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Once a Father
Kathleen Eagle
The cowboy’s got a secret!Logan had ranching in his blood. For this cowboy, teaming up with army sergeant Mary to enter the Double D’s wild mustang training competition was a win-win proposition. This tough yet vulnerable woman was a natural with horses – and with Logan. She soon had the single father yearning for love and family, something he’d lost when his grown stepsons left home.But, as with horses, it wasn’t enough for Logan to know how to ride this feeling; he had to know how to fall. And when Mary made a shocking discovery that threw their relationship into question, Logan knew he’d risk all to keep their untameable passion alive…



“Mary, Mary,” he whispered.
“Never contrary.” She closed her eyes and inhaled the spicy scent of sage and wood smoke.
Logan hooked his arm behind her head and opened his mouth over hers and stole her next breath with the kiss she wanted, the kind that gave back and kept on giving. She welcomed him, her tongue touching his, her lips taking the measure of his. Full and moist, they took the lead in a sexy slow dance meant to bring more dancers to the floor, meant to get things going up and down their bodies, bundles of nerves dying to become entangled in utterly wild ways. In the end he touched his forehead to hers, and they mixed breath with breath and sigh with sigh.
He lifted his head. “Would you like to stay with me tonight?”
Dear Reader,
What animal do you associate with romance? For me, it’s the horse. Whether he’s a knight in shining armor or a cowboy in well-worn blue jeans, my heroes ride horses. It’s no surprise that I fell in love with my own Indian cowboy during a summer filled with horseback rides across miles of rolling prairie.
So join us under the vast South Dakota sky for the story of a man and a woman who come from two very different worlds that are “just down the road” from each other. What brings them together? The Double D Wild Horse Sanctuary and a competition for horse trainers. Logan Wolf Track is “the best there is,” and so is Sergeant Mary Tutan. But Mary trains dogs. This is a story about neighbors becoming friends, friends becoming lovers, and families built on love.
Once again, come with me to a place where wildness reigns and love conquers all.
All my best, always,
Kathleen

About The Author
KATHLEEN EAGLE published her first book, a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award winner 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.
ONCE A FATHER
KATHLEEN EAGLE




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dedication
To Honor the Memory of
Barbara Eagle
Author Note
This story is set in southwestern South Dakota, near the Black Hills on a Lakota (Sioux) reservation. I have purposely not tied the story to a specific reservation, but I have made every effort to portray Lakota culture accurately.
If you’re a horse lover like me, check out the Black Hills Wild Horse Sanctuary online at www. wildmustangs.com. Douglas O. Hyde founded the program in 1988, and it is the inspiration for the Double D Wild Horse Sanctuary.

Chapter One
The barefaced loner with the long, brown hair and the distance runner’s body was a woman apart. She was no fence-sitter, no small-talker, no crowd-joiner. She had come for the horses and nothing else.
Logan Wolf Track liked her already.
He would likely change his mind before the day was over but being drawn to her at first sight counted for something. His hard-earned instincts rarely failed him. He knew a kindred spirit when he saw one. Whether he could work with her, kindred or otherwise, was something else. Twenty thousand dollars worth of something else, he told himself as he approached the woman.
He had come for the horses and the money.
South Dakota’s Double D Wild Horse Sanctuary was filled to capacity with horses the Bureau of Land Management had placed in the care of sisters Sally Drexler and Ann Drexler Beaudry, but the horse-loving women—particularly Sally—were hell-bent on making room for more. A bottleneck in the BLM’s wild horse adoption program—plenty of adoptees, few adopters—had the ever-resourceful Sally coming up with a plan for every letter in the alphabet.
Logan wanted in on her latest production. Thanks to Ann’s rich brother-in-law, Sally had found a sponsor for “Mustang Sally’s Makeover Challenge.” Trainers had three months to show the world that wild horses could be made into excellent mounts. The reward had Logan’s name written all over it. Not only the cash, but the cachet. His way with horses was like no one else’s, and he’d written a book on the subject. Not that he’d sold many copies, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a great book. All his training method needed was a little publicity, and winning Sally’s contest could bring him that.
Unfortunately, Sally had thrown him a curve.
In the shape of an hourglass.
“Did they turn you down?” he asked the woman’s back. He knew her first name, but she would have to give it to him before he’d use it. She was watching a dozen young horses chase each other around in a holding pen. Another handful had just been released into a nearby pasture, which put the captives in a tizzy.
The woman turned and drilled him with a look. Killer eyes. She knew it, too. She held Logan’s gaze long enough to let him know he’d interrupted something. Then she looked down at the crumpled paper in his fist.
“Sally’s right. I’m not qualified to train a wild horse.” She looked up. That quickly the color of her eyes had gone from icy gray to cool blue. “It sounds really exciting, but realistically, I don’t have that much time.” She squinted against the sun. “What about you?”
“I’m too qualified.” Logan gave half a smile. The woman wore a reserved expression on a pleasing face. No makeup, no pretense, nothing fancy. A good face, easily read. Her time in the sun had not been spent on the beach. She took care of herself, but pampering was not on her schedule. And she kept a schedule. “Sally tried to pull some conflict of interest excuse on me, but I know better.”
The woman tipped her head to the side, genuinely curious, still squinting. Logan’s straw cowboy hat shaded his face. He had the advantage. He could see her just fine. “What are you interested in?” she asked.
“Training horses. But I’m on the Lakota Tribal Council—Lakota Sioux—and I guess you could say we’re supporting Sally’s training competition in a roundabout way. We just decided to lease a bunch more land for the wild horse sanctuary. It’s true I talked it up and voted for it.” He turned to watch the horses. “But I still don’t see it. The Tribe isn’t putting up prize money or judges, nothing like that.”
“If she’s gonna be that picky, she won’t have anyone competing.” She turned, too. They stood side by side, nearly shoulder to shoulder, sharing a common disappointment. “I train dogs,” she reported.
He knew that. He suspected he had the advantage there, too. On the heels of his rejection, Sally had pointed the woman out to him through the office window. His wasn’t the only application she couldn’t approve, but she hated to turn good people down flat. Where there was a will, there might be a way.
“If you’re good at it, that’s experience in my book,” Logan allowed. “Which one do you like?”
“That one.” She pointed to a gelding the color of river water. His dark mane, tail and dorsal stripe were signs that his mustang ancestry went way back. “He doesn’t want to be here, any more than the rest of them, but he’s here, and he’ll deal with it intelligently. You can see it in his eyes.”
“You think he’s intelligent?”
“In his world he is. He’ll take cues from someone who knows how to give them.”
“What would you use him for?” He met her quizzical glance with more test questions. “That’s what the competition is about, right? Making him useful?”
