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A Man of Privilege
Sarah M. Anderson
Blue-blooded lawyer James is working on the case of his life.This trial will set him up for life; then he meets his witness, Maggie Eagle Heart. She makes him question everything – his family, goals, future. Now the one woman he wants is completely off limits. But he can’t deny their attraction. James has always done what is expected of him…until now.



“I’m going to win this case, get married and run for office. That’s the plan.”
“Plans can change, but only if you want them to.”
He regarded her for several seconds, and Maggie was afraid she’d crossed some line. “What I want is to do the right thing. I always do.”
What was the “right” thing here? Was it right to like him? To want him to like her? To imagine what it would be like to kiss him? Was it right to want to see him again—without testimony or lawyers, without messy histories or future campaigns involved?
Was it right to want those things without any other expectations?
Dear Reader,
When last we saw James Carlson, he arrested the bad guy and saved the day. Many readers wondered whether or not James would ever meet his match. Have no fear—A Man of Privilege answers that question!
James is a wealthy man with a spotless record. He’s destined for higher office and the power that goes with it. All goes according to plan until Maggie Eagle Heart walks into his life. He’s completely unprepared for the beautiful woman who challenges him at every turn. No one has ever challenged him before. Maggie is different— and it won’t be long until James discovers just how different she really is!
James finds himself struggling to keep his family’s expectations and his own dreams spinning when Maggie is around. Before he knows it, things spin out of control.
A Man of Privilege is a sexy story of power and privilege. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Be sure to stop by www.sarahmanderson.com for a sneak peek at the next book, A Man of Distinction.
Sarah

About the Author
Award-winning author SARAH M. ANDERSON may 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.

A Man
of Privilege
Sarah M. Anderson


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my grandmothers, Frances, Goldie and Maggie.
I couldn’t have asked for three stronger women
in my life, and for the gifts that each gave me,
I’m eternally grateful.

One
“Mr. Carlson, Agent Yellow Bird is here with Ms. Touchette.” His assistant’s tone was clipped and professional, giving no clue as to what sort of woman was waiting out there.
“Thank you.” James’s hand hovered over the old-fashioned intercom switch. The intercom wasn’t his favorite way to communicate with Agnes. Reminded him too much of how his father would bark out orders to the hired help from behind the closed doors of his home office. Luckily, his father wasn’t here.
And his parents had certainly never stooped to visit him in South Dakota. The sight of this shabby office in the Judicial Building in Pierre, South Dakota, would no doubt send his mother into affected hysterics. In her view, his job here was not the shortest path between the family mansion in Washington, D.C., and the White House. The Carlson family dynasty was mentioned in the same breath as the Kennedys or the Bushes. For as long as he could remember, he had been groomed for a run at the presidency. His parents expected him to do whatever it took to win. It drove them nuts that James insisted on walking the straight-and-narrow path to power instead of letting them open all the doors for him.
He picked up the photo of Ms. Touchette from his desk. The decade-old mug shot showed a bruised, beaten woman trying to look mean and mostly looking like a dog someone had kicked too many times. Her scarred skin and browned teeth were consistent with those of a meth abuser. She had a hell of a rap sheet—arrests for transporting and delivering drugs, prostitution, breaking and entering. The later arrests, which had occurred almost ten years ago, had taken place at the same time James had been finishing at the top of his class at Georgetown with seven-figure offers from all the top firms.
His father had expected him to take the highest offer, but James didn’t need the money. His grandfather had left him more than enough, so James had taken an entry-level position with the Department of Justice and earned every single promotion. He was one of the best lawyers in the country not because his mother was rich or his father was powerful, but because he worked hard and followed the rules.
Not everyone followed the rules. The paper trail on Touchette went cold nine years ago. Either she’d dropped off the face of the earth or gotten better at evading the cops. Both would explain why it had taken Yellow Bird months to track her down. James hoped she’d gotten clean, but he had to remind himself that it didn’t really matter what had happened to her. What mattered was that James needed her. She was an insurance policy in his quest to clean up the courtroom.
If Yellow Bird hadn’t been out there, James would have let Ms. Touchette sit. Nervous people were easier to manipulate than calm people. But FBI agent Thomas Yellow Bird was no criminal. Half the time, James got the feeling Yellow Bird would drop him with one shot, given the opportunity. The other half, James was sure the man would take a bullet for him. James preferred to stay on the latter side as much as possible. He stood to put on his suit jacket and straighten his tie. “Send Ms. Touchette in, please.”
Yellow Bird entered, motioning for the woman to follow him. James remained standing—even criminals deserved common courtesy—but when she walked into his office, he did a double take.
She was not what he was expecting.
The woman standing before him had long black hair that hung to her shoulders in loose waves, with bangs that swept down low over her left eye. Her skin was a clear, tawny brown and appeared to be scar free. She wore a brown, ankle-length, tiered skirt and a pink tank top, and she clutched a brown leather bag to her side. She was clean, her eyes bright and wary. She’d look good on a witness stand.
She’d look better in bed.
Where had that come from? He hadn’t had such an instinctive response to a woman in a while. But it didn’t matter. James shook that inappropriate thought out of his head. She was off-limits. Because she was a potential witness, James couldn’t act on any attraction to her. It was inappropriate, unethical and could get him debarred—not to mention it was the kind of thing his father would do. And even if that wasn’t the case, it didn’t matter how beautiful or put together she was—former hookers didn’t become first ladies.
At least, he thought she was the former hooker he’d asked Yellow Bird to bring in. He looked down at the mug shot, then back at the woman. He couldn’t see the slightest similarity. Yellow Bird had never been wrong before—but there was a first for everything. “I’m Special Prosecutor James Carlson. Thank you for coming, Ms. Touchette.”
“I’m not Touchette.” Her voice was strong—no hint of nerves. Her eyes focused on a point behind James’s shoulder. “My name is Eagle Heart.”
Confused, James looked to Yellow Bird, who slouched against a filing cabinet as far off to the side as one could get in this small office. “Show him,” Yellow Bird said in a low voice.
The woman didn’t move.
“Maggie.” The tone of Yellow Bird’s voice changed, making his accent more pronounced. It was enough to be menacing. “Show him.”
The woman took a deep breath as her gaze cut down to the mug shot on James’s desk. “My name is Maggie Eagle Heart now,” she said as she lifted the heavy bangs away from the side of her head.
She revealed a twisted knot of faded scar tissue that encroached on her hairline and sliced the edge off her eyebrow. James looked down at the mug shot and saw the matching wound. It had healed well, but the scar was still visible.
