Betrayed Birthright

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  An angry Ashton.

  “You better have a damn good reason for this meeting,” he said, taking a moment to glance around. “And besides that, you couldn’t have picked a nicer location? This place is a dive.”

  “Sit down and shut up,” Walker told him, wondering if he’d made a mistake. He and Trace hadn’t said a civil word to each other in years. “Let me buy you a beer and we’ll get this over with.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Trace pulled up a chair. In the dim light, his green eyes looked catlike. Wary, sharp, distrustful.

  A cocktail waitress, a forty-something brunette, came by and took their order. And soon they both had fresh drinks in front of them. The peanuts on the table remained untouched.

  “So what’s this all about?” Trace asked.

  “It’s personal.”

  “I just drove an hour for an answer like that? Personal how? And what’s it got to do with me?”

  “I’m trying to make peace with myself, and my mom told me that I should make peace with the people around me, too. So I figured I’d start with you.”

  “Is this a joke?” His cousin glanced around for a hidden camera. “Or something you did just to piss me off?”

  Walker cursed beneath his breath. It did sound rather stupid now that he’d said it out loud. “I’m going through a rough time. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “I’m not good at giving advice. But if you need a sounding board, go ahead.” The other man took a swig of his beer, then sat upright in his chair. “I’m game.”

  No way, Walker thought. He wasn’t about to tell Trace how much he missed Tamra. He wasn’t about to admit that he couldn’t sleep at night. Or that his chest felt like a limestone cavern, a gaping hole where his heart used to be.

  “Well,” Trace prodded. “Spill your guts.”

  “So you can watch me suffer? That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

  His cousin made a stoic expression, something he did far too often. Walker never knew what Trace was thinking. He was good at masking his emotions.

  “I don’t even know why I dislike you,” Walker said. “Other than you were a pest when you were a kid.”

  That almost made Trace smile. Almost. “I’m four years younger than you. What did you expect?”

  “Was it Spencer? Was he the problem? Did he make us enemies?”

  “Because you were Dad’s protégé?” Trace shelled a peanut. “That didn’t help.”

  “It wasn’t a fair fight. Spencer treated me better than he treated you.”

  “Yes, but considering what he did to you, lying about your mom, I think he evened the score. Dad didn’t love anyone but himself.”

  Love. The word bounced off Walker’s hollow chest. He’d wanted Spencer to love him. So much so, he’d buried his memories, pretending that Mary and David—his own parents—had never existed.

  “Dad did something deceitful to me, too,” Trace said.

  “He did?”

  His cousin nodded. “I was never close to him to begin with, but the real animosity started when he bought off my fiancée.”

  Walker thought about the money Spencer had given Mary. Apparently that was the older man’s answer to everything. “He paid the woman you loved? Why? To get her out of your life?”

  “A hundred grand.”

  “He gave my mom a lousy thirty.”

  Trace blew out an exhausted breath, and they both drank their beers. He wondered if his cousin still loved his fiancée. “Did your lady take the money?”

  “Every dime.”

  Walker frowned. He barely remembered that Trace had been engaged. He’d never given a damn about other people’s lives. He’d been too busy kissing Spencer’s butt. “Do you think I’m like him?”

  “Who? My dad? You modeled yourself after him, didn’t you? Hell, you’re even taking his place at the office. Filling his shoes.”

  Suddenly the image of living in Spencer’s shadow made Walker ill. He wanted to be his own man, his own person, to find the peace his mother had talked about. But instead, he was the CEO at Ashton-Lattimer, paying himself off, the way Spencer had paid off Trace’s fiancée. “I’m sorry about what he did to you.”

  “It was five years ago. I’m over it now.”

  Liar, Walker thought. Trace was still hurting. Somewhere in the depth of those catlike eyes, his cousin’s pain was brewing, waiting to explode. “Do you think your dad is still messing with our minds? Even from the grave?”

