Sarah Anderson - A Man of Distinction

That was a low blow, one that blew past her anger and went straight for her heartstrings. Who would she be hurting if she fought to keep Bear from Nick? Sure, she could exact some revenge for Nick’s repeated abandonment of her. But in the long run, it was Bear who would suffer. Would she really do that to her son?

Could she really do that to Nick?

As if he could feel that the attention of the adults had shifted away from him, Bear began to get upset. Tanya took a step toward him, but Nick put a hand on her shoulder. “I got him,” he said, a peaceful smile on his face.

Tanya watched as the man of her dreams swooped her son up into a big hug and then grabbed a book and settled down to read him a story. Tears swam across her vision.

She couldn’t keep Bear from Nick. She just couldn’t.

But what would letting Nick back into her life do to her?

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to the Red Creek Lakota Reservation! This time, a new set of challenges faces the Red Creek Lakota. Rosebud Armstrong has hired Nick Longhair to come back to the reservation and lead a case against a natural-gas company that may have polluted the groundwater.

Nick’s a native son of the tribe who went off to law school and never came back. He’s made quite a name—and fortune—for himself as an environmental lawyer. He’s not exactly thrilled about being back home. The reservation is a reminder of the poverty he left behind.

Poverty wasn’t the only thing he left behind. His childhood sweetheart, Tanya Rattling Blanket, is the only bright spot he has to look forward to. The last time he saw her was two years ago. He’s hoping to pick up where he left off, but Tanya has other plans.

Tanya’s changed, in more ways than Nick can imagine. When he meets her baby boy, Nick finds himself wondering if he’ll ever be able to leave the reservation again. Will Nick turn his back on the love of his life—and the family he always wanted—to keep chasing his dreams of wealth and power?

A Man of Distinction is a sexy story of coming home and finding yourself. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Be sure to stop by www.sarahmanderson.com, and join me when I say, long live cowboys!

Sarah

Award-winning author SARAH M. ANDERSONmay live east of the Mississippi River, but her heart lies out west on the Great Plains. With a lifelong love of horses and two history teachers for parents, she had plenty of encouragement to learn everything she could about the tribes of the Great Plains.

When she started writing, it wasn’t long before her characters found themselves out in South Dakota among the Lakota Sioux. She loves to put people from two different worlds into new situations and see how their backgrounds and cultures take them someplace they never thought they’d go.

When not helping out at school or walking her two rescue dogs, Sarah spends her days having conversations with imaginary cowboys and American Indians, all of which is surprisingly well tolerated by her wonderful husband and son. Readers can find out more about Sarah’s love of cowboys and Indians at www.sarahmanderson.com.

Sarah M. Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Jason, for being my hero as a father and husband.

Nick Longhair got out of his Jaguar, his Italian loafers crunching on the white rock that made up the parking lot at tribal headquarters for the Red Creek Lakota. The building might have had a fresh coat of paint in the past two years, but otherwise, it was as he remembered it. Narrow little windows, low ceilings and an overall depressing vibe.

For the past two years, he’d worked out of a corner office on South Dearborn, one of the priciest blocks in Chicago. Marble floors, custom furnishings and floor-to-ceiling views of Lake Michigan. It had been the height of luxury, and a true measure of how far he’d come.

He looked around his current surroundings. A three-legged dog hopped across the lot a few feet away from him. The other vehicles weren’t Bentleys or Audis or even Mercedes, but rusty pickup trucks and cars with mismatched hoods and plastic sheeting for windows. This wasn’t a measure of how far he’d come. It was a measure of how far he’d fallen.

All he had ever wanted was to get off this rez. He could still remember seeing The Cosby Show on the working TV at a friend’s house and discovering that other folks lived in great big houses where kids had their own rooms, water came out of the sink and lights turned on with the flip of a switch. The shock of realizing that some people had those things—and that those people weren’t always white—had made him look at his childhood with brand-new eyes. The discarded trailer with cardboard patched over the windows and the holes in the roof? Not normal. Having to share a bed with his brother and mom? Not normal. Having to haul buckets of water from the stream and then hope he didn’t get sick drinking it? Not normal. Not even acceptable.

Yeah, it sounded stupid to say that a sitcom had changed his life for the better. But at the age of eight, he’d realized there was a different life off the rez, and he wanted the big house, the fancy cars, the nice clothes. He wanted it all. And he’d spent his entire life earning it.

So being forced to come back to the rez felt worse than any demotion. If he hadn’t been ordered to take this case—and if his future promotions didn’t rest upon a clean victory—he wouldn’t be here. Maybe he should have quit instead of taking this assignment. He didn’t want to feel the stink of poverty on his skin again. It had taken years to clean the poor out of his pores. But he was the best at what he did, and what Nick did was lead lawsuits against energy companies. This was the kind of case he couldn’t walk away from. This was the kind of case that made a person’s career.

Nick shook his head, forcing himself to focus on what he was here to accomplish.

As the youngest junior partner in the history of the law firm of Sutcliffe, Watkins and Monroe, he’d won judgments for clients against BP for the oil spill in the Gulf, coal mines for the toxic runoff they dumped into the groundwater and even nuclear power plants with lax security. In the past five years, he’d gotten very good—and very rich—being environmentally friendly. He’d earned his place at the table.

Then his tribe, the Red Creek Lakota, had hired Sutcliffe, Watkins and Monroe to sue Midwest Energy Company for polluting the Dakota River when they used hydraulic fracturing, or fracking, to drill for natural gas. The tribe claimed the chemicals used in the drilling had seeped into the groundwater and contaminated the Dakota. They wanted Midwest Energy to clean up the water and pay for any health problems that resulted from the pollution. But this kind of case was beyond the scope of general counsel. The tribe’s lawyer, Rosebud Armstrong, had needed someone who specialized in this kind of case. And that someone was Nick.

Nick had been surprised the tribe could afford the Sutcliffe, Watkins and Monroe price tag, but they’d recently built a dam and the funds from the sale of hydro-electricity had actually put the tribe in the black for the first time ever. Of course they’d picked Nick’s firm. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that Rosebud had gone looking for him, but it still irked him. He’d always felt his tribe didn’t want a damn thing to do with him when he was a dirt-poor nobody.