Read A Certain Kind of Hero Online
Authors: Kathleen Eagle
A Certain Kind of Hero
Dear Reader,
For more than twenty-five years,
New York Times
and
USA TODAY
bestselling author Kathleen Eagle has been beloved by readers and critics alike.
Eagle is known for her strong voice, compelling characters and highly emotional plots, and with this 2-in-1 volume, we are proud to present two of her novels that exemplify just that. In
Defender,
the unlikely hero is Gideon Defender, a man who is intimately aware of the distinction between us and them, between have and have not, between the things he can touch but never keep. Raina McKenny, the woman who chose Gideon's brother over him, returns to the reservation after fifteen years and sets off an emotional and political firestorm. As a non-Native raising a son registered with the band, Raina's return provokes a custody battle. Desperate not to lose her child, she looks to Gideon for help. But while he'd do anything to be her hero this time, as the band's tribal leader it is his duty to uphold the band's law. Adding to the powder keg is the reignited passion between Gideon and Raina, a contentious treaty issue that threatens to turn violent and an explosive secret that will change Gideon's world forever.
In
Broomstick Cowboy,
we have another man caught by duty, this time to his dead best friend, Kenny. The word
responsibility
makes Tate Harrison shudder, but he just can't turn his back on Kenny's widow. Amy Becker would never admit to needing help, but she's barely holding on. She's pregnant, her ranch is on the verge of failing and her young son is desperate for a male role model. Tate promises to get Amy through the winter, and come spring he'll be back on the rodeo circuit. As winter deepens, though, Tate slowly begins to understand the appeal of a true homeâa place of love and warmth, a place where he is needed and valued, a place where he could find peace and happiness. But this is
Kenny's
home,
Kenny's
familyâcan he honor his friend's memory and still claim Amy and her children as his own?
Gideon and Tate are real heroesâthey have flaws and edges and doubtsâbut you'll fall in love with them just as surely as these heroines do.
Happy reading,
The Editors,
Harlequin Books
published her first book, a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award winner, with Silhouette Books in 1984. Since then she has published more than forty books, including historical and contemporary, series and single title, earning her nearly every award in the industry. Her books have consistently appeared on regional and national bestseller lists, including the
USA TODAY
list and the
New York Times
extended bestseller list.
Kathleen lives in Minnesota with her husband, who is Lakota Sioux. They have three grown children and three lively grandchildren.
New York Times
and
USA TODAY
Bestselling Author
A CERTAIN KIND OF HERO
Remembering Lillian, Phyllis and Barbara with love.
G
ideon Defender instinctively hit the deck at the sound of gunfire. The first person he'd learned to defend was himself, and this wasn't the first time he'd had to eat a little dirt in the process.
“Damn.” Tribal game warden Carl Earlie dropped to his knees at Gideon's side. “Don't see nothin', but my ears are ringing pretty good. How close would you say that came?”
“Too close for comfort.” Another bullet zinged over Gideon's head, scattering chunks of oak bark as it ricocheted off the trees. He grabbed the back of Carl's belt and jerked him down. “Eeeez, that forty-acre forehead of yours makes a nice, shiny target.”
Carl's eyes widened. “You think they're shootin' at
us?
”
“You know anything else that's in season this time of year besides Indians?”
Carl thought about it, then turned down the corners of his mouth and shook his head. “Naw, you're gettin' paranoid,
Chief. Nobody's out to shoot us.” Flashing a quick grin, he stuck his head way up on his scrawny neck, looking around like some big-eyed ring-necked duck. “You know what I think isâ” Another shot rang out, and the duck became a turtle. “I think I got a job to do. Somebody's poachin'.”
“Just stay down, Carl.” Gideon spared him a warning glance. “And don't call me âChief'.”
“Sorry. If they heard that, I guess you'd be the one they'd aim for, huh?”
“Not if they're poachers. Poachers'd go after you first, mistaking you for a moose.”
“Get outta here, Châ”
Gideon touched his fingers to his lips and cocked one ear toward the sound of footsteps. Glimpsing the sprinting shooter, they exchanged nods, scrambled to their feet and followed. To anyone who didn't know him, it would have been surprising that a man of Carl's considerable girth was able to move nearly as quickly and almost as quietly as Gideon did, but they shared the heritage of native woodsmen.
“Taking a little venison, Marvin?” Gideon asked as they approached the man.
Marvin Strikes Many stepped between his challengers and his kill as he tucked the butt of his rifle into his armpit and carefully pointed the barrel at the ground. “My kids are hungry.”