  Trace didn’t respond, but it didn’t matter. Walker already knew the answer. At least for himself. He’d chosen Ashton-Lattimer over Tamra.

  And now he wanted to right the wrongs, to make their relationship work, to be with her. But it wasn’t as simple as quitting his job. There were other compromises to make. And he couldn’t make them alone.

  He needed Tamra to cooperate.

  The following day Walker arrived on the rez. He’d stopped by his mom’s house, but no one was home. And that’s when he’d remembered the powwow. So here he was, overwhelmed by the festivities. Everywhere he turned, there was something happening.

  Beneath an endless sea of canopies, families gathered in lawn chairs, watching regalia-draped dancers spin in colorful circles. In another congested area, craft-booth vendors peddled their wares and food stands created mouthwatering aromas. But that wasn’t the last of it. Nestled in tree-clustered corners, storytellers captured the imaginations of wide-eyed children, who sat cross-legged in the grass, listening with rapt attention.

  While Walker scanned the grounds, the host Drum sang a traditional song, the music thumping like a heartbeat, drifting through the sun-warmed air.

  Feathers, fringe and fry bread, he thought. He had no idea where to look for Tamra. He assumed his mom and his sister were here, too. And Alexandre, of course, making him wonder what the Frenchman thought of the Pine Ridge gathering. No doubt, he and Charlotte were having the time of their lives.

  A group of teenagers skirted past Walker, flirting shamelessly with each other. He smiled to himself, then battled a pang of nervousness.

  What if Tamra didn’t accept his proposition? What if she didn’t think his idea had merit? There would be sacrifices to make, changes to consider, an unconventional future that might leave her wanting more.

  He’d rehearsed his upcoming speech last night, going over the details in his mind, but now he wished he had called ahead and warned Tamra that he was coming.

  A bit lost, Walker stood in the middle of the powwow grounds, turning in every direction, searching for her.

  “If it isn’t the yummy iyeska,” a voice said from behind him.

  He spun around and found Michele, Tamra’s loyal friend, grinning at him. He smiled, too, grateful to see a familiar face. She sported a jingle dress, the fabric covered with cones made from the metal lids of snuff cans. Her accessories included a silver belt, beaded moccasins and matching leggings. In her hair, she wore a lone feather, held in place with a decorative ornament.

  “I didn’t know you were a competition dancer,” he said, noticing the number attached to her regalia.

  “And I didn’t know you were going to be here.” She tilted her head. “I wonder why Tamra didn’t say anything.”

  His nerves kicked in again. “She doesn’t know.”

  Michele’s eyes lit up. “You came here to surprise her? Well, thank goodness. That girl has been miserable.”

  Relief washed over him. Miserable meant that she missed him. Or so he hoped. “Where is she?”

  “Walking around, selling raffle tickets.” Michele gestured with her lips. “But I just saw your mom at a fry bread stand. She introduced me to your sister and that hunk of burning love she’s gonna marry. Boy, is he a charmer.”

  “Alexandre knows how to impress the ladies.”

  “I’ll say.”

  He gazed in the direction of the food stands. “Do you think my mom is still there?”

  “Probably. The line was pretty long.” She shifted the pouch over her
arm. “I’m really glad you came back. I hope you stick around this time.”

  “I plan to. Sort of,” he added, his pulse pounding at his throat. “I’ll see you around, okay? I’m going to go talk to my mom.”

  “Sure. Okay,” she said, giving him an obscure look. Apparently his “sort of” comment confused her.

  But Walker didn’t have time to explain. If he didn’t find Tamra soon, his anxiety would probably escalate into a full-blown panic attack.

  He found Mary, Charlotte and Alexandre easily, realizing he’d probably walked past them a dozen times. His mom was thrilled to see him. She threw her arms around him, and he nuzzled her neck, grateful that she was part of his life. He still didn’t remember her. But he’d loved her. He knew that now, as sure as he knew his own name. He could feel the connection they shared, the bond Spencer had tried to break.

