Chapter Seven

Bronco quaffed his cold brew and made small talk with the other guests of the Hotel LaBelle. His mind kept wandering back to that kiss and wondering what Emma was doing now. Belatedly, he realized they hadn’t really discussed the next steps and timelines. But he was grateful for the ride from Mrs. Longjaw, although he found it difficult to socialize with normal people. Like now.

Long-time friends, the foursome dining in the saloon with him probably traveled together everywhere. The men had been friends as children, and now forty years later were still connected. The good news was they had each other and could “talk amongst themselves.” The bad news was when all four of them turned their focus on him, he felt as if he was being interrogated by Senator McCarthy and the House Committee on Un-American Activities.

“So.” The forty-something blonde named Claire tossed her hair over her shoulder and stared at his uncovered arm with the screaming eagle diving toward his wrist. “What does that tattoo symbolize?”

Paul, her balding, portly husband, whom Bronco pegged at a hair over fifty, put his hand up. “Claire, that’s a personal question. I work with these people and I’ve been told each one has a story—none of which is my business.”

“Hmm.” Bronco frowned. “Not sure what you mean by ‘these people.’ Can you clarify that for me?”

Paul flushed as red as his glass of Merlot. “I just meant all these youngsters, the millennials, and what’s your generation—the Gen X’s? The ones I work with are covered in these things—and body piercings.”

Claire grimaced.

Lisa, a woman who either had cancer or anorexia—and his money was on the latter after watching her push her food around on her plate—had what he dubbed a Skunk-Do—black hair striped with thick lines of bleach blonde hair, chimed in. “Yech. Those things on the lips? The brow? And the nose? What do they do when they get a cold? I mean, doesn’t that thing catch a lot of—well, you know.”

“Snot?” Bronco filled in, loving the expressions on their faces when he dared to use the four letter word. “The people I know who have nose piercings remove them when they get an upper respiratory infection. And tattoos? They’re not new. Tattoos date back to Neolithic times.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” drawled Lisa’s husband, Mark, who was on his fourth scotch—and that was just since dinner began.

“Hold on.” Pulling out his phone, Bronco connected to the hotel Wi-Fi and searched on tattoos. “Smithsonian Magazine had an article on it.” He displayed a photo of a mummy with a tattooed hand that dated back to over five-thousand years old.

Mark snorted and took another swig from his half-empty glass.

“Come to think of it,” Claire said, “my grandfather had a ship tattooed on his chest. When I was a little girl, he’d take his shirt off and make it ride the waves for me.”

“That’s completely different,” Paul sputtered. “He was a Navy man, a patriot. Not this…” He pointed at Bronco and stopped speaking.

“What he means is,” Claire interjected. “Your generation.”

Once again, his secret identity was good. Too good. As long as people were willing to judge others on appearance and not action, he’d never have to worry about having his cover blown. Bronco had said nothing nor had he done anything to offend the foursome—except show up in his own skin. He wondered how Lucius put up with guests like this, then he recalled the innkeeper came from a meaner time.

“My generation? My guess is I’m no more than ten years younger than you folks. Not that big a difference in age. But clearly a difference in opinions.” He rose. “It’s been nice meeting you. I’ve had a long day, so I’m going to say good night.” The women’s high-pitched voices drowned out the men’s lower pitched mumbles of responses. He wondered how much later they’d be up drinking and if Lucius would have to carry Mark up to his room.

He found Lucius wiping the kitchen counters. “Where’s your bride?”

“In bed with her feet up.” He glanced at the kitchen clock. “She’s usually asleep by nine-thirty these days. Has more energy in the morning. What can I get you?”

“Wondering if you have those fish scraps for Gaucho. If not, he’ll scare up a meal on his own.”

The tall innkeeper dried his hands on a tea towel. “I sure do.” He rummaged in the large refrigerator and pulled out a plastic baggy filled with white chunks. “So, what did you think about the guests?”

“You really want to know?”

