“Maybe that’s why I’m here, to find out if forgiving is possible.”
“I hope that’s true.”
But she could tell he didn’t quite believe her. His thick brows were furrowed, and his full mouth pulled tight. More important, she felt his doubt come at her in palpable waves.
Doubt and something else… something darker… something that made her take a step back and jam her elbow into the car.
Ignoring the shot of pain, she asked, “What is it you fear, Nathan?”
“Revenge is a strong need.”
“You think I would deliberately hurt others?” Or did he mean himself?
“I don’t know you anymore, Ella.”
“Nor I you.” Suddenly wanting to put some distance between herself and her cousin, Ella looked away from him and swung open the door of the SUV, but hesitated before getting in. Being rude wouldn’t earn his help in the future. “I need to go now or I’ll be late to an appointment.”
“Then I’ll probably see you on the set.”
Ella supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that Nathan knew she was working on the film. Undoubtedly Grandmother had told him.
What was he going to be doing there? Working or protesting?
“Did you get a speaking part?”
He stared at her for a moment, making her shift uncomfortably as she wondered what was going through his head.
Then he said, “Only speaking to the horses from the rez. I’m moving some into a pasture near the Sioux village set this morning.”
“I’ll see you there, then.”
Nathan gave her a ghost of a smile and backed off as she climbed into the driver’s seat. But he didn’t turn away.
Considering Nathan was part of an activist group trying to regain the Black Hills for The People, Ella found it odd that he would want to have anything to do with the movie. Then again, money was money and he surely needed to make a living somehow.
After driving off, Ella kept glancing into her rearview mirror. Nathan was there, still watching her, until she turned the corner.
It was only then that she relaxed.
What the heck?
Why had he been giving off such a weird vibe, like he didn’t want her there?
Lord, who knew? Maybe he considered her Wasi’chu. Maybe he resented the work she’d gotten, especially her being the consultant for the spiritual scenes. Though he was no shaman, Nathan had been one of Father’s apprentices. Grandmother said he remembered. Perhaps he’d wanted to be the consultant and resented the lucrative work going to someone who’d spent the last half of her life living in the white world.
Maybe he had a point.
As she drove, Ella let her thoughts stray back to the day before. It was still too early to call the sheriff’s office—she doubted they would know anything until later. If she didn’t hear anything by midafternoon, she would call for an update.
She turned onto a gravel road that cut between reservation and refuge and remembered her encounter with Tiernan McKenna, whose people owned this land. Without calling it up, she could see his handsome Irish face. The way he looked at her with such concern… the way his expression changed with an injection of humor.
And then she remembered the nonverbal connection between them. The connection had been made several times, in different ways. She’d felt him, as if she could sense him inside her somehow. Like nothing she’d ever felt before, she thought. Tiernan seemed strangely intuitive—“Irish fey” he’d called it jokingly. For some reason, Ella thought it was more than that, something more compelling, perhaps even dark. The more she considered it, the more edgy she became.
One didn’t have to be a Native American shaman to have powers that the average person could only imagine. Ireland was a land of fables. But perhaps there was more fact than fiction to the magic claimed by the Irish.
Ella shuddered at the possibilities.
Only here for a few weeks, she might never see Tiernan McKenna again.
Good thing…
***
Before leaving for the set, Tiernan called the sheriff’s office and asked for the deputy who’d taken his statement. He’d been up half the night remembering… and worrying.
“We determined Harold Walks Tall’s death was accidental,” the deputy said.
Familiar words tore through him.
Though he was certain that was not true, Tiernan made no rash claims as he once had. He endeavored to stay calm, focused, logical.
“Are you certain the man wasn’t darted?”
“No markings on him, no tranquilizer or other drugs in his system.”
“Then how do you explain what happened to Ella Thunder?” Tiernan asked, wondering if she had any lingering ill effects from the drug.
The attack on Ella being the only reason he was thinking of her at all.
“Coincidence?” the deputy responded. “Look, probably some hunter was out there and saw movement through the trees and thought she was a deer. When he realized his mistake, he took off. It don’t make him a nice person, but it don’t make him a criminal, either.”
Tiernan guessed the assumption was logical given what the authorities had to go on, but remembering the way his psychic instincts had been aroused—something he couldn’t prove and therefore wouldn’t share. He was certain the fall was no accident. It wasn’t the first time he’d been privy to such a mistake in a death investigation. Having had experience trying to convince the authorities they were wrong, he knew it was an exercise in futility.
“Why would a hunter use a tranquilizer rather than a bullet to bring down an animal?” Tiernan asked.
The deputy coughed and hemmed and hawed. “Can’t really say why….”
Tiernan knew arguing would be a waste of energy. Even so, he asked, “What about the dart itself?”
“No fingerprints.” The deputy was starting to sound really uncomfortable. “Look, the lady is okay, which is what really matters, right? Searching for someone who made a mistake would be a waste of manpower.”
The lack of resolution lay heavily on Tiernan’s mind as he drove out to the set, taking the truck that Kate had said was his as long as the job lasted. He knew what he knew, but it was nothing he could prove, and it was none of his business anyway, he thought.
Not like the last time.
So why was he so focused on it? Focused on a lass he didn’t even know?
He tried to get it—her—out of mind and concentrate on the job at hand as he approached the shooting location. Some carpenters were at work on one of the buildings, a handful of men surrounding a couple of cameras looked as if they were trying to decide where to set up and extras and production staff milled about.
Driving straight to the double-wide marked as the office, Tiernan went in search of Doug Holloway, the first assistant director, who would be his supervisor.
Doug turned out to be a small man both in height and weight. His thick sandy hair was tied back in a ponytail and his pale blue eyes hid behind a pair of round tortoiseshell glasses. He was young—twentysomething—and fast talking.
“I’m not a horse expert—that would be you—so I’ll give you the shooting schedule with the number of horses I need. It’s up to you to have them ready to ride on time every day according to schedule. Got it?”