One Brave Cowboy (6 page)

“Ignore them.” Logan clapped a hand on Cougar's
shoulder. “Either way, you're the man. When we turn on the mike, would you step up first?”

“You said you'd keep it simple,” Mary pleaded.

“That's just me,” Logan told his wife. “Can't speak for everybody here.” He turned to Cougar. “She just married into an Indian family. She's got a lot to learn.”

“He's a tribal councilman,” Cougar told Mary. “Sure sign he never met a microphone he didn't like.”

Logan laughed. “The Shoshone are well known for their pretty faces and their coarse tongues.”

“The Lakota are just the opposite,” Cougar said. “Scary faces and silver tongues.”

“The way I heard it, you're part Lakota,” Logan said.

Cougar smiled. “I got the best of both worlds.”

“Get yourselves something to eat,” Logan said. “I can't wait to hear this guy put his money where his mouth is.”

Celia was thinking the same thing. Cougar didn't strike her as the speech-making type, but he spoke of his fellow soldier—he called her an outstanding warrior—from the heart. She was a dog handler and trainer, and when the time came, Cougar spoke reverently of the lives Mary's dogs had saved. The handlers in his MP unit “talked up their Tutan-trained dogs like they were smarter than the average GI. And the average GI wholeheartedly agrees.”

There were several testimonials, including one
from Mary's shy but very proud mother, but there were even more expressions of appreciation and camaraderie in arms from veterans. Celia had heard about the generations of American Indians who had served in the military, but she was seeing the evidence, hearing the voices for the first time. She paid close attention and mentally recorded each comment having to do with a way of life that hadn't really touched her until now. For all her close listening and mental note-taking, her thoughts were with Cougar. What was he remembering? How did he feel about it?

She felt chosen when he came to get Mark and her for the Honor Song. They cued up behind the VFW color guard, followed by Mary and her husband and family. The slow iambic cadence of the drum echoed the earth's heartbeat, and the procession grew. The singers pitched their voices ever higher, calling the stars, one by one, to the purpling sky.

And then came the dancing. The young Fancy Dancers' colorful feather bustles covered their back from head to toe, and when they twirled it was like watching a spinning carnival ride. Shawl Dancers used their flashy fringed shawls to create wings worthy of hovering on the wind, and the Traditional Dancers' porcupine roach headdresses bobbed in perfect imitation of a tall grass prairie chicken all puffed up and “booming” to attract female attention.

“Look at Mark.” Cougar laid his hand on Celia's
knee and nodded toward the drum circle, where children gathered like groupies.

Mark was dancing! He was imitating the other boys—whirling, stomping, nodding like a playful grouse—but he was moving in perfect rhythm with the drum.

“Pretty damn good,” Cougar said. “How long has he been at it?”

Celia couldn't take her eyes off her son. She shook her head slightly, spoke softly, as though he might hear her and feel self-conscious. Her heart fluttered wildly. “He's never done it before.”

“He's sure feelin' it.”

“That's it, isn't it? He feels the drum.” Not quite the same as hearing it, but it was an acknowledgment, wasn't it? He was being reached. “I dance with him at home, but he just stumbles around. It must be the live music. The bass drum. I should've tried this before.”

“Haven't you been to a powwow?”

“We've been to a couple, but only to watch. We sat on the bleachers. This is the first time he's…”

“First time you've let him get in there with the kids?”

She glanced at him warily. “I try to keep a close watch on him. I really do.”

“Anybody can see that, Celia. Anybody with honest eyes.” He smiled and nodded toward the clutch of kids. “Either Maxine's trying to make some points
with you, or she's a little mother hen. Probably both, huh?”

“A little prairie chicken hen, right?” Her shoulders settled down. She hadn't even realized she'd hiked them up. He had a way of smoothing her ruffled feathers with a single stroke.

She laid her hand over his. “Do you have children?”

“Nope.”

“You connect with them. Most men don't unless they have their own.”

“Really?”