“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“Not a fan.” Bronco shrugged. “But they’re your bread and butter, so I’m not going to be a problem, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Quite the opposite, pardner.” Lucius handed him the baggy and then reached overhead and pulled down a package covered with buckskin. “Been doin’ a little investigating while they’ve been out.” He began to unwrap the bundle. “This here is Beautiful Blackfeather’s medicine stick.” He pointed to a plain looking twig with a wispy white feather at the tip. “You and I haven’t had a chance to talk about what I can do.” He put his hand up. “I know you don’t want me going out what with Tallulah being about to pop. Just watch.”

He reached over, and grasped the rod—and disappeared.

Bronco could scarcely believe his eyes. He scanned the room looking for a trap door or other exit. As he moved next to the spot where Lucius had disappeared, the stick fell to the counter and he and the other man stood nose to nose.

“Well?” Lucius’s mustache quirked with his grin. “Whadya think?”

“Holy crap. Do it again.”

Lucius picked the rod up and disappeared instantly. Like a light switch, he flicked in and out. Touching. Not touching. Pick it up, disappear. Hand off, reappear. On. Off. On. Off.

After the tenth time, Bronco said, “Stop. Please. You’re making me dizzy.”

“I have that effect,” Lucius smirked.

“Tell me about this. How…”

“When Beautiful reversed the curse, we think she felt pretty bad about what she’d done. I’m guessing this was her way of trying to make it up to me. Gave me a piece of her medicine which allows me to become invisible.”

“Amazing.” Bronco shook his head. “So what did you find out about those bores in your bar? That Mark has a drinking problem and that Lisa has a terrible stylist and an eating disorder?”

“Hold your horses. Now I’m going to ask you a couple questions. What is the one big thing that makes this hotel unique?”

“Is that a trick question? Location, location, location. Real estate one-oh-one.”

“Exactly. We are right on the Yellowstone River, home to the best trout fishing in the world. And these guys are all about fishing, tell me they want to go trout fishing.” He pointed at the calendar. “They asked when the season was, and I told them it was year round, they just needed a non-resident fishing license.”

“Okay.”

“I told them it was illegal to dump game fish, that they had a choice to catch and release or eat it. Like tonight.” He shook his head. “Like talking to aliens. No idea what I meant. So I hooked them up with a terrific local guide and they said, no, they had their own. When I asked for a name, they were cagey.”

“Just sounds like just a bunch of obnoxious tourists to me.”

“Well, I thought so at first, too. You get these greenhorns out here, they’ve seen a movie about trout fishing, so they think it’s easy.” He shook his head. “But these guys? Pardon the pun, but there’s something fishy about them.”

“I didn’t like them, but that’s not enough.” Bronco closed his eyes and groaned. “Tell me you have something more substantial.”

“They paid with cash. No credit cards, which is unusual these days.”

“Unusual, but not illegal,” Bronco pointed out.

Lucius nodded and stroked his mustache. “I asked for ID, so everyone pulled out shiny new drivers’ licenses for the State of New York, all saying they’re from Albany. When I commented about how new they were, Mark gave me a story about how they’d been robbed at gunpoint in New York City.”

“I don’t suppose you got copies of their IDs?”

“Tallulah made sure I did. She wasn’t buying their buffalo chips, either.”

“Seems like they have answers for everything.” Bronco tapped the counter with his index finger.

“There’s more.” Lucius pulled out his phone. “While they went out fishing, I pulled out my trusty medicine stick and did a little snooping. Look here.” He extended the cell to Bronco. “What’s that look like to you? A little light reading?”

Bronco read the titles out loud. “ICD-10, The Complete Official Code Book, CPT Current Procedural Terminology, Special Ops, 1939-1945: A Manual of Covert Warfare and Training, Operation OSS: Simple Sabotage Field Manual/Provisional Basic Field Manual/Maritime Unit Field Manual and The Official CIA Manual of Trickery and Deception.” He looked up at Lucius.

