About the Author

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author KATHLEEN EAGLE published her first Mills & Boon, an RWA Golden Heart winner, in 1984. Since then she has published more than forty books, including historical and contemporary, series and single title novels, earning her nearly every award in the industry including Romance Writers of America’s RITA®. Kathleen lives in Minnesota with her husband, who is Lakota Sioux and forever a cowboy.

The Prodigal Cowboy

Kathleen Eagle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-408-97866-5

THE PRODIGAL COWBOY

© 2012 Kathleen Eagle

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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For All My Relatives

Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Note to Readers

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

About the Publisher

Chapter One

“Looks like he ain’t coming.”

Bella Primeaux glanced up from the news report on her smartphone display. The cowboy claiming the next bar stool was half-shot and full-ugly. She didn’t know him, wasn’t interested in knowing him, and there was no point in sparing him more than a glance. She pressed her elbows against the bar and swiveled two inches to the right, turning a cold left shoulder.

“What’s that you’re drinkin’?”

Bella glanced right. Another one was moving in. She was book-ended by Crude and Rude. Experience told her that if they got no satisfaction, their type would go away.

“What does that look like to you, Loop?” the one on the right asked the one on the left. “Seven and seven?”

Loop? Bella swallowed the urge to laugh. She’d interviewed a rodeo cowboy named Rope who’d given a shout out to his brother Cash and his friend Spur. But Loop?

“Looks like tea.” Loop was perceptive.

“Is that some of that Long Island iced tea? You wanna try some, Loop?” Rude signaled the bartender. “Bring us three more of these.”

“Lemme try hers first,” Loop said as he reached for Bella’s glass from the left.

She slipped her phone into the woolen sack that hung over her shoulder on a braided cord. He could have her drink. She was leaving anyway.

“Is it whiskey and tea?” Loop sniffed, slurped and slammed the glass on the bar. “It’s just tea.”

“And it’s yours now, Loopy,” said a newcomer to the growing group.

Bella turned to her left, and her glance traveled quickly over the glass in the one called Loopy’s grubby hand, past the full-ugly face to a faintly familiar one that loomed in the shadows above Loopy’s cowboy hat. Familiar, fine looking, and frankly unsettling. It had been years since she’d seen the man, but he wore the years as well as his own straw cowboy hat. Surprising, considering where he’d spent the last couple of those years. His hat was battered, and his jeans and T-shirt had seen better days, but he made them look camera ready. She’d lost what little touch she’d had with high school friends, and Ethan Wolf Track was no exception, but she’d never quite shaken her interest in what he was up to. Generally it was no good.

But his smile was as disarming as ever.

“Sorry I’m late, Bella.”

Loopy peeked over his shoulder and then turned back to Bella with a whole new brand of interest in his glazed eyes. “Why didn’t you just say you were with Ethan Wolf Track? Hell, man, we were just—”

“Long Island iced tea all around. Loopy’s buying.” Ethan’s hand appeared on Loopy’s shoulder. “Right, man?”

“It’s just tea. There’s no whiskey,” Loop said.

“Long Island iced tea isn’t made with whiskey or tea.” Ethan jiggled his hand rest. “You been living under a rock, Loopy?”

“Same as you.”

“Nah, look at the difference.” Ethan laid his hand on the bar beside Loopy’s. “You need to get yourself some sun, boy.”

Bella glanced between the two faces. The “boy” couldn’t have been any younger than the man, but he didn’t take exception. Ethan was still the man. The memory of a younger but no less commanding Ethan letting the boys know who was boss flashed through her mind.

“Iced tea for two,” the bartender announced, landing the glasses on the bar with a thunk. “As for the other two, you want another beer? It’s the same price as tea.”

“No beer for these horses, Willie,” Ethan said as he claimed both glasses. “Tricky, ain’t it, Loopy? Pullin’ the wagon and riding it, too?”

“You got your parole officer, I got mine. Far as I’m concerned, beer don’t count,” Loopy grumbled. “And it’s Toby. That’s a Toby Keith song, ‘Beer For My Horses.’”

“Not without Willie,” Ethan said as he glanced at Bella and gave a nod toward a corner booth. “Not on my wagon.”

Bella was off the bar stool, but she wasn’t looking for a booth, and the man and his boys could do what they pleased with their wagon. She wouldn’t be vying for a parking spot at the Hitching Post. She’d already crossed the place off her list of possible sites for her report on Rapid City’s hottest singles’ hangouts.

“Would you rather go someplace else?” Ethan asked her quietly.

She looked up, taken by the change in his tone. He was speaking for her benefit alone, and he sounded sincere, even hopeful. Tension drained from her shoulders as she shook her head. “We can catch up right here.”

As she neared the high-backed booth, she saw a big book lying open on the far side of the table beside a cup half-filled with black coffee. She slid into the near side, her back to the room.

“Looks like he ain’t comin’,” she drawled as she checked her watch.

“Maybe he’s still working on his story.” He set his glass on the table and dropped his hand over the book, which he closed, swept off the table and deposited on the seat beside him in one quick motion. His eyes danced. “Better be a good one, huh?”

She shrugged, subtly acknowledging that he was playing along. “You were here all along. All I saw was the hat.”

“It serves many purposes.” He pulled down on the brim, shadowing all but the generous lips and their slight smile.

“I’m surprised you remember me.”

“I watch TV.”

“So … you don’t actually remember me.”

“Really took me back when I saw you sitting on that bar stool. You sat in front of me in—what class was it? English?”

“History.”

“History. Don’t remember any names or dates, but I never forget a woman’s back. You have a small—” he hooked his hand over his shoulder and touched a spot near the base of his neck “—beauty mark right here.”

“Beauty mark?” She laughed. “It’s called a mole.”

“Not in my book.”

“Which book is that?” She wondered about the one he was sharing his seat with.

“History. My favorite class. Liked it so much, I took it twice.” He dropped his hand to the seat as he leaned back, grinning. She imagined him patting that book as though he wanted to keep a pet quiet. “You were there the second time around.”

