The Prodigal Cowboy. Kathleen Eagle

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.”

       Chapter Three

      Bella’s interview with the chairman of the Rapid City Autumn Art Festival had gone well. Carson Watts described the juried competition and made a point of mentioning several of the Native artists by name. The city was gaining a reputation for galleries and shops specializing in American Indian art, and the annual festival in the fall rivaled the one that marked the beginning of tourist season in early June.

      Of course, holding the art show the same weekend as Pumpkin Fest didn’t hurt, Watts admitted. You had your pumpkin catapult and your beer garden with the oompah band going full tilt downtown, while the east end of Main Street hosted the more “genteel” residents and visitors. What he hadn’t said—but she knew—was that his brother-in-law was the head honcho of the pumpkin party, and his own wife had chosen chairmanship of her brother’s quilt show committee over her regular fund-raising assignment for the art festival. Bella had interviewed the Pumpkin Fest planners earlier in the week. They’d had her cameraman sampling German beer and opining on brands of bratwurst. She had laughed off the offer of beer for breakfast and thought better of telling the friendly group how much she hated bratwurst.

      With the community celebrations covered, Bella had convinced her producer to let her take a look at the Double D Wild Horse Sanctuary for a possible story about the training competition, which would come to an end in another few weeks with some kind of performance. She was reminded that a story about the competition had been aired and that it would make sense for the same reporter to do a follow-up.

      Or maybe it didn’t really matter.

      Go ahead, Bella. And since the wild horse place isn’t too far from the reservation, why don’t you check with your sources there? See if there’s anything interesting going on.

      She would take that as an assignment.

      Her car rumbled over the cattle guard at the gate to the Double D Wild Horse Sanctuary. It had once been a cattle ranch, and she passed a few Herefords grazing alongside their white-faced black calves as she sped down the gravel access road toward an imposing white house. Upon closer inspection the place became less imposing. It was big, but the white paint needed refurbishing. The Office sign told her