“I’d ride him. I’d gentle him so that a child could ride him.”
“Do you have one in mind?” He glanced away. “A kid to show the horse at the end of the competition.”
“I just meant he’d be that gentle. Gentle enough for anyone to ride.” Her voice softened. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been around children.”
“Where’s your dog?”
“Halfway across the world.” She turned to him, shoulders squared, right hand his for the shaking. “Mary Tutan. Sergeant Mary Tutan, U.S. Army. Home on leave.”
“Logan Wolf Track. Home to stay.”
“Lucky you.” Her hand slid away. He wasn’t a shaker. In his world hands greeted without pressure, palm to palm. He liked her friendly smile. “Sally and I have been friends since we were kids, and I really love what she’s doing here. Just so you know, whatever her side is, I’m on it.” Her straight hair flew back from her face as she turned it into the soft summer wind. “That paint is nice, too. And I like the pretty red roan.”
“You wanna win this thing, or not?”
She gave a quick laugh. “If I were in it, I’d be in it to win it.”
“The paint’s too narrow across the shoulders, and that roan is walleyed.” “Wild-eyed?”
“Same thing. In this case you’re not lookin’ to see the whites of their eyes. Same with dogs, right? All you wanna see in the eyes is color.” Forearms braced on the fence rail, he glanced past his shoulder and met her studied gaze. She was taking mental notes. He nodded. “I like your first choice.”
“Me, too. If wishes were horses, that’s the one I’d ride.”
“I can make that wish come true for you. If you’re serious.” Her eyes questioned him again. “Your friend Sally has something up her sleeve. Maybe you know what it is.”
“An arm.” She smiled. “Sally plays by the rules. She doesn’t pull tricks. I’m sure she’d love to—”
“That’s exactly what she said. She’d love to have me compete, but she wants me to take on a partner, and she strongly suggested you.” Surprised? Check. Nothing up Mary Tutan’s short, unrestricted sleeve. Open for further explanation. “You apply for the competition. You train the horse. I train you.”
“She said that?”
Recalling his own reaction—less surprise, more irritation—Logan chuckled. “I think she’s making up the rules as she goes along, which makes it easy to play by them if you’re Sally. Thing is, I like Sally and I might just be willing to give her game a shot. How about you?”
She searched his face for signs of sense. “I only have thirty days.”
“I have whatever it takes.” He smiled. “And then some.”
“That makes you an interesting man, Mr. Wolf Track.”
“Logan.”
“With an interesting proposition,” she allowed, which surprised him. “But what’s in it for you?”
He lifted one shoulder. “My regular fee or a share of the prize money, whichever way you wanna go.”
“I doubt that I could afford your fee. And I wouldn’t do it for the money.” She turned her attention to the gelding. “I love horses.”
“Perfect. You do it for love. I’ll do it for money.” She laughed. He didn’t. “I’m serious.”
“Yeah, well, I’m—”
“Sergeant Mary Tutan, who says she wishes she could ride that horse. I’m saying I can make your wish come true if you’re willing to put the prize money where your mouth is.” She stared. He smiled. “And I can do it in thirty days.”
“What about the other sixty?”
“That’s for the kid.” She frowned, and he elaborated. “The one we’re gonna get to show the horse.”
“I can’t. I’d love to, but I just…” Here it came. The backpedaling. “I really just came to see my mother. I can’t stay. I don’t know why Sally would suggest that you partner up with me.” She hit a rock and stopped pedaling. “Something to do with my father?”
“I don’t know your father.”
“Dan Tutan? He has a ranch right up the road. He leases Indian land.”
“You think I know every rancher who leases Indian land?” He glanced away. A little disingenuous, there, Wolf Track. Some of the tribal land Dan Tutan had been leasing was about to become part of the Double D Wild Horse Sanctuary. “I know who he is. That doesn’t mean I know him. All I know about Sally’s suggestion is that she vouches for you personally, and she thinks you’d like to, love to enter ‘Mustang Sally’s Makeover Challenge’ but you need a horse trainer. I’m the best there is.”
Mary stared at the house, shook her head and muttered, “Sally, Sally, Sally.”
“So how about you fill out the papers and we get started?”
“Just like that?”
“You’re the one who’s only got thirty days.”
She gave him one of those little head shakes peculiar to women. I would, but there’s this problem. “I’d want to be able to show him myself, and I’m not the best rider.”
“We’ll train him for Western pleasure. I don’t care who shows him.”
“You want to win this thing or not?” she mimicked.
He shrugged. “We don’t win, I get nothing. You give me the money, honey, I’ll put in the time.”
“What about the love?”
“That I can’t help you with.”
“You don’t have to. I really would love to do this. It would be…” She crossed her arms and hugged herself. “I’m feelin’ it already.”
“Well, there you go.”
“Where?” She leaned closer. “Where do I go? I mean, where would we do this? And how would we—”
He laid his hand on her shoulder. “You sign the papers and leave the rest up to me.”
The Drexlers’ rambling old house had long been a second home for Mary. As a girl she’d sometimes pretended it was her first home. And then she’d thought about Mother and mentally flagellated herself. Even with those days long gone, she entered the mudroom through the squeaky screen door and boxed those old, familiar feelings around. Ah, yes, the door—oh, damn, it isn’t mine. She was greeted by a sweet yellow dog, ignored by an old calico cat.
“Come on in,” called a beloved voice.
“It’s me again,” Mary called back as she signaled the dog to stay and the man to come.
“In the office, you again.”
Mary led the way through sunny kitchen, comfy living room and dim foyer to present herself in the doorway to Sally’s office-by-day, bedroom-by-night. She took a parade rest stance.
“Okay, girlfriend, just what are the rules for this contest you’ve got going here?”
Sally spun her ergonomically correct chair away from the computer desk and grinned. “I see you two found each other.”
“Surprise, surprise. You said I wasn’t qualified to enter, but then you told…” Mary stepped aside, ceding the doorway to her companion.
“Logan,” Sally prompted, “that he couldn’t have a horse because he’s on the Tribal Council, and they lease us a lot of land for which we are enormously grateful. And I told him you’re somebody who’s interested in the challenge and might be able to get a horse, but you’d need to work with somebody who knows horses.” Sally bounced her eyebeams between visiting faces. “Perfect Jack Sprat kind of a deal, don’t you think?”
“I have to be in Fort Hood in thirty days.”
“So, you’d be in Texas. It’s not like you’d be on the moon. Not quite. I’ve got applications from as far away as…” Sally snatched a paper from one of three wire baskets—red, gray and green—on the corner of her desk. She adjusted her glasses and focused on the top of the page. “Here’s one from New York. Now that’s a different world. She says she lives on a reservation. Are there real Indians in New York?”
“All kinds,” Logan said.