“And …” Yellow Bird said.
Ms. Eagle Heart turned, dropping one shoulder of her tank top. James’s gut clenched as she revealed a wide swath of bare skin. He couldn’t help it—his eyes dropped down to where the strap of her bra met the band. The rest of the shirt hugged her curves. What did her legs look like under that skirt? He wanted to see. Even though he shouldn’t, he wanted to touch. But he couldn’t—not now, not as long as he was a prosecutor and she was a witness.
She draped her hair over her front, revealing a tattoo that covered her right shoulder blade. In and amongst the flames, James could make out the letters that spelled “LLD.” Margaret Touchette and Maggie Eagle Heart were the same woman—but different. Very different.
She stood, her back to him and her head held high. Under no circumstances should James find any of her actions erotic, but the way she’d dropped the strap of her top—and the bra strap underneath it … He cleared his throat and sat down to hide his lower region as he flipped through the file until he found the matching photo of the tattoo.
Damn it, this wasn’t like him. He lived for his job. He never let himself get distracted by a witness. But he was distracted. What was it about her that did that to him? If he was having this much trouble just interviewing her, how hard would it be to actually work with her?
“Thank you, that will do.” As much as he didn’t want her to put that strap back up, he needed her to. Right now.
She turned back around, her eyes focused over his shoulder again. He motioned for her to sit as he said, “Thank you, Agent Yellow Bird. I can take it from here.”
“I want Yellow Bird to stay.” Again, no wobble to her voice. James was impressed.
“I can assure you, Ms. Eagle Heart, this is a strictly professional interview. The nature of what we discuss is confidential.”
Her right eyebrow notched up, but otherwise, her expression stayed blank. “Easy to say. Hard to prove. Can he stay or not?”
The challenge was subtle—but it was still a challenge. This was not what James had been expecting. People who came to see him usually had something to hide. They either tried to cut a deal, be invisible or bluster their way out of the situation. In any case, they acted rashly. This woman? She was something else entirely. All Yellow Bird had said when James had asked him to find Margaret Touchette was that he’d need a little time. He hadn’t said anything about knowing her.
James looked to Yellow Bird, who tilted his head in agreement. “Fine. Let’s begin, shall we?” He motioned to the single chair in front of his desk as he turned on the digital recorder. “For the record, state your full name, all aliases and occupation.”
She hesitated, then sat, pulling her bag onto her lap like a shield. She wrapped the strap around her fingers, then unwrapped and rewrapped them. It was the only outward sign of her anxiety. “My name is Maggie Eagle Heart. I used to be Margaret Marie Touchette, but I’m not anymore. I make dance costumes and jewelry and sell them online.”
James wrote it all down. “When did you get married?”
“I’m not married.”
He looked up, keeping the surprise off his face. She was available. That shouldn’t matter, but the news pleased him anyway. Ms. Eagle Heart’s gaze had shifted from behind him to the file on the desk. Still not looking at him, though.
“I see.” He swallowed, not because he was suddenly nervous. James Carlson, special prosecutor, personally appointed by the attorney general, did not get nervous. He could trace his mother’s side of the family back to the Mayflower, for God’s sake. His grandfather had been the eighth billionaire in America, and he didn’t get there by being undone by beautiful strangers. Nerves were not allowed. Not during interviews, not in the courtroom. “How do you know Agent Yellow Bird?”
She didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Once upon a time, a boy named Tommy tried to save a girl named Maggie. But he couldn’t. No one could.”
“Are you seeing anyone now?”
Yellow Bird’s head popped up, and Ms. Eagle Heart’s eyes focused on his face for the first time. James’s wildly inappropriate question hung in the silence. He swallowed again. He shouldn’t have asked it—but he wanted to know.
Her eyes were a warm, intelligent brown, and more than a little wary. Her chin tilted to one side as she weighed his inquiry. Suddenly, he felt as if she had all the power in the room. The back of his neck began to sweat. “I’m not seeing anyone. What’s this about?”
Not married. Not even taken. Why did that matter? “When did you adopt your current alias?” Yes. He needed to get this train back on track. He was the one asking the questions around here. He was in charge.
Her eyes took on a distance, and she stopped looking at him. “Nine years ago.”
Right after her last arrest. He looked her over again—not because she was a lovely woman. That had nothing to do with it. He was merely trying to gauge her willingness to cooperate. “How long was that after your last trial date?”
Her eyes fluttered shut, but her head didn’t drop. “Do I need a lawyer?”
He glanced down at the defeated woman in the mug shot again. The woman before him? Anything but defeated.
“No, although I can recommend one of the best attorneys in the state, if you’d like.” He dug around in the top drawer until he found one of Rosebud Armstrong’s cards and scooted it across the desk. “Agent Yellow Bird can personally vouch for her.”
Of course, James knew Rosebud personally, too. But few people knew that the son former secretary of defense Alex Carlson and his wife, Julia, had been prepping for public office since he was born had had an affair with a Lakota Indian woman throughout law school. That was the sort of information that, if the media bloodhounds got a hold of it, could be twisted around until it destroyed a nascent political career before it got off the ground. James had worked too hard for too long to let something as base as physical desire ruin everything. He just needed to keep reminding himself of that fact every time he looked at Ms. Eagle Heart.
Without raising her eyes, Ms. Eagle Heart closed one hand around the card. James thought she’d put it in her bag, but she held on to it, running the pad of her thumb over the edge. Interesting, James thought. She couldn’t keep her hands still. Her fingertips were long, with clean, short nails that showed no sign of polish. Her hands had a few calluses. Those were not the hands of a pampered, coddled woman—a woman like Pauline Walker, the woman his mother had hand-picked to be James’s own blank slate of a wife. No, Ms. Eagle Heart had the hands of a woman who knew how to use them.
James shifted in his chair. Back on track. Now.
“Ms. Eagle Heart, the reason I’ve called you in for this interview today is because I think you have personal knowledge of a crime that was committed, and I would like to confirm your version of events.”
The color drained from her face. “I don’t know anything about any criminal activity. I’m innocent. I was never convicted.”
“Despite being arrested seventeen times, yes. I noted that. I also noted that you had the same judge for all of your court appearances. One Royce T. Maynard.”
James’s pulse began to race as his train not only got back on track, but picked up a head of steam. Maynard was, hands down, the most crooked judge ever to sit on the bench outside of New York City. Putting criminals like Maynard away would be the biggest feather in James’s cap. And after this case was resolved, James would resign his position with the Department of Justice and launch upon his political career with ironclad credentials as the man who would clean up government. He’d start by running for attorney general, then governor, and then—if things went according to plan—higher positions. Ones that came with nice roomy oval offices.
