“Little Brother,” he murmured acknowledging the owl, then with heavy steps walked away from the lodge.
Like a disembodied spirit, the white bird hovered over him, guarding his back.
The thin drapes did little to block the wavering light of the motel sign outside R.J.’s window. It flashed like a strobe light across the yellowed ceiling. She lay on her back and watched while thoughts of half-remembered dreams lingered in her mind. She’d been on the prairie, walking through tall grasses blooming with yellow, purple and white flowers. In the distance, from a branch in a tall cottonwood, a white owl seemed to beckon her. Her steps had quickened. Then. . nothing. Whatever had happened next in the dream eluded her. Baffled, she flipped over on to her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. “Forget it, go to sleep,” she mumbled. But she couldn’t. Not when her pillow smelled like a hunk of month-old bread. She rolled back over and stared at the lights once again.
She had to reach a decision. Did she pursue the information that Charlie Two Horses had given her, or did she write the story Sean O’Brien expected of her? If the first story was as juicy as Charlie hinted, it could be THE ONE. Her toes curled at the thought of what such a story could bring into her life. Recognition, respect, money.
But what would an exposé do to Sean O’Brien’s life? If what Charlie said was true, and he had sold out, then he had it coming. So what if he was one of the best-looking men she’d ever seen? Hormones had no place in journalism. She was a pro, not some simpering female blinded by a guy’s smile.
A prickle of conscience hit her. Even the truth could come in shades of grey and, as a pro, she knew she could spin the story any way she wanted. She had the power to make Sean O’Brien either the hero or the villain of the piece. Which would it be?
Tossing the covers to the side, she swung her legs off the bed and pulled jeans over her gym shorts. She grabbed her sweatshirt and threw it on, too. She couldn’t think straight in this musty, smelly room. She needed fresh air. A drive would clear her mind.
Moments later she was flying down a black ribbon of highway, while the moonlit prairie whizzed by her open window. Without knowing why, she found herself back at the same spot where she’d stood and watched the storm roll in. She shut off the ignition and scanned the landscape. Yesterday, she’d felt eyes upon her. If she got out of the car, would she feel it again? It was the middle of the night and she was alone. How did she know what might be lurking in the tall grass?
“You’re nuts, R.J.,” she muttered, her hands gripping the wheel. “Go back to the motel.”
She remembered the haunting dreams, the stale room, the flickering lights. A tightness squeezed her chest and she took a deep breath to ease it. The scent of sweet grass and wild clover seemed to fill the Jeep and she looked longingly across the plains. So fresh and clean.
“Quit being a ninny.” She pushed the door open and climbed out. “It was only a stupid owl,” she whispered with a glance at the lone pine tree.
High grass brushed against her pant legs as she tromped up the hill and, in the stillness, it sounded as loud as a troop of soldiers marching. At the top of the rise, she stopped and took a deep breath. Nothing but miles and miles of heaven and earth. No houses, no lights, no fences. A strange feeling of aloneness came over her and with it a sense of freedom. Is this how the Native Americans once felt, wandering a land with no boundaries?
A sudden whoosh followed by the soft rustling of grass made her spin round. Her eyes scanned the ground between her and the Jeep. As empty as the space behind her.
She turned back to the endless landscape. Quit dithering she told herself, thinking of the paper Charlie had given her. It wouldn’t hurt to meet a few people, ask a few questions. She wouldn’t let Charlie use her any more than she intended to let Sean O’Brien. She could—
“What are you doing here?” a voice behind her whispered.
She twirled so fast she almost lost her balance while her heart seemed to stutter in her chest. In the moonlight, she recognized Sean, climbing the hill towards her. Her temper flamed.
“What am I doing?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “What are you doing, sneaking up on me?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as if he were pleased that he’d startled her. It vanished. “It’s not smart to be out here alone. People have been known to disappear.”
She lifted her chin a notch. “I’m not afraid.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“Are you threatening me?” she shot back.
“Of course not. I’m well aware of the power of the press.” A real smile flashed in the dark. “I wouldn’t dream of threatening a woman who buys ink by the gallon.”
Damn, he could turn on the charm when he wanted and she felt her anger soften. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“What am I doing here?” He lifted a shoulder. “Like you, I couldn’t sleep.”
“How did you—”
His low voice cut her off. “Look over there.” He pointed to a spot on the left. “Do you see them? A mother coyote with half-grown pups.”
R.J.’s eyes searched the prairie, trying to see what he did, but she only saw waving grass. “I can’t.”
He stepped away from her. “Ah, well, I come out here a lot at night.” He hesitated. “I guess my eyes are accustomed to the dark.”
“I’ll say,” R.J. said, still trying to pick out the coyote. “I can’t see a—”
“I love it out here,” he said, suddenly changing the subject. “At night, I can imagine how it must’ve been two hundred years ago.”
“The freedom.”
He glanced at her, surprised. “You felt it too. I didn’t realize you were so perceptive.”
She recalled Charlie’s words about their way of life. “You can’t go back, you know.”
Moving a few paces away, he bowed his head for a moment before squaring his shoulders and facing her. “I know. We have to go forward if our culture is going to survive.”
“The Center.”
“Yes. .” his voice trailed away. “Charlie talked to you, didn’t he?”
It was her turn to be surprised. “How did you know?”
He gave a soft snort. “I’ve known Charlie a long time. He’s using you.”
R.J. crossed the distance between them. “Please. Don’t insult my intelligence by stating the obvious. I know he has an agenda.” She stopped and looked up at him. “But then again, so do you.”
“My only goal is to help the tribe have a better life.”
“Not according to Charlie.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh, that’s not the way this works,” she said, cocking a hip and shaking her head. “If you want information from me, you have to reciprocate.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Seems Charlie and I aren’t the only ones with agendas.”
“Damn straight!” she exclaimed. “I’m tired of writing stories that any eighth-grader could write.”
“Regardless of the truth?”
“Of course not,” she replied with heat in her voice. “I don’t want lies — I want the real story.”
“No one would believe it,” he murmured more to himself than her.
Her breath quickened. This guy was weakening. If she played it right, if she could convince him to be honest with her. She took a step closer. “Sure they would. I’m good, really good,” she insisted. “Give it to me straight and that’s the way I’ll write it. Cross my heart.”
He startled her by placing a hand on her cheek. “I can’t,” he said sadly. “There are some things that can never be revealed. Forget about the story, Ruth Baxter, and go home. We’ll find another reporter.”