“Good. I want all kinds of distribution. Geographical, cultural, economic, the whole barbecued enchilada. Nothing like wild horses to drag in all kinds.” Sally shot Mary a suggestive look. “Maybe they can drag you back from Texas on weekends.”
“That wouldn’t make a lot of sense.” She had to hear herself say the sensible thing. One crazy indulgence—possible indulgence—was one more than her limit. “But right now.. just so we’re clear…”
“Like the woman said,” Logan put in. “About those rules.”
“There are rules, and then there are…considerations.” Sally tossed the New York application aside. “I’m working with Max Becker out of the Bureau of Land Management’s Wyoming office. He’s the wild horse specialist there, and he helped me get the competition approved. We worked together on the application you both filled out. We don’t want anyone crying foul and giving wild horse and burro protection a black eye. Any more budget cuts and the program will go from a shoestring to a single-thread operation.”
“If we don’t qualify, we don’t qualify,” Mary said.
“Separately you don’t qualify. But I don’t have a problem with the entrant getting help from an experienced trainer.” Sally turned her eyeball-to-eyeball considerations from Mary to Logan. “And there’s no reason the trainer can’t be on the Tribal Council.”
“Are you making this stuff up as you go along?” Logan sounded more bemused than troubled.
“When we get into the gray areas I’m making most of the calls. Max is pretty busy. Plus…” Sally gestured toward the baskets. “…qualified applications aren’t exactly flooding in. See, these are my ‘In’ boxes.”
They were labeled “Ifs,” “Ands” and “Buts.”
“Which ones have been rejected?” Mary asked.
“Those.” Sally pointed to a metal trash can. “What does the army call ‘File Thirteen'?”
“They don’t even get a rejection letter?”
“Annie’s handling that end of it. She writes such nice letters, we even get donations back from some of the rejects.”
“I haven’t gotten any letter,” Mary told Logan. “Have you?”
He shook his head. “Must be in the ‘But’ pile.”
“You’re both ‘Ifs.‘ Together you could move from gray to green.” The look in Sally’s eyes went from that of woman on top to woman in love. Mary and Logan turned to see the cause.
Hank Night Horse stood in the doorway ready with a handshake for each. Mary’s came with a cowboy salute—touch of a finger to the brim of the hat—and Logan got a slap on his shoulder. “How’s it goin',
Track Man?”
“Have you figured this woman out yet?” Logan asked jovially. “Which box are you in?”
Hank and Sally exchanged affectionate glances.
“No conflict of interest there,” Logan said to Mary. “No ‘ifs', ‘ands’ or ‘buts’ about it.” Mary stepped to one side.
“Just so we’re clear, I’m not competing. I’ve got my hands full right now.” And to prove it Hank crossed the room, planted himself on the window seat behind his woman and rested his big hands on her slight shoulders. “But this guy’s the best there is, Sally. He’ll have his horse telling jokes while you clear the ring for the next contestant.”
“I don’t do stunts,” Logan said. “A horse is a horse.”
“Of course, of course!” Sally chimed in. Giddiness looked good on her. “And I want you to do what you do so well. I want this competition to generate some wonderful stories. Like the one about the Lakota horseman and the warrior woman. That’s going straight to Horse Lover’s Journal”
“Warrior woman,” Mary echoed with a chuckle. “I guess that’s better than ‘dog soldier.'”
“Why?” Hank asked. “Dog soldiers were the Cheyenne’s best warriors. Just lately they started up again. My sister got married to one, up in Montana. Anybody calls you a dog soldier, you take it as a compliment.”
“I do. I’m good at my job, too, and I prefer ‘dog soldier’ to ‘dogface’ but canine specialist has a better ring to it.”
“You don’t wanna be called a whisperer?” Logan asked. “Everybody’s whispering these days.”
“Got that, cowboy?” Sally slid Hank a playful smile. “You whisper, I purr.”
“I know.”
“Sweet,” Logan teased. “Rumor has it he can sing pretty good, too.” “I know,” Sally said.
Mary looked at Logan and cocked an eyebrow. “You get the feeling we’re in the way here?”
“I’ll get out of the way when I get what I came for,” he said. “You sign up for the horse, you got yourself a trainer.”
She glanced at Sally, who beamed back at her. Beaming you up, old chum. They’d spent precious little time together since Mary had enlisted, but the years fell away instantly because Sally was…Sally.
No more sidestepping. No looking down. There was only the man at her side and the chance at hand. She looked him in the eye. “What’s this gonna cost me?”
“A fair share of the prize.”
“How much of a share?”
“Depends on what you contribute time- and effort-wise. You gonna pony up, Sergeant?”
With the help of some army training, Mary had learned to welcome a good challenge, especially when it came from a worthy challenger. “Half,” she said. “Half is fair, and we split the expenses down the middle, win or lose.”
“We can’t lose. This is one of those win-win deals like you read about. Who’s gonna write the story?”
“Which…?” Sally was so deep into their game she was practically falling out of her chair. The look of a sidelines fan suddenly hit with the ball earned her a laugh. Sally being Sally, she took it in stride. “Oh, we’re gonna have all kinds of stories. That’s the whole point. We need to get the word out about these horses.” She glanced toward the door and smiled. “I think I’ll put Annie in charge of that little detail.”
“What little de—Mary!” Sally’s younger sister surged into the room and greeted Mary with a hug. “Are you home for good? Stateside, at least? My God, you look wonderful.”
“So do you.” Smaller. Happier. How long had it been—five or six years? Oh, the nicknames she and Sally had hung on little Annie when they were kids. Chubby Cheeks. Mary glanced at the tall, dark and handsome cowboy trailing “Cheekers” and gave herself points for not blurting that one out. “This must be your new husband. Congratulations. I’m Mary Tutan.”
Zach Beaudry offered a tentative hand. “Tutan? As in…”
“As in Damn Tootin’s daughter.”
“And my best friend forever,” Sally said emphatically. “Dan Tutan has nothing to say about that.”
“Oh, he has plenty to say. He’s a difficult man, my father. Nobody knows that better than I do.” Mary offered a shrug and sigh. “Nobody except my mother. And my brother.” She gave an apologetic smile. “And our friends.”
“We had a very small wedding,” Ann said quickly. “At a lodge in the Black Hills. Very few guests. Mostly family.” Ann had to reach up to put her arm around Mary’s shoulders. “Of course, if you’d been here.”
“I don’t blame you for not inviting him. If I were having a wedding, I wouldn’t invite him either. He’s.” Mary glanced at Logan. “.difficult.”
“You know how he feels about the horses and the sanctuary,” Sally said. “That’s the problem.”
“With my father it’s not about feelings. It’s about having things his way. That’s what he lives for. His way puts food on the table, so that’s a good thing. As long as you like to eat what he likes to eat.”