Early on, James hadn’t understood why his parents insisted he had to be president. He could do a lot of good in the world as a lawyer, as contradictory as that sounded. Lawyers fought for truth, justice and the American way—at least, that’s how it had seemed back when he’d been a kid, eavesdropping on his parents’ cocktail parties. Lawyers bragged about the big victories they won, whereas elected officials were always complaining about the red tape they had to battle and the reelection campaigns they had to run. Lawyers were the winners. Elected officials were tomorrow’s punching bags.
As an adult, James had realized that lawyers could lose just as easily as they won, and that politicians did have the power to change the world—if they didn’t let themselves get corrupted by special interests and lobbyists. James could guide this country the way he prosecuted his cases—efficiently, cleanly and with justice for the American people first and foremost in his mind. But to do that, he needed to have an unimpeachable background. No scandals, no skeletons, no questionable relationships with questionable women.
Women like Maggie Eagle Heart.
First things first. James had to prove Maynard’s guilt in a court of law. To do that, he needed the testimony of unreliable witnesses like Maggie Eagle Heart. Except that the woman sitting on the other side of his desk wasn’t exactly unreliable. In fact, with her alert eyes, set shoulders and unflinching confidence, she looked exactly like the kind of woman James would like to get to know better.
Ms. Eagle Heart swallowed. “Who?” She said it in a way that was supposed to make it sound as if she’d never heard Maynard’s name before, but, for the first time, her voice wobbled.
“I’m curious as to why a woman who was mixed up with the wrong crowd would walk away scot-free seventeen times. Once or twice, sure. But seventeen?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The wobble was stronger this time.
He had her dead to rights. “I think you do, Ms. Eagle Heart. I think you know why you’re here today, and I think you know what I want.” He shouldn’t have said that last bit, because her gaze zeroed in on him through thick lashes, the challenge writ large on her face. James knew in that instant she understood what he wanted—both in and out of the courtroom.
She didn’t offer up another weak protest, though. She kept right on looking at him with that combination of knowledge and distance. She was challenging him again. She wasn’t going to make this easy.
Yellow Bird shifted against the far wall, breaking the tension of the moment.
“The Department of Justice believes that Royce T. Maynard regularly abused the power of his office. He solicited and received bribes, took payments to sway judgments in courtrooms other than his own and …” James didn’t want to say this out loud, but as Ms. Eagle Heart wasn’t exactly jumping in, he forged ahead. “And pressured defendants to exchange services in return for judgments in their favor.”
She got a little paler. “Are you accusing me of a crime?”
“Not directly. We believe that Maynard demanded certain services in return for letting you off the hook.” He tossed the deposition of one of Maynard’s former bailiffs across the desk—the one that outlined how Maynard regularly recessed court so he could meet with female defendants in his chambers without their counsel.
She didn’t move, not even her hands. James wasn’t sure if she was breathing. He felt like the world’s biggest jerk. He couldn’t say what this woman had been doing for most of the last decade, but it seemed clear that she’d made a different sort of life for herself than the one the woman in the mug shot had chosen. However, his moment of regret was short-lived. He hadn’t gotten to be the youngest special prosecutor in the history of the DOJ by worrying about witnesses’ feelings.
“This is from a former public defender,” he added, handing over another deposition that detailed how the man who gave lawyers a bad name encouraged his clients accused of prostitution—including one Margaret Touchette—to go into chambers alone, where he believed they performed sex acts for Maynard in return for a not-guilty judgment. “I believe you’ll recognize the name.”
Her hand shaking, Ms. Eagle Heart picked up the deposition and read the name. Slowly, she set the file back down on the desk and took a deep breath. Her hair hung over the side of her face with the scar. With that identifying mark hidden, James couldn’t see anything about her that said drug addict or prostitute. Maggie Eagle Heart was a composed, beautiful woman who didn’t spook easily. He admired her resolve, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit there was something else that drew him to her. Too bad he couldn’t spend a little time exploring what that something else was, but there was no way in hell he would jeopardize his entire career just because he was taken with her.
“Why am I here?” The wobble was gone from her voice. Instead, she was just flat-out pissed. Her eyes flashed with defiance. “You have the official testimony of two people. You don’t need me or the testimony you think I have.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. What I have is the secondhand testimony of two people who were never present when the alleged crimes occurred. Because that’s what they were, Ms. Eagle Heart. Crimes. It is illegal for officers of the court to demand favors from defendants, especially sexual favors. I’m working to eliminate criminals from our justice system so that people like Margaret Touchette can get a fair trial and the real help they need. And to do that, I need the testimony of a firsthand witness. I need you to describe how Maynard approached you and what he demanded from you in return for those seventeen not-guilty verdicts.”
“No.”
James smiled at her, making sure all his teeth were showing. His feral smile, Agnes called it. It straddled the line between polite and menacing and was quite effective in the courtroom. “Ms. Eagle Heart, at this point, you’re not being charged with a crime. But that could change.”
She met his gaze with one of steely determination. “So, if I understand you correctly, you’ve approached me and are demanding a favor in return for a not-guilty verdict. How delightfully hypocritical of you. I’ve learned to expect nothing less from the law.”
She stood. James knew he should cut off whatever else she was going to say and keep control of the conversation, but he wanted to hear what she was going to throw at him. A string of curse words? Would she slap him?
“The statute of limitations on anything Margaret Touchette did or did not do has expired. You can’t charge me. You can’t hold me. The next time you want to talk me, don’t send your dog after me.” She turned to Yellow Bird. “I want to go home now.” And with that, she opened the door and made a quiet, dignified exit.
She’d called his bluff. She’d known it was a bluff from the beginning.
James let out a low whistle of appreciation, causing Yellow Bird to glance at him before he walked out. Seconds later, the outer door of the office shut.
Well, hell. That hadn’t gone according to plan, but he was impressed with her. Most women in her position would have crumbled. Hell, he’d seen professional lawyers buckle when cornered, but not her. She had an entire closet full of skeletons, but she didn’t let anyone judge her because of it, and she didn’t let it compromise her position. James had to admire her. She had come up firing and left him wanting more.
He weighed his options. He couldn’t let her off the hook—he needed her testimony in his back pocket, just in case. If he sent Yellow Bird back after her, she’d probably clam up and refuse to talk, much less to testify. That only left one option.
