Hallowed Ground (13 page)

I didn’t resent her. She was smart enough not to expect me to be a regular part of their family or to ask why I didn’t try to mend the rift with my dad.

Brittney met me halfway. “Mom said to tell you dinner’s done.”

“I’m a little late.”

“That’s okay. Church got out late today too.”

Another mark against me in my father’s holier-than-thou book. I no longer attended church. The whole “spare the rod, spoil the child” philosophy didn’t sit well with someone who’d met the business end of the rod on too many occasions. The best way I could honor my father was to stay the hell away from him.

Balto, the family Australian blue heeler, raced down the steps to greet me. I braced myself. He sniffed me and kept sniffing until Brittney jerked him back by his braided collar. I don’t like dogs. I’m not afraid of them, just don’t understand people’s fascination with something that sheds, shits, and drools.

The scent of roast beef, onions, cooked carrots, and bay leaves teased me as I followed Brittney to the cheerful red and yellow kitchen.

Trish was mashing potatoes. Without looking up from the mixer, she said, “Hi, Julie. Go on in to the dining room. I’m about finished.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Nope, but thanks.”

I wandered into the dining room, as ill at ease as if I were in a stranger’s house. Few traces remained of the years I’d lived here. Trish had decorated this house in country kitsch that fit the surroundings in a way I never had.

Heavy footsteps stopped behind me.

Every muscle in my body went on the defensive.

Taking a deep breath, I turned around and faced my father.

“BEEN AWHILE.”

No, “Nice to see you” or even a “Hello.” I couldn’t force a smile, but I did meet his eyes, a frosty blue identical to mine.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been busy.”

“So I’ve heard.”

That stopped me. Dad and I didn’t have any mutual friends.

Perplexed, his gaze encompassed the room. “You come alone?”

“Yep.”

“Huh. Thought you didn’t go nowhere without Kevin in tow.”

So this was how it was going to be,
pick pick pick
. Skipping my usual smart-ass answer, I glommed onto the ladder-back chair farthest from his and sat down at my grandmother’s trestle table.

He jerked back his padded captain’s throne and kept yapping.

“When you gonna quit screwin’ around and get married again? It ain’t right, a woman bein’ a man’s
partner
that ain’t her husband.”

With his emphasis on partner, he might as well have said
whore
.

“You know Kevin and I are just friends and business associates.”

Trish breezed into the room with a platter of meat. “How is Kevin, by the way?”

Nicely deflected, Trish.

“Not so good. His girlfriend Lilly doesn’t have much time left.”

“That’s too bad,” she said. “Cancer doesn’t discriminate against the young.”

Dad opened his mouth but Trish shot him a look that shut it.

I wanted to pump my fist in the air and shout, “You go, girl!” but I refrained.

Brittney carried in the potatoes, DJ hot on her heels with the gravy boat and a basket of hot, homemade biscuits.

Everyone settled in. Heads bowed as Dad began the prayer. After the last “Amen” we were finally allowed to eat.

The kids chattered through the meal. I half-listened, busy as I was shoving ranch raised beef in my mouth. Trish is an excellent cook, the one thing I enjoyed in this situation. Since I’d met Kell my red meat intake dropped. I frowned. Why had I let him dictate what I ate?

Trish made dessert, too, double chocolate brownie bars with hand-churned vanilla ice cream.

I’d barely licked the spoon clean when Trish said, “You two go on outside and catch up. Too nice a day to get stuck inside.”

Guess my food wouldn’t digest before Dad had a chance to upset my stomach. Hell, I even offered to help Trish with the dishes, but she shooed us out.

An after dinner cigarette would’ve been the perfect capper to the delicious meal. Except Dad frowned on my smoking, and in his present prickly mood, if I lit up, I’d never hear the end of another one of my sins.

Restless, I stuck my hands in my pockets and wondered why I was here. How long would it take him to get to the reason for the summons?

“Let’s take a walk,” he said.

The afternoon was gorgeous. Temp in the high seventies, with the occasional gentle breeze heavy with the scent of sweet clover. Perfect summer days like this on the ranch made you forget about the harshness of winter, the stress of calving season, the exhaustion of planting and harvesting. I’d always appreciated the appeal of the land, the solitude, if not the work it took to maintain it.