“I don’t know what the first two are for. The last three? Maybe one of them is writing a book, doing research?”

“I looked the first two books up. Those are for medical billing.” Lucius snorted. “When I asked them what they did for a living, they all said ‘business’ and got busy talking about other things. My gut is telling me these people aren’t what they seem.”

“I can run their names and IDs through my databases tomorrow, see what I find,” Bronco offered.

“I make a living on tourism and that river out there is a big draw.” Lucius pointed toward the back door. “I’ve been attending Montana Fish and Wildlife seminars and learning about aquatic invasive species and why we don’t want things like Zebra mussels and silver carp in our waters. If someone were to poison the well, biologically or chemically, they could ruin half the economy—maybe more.”

“If they’re not who they say they are, they were very convincing. They conned a con artist. They just seemed like a bunch of uptight accountants to me.” Bronco rubbed his neck and yawned. “If something’s off when I run their IDs, I can dig a little deeper.”

“How about you try using your remote viewing to see where these people came from? They say they’re from upstate New York, but their accents tell me otherwise.”

“Let’s see what the usual sources tell me before I jump into that mode. I’m beat. I don’t do my best work when I’m exhausted. I promise I’ll do it in the morning.”

“Probably a good idea. They’ll be out driving around, seeing the sights, or so they said. I suggested the Pictograph Caves and the Little Bighorn Battlefield. They said they’d think about it.” He shook his head. “Why come all this way and not go to one of the most important historic sites in the area, if not the country?”

“Some people aren’t interested in history. Doesn’t make them security threats.” He put his palms up. “I hear you. I’ll work on it tomorrow. Promise. If they played me, you’ll hear me kicking my butt all over my room.”

A thought occurred to him. “Do your toilets ever flush on their own?”

“Didn’t you say your cat uses the toilet?”

“Yes, but he was asleep at the time.” He paused. “I could have sworn I saw someone staring at me in the bathroom mirror.”

Lucius gave him a slow smile. “Well, it is a looking glass, supposed to reflect your face.”

“Brown eyes. Mine are blue. Is this place haunted?”

“Aww, we don’t like to talk about our relatives that way. We call them Beings without Bodies. Not supposed to use their names, according to the Crow.”

“Relatives? So you know who it is?”

“Of course I do.” He began to wrap up the medicine stick up. “Same person who gave me this gift. Beautiful Blackfeather. She returned to reverse my curse and decided to stick around. I thought only Tallulah had visions. Have you always seen spirits?”

Bronco shook his head. “No, never. First time in my life.”

“Welcome to Big Sky Country, home of sacred spaces. Looks like you’ve been adopted by one of the strongest Medicine Women, alive or dead. Welcome to the tribe.”

****

As the moon rose, Emma parked her pick-up truck next to the hotel shuttle van and killed the engine. Feeling like she did when she was a teenager with a crush on the captain of the varsity basketball team in high school, she took a deep breath and tried to lower the rate of her hammering heart. Hadn’t she learned long ago only a foolish girl followed her heart instead of her head? Her mind went back to that terrible night during her senior year, the night Jessica lost her leg and nearly her life. It was all her fault. She’d been a foolish girl who followed her heart and not her head.

That year, Johnny Blackwolf, tall, dark, impossibly handsome and popular had finally asked her out on a date—but not to the movies or a dance. No, he wanted to take his new pick-up truck and go camping at Cooney State Park. The thought of being with him alone under the night sky, doing who knew what, made her dizzy. She had practiced kissing her arms just for this moment. She’d let him get to second base, for sure. But not third and certainly not a home run. Johnny wouldn’t respect her if she went all the way on the first date. No, the first time she went all the way, it was going to be special. Maybe prom night. Not before then.