There was an awkward silence. Mary let it play out, a buffer between revealing more than she meant to—not quite as much as she wanted to—and taking a deep breath of fresh Drexler air.
She turned to Logan. The challenge was more important to her now than it had been an hour ago. “How does half sound?”
“What are you willing to do for your half?”
“Learn. If you’re as good as they say, I’m willing to be your apprentice.” She smiled. “I know how to take orders.”
“I don’t give orders. You watch and listen, maybe you’ll learn from me, maybe not.” He glanced at Sally, whose grin was all atta boy. He folded his arms and turned back to Mary. “So, what else?”
“Whatever needs doing.”
He gestured toward Sally’s wire baskets. “Staple us together and give us a horse.”

Chapter Two
“Mother, what are you doing?” Mary hurried to Audrey Tutan’s side and reached for the handle on the old ice cream freezer her mother had just carried upstairs. “This comes under the heading of heavy lifting, which is against the doctor’s orders.” It was the metal canister and hand crank inside the bucket that made the old turquoise contraption so heavy, and the steep stairway made the heavy lifting potentially fatal. Mary eased the load from her mother’s hand, pulled the string dangling from the bare lightbulb and shut the door against the darkness.
“I thought we were taking some time off from orders,” Mother said after catching a couple of breaths. “Besides, that isn’t so heavy, and your father has a sudden urge for homemade ice cream.”
“If we aren’t taking orders that includes everybody’s orders.” Mary lifted a warning finger. “Except your doctor’s. I took notes, so don’t even think about pushing your limit, which is a package of marshmallows. Did he tell you to make ice cream?”
“No, no, he just mentioned it. He remembers how you used to go crazy over homemade ice cream after you discovered Grandma’s old ice cream freezer down in the basement. Haven’t used it since you left home.”
“They make electric…” Mary unloaded the 1960s dinosaur on the same vintage kitchen table and brushed her hands together. “You don’t mean you’ve been rummaging around in the basement.”
“Didn’t have to. I knew right where it was. Beside, it’s nice and cool down there. On the way back up the temperature seemed to rise five degrees for each step. I thought I’d make strawberry.”
Mary eyed the old clunker. She hardly remembered Grandma, who had died when she was eight and was fondly remembered, especially for all the unwritten recipes she’d handed down to her daughter. Clearly Mother clung to some hope for her own daughter. Into your hands I commend the mighty ice cream freezer. She took the top off the metal canister and checked for debris. There was only the paddle she’d cleaned of ice cream more than once with her eager young tongue.
She’d use soap and water this time.
“They make smaller ones, too,” Mary said absently as her mother took a large kettle from the cabinet above the stove. “Did he really say all that? Let’s have homemade ice cream for Mary? “
“I know how he thinks.”
Mary kept her doubts on that score to herself. Audrey Tutan had become a recluse since her children had left home. She’d always been a mind reader as far as Mary was concerned, but she’d been as protective of the cache in her daughter’s head as she was of her own. The only tales she ever told were meant to promote peace in the Tutan household. What she could see inside her husband’s head was anybody’s guess. Steadfast and quiet, Mary’s mother had always stood by her man. Just this once, could she step away and be with Mary?
Don’t bring him into our conversation, Mother. Let me have your ear. Let me give you mine.
“How’s Sally?” Audrey asked as she opened the refrigerator door.
“Sally Drexler has met her match. I’ve never seen her this happy.”
“I’ve met him. He seems like a nice man, but does he.” Audrey turned, milk jug in hand. “Well, realistically, how’s her health?”
“Realistically, multiple sclerosis is incurable, Mother.” Don’t hang your head, Mother. It’s just you and me. Mary checked the contents of the sugar canister before setting it within Audrey’s reach. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You were just asking.”
Audrey wasn’t ready for the sugar, but she laid her hand over the canister lid anyway. Mary touched the hand that once fed her, felt Mother’s gratitude through cool, tissue-paper skin. The feel of fragility shook her to the core. Word from afar that her mother was in the hospital hadn’t surprised her. She knew her duty. She took the leave, took the journey, took her place at her mother’s side, and then, finally, it hit her. Her mother was mortal.
“She had her cane close at hand,” Mary went on, “but she’s full of Sally spunk. All excited about the competition they’re running to get more people interested in wild horses. You enter up, you get to pick a horse and train it for whatever you want and show it at the end of the contest. Big cash prize for the winners. Winner. Whatever.”
Mary opened a cupboard and took out measuring cups. She pulled a ring full of spoons from a reliable drawer. Mother’s helper was a familiar role. Knowing the drill made for a comfortable segue from what they both knew to what one of them wanted to say and needed the other to hear. They could take turns. There was so much, and it was confusing and even if there were no answers it seemed as though the questions should be voiced.
What’s going on with our bodies, Mother? You don’t know? If you don’t know, who does?
Disorder, that’s what. One wonky part throws the whole system off, right? One misstep causes temporary tailspin. Take a deep breath and wait for the spinning to stop. Take the time to get everything in line. What Mary liked best about the army was order. Clarity. Why couldn’t she bring the clarity home with her?
Home? What was that?
Start with something simple, Mary.
She leaned her hip against the edge of the counter. “I want to try it.”
“Training a horse?” Audrey turned the burner on under the milk. “How long does that take?”
“You get ninety days.”
“You mean.” Breathless pause. “.you’re not going back?”
Was that hope or fear? It was hard to tell with Mother. Either way, Mary knew the feeling, and it was damn prickly. She lifted one shoulder. “I’d have a training partner.”
“What are you talking about, girl?” Both women turned in the direction of the voice. “That dog food farm down the road?”
Speaking of prickly. Dan Tutan either stormed into a room or appeared out of nowhere. Either way, he enjoyed taking people off guard. He would have made a hell of a c.o., Mary thought. George Armstrong Tutan.
“I was talking to Mother.”
“And I was joking with you, Daughter.” Father’s smile never touched his eyes. “I know the Drexler girls are your friends. I don’t much like what they’re doing over there, but since they’re my girl’s friends, they can raise all the dog food they want. I’ll even borrow ‘em my sausage grinder when it comes time to butcher.” He raised an instructive finger. “That was another joke.”
“Of course.” Who would have guessed?
He moved in close enough to get a peek into the kettle. Audrey stepped to one side, stirring, stirring, stirring. Mary held her ground.
“You’re not making vanilla, are you?”
“Strawberry,” Audrey said.
“Good.” He glanced at Mary as he turned away from the stove. “Why didn’t you bring one of your dogs with you? Show me some of their tricks.”
“They’re working dogs.”
“The army doesn’t give them any leave time?” Her father chuckled.