  She stepped back to study him. “My son. My boy. I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “Iná.” He addressed her in Lakota and made her smile.

  “Did you come for Tamra?”

  He nodded, wishing his stomach would quit flopping back and forth. “But I can’t find her.”

  “Then I’ll help you.”

  Although Mary was familiar with the powwow grounds, it didn’t prove to be an easy task. They strolled the festivities for at least fifteen minutes, weaving in and out of the crowd.

  Then finally Mary got his attention. “There she is.”

  He stopped, frozen in his tracks. Tamra was about twenty feet away, near a craft booth, selling raffle tickets to a group of tourists.

  His mom squeezed his arm. “I think you can take it from here.”

  He nodded, although Tamra hadn’t spotted him yet. “I love you,” he whispered to his mom, wanting her to know how much she meant to him.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered back, a smile touching her lips, a maternal glow shimmering in her eyes. Then she left him alone, encouraging him to approach Tamra, to try to change the course of their lives.

  Tamra finished her transaction, and he moved closer. She caught sight of him and gasped.

  For a suspended moment in time, they stared at each other. Then she came toward him. She wore a pair of faded jeans, a sleeveless blouse tied at her waist and the tan cowboys boots he’d become accustomed to seeing. Behind her, hills rose in the distance, creating a sacred backdrop.

  Mother Earth and the lady he loved.

  He wanted to latch on to her and never let go, but he steadied his hands instead, cramming them into his pockets.

  “You said you weren’t coming to the powwow.” Her voice all but quavered. “But here you are.”

  Yes, here he was, so nervous he could barely speak. He cleared his throat. “Can you take a break?”

  “Yes, of course.” She fidgeted with the roll of tickets in her hand.

  He guided her to a vacant spot on the grass, and they sat on the ground, with the summer heat glaring between them. Her hair fell to her shoulders in a glossy black sheen, and her exotic-shaped eyes tilted at the corners. Around her neck, she wore a beaded medicine wheel, a symbol that represented the four directions and the four cardinal Lakota values: integrity, bravery, fortitude and generosity.

  Walker thought it suited her beautifully.

  “I’m leaving Ashton-Lattimer,” he said. “I don’t want to fill Spencer’s shoes. I don’t want to live the rest of my life in his shadow.”

  Her gaze locked on his. “What are you going to do?”

  “Start my own financial consulting firm.”

  “In San Francisco?”

  “Yes, but I intend to find a partner. Someone who can handle the day-to-day operation, who can run the company when I’m not around.” He took a chance, moving closer to her. “That way I can commute between here and there. Live in both places.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered, and he realized she was blinking back tears. “Both places? Does that mean we can be together?”

  “Yes, but it won’t be easy. Not at first,” he told her, refusing to sugarcoat the situation, to be anything less than honest. “I’ll be putting in long hours, getting the new company started. But eventually I’ll get my schedule squared away.”

  “So you can spend more time here? With me?” she asked, her gaze hopeful, her voice soft.

  He nodded, thinking how delicate she seemed. But he’d caught her off guard, probably sending her tattered emotions into a tailspin. “I’m not expecting you to quit your job for me. I know how much the Oyate Project means to you, how important it is to the rez. But I was hoping that you’d come to California once in a while. On your days off or whenever you can manage it.”

  “I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” she said, reaching for him. “I can’t bear to lose you again.”

  He took her in his arms, and when she trembled against him, he stroked her hair. He could feel how much she loved him, how lonely she’d been without him by her side. But even so, he wanted her to be sure.

  “Our lives won’t be as conventional as most couples, Tamra. I’ll be gone a lot. Probably a few weeks a month.”

  She lifted her head. “That doesn’t matter to me. Not if we make a commitment to each other, promises we both intend to keep.” She sat back, pressed a hand to her heart. “This is the answer to our prayers, Walker. It’s the perfect solution. We need to blend our worlds to make this work.”

  “Does spending more time in San Francisco scare you?” he asked. “The way adapting to reservation life scares me?”