Agnes stepped into his office, appointment book in hand. “Shall I put the young lady back on the interview schedule?”
His feral smile didn’t work on Agnes any better than it had on Maggie Eagle Heart, but he tried it out anyway. “Get me her address.” As long as he had a legitimate reason to see her, he wasn’t acting unethically. Convincing her to testify wasn’t throwing his hard work away, it was building his case. As long as he remembered that, he’d be fine. He needed her as a witness, and that meant he’d have to see her again.
It was just that simple.

Two
The black sedan peeled out of the parking lot and took a left so sharply that Maggie thought they might have gone up on two wheels. Agent Yellow Bird kept driving like a bat out of hell, weaving around traffic and running stale yellow lights at speeds more fitting to a police chase than a ride home, all of which made one thing clear.
Tommy was mad at her.
A tendril of forgotten fear curled around her stomach. She hated the feeling of having done something wrong. She’d learned early that bad things happened when people got mad. When she’d been small, she had hidden under her bed, until that became the first place her uncle looked. When she got older, she crashed on whatever empty couch she could, trying to avoid home altogether. And when that failed, well, drugs had taken her away like nothing else had. Except that they’d taken away everything else, too.
For a long time, it had been a trade-off she’d been willing to make. Not anymore. Not for the last nine years.
Was she nervous? Oh, yes. Tommy had grown into a formidable man since she’d seen him last, and that wasn’t counting the gun he wore under his jacket. Was she going to hide and whimper and beg for mercy?
Hell, no.
But she wasn’t about to confront him while he took corners as if they were an insult to his manhood. She’d wait until they were on the highway, headed home through the long, flat parts of South Dakota.
Her thoughts turned to the conversation with James Carlson, special prosecutor. She’d known when Tommy showed up on her doorstep that someone had realized who she was. She’d been expecting another fat, sweaty, greedy man like the Dishonorable Royce T. Maynard to preside over the interview. Not the handsome man with the kind eyes and sharp smile.
Special Prosecutor Carlson had sat there with her mug shots in front of him and looked at her with something that wasn’t disapproval and wasn’t quite lust—not entirely, anyway. If she hadn’t known any better, she might have guessed that he’d looked at her with respect.
But she did know better. She didn’t trust lawyers.
Still, that Carlson had seemed different from the other men she’d endured in the past. For one, he’d walked a fine line between good-looking and gorgeous. Having paid several thousand dollars to get her own teeth fixed, she appreciated a good set of pearly whites. He had the kind of smile that made it clear that he—or his parents—had spent a lot of money on getting them perfect.
For another thing, his suit fit as if it had been made for him. Maybe it had been, but she’d never had a lawyer who could afford a custom suit. The slime bag who’d given Carlson her name had always worn hideous brown suits that looked as though he’d stolen them off the clothesline of some taller, wider man. But not Carlson. His charcoal-gray suit sat on his shoulders like a second skin. She could tell that, underneath all that expensive wool, he was a well-built man. Broad shoulders, strong arms—from the waist up, he was gorgeous. She couldn’t help wondering what he looked like from the waist down.
Maggie slammed the door on that kind of thinking. There was nothing wrong with a man being attractive. Nothing wrong with noticing an attractive man. But that’s as far as it could go. She couldn’t afford to forget what he was—a lawyer. Lawyers—and judges—used people. She knew that better than anyone, and she was done being used. As long as she remembered who he was—and who she wasn’t—she’d be fine. If she ever saw him again.
Maybe she would. So she hadn’t been with a man in years. She’d still recognized something in his face after she’d pulled the strap of her tank top down, and she’d recognized the same something when he’d asked her if she was seeing anyone. Not quite lust, but desire. Interest, mixed with pleasant surprise—curiosity, maybe—when she’d thrown down her challenge. When she’d called Tommy a dog.
Hence the pissed silence at the speed of sound.
She wasn’t about to let Tommy out of her sight without getting him to tell her what he knew. “You’re mad at me.”
“I’m not his dog.”
“I see.” She’d known that comment would hit home. But she’d been angry. Tommy had been quiet the entire trip to Pierre, telling her nothing about where they were going or who wanted to see her. He’d earned a few hits. “What are you, then?”
“We’re partners. A team.” His fingers kept drumming. “I arrest people, he puts them away. That’s how it works.”
“Since you’re on his team, tell me—will I be seeing Special Prosecutor James Carlson again?” Even saying his title out loud gave her a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Yep.”
She couldn’t imagine anything good coming from that, but the news excited her anyway. She’d get to see that smile again. “Why does he need me? Surely Maynard left bigger and better loose ends.” That was the question that had nagged at her since Carlson had made his preposterous claim that his whole case rested on her.
“He doesn’t need you. He’s the kind of man who has a plan for every contingency. You’re what he calls an insurance policy. He likes to have a few, just in case.”
That struck her wrong. She was a person—a woman, damn it. For too long, she’d been a victim, a statistic—never just Maggie. She wouldn’t stand for having her hard-fought success downgraded to “backup plan.”
“I’d give him a week, eight days tops, before he shows up. What you do with him then is up to you.”
Maggie’s head popped up and she stared at Tommy. “What?” Because that had almost sounded like … hell, she didn’t know. A joke? Permission to shoot? Permission to … do something else? No telling. Tommy didn’t answer, so Maggie tried again. “Tell me about him.” Not because she wanted to know, but because she needed to be prepared if he was going to trek out to the house. Yes, that was a good reason—one that had nothing to do with anything above—or below—his waist. She couldn’t be interested in him because there was no way in hell she could trust him.
“Nice guy, unless you’re on the wrong side of the law. Blue-blooded, East Coast, rich. His mother has the fortune, but his father has the power—maybe you’ve heard of him? Alexander Carlson? Used to be the secretary of defense?”
Maggie swallowed. She was way out of her league here. Secretary of defense? Alex Carlson? Even Maggie knew who that was. That wasn’t just blue blood or rich. That was pure power. His father had launched wars, for crying out loud. Even if James had not been a lawyer she couldn’t trust, she wouldn’t dream of fantasizing about him now. He wasn’t just a lawyer. He was a somebody—and she wasn’t. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him.”
“Carlson is just biding his time,” Tommy went on. “We’ve been building this case for about four years, and he won’t let anything sink it. He needs this victory. Going to run for office after he wins. Sooner or later—sooner, if I know him—he’ll make a run at the White House.”
