Storming Whitehorn. Christine Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ he was in Whitehorn, the more confused he seemed to become. He didn’t understand what was happening to him.

      Normally he was a man who prided himself on complete control of his emotions. But now, if he wasn’t losing his temper at some in competent police officer involved in his brother’s murder investigation, he was mooning over a woman. One particular woman, that is. Jasmine Monroe.

      She was driving him crazy. No matter how hard he tried to avoid her, she kept popping up wherever he went. If he were a superstitious man, he’d say it was fate’s way of telling him they were meant to be together. An idea that, considering the troubled history their families shared, was utterly ridiculous.

      Even worse, he seemed to be enjoying their chance encounters. Whenever she was near, he felt energized. She challenged him on a level that went beyond a mere physical attraction. Despite her youthfulness, she was smart, witty and totally unpredictable. No woman had ever made him feel the way she did. Whether it was trading barbs, or simply staring into her large, doelike green eyes, he looked forward to being with her.

      Before he was ready, he arrived at his destination. Reluctantly, he stepped out of the night’s soothing darkness and into the harsh lights of the restaurant. Neela’s, as Summer had explained to him, was a cut above the Hip Hop Café. Owned and operated by a fellow Cheyenne, Neela Tallbear, it was comfortable yet classy, boasting a rough-hewn plank flooring and polished wood tables. As a French-trained chef, Neela had made locally grown beef her specialty. The restaurant had quickly grown in popularity, often becoming crowded.

      Storm, as he soon realized, was the last of his party to arrive.

      Seated at the table was his niece, Summer, and a fit-looking Native American man, whom he presumed to be her husband, Gavin Night hawk. And last, but not least, was his dinner partner for the evening, Jasmine.

      Dressed in a simple, sleeveless burgundy dress that emphasized the darkness of her hair and the paleness of her skin, she took his breath away. No matter how hard he’d tried to fight it, the pull of attraction was just as strong now as it had been the first moment he’d met her.

      Storm felt as though he were fighting a losing battle.

      Gratefully, he hid his unease behind the polite motions of an introduction to the man who had married his niece. He studied Gavin Night hawk as they shook hands. Gavin’s grip was strong, self-assured. He wore his hair short, anglo-style. His taste in clothes was casual yet expensive. From what Summer had told him, he was a surgeon who split his time between work at the Whitehorn hospital and the clinic on Laughing Horse Reservation. While his features were that of a Cheyenne, he appeared to be a man comfortable with the white man’s ways.

      Frowning thoughtfully, Storm took his seat as he realized that he and Gavin Night hawk had much in common.

      As he settled himself at the table, his knees bumped against a pair of smooth, silky legs. An electrical shock of awareness traveled up his thigh. He glanced at Jasmine as she sucked in a sharp breath and shifted in her seat, her actions telling him what he already knew. She’d been the owner of those slender legs.

      “Summer tells me you’re a lawyer,” Gavin said, unaware of the sensual undercurrents traveling between Storm and Jasmine.

      “That’s right, I’ve set up a practice in Albuquerque.”

      Gavin nodded. “That’s quite a way from home.”

      Storm’s muscles tensed defensively at the remark. “New Mexico is my home. I’ve lived there for almost thirty years.”

      “I meant, from your family here in Whitehorn, those still living on the Laughing Horse Reservation,” Gavin said. He placed a protective hand over Summer’s, his meaning clear, his expression unapologetic.

      Storm hesitated before answering. Obviously he’d misjudged Gavin. His ties to life on the reservation were still strong. His loyalty to Summer, unquestionable.

      He didn’t blame Gavin for being protective of Summer. If the roles were reversed and someone he cared for was faced with a relative who, after almost three decades, decided he wanted to establish a newfound relationship, he’d question the man’s motives, also.

      Aware of Jasmine sitting next to him, her gaze curious, Storm quietly said, “I was thirteen when I left Whitehorn. At the time the reasons for going seemed compelling. There have been many times that I wished I had reconsidered my decision. But, as we all know, what is done is done. No man can change the past.”

      “No, but they can change the future,” Gavin murmured, lacing his fingers with Summer’s. “I’m curious. Why did you choose New Mexico to work, instead of Montana?”

      Because New Mexico was as far as he could run away from Whitehorn without leaving the country in which he’d been born, he admitted to himself. Out loud, however, he said, “There were many more opportunities in New Mexico. I was able to put myself through school and earn my law degree. Even now I find the work in Albuquerque challenging.”

      “That’s too bad,” Gavin said with an even smile. “We could use a good lawyer here on the reservation. Jackson Hawk is the tribal attorney at Laughing Horse. Now that he’s assumed the duties of tribal leader, he’s having a hard time juggling both jobs.”

      Again, Storm hesitated. He’d heard of the tribal leader’s burden some schedule firsthand, from Jackson Hawk himself. Jackson had been a childhood friend. Recently they’d reconnected when he’d tracked down Storm to tell him of the discovery of Raven’s remains. Since his arrival in Whitehorn, Jackson had already made a play to convince Storm to return to Laughing Horse, using guilt as his tool of choice.

      Now, in the presence of his last remaining family, Storm had no intention of showing any false interest in returning to a life that had caused him nothing but pain. He’d made his choice to leave the reservation many years before. He saw no reason to change his mind now.

      As though sensing his growing discomfort, Summer released an impatient breath. “Gavin, please. Just because you’ve returned to the reservation and have accepted the ways of our people, that doesn’t mean you need to pressure everyone else into doing the same.” Her eyes twinkled with undisguised mischief. “Give Storm sometime. Perhaps he’ll change his mind on his own.”

      Gavin laughed, a deep hearty laugh that chased away any tension that remained between the men. “Forgive me, Storm. I’ve become something of a zealot, when it comes to talking about the res. Summer tells me you’ve done pro bono work for the Navajos in New Mexico. And that you’ve taken on some civil liberty cases. Tell me about them.”

      For the next hour, between ordering their dinners and tackling their food, Storm, Gavin and Summer embarked on a lively discussion on the right and wrong ways to help their people. A conversation that revolved totally upon the world of the Native American.

      During this time, Jasmine remained noticeably silent.

      Storm tried not to feel guilty. While he hadn’t set out to exclude her from the conversation, he hadn’t made an effort to include her, either. Though she seemed to listen with polite interest, he wondered if she felt bored, or uncomfortable. He almost wished she did.

      It would reinforce what he’d known all along. That they were from two entirely different worlds. Jasmine from the privileged world of the white man. Himself from the hard, struggling life of a Native American. It wasn’t surprising that they would be unable to relate to each other on an everyday basis.

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