“No wonder you had all the answers. You’d already heard the questions.”

“I didn’t hear anything the first time.” He leaned closer, getting into the reminiscence. “We did a project together. Remember?”

“I wasn’t going to mention it. You still owe me.”

“I do?”

“I bought all the materials. Actually, I did all the work. You were going to come to my house the night before it was due, but you never showed up.”

“Forgot about that part.” He arched an eyebrow and cast a pointed glance at her watch. “How do you keep getting mixed up with guys like that?”

“I’m not meeting anyone,” she confessed.

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” He pulled a dramatic grimace as he glanced past her.

She shrugged. “Checking the place out.”

“For what? This ain’t no singles’ bar, woman. This is a hole in the wall.”

“Maybe I’m not single. Maybe I’m here doing my job.” She gave herself a second to rein in her rising tone. “And maybe I didn’t need to be rescued.”

“In the old days, you wouldn’t’ve said maybe. Once you got to talkin’, you were as sure and self-determined as any girl I ever met.” He gave her the no-bull eye. “I don’t know about the rest, but you’re not married.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m single.”

“I think it does.” He took a drink of his tea, then looked at her again. “So how much do I owe you for labor and materials?”

“Since it was a required class, I think you owe me your diploma.”

“I showed up for the report. I had all the facts and figures. Hell, we got an A, didn’t we? Can’t do any better than that.” He shook his head. “We’ll have to come up with something else. You sure don’t need my diploma.”

“And you sure have a better memory than you first let on.” She gave a tight smile. “I guess we can call it even. Being Ethan Wolf Track’s history project partner raised my lowly underclass social status a notch.”

“What were you, a sophomore?”

She shook her head.

“Freshman?”

She smiled and nodded.

“How did you get into that class as a freshman, for God’s sake?”

“I took a test. Actually, I took several. They had a hard time coming up with a schedule for me.” She lifted one shoulder. He had his muscles, she had her brain. “And you were a senior and the captain of everything.”

“You were smart. It didn’t take a test to figure that out. You were goin’ places.” He glanced around the room. “Better places than this.”

“I go where the story is. Or where we think it might be.” She tested out a coy look as she sipped her tea. “Stay tuned.”

“Do me a favor. Give me a heads-up if this place is gonna be raided. I try to stay out of trouble these days.”

“By doing what?”

“I guess you could say I’m a cowboy.”

“Like your brother?”

“Not a rodeo cowboy like Trace. A working cowboy. A ranch hand. I work for the Square One Ranch.”

She had no idea where that was, but he seemed to think the name of the place spoke for itself, so she made her usual mental note. Find out. It could lead to something.

“So you’re one of a dying breed,” she said. “I did a story on a guy who calls himself a cowboy for hire. He says he has more work than he can handle. Do you ride a horse or an ATV?”

“What’s an ATV?”

“All terrain …” She caught the smile in his eyes. “You know, vehicle.”

“Those kid toys? Couldn’t call myself a cowboy if I rode one of those things. Hell, I was raised by Logan Wolf Track.”

“He trains horses, doesn’t he?”

“He does, and so do I. I’m training a mustang right now. Entered up in a contest.” He winked at her. “Gonna win it, too.”

Déjà vu on the Wolf Track wink. She’d been on the receiving end of one or two of those babies years back, and the experience had given her the same tummy tickle that was not going to get a smile out of her now.

“You’re talking about the competition they’re running at the new Wild Horse Sanctuary near Sinte?”

“The wild horse program is pretty new, but the Double D Ranch has been there forever,” he reminded her. “I hired on for a couple of summers when I was a kid, back when old man Drexler was running it. Now it’s his daughters.”

“I know. I’ve been reading up on the place.” She took a breath, a moment’s pause. They’d been playing a circuitous game, and she’d just landed at the foot of a ladder. One person’s connections could be another person’s rungs. They could be fragile, but as a journalist, she was weightless. Most sources had no idea she’d gotten anything from them.

But Ethan Wolf Track wasn’t most sources. Sure, he’d been a source of adolescent anxiety and disappointment, but hadn’t that been his job back then? It was up to the captain of everything to teach the princess of nothing not to expect too much. Bella had always been a quick study.

Still, he owed her.

“I think it’s wonderful, the way the Drexlers have worked out a deal with the Tribe to set aside some of that remote reservation land for more sanctuary.”

The Tribe being her people and Ethan’s adoptive father’s people. Logan Wolf Track was a Lakota Sioux Tribal councilman. Ethan looked Indian, too, but she’d never asked him about his background. Everyone knew that his mother had left Logan to raise her two boys, whom he’d legally adopted—just up and left and never came back—but nobody asked too many questions. It wasn’t their way. Ethan and his older brother, Trace, were Wolf Tracks.

“Are you working on a news story?” he asked.

“I’ve been digging around.” She folded her hands around her glass and studied the two shrinking chunks of ice. “There’s definitely a story there—one that goes back a ways—but I’m looking for the details on my own. It’s not the kind of assignment I’m likely to get from KOZY-TV.”

“Why not? They don’t like mustangs?”

“They’re fine with mustangs. They don’t like digging around.”

“Isn’t that how you come up with news? Dirt sells.”

“But sleeping dogs don’t bite, and the suits at the station—such as they are here in good ol’ Rapid City, South Dakota, you know, not exactly coat and tie—they don’t want to get their business-casual clothes torn.” She ignored his quizzical look. “Let’s just say they don’t pay me to dig.” She smiled. “But it’s fun, isn’t it? You dig?”

He chuckled. “Postholes, yeah.”

“When you were hiring out as a kid, did you ever work for Dan Tutan?” The change in his eyes—quizzical to cold—was barely discernible, but it was there. “You know, the Drexlers’ neighbor.”

Oh, yeah. He knew.

But he shook his head. Interesting.