“Some don't, even if they have their own.” She tipped her head back and gave a small, sardonic laugh. “I'm sorry. I'm making generalizations. I don't know what I'm talking about.”

He turned his palm to hers and closed his hand around hers slowly. “You see the people hangin' outside the bowery?”

She glanced over her shoulder, between a couple of droopy branches and into the dusky perimeter. Shadows strolling, shadows giggling and chasing shadows. Shadows loitering and lingering in tête-àtête pose.

Celia smiled. “Ah, yes.”

“There's some old-fashioned courting going on out there.”

“I thought this represented courting.” She nodded toward the dancers.

“It does if you're a bird.” He laughed. “I tried Fancy Dancing, but with two left feet, I was the one who laid an egg. Picked myself up off the ground, climbed on a horse and suddenly the chicks noticed me.”

“And you were how old?”

“About fifteen.” He squeezed her hand. “What else do you wanna know? I don't have a wife, or an ex-wife or a girlfriend. I do have an ex-girlfriend.” He lifted one shoulder. “She got tired of waiting. Can't blame her.”

Holding hands. She was holding hands with a man, and her insides were jitterbugging.
Ask an intelligent question, Celia.

“How long were you over in the Middle East?”

“Altogether, thirty-two months.”

“That would be hard on a relationship.”

“Some people have done three, even four tours between Iraq and Afghanistan. People who have families at home…” He glanced across the circle. Arm in arm, Mary and Logan were receiving well wishers. “…should be with their families. I could do another tour, easy. So somebody with a family could come home.”

“Do you want to go back?”

“I don't know where I want to be. Except maybe…” He turned to her, looked into her through her eyes in a way that thrilled and terrified her. She
was the connection he had on his mind, and she wasn't sure he wanted it there. But there it was.

He cocked his head toward the perimeter. “Care to go for a stroll?”

She wanted to look away from the eyes that held hers, check with Mark, find something to hold her back, but she couldn't. The look in his eyes shifted from challenging to amused.

“He's still there.”

She smiled. “Still dancing?”

“Still dancing. Havin' a hell of a time.”

She stood up from the end of the bench, and he followed suit. She gave his hand a squeeze. “You're making a statement here.”

“
You're
making a statement, teacher.” He gave a return squeeze as they emerged from the bowery onto the beaten path. “Nobody knows me here. I am—what's the expression?
Off the reservation.
”

“But this
is
the reservation,” she accommodated him, laughing.

“Not mine. But, hey.” He leaned down close to her ear. “Let 'em talk. I ain't afraid of Indian country.”

“Off the reservation,” she echoed as they strolled. “Indian country. Does any of that bother you?”

“You know what bothers me? Chief. I don't wanna be called
chief.
First sergeant was good enough. Any rank with
chief
attached…” He shook his head.

“How about commander-in-chief?”

“They couldn't call me
chief,
then, could they?”

“Have they always just called you Cougar?”

“Nope.” He looked at her, and for a moment she thought he might tell her his secret. Or one of them. He grinned. “But they do now.”

She glanced into the bowery as they passed the drum circle. There was Mark trying out a new step, and there was Maxine, tending to her assignment.

“Hey.” Cougar tugged on her hand. “It's our turn to swing.”

“What?” She stumbled over the angle her sudden pivot required. “We're walkin' here,” she quipped.

“Did you see this?” He led her down a small grassy slope, jumped a dry washout and scrambled up the other side,

She couldn't see anything. The stars were out, the horizon held on to a rosy sliver of leftover sunset, and the moon had yet to show its face.

“Do you have night vision?”

“Of course.”

Now she saw a huge, dark, hulking tree. It wasn't until he grabbed something hanging from it, tugged and didn't detect any give that she realized what kind of swinging he had in mind. He assessed the distance from the ground to the thick, wide plank seat, muttered, “Too low,” and tossed the seat over the branch that held it until the length of the ropes met his requirements.

“I can't wait to see you climb up there and fix it when you're finished playing,” she said.

“Don't hold your breath.” He gave the ropes a firm tug.