The air in Maggie’s lungs stopped moving. So she’d had a conversation with a possible future president of the United States today. And she’d told him off. That sickening feeling of having done something wrong got a lot stronger. “He’s going to win?” The case, the elections—one and the same, as far as she was concerned.
Tommy snorted. “He’s got a perfect track record. He’ll win it one way or another.”
That sounded ominous. How ridiculous was she to think that a man like him was looking at her with desire? A man like him had perfect women at his beck and call. Maggie was so far from perfect that she wasn’t even in the same zip code. “Do you trust him?”
Tommy gave her a sideways glance. “With my life.” It could have sounded flip, but he was dead serious. “You got that card he gave you?”
She dug around in her bag until she found it. “Yes.” Rosebud Armstrong, Attorney at Law. There was a phone number, but that was it. No address, no law-firm name. Fate had a sense of humor. She’d escaped from the Rosebud reservation. Now her life might rest in the hands of a woman with the same name.
“You can trust her. She’s Red Creek Lakota—my tribe. And she went to law school with Carlson. She knows how he thinks. If you want a lawyer, you tell her I sent you.”
Of course, Tommy also knew how Carlson thought, being as they were on the same team and all—and what had that gotten her? Nothing. “I don’t want to call her. I don’t want any of this. I have a normal life now, and you and your ‘team’ are threatening to ruin it—and for what? Because that stuck-up spoiled brat of a lawyer wants an insurance policy? No. I’m nobody’s bargaining chip. I refuse.”
Although she was in danger of pouting, she crossed her arms and stared straight ahead. Which made the laughter that suddenly burst out of Tommy that much more startling.
His reaction only made her madder. “You can go to hell, Thomas Yellow Bird, because you are a dog. You didn’t have to find me. What happens when word gets out, huh? And don’t give me any bull about confidentiality. What happens when Leonard Low Dog or my uncle find out I’m not dead?”
“Nothing.”
“You know that for sure—how? You going to put a bullet in their brains for me?”
“Low Dog is doing twenty to life in Leavenworth, and your uncle lost both his legs and his eyesight to diabetes a couple of years ago.”
“Leonard’s in prison?” And her uncle was legless. She shouldn’t feel so happy at this news, but she couldn’t deny the relief that made her want to jump up and shout. They couldn’t get to her. She was safe.
Tommy gave her a long look. “I put him there, about seven years ago. You were gone by then. I asked around, but everyone said you’d died.”
“You didn’t believe that?”
“Nope.”
Which explained why James Carlson would have even bothered to look for her. Yellow Bird had promised he could find her. “How did you find me?”
“I got lucky.” He didn’t elaborate, damn him.
“That’s it? You’re not even going to tell me how you tracked me down?”
“Nope.”
“Fine.” She smoothed out her skirt again before she caught herself, so she folded her arms to keep her hands quiet. “Be that way.”
A flood of conflicting emotions threatened to swamp her. James Carlson was threatening her because she was nothing more than an uncooperative insurance policy. But there’d been more to his interest than that of a prosecutor. Had he really been curious about who she was seeing, or had he just been using flattery to manipulate her into doing what he wanted?
They pulled up in front of the house Nan had built into a low hill. She kept the front half whitewashed, but the back end of the place was completely sunk into the earth. Sure, it was dusty in the summer, but it stayed cool in the summer and warmish in the winter. Maggie had always taken comfort in the fact that no one could sneak in a back way. There was no back way, just hill. They were close enough to Aberdeen that they had nice things like television reception and internet connectivity, but far enough away that they couldn’t see any other lights after dark. That isolation had been exactly what Maggie had needed.
Tommy put the car in Park, but he didn’t turn it off. She still had so many questions. “Why did you find me?”
His fingers drummed on the steering wheel again. “I wanted to know what happened to you.”
She’d be lying if she didn’t admit she’d wondered what had happened to him, too. “Like I told him once upon a time, a boy named Tommy tried to save a girl named Maggie. But he couldn’t. No one could.”
Tommy looked at her, a sad smile pulling on his mouth. “No one could. She had to save herself.” He reached over and touched her cheek. “Carlson’s a good guy, but you do what you’ve got to do.”
“Okay.” It was going to be okay. She’d told herself that for years, hoping that hope alone would make it so, but suddenly, she knew with certainty that it would be okay. She could do anything. Even handle a special prosecutor.
She got out of the car. Agent Yellow Bird waited until she was at the front door before he took off at chase speeds again.
Maggie stood there for a moment, feeling a lightness that matched the orange glow of the sunset. She looked out over the land that was her home now, over the rows of vegetables she’d have to weed tomorrow and the windmill that powered the water pump. Suddenly, after today’s events, she didn’t feel as though she had to hide out here anymore. Just the same, though, she wanted to stay. This was her life.
Nan was where she always was, sitting in her recliner and watching Deadliest Catch. “Well?” she said without lifting her eyes from the pillow she was embroidering.
“Low Dog is in prison and my uncle is blind and in a wheelchair.”
Nan’s needle paused in midair. “So, good news, then?”
“That part, at least. A special prosecutor wants me to testify against that judge.” She left out the part about the prosecutor being handsome and rich and powerful.
Nan made a tsking noise and kept sewing. If Maggie hadn’t seen the pictures of Nan as a young woman with freckles and fiery-red hair, she wouldn’t believe the woman before her wasn’t an Indian. She had everything—the way she wore her hair, the clothes she chose, even the way she talked—down pat. The sun had tanned her face and hands a leathery brown, and she was an expert on Sioux traditions.
“I see. What did he offer you?”
Maggie pulled up short. “Nothing.”
The needle paused again. “Nothing?”
“Well, he offered not to charge me.”
Nan tsked again. “Must not be a very special prosecutor if he didn’t give you anything you wanted.”
Maggie sat down in her chair with a thump. “I think he’s a good lawyer. I just think he was expecting someone else.” He was expecting a woman who had exchanged sex acts for not-guilty verdicts. His offer had been for that woman. Maggie wasn’t that woman anymore. “Besides, he doesn’t have anything I want.”
That was dangerously close to a lie. He did have something she wanted—that smile, those eyes, and all those muscles underneath that suit. But she didn’t want to want them. If she wanted them—him—and if he figured that out, he could use it against her. He could use her. As much as she wanted to see James Carlson again, she had to protect herself from him. There was no way in hell she’d put herself back into a position where someone else was calling her shots. Those days were over.
“You okay, sweetie?” Nan finally looked up, the concern bright in her eyes.
