Betrayed Birthright

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  “Yes,” she agreed. “We can handle it.”

  Under the table, her leg was only inches from his, and the near contact made him warm. He didn’t understand why she affected him so deeply, why she made him yearn for a forbidden liaison.

  Was he trying to punish her? Or was he hell-bent on torturing himself?

  “Finish your story,” he said to Mary, trying to redirect his focus, to clear his head. “Tell me the rest.”

  “I was afraid of Spencer. Of his money, his power.” She sipped her tea, clutching the cup with both hands. “When I was growing up, Lakota children were being put into foster care. Into white people’s homes because their own families were too poor.”

  “And you thought Spencer could do that to us? That he could convince Social Services to take me and Charlotte?”

  “Yes. I’d been away from the reservation for a long time. Married to your dad, being a farmer’s wife. But in the end I was just a poor Indian all over again. Except, this time I was mourning my husband and drugged with painkillers from the hospital. I couldn’t think clearly.”

  “But this was the eighties. Wasn’t there something your tribe could have done to help you? To stop Spencer from taking us?”

  “The Indian Child Welfare Act could have made a difference. But I didn’t know about it then. It went into effect after I left the reservation.” Her breath hitched, catching in her throat. “My life with your father was over. He was gone and the farm was in foreclosure. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere but here.” She glanced at the window, where a small breeze stirred the curtains. “But at the time, all I had to come back to was a rundown shack and an alcoholic brother.” She shifted her gaze. “Spencer threatened to use that against me. To drum up phony evidence that I was a drinker, too. That I hurt you and Charlotte. He knew people who would testify, who would lie for him.”

  Once again, Walker battled his confusion. He wished Mary had fought for her rights. That she’d done whatever she could to keep him and Charlotte. Yet he was glad Spencer had been his uncle.

  “I didn’t want my children growing up in foster care and thinking that I’d abused them,” his mother said. “To me, that was worse than being dead.”

  Was it? Walker didn’t know. He didn’t have kids. He didn’t have anything in his life but his work, the career Spencer had groomed him for.

  “There’s more,” Mary told him. “Something else your uncle did. It seemed horrible at first. Only it didn’t turn out to be a bad thing.”

  “Really? What was it?”

  “Money.” She nearly whispered, then raised her voice a little louder. “His attorney sent me a thirty-thousand-dollar cashier’s check after I got back to Pine Ridge. I didn’t want to cash it at first.”

  “But eventually you did?”

  “Yes.” She reached for his hand. “I did.”

  Walker wanted to pull away from her. But he allowed her to touch him, feigning indifference, pretending that he could deal with the money.

  With the sale of two small children….

  The following day Tamra arrived at Walker’s motel, per his request. He met her outside, looking like the city boy he was, with his well-tailored clothes and men’s-fashion-magazine haircut. He wore the thick dark strands combed straight back and tamed with some sort of styling gel. Short but not conservative, at least not in a boring way.

  Walker Ashton’s hair had sex appeal.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey, yourself.” She noticed that he seemed troubled. She hoped they wouldn’t end up in another argument. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. I just want to talk.” He reached into his pocket and removed some coins. “How about a soda?”

  “Sure.” She walked to the vending machine with him and chose an orange drink. He picked grape. From there, they headed back to his room.

  She felt a bit odd going into the place where he’d been sleeping. She knew she shouldn’t, but being with him in an intimate setting caused her heart to pound unmercifully in her breast.

  She looked around his room and noticed the western motif. He’d chosen comfortable accommodations on Highway 20, but he was probably used to five-star hotels. This, she imagined, was foreign to him.

  The window air conditioner was on full blast, with color streamers attached, blowing like international flags.

  She sat at a pine table, and he leaned against the dresser, a big, sturdy unit that doubled as an entertainment center. She suspected that he’d climbed under the covers last night and watched cable TV.

  What else would he do in a cozy Nebraska town?

  “How old were you when my mom took you in?” he asked.

  “I was five, but my mother was alive then. We both moved in with Mary. My mom and your mom were friends, and we didn’t have anywhere else to go. It was winter. We would have frozen to death on our own.” She flipped open the top of her soda, memories swirling in her mind. “My mom died two years later. So I was seven when Mary became my guardian.”

  “How old are you now?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  A frown slashed between his eyebrows. “You’re only a year older than my sister.”

  She nodded. Did that bother him? Did it make him feel even more betrayed? She wanted to ask him if he’d called his sister, if he’d spoken to her in France, but she decided to wait until he finished interviewing her. She could see the unanswered questions in his eyes.

  “Is that common on the rez?” he asked. “To just raise someone else’s kid?”

  “Yes.” She tried to relax, but he was making her self-conscious. The way he watched her. His hard-edged posture. “The Lakota have an adoption ceremony called Hunka, the making of relatives. It’s conducted by a medicine man or another adult who’d been a Hunka. This ceremony provides a new family for a child who doesn’t have a home.”

  “Did you and Mary do that?”