“But what about the kids?”

“They'll fight over who gets to make the climb.”

“Somebody might fall.”

“I never did.” He took a seat. “How much do you weigh?”

“Two-twenty. What's it to ya?” She grabbed the rope, stacking her hand on top of hi, and circled toward his back. “I'll start you off with one push, but then—”

He caught her at the waist with a long shepherd's crook of an arm. “Come sit on my lap and let's ride double.” He drew her to stand between his knees. “This is a two-passenger swing. They don't make 'em like this anymore.”

“Because seats made out of leftover lumber…” She took a rope in each hand, kicked off her shoes, stepped up and planted a foot on either side of his hips. “…somebody could get hurt.” She lowered herself onto his lap.

“Keep most of that two-twenty off somebody, he'll be fine.”

She stared at him for a moment. She shouldn't reward such talk. But, then, she shouldn't be sitting on him like this. Her next bold move—tipping his hat back—exposed bright expectation in his eyes. He was waiting. She dropped her head back and laughed.

He took his hat off and tossed it in the grass,
pushed off the ground with his booted feet just as she stretched her legs out behind his back. “You're a hundred or so off in your estimate, I'd say.”

They were flying low, chasing evening shadows with bright smiles.

She leaned back on the upswing. “This is crazy!”

“You never did this?”

“Okay for two little people, maybe, but this limb could break.”

“Pretend we're one big person, and we'll blend.” Forward on the backswing, she lent him an ear. “A good tree feels sorry for a kid this heavy—” he nipped her earlobe between whisperings “—coming out here all alone in the dark—” nuzzled her cheek “—looking to take a few minutes' flight.”

His first kiss came mid-flight. Lips to lips only. No hands, no arms. It felt like a warm greeting, a discovery so welcome as to warrant a replay. And another, and another, each tasting sweeter than the last with her sitting on him like this and him growing on her like that. Barely perceptible, a tickle between her legs that begged to be pressed. But the shared awareness and the delicious resistance was worth preserving. A good lover would know that. And Cougar, she now knew, would be such a lover. The lover she'd known in dreams.

They let the motion wind down by slow degrees. Just before standstill he took her face in his hands
and kissed her lusciously, thoroughly, to the point of knowing nothing but the joy of kissing.

He touched his forehead to hers, rolled it back and forth, surely leaving an imprint. She hoped it contained that kiss.

“I'll say it for you,” he whispered. “This was fun, but you have to get back.”

“It was.” Her lips brushed his. “I do.”

He smiled against her lips. “The next move is all yours.”

She laughed. “And there's no graceful way.”

But she was barefoot and agile, and she untangled herself from man and swing without losing dignity. Which, surprisingly, she suddenly felt in abundance. Dignity and class and beauty and all kinds of confidence magnified by a simple kiss.

He recovered his hat, and she her shoes, and they walked hand in hand, the bright bowery up ahead. He pointed toward the rear view of a man carrying a child on his back.

“That's Mark!” Celia exclaimed.

“Riding the master trainer,” Cougar said with a chuckle as they approached the narrow washout. “Kid's got style.”

“How long have we been gone? Ouch!” She grabbed for his arm. “I lost my shoe.”

“I see it.” He bent to retrieve her comfy, clunky slip-on. “You do know this is boot country.”

“They're hard to take off.”

“Let's see if I can lift two-twenty.”

He gave her the shoe, and she laughed as he swept her up in his arms, jumped the narrow crevasse and scaled the grassy slope in three steps.

“Wow, you really
are
strong.” And they were getting closer to the bowery. “Now, if your manly ears have heard enough music, please put me down before someone sees us.”

He stopped short. “Too much style?”

“A little overstated.” She kissed him sweetly. “But thank you.”

He lowered her to the ground and into her shoe, and they lingered a moment longer, a pair of outsiders clinging to each other in the dark like children reluctant to go in for the night. They watched Maxine lay claim to Mark while Logan grabbed his wife's hand for the
kahamni,
the traditional Lakota circle dance.