“She sent us a wonderful training video,” Audrey said as she tested the milk with her finger. “She’s in it, working with the smartest dog I’ve ever seen.” She flipped the burner off, glancing at Mary as she moved the kettle. “I watched it on the computer. He doesn’t like computers.” “They don’t like me.”
“We should all watch it together,” Audrey suggested. “Mary can tell us more than what they say on the video. I mean, more about what she actually does and how those dogs…” She rummaged in the refrigerator and backed out with eggs and cream. “We could have our ice cream while we watch, and I could pop some—”
“They’re trying to take over that whole area west of the highway,” Dan said, never one to let a bad joke go to waste. “All that Indian land I’ve been leasing over there.”
“It’s mostly badlands, isn’t it?” Mary said. Part of her wanted to fall back and ignore his remarks, but the rest of her wanted to take a position and push back.
“Hell, no. There’s a lot of grass out there, and the Tribe wants to turn it over to those girls and their welfare program for horses.”
“You hardly use that land. It’s as wild as those horses are.”
“That’s how much you know about cattle ranching. What’s gonna happen to this place after I’m gone? Between you and your brother….” He drew a deep breath and blew out heated disgust. “You work your whole life to build something solid, and you want to be able to put your name on it and hand it over to heirs who know how to carry on. Born ranchers. Tutan heirs.”
“Sounds like a group of backup singers,” Mary quipped. “The Tutanaires.”
“I could sure use some backup for a change. When it comes down to it—and sooner or later it will, between their horses and our cows—we’ll see who’s a Tutan heir. Between you and your brother.”
“You already said that. How long has it been since you heard from my brother?”
Silence. Her older brother had left home as soon as he’d finished high school. Mary admired him for putting himself through college and getting involved with the Forest Service in the Pacific Northwest. Sadly, she and Tom had allowed distance and the passage of time to get the better of their relationship.
“He called me on Mother’s Day,” Audrey said. “He and Adrienne are fine.”
“Good to know,” Mary said. “If he ever changes his mind about South Dakota, he’s welcome to the place as far as I’m concerned.”
“He has to change his mind about me first. Owes me—” Dan made a dismissive gesture “—an apology, to start with. After that, he owes me the two thousand dollars I loaned him to get himself a car.”
“That was for college, Father. The car was—”
“The car was a piece of crap, but he knew how to keep it running, and he didn’t learn that from any college. Or anything else useful. What’s he doing up there in tree hugger country, for God’s sake? Tell you what, until he meets those two conditions and maybe one or two more, he gets nothing. I’ve written him off.”
“Mother can always write him back in after you’re gone.” Mary smiled to herself as she watched her mother separate eggs and slide the yokes into a bowl of sugar. “That was another joke.”
No one was laughing. He’d never be gone. If ever a man was earthbound, it was Dan Tutan. If there was any justice in the world, Mother would outlive him long enough to sell the ranch and blow the proceeds on herself. But Mary had seen enough of the world to know that justice was hard to come by for too many women, and her mother—stirrer of milk, sugar, eggs, anything but controversy—was one of them. She had been living in her husband’s pumpkin shell too long.
“We’ve got the same kind of humor, Daughter. Nobody else gets it.”
“Including you and me.” Mary folded her arms and watched him walk away. “I wish I could’ve brought one of the dogs with me,” she told her mother quietly. “I miss having one around.”
“I wouldn’t mind having a dog here again. Would you pour the milk in while I stir?” Mother sidled along the counter to give Mary access to the kettle of scalded milk. “Make sure it’s cool enough.”
Mary was no judge of cool. She offered the kettle for her mother’s parchment-skinned finger test.
Mary nodded, stirred, called for a slow pour and smiled. “Even if you’re not doing all the training yourself, Sally’s contest might keep you here a little longer than you’d planned.”
“I’m here to see you, Mother. The last thing I want to do is cause stress, so…” So don’t spill the milk, Mary. You might end up crying over it. Her throat stung a little as she swallowed. Damn hormones. She took a deep, cleansing breath and set the kettle aside. Can we talk, Mother? Can we please, just the two of us? “So you’ll tell me if it gets to be too much, won’t you? Because obviously nothing’s…” Changed? Wrong choice. “Nothing’s more important right now than your health. Getting you back to a hundred and ten percent.”
“Except my hearing.” Audrey’s eyes brightened with a slow smile. “I like to keep that turned down to about fifty. Every other word is plenty.” She nodded toward the refrigerator. “I’ve already mashed up the strawberries. They’re in the—”
“Blue Tupperware box.” Mary laughed. She was glad Mother’s kitchen hadn’t changed.
“The salt is on the front porch, and I have ice in the chest freezer.” Audrey folded strawberries into the rich, custardy mixture. “Remember how we used to go out on the porch on summer evenings, and you and the Drexler girls would take turns cranking until you said your arm was going to fall off?” She raised her brow. “You could call them. Tell them we’re making ice cream. I’ll bet they’d come right over.”
“It’s just us, Mother. I’ll hold the canister, and you pour.”
The porch glider squeaked, the ice rattled between the walls of the turquoise bucket and the silver canister, and two meadowlarks called to each other somewhere in the grass. Summer music, Mary told herself as she turned the crank that spun the canister. What had once been a chore now felt like a warm-up for a welcome workout. She’d gone for a run early that morning, but she missed the gym. She wasn’t going to give up exercising no matter what. Her face was no prize, but she had a damn good body, and that wasn’t going away.
She switched arms. The more resistance, the better the results.
“What the hell is goin’ on?”
Stop the music. Here comes Damn Tootin'. He was waving a piece of paper in one hand, an envelope in the other.
“I just got a notice from the Bureau of Land Management, says I can’t run cattle in the hills west of Coyote Creek. Says they’re designating that area for wildlife. Designating for waste is what that means.”
Mary flexed her fingers and stepped back from the ice cream freezer, which she’d set on a stool. “It’s so isolated, Father. Why can’t you just let it go?”
“You give ‘em an inch, they take a mile. Once they start telling you how to run your business they don’t stop.”
The glider started squeaking again, albeit tentatively. Audrey’s gaze had drifted to the cottonwoods and the Russian olives that formed the windbreak on the north side of the yard. Mary could have followed her mother’s lead.
But she didn’t.
“Who’s they?“
“People who don’t know what it takes to make a living off this land. They should just stay out of it. Take their damn programs and their so-called endangered.” He slapped the envelope against the letter. “There’s horses all over this country. Endangered my—” face red, jaw set, he swung his leg up, set the sole of his boot against the edge of the stool and gave a raging shove “—ass!”
Everything flew across the porch—stool, bucket, ice, salt water, canister, pink and white slush.