Of course there was no way her grandmother would allow her to go camping overnight with a guy. If Grandma were in charge of the world, there would still be menstrual teepees where the women went to live at that time of the month, separate from the men so they wouldn’t contaminate their food. In June, after the prom, everyone would graduate and either stay on the rez or go away to the military or, if they were lucky, college. Johnny had a full ride to Bakersfield on a basketball scholarship. One night could lead to another and another and then prom and then he’d leave her to pursue his dreams. After that, she’d never see him again.

While complaining to her best friend about how unfair it was that she couldn’t spend time alone with the love of her life, Emma had a brain storm. She’d tell her grandmother she was going camping with Jessica. Nothing unusual. They did it all the time. Emma would pack food, bedding, and a teepee, put the horses in the trailer, and take her grandmother’s pick-up truck and head to the state park. The girls would meet Johnny there, along with the love of Jessica’s life, Noah Littlebear. The plan had worked like a charm. Grandma bought the story. Why wouldn’t she? Emma had never lied to her in her life. Until that night. And it was truly a lie of omission about the guys.

The boys showed up with two six-packs of beer, a bottle of whiskey, and a box of condoms. Too late, Emma realized her terrible mistake. She should have never concocted this scheme, never allowed Johnny to charm her. His name should have been Johnny Coyote, the Trickster, not Blackwolf. While the girls wrestled separately with their respective drunken suitors, a grizzly bear intrigued by their food, which they had not put into a bear safe away from the campfire, ambled into their party. And all hell broke loose.

The boys jumped into Johnny’s cherry red truck and took off. The horses bolted, racing for home, and the girls faced the bear alone. Jessica screamed—and the rest was a blur of blood and pain. To this day, Emma could not recall how she’d gotten the two of them home. Emma was sliced open by the bear in so many places, her back looked like a road map. But, Jessica. Oh, dear God. Her best friend, who loved to dance, lost her leg. Although Jessica forgave Emma, she couldn’t forgive herself. The boys—the cowards—never spoke of that night. If anyone had found out, Johnny would have lost his scholarship. His chances of getting off the rez and making a life in sports would have evaporated in the mountain air. Indian boys so rarely made it to Division One schools, much less on a full ride, that even a hint of impropriety would tank his chances. Drinking and leaving two girls to fend for themselves were not positive character traits when it came to resume building.

From May to June, Emma spent every moment she wasn’t in school at Jessica’s side. Immediately after graduation, Emma drove to the Marine Corps recruiting station and enlisted. That same day Noah Littlebear proposed to Jessica and she accepted. Shortly after, Noah took a job in Pryor, and Jessica went on to have five boys—her own basketball team. Johnny, the teenage heartthrob and Mr. Popularity, left town in a blaze of glory, a shooting star that burned out in the big city in a car crash some said involved alcohol.

As for Emma, if it hadn’t been for the Marine Corps, she might not be alive today, sitting in the pick-up truck she inherited from her grandmother. The woman had gone to her deathbed never knowing her granddaughter had lied. Despite the passage of time, Emma felt ill every time she recalled the event. She read somewhere that we are only as sick as our secrets. If she could go back in time and undo the harm, she would. Instead, every day of her life she woke up with scars that throbbed with the pain of guilt to remind her. No matter how much arnica compound she rubbed on her back, she could never erase the shame. Each day she rose, burned cedar to drive away evil spirits, and prayed for the strength to make the world a better place and to prove she was good enough to make up for that awful night.

Thanks to her days in Camp Pendleton, she was no longer a virgin, however she hadn’t connected with anyone on the same level of passion as she felt with Bronco. The intensity of her desire for him was so electric, so primal, and so visceral, she wasn’t sure she could trust herself alone with him. If she had half a brain, she would listen to her brother, sit this dance out, and watch from the sidelines while Bronco and whoever else her brother sent solved the case. But if she did that, she would dishonor Indigo’s sacrifice and her promise to herself to seek justice and do the right thing, no matter how hard.

As she climbed out of the truck and ascended the hotel stairs, she reminded herself that he was just like Johnny—hot as hell and a coyote trickster. No way, no how was she falling in love again.