“There’s a story there,” she said with a smile. “Big-time rivalry. Maybe some political back-scratching going on that could affect Indian Country. And that’s where I come in. Like I said, strictly on my own.” Was he ready for the kicker? Timing the kicker was Bella’s journalistic specialty. “Tutan wants the leases that went to the Double D for the sanctuary, and he’s got a friend in D.C.—Senator Perry Garth.”

He stared at her. Or through her.

Perfect timing.

“South Dakota’s beloved Senator Garth. Tutan and Garth go way back. And Garth is on the Indian Affairs Committee, as well as the Subcommittee on Public Lands and Forests.”

“Politics.” He shook his head. “You just cruised past my point of interest. My story’s in the training competition. My interest is in the horses.” He drank half of what was left in his glass in one deep pull.

“I just thought … because Logan is on the Tribal Council …”

“That’s his story.” He set the glass down and smiled as he slid to the end of the booth. “You wanna talk politics, you’re followin’ the wrong Wolf Track.” He glanced toward the bar and its deserted stools. Remote control in hand, the bearded bartender was surfing channels on the screen above the Bud Light sign. “Looks like your fans have moved on.”

“I doubt that pair watches much news. They know you, though.”

“Yeah. You need a name to drop in low places, you’re welcome to use mine.” He gave her his signature wink again. Damn if it didn’t give her the same deep-down shiver. “You decide to do a story on wild horses, look me up.”

And damn if he didn’t walk out first, taking the book she hadn’t been able to identify.

Ethan sat behind the steering wheel of his pickup, parked in the shadows across the street from what had once been the Hitching Post. The neon had given up the ghost on the letter H, so it was now the itching Post. The sign had called out to him the first time he’d seen it. He’d finally had his freedom back—most of it, anyway—and it had some weight to it. He was itching to do something different with his life, but damned if he knew what. So he’d answered the blinking call of the itching Post. He’d claimed a bar stool, wet his whistle after a long dry spell and gotten himself wasted. Stupid drunk.

The next morning he’d looked at himself in the mirror and scratched his face. He’d scratched his neck, his shoulder, dug all his fingers into his hair, looked in the mirror again and nearly busted a gut laughing.

The sign said itching post, you idiot. Not scratching post.

If he’d learned one thing from spending two years behind bars, it was that the word freedom pretty much summed up everything a man had to lose. Freedom was living. Two years without it and you had a foot in the grave. Deadwood. Reviving that foot meant getting a leg up somehow. He hadn’t been quite ready for South Dakota. He still had some growing up to do.

He’d gone to Colorado—as good a place as any that wasn’t South Dakota—and taken up his parole officer’s suggestion that he continue on the path he’d taken with the Wild Horse Inmate Program. Ethan had answered correctly—yeah, I like that idea—but mentally he’d added that the prison program couldn’t claim credit for anything except maybe backing him into the right corner, the one that gave him a clear view of where he’d come from and where he might go. He’d spent most of his life within earshot of a horse barn, which might have been why he’d taken horses for granted, along with every other promising path he could have taken instead of the one that had cut off his slack.

Before the horses—before Logan Wolf Track—his life was hazy. He’d been Trace’s little brother. They’d had a mother, but she was part of the haze. Even after she’d married Logan, her part of the family equation was hazy. Muddy, more like. He remembered the sound of her voice and the way she’d drawn out certain words so that South Dakotans looked at each other and shrugged. An accent, they’d called it, but to him it was the sound that settled an unsettled mind. Mom’s here. He couldn’t picture her face, but he still felt an odd sense of relief when he heard her voice, even though it was only in his head. He was up to his neck in hot water, hot muddy water, shrouded in early-morning haze, but he wasn’t alone. He could hear her. She hadn’t gone away.

And neither had that stupid kid. God, how he hated that quivering, shivering little boy who still clung to the soft tissue of his innards. He was pitiful, that kid. He had to get tough or get dead, that kid, and he’d damn sure better not show his face. Keeping that kid quiet had been a full-time job. Ethan needed all the help he could get, and he’d assigned roles. Whether they knew it or not, every person, place or thing within spitting distance had a part to play, and he’d taken it all for granted.

Including the friendship he might have had with the woman who’d just stepped into the spotlight under the itching Post sign. Of course he remembered her. Straight-A student with a straight body and a straightforward approach. She would go places and do things, and she wasn’t letting anyone get in her way. Not that his charm was lost on her, or that he wouldn’t pass up the chance to use that to his advantage, but there was an air of dignity about her that gave her some protection from guys like him.

But not from guys who had no use for dignity.

Tom “Loopy” Lupien and his forgettable sidekick were back in play, following Bella out the door. Two colorless figures casting long shadows across the dimly lit sidewalk. He’d thought they were gone. Must have been hiding out in the can.

“Hey, did the Wolf make tracks?” one of them called after her.

“You need a ride?” the other asked. In this light it was hard to tell one from the other, but it didn’t matter. Any friend of Loopy’s had been scraped from the mold underneath the empty barrel.

A remote-control lock chirped, headlights flashed, car door opened and shut, engine roared. Bella was safe. Ethan smiled to himself. No-nonsense Bella.

No sooner had she turned onto the street when another engine fired up. An old Ford pickup—even older than Ethan’s rattletrap Chevy—emerged from the lot behind the building and followed her car.

Damn. Loopy wouldn’t be able to bring any prey down himself. He was a scavenger. The other one must’ve been driving. Between the two of them, they could do some damage.

Ethan joined the parade. When they reached a one-way residential street, Bella parked her little white Honda on the curb near the front entrance to a modest two-story apartment building. Ethan peeled away from Loopy’s tailgate, pulled over to the opposite curb, and watched Loopy and his pal roll past Bella’s parked car. They’d taken the hint. Ethan chuckled. My job here is done.

Bella hopped out of her car, slammed the door and turned toward Ethan’s pickup, gripping some kind of bag made out of blanket material with a string handle—was it a purse, or a grocery sack?—under her arm.