Maggie thought back to the stunned look on his face when she’d stood up to him—when she’d stood up for herself. She hadn’t been what he’d been expecting, but then, she hadn’t expected anyone to look at her with such honesty. Would James Carlson come looking for her?
She hoped so. She shouldn’t, but she did anyway.
“Yeah,” she said. “I think I am.”

Three
The sun beat down on Maggie’s head. The wide brim of her floppy straw hat kept the back of her neck from burning, but on days like this, she had half a mind to take her pruning knife and whack her braids off. It was just that damn hot.
Maggie dropped a shovel full of composted manure onto the freshly tilled garden soil. She shouldn’t whine about the sun—it had dried the stink right out of the manure. She stood up and tried to stretch the kinks out of her back as she looked at the sky. If only she and Mother Nature could compromise on the occasional cloud …
She was halfway through the rest of her wheelbarrow when she heard it—the crunching of tires on gravel from a long way off. The hair on the back of her neck stood straight up. Wonderful, she thought. Tommy had been wrong. It had only been four days since she’d left James Carlson’s office in a huff—not eight. And here she was, covered in dirt and manure. Damn. She snatched her hat off her head and arranged her bangs over the side of her face. Individual hairs stuck to her skin, but her scar was hidden.
At least, she hoped it was James Carlson, despite the ratty overalls she was wearing. She didn’t want to think about who else it could be on a Saturday afternoon. Despite Tommy’s reassurances, Maggie was reasonably sure there were a few other people in this world who’d want to see her for all the wrong reasons.
She glanced back at the house, wondering if Nan could hear the approaching car over the TV. If so, she’d have the shotgun at the ready. A girl couldn’t be too careful, after all.
A shiny black SUV—the kind that looked as if it had never been on gravel before—hesitantly worked its way down to the house. She leaned on the handle of her shovel and watched it come.
Maggie smiled. So that was the kind of “off-road” vehicle that rich, East Coast blue bloods bought when they were roughing it. She’d stick to her Jeep, thank you.
“You’re a long way from home,” she called out when Mr. Special Prosecutor himself emerged from the driver’s seat.
The first thing she saw was the blinding white of his smile. Wow, she thought again. That smile wasn’t quite as sharp as it had been in the office. If anything, he almost looked glad to see her. Then she noticed that, instead of the suit, he had on a pair of tan cargo pants and a sky-blue polo shirt. Even though the clothes were pretty casual, they fit him well.
Broad chest, she thought with a sharp intake of breath. Without the jacket, she could see exactly how broad—and defined—his chest was, and how it narrowed into the V of his waist.
Whoa. Not just attractive. Downright gorgeous.
Heat—different from the swelter that had sweat dripping down the back of her neck—ripped through her, and she suddenly found herself doing some crude math. Exactly how long had it been since her last time with a man? No—wrong question. How long had it been since she’d last enjoyed a man?
His eyes were shaded behind wraparound sunglasses, but he leaned forward and slid them down his nose to look at her.
Way too long, she thought. Maybe never.
“I believe I was invited,” he called as he pulled something out of the backseat.
Sheesh. Only a lawyer would construe what she’d said as an invitation. “Did Yellow Bird tell you how to find me?”
He was carrying something. As he got closer, she saw that it was a bright orange garden trug, loaded with stuff. “Not too many people get away with calling him names.” He grinned at her, as if he was letting her in on some secret. “Here. I brought you something.” He set the trug in between the rows and took a step back.
She looked at him for a long second. Was this a gift, or a bribe?
“It’s a gift. No strings attached.”
Tommy hadn’t said anything about mind reading. Keeping an eye on her visitor, Maggie crouched down. Deerskin gardening gloves, a trowel with an ergonomic handle, copper garden tags, a matching copper watering can and a bunch of heirloom seeds were all nestled inside. All top-quality stuff that she would never waste money on. She lifted out the watering can. Was this a Hawes? She’d seen this one in catalogs—for a hundred and forty dollars.
The whole basket must have set him back close to five hundred. James Carlson was, in fact, a good lawyer. At the very least, a rich one.
“I can’t accept this.” Even as she said it, she picked up the gloves. The leather was softer than anything else she owned. These weren’t the everyday gloves they sold at the hardware store. “I won’t testify.”
“I didn’t say anything about testifying. I said it was a gift. I wouldn’t come to pay my respects empty-handed. I know better.”
She looked up at him. His feet were spread a shoulder’s width apart, his arms were crossed, and a cryptic smile graced his face. He looked like a man who reigned over everything he saw, and right now, he was looking at her.
Goose bumps shot up her arms. She swallowed as she stood. She didn’t want anyone—least of all him—to think she was kneeling before him. Not too many people knew about the Lakota tradition of giving gifts. “Yellow Bird tell you that, too?”
“It’s something I picked up along the way.” He turned around, taking in her garden. “This is lovely.” Then he caught sight of the wheelbarrow. “Is that what I think it is?”
She glared at him. “My garden is organic. Did you come all the way out here to compliment my vegetables?”
He managed not to be offended at her short temper. Instead, he almost looked as if he enjoyed her attitude. “No. I came to see you.”
There it was again—the feeling that wasn’t quite lust, but wasn’t entirely innocent, either. What she wouldn’t give to not be in overalls, or standing next to a manure-filled wheelbarrow. “Yellow Bird said you’d show up.” Which was probably a stupid thing to say, but she had to say something.
Oh. My. That particular smile lit up his whole face. “The fact that Yellow Bird said anything is impressive. Either your interrogation tactics are unparalleled, or he’s fond of you.”
Anger hit her like a bolt out of the blue. “I didn’t sleep with him, if that’s what you mean.” The words flew out of her mouth faster than she could figure out what she was saying. She grabbed the shovel and swung it onto her shoulder as if it was a baseball bat. She could take the head off a snake in seconds. At the very least, she’d break his nose. “I’m not like that anymore, so if that’s why you’re here, you can take your stuff and go back the way you came.”
Looking a little stunned, he held up his hands and took two steps back. “I’m not implying anything. I can’t believe Yellow Bird would be fond of anyone. Half the time, I think he wants to shoot me.”
She eyed him. Lawyers were prone to lying. Was he telling the truth or saving his backside? “‘Fond’? Who talks like that?”
A hint of red graced his cheeks, and Maggie immediately regretted her snippiness. At this exact moment in time, the man standing before her didn’t look—or act—like any lawyer she’d ever known.
Nice, she scolded herself as her own blush began to creep down her chest. Way to embarrass yourself. Was there any way to salvage this situation without acting like a total jerk?
