doorway and back, then started to chuckle.
“It’s not funny.” Maggie wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to ward off the chill sinking into her bones. “I feel like I’m getting into something way over my head.”
“You’re really good for him, you know,” Sara said in a mild tone. “Everyone’s noticed it.”
“Noticed what?”
“He smiles and laughs more when you’re around. He’s more relaxed. He’s even putting up with that weird white lady you recruited for the tutoring program.”
“Mary Jo’s not weird,” Maggie protested.
Sara simply stared at her with a deadpan expression. “She keeps asking about those bones George Sweetwater found. Don’t you think that’s a little weird?”
“Well, maybe a little. But she shows up regularly, and the kids like her, don’t they?”
“I’m not sure they do. It’s more like they’re trying to figure her out. She’s not always very patient with them.”
“Do you want me to talk with her about that?”
Sara shook her head. “I can handle her. Now, stop trying to change the subject. What I want you to talk about, is Jackson. Are you falling in love with him or not?”
“I’m getting there, I guess,” Maggie grumbled. “That’s why I have to finish this report and get the heck out of here.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m not sure how he feels about me, Sara. Even if he was in love with me, we could never make a relationship work. It’s just…futile.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this garbage from you, of all people,” Sara said. “We all thought it was futile to try to get our kids fair treatment in the Whitehorn schools. You marched in there for one measly hour and showed us we were wrong.”
“That was different.”
“Hah! If you can get Reese to toe the line, Jackson’ll be a cinch. I’ll admit I was a little surprised when I first noticed there was something going on between you two, but trust me, the sparks are flying in both directions. It wouldn’t surprise me if he took you home to meet his family any day now.”
Feeling the blood draining out of her head, Maggie returned to her chair and collapsed into it.
“I’m having dinner at his mother’s house tomorrow night. The whole family is supposed to be there.”
Sara slapped the table and hooted with delight. “See? What’d I tell ya? No man in his right mind takes a woman to something like that unless he’s serious about her.”
Maggie groaned and shook her head.
“Aw, c’mon, Maggie. We’re talkin’ about love here, not a funeral. You’re lookin’ at this all wrong.”
“Am I? What about my career, Sara? It happens to be very important to me, it’s not portable, and I’m not going to give it up just because some man crooks his finger at me.”
“If it was just any old man, I might agree with you,” Sara said. “But it’s not. It’s Jackson. If you really love him—”
“Damn it, Sara, you don’t understand. I can’t love him. I can’t live on a reservation. I shouldn’t even be here now.”
Sara straightened up and studied her as if she’d finally heard at least a hint of the desperation Maggie was feeling. “Okay,” she said softly. “Then why don’t you explain it to me?”
“It has to do with my mother.” Maggie paused to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat, then recounted what little she knew of her mother’s background.
“Speaks Softly,” Sara murmured, when Maggie had finished. “I’ve heard that name before, but I can’t remember where.” She shrugged after a moment. “Well, I’ll think of it someday. So what does this have to do with Jackson?”
“My mother died from cancer five years ago. The last time I saw her when she was still lucid, she made me promise I would never go back to the blanket.”
Sara jerked back as if she’d been slapped. Her nostrils flared, and her eyes took on a frosty expression. “Go back to the blanket? Did she actually say it that way?”
Maggie nodded. Before she could speak in her mother’s defense, however, Sara stood, grabbed her empty mug and carried it to the sink. She banged it onto the drain board with such force, Maggie was surprised it didn’t shatter. Then she returned to the table, sat down and crossed her arms over her breasts.
“Sara, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