We passed the swing set, the barn, the fragrant black chunk of earth that was Trish’s vegetable garden. Silence hung, permeated by everyday outdoor ranch sounds: cattle lowing, meadowlarks chirping, mourning doves cooing, and the constant, annoying buzz of insects.

Dad stopped by the metal gate to the north pasture, placing his worn boot on the bottom rung.

I studied him as he stared across the field. He’d turn sixty-six this year. I supposed he could still be considered a handsome man. Tall, at 6’2”, his build was rangy rather than muscular. Thick, dark hair showed neither signs of gray nor of thinning. Square face, aquiline nose, and a broad forehead illustrated years worth of frown lines. Weathered lines also creased the corners of his full mouth and around his eyes.

“Black Irish” was the term my mother had bandied about in those rare instances when she’d called him on his temper. Had she been making it an excuse for his behavior? Or a description of his heart? Although I’d inherited my mother’s Scandinavian looks, my eyes were all his.

I tipped my head back, letting the sun warm my face. “I’ve forgotten how beautiful it is here.”

He snorted. “You’d remember if you showed up more n’ twice a year.”

I could’ve talked back. I knew that’s what he wanted. Naturally, I clamped my teeth together.

A prairie hawk swooped, catching a mouse in its talons before it soared again beating wings across the sky. I wished something, anything would come down and whisk me away.

“Ain’t even been out here to shoot your bow.” He shifted his weight and the metal latch on the fence rattled. “Or didja give it up?”

“No, I haven’t given it up.” I’d thought about it, but he wouldn’t care about my conflicted feelings.

Finally, he said, “What were you doin’ up at Bear Butte when that Injun got shot?”

Injun
. He’d used the term to rile me. Again, I ignored the taunt. “Where did you hear about it?”

“Everybody with a scanner heard it. This county ain’t that big. Besides, don’t get stuff like that happenin’ round here very often.”

During hunting season there was the occasional accidental shooting, usually some guy from out of state who paid heavily for the right to hunt, in more ways than one. We had our share of domestic calls, drunk driving arrests, vandalism, to name a few. When I worked for the sheriff’s department I recorded every incident, so I knew the secrets in Bear Butte County better than most.

I also knew my dad wasn’t one of those guys glued to the police scanner hoping to be the first to call his pals to pass along the latest news or misfortune. Forget the tough, loner stereotype of cowboys. Ranchers were as gossipy as churchwomen. “Who called you?”

“Maurice Ashcroft.”

NRA poster child and my dad’s closest buddy. Surprised me that old Maurice hadn’t sped to the scene with guns blazing, dog tags from Vietnam clanking, acting as representative of the Bear Butte County militia—which as far as I knew didn’t exist. Then again, the ranchers around here had enough guts and guns to make it a reality.

“’Course, he wasn’t the only one. Don and Dale heard it too. Said that Injun worked over where they’re buildin’ that casino. How’d you know him?”

“From a case I’m working on.”

“You’d better not be workin’ for those savages that’re buildin’ that eyesore.”

And my calm facade cracked. “Or what?”

He faced me, his pupils reduced to tiny silver pin-pricks of pure meanness. “Watch your tone.”

Again I said, “Or what? You gonna show me who’s boss?” I knew my eyes were as cold and mean as his. I gave him a disdainful once-over before I confined my gaze to his face. “Try it, old man; I’ll knock you flat on your ass.”

He smiled, spitefully. “You ain’t so tough, girl. But I’m glad your mother ain’t around to hear your foul mouth.”

“If she were around, we wouldn’t be standing here, would we?” A barbed reminder he’d used the money from her life insurance policy to buy the ranch. If not for her death, he’d still be driving a cement truck.

He didn’t have a response for that.

A few minutes passed, which seemed like an hour. God, I wanted a cigarette so bad my lungs were weeping.

“So, are you workin’ for the White Plain tribe?” he asked, as if we hadn’t just been exchanging heated words.

I could’ve told him my client information was confidential, just to see him lose what remained of his temper, but I didn’t. I merely said, “No.”

“Good.”

“Why do you care?” Some day, I’d find the backbone to ask him why he hated Native Americans. Because that hatred had been in place long before Ben’s birth and my mother’s passing.