  “No.” She lifted her soda, took a sip, placed the can on the table. Walker’s gaze followed her every move. She tried to avoid eye contact, but it didn’t help. She could feel him looking at her. “In those days Mary wasn’t connected to her heritage. She was defying tradition, isolating herself from the community. A Hunka ceremony would have been too Indian. Too Lakota.”

  “So she just kept you without adopting you?”

  “Yes.” Tamra tasted her soda again, wishing Walker would quit scrutinizing her. “We could do it now, though. People of any age can become Hunka if both parties agree.”

  “Don’t,” he said.

  “Don’t what? Have a ceremony?” Tired of his male dominance, she lifted her chin, challenging him. “That’s not your choice to make.”

  “I don’t want you to be her adopted daughter. I don’t want to be related to you.” He moved away from the dresser. “And I’m sure you know why.”

  Did she? She glanced at the bed, at the maroon and blue quilt, at the plain white pillowcases. Then she looked at him. A bit woozy, she took a steadying breath. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “Yes, it is. Sooner or later, we’ll end up there.”

  There.

  His bed.

  She struggled to maintain her decorum, to seem unaffected. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”

  He finished his drink, then grabbed the chair across from her. In one heart-stopping move, he spun it around and straddled it. “I’m not saying that I want it to happen. I’m just saying that it will.”

  Tamra felt as though she’d just been straddled. Ridden hard and put away…

  …wet.

  She moistened her lips. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  “Yes, you are.” He didn’t smile. He didn’t flirt. But he shifted in his chair, bumping his fly against it. “We’re going to tear off each other’s clothes. And we’re going to be sorry afterward, wondering what the hell we did.”

  “I don’t have affairs. Not like that.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Then why are we having this stup
id conversation?”

  “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night.” He made a tense face. “And it’s pissing me off.”

  She shook her head. He had to be the most difficult man she’d ever met. “Everything pisses you off, Walker.”

  He squinted at her. “Did you think about me last night?”

  Her pulse tripped, stumbled like a clumsy little kid playing hopscotch in the rain. “No.”

  “Liar.”

  Yes, she thought. Liar, liar, pants on fire. But she’d be damned if she would admit it. She’d slept with the windows open, letting the breeze stir her hair, her half-naked body. “You’re not my type.”

  “You’re not mine, either.” He paused, then checked her out, up and down, from head to toe. “But you’re hot, sexy as sin. For an Indian,” he added, making her scowl.

  “I wouldn’t go to bed with you if you were the last half-breed on earth.”

  He smiled at that. “Good. Then it won’t happen. We’re safe.”

  She was already safe. She’d been on the Pill since her baby girl died. Since she’d decided that she wasn’t getting pregnant again. At least not by a man she wasn’t married to.

  Walker rocked in his chair, and she tried to think of something to say, something to wipe that cynical smile off his face. She certainly wasn’t going to discuss birth control with him. She knew that wasn’t the kind of safe he was referring to.

  He was talking about their emotions, their feelings.

  Sex they would regret.

  “What did my mother do with the money?” he asked, changing the topic so abruptly, she merely blinked at him.

  “What?”

  “The thirty grand. How’d she spend it?”

  Tamra took a moment to gather her thoughts, to compose her senses. “Maybe you should ask her about this.”

  “I’m asking you.” He leaned back. “It’s easier for me to talk to you. You’re—” the cynical smile returned “—not as vulnerable.”

  He had no idea, she thought. He didn’t have a clue. But how could he? She hadn’t told him that she’d lost a child. That she understood his mother’s pain. “Mary bought the mobile home we’re living in. It was used, so it wasn’t very expensive.”

  “So there was money left over?”

  “Yes. And she invested that.”

  “Really?” He seemed surprised. “Were they sound investments?”

  “Sound enough. There was enough to help me go to college.”

  “Damn.” He dragged a hand through his sexually appealing hair, messing it up a little. “My mom sent her non-Hunka kid to college. Doesn’t that beat all?”

  “Beat all what?” Struggling to keep her cool, she blew an exasperated sigh. “I worked hard on my education. I earned a scholarship, too.”

  “To a tribal college?”

  “To San Francisco State University.”

  He practically gaped at her. “You went to SFSU? You lived in California? Where I live?”

  “That’s right.” She’d spent her entire childhood dreaming of bigger and better things. “And I brought Mary with me.”

  “Why San Francisco? Why did you choose a university there?”

  “Because I knew Spencer had taken you and Charlotte to Northern California. And I wanted Mary to feel like she had a connection to her children, even if she was never going to see them.” Tamra finished her soda and cursed her pounding heart. “So we rented a little apartment and tried to make a go of things. I got a part-time job and earned a degree in marketing, and Mary got a full-time job, working at a hospital. Later she became a certified nurse’s aid.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “A marketing degree. And you came back to Pine Ridge?”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? This is our home.”

  “Fine. Don’t tell me the whole story. I don’t care anyway.”

  But he did, she thought. Or he wouldn’t be so hurt about Mary letting him go. “Have you called your sister yet? Did you tell Charlotte that you found your mom?”