“Hey! I carry a .38 Smith & Wesson, and I know how to use it!” she shouted across the street. “So whatever you’re thinking, think again.”

Her face was hidden in the shadows, but her hands were steady, her shoulders squared and her long black hair shone blue-white under the streetlight. He didn’t know who she thought she was talking to, but she wasn’t bluffing.

And he loved it.

He was thinking, I’ve got your back. Not that she needed him, but he was there, just in case.

Hell of a woman, he told himself as he watched her stand her ground. She was on TV, but that was just a job. It wasn’t her life. Pretty cool. Cool enough to get the message without some big explanation to go with it. Whatever her interest was in Senator Perry Garth—the man who’d helped put Ethan away for two years—it was of no interest to him. Neither was any rivalry between neighbors, nor tribal politics. Ethan was looking for a new life. He wanted the kind of freedom Bella had—the opportunity to chart her own course, to do a job and then some, and that some could be more than what somebody else was willing to pay for.

The last time he’d seen her, she’d been a sweet young girl with a big brain. He’d assigned her brain a role, but the girl was sweet and young, and she’d had that straight body and those big ideas. Sure, she’d had the hots for him, but back then she’d been more appealing walking away from him in a huff than looking up at him all wide-eyed and innocent. She’d had some growing up to do.

She turned and mounted the steps to the front door.

I’ve still got your back, Bella, but I can appreciate your front now, too. Turn around. Let me see those pretty eyes.

No such luck. She pushed the door open and disappeared.

Ethan grinned as he shifted out of neutral. Yes, sir, little Bella Primeaux had grown up just fine.

Chapter Two

The tiny reservation town of Sinte, South Dakota, hadn’t changed much, but the house Bella had grown up in looked different. In only five years weeds had taken over Ladonna Primeaux’s flower beds. A swing set occupied what had been the vegetable garden, and an old Jeep had muscled in on the shrub roses that still more or less lined the driveway. Mom had fussed over that yard the way some women gravitated toward babies. With her gone, it looked like most of the other yards in the neighborhood—a cottonwood tree or two, a bunch of kids’ toys, maybe a deck and some struggling grass.

Bella could hear her mother now. Don’t ever let your yard go, Bella. All it takes is a little interest. People who take an interest, those are the interesting people. They’re the ones you always want to talk to.

Ladonna Primeaux was an interesting person. Everyone thought so. Bella had been certain of it. Her mother was as knowledgeable as she was opinionated, which was fine by Bella. Nothing wrong with having opinions if you had the knowledge to back them up. Mom was also dependable, practical and psychic. It wasn’t always easy being the only child of a woman who was constantly one step ahead of the one Bella was about to take. But she’d followed the deep imprints of her mother’s footsteps until there were no more.

The home they’d shared wasn’t there anymore, and the house alone gave no comfort. No point in lingering, hoping for more than memories. Bella didn’t need guidance or approval anymore—she knew who she was and where she was going—but with her mother’s death she’d been cut off at the roots. She was growing as a journalist, but every time she looked at her résumé, she felt like a fraud. Maybe not on the outside—she had the look, totally—but deep down she was missing something.

Her KOZY-TV News assignments rarely touched on Indian issues, so she’d started blogging as Warrior Woman, and her site was gaining followers. But the comments from people who claimed to be Native were few and far between. Maybe they were out there but just weren’t saying so. Or maybe they weren’t even there. Maybe what was missing was new growth. Her interest in Lakota issues was real, but what about Lakota life? What about the home she’d left as quickly as she could and the mother who’d encouraged her daughter to fly while she’d remained in the nest? What about the remnants of those severed roots? Deep down they were still there, like shorn whiskers creating an itch that needed attention.

Guess what, Bella, you’re not a kid anymore. You need to touch up your roots or grow some new ones.

A stop sign and two right-hand turns took her to Agency Avenue. The old Bureau of Indian Affairs building with its spacious offices had been turned over to the Tribal government, and the BIA had moved into the building once occupied by the Tribe. Sign of the times, Bella thought as she took in all the changes. There were more windows, fewer walls, and the colors of the four directions—red, white, black and yellow—had replaced BIA green and tan. There were new names on the directory. Indian names. But there were no office numbers, and so she asked the receptionist whether Councilman Logan Wolf Track was in the house. He’s around here somewhere was the old familiar answer. Monday-through-Friday casual.

“Of course I remember you.” Logan greeted her with a handshake when he came out to greet her. He was lankier than his son but not as tall, not quite as handsome. “Full scholarship to a fine college on the East Coast, right?”

“University of California at Berkley.”

“I meant West Coast.” He smiled easily. “I remembered the important stuff. Full scholarship, terrific college and Bella Primeaux. Your mother was so proud of you we could hardly stand it.”

She lifted one shoulder. “Sorry about that.”

“Hey, just kidding. We’re all proud of you.” He glanced through the plate glass that separated the sparsely furnished lounge from a small parking lot. “And we sure miss your mother. She was something else, wasn’t she?” He turned back to Bella, assuring her with a nod. “In a good way.”

“She was the best nurse Indian Health ever had.”

“She sure was.”

“She could have been a doctor.” It was something she’d always thought, but she couldn’t remember saying it out loud before, giving due credit, open admiration. She’d felt it, but she hadn’t said it within range of her mother’s ear. What kind of range did Ladonna Primeaux’s hearing have now?

“She was a damn good nurse.”

“Yes, she was.” But she could have been a doctor. She’d said so herself, many times. What she’d never said was that she’d had a child to feed. “I ran into Ethan the other night.”

“Where?”

“In a bar,” Bella said, an answer that clearly surprised Logan. “Rapid City. I live there now.”

“I watch you all the time on TV.” He lifted one shoulder. “Well, not every day, but whenever I watch the news.”

She smiled. It was good to be watched and even better to be acknowledged. She owed him something in return. “Ethan’s following in your footsteps.”

“How’s that?”

“Training horses. He mentioned the wild horse training competition. He says he’s going to win the big prize.”

