The laugh came out of nowhere. One second, Rebel looked like a dangerous, wild animal. The next, he was doubled over, slapping his knee like she was Milton Berle and someone had hit her with a powder puff. And it was contagious too. Tara tittered, and she heard Clarence snort from the back room. Even Jesse managed a weak smile. Great. She’d gone from being insulting to insulted in one swift move.
“Insurance? Doc,” Rebel said as he wiped his eyes, “you’re on the rez.”
“So?” That didn’t come out right, but man, she hated being the butt of jokes. And right now, she felt like one huge ass.
“So, no jobs equals no money and no insurance.”
Nothing. She’d spent all her time studying, only to get to the final exam and discover she’d been preparing for the wrong subject. Instead of that foolish language textbook, she should have been looking at census reports or something. Anything. Her ignorance of the situation was embarrassing, but there was no way in hell she was going to let him see that. It didn’t matter if she was outflanked. “Well, someone’s got to pay for something. Otherwise, no clinic, no doctor, no medicine.”
And they were right back to that lazy smile as he shifted from one foot to the other, like he wanted to mesmerize her with his hips. “The last doctor made it five months.”
He said it like he’d asked what her name was, but the challenge was unmistakable. She fought back the smile, knowing full well it was far too early to break out the Mitchell sneer. He had no idea who he was dealing with. Madeline Mitchell didn’t back down. Period. She squared her feet, ignoring the blisters. “I signed a contract for two years. I keep my promises.”
He held her gaze, the noble Indian and proud cowboy all wrapped up into one irritatingly handsome package. Then his gaze slid from her to where Tara was mopping Jesse’s brow. She thought she saw a look of resignation pass over his face, but it was gone so quickly, she was sure she was imagining things. “Then I guess we have one thing in common.”
One thing.
That was it.
Chapter Three
“Faster, Webel! Faster!”
Rebel pivoted to look back at his niece. Nelly Tall Trees was perched on her saddle, her rag doll carefully mimicking her position. She was rocking back and forth, as if she could convince Tanka to go faster with all forty-two of her pounds.
“I didn’t hear the magic words,” he teased, facing forward again.
The silence was drawn out. Kids, he thought with a smile. He’d spent how long reminding her what the magic words were? And still it took her a minute.
“Please, Webel?” He bit back the laugh at her mispronunciation. It was like Elmer Fudd was asking, not a little girl. “Please can we go faster?”
“You didn’t ask in Lakota.”
She growled at him, his little wolf-in-training. He didn’t bother to reply. He knew that if she thought about it hard enough, she’d use their language. “Why do I hafta?”
“Because you are Lakota.”
“Daddy doesn’t speak it.”
Maybe Nelly would grow up to be a lawyer. At five tender years, she could argue with the best of them. “He understands it.”
“Mommy doesn’t even understand it.” Oh, she would be a great lawyer. She’d led him right into that. How much was law school these days? More importantly, how much would it be in twenty years? He would have to sell a lot of bags, that much he was sure of.
Nelly made her closing arguments. “Why do I hafta learn it?”
She was good, but there was no way in hell a five-year-old could out-argue him. He could throw a million things at her, things like the fact that their native language would die if kids didn’t learn it, or that it was a part of them, just like the sky. Instead he went for the obvious. “Because if you can speak Lakota and your mom can’t, how would she know if you say something bad?”
This important fact brought more contemplative silence. There’s just no arguing with facts, Rebel decided. Not even for little kids.
He snuck a look back at Nelly. She sat tall in her saddle, and he could see the proud lineage of her tribe in her baby face. She loved her saddle—which was good, considering the bag he’d traded for it was worth almost ten times what the saddle was. But that’s what uncles did for little girls whose daddies were fighting other people’s wars. It was worth it every time he finally let her go faster and saw that toothless grin again.
“You might tattle on me. Teacher says tattling is not allowed.”
“Nell-Bell. Would I do that?”
“No…” She didn’t sound completely convinced.
Rebel waited. He could be patient when he wanted to be. Still, it took a few minutes. Nelly had trouble with the vowel sounds. “Webel, oh́’ánk̇oya.”