Sacred Ground (27 page)

"Bullshit!" Gordon snapped back. "It's my property and soon it'll all be mine.
Lorraine
and I will be living the life of luxury."

"Not at the rate you're bleeding," Brett pointed out. "You should be feeling weak, almost faint by now."

"Shut up. You're both trying to confuse me." Gordon's stance wavered slightly, yet he continued to aim his gun at
Willow
's head. "I don't believe you gave Mike a damn thing."

"Take your chances, then," Brett said. "Either way, you won't get away with it. Leave while you still can. You know you won't get the boys or the land."

"I don't give a rat's ass about Lance, but I will be reunited with
Lorraine
and my son. Sean will carry on with my dynasty." He extended his arm and leveled the gun at
Willow
.

A movement behind Gordon caught Brett's attention. A figure clearly emerged from the opening. Brett stared, disbelief filling him. The Indian man of his dreams materialized before his eyes. He no longer had a haze about him, as he had in all his other appearances over the years. He had become real.

"Before you pull the trigger," Brett said, nearly whispering, "You might reconsider. A witness," he paused to glance past Gordon, back again, then continued, "could prove to be almost as fatal as your bleeding hand."

"Don't expect me to fall for that lame trick
someone's behind you
. I wasn't born yesterday."

"Evil one," the Indian called out, his tone that of the old ones.

Chapter Sixteen

Gordon whirled around to face the newcomer. "Where'd you come from? What the hell do you want?" he asked in a shaking tone.

"You know what we want. Where have you hidden the ghost shirt? Where are the beaded necklaces and all the weapons you stole from the sacred grounds? Did you think we would let you get away with it? You are dying,
Napi-kwan."

Gordon stepped back slightly. "What the hell did you call me?"

"I called you white man. You are like those of years ago," the Indian explained. "You steal from my people. You lie, cheat, and even kill to get what you want. You are evil. When you return the things you have taken, the bleeding will stop"

"I don't have that junk anymore. I sold it all. Hell, I don't know who has them. You can't do this to me. It's murder!" Gordon shouted.

"How can we kill a dead man? Besides, it is not us who are killing you. It is your evil that brought you to this. I do not want to end your life here. It is fitting for you to die slow. Your lifeblood is leaving you. It is better this way. But I will not let you kill Willow Howling Moon. I will not let you kill my son, Shadow Chaser."

Brett blinked and shook his head to clear his thoughts. He glanced over at
Willow
and saw the same disbelief or surprise in her expression. He wondered if he had heard right. This Indian man was his father?

Brett felt
Willow
's palm rest across his. Her warmth confirmed he wasn't dreaming.

The Indian still stood facing Gordon. "Go. Find and return what you have stolen. If you do not do this, then you would be wise to find a high place to pray to your God. If you are lucky, he will forgive you for the evil that is within you. When your spirit wishes to soar to a good place, the spirits of those you stole from will come to devour you. They will haunt you until eternity. You will be able to do no more harm to others, even in the afterlife."

"You expect me to believe all this shit?" Gordon staggered a few steps.

"You believe, only you are too ignorant to admit it," the Indian responded.

Brett examined the Indian’s expression. Strong, powerful and . . . Brett rested his gaze on a white buffalo stone necklace and wrapped his palm over his own. The small, turquoise-beaded feather with a copper bead outline matched his in every way. His heart pounded.
Could it be true
? Had he found his father at last?

Gordon dropped to his knees, shaking.

"Do you not feel it?" the Indian asked. "If you listen hard you will hear the drums and rattles of the old ones. They are coming for you."

"No!" Gordon scrambled to his feet and waved the gun around like a madman. "I'll kill every last one of those damn heathens. They won't take me." His voice shook as much as his weakened body.

"You can't kill spirits,
Napi-kwan
," the Indian said. “Eternal damnation, I believe the white man calls your future. Here they come."

Gordon turned a ghastly shade of white, as though no blood remained in his body. A blast from his gun caused Brett to jump in surprise. The bullet caught the Indian in the shoulder. Within seconds a dark, whirling cloud entered the straw enclosure. Brett thought his own breath had been sucked from his mouth.

Glancing at
Willow
, he couldn't help being surprised at her seeming calmness. Did she understand what was happening? He turned back to Gordon and glimpsed him being pulled into the darkness. His horrible screams grew faint as the whirling, black, cold air seeped between the cracks in the barn sides, then blended with the night.

"He is gone," the Indian said, and then dropped to the ground.

Brett attempted to get up to go help the man, but his heavy, cumbersome cast hindered his progress. He crawled the distance, ignoring his pain. A quick look at where the Indian had been shot caused Brett increased anxiety. "Are you dying?"

"I am not hurt all that bad. The bullet passed through my shoulder," he said, showing his wound.

Thoughts crowded Brett’s mind as he looked over the man before him. He felt a connection with this stranger. "You're . . . you're my father?" he asked, afraid the answer was yes. Afraid it was no.

"I am your father," he answered, staring back at Brett.

