The Prodigal Cowboy. Kathleen Eagle

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,