“I hope he does. Help him make a fresh start. Hope he’s not spending too much time in the bars.” He glanced away. “I haven’t seen much of Ethan since, uh …”

“Since he went to prison?”

“He told you about that?”

“He didn’t have to,” she said quietly.

Logan gave a mirthless chuckle. “Made the news all the way out to California, did it?”

“The news is what the media makes it, and I’m part of the media now. I know these things.” She smiled. “All we talked about was high school and what we’re doing these days. He gives you credit for raising him to be a cowboy.”

“A cowboy? That’s down to his older brother, Trace. Although outside the rodeo, I’d say Ethan’s the better hand when he’s of a mind to be. They’re both good, mind you, but Trace goes in for a wild ride, and Ethan … well, he’s wild enough on his own.”

“He was drinking iced tea.”

“In a bar?” Apparently even more surprising.

Bella nodded. “Straight iced tea.”

“I saw him at the Double D earlier this summer,” Logan recalled. “First time in two years. Said he was entering the training competition. Said he was working for a rehab program.”

“He told me he was a ranch hand. Square One Ranch. Something like that.”

“Square One?” His tone put the news on par with tea in a bar. “That’s a program for kids in trouble. Hell, that’s right outside Rapid City. I didn’t know he was living that close by. He didn’t, uh …” Logan’s wan smile spoke of a father’s discomfort with being the last to know. “He didn’t say.”

“I thought it was a cattle ranch. That’s interesting.” What was left out was always more interesting than what was said. Bella added it to her mental file marked Ethan. Also interesting was the way she’d filed him under his first name.

Maybe because it was an old file. She was just realizing how far back it went and how carefully she’d kept it up. No surprise that he’d joined the army after he graduated. No surprise that he’d been gone awhile and come back home. No word of his military experiences, which was also no surprise. The return to Indian Country was never questioned. But he hadn’t stayed around long, and the next Ethan Wolf Track news flash had been surprising. Dirt sells, he’d said, and if she’d been a little further along in her career, she might have tried to track him down. Not because he was in trouble—no surprise there, either. Not because the story involved a woman—most of Ethan’s stories undoubtedly involved women. But there was an odd political connection.

Ethan Wolf Track and a senator’s daughter? Now that was interesting. And Bella would have bet her new mobile phone that what was left out was far more interesting than what was reported.

“He’s pretty sensitive about Senator Garth, isn’t he?” she asked.

“Couldn’t say.” Staring out the window at a young couple getting into a pickup with a washing machine in the bed, Logan didn’t blink. No sensitivity there. “Ethan spent two years in prison for taking Garth’s car. His daughter was the one who took it, but she wouldn’t stand up for him. I’d say he was sensitive about her, but I’d just be guessing.” He turned to give Bella a what’re-you-gonna-do look. “Too damn stubborn for his own good.”

“He said he worked over at the Double D when he was a kid.”

“Couple of summers, yeah. Like I say, Ethan’s a good worker. I’ll bet he’s real good with those kids in the Square One program.”

Bella wondered why Logan seemed so clueless about his son. If she were still alive, Ladonna Primeaux wouldn’t be betting or guessing, she would be asking. On the other hand, Bella herself wasn’t exactly being subtle about fishing for clues about the man’s family, and he was trusting her with what few he had.

A twinge of guilt pushed her to switch tracks.

“The Double D took some grazing land away from a neighboring rancher, didn’t they? I know some of it was public land, but wasn’t there a Tribal lease, too?”

“Yep.” Logan smiled. He liked this topic. “We decided the Wild Horse Sanctuary took precedence. The Lakota are horse people.”

“But Senator Garth has a longstanding friendship with Dan Tutan, who is—”

“My wife’s father.” His smile broadened. “We just got married. Haven’t told Ethan yet.”

“So, uh …”

“Whose side am I on? The horses’ side. So’s my wife. I haven’t heard any objections from the senator. What’s he gonna do? The Tribal Council determines how the land will be used nowadays. It’s called self-determination.”

“That term is so twentieth century,” Bella teased.

“Yeah, well, some of us go back that far.”

“All of us do. The whole relocation program and termination of reservations policy in the 1950s, and then the switch to Indian self-determination in the 1970s, seems like it was only yesterday.” She smiled. “We studied it in our high school history class. Ethan sat behind me.”

He laughed. “Now that must’ve been interesting.”

“It was unsettling.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts and held on tight as she glanced away. “What was interesting was twentieth-century American Indian history and how we’re supposed to finally have a say over what we do with our lives. And our land.” And the fact that Ethan remembered the mole on the back of her shoulder.

Bella shifted her stance, cleared her throat and her thoughts, and turned back to the Lakota leader. “So you don’t think the senator can interfere with the Wild Horse Sanctuary? He sits on a couple of key committees.”

“Let him sit.”

“I was thinking of doing a story.” He gave her a look that that reinforced his suggestion. If the story had to do with Garth, she was wasting her time. She gave a diffident shrug. “Maybe a series on the Tribe’s involvement with the Wild Horse Sanctuary.”

“Involvement?”

“In a good way,” she added hastily.

“Kind of a feel-good story about Indians and horses? That always works. Sally’ll take all the TV spots she can get. You know Sally Drexler—I mean Sally Night Horse—is the woman behind the whole program. You talk about a white tornado…” He chuckled. “That’s from an old TV commercial. White tornado.”

“Must’ve been before my time.”

“Mine, too. Even before self-determination, but around here some things are as timeless as Indians on horses. Especially now that you’ve got YouTube.” He grinned. “So I say go for it. If you need me, I’m in.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. “Actually, it wouldn’t be for KOZY-TV News. My suggestions there fall on deaf ears. They hand me an assignment, and I make it happen. Whether it means anything to anyone …” She glanced away, gave her head a little shake and turned back to a man who was known for having good ears. “That’s what I was doing at the bar the other night. I was looking for different types of singles’ hangouts. The place is called the Hitching Post. Doesn’t that sound like a place to connect?”