  “Yes.” He made a face at the phone, cursing the object as if it were his enemy. “But she’s not coming back to the States. Not for a little while. Can you believe it? She thinks I need to spend some time with Mary first. To get to know her.”

  “Sounds logical to me.”

  “Because you’re a woman. Your kind stick together.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “I think I’m going to like your sister.”

  “I’m sure you will.” He quit snarling at the phone and noticed her smile. “Don’t patronize me. I’m being serious.”

  “So am I.” But she laughed in spite of herself. “You’re just so agitated all the time, Walker. Everything upsets you.”

  “And you think that’s funny?” He grabbed a pillow off the bed and threw it at her.

  She caught it and tossed it back at him. Then they both fell silent.

  “Want to get a pizza with me?” he asked suddenly.

  Was he inviting her on a date? No, she thought, not after his spiel about their warped attraction. He was probably just bored, looking for something to do. “Sure, I guess. But on the rez. Not here. And I have to stop by a friend’s house first.”

  “I noticed the pizza place at Pine Ridge. But I haven’t eaten there.”

  “Don’t worry. It won’t make you sick.”

  He shrugged off her sarcasm. “It’s a franchise I’m familiar with.”

  She came to her feet. “I’ll drive. And on the way I’ll teach you about Lakota protocol.” She dug through her purse, snagged her keys. “Indian 101.”

  “I can hear it now. Don’t point, Walker. And don’t get drunk on the rez.” He followed her out to her truck. “All those winos I saw must have missed your class.”

  Wiseguy, she thought. “Just listen and learn.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He climbed in the passenger seat, and she gunned the engine, wondering what she’d just gotten herself into.

  Three

  W alker studied Tamra’s profile. He had so many questions about her, about his mother. He was even curious about Lakota protocol. Although he wasn’t sure why.

  “Who told you I was looking for my mom?” he asked.

  “I heard it through the moccasin telegraph. Someone who knew someone who knew someone else.” She turned onto the highway. “You’re lucky that Mary works at the PHS. That people are familiar with her. It’s not easy to locate someone on the rez.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Which was what he had been counting on. “Everything is so spread out.”

  She continued driving. By Walker’s standard, her pickup was old, an early-eighties model with plenty of mileage. But it seemed reliable enough. At least, he hoped so. He knew there were places in Indian Country where neither cell phones or CB radios worked. But for now they were still in Nebraska.

  “Did you forget about my lesson?” he asked.

  “No. I’m just deciding where to start.”

  He examined her profile again, thinking how striking she was. Her prominent cheekbones, the slight imperfection of her nose, the way her hair framed her face. Her eyes fascinated him, too. Whenever she looked at him, heat surged through his veins.

  A sexual response, he thought. Lust in the first degree.

  “We’ll start with respectful eye contact,” she said, making him blink, making him realize how closely he was watching her. “In the old way, you’re supposed to avoid eye contact with your elders. And children were taught not to stare. When you stare at someone, you’re challenging them.”

  He glanced away. He’d been staring at her from the moment they’d met. Of course, she’d done her fair share of locking gazes with him, too.

  “As for pointing,” she went on to say, “the Lakota gesture with their lips.”

  He frowned. “Their lips?”

  “Like this?” She moved her mouth in his direction.

  He tried it and made her lau
gh.

  “You’re overdoing it, Walker. You look like Mick Jagger.”

  He laughed, too. “What other social laws should I know about?” he asked, deciding he enjoyed her company, her relaxed sense of humor.

  “Addressing a family member by a kinship term is part of the old way.”

  “Like mother, son, daughter? That sort of thing?”

  “Yes. But some of the terms are quite specific. Older brother. Younger sister. Male to female. Female to male.”

  He leaned back in his seat, knowing this would be important to Charlotte. “What’s the term for younger sister?”

  “From a male to a female? Tanksi, I think. Sometimes I get confused. I’m still learning the language.”

  Walker nodded. He suspected that Mary hadn’t raised Tamra in a traditional manner. Not after the things she’d said about his mother avoiding the Hunka and other Lakota ceremonies. “Does my mom speak the language?”

  “She’s not fluent, but she’s working on it. We’re both trying to make up for the past. For the years we didn’t embrace our culture.” She kept her hands on the steering wheel. “But we’re still not overly traditional. We just do the best we can, trying to respect others.”

  Walker tried to picture Tamra in San Francisco, far away from the Lakota. Knowing that she’d chosen SFSU because of him and Charlotte made him feel closer to her. But it made him uncomfortable, too. She’d grown up in his shadow, and now he was struggling to survive in hers.

  “Are their different types of Sioux?” he asked, still trying to absorb his culture. “Or are they all Lakota?”

  “There are three branches,” she responded. “Lakota, Dakota and Nakota, who are also called the Yankton Sioux.”

  “So where does Oglala come into it?”

  “It’s one of the seven Lakota bands. It means ‘they scatter their own’ or ‘dust scatters.’” She sent him a half-cocked smile. “But the Oglala have seven bands of their own, too.”

  “Okay, now you’re confusing me.” He shook his head and laughed. “So much for Indian 101. This is turning into an advanced course.”