Mary gaped in horror. “You broke it. Grandma’s ice cream—”
“It’s not broken,” Audrey said, seemingly unruffled. Mary questioned her mother’s cool with a look. “I can fix it,” Audrey assured her, just as she had the time her father had backed over her tricycle with his little Ford tractor. “Don’t worry. I can make more.”
“Who the hell is this now?” Dan scowled up the mile-long dirt road that connected the ranch gate with the gravel driveway. A blue pickup pulling a two-horse trailer rumbled in their direction. Three pairs of eyes watched until the vehicle was parked and the driver emerged.
Mary felt a funny little flutter in her chest.
“It’s that damn Indian off the Tribal Council. He’s the one got them to take my lease land for those mustangs. Dog Track or some damn—”
“Shut up, Dad.”
“What?” It was his turn to be horrified. “What did you say to me?”
“You heard me. Do you want to lose the rest of your leases?” She tuned in to the sound of the visitor’s footsteps, but she held her father’s full attention with a cold glare.
“Looks like somebody spilled her milk.”
“It was going to be ice cream.” Mentally Mary switched the light off in one room and turned it on in another as Logan mounted the porch steps. “Mother, have you met Logan Wolf Track? Logan, Audrey, my mother. You know my father.” Logan glanced at her on the way to shaking her mother’s hand, and she reminded him, “You know who he is.” With her boots covered in what would have been strawberry ice cream, she didn’t feel like saying the name.
But Logan acknowledged him with a proffered hand. Then he turned to Mary. “Let’s go pick up our horse.” “Now?”
“You signed us up. Sally says it’s first come, first served. You wanna ride over there with me, or do you have other—”
“What horse?” her father demanded. “You’re not bringing any horses here.”
“I’m sorry, Logan. My father’s a little cranky. He just received some news that didn’t sit well with him. We weren’t going to bring our horse here, anyway.
Were we?”
“Nope.” Logan glanced at the mess and gave a perfunctory smile. “Wild horses are real sensitive.”
“You mean you’re really doing it?” Audrey rose from the glider. “You entered that contest? Are you a horse trainer, Mr. Wolf Track?”
“Among other things,” he said.
“Can you give me a minute to clean this up?” Mary moved to pick up the overturned stool, but Logan was closer, and he beat her to it. She got the bucket.
“You go on, Mary. I’ll just hose off the porch.”
Mary set the bucket on the stool and turned to give the stay signal. “You’re not hauling hose, Mother.”
But Logan was already halfway down the steps. He’d spotted the hose rack, and he was wasting no time. He unlooped the hose, reached over the railing, handed Mary the nozzle and waited for her signal to turn on the water. Her parents watched silently as though they were the visitors. Maybe she and Logan were already a team. Together they made short work of the porch mess.
“Come with us, Mother,” Mary offered after Logan turned off the water. She felt like a teenager about to head out on her first date. “We’re going to pick out our horse.”
“Oh, no.” Audrey glanced at Dan, who scowled back at her. She smiled. Actually smiled. “I have so much to do. I’m still going to make ice cream if anyone’s interested.”
“Damn right somebody’s interested,” Dan grumbled.
“We can do that when I come back. You don’t need to be cranking.” Mary danced down the porch steps and met Logan at the bottom. “Do you like homemade ice cream?”
“I didn’t know it came homemade.”
“Give me a ride round trip, and I’ll treat you to a taste of heaven.” He looked at her as though her head had just turned into a hot fudge sundae. “I’m not kidding,” she said. “You’ll never go back to the ordinary stuff in a box.”
“Haven’t even gotten much of that lately.” She choked back a laugh as he nodded toward his pickup. “Round trip it is.”
She was an interesting woman, all right. Becoming more interesting by the minute. Logan hadn’t been around too many women when he was in the army. Just his luck. He could’ve used a lot more training in that department right about that time in his life. He’d been a skilled hunter and a Golden Gloves champion boxer when he’d enlisted, but he hadn’t known jack about women. He’d learned the hard way by getting married and turning in his combat boots without giving either move much thought. He’d been that hungry, and Tonya had been that hot.
So here’s this woman offering him ice cream, and his face catches fire. Homemade, she says. What was that supposed to mean?
He was too old to play games. What was that old saying? Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice.
He had a history of taking a flirt too seriously.
He’d gone for the hose. He knew what he was doing. Tonya had been older and wiser—well, smarter—and she’d been there and gone before he’d known what hit him. A lot of water had flowed under his bridge since then, and he knew how to stay cool. Water was the remedy for hot blood. Sweat, tears, time and the river flowing.
And homemade ice cream was probably just something farmers whipped up when they didn’t want to spring for the real thing.
They’d reached the highway, and he was thinking about filling the deafening silence with some country music.
“He never changes.”
Her voice startled him. It sounded small—like her mother’s, but not worn down. Mary’s was more like humiliated. The kid whose father wouldn’t quit yelling at the ref. Logan had never actually had a conversation with the man, but Tutan was the kind who made sure everyone knew who he was and acted like they should care. He couldn’t get it through his head that non-Indian ranchers didn’t call the shots on Indian land. Not anymore. So he’d come before the Council and made a few demands, most recently for reinstatement of the leases he’d lost to the Double D Wild Horse Sanctuary. The Council had given him due consideration—time to tell his side.
He’d leased that land when nobody else wanted it.
Logan would give him that. He’d been there first. Logan had laughed out loud.
The Tribe owed him.
Logan had called the question and moved to reaffirm the decision to lease the area known as Coyote Hills to the Drexlers and to honor their nonprofit status with a special rate.
While the voice of a daughter embarrassed by her father’s behavior tore at Logan’s gut, he couldn’t judge another man on that score. He wasn’t in the habit of commenting on other people’s troubles, anyway, so he said nothing and hoped she’d drop the topic altogether. He was interested in her, not her family, even though they had little in common except a horse.
“I worry about my mother.”
Even worse. Worrisome mother trumped embarrassing father. And from the look of the three Tutans and the mess on their porch, Mary’s worries were well-founded. If it was any of Logan’s business, he’d be worried about Mrs. Tutan, too. Fortunately, his interest didn’t extend to Mary’s mother.
“He’s gonna kill her.”
Aw, jeez. “Let’s go back and get her.”
“She won’t leave him. I’ve tried to.” His foot on the brake changed her tune. “I don’t mean he’s going to kill her. I mean he’s going to be the death of her.” She met his glance with an apologetic smile. “I did say kill, didn’t I.”
“You did.”
“He doesn’t…no. Not literally.” She gave a humorless chuckle. “Not physically.”
He moved his foot to the accelerator.
“She says she just had a small heart attack,” Mary said. “What’s a small heart attack? She was only in the hospital for two days, but that doesn’t mean anything these days. Especially when her husband’s big concern is when are they gonna let her out? So that’s the only reason I came home. The main reason.”