  She released a choppy breath. “Yes, but you can teach me to appreciate the city, to see it through your eyes. And I can help you get settled on the rez, to make it seem like home.”

  A feeling of contentment settled over him. Substance, he thought. Compromise, the beauty of commitment, of making every moment count. “We’re going to need a bigger house. My mom’s place is too small.”

  She smiled. “Does that mean we’re going to live with Mary?”

  He smiled, too. “It seems like the most logical solution. That way, neither of you will be alone when I’m in California.”

  “A new house is fine, but nothing too fancy. Don’t go overboard.”

  “When I want fancy, I’ll go to the estate and hobnob with the Ashtons. Besides, I’m keeping my condo. I’ll have plenty of luxury when I need it.” He paused, felt his heart bump his chest. “We can do this. We can make it happen.”

  She looked into his eyes. “I love you, Walker.”

  “I love you, too.” He took her in his arms again, knowing she was accepting him for who he was.

  A Pine Ridge Lakota. A San Francisco iyeska.

  He was both of those things. Both people. But most of all, he was Tamra’s partner, the man who couldn’t live without her.

  In the wee hours of the morning, Tamra and Walker were still awake. They were in her room, cuddling and talking, too wired to sleep.

  Tamra couldn’t stop looking at him, touching him, feeling his skin beneath her fingers. For her this was a dream. A real-life fairy tale, something she never expected.

  “What kind of wedding do you want?” he asked.

  “Wedding?” Her pulse jumped. “You never said anything about us getting married.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Did you think I was asking you to live in sin?”

  She laughed and pinched his side, making him laugh, too. “That’s a hell of a proposal.”

  He toyed with the ends of her hair. “Glad you think so.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. They were side by side, half-dressed and full of emotion. “Are we going to have a long engagement or is this supposed to happen fast?”

  “A long engagement,” he decided. “We should do it right. Maybe even have two ceremonies. One here and one on the estate.”

  “That works for me. If we’re going to blend our worlds, we should get married in both places.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” His expression changed, turning a bit troubled.

  Conce
rned, she studied the angles of his face, the hard lines and deep, dark shadows. “What’s wrong?”

  “I have no idea what’s going to happen with the stocks I inherited. They’ll probably be held up in probate for a long time, especially if Eli or somebody from that side of the family contests the will.”

  “Do the stocks matter all that much?”

  “Not really. Not anymore. I’d just sell them, anyway.” He propped himself up, leaning on one elbow. “I have other investments I can liquidate.”

  “To get your business started?”

  “To help the rez. I’d like to establish a housing fund, maybe work with a local contractor who’s willing to get involved.”

  Her heart all but melted. “To help solve the housing shortage?”

  He nodded. “Even if it’s just one or two houses a year. Whatever I can manage. Whatever I can do to make a difference.”

  “No wonder I love you so much.” She took a deep breath, searched his gaze, broaching a subject they’d both been avoiding. “How are other things going? Are you sorting out your feelings for Spencer?”

  Walker frowned. “I’m trying to come to terms with what he did, with how many people he hurt. But that doesn’t mean I condone his murder. I want to know who killed him.” He adjusted the blanket, smoothing a ripple in the fabric. “As for my childhood memories, I’m convinced they’ll come back.”

  “I think so, too.” Once again she studied him. A pale-blue lamp bathed him in a translucent glow, creating the illusion of twilight, of moonbeams dancing across his skin. “What about children?” she asked suddenly, realizing it was a topic they hadn’t discussed. “Do you want kids?”

  He reached for her hand. “Anytime you’re ready.”

  She clasped her fingers through his, awed by his beauty, his masculine strength, the passion, the tenderness, the complexity of his personality. “I’d prefer to be married first.”

  “Then we’ll wait.” His voice turned quiet. “Would it be all right to alter Jade’s headstone? To give her my last name, too?”

  Tamra’s eyes misted. “Are you asking to be her father?”