Jenny Cussler's Last Stand (9 page)

“The elders go in first.”

“Really?” Jenny caught Clint’s quick glance. “Well, of course, they should! I just mean... I don’t think we actually do anything like that any more. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen people stand back and let senior citizens go first. How nice.”

“Yeah. It’s a little different around here. Though the Yakama Nation considers itself fairly modern, a corporation, in fact, the tribal elders still have a great deal of influence. Respect is their due.”

Jenny watched the elders pull themselves up the short wooden stairs and step into the building. The line filled in behind them.

“We’ve still got a few minutes,” Clint said in a low voice. “They have to bless the food.”

“Oh,” she replied, surprised. She hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her. “So, what do they do?”

“No fancy keening and wailing, or any of that.” A dimple peeped out from his cheek. “Just a prayer over the food. It’s tradition.”

Jenny’s face burned, and she raised a quick hand to rub her cheeks. In fact, she had visualized some sort of dancing or chanting when Clint said they “blessed” the food.

“The keening and wailing will come when we do the drums at the powwow.”

“Powwow?” The line began to move forward.

“Powwow. Like a huge potluck, only Native American style. You’ll love it. Lots of singing and dancing.”

“Really?” She quirked an eyebrow up at him as they continued to move. “What kind of dancing?”

“Just like in the movies!” He laughed. “With ceremonial costumes and feathers and beads.”

“Do
you
dance?” she asked, completely enamored with a vision of him dressed in some colorful Indian regalia.

“I’ve been known to trip the light fantastic a time or two. Maybe I’ll take you out for a spin.”

“Oh, no. Oh, no, not me. I don’t think—”

“Don’t say no till you’ve tried it. What is it they say? Once you go Native, you never go back?” Clint ducked his head to meet her eyes. His face sparkled with mischief.

Chapter Seven

“Ummm, I don’t think that’s the exact saying, Clint.” Her cheeks burned without mercy.

Clint threw back his head and laughed. Several curious faces turned in their direction. The line shuffled forward, and they arrived at the foot of the steps. Clint shepherded Jenny ahead of him through the screen door.

She stepped into the kitchen, salivating at the aroma of delicious food steaming in trays under the warming lights of the serving line. Several white-aproned Native American women stood by to ladle food onto thick paper plates. Jenny took a plastic orange tray as the two thirty-something women behind the serving counter greeted Clint and stared at Jenny openly.

“Hi, Susie, Sandra.” Clint urged Jenny forward. “This is Jenny. She’s from Boise.”

“Hi,” she said. She raised a brief hand in greeting. Female intuition told her they were none too happy to see Clint at her side. Their smiles did not reach their eyes. Short of throwing up her hands and saying, “I give. He’s all yours. I’m just visiting,” she wasn’t sure what to do.

“The food smells great, ladies! What’s for dinner?” Clint nonchalantly took his tray and moved in front of Jenny on the line as if to run interference.

“Spaghetti,” either Susie or Sandra said flatly, her eyes on Jenny.

“All right,” Clint enthused. He handed over his plate. “Let me have some of that good-looking food and some for our guest. She’s come a long way to be here, and I told her how good the food was.”

Susie and Sandy looked at each other with broad smiles and heaped noodles, sauce, and meatballs onto Clint’s plate. Jenny got a little bit less, but that was fine with her. She held up a prohibitive hand at the meatballs. The plump women looked at her in surprise but said nothing. Clint cocked his head, and Jenny shook her head to ward off any questions in front of the ladies...unwilling to disturb a temporary truce.

She followed Clint into the busy dining area, where long bench tables covered by red-and-white-checked vinyl tablecloths lined both sides of a rectangular room. It seemed the entire camp filled the room, and Jenny wondered where she would sit. She saw Kate and Tim. Brad had joined them. She started to head in their direction, but Clint apparently had other ideas.

“This way,” Clint said and led the way to a far table in a corner. Two older men, whom Jenny recognized as John Glover and Robert Hall, were just rising from the table with their trays.

“Clint,” Robert said. He nodded at Jenny but said nothing to her.

“Robert, John.” Clint nodded. “The food looks good tonight, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does. Susie and Sandra have been cooking since about noon.”