She took the shovel off her shoulder and set it on the ground. In response, he lowered his hands. An uneasy silence settled over them. God, she was so out of practice. She didn’t talk to anyone but Nan, and Jemma over at the post office. Was she supposed to apologize now or what?
“Let’s start over,” he said, offering his hand. “Hi. I’m James.”
Start over? Just like that? If only life were that simple. Maybe it was. He stood there with a soft grin on his face as he leaned forward in anticipation. “Maggie,” she replied. Although she wasn’t sure it was a good idea, she placed her hand in his and gave it a short shake.
Not a good idea. Warmth that had nothing to do with embarrassment began a slow build from where their skin touched. She meant to let go, but she was paralyzed by the oddity of the sensation. Tingles followed the warmth as it moved up her arm. The combination of the two was enough to squeeze the air out of her chest.
Nope. Not allowed. She forcibly regained control of her limbs and wrenched her hand out of his. So what if James was hot? So what if he had a good smile? So what if he made her feel things she’d forgotten she was capable of feeling? He was off-limits. He was probably trying to manipulate her. He was some East Coast rich guy, so he’d never be able to understand what her life had been before, or what it was now. He was going to be the president one day, so she could never in a million, billion years entertain the notion of kissing James Carlson. Not even once.
“It’s nice to meet you, Maggie.” He didn’t seem offended by her reaction. She couldn’t decide if he was that smooth, or merely that clueless. “Tell me about yourself.”
She needed to get her head together. It might be difficult, if not impossible, to do it while he was standing here, looking untouched by the blazing sun or the proximity to manure, but she needed to try. And to do that, she needed a drink. “There’s lemonade in the house, if you’re interested.” Tea would have been more traditional, but hey—it was eighty-seven degrees out. And then she could at least wash her hands and face while Nan sized him up.
“That would be lovely.” He stepped to the side to let her pass and then followed her into the house.
When she opened the door, Nan was in her chair, as usual, but Maggie noted the way she was breathing a little hard. She made a casual turn in order to check that the door had shut behind James and spotted the shotgun nestled in between the umbrellas. Good ol’ Nan. She always, always had Maggie’s back. “Nan, I’d like you to meet James Carlson. James, this is Nanette Brown.” She left it at that.
Nan managed to stand without knocking over her worktable. “Welcome, welcome.” She gave Maggie a look that said you look like hell. “Can I get you some lemonade?”
Maggie took her cue and ran with it. “Excuse me.” She sprinted back to the bathroom, where she furiously scrubbed every available surface with a scratchy washcloth. Without bothering to dry herself off—water evaporated—she bolted to her room and dug out a clean pair of jeans and the nicest top she owned, the blue silk one with the bugle beads around the neck. She’d have to act as if the wrinkles were meant to be there.
When she got to the kitchen, James was leaning up against the counter while Nan rummaged in the fridge. “I know I’ve got some cake in here—oh! There it is,” the older woman mumbled at the lettuce crisper as she rooted around for the leftover carrot cake.
James glanced—and then stared—at her. “Hi,” he said again, sounding more like a regular guy than a lawyer.
Maggie swallowed. He was probably used to high-class women who had perfect manicures and could subsist on celery for months at a time, women whose spring wardrobes cost more than her car. It wasn’t possible that he was attracted to her. It just wasn’t. She had dirt—or worse—wedged under her fingernails, and she saw too late that the jeans she’d grabbed had a smear of paint down the thigh. “Hi.”
Over the next five minutes, Nan bustled around the kitchen, slicing cake and pouring lemonade as she tossed out harmless small talk such as, “It’s so hot out! And they say we aren’t going to get any rain until the weekend.”
Throughout the verbal barrage, James nodded and smiled and agreed as if they were all the oldest of friends. Maggie felt horribly out of place in her own kitchen. She wasn’t wearing a skirt to smooth out, so she had nothing to do but sit on her hands.
“Oh, my—look at the time!” Nan made a clucking sound as she gathered up her cake and lemonade. “The Biker Brotherhood is on! I’ll close the doors so my show doesn’t interrupt you two.” Before Maggie could protest, Nan had the bifold doors shut.
They were alone. “It’s her favorite show,” Maggie explained, looking at her cake. Strangely, she had no appetite.
James didn’t notice. “She seems sweet. Are you two related?”
“She’s sort of my fairy godmother.” Which sounded so much better than, “She found me when I was a Popsicle and nursed me back to health.”
James grinned as he took another bite of cake. “This is delicious.”
More of that unfamiliar warmth heated her cheeks.
“Thanks.”
“You made it?” He looked surprised—but as though it was a good surprise.
“I like to bake.” Lord knew she had enough practice. There wasn’t much else to do out here in the winter.
He finished his cake and sat back, taking in the cramped confines of the kitchen. “This is a nice place.”
Now he was sucking up. “Compared to what?” She couldn’t know for sure, but she was willing to bet rich boys didn’t spend a lot of time in earth houses.
Why on God’s green earth did he keep smiling at her? Had she missed some manure on her forehead or what? “Compared to a lot of places. How long have you been here?”
“Nine years. The whole time.”
“It suits you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
James let out a low chuckle as he leaned forward and looked her straight in the eyes. “Maggie, please. I’m not interrogating you, and I’m not about to try to bluff you again. I hope you can forgive me for assuming that you would be less intelligent and less beautiful than you are. My information was sorely out of date. I promise I won’t underestimate you again.”
The tension she’d been holding in rushed out of her in a loud whoosh. That was, hands down, the best compliment she’d ever gotten. She knew she was blushing, but she couldn’t help it, not when he was close enough to touch, looking at her with that mix of respect and desire.
“Why are you here?” The words came out a little shaky, so she cleared her throat and hoped that would help.
“I need you.” His words, on the other hand, were strong and sure. There wasn’t a trace of doubt in them.
Rationally, she knew he was talking about the big court case and his insurance policy. He needed her testimony—that was all. But the way his gaze searched her face? Nothing about that said legalese.
“I can’t do it.” Stupid voice, she mentally kicked herself. Why couldn’t she sound as confident as he did? It didn’t matter how he needed her. She couldn’t be swayed with compliments.
He leaned back, looking not disappointed at all. In fact, he seemed almost amused. “Did you call that lawyer?”
“No.” Although, clearly, her strategy of ignoring this whole situation in the hopes that it would go away hadn’t worked. “I can’t afford a lawyer.”