“Depends on your idea of hitching, I guess. Never really got the hang of hangin’ out. But Ethan …” He shrugged. “I don’t know, Bella. If you’re asking me about—”

“I’m not,” she said quickly. But she had asked, and she shouldn’t have. “I only meant to say that I’d run into him. You know, just saying.”

“Not telling.” He smiled indulgently. “Just saying.”

“Do you know anything about Square One? Is it a good program?”

“It’s pretty new, but they’re building a good reputation. We’ve had some kids placed there through Tribal Court.”

“Why don’t we go out there and take a look? You haven’t seen much of Ethan lately, and I’m looking for connections.”

“I’m not much of a connection, Bella. I don’t think Square One qualifies as a singles’ hangout, and I don’t qualify as a single. My wife’s coming home for good pretty soon. The army’s letting her go.”

“Her choice?”

“Yeah.” Again he grinned, but this time it was purely for personal pleasure. “I’m gonna be a father again.”

“Congratulations. Wow.” Apparently he’d wasted no time. “So how about it? Do you have some time today?”

“I do, but if Ethan’s there, I’m not gonna show up uninvited. He only let me visit him once when he was in prison. Took me off his visitors list after that.”

“Why would he do that?”

Logan shook his head. “I married his mother, and he took to me right away. After she left, he was different. For a while we thought sure she’d come back. His brother and I did, anyway, but Ethan never asked about her. Never jumped for the phone the way Trace did, never expected any more from her. He kinda became his own little man, you know? He got a little older, he tried to find his father. We didn’t have much to go on, so it didn’t pan out. Far as I know.”

“You helped him?”

“Did what I could. He had a picture and the little bit his mother told him. The guy was part Indian. Don’t know where he was from, though. Ethan looks a lot like the guy in the picture. I don’t know what would’ve happened if we’d found him.”

“Ethan didn’t seem like one to dwell on the past. History didn’t interest him all that much.”

Logan smiled wistfully. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s as smart as they come.” He punctuated a cocked finger with the cluck of his tongue. “Ethan’s your connection to Square One.”

Without a GPS Bella would have missed the turnoff to Square One Ranch. The sign stood so low to the ground that the dancing heads of the tall crested wheat grass obscured the small print. Rebuilding Our Lives From the Ground Up. The two visible roofs turned out to be a hulking old barn and a spanking-new two-story box. It wasn’t until the access road took a dip that she saw the small ranch-style house that had to be a good place to start searching for someone in charge of the operation.

An attractive young blonde opened the front door before Bella mounted the steps. Bella knew the routine. Country dwellers saw visitors coming a mile off. At half a mile they had the vehicle categorized—known or unknown, in- or out-of-state, on target or gone astray. In good weather they met you outside. In bad weather they opened the door just enough to check you out with eyes that challenged your motivation, not to mention your common sense.

But Bella had an advantage. “I’ve seen you on TV.” The woman offered a handshake. “Shelly Jamison.”

“Bella—”

“Primeaux, right? You’re even prettier in person.”

“Thank you. I’m aiming for professional.”

“You’ve hit that target, too, but my observation stands.” Shelly tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “What can I do for you?”

“Show me around and tell me about your program.”

“You think we might be newsworthy?”

“I met with a councilman from my reservation. He suggested I come out and take a look.”

“Tribal Courts have sent us a few kids since we started the program.” The hands came out of the back pockets and the arms were quickly folded up front. “We haven’t had any complaints.”

“And you still don’t.” Bella shaded her eyes with one hand so she could offer an unsquinty smile. “Councilman Wolf Track said you were doing a good job here.”

“Wolf Track? We’ve got a Wolf Track on the payroll here.” Shelly glanced toward the weathered barn as her shoulders relaxed and dropped a full two inches. “Hell of a good worker.”

“Ethan,” Bella supplied. “I went to school with him.”

“He can’t be on the Tribal Council, can he? He hasn’t been … I mean, he keeps busy around here, like, 24/7.”

“His father’s the councilman.”

“He never mentioned that. You don’t think that’s why we get … I mean, we didn’t hire Ethan as a favor to any—”

“His father didn’t know he was working here. Really, I’m not here to, um, dig up any dirt.” Recalling Ethan’s words, Bella almost smiled. “KOZY loves a feel-good story, and I thought we might find one here. Ethan has been—”

“I know where he’s been.” Shelly grabbed a chunk of hair that had strayed from her low ponytail and hooked it behind her unadorned ear. “You tell anyone who asks, Ethan Wolf Track is doing just fine. The boys really look up to him. Tell the truth, he’s quickly becoming indispensable around here.”

“I’m not here on any kind of assignment. I’ve heard only good things.” Bella followed the direction of Shelly’s gaze toward the hulking barn. Noisy swallows darted in and out the tiny doors of the clay row houses tucked under the edge of the gambrel roof. “I’m interested in the wild horse part of your program, and I thought maybe I could take a tour.” She lifted her shoulder. “And if Ethan’s around, I’d like to say hello.”

“Oh, he’s around. Dependable as they come, that guy.”

Bella smiled. “If anyone asks, I’ll relay the message.”

“I don’t know anything about Ethan’s family.” Shelly stepped down to ground level, putting them on par, height-wise. “It’s just that good help is hard to find when you’re paying in hot dogs and beans.”

“There must be other rewards,” Bella prompted.

“You get to be around wild things. Wild kids, wild horses and what’s left of wild country.” Shelly moved into the shade of a tall cottonwood, and Bella followed suit. “Wild hearts attract each other.”

“How’s yours?”

Shelly grinned. “I’m the maypole they all get to dance around. I have to crunch the numbers and find the wherewithal.”

“I like that image. This could be a good story, and KOZY isn’t the only media outlet I can access.” Bella smiled. She didn’t mind throwing her TV connection into her pitch. Most people—local people, anyway—were dazzled by it. If they had nothing to hide they eventually opened their doors. Sometimes they couldn’t resist even if they did have something to hide. Besides, everything she was saying was true. “Do you have time to show me around?”

