Shawna Delacorte - Fortune's Secret Child

An involuntary laugh escaped Shane’s throat. “Maybe we should do that the other way around. Since I’m one-quarter Native American, I think you should be the cowboy, instead of me.”

Bobby put down the drum. His eyes grew wide in amazement as he stared at Shane. “You’re a real Indian?”

“I sure am. My grandmother’s name was Natasha Light-foot, and she was a full-blooded Papago. They’ve since changed the name to Tohono O’odham. There’s a plateau with a sacred cave next to the reservation. Her family used to own the plateau and it’s named for them.”

“Do you know how to ride a horse? And shoot a bow and arrow?” The little boy’s voice contained the same type of reverential awe often reserved for superheroes and sports stars.

“I sure do.” Shane took in the fascination that covered Bobby’s face. An odd sensation invaded his consciousness, a strange sort of tremor that started deep inside him and radiated throughout his body. He ventured a question, not sure exactly where he was going with it or even if he should ask it. “Would you like me to teach you how?” Another thought occurred to him, one that left him slightly unsettled. “If it’s okay with your mother, that is.” A surprising and unusual affinity with this little boy had been creeping up on him from the moment Bobby had turned around and asked him who he was early that morning. Was he starting something that couldn’t be finished?

Bobby exuded excitement. “Yeah, I’d like that!”

“First we have to make sure it’s okay with your mother,” Shane repeated. He turned his attention to the items still on the floor. “But for now, let’s finish putting these things back where they belong.”

Shane placed the various items on the shelves, all but two. Bobby had held on to the drum and one of the Kachina dolls. Both were very old and valuable.

Bobby put the Kachina doll on the floor and turned his attention to the drum. Shane picked up the doll and carefully placed it on the coffee table. It was one of the few items he owned that had at one time actually belonged to his grandmother, a woman he never knew. She had died when his father was only eighteen.

What few possessions his grandmother had owned had finally been distributed among her grandchildren—his cousins, Jason and Tyler Fortune, his brother, Riley, and his sister Isabelle. The one possession that should have been his grandmother’s was the one thing Shane wanted most—Lightfoot Plateau. The plateau and the cave were believed to have mystical powers. The Lightfoot family had been guardians of the plateau for centuries. One way or the other, he planned to have it back in the family.

Shane held up the Kachina doll. “Do you know what this is?”

Bobby took the doll from Shane’s hand. He studied it, then made his pronouncement with all the authority of an expert testifying in court. “It’s a Indian—a special one like the chief.”

Shane smiled at Bobby. “That’s very good, but he’s even more special than that. This is a Kachina doll—”

“A doll?” Bobby scrunched up his nose. “Like girls play with?”

Shane suppressed a laugh. “No, more like your cowboy action figures. They’re dolls.”

Bobby’s next words were almost a whisper, as if he didn’t want Shane to hear them. “They aren’t dolls. They’re cowboys!”

Shane took the Kachina from Bobby, handling it carefully. His manner turned serious. “This isn’t a play toy. A Kachina is a carved doll in a costume representing a spirit that has a special meaning for the tribe who believes in that spirit.”

“It’s not a toy? You can’t play with them? What do you do with them?” The enthusiasm in Bobby’s voice conveyed his fascination.

Shane tried to simplify the explanation so that Bobby would be able to understand. “The Native Americans who have the Kachinas believe that everything in the real world has a spirit that lives inside it. The Kachina dolls represent that spirit. The dolls depict men dressed in Kachina masks for special ceremonies where they call on the spirit of the Kachina.” He paused for a moment as he ran his fingertips gently across the costumed figurine.

“The Kachina doll has a very special meaning for a tribe. This one belonged to my grandmother. It’s usually given to a child as a gift. A friend of my grandmother was a Hopi. She gave the Hopi Kachina to my grandmother, who gave it to my father, and my father gave it to me.”

Bobby’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “Gosh.” He reached out and touched the Kachina, but did not try to take hold of it.

Cynthia stood at the door to the den taking in the scene and the conversation between Shane and Bobby. It was a scene that should have warmed her heart—her son and his father enjoying a special moment together. But it didn’t. Instead it sent a cold shiver through her body, followed by a surge of fear. She desperately wanted to put a stop to what she saw, but she couldn’t do it without creating an awkward situation. Shane was obviously taken with Bobby, a reality that threatened her to the very core of her existence. And equally disturbing was the fascination Bobby seemed to have for Shane.

She blinked back the tears, trying to bring some calm to her shaken nerves and emotional turmoil, and entered the room. “I had the news on upstairs while I was unpacking. They announced a story on the construction of Fortune Memorial Children’s Hospital in the next segment, right after the commercial.” She turned on the television set, hoping the distraction would stop what she could plainly see was the beginning of a bonding between Bobby and Shane.

Shane was Bobby’s father. Did she have the right to deny either of them that special father-and-son relationship? Or to deny her son that Native American part of his heritage that he seemed so fascinated with, something she’d noticed even before they’d left Chicago? She tried to shove the concerns aside, to tell herself there were far more important issues at stake. A twinge of guilt etched a path through her consciousness, taking up residence next to her anxiety. If only she had a clear-cut solution to her dilemma that would satisfy everyone’s needs—one that would be safe.

Shane moved closer to the television, drawing her attention to the newscast. The scene was the construction site of the hospital, but the story was about something else. It was a follow-up to a story about the construction fore-man’s accidental death being reclassified as murder.

The reporter went from that story to a segment about the Fortune Memorial Children’s Hospital, which was followed by a taped interview with Dr. Shane Fortune in which he talked about the hospital project and then presented his concerns for the future of Lightfoot Plateau. Cynthia listened intently, taking in every word Shane said about the family’s desire to give back to the community through the construction of the hospital.

When the segment concluded, Shane angrily snapped off the television. She could hear the disgust in his voice. “They certainly went out of their way to make sure the family name and the hospital project were thoroughly en-twined with Mike Dodd’s death. It was bad enough when his death in the elevator fall several months ago was thought to be an industrial accident at a Fortune Construction work site, but now that it’s a murder case, they seem to be reveling in it. It’s getting more and more difficult these days to find any difference between legitimate news and tabloid journalism.”

Cynthia’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand the public debate over Lightfoot Plateau. There seems to be a faction strongly in favor of preservation and another faction equally adamant in their desire to see the land developed.” She turned to face Shane. “Isn’t the land privately owned? Why would there be a public debate over it?”