Casting about for a cheerful observation, he smiled at the road ahead. “Now you have a project on the side.”
“Good way to keep busy while I’m here.” “Good way to show your father what you’re made of.”
“I know exactly what I’m made of, and that’s all that counts. I’ve learned that the hard way.”
“How many tours?”
“In the Middle East? Two.”
He acknowledged her dedication with a raised brow. He’d spent time in the Sandbox, but it had been more than twenty years ago. It had to be tougher these days. It just went on and on, tour after tour for a lot of guys, no end in sight.
A lot of guys?
“I don’t mind,” she was saying. “I love my work.”
“What kind of dogs do you train?”
“All kinds. Trackers, sniffers, sentries. Lately I’ve been coaching Iraqi dog handlers, helping them build their own canine units.” She angled her knees in his direction. He’d hit her sweet spot. “I couldn’t have a horse when I was growing up, but we had cattle dogs. I learned a lot from them.”
That sounded promising. “And you rode Sally’s horses.”
“As often as I could.”
He nodded. “It’s been a while since I had a dog. My sons always had at least one dog around, sometimes one each.”
“How many children do you have?” She sounded a little tentative. Disappointed, maybe. She hadn’t figured on kids.
“They’re not children.” If that helps any. “Trace and Ethan are in their twenties.”
“You don’t look old enough to have kids that age. You must’ve started young.”
“As young as I could.” He flashed her a wry smile. “I married a family. The boys were half-grown, and I was half-kid. Well, maybe not half, but it was a good mix to start with. We had some good times together.” He lifted one shoulder. “We’re all on our own now. Full-grown. Divorced. Footloose and…what’s the other thing?”
“Fancy free,” she quipped, joining him in some irony of her own. “Where is everybody?”
“No idea where their mother is. She cut out early. Left the boys with me.”
“What about their father?” She sounded suitably indignant on her new partner’s behalf. Logan appreciated loyalty.
It was almost a shame he had to set her straight. Try to, anyway.
“I’m their father. I adopted them, gave them my name. They both go by Wolf Track. Their mother left a picture of her, uh…one of the men. Ethan tried to look him up, but I don’t think he got anywhere. The other one…” He glanced at her as he turned onto the gravel approach to the Double D. He’d already said more than he usually did, but the look in her eyes invited more. And, what the hell… “Who knows? She never talked about her past. One of those livin'-in-the-moment people. I liked that about her right up until she was here one moment and gone the next.” “She just…left?”
“Yep. Said she’d come back for the boys and never did.”
She didn’t look too shocked. Didn’t look pitying or superior, wasn’t taking him for a saint or a sucker. Maybe she was just taking him for the way he was.
“That must’ve been hard,” she said. “Never knowing what was going to happen if she came back.”
“She wasn’t taking those boys, no matter what. Not after…” He smiled as he parked the pickup next to a paddock holding a handful of horses. “You’re good at stealing bases, you know that? I never answer questions on the first date.”
“This is hardly a date.”
“That’s right.” He cocked his finger and gave her a wink. “I picked you up.”
The man winked at her. Winked. All right, it was kind of cute, but what was he thinking? Mary hadn’t been winked at since…never? She didn’t remember anybody winking at her. It made her feel downright giddy. Of course, she’d hidden it.
Well, except for a little smile.
Hoolie Hoolihan emerged from the bunkhouse and ambled across the graveled quad that was surrounded by outbuildings and corrals. Hoolie was a true cowboy—unchanging, ageless, loyal as an old soldier. As far as Mary knew, he’d always been part of Double D. He greeted her with a proper pull on the brim of his cowboy hat before shaking Logan’s hand, tucking thumbs in his belt and commenting on the need for some rain. The visitors chimed in as they drifted toward the corral. As though they’d been cued, the horses suddenly took to the far corner like a flight of butterflies.
“Sally’s pretty pleased with herself, gettin’ you two partnered up,” Hoolie said as he hiked one boot up to the bottom fence rail. “Which one are you taking?”
“We’re going with Mary’s first instinct. Taking the claybank.” Logan glanced at his partner. “Right?”
“He’s beautiful,” Mary said, basking in his approval.
“That one’s all mustang,” Hoolie said. “No plow-horse blood in those legs.”
Logan smiled. “That’s the way we like ‘em.” At the moment, he only had eyes for the horses.
“I’ve got your book,” Hoolie said.
Logan spared him an appreciative grin. “So you’re the one.”
“The Indian way of training horses takes a lotta time, seems like.”
“I’ve been doing it all my life,” Logan quipped. “You think you can have the horse ready in just—”
“Oh, yeah.” Logan smiled, still watching the horses. “I don’t know if I can have Sergeant Tutan ready, but the horse is not a problem.”
“Are you taking him to your place?” Mary asked.
“First thing, I’m taking him back to his place. You can come if you want. Otherwise I can drop you off.”
“His place?”
“He’s a wild horse. His place is wild. That’s where we start.” Logan turned to Hoolie. “Can you help me cut him out?”
“I’ll be the gate man.”
Hoolie headed for the barn. Mary followed Logan around the front of his pickup to the empty horse trailer.
“Where are we starting?” she asked as she watched him open the tack door and reach inside for a coiled hard-twist rope. “I’m going, but I’m just curious.”
“His place.” He slid the bolt on the tack door and slid Mary a playful smile. “You like camping?”
She laughed. “I’m a soldier. Camp is my place.”

Chapter Three
He had set up his camp the day Mary had signed the agreement. The tipi was traditional. Except for its shape, the round pen was not. He had a permanent one in his backyard, but he used portable corral panels to make the circle he required in pursuit of his acquaintance with a horse. The round pen served as physical containment, but it allowed for freedom of the spirit. The rope he had watched many a tamer use to “break” a horse generally served Logan as a director’s tool. It helped him extend his arm or widen his hand. He could’ve used something else, but he was still a cowboy, and the rope was part of his gear.
And he was still an Indian. Gone were the old government-issue canvas tents his grandfather’s generation had known all too well. “Back to the blanket” had been an expression of ridicule. Back to the tipi was a summertime homecoming. Sure, he lived in a house. Most days, anyway. But there was no better shelter for camping at a powwow or getting away to a place where there were no square corners and no one knew your name than a Lakota tipi.
He’d set it up in a grassy draw in a remote part of the sanctuary. There was a stand of scrub oaks with a plentiful supply of deadfall, a patch of buffalo berry bushes, shifting shade, a view of mighty South Dakota buttes, and a sun-catcher creek meandering through it all.
He could feel Mary’s pleasure at first sight. She drew a quick breath and took it in wordlessly, which pleased him. Her curiosity was fully satisfied, and no comment could improve on that.