He pointed across the field. “Take a look around. You seen what the traffic has done, you oughta see the grazing areas. We never used to have dust like that out here. Everything is covered with red dirt. For miles. Maurice had to call the vet out sixteen times in the last month. His calves are eatin’ the grass and it’s makin’ them sick. Hell, four of ’em even died. We’re all sufferin’ from it.”

If I mentioned western South Dakota had been in a severe drought, he’d find some way to dispute it. “The price of growth, I guess.”

“Yeah, ’cept none of us asked for this type of growth. And the growth we wanted, we didn’t get.”

“Bring it up with your county commissioner. Red Granger, right?”

“We tried. Red said there ain’t nothin’ he can do since the casino is on tribal land. Sovereign nation or some such.”

He used his forearm to wipe the moisture from his brow.

“Even though anybody that goes to that casino has to use County Road 9, Red says the county doesn’t have the funds to put oil on the gravel, say nothin’ of coverin’ it with blacktop.”

“Did Red talk to Sihasapa Tribal Council? See if they’d be willing to pay for part to keep the dust down?”

“They said it wasn’t their problem.”

“You’d think they’d want to keep the dust down as much as everybody else.”

He sneered. “They can do whatever the heck they want ’cause they don’t answer to nobody, least of all the people that’re payin’ the taxes in this county.”

Big bone of contention for everyone. Any revenue from the new casino wouldn’t benefit our tiny county. I knew how deep budget cuts affected law enforcement and our limited services.

Truthfully, even a small amount of income would be welcome. “Won’t some of the traffic spill over to the other businesses?”

“No. Not like when we had a chance to bring some real money in.”

“Wal-Mart wasn’t serious about building a super center out here, were they?”

“No. I’m talkin’ about the outdoor shootin’ range.”

“Not everyone wanted that.”

“Most folks did, in spite of that group takin’ it to court.” He snorted again. “Dumbest thing I ever heard, getting an injunction because the noise might disrupt their ‘meditation.’ Then the whole project fell apart when the state got spooked and pulled fundin’. The county lost out on easy money that would’ve benefited
everybody
, not just one group.

“Now, instead, some slick tribal members found a loophole to build that Injun casino on that land after all. Same thing all over again. The stock growers’ll be the ones strugglin’. It ain’t right.

Something needs to be done.”

“Like what?”

“Like stopping that casino from ever openin’.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. Doug Collins prided himself on voting (Republican) in every local, state, and national election, but he’d never been particularly political. Or much of a joiner.

“Dad, what are you up to?”

“Ain’t only me. Lots of people in this area don’t want that casino here, includin’ other tribes.”

He harrumphed. “For once some of those redskins are showin’ a lick of sense.”

“Who else is involved in this?” I demanded.

“Like I’d tell you
, Miss Pee Eye
. I know you’d run straight to your buddy, Sheriff Richards.”

It constantly puzzled me why he’d taken a dislike to my former boss. The sheriff was elected, not appointed. “Damn right I would, if I thought your plan would put innocent people in danger.”

“Oh I see. It’s okay if the tribe puts a hard workin’ rancher’s livelihood in danger. But the minute your poor, misunderstood Injuns are threatened, then you jump to their defense, don’t cha?

Couldn’t be that
they
were the ones doin’ something wrong, no sirree.”

“That’s not fair.”

“But it’s the truth.” He sniffed, rubbed his nose then scratched the middle of his back like some bug had crawled inside his shirt and was biting him. “I knew better’n to try and talk to you about this.”

“That’s why I’m here? So you can warn me off?”

“No. I wanted to warn you not to mess in something you don’t understand, something you’ve never cared about.”

Never cared about? Just because I hadn’t married a rancher and popped out a passel of kids didn’t mean I didn’t have roots here. My gaze traveled over the pasture. Clumps of creamy yarrow grew along the old fenceline and waved in the breeze. I knew if I walked through the buffalo grass I’d find gopher holes, crusty cow pies, chunks of rock, patches of wild mint. I’d hear birds twittering, rabbits scurrying, and bees buzzing. All the sights and scents and sounds that made up everything and nothing in this chunk of earth wasn’t something I’d wanted to forget. I’d always cared about the ranch, and this land, in a way he’d never understand.

Fury rose inside me. My mouth opened to unleash it when my cell phone rang.