“It's fishing season,” Carl said. “And you're a damn good fisherman.”
“I saw this buck, and I happened to have my rifle along, so I took a shot.” Marvin threw his shoulders back and wedged his thumb between his overlapping belly and the waistband of his jeans, assuming a cocksure, hip-shot stance. There was something about the combination of skinny legs and droopy gut that ruined the effect, but Marvin seemed oblivious to
that fact. “You call yourselves Chippewa, but you talk about licenses and seasons, just like the whites. I have a right to take this meat home to my family.”
Gideon eyed the deer carcass. He almost wished he could let the man take the meat and go his way. A few years ago, that was exactly what he would have done. But these days he couldn't pick and choose on a whim. The tribal chairman's hat was a tight fit for a man who was used to taking some pretty broad liberties. He'd spent most of his life doing things his own way and telling anyone who didn't like it to go to hell. Nowadays he had to choose his words more carefully, even though he couched them in the same tone he'd always used when he was challenged. What was once considered offensive was now authoritative.
“You have to go by the rules, Marvin. The Pine Lake Band has rules.”
“And the state has rules,” Marvin recited. “And the feds have rules.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You gonna slap me with a fine, Carl?”
“Got to, Marvin, you know that.”
“The Strikes Many family has its own rules. The Pine Lake Band doesn't speak for us.” Marvin jabbed his forefinger in Gideon's direction. “You might be chairman of the Pine Lake Band, but you've got no say over the Strikes Many clan, Defender. We're White River, and we didn't ask to be put in with you guys.”
“
We
didn't invite
you,
either,” Carl said.
“All right, all right.” Gideon didn't like being pointed at, especially by a man toting a hunting rifle. Times like this he wanted to throw the damn chairman's hat back into the ring, land one punch and walk away.
But he took a deep breath and calmly made his case. “The fact is, the feds included your clan in the Pine Lake Band,
Marvin. That all happened way before my time, so I had nothing to do with it. You wanna complain to somebody about your tribal affiliation, complain to the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Let me know if you get anywhere with them. Meanwhile, I'm tribal chairman, and I've got some say over you.”
“You didn't get
my
vote.” Marvin gave a smug nod, convinced he'd just delivered a crushing blow. “Nobody did. Election Day, I said the hell with you guys, and I just stayed home.”
“Well, we sure missed you, Marvin. Tell you whatânext time around, why don't you run against me?”
“Run for chairman of Pine Lake?” He gave a mirthless hoot. “Might as well run for chairman of the Pine Ridge Sioux.”
“C'mon, Marvin, we're related closer than
that.
We're all Chippewa, right?” Silently cursing himself for sounding exactly like a politician, Gideon indicated the deer with a quick chinjerk. “Let's dress this guy out. We'll give the meat to some of the elders.”
“I gotta take your rifle, Marvin.” Carl held out his hand. Reluctantly, Marvin surrendered his weapon. “Could be worse. I could impound your pickup.”
“One game warden's just as bad as another, doesn't matter whether he works for the tribe or the state.” Marvin unsheathed his hunting knife and wagged it at Gideon. “You think you're gonna make this deal with the state, selling our treaty rights down the river, you can think again.”
“Point that thing somewhere else, Marvin, or I'll break it in half. Now, you know that all we're trying to do is work a compromise just like other bands have done. We're not selling anything. But either way, you've got to get it through your head
that you can't do this.” He nodded toward the carcass. “We've always had some kind of rules for the hunt.
Always.
”
Carl laid a conciliatory hand on Marvin's shoulder. “Hell, man, we thought somebody was shootin' at
us.
”
“I didn't know you were within range.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Gideon muttered. He unsnapped the knife sheath that was fastened to his own belt. “Give me a hand here, Carl.”
“We'll take care of this,” Carl said, offering an insider's smile. “You've got business to tend to over at the lodge, right? You don't wanna keep the pretty lady waitin' too long.”
“She's my
sister-in-law,
Carl,” Gideon protested.
“I know that, but your brother's dead. Been dead awhile now. And the way I remember it, you saw her first.”
“If anybody ever wants to write my life story, I'll tell 'em to give you a call. You remember more than I do.” He had to walk away from that infuriating grin. Carl had known him too damn long. “And that chapter would only run about a page and a half.”
“Yeah, right.” Carl's gesture invited Marvin to start the gutting process. “You've been stallin' around long enough, Chief. Go tend to your business now.”
“Quit calling meâ” Gideon turned and cocked a finger in Carl's direction, but he couldn't quite keep a straight face in the presence of that cock-eyed grin
“âChief!”