Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance) (2 page)

As the lone vehicle made its way westward, it broke the silence with rattles and wheezes and the whine of its tires, leaving behind pockets of sound that lingered briefly and then vanished in the vast open space, like drops of rain in the ocean. Abby felt alien, as if she’d stepped back into the past, a time traveler out of sync, her passage an unwarranted intrusion. Her uneasiness increased as they swung off onto Route 85 and the distance shortened between them and their destination. If the land itself seemed inhospitable, what could she expect from the people?

“We’ll be stopping in town.” The sound of his voice disrupted Abby’s thoughts, and she turned to him, vaguely aware that he’d spoken.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you said.”

“Arthur’s waiting for you in town. I’ll take you to him, and you can go on to the Buttes together.”

“That’s fine,” Abby answered noncommittally, her thoughts still turned inward.

Forty minutes later they pulled up in front of a small restaurant and walked to the entrance, where a stocky, middle-aged man in a Western suit and a Stetson raised a hand in greeting. After introductions and some small talk about the sorry condition of air travel, Cat left. Abby and Arthur--“Don’t be formal, my dear; first names are fine with me”--started on the last leg of the trip.

“What do you think of Cat?”

“He’s arrogant, opinionated, bigoted...and...well, you get the idea!”

Arthur laughed heartily. “What a first impression!” He looked at her quickly. “But don’t kid yourself. There’s much more to the man than you’ve seen today
--much of it to be admired. Someday I’ll tell you more about him.”

“I appreciate your riding shotgun on this trip, Arthur. I think your introductions will make things easier for me.” He shook his head. “We couldn’t very well send you in alone, but I’m not sure I’ll be doing you a favor, Abigail.” Abby’s brow wrinkled. “Why not?”

“How would you describe Native American/Department of Interior relations?”

“In a word? Lousy.”

He smiled grimly. “That’s an understatement. Well, do you suppose that being associated with the BIA will work in your favor? I’m afraid it may make winning the cooperation of those people more difficult for you.”

“May?”

“Well, I can’t be sure. Most of the leaders are pretty open-minded, but you also have folks like Cat, so you just never know. The Twin Buttes people, like their brothers and sisters all over this country, have been duped, exploited, mistreated, disenfranchised and ignored by the very institution charged with their protection, and that you and I represent. It’s an old story, and one I’m sure you’ve heard before. Unfortunately, even well-meaning people are suspect.”

“That may make your job very difficult and cause problems that have nothing whatever to do with your abilities as a teacher. You’ll have to work overtime merely to get them to accept you. Any progress beyond that could take a superhuman effort.”

“Well, I’m no superwoman, Arthur. Just a teacher going down there to practice my profession. Performing miracles wasn’t in the job description.”

He chuckled. “I always thought getting
any
group of youngsters to learn was a miracle in itself. You have impressive credentials. You’ve worked with Native American children before with good results. We’re only asking for another small miracle, that’s all.”

“I think the word you used was ‘superhuman’? Please understand, I’ll do my best, and that’s just going to have to be good enough.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Koehler said with a nod. “I never intended to sound so pessimistic, merely to make you aware of what you might encounter.”

“I came out here with very few illusions, Arthur. I knew this would be a difficult assignment
, and it would mean a total commitment on my part of everything I have to give. Well, I need that right now--to be needed--to be absorbed in something outside myself, to feel that I can make a difference. If all I do is win their acceptance I’ll still be ahead of the game.”

He took a breath, “
very well, it seems we are clear on where we stand.”

“Cat told me about Carson, but not how you found me.”

“We heard about you and your work with Mohawk children in New York City. You have quite a reputation, you know.”

“How did you know I’d accept your offer?”

“We didn’t. We could only hope that the challenge we offered would be irresistible enough to lure you away. But from what you just told me, I imagine your own personal situation had more to do with your acceptance than anything else.”

“Yes.”

“I understand that you’re pretty well informed?”

“I tried, but I still have a lot to learn.”

Koehler nodded his approval. “Keep that attitude and you’ll do just fine. A real desire to learn and to understand will go a long way with these people.”

It was near dusk when they drove through the reservation gate. Apprehension lay like a knot in the pit of Abby’s stomach, and her hands were clammy and cold. She ran her fingers nervously through her short dark hair and took a deep breath.

They pulled up to a frame house with a hitch rail in front and a porch four steps up from the street. Light glowed above the door and through the curtained windows.

“This is Martha Tallman’s house. Cat’s mother. She can be a good friend to the right person. She’s fair and tries to keep an open mind, more so than her son who, as you’ve found, has a rather biased view of white people. I have a suspicion that you’ll take to each other, especially if you are honest in your dealings with her and her people
--and if you care.”

Just then the front door opened. “I thought I heard voices. How come you didn’t knock, Arthur?”

“Good evening, Martha. I was just about to when you anticipated me, as usual.”

“Well, come on in. I got coffee waitin’, and a little somethin’ to eat.”

Koehler ushered Abby in ahead of him, and they followed the older woman into her kitchen. Abby took in the room: the creamy white walls; the warm golden oak cabinets and floor; the simple wooden chairs; and the table covered with a homespun oatmeal-colored cloth.

When Abby turned to Martha Tallman the woman was openly examining her. Abby found herself doing the same. In her fifties, Martha was tall and slender, much like Abby herself, although Martha’s figure was more girlish, with small breasts and slim hips that barely filled out her faded T-shirt and jeans. Martha’s black hair was caught in a single thick braid that fell over her right shoulder. Gray frosted her temples, but above her wide, strong cheekbones, deep brown eyes sparkled with a youthful gleam. And her generous mouth smiled with a mischievous quality that caused Abby to smile in response.

