Sheri WhiteFeather - Cherokee Stranger

Emily liked the way he looked. She’d been willing to sleep with him, to give up her virginity, because she thought he was handsome.

Disturbed by her reasoning, James studied his features. Would Emily still find him attractive if she knew he was an ex-con? An accessory to murder?

Spewing a vile curse, he turned away from the mirror. Why did she have to remind him of Beverly? He had been Beverly’s first lover, the man she’d given it up for, but the circumstances were different.

Beverly Halloway had been in love with him. Emily, the lady with no last name, didn’t know him from Adam.

Struggling to clear his mind, he made one last check of the room, grabbed his meager belongings and headed out the door, where the sun had already risen.

He squinted into the daylight and saw Zack Ryder, the field inspector assigned to his case, leaning against his car. James didn’t have a vehicle, but WITSEC had provided him with enough money to purchase a used pickup once he got settled.

Ryder drew on a dwindling cigarette and blew a stream of smoke into the air. “’Morning.”

James merely nodded. Ryder was a mixed-blood, part Indian like himself, tall and strongly built, but that was where the similarity ended. The inspector looked about forty, with graying temples and a sardonic sense of humor.

He belonged to an elite unit of the U.S. Marshal Service and was trained to protect more than witnesses. Foreign dignitaries and government officials had probably crossed his path, as well.

James, on the other hand, was only twenty-six and had spent most of his youth learning to be a criminal. Boasting a genius IQ, he was a self-taught electronics expert, capable of deactivating the most sophisticated security systems ever designed. In his spare time, he used to build countersurveillance equipment. Skills, naturally, the mob had admired. It hadn’t taken him long to become a “made” man, a soldier in the Los Angeles-based West Coast Family.

Ryder motioned to the restaurant affiliated with the motel. “Ready for some chow?”

James adjusted the bag over his shoulder. “That’s the last place I want to eat.”

“Why? Does it have roaches I don’t know about?”

“I just want to get on the road.” And avoid running into Emily. What if she decided to have breakfast here? He glanced down the row of cars and spotted the compact he suspected was hers.

“How about McDonald’s?” Ryder asked.

“As long as we’re driving through.” James didn’t want to linger in Lewiston. He wanted to forget this town, forget that he’d met Emily here. He’d tossed and turned half the night, thinking about her, wondering who she was, where she lived.

He wasn’t supposed to care, but he was worried about the next guy she met in a bar, worried the bastard would be all too willing to take what she offered.

Ryder unlocked his sedan, got behind the wheel and snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray. When he opened the trunk, James stowed his bag and climbed into the car.

While they drank coffee and ate Egg McMuffins, James leaned back in his seat. WITSEC had decided to relocate him to Silver Wolf, a small town in North Central Idaho, positioned about an hour and a half from Lewiston.

Ryder drove with one hand, his sandwich in the other. “You might want to check out Tandy Stables.”

“What for?”

“A job. The old lady who runs the place is looking for an assistant. The position comes with room and board, a mobile home on her property.”

“How do you know?”

The inspector inclined his head. “I made it my business to know. Did you think I’d dump you in a small town with no job prospects? Besides, I heard you’re good with horses.”

James shrugged. He’d grown up in the Texas Hill Country, riding and roping and playing cowboy. Or outlaw, he supposed. “I’ve spent as much time in the country as the city.”

“Then getting back to basics will do you some good. Speaking of which—” Ryder slanted him a wary-eyed glance “—you look like hell, Dalton.”

“I didn’t get much sleep.”

“Why not? Too busy jumping some pretty blonde in the bar?”

Son of a bitch. The deputy marshal knew exactly what had gone down. “I didn’t break any rules.”

“Yeah, well, the first time you do, I’ll come gunning for your ass. We’ll kick you out of this program faster than you picked up on that blonde.”

“Leave her out of this.” The last thing James wanted was to talk about Emily, to admit that she’d gotten under his skin.

The inspector shoved his sandwich wrapper into the empty food bag. “Just don’t screw up.” He flashed a peace-treaty smile, letting James know he was more friend than foe. “You’ll make me look bad.”

“I don’t plan on screwing up.” But ex-cons never did, he supposed. He couldn’t blame Ryder for being skeptical. But, then, the inspector didn’t know the whole story. No one, not even WITSEC or the FBI knew that James had fathered a child, a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy he’d asked another man to claim. In his heart, James was different. Being a parent, even a secret one, had changed him.

Ninety minutes later Ryder turned off the highway and onto a small country road. “This is it.”

James looked out the window, noting the tall timbers and quaint wooden buildings. WITSEC had showed him videos of Silver Wolf, familiarizing him with the area. They’d debated sending him to a Cherokee community, but were concerned the mob would expect him to seek sanctuary among his tribe. So they’d picked a place near the Nez Perce reservation, an Indian Nation he wasn’t connected to.

The inspector parked in front of the Silver Wolf Lodge. James gazed at the shrub-shrouded motel, knowing this was his temporary home. Once he landed a job, possibly the position Ryder mentioned, he would acquire a permanent place to live.

From there, WITSEC would expect him to establish roots, to blend in. Unless, of course, his security was breached and he had to be relocated again.

Three days had passed since that night in Lewiston, since Emily had lost her fantasy lover. Enough time to forget, to move on, yet she couldn’t seem to get her harried life in order.

Dashing into the back room of Dolly’s All-Night Diner, she punched her time card.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said to the graveyard-shift waitress waiting to leave. “I had a meeting at Corey’s school and it ran longer than I expected.”

“That’s all right. We’ve all got kids,” came the gracious reply.

Emily sighed. She didn’t have kids. She had a younger brother, a child she did her best to mother, in spite of his knack for diving headfirst into exhausting doses of mischief.

She greeted the cook and took her place on the floor, scanning the diner. The place was relatively quiet, leaving her little to do.

Of course, the locals were here, as regular as clockwork. Lorna, the beautician across the street, paid the cashier for her typical take-out order, and Harvey Osborn, a retired postal worker, occupied his usual stool.

Across from Harvey, at an end booth, she spotted the back of someone’s head, a man in a black cowboy hat. A newspaper was spread in front of him, taking up most of the table.

Emily turned the revolving wheel at the cook’s counter, checking out the orders she’d inherited, including Harvey’s cherry Danish and never-ending boost of coffee.

When she refilled his cup, he looked up and smiled. He was a bony little man, with narrow shoulders and baggy trousers. He wore striped suspenders every day, but she suspected he needed them to hold up his pants.

“How are you, missy?” he asked.

“Fine.” Harvey, of course, knew about her cancer. He made a point of knowing everyone’s business, of gossiping like a blue-haired matron.