"Why haven't you told me this before now?" Memories of his shame gripped him. He’d been the product of a rape and didn’t even know who his father was. The hateful words and actions of the other kids making fun of him flashed in his memory. It all surfaced, as did the feelings of confusion, anger, and desertion.

"I understand what you are feeling. I have pleaded with your mother many times over the years. I wanted to tell you the truth. She is a strong and even stubborn woman. She believed your growing hatred for Indians would not permit you to accept me. She feared the truth would kill your love for her."

Brett thought over the Indian's words. "She didn't want me to know the truth because she thought I'd stop loving her? That doesn't make sense. I could never stop loving my mother," Brett said, more confused than ever.

"I did not rape your mother, Shadow Chaser. You are not the result of the story you heard. Your mother and I found love. Your father did not turn cold and bitter when she told him the story about her rape. Before you were born, he did not know how to love or be kind. I worked for him. Your mother found solace in talking to me when he was out drinking. We did not plan to fall in love, but it happened. Then we found out she was with child, you. If you were born looking―"

"Indian?"
Brett’s tone held a touch of bitterness. He knew he clenched his jaw, but he couldn't stop feeling betrayed once again.

"Yes, Indian.
Not because it was an embarrassment, but because your father would have realized she hadn't been faithful. I feared he'd kill her. She told him the rape story, and he beat her so badly, I feared
she
and even you would not live."

"Why didn't she leave him?" Some of his anger subsided when he thought of how brutal his father could be. Brett had always felt protective for his mother.

"She wanted you to have the ranch. She wanted you to have an education and a chance to make something of yourself. On the reservation you would have been accepted for your Indian blood. But you would have had fewer opportunities. In the white world you're a half-breed, unaccepted, but the doors are open if your father owns a ranch and your parents are white."

"She did it for me?" he asked, thinking it through.

"Yes. I tried convincing her to tell you the truth. When your father was away, I'd sneak in your room at night and watch you sleep. I was there for your first words. I was there for your first steps. I watched you grow before my eyes, but I couldn't talk to you. When you got older, I couldn't even hold you. I watched you grow up to be a fine young man, but I could never tell you that I'm your father." John Steals Many Horses adjusted the cloth he pressed into his wound.

Brett had forgotten about the man's injury. "We need to get you to a hospital."

"No. There is no way to explain how a dead man shot me and is now living his eternity with the dark spirits."

The puddle of Gordon's blood had already seeped into the ground. Straw covered some of the irregular edges. Soon there would be nothing left to reveal Gordon Jenkins had ever been there. "I see what you mean," Brett said, glancing at
Willow
.

She looked at John and then Brett. "I can't believe I never saw it before," she said in a quiet tone.

"Never saw what?" Brett asked.

"The two of you look so much alike, I can't believe no one noticed. I’ve known you all my life, John."
Willow
got to her feet. "I'll bet you were the Indian who helped the boys when they ran away together. You kept their fires burning hot and watched over them so nothing happened, didn't you?"

A slow nod and soft smile moved across the man's face.

This Indian is my father,
Brett repeated in his mind. He'd longed for this day his whole life. It didn't seem real. Lately, what did seemed real? "I wish my mother had told me years ago," he admitted, looking at the ground.

"She did what she thought was best." John’s tone fell deep with emotion.

"Why was she so stubborn about it? She knew I hated my father . . . him!" Brett gritted his teeth.

"What if you were to slip the information in anger to
him
? He would have killed us both or at least tried. Where would that leave you? She couldn't take the chance."

"She could have told me after he died," Brett said.

"Yes. I told her that many times. By then your hatred for Indians was no secret. Like I said, she did not want to take the chance of losing you."

"I can see how she would think that. Before
Willow
made me face my prejudices I couldn’t have understood." Brett realized there could be no explanation for his behavior. His hatred, his prejudices, his anger had kept him from the one truth he'd always wanted. Through
Willow
he'd come to terms with himself. Now, he could come to terms with his mother and this man he finally could call
Father.
"Why did you call me Shadow Chaser?"

"I have watched you always. You chased after all the shadows of Indian men. I knew you wondered which one was your father. Your pain saddened me. I wanted to tell you and end your search. I could not."

Brett had so many questions, but they would have to wait. He stared at John and a lump grew in his throat. "Sit next to me and let
Willow
treat that wound and wrap it at least," he said, exhaustion claiming him body and spirit. He pulled himself back to where his pillow beckoned and stretched back on his makeshift bed. "I think we have a lot to talk about."

* * *

"Come in, Mike."
Willow
held the screen door open for him.
"Brett's inside."

"Hey, good to see you."
The men shook hands, and Mike sat at the table across from Brett.

"Did Wyatt fold?" Brett asked.

Willow
smiled. Ever so blunt, her Brett was. "Let me guess," she said, pouring coffee for the men. "He whimpered like a newborn calf."

 
"Close," Mike said. "He tried convincing everyone that Gordon Jenkins was alive. That he killed a bum to take his place. Wyatt admitted he lured the bum up to the site, but that Gordon shot the stranger. Said Gordon wanted to be invisible so he could bankrupt Brett and buy him out. Wyatt couldn't explain why his property, where no trace of oil could be found, was important to Gordon."