“But I’m sick with love, Ella.”
Marisala was as dramatic as only a young woman could be. Fifteen years ago, she’d been ten, a mere child, with nothing to do with Joseph Thunder’s death, so Ella was comfortable being herself around the other woman.
“Are you saying there’s a man with a pulse who isn’t interested in you?”
“Oh, he’s interested, but I want to bind him to me in a way no woman before ever has.”
No doubt Marisala was hoping for marriage, Ella thought, then wondered who the man might be. Lakota? Or someone from the cast and crew?
“That kind of commitment takes time, Marisala. It’s something you need to work on, not rush.”
Ella remembered Marisala’s father had left her mother high and dry, with no other family to turn to.
“I can pay,” Marisala wheedled. “I’m not like the others. I have plenty of money.”
Again, Ella arched her eyebrows. Marisala’s father left her and her mother penniless. She continued to live on the Bitter Creek Reservation, with no visible means of support before landing the role, but plenty of money? Hmm, maybe she was being paid more than Ella imagined.
“It’s not a matter of money,” Ella told her.
“Please, I’m desperate to get power over this man.”
Ella frowned at the odd way Marisala phrased the request. Power? The idea made her uncomfortable.
“Nevertheless,” Ella said, “there’s nothing I can do for you.”
“But you’re a shaman. You’re supposed to fix whatever is wrong with a person, aren’t you?”
Ella sighed. “I’m not a shaman.”
“That’s not what The People say. They say you trained with your father from the time you were a child. That you have powers. Some even wonder if you’re like him—evil—but I don’t believe it.”
Ella nearly choked on her coffee. Her heart began to thunder. People thought she was evil?
After seeing the raven’s track and then connecting it to her, had Jacob gone back to the rez and started spreading nasty rumors?
“I’ll tell you again. I’m not a shaman. I have no powers. I don’t know how to make potions.”
“If you don’t know anything, then why are you acting as consultant for the spiritual scenes?”
The young woman’s incensed tone made Ella lose her patience. Feeling as if she’d been cornered, Ella had to get away from Marisala. “I’m sorry, Marisala,” she said, rising and taking her half-empty mug of coffee, “but I need to go consult. Now.”
“Oh, all right. I’ll leave you alone,” Marisala called after her. “But if I can’t figure out what else to do to solve my problem, I’ll be back to get what I need. Or else. People shouldn’t cross me—”
Ella cut her off. “Consider me warned.”
What kind of a threat was that supposed to be? Marisala sounded as if she could be a little vindictive if she didn’t get what she wanted, Ella thought as she went in search of Jane Grant. Marisala could spread rumors about her as easily as Jacob. Hopefully the threat was empty.
Approaching the Ghost Dance set, Ella spotted Jane with Max. Rather than being in conference as Jane had suggested would happen, the producer and director were sharing a close, personal moment. Jane’s back was against a fence and Max Borland was so close a piece of paper wouldn’t fit between them. The director was tall and powerfully built, his youthful-looking body in contrast with his leathery skin and silver buzz cut. He had to be twenty years older than Jane, but the age difference didn’t seem to make any difference to either of them.
Wondering if they’d been a couple in Hollywood or had found each other out here in the wilds of South Dakota, Ella kept her distance and waited in a shady area set up with chairs. Perhaps their relationship gave Jane more power over what went on in the movie.
Forcing the encounter with Marisala from her mind, Ella purposely thought about Tiernan and his willingness to help her, a virtual stranger, delve into the past.
Like Marisala, Tiernan had talked about powers that she’d turned her back on fifteen years before. She wouldn’t know how to call on them now. How did he know the potential was there? she wondered again. Perhaps Tiernan really was psychic, knowing things that a normal person wouldn’t.
Which made him unsafe to be around, Ella thought, reminded of her father’s fate.
If the wrong people decided he was doing something he shouldn’t with his psychic abilities, Tiernan could be a danger to himself, and to her, as well.
Good reason not to get too close.
***
All day long, Tiernan thought about Ella anytime he wasn’t dealing directly with the horses, which kept his mind occupied, so by the time they met at the parking lot, he was eager to see her. Too bad they didn’t have a more positive reason for being together. Whenever he was around her, he had trouble thinking straight.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
He could not only sense her nerves, he could see them in her eyes, in the way she forced her lips into a smile. That she feared what she would learn might be natural, but her physical reactions made him suspect there was something deeper at work here.
Ella cleared her throat and asked, “Are you sure you really want to do this? If it was the beer talking last night, I’d understand.”
“I wouldn’t be letting the brew do my talking for me, sweet Ella. I am at your service,” he said with a sweep of his broad-brimmed hat. “So ’tis to the casino, then?”
“Right. I called to make sure Leonard was there now. He’s supposed to be working all night.”
“Will you be riding with me?”
She nodded. “I caught a ride with Nathan this morning so we wouldn’t have two vehicles. I mean, I can walk home from the casino.”
“Good thinking.”
When they got to his truck, Tiernan opened the passenger door and tried to help Ella inside. She moved too fast for him and dodged his hand as though she couldn’t bear for him to touch her. Frowning, he closed the door and circled the truck. He couldn’t help feel some disappointment at Ella’s cues—she obviously didn’t want to get too close.
Perhaps that was for the best. He found her attractive—too attractive. It wasn’t just her looks, but her struggle with who she really was. And her heart—big and brave. She was willing to face a scary past to get to the truth of what happened to her father.
Ella Thunder was the kind of lass a man could fall in love with, which for him, was unthinkable. He really should stay away from her.
He really should.
Starting the engine, he glanced at her. She seemed too deep in thoughts of her own to notice.
As he left the parking lot, he considered the complexity of why he really had agreed to help her. Yes, he thought Harold Walks Tall’s killer deserved justice, but he didn’t know the man any more than he knew Ella’s da.
He was doing this for himself—as if it could make up with his failure to convince the gardai that his aunt had been murdered—and he was doing this for Ella.
There had to be a reason for the psychic connection he sensed every time he was near her—surely, she felt it, as well. He had never experienced anything quite like that with another woman. There had to be a reason for it. Fate. Something he couldn’t avoid.