Of course Shelly did.

She led the way with a “follow me,” and they started toward the barn. “The bunkhouse is new.” She pointed toward what might have passed for a truncated no-name roadside motel—plain white, no-frills. “Kitchen and commons area downstairs, bunks upstairs. You wanna see inside? Nobody’s there now except the cook.”

Bella shook her head. “Another time. Who paid for the improvements?”

“We qualified for a government grant and scored some private funding, as well. We get community support, too. People come in and teach whatever skills they have to offer.” Shelly glanced over her shoulder. “TV reporting must require all kinds of skills.”

“You mean, besides talking to the camera?”

“Are you kidding? You’re talking to thousands of people.”

“I don’t think of it that way,” Bella said absently as they rounded the corner of the bunkhouse and headed toward the barn.

“I’d be shaking in my boots and tripping over my tongue,” Shelly said.

“You get used to it. The scary part can be trying to get information out of people who don’t want to talk or pictures of things they don’t want you to see.”

“We tell the kids, once you find out what a relief it is to come clean, you’ll never want to—” They turned another corner and ran into an old flatbed farm truck with its hood up, one guy standing and another guy squatting next to the front tire, and one pair of boots sticking out from under the orange cab.

“Did you guys run over somebody?” Shelly called out. She glanced back at Bella and nodded toward the two faces now turned their way. “There’s your man.” She raised her voice. “You’ve got a visitor, Wolf Track.”

“You patted her down, didn’t you?” Ethan wiped his hands on a rag as he rose to his feet. “Was she packin’?”

“Packing what?” Shelly asked.

“A .38.” Grinning at Bella, he touched the brim of his straw cowboy hat in salutation. “Smith & Wesson, right?”

Bella’s eyes widened as she and Shelly approached the truck. “That was you?”

“You saw the pickup that cruised past? That was trouble.”

“You followed me?”

“Trouble followed you. I followed them.” Beneath the bent brim of his hat a smile danced in his dark eyes. “You don’t wanna tip your hand out on the street like that, Bella. Some people might find a Smith & Wesson even more tempting than a Bella Primeaux.”

She returned a level stare. “Neither one was there for the taking. As I said, I know how to use it.”

“If you really knew how to use it, you wouldn’t be giving away your advantage by broadcasting it.”

“This sounds like an interesting reunion,” Shelly injected, amused. “I’m guessing high school sweethearts.”

“No. Never.” Bella laughed. “I was a lowly underclassman when Ethan was the cock of the walk.”

“The what?” Ethan said.

“You were the captain of everything except the cheerleading squad.”

“And our little two-man history team.” He winked at her, and she wondered whether the gesture had become pure reflex. “I dropped the ball on that one. It was your leadership that got us on the A list.”

“Well played, captain. Credit your teammates. We’d love to hear a play-by-play. Sounds like the makings of an excellent lesson in humility.” Shelly slipped an arm around Bella’s waist. “Please stay for supper so the boys can watch their hero recover whatever he’s fumbled.”

“Thank you, I will.” Bella gave Ethan a sweet smile. “I’m interested in seeing how a cock walks the straight and narrow walk. We already know how he talks the talk.”

“You do know a cock is a rooster, right?” Ethan said.

“Of course. My mother had one. Beautiful plumage. But the hens got tired of him, and the neighbors complained about the crowing.” She shrugged. “So we ate him. I made a tiny dance bustle out of his tail for my little cousin.”

It took a moment, but Ethan burst out laughing. The boy standing near the truck joined in, and the one underneath called out, “Whoa!”

“Are you watching what you’re doing there?” Still chuckling, Ethan returned to his duty. “Has the oil finished draining from the filter?”

“How am I supposed to tell?”

“Use your eyes, Dempsey. See anything dripping?”

“Out of the filter, Dempsey, not your face,” the other boy jeered as Dempsey scooted out from under the cab.

Ethan tapped the scoffer’s barrel chest. “You’re not gonna make it as a comedian, so you’d better learn to make yourself useful for something else.” He reached through the cab window and drew out a box. “Step two.”

“I gotta get back under there?” Dempsey whined.

“What do you say, Bongo?” Ethan laid a hand on the big boy. “You wanna do the oil filter?”

Bongo chuckled as he glanced under the hood. “Does it go on top?”

“No, you gotta get down and dirty.”

Dempsey laughed. “Good luck gettin’ him back out.”

“So that was our automotive program,” Shelly said to Bella as she turned her toward the barn. “The next stop on our press tour will be the henhouse. One of the few centers of serious, steady, no-bull productivity on the place. Besides the kitchen, where we have another woman in charge. I swear, Bella, the testosterone …” With a smug smile she glanced back. “Carry on, boys.”

Ethan looked up at Bella as he sank down, butt to boot heels. “You stay for supper, me and the boys’ll show off our table manners. We just learned that passing is our first option.”

“Yeah, but Bongo still wants to run with the bowl.”

“Shut up, Dempsey,” Bongo called out from under the orange cab.

“Count me in, Shelly,” Bella said, amused, hesitant to move on. “I’m really interested in your program.” To be honest, she felt favored, much the way she had the day Ethan had tapped her on the shoulder in history class and pointed his finger in her direction and then his own. You’re with me on this one.

“I’m interested in her .38,” Dempsey said, loud enough to be heard.

“Jeez, Dempsey, what’s wrong with you?” Bongo asked.

“You do know a .38 is a gun.”

“Sure, I do. And I figure she can read the No Firearms sign out at the gate. You’re just rude, Dempsey. Ahh!” Bongo kicked both legs in the air. “Something’s dripping on me!”

Ethan tipped his head and leaned to one side. “Is it hot?”

“No, but it don’t taste too good.”

Dempsey leaned back against the truck and howled.

“Maybe you’d better keep your mouth shut and get done, Bongo,” Ethan said. “I gotta get cleaned up for supper.”