Abby waited for Martha’s appraisal of her to end. One eyebrow arched as if to question the result. The answer came as the woman put out a hand to her.

“Welcome to my home, young woman.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Tallman.”

The woman waved a hand in denial. “None of that. You call me Martha.” She look
ed at Abby owlishly. “What do I call you?”

“Abby.”

Martha nodded and pulled out two extra chairs, motioning brusquely. “Sit, sit. Might as well get to business.”

Confused, Abby looked at Arthur Koehler, who explained. “Martha is about to offer to put you up here until you can get your place ready.” He watched Martha set down a plate of cold chicken and what looked like a home-baked loaf of bread, then slide a trivet under a pot of hot coffee. “Am I right?”

Martha eased herself into her seat. “They got a house for you next to the school. The teachers always use it. I cleaned it up myself. Got furniture inside, curtains, linens, utensils and such. The last teacher, he didn’t care how things looked, but when I heard they were sending out a woman, I figured you’d want to do some things to make it more homey. Now, we have nothin’ around here, but in town there’s a secondhand store, and you could fix the place up for a few dollars, if you’re of a mind to. And you could stay here, meantime.”

“You’re very thoughtful. Are you sure there’s room for me?”

Martha sighed. “Sad to say, yes. My two oldest girls are married now and livin’ in Oklahoma. My two youngest have a place of their own a few houses down. It’s just me and my son, and he is gone a lot of the time.” Abby saw a faint trace of regret in the woman’s eyes. “You’ll be doin’ me a favor if you stay.”

Abby gave her a soft smile. “Well then, how can I refuse?”

Satisfied, Martha motioned to her guests. “Well, go on and eat, you two. You got to be hungry after that long ride.”

Martha and Mr. Koehler kept the conversation going during the light meal; Abby listened silently, taking note of names and situations for future reference. They talked openly, and although she asked no questions, she appreciated their apparent acceptance of her.

As Martha poured a second cup of coffee all around, the door behind Abby opened, causing a draft in the warm room.

“Evening,” a deep, velvety male voice said.

Cat walked around the table and placed a kiss on top of Martha’s head, his straight black hair falling forward over his forehead. “Evening, Mother. How are you?” He stood up and combed back the heavy strands with his fingers.

“Fine, son, just fine.” Martha placed her hand on his arm. “We
’ve got guests.”

“I can see that.”

Without a greeting, he turned smoothly and took a cup from the cabinet, then poured some coffee and leaned gracefully against the edge of the sink, crossing his legs at the ankles. Aware that she was staring, Abby tried to look away, but his eyes locked with hers, daring her to break the contact.

When she felt sure of having met his challenge, Abby pulled back, inspecting his face as she had been unable to earlier. Deep-set eyes of such a dark brown as to be almost black stared back at her as she mentally traced a finger down his aquiline nose, across the high, oblique cheekbones, so like his mother’s, and along his
jaw line to a stubborn chin. A smile played about the corners of his generous mouth, exposing a disarming dimple.

Finally he broke the silence. “Well?”

Devastating, she thought. Aloud she said only, “You’ll do.”

He had been examining her also, seeing what his mother had but from a different perspective, one he didn’t want to admit existed. Instead of the instant dislike he had anticipated, he found himself looking with admiration at a damned attractive woman who possessed a seemingly open
min
d and a playful sense of humor to balance her no-nonsense attitude. He knew instinctively that it would be difficult to remember that she was an enemy.

Her head, with its short
, dark curls, was held high. Blue-green eyes flecked with gold and rimmed by thick, black lashes sparkled in a tanned face and looked at him candidly and with confidence. She would not be easily intimidated, this one, even by the strongest adversary.

Faint shadows above her high, shallow cheekbones indicated her fatigue, but a firm chin and stubbornly set shoulders added to the picture of strength. Only her full lips, parted sensuously and trembling ever so slightly, gave any hint of vulnerability; he wondered if she knew how her mouth gave her away, or how it added to her appeal.

She caught her tongue between her teeth and, with a hint of laughter, asked, “Well?”

Unwilling to give her any edge in the battle, he nevertheless found himself responding with a grudging smile. “Likewise.”

He took a step forward and reached out to Abby with his right hand. “Before the hostilities progress any further, let me welcome you to my mother’s house.”

Abby felt a tremor of anger that was quickly becoming a familiar reaction to the man. “You’re determined to turn this into a battle, then?”

“These will probably be the last civil words we’ll exchange, Miss Colton.”

“All right, but I warn you, you’ll know you’ve been in a fight.”

“I don’t doubt it, but in the end I’ll win.”

“Cat!” Martha was visibly angry. “This is not right. I will not have rudeness in my house.”

“You’re right, of course. Besides, I can say what I have to at the board meeting.” He turned and nodded, first to Arthur and then to Abby. “See you tomorrow.”

Abby watched him head for another part of the house, feeling inexplicably sad as well as indignant. Then she felt Martha’s eyes on her and turned back to face the other woman.

“I am sorry for what he said. He knows better.”

“He knows what he feels. I think I can understand that.”

“You’re not angry?”

Abby chuckled. “I didn’t say that. I just said I understood.”

“He can be a very hard man, Abby. Watch out for him tomorrow.”

“Why are you warning me about your own son, Martha?”

“I don’t mean to sound like a bad mother. I love my son, but somethin’ tells me you could be a help to us, and I don’t want his anger to spoil that. You understand me?”

Abby nodded. “I’ll be careful. And thank you.”

“You about ready to turn in?”

“I’d like to help you clean up first.”

Martha shook her head. “This one is on me.” She turned to Koehler. “You stayin’ over, Arthur? I got a spare bedroom.”