“She’ll do it pro bono. And she’ll tell you the same thing I am. I’m not asking you to go before the court and make a public statement. All I want is a deposition. We’ll meet in my office with a court reporter. I’ll ask you some questions. You’ll answer them honestly. No one else will be there. No one else will know you’ll be there, unless you tell them.”
That didn’t sound as bad as the Law and Order–style scenario she’d envisioned. “Pro bono—that means free, right?”
“Right.” At least he had the decency not to act as if that simple question was an agreement. “It’ll be a couple of hours of your life. If the case goes as I think it will, your name will never even come up in court. You’ll never have to see me again.” He paused. “Not if you don’t want to.”
She couldn’t meet his unwavering gaze. Part of Maggie wanted to get the hell out of this kitchen and as far away from this unusual man as she could. Nothing good could come of anything that involved him and his mixed signals. She wasn’t some pliable little girl anymore. She was a smart, intelligent woman now, the kind of woman who made wise decisions, stood on her own two feet and never, ever did anything regrettable. And no matter how sexy and understanding James was, and no matter how much she might want to find out what those muscles looked like, doing anything with him would be regrettable.
She peeked up at him. He was still watching her, waiting for some sort of response. Maybe she’d take it back. Would one regrettable action really be so bad?
“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” he finally said into the silence. “But I would like you to call Rosebud and talk to her. She can help you explore your options and walk you through the process.”
Something Nan had said came back to her. “Why should I?” Gardening supplies were nice and all, but she wouldn’t be bought off so cheaply. She wasn’t cheap anymore.
Something in his smile sharpened, and James began to look a little bit dangerous. “That’s a good question. You should because it’s the right thing to do. You’re a good person, Maggie—an honest, decent woman. I can see that. You run your own business and pay your bills. And because you are, you’ll do this because you know you’ll be making the world a little better, a little safer. So, good question. But not the correct one. The correct question is—what’s in it for you? Am I right?”
It wasn’t fair to make her feel guilty for looking out for herself, but he had done just that while simultaneously complimenting the hell out of her. She nodded.
He crossed his arms, his smile growing ever sharper. “You may have been not guilty, but you still have an arrest record. I can make that whole rap sheet disappear. Margaret Touchette disappeared, after all. Her record should disappear with her.”
Maggie knew she shouldn’t react, but she couldn’t stop the “Really?” that escaped from her lips. Starting over, just like that.
One of his eyebrows lifted a little. It made him look thoughtful. “Most people do not get notice when certain persons are released from prison. However, I can guarantee that if one Leonard Low Dog ever sees the free light of day again, you’d know well in advance.”
Oh. That. That could be a useful thing, but she felt ashamed that was even a bargaining chip. So much for starting over. She kept her mouth shut, though. She wished Nan was in here. First off, Nan would see that James was a very good lawyer. He’d figured out what she wanted and needed, and was prepared to exchange it for her testimony. But more than that, she’d know what Maggie should do next.
James made a huffing noise, as if Maggie were twisting his arm when all she was doing was sitting here and getting confused. “In the event that certain persons, such as Low Dog, do manage to locate you, I would be willing to move you—new name, new place. At no cost to you.”
“Pro bono,” she whispered as she stared at the forgotten cake, as if it held all the answers. He was offering to protect her. No one but Nan had ever protected her. Tommy had tried, but … “For how long? Does the offer stand, I mean?” That sounded like something Nan would ask. She was proud of herself for coming up with it all by herself.
“As long as it takes.”
She did some quick math. Low Dog might be in his forties. “Until he dies?”
“If that’s what it takes, yes.”
That was a hell of a promise. She could see James in twenty years—the president of the freaking United States personally guaranteeing the safety and well-being of a nameless Indian woman.
But Tommy trusted him—with his life, he’d said. James Carlson was a man of his word—assuming, of course, that Tommy was, as well.
A couple of hours of her time—and in exchange, she’d get her whole life back. Margaret Touchette would be dead and gone, for good this time. She wouldn’t have to worry anymore. She’d finally be free of all the stupid mistakes she’d made in the past.
“I’ll inform Rosebud of the terms of my offer in writing,” he said. “She’ll be able to explain the full implications of this offer.” He leaned forward then, stretching out his hand until he touched her shoulder. He gave it a squeeze, sending that unusual warmth cascading down her back. If she could stop blushing in front of this man … “Please call her. If not for me, then for yourself. Will you promise me that?”
She shouldn’t have looked up at him then, but she did. He was close enough that she could see the brown flecks in his hazel eyes and the faint scattering of freckles that were almost the same color as his skin.
He was close enough to touch.
She didn’t. Instead, she stood up. His hand fell away from her, but his eyes stayed on hers. “I’ll call,” she promised.
What else could she do?

Four
The law office of Rosebud Armstrong was in a nice building—high ceilings, marble flooring and polished mahogany. Everything about it said money. Lots of it.
Maggie thought about bailing. She didn’t belong in a place like this, and God only knew how much this meeting was going to cost. Yes, James had said pro bono, but someone had to pay. Marble didn’t come cheap.
The receptionist immediately ushered her into the office. The woman behind the desk was beautiful, and her clothes were obviously expensive. Maggie had expected all of that. She hadn’t expected to see the two babies in matching jumpers crawling around the floor.
“Ms. Eagle Heart, I’m Rosebud Armstrong.” They shook hands, and she turned to her receptionist. “Clark, can you handle the boys?”
“Can do. Come on, big guys. Let’s go crawl on the rug!”
Ms. Armstrong gave Maggie an apologetic look. “It’s okay,” Maggie said. “I like kids.” Which was somewhat true. She did like kids. They just scared the hell out of her.
Clark scooped up both babies and managed to shut the door behind him.
“Thank you,” Ms. Armstrong said. “I don’t usually have Tanner and Lewis with me, but our sitter had an emergency today.”
“How old are they?” For some reason, Maggie felt more comfortable making small talk with this woman than she had with anyone in a long time. Maybe it was that they were physically similar—light brown skin, dark brown eyes and long black hair. Sure, Ms. Armstrong’s trousers and silk top made Maggie’s skirt look shabby, but she got the feeling that Ms. Armstrong wasn’t looking down her nose at Maggie.
“Eleven months. But enough about them,” she added. “It’s so nice to meet you. It’s not often I get calls from both Yellow Bird and Carlson about the same woman.”
Maggie’s face flushed hot. “Is that bad?”
“It’s interesting, more than anything.” Ms. Armstrong looked Maggie over with a calculating eye. “Not too many people are capable of confounding one of them, much less both of them.”
“Ms. Armstrong—”
“Please. Call me