He backed the trailer up to the round pen, and she helped him adjust the panels to create a funnel into the circle from the trailer door. Logan entered the trailer through the front door, and the mustang scrambled out the back and darted to the far side of the pen. Logan half expected the horse to jump the fence. He could have cleared it, and Logan would have had all kinds of hell to pay getting him back. The fact that he didn’t try told Logan something about his state of mind. He wasn’t as scared as he looked.
Logan signaled Mary to stay where she was, partly hidden by the trailer door. Give everybody’s pulse rate a chance to settle down. His own sure was racing. This was the all-things-being-equal time. None of them knew the roles of the other two. If they were to spend time together—any time worth spending—they would find comfortable ways to fit with each other. But right now they were three individuals, each looking out for number one.
The gelding paced nervously, but his ears were working the space. Logan would let him have all the time he needed. He was already impressed with his partner’s ability to read his cues. When the mustang settled down, dropped his head and sniffed the grass he’d trampled all but flat, Logan moved in and started easing the fence panels, closing off the circle. Mary followed his lead without discussion.
Mary knew better than to chat up a trainer when he was working. She hated nothing more than another human voice confusing the animal and impeding her progress. She was probably boring to watch. But Logan was not. He wasn’t doing much, wasn’t saying anything, but every move he made was fascinating. He was long and lanky, and he moved so smoothly it was hard to tell how quick he was. Every aspect of his attention focused on the animal, intent on nonverbal means of show and tell. His hands were sure, his arms powerful, his back long and tapered, his face enormously attractive. Granted, some of that had no effect on the horse, but it surely sucked her in.
Once initial acquaintances had been made, Logan filled a hay net with alfalfa from his pickup and pushed a small galvanized steel water trough halfway under the fence. Mary went after the five gallon rubber water bucket she’d noticed in the trailer’s storage compartment and headed for the creek, smiling at him in passing. “Thought I’d fetch a pail of water.” He started to follow, but it was her turn to give the signal to stay. “I’ve got it under control, Jack.” She glanced up at his hat. “Watch out for your crown.”
“Don’t take any tumbles without me.”
“You’re thinking of Jill. I’m Mary. The contrary sister.”
“You feel like roasting a few dogs over a fire, Mary? That’s all I’ve got.” He grinned. “Unless you brought your little lamb.”
“You’re heartless,” she said as she sashayed down the slope, swinging her bucket.
“Yeah, I gave that away a long time ago,” he called after her. “Got myself a mechanical ticker. No more tears.”
“Right. The truth is, I’ve been in the army long enough, I’ll eat almost anything. Just don’t tell me what it is.”
He offered to help her carry the water up the hill, but she noticed he didn’t push when she said she had it. When she told him she was going back down to the creek for some dried wood she’d spotted, he grinned and called her his kind of woman. She figured there was a dig in there somewhere, but his smile was so infectious she didn’t care. His dark eyes glittered with unqualified delight.
They had fun with their fire making, traded hot dog jokes, enjoyed the fry bread his sister had given him that morning in return for snaking out a clogged drain. They traded smiles when they heard their mustang take a drink from the trough. Twilight settled in softly. Crickets sang to each other in the tall grass. Mary happily inhaled the smell of horse sweat from the blanket Logan had provided her to sit on. She figured being covered with horse hair would be a lateral move from being covered with dog hair. Hair came with the territory.
But the view was novel, and what Mary was viewing right now was an Indian cowboy stretched out long, lean and relaxed, elbow braced on the ground, sipping black coffee from a blue metal cup. She’d been around a lot of men in her line of work, but Logan was different. Maybe the difference was mostly in her head, but the view was definitely stirring.
“Whose land is this now? Sally’s or my father’s?” Logan gave her a hooded look, and she took it to mean that she ought to have known. “I never came out this far when I was living here.”
“Never?”
She shook her head slowly. She would not tell him how, once she’d signed her enlistment papers, she’d started counting the days until she would finally see what South Dakota looked like from the air. This was a beautiful place—the mustang’s place, Logan’s and Sally’s, and, yes, her father’s—but Mary had never been anywhere else before she’d taken that flight to Fort Leonard Wood, the first of many flights and many new sights. Granted, few were this beautiful, but she’d welcomed every takeoff knowing that she’d learned more about the world at every landing.
“This is Indian land,” Logan said. “It doesn’t matter who’s using it.”
“I’m not sure what my father would use it for. Hunting, maybe.” Her father had never been much of a hunter himself, but he’d made friends with influential people by hosting hunting parties. She hoped they hadn’t partied here. “This must be where the wild things are.”
“Some,” Logan allowed. “Not enough, if you ask me. We could do with more wild things.”
“Instead, we’re about to undo.” Mary glanced toward their mustang. “This one, anyway.”
“This is the one you picked. You signed and sealed his fate.”
“And it’s up to you to see that we deliver. As we say in the army, the fate of the many depends on a few.”
“Hear that, boy?” Logan called over his shoulder. “It’s for your brothers and sisters.”
“You do believe that, don’t you? It’s a good cause.”
“Of course I believe it. It’s what I do.” He sat up slowly, flexing his shoulders within the confines of what she judged to be a fairly new, crisp denim jacket. “Two animals came to live among the Lakota—the horse and the dog. It’s an agreement those animals were willing to make. Not all of them, but a few.”
“What if this one doesn’t agree?”
“Then we agree to let him go, and we ask someone else. Isn’t that what you do? Not all dogs agree to your training.”
“No, but I can identify the disagreeable ones almost immediately.” She smiled. “It’s what I do, Mr.
Wolf Track.”
“Where do the disagreeable ones go?”
“Back where they came from.”
“The wild?” He shook his head. “No. With dogs, you either have to care for them or put them down. Even the wild ones—the wolves and the coyotes—they’re barely tolerated.”
“A wild dog isn’t the same as a wolf or coyote.”
“True. In some ways a feral dog has more in common with a feral horse.”
“Except in the eyes of the law.”
He nodded toward the round pen. “This guy’s lucky. If he can’t live tame, he can still live free. For now, at least, thanks to the law and the Double D Wild Horse Sanctuary. Both subject to the whims of politics.”
“Now that the Tribal Council has stepped in on behalf of the sanctuary.”
“Tribal politics is still politics,” he allowed with a shrug. “But your instincts are good, and you chose well.”
“With a little guidance,” she allowed back. “How long will you stay out here?”
“Until he agrees to live among people.”
“That sounds pretty mystical.”
“Good. That’s what I’m goin’ for.” He looked up, a new sparkle in his eyes. “Psychology is out. It’s mysticism that sells these days.”
“That’s right. You wrote a book. I’d better get a copy so I can start doing some homework.”

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