Folding dining tables flanked a large pass-through window that separated the kitchen from the commons area. Two worn sofas, a card table, a TV and a few chairs furnished the opposite end of the great room. The setup was a small version of the commons at the Indian boarding school Bella had attended before her mother decided she should come back home and go to little Sinte High School. It was not Bella’s choice—the South Dakota mission school had a good reputation for preparing kids for college—and she remembered questioning her mother’s judgment, even accusing her of being selfish, which had turned out to be true. Her mother jealously guarded those years, claimed them as her time. But what she really meant was their time, and Bella had had no idea how short the time would be.

She wondered how many of the two-dozen boys who lined up at the window and came away with plates loaded with meat and potatoes would be taken home by their parents if and when the state stepped aside. They behaved like the boys she’d gone to school with, jostling for position, be it in suckling, pecking or batting order. Dying to get noticed, an expression a few of them would take literally if they found no other way. But here they were allowed to be boys while they learned to be men. If they could, and if they would. She’d reported on more than a few who did not.

“You really are their hero,” Bella noted after Bongo and Dempsey had taken the long way around the tables to congratulate Ethan for “scoring.”

“Yeah, they think I’m bad,” he said with a smile.

“Which is good.”

“In their eyes, maybe. Should I leave it at bad, or should I admit to a generous helping of stupid?” He shook his head as he cast a glance at the fluorescent fixture overhead. “I don’t know, Bella. I’m new at this job, and I’m kinda wingin’ it. You never know what’s gonna work with these gangsters.”

“They don’t seem like gangsters.”

“A couple of them are here because they won’t go to school. They’d rather sit in a hole and smoke weed.” He scanned the tables behind her. “Some have done worse.”

“What’s worse than throwing away your best chance to climb out of a weedy hole?”

“How long have you been reporting the news? You tell me.”

She drew a deep breath as she ran down her mental list. She’d interviewed hardheads in all shapes and sizes. “Throwing away your next best chance on top of the first.”

“Which is why they’re back to Square One. It’s a good option for kids who are open to this kind of rural life.”

“Is it good for you?”

“It’s perfect for me. Tailor-made.” She gave him an incredulous look, and he laughed. “No, I’m serious. I’ve got a place to stay, but I’m free go. I get to eat and sleep and shower whenever I feel like it. I’m doing something useful, and they pay me for it. Plus, they let me keep a horse here.” He winked at her. “I’m makin’ progress.”

She poked at her mashed potatoes with her fork. “I went to Sinte this morning to do a little research.”

“Research?”

She nodded without looking up. “I spoke with your father.”

“If you’re interested in horse training, Logan’s your man.”

“I’m interested in the story behind the horses.”

“How much time you got?” He gave her a sly grin. “Some ‘tails’ are longer than others.”

It wasn’t much of a joke, but the way his eyes sparkled, she had to reward him with a laugh.

“And some kicks are harder on the gut than others,” he added, the sparkle fading. “So watch yourself, okay?”

The smile fell from her face. “Are you talking about Logan?”

“I’m talking about poking around behind the horse. I’m talking about being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong questions.” He sipped his coffee, studying her over the rim of the cup. He set it down slowly. “With all this interest in sleeping dogs and horses’ asses, have you thought about doing something useful?”

“Like what?”

He frowned briefly. “Maybe go back to school for veterinary medicine.”

She laughed. “You know, I never had a dog, and I’ve never really ridden a horse.”

“No lie?”

“I try not to do that, either. So I bet you’re thinking, an Indian girl who’s never had a dog? No way.”

“I’m thinking, a girl who’s never been on a horse? That is heartbreaking.”

“I didn’t say I’d never been on one. I got on, got scared, had a very short ride.”

“End of story?”

“Well, I’ve always loved horse stories, but you get up there, and the horse raises his head right away and starts prancing around, and you’re so high off the ground …” She could almost feel the prickly tummy-to-toes whoosh just thinking about it. “I was six years old. That was my one chance, and I blew it.”

“Stick with me, Indian girl.” He cocked a forefinger at her. “I’m all about second chances.” He smiled. “You want one?”

She stared at him. She knew that come-on look, the charismatic smile, the reflexive wink—she’d seen it all, generally directed at someone else. But she’d only been favored a time or two, and her adolescent self had yearned for once more, Ethan. Look at me that way again, and I’ll follow you anywhere.

Thank God he hadn’t. She would be in a fine mess now, wouldn’t she?

“Tomorrow’s my day off,” he said. “Come back in the afternoon and let me take you riding.”

“Today was my day off.”

“That’s right,” he recalled. “They don’t pay you to dig.”

“They do, but only in certain places. They’re called assignments. I’m very good about getting my assignments done before I go back to digging in more fertile—” she demonstrated, sinking splayed fingers into air serving as ground “—loamy ground, dark and loaded with secrets. In my business, there is no right or wrong question, only true or false answers.”

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no …” His smile was slight, almost sad. “Truth is, I’ve got no answers. I’m still looking.”

“My mother told me once that she was taught not to ask questions, but eventually she decided it was no good to hang back.” She sat back in her chair, listening in her mind’s ear, reciting word for word. “‘We live in a world full of people who love to give answers. They might not be generous with anything else, but they have answers to spare. If you don’t ask, they think you’re not interested. And if you’re not interested …’”

“I’m interested. I’m asking.” His smile turned inviting. “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

“What time tomorrow afternoon?”

“Whenever you get off work.”

“I have some flexibility in my schedule. I could try to move some things around.” She pulled her woolen shoulder bag into her lap and fished out her phone. “What’s your cell number?”

“I don’t have one.”

“So you don’t have a phone number?”

“No numbers.” Ethan looked straight into her eyes and gave the two words—true words—a moment to sink in. They were heavy enough to crush her no wrong questions theory. And then he smiled. “I’ll be here all afternoon. Come when you can.” He smiled slowly. “Just call out my name.”

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