Donna Clayton - Bound by Honor

“Jenna Butler.”

Her shoulders relaxed as relief soothed the anxiety that provoked the awkward song and dance she’d just performed. Without thought, she softened her tone to nearly a whisper and murmured, “Oh, good. You do remember.”

The seconds ticking by felt like eons as the warm sunshine beat down on her head and shoulders. Finally, he shifted his grip on the wooden pole, planting the rake’s prongs into the ground. The impatience in the gesture had her nervousness sprouting to life all over again.

Jenna had known the task at hand was going to be tough, but she hadn’t realized just how tough. Now that she was face-to-face with Gage Dalton and about to ask an awesome favor…why, she couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt more ill at ease.

“H-how are you?” she blurted. “You hit your head during the accident, I remember.”

“I’m alive.”

She couldn’t read much from his deadpan expression. Feeling the need to infuse some amiability between them, she chuckled. “That’s good. Sure beats the alternative.”

Her humor seemed lost on him.

Grasping for something more to break the ice, she looked around her, commenting, “You’ve got a nice place here.”

“I like it.”

So he wasn’t much of a talker. She should have guessed as much, judging from what she’d learned of him. But it sure would be nice if she didn’t have to work so hard.

She had to warm things up a little before broaching the favor she needed from him. If she just blurted out her question, cold turkey, he’d think she was insane.

Jenna, my girl, a voice in her head groaned silently, you are insane.

She tried again. “The horses are beautiful.” Glancing over at the animals in the pen, she added, “I’ve never spent much time around horses, but I know those are pintos from the old cowboy movies I watched as a kid. They sure are majestic-looking creatures. Proud. Untouchable. They might be enclosed, but they sure do look wild.”

As if on cue, one of the horses snorted and clawed at the dusty ground with his hoof.

“They’re tame,” he assured her. “What you see is attitude. If a horse is broken to the point that it’s docile, it’s no better than a pack mule. My horses are intelligent and strong and spirited.”

Seemed Gage Dalton possessed a healthy share of attitude himself. Life sparked in his onyx eyes as he talked about the animals he raised. Then he leveled his gaze on her.

“Is that why you’re here? You’re interested in a pinto?”

The question elicited another chuckle from her, this one completely natural. “Oh, no,” she told him. “Not me. I wouldn’t know one end of a horse from the other.”

She couldn’t tell if the tiny crease that suddenly marred his high brow was a sign of curiosity or suspicion. He glanced down at the ground, tapped the rake absently with his foot, and then lifted his chin to meet her gaze.

“Well, you’ve found out that I weathered the accident just fine,” he said. “And you’ve complimented my ranch. And my horses. We could talk about the weather, if you like. Or how rising gasoline prices are thinning our wallets. But I’d prefer it if we cut the small talk. I have stalls to muck before I can stable those horses. Why don’t you save us both some time and tell me why you’re here?”

The blunt question left her momentarily speechless. But then, before she’d even had time to think, words began tumbling off her tongue.

“My sister died. The day of the storm. The day you and I met on the road. I remember telling you I was on my way to the hospital.” Anguish gathered in a tight ball high in her chest. “Her husband was killed, too. They…they ran off the road. The car flipped. Into a ravine. My brother-in-law died instantly. Amy…my sister…sh-she held on for several hours.” The emotion rose to knot in her throat. It became so overwhelming that she had to glance toward the horizon as she whispered, “But she passed soon after I reached the hospital.”

Jenna blinked back the tears that burned her eyes. She would not cry. She didn’t know this man, refused to show her vulnerability to him. He had to know her story, though. Otherwise, how could he understand her plight? The tribal council had forced her into a desperate situation, and that was the only reason she was here. But Gage Dalton must not see her as weak. Because she wasn’t.

It was the stark silence that drew her from her thoughts. Why didn’t he say something? What kind of person didn’t offer condolences after learning about a death in the family? In this case, two deaths.

Her gaze clashed with Gage’s, and the sentiment clouding his eyes shocked her. Sympathy rolled off him in waves. He didn’t have to say a word; everything he felt was expressed in those soft black orbs.

The muscle in the back of his jaw went taut, and he seemed to be engaged in a mental struggle of some sort. His tone was tight, his words grating, when he finally spoke.

“I know grief well.” He swallowed.

His keen, too-intense focus on her made her feel as if she were the only person alive on Earth at that moment.

“May your heart find healing.”

Of all the cards and letters, flowers and prayers she’d received from friends and business acquaintances since losing Amy and David, Jenna couldn’t recall a more comforting wish. She found his words both simple and beautiful. Abundantly so.

Hot tears made a fresh attack, but she blinked them back. She still had a great deal to explain before she could broach the sensitive subject of why she’d come to him for help. Losing herself in sorrow was something she couldn’t afford to do.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her breath hitching between the two short words. Willing a vibrant potency into her voice, she repeated, “Thank you very much.”

Another gust of warm summer wind blew across the Montana prairie lands. The sun high overhead continued to heat her shoulders and back through her light cotton top. Slowly, she was able to push the sorrow at bay and latch onto the resolve that had brought her here in the first place.

“Amy was married to a Lenape Indian who lived on Broken Bow,” Jenna told Gage. “David Collins was his name.”

“The artist?” Gage propped the metal rake he’d been holding against the stable door. “I knew he lived on the rez, even met him a couple of times. I’ve seen some of his work. Very abstract-looking. Canvases that incorporate paint as well as three-dimensional material.”

“It’s called mixed media.”

“He’s very talented.” His tone lowered an octave as he said, “I guess I should say was. He signed his works Foxfire, didn’t he?”

Jenna nodded.

Gage continued, “I think I read somewhere that his wife was an artist, too.”

Jenna nodded. “Amy was a painter. She met David in Chicago when she attended a showing of his work. They got married shortly thereafter.”

Gage shook his head. “I hadn’t heard about the accident.”

From what she’d learned of this man’s solitary existence, Jenna wasn’t surprised.

“They left behind a baby,” she told him. “Lily. My niece. She’s just over six months old.”

Emotion softened the harsh angles of his handsome face. Could that be sadness?

His reaction took Jenna aback. She hadn’t expected his compassion. Not at all. She’d anticipated he would be completely unemotional. Relieved that she’d been wrong, she hoped his empathy might impel him to help her.

Reaching up, she tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear before she spoke again. “The night of the accident, Lily had been with David’s parents. I thank God every day that Lily wasn’t in that car. Health problems make it impossible for Mr. and Mrs. Collins to care for my niece, so she’s been staying with a sitter here on the reservation. A woman named Arlene Johnson. I went to collect Lily, but Arlene refused to allow me to take Lily home with me. Arlene said I’d have to get permission from the Council. I had no idea at the time what she was talking about. Amy and David left no will. But I’m family. I didn’t need anyone’s permission but the state of Montana’s to take custody of my niece.