Clint lowered his tray to the table and nodded to Jenny to do the same.

“Your girls are good cooks, John. The food was great last year. I’m glad to see they’re back at camp again.”

The short, stout man with long braids paused and preened for a moment. Jenny sat down on the empty bench and watched Clint in his element.

“Well, thanks, Clint. And who is this?” John nodded toward Jenny, as did Robert, who stood by waiting for his friend.

“This is Jenny Cussler, from Boise.”

“Custer, huh?” Robert grinned. Jenny caught the twinkle in the older man’s narrow dark eyes.

“Cussler, Robert, Cussler. No T.” Clint laughed. He remained standing. “I already tried that out on her.”

“Oh, did you? Shoot, I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I heard her name outside.”

“No relation,” Jenny deadpanned. “I’ve never even been to Montana!”

Robert chuckled. Even the quiet John smiled briefly.

“All right, then, but I’m wondering if your grandfolks just went and changed their names.”

Jenny laughed, making a mental note. At the first opportunity, as soon as she got back, she would call her aunt, the family genealogist, and get the history of their last name...just in case.

Robert and John moved off, and Clint finally sat down. Several other camp attendees slid onto the bench at the end, and Clint nodded pleasantly at them before tackling his meal. He directed a glance at Jenny’s plate.

“Let me guess. You don’t eat meat, do you?”

Jenny colored, as if she’d been caught doing something foolish. She shook her head quickly.

“No?” she answered, with a lift at the end of her voice.

That adorable dimple peeked out of Clint’s cheeks again. “Are you asking me?”

Jenny grinned sheepishly. “No, I’m not asking, and no, I don’t eat meat.”

“Why not?” he asked as he bit into his food.

“Oh, you know,” she shrugged lightly. “I just love the little animals.” She hoped he wouldn’t pursue the matter. She had found far too many people in the past inexplicably desirous of challenging her choice.

Clint arched a dark brow in her direction and eyed her. “That’ll be fun when we have our powwow. They usually kill a couple of deer or elk and bring them back here for barbecue. Are you going to be all right?” A spark of sympathy glinted in his eyes.

Jenny winced at the image. “Really?” Would she have to see the dead animals? An image of a pig turning slowly on a large rotisserie presented itself, and she grimaced. She put down her fork and examined her food closely, the spaghetti noodles and sauce suddenly suspect.

“That’s quite the face, my friend. You know Native American culture celebrates living off the land. That’s what our heritage is. Hunting and gathering.”

Jenny looked at Clint. She couldn’t read his suddenly veiled expression. Was he angry? Did she seem judgmental? Was she? Once again, she experienced the odd sensation of being completely out of her element. Clint, for all that he seemed so...worldly, was Native American, born and bred on a reservation. He had grown up differently than she, in a culture historically steeped in spiritualism and animism.

Jenny bit her lip. “I’m sorry.” She smiled crookedly. “As you say, I’m a city girl...just a vegetarian, green-tea-drinking yuppie. I have a lot to learn about your culture.”

Clint tilted his head to the side as if to study her better. The right corner of his mouth twitched. He touched the back of her hand quickly and lightly with his fingertips. Jenny, who had been avoiding eye contact by staring at the hollow of his throat, met his gaze with wide eyes.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I felt defensive for an instant there, and I can’t imagine why.” Clint pulled his hand back and shrugged self-deprecatingly. “I just want you to like it here.”

“Oh, I do,” Jenny replied as she picked up her fork. “I do.” She resumed eating her meal with a gusto designed to convince him that she was at one with his world, but she worried about the days to come. Was she too much of a hometown girl to handle such an immersion into a different culture? A quick scan of Clint’s handsome face convinced her that she would give anything to try. Anything! Her hand still tingled from his touch. If she could have brought it to her lips, she would have. She settled for rubbing the back of her hand on her opposite cheek.

The meal passed quickly, and people filtered out of the dining hall on a steady basis. Jenny saw Kate, Tim, and Brad leave, but not before Kate threw a raised eyebrow and a smirk in Jenny’s direction. Steve and the Cherokee man named George, accompanied by Celia, walked by to empty their trays into the garbage. Clint, with his back to the room, didn’t see them, but Jenny caught Celia’s narrowed eyes and bright red cheeks as she stared at them. Steve gave her an apologetic half smile, and Jenny shook her head lightly. They passed out of the room, and Jenny returned her attention to her meal...as best she could in the presence of the handsome man across the table from her.

“Are you done?” Clint asked when Jenny had made as much progress through her large serving as she could.

“I am,” she said ruefully. “That was a lot of food!”

Clint gave a low laugh and nodded. He rose from the bench and picked up his paper plate and plastic ware.

“Camp Chaparral is known for its great food. Though you might lose a little bit of weight while you’re here, since they serve meat at every meal. I’ll ask the ladies if they can make some special food for you tomorrow.” He turned toward the kitchen.

“No, don’t!” Jenny squeaked. Clint turned back to her in surprise. “No. Please don’t make me stand out more than I already do.”

Clint stared down at her for a moment with a frown between his eyes. “Why do you think you stand out? I mean
I
know why you stand out, at least to me, but what made you say that?”

Jenny threw a harried look at the rest of the diners, feeling every eye upon her...and indeed, some people were watching them.

“Let’s go outside!” she urged and slipped past him to head for the exit. She hurried through the kitchen and out the door, coming to a halt at the bottom of the steps. Most of the diners seemed to have gathered in the community area. Some sat on boulders and hewn logs around the immense campfire that now burned heartily. Others relaxed on the picnic tables in groups, talking and laughing.

Clint came to stand beside her as she surveyed the crowd.

“So?”

“So what?” she evaded.

“What makes you think you stand out? What did you mean by that?”

She kept her eyes on the people down below. “Oh, you know. You changed my group, supposedly because I was shy, the whole sweat lodge incident, and now this vegetarian thing.” She shrugged. “I just want to keep a low profile, but I don’t think I am.” Not to mention the stares she saw when she walked beside him.

Clint moved to stand in front of her, and she ended up staring at the middle button of his denim shirt. She raised her eyes to his face. The compassion in his dark eyes took her breath away. She blinked.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you like that at the family assignments. They’ll forget about it—probably already have.” He reached out a hand to her face, and Jenny backed up a step with a frantic glance toward the group down the hill. Clint followed her eyes and looked over his shoulder. When he faced forward once again, he tilted his head in his adorable way and smiled. He shoved his hands in his blue jeans pockets.

“This isn’t about the vegetarian thing at all, is it?”

Jenny nodded slowly, though her heart hammered in her chest as she met his eyes. “Yes, it is. Very embarrassing...really.”

“This is about me...being with you. Isn’t it?” He bent his knees to peer into her face. Jenny colored and looked away.

“You think people are watching us.”

She kept her eyes averted and nodded. “I hate being stared at. I just hate it.”

His low chuckle caught her attention. She twisted to see what was so funny. Clint grinned with a show of white teeth.

“I guess I’m used to it. For one thing, that’s what Indians do. They watch each other. It’s not meant to be rude. It’s just something we do. And the other thing is that I’m one of the few single men around these parts, and everyone wants to know who I’m seeing or when I’m going to get married.” He shrugged his broad shoulders once again. “I’m used to it,” he repeated. “Well, I should be used to it.”

Jenny shook her head. “I could never get used to people watching me. Give me a big anonymous city anytime...where no one knows my name.”

“No one? That sounds lonely, Jenny.”

An unexpected sob caught at her throat, and she choked it down.

“Lonely? Oh, no. I didn’t mean it that way. I just don’t think I could ever live in such a small, close-knit community.”

“So you said earlier, I believe,” Clint said flatly.

Jenny caught the odd note in his voice and turned toward him to try to explain, but he forestalled her with a businesslike glance at his watch.

“Well, I think it’s time to head down to the sweat. I have to stop by my cabin and change clothes. I’ll see you later, if you’re down by the fire.”

“I don’t know if—”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow in group. Good night.” Without another word, he strode off down the small incline. Jenny stood there helplessly and watched him walk past the community area and out of sight toward the cabins on the next rise. She had the distinct impression she’d said something wrong, but she wasn’t quite sure what he’d taken offense to. Had she sounded judgmental once again? Wasn’t it okay to say she didn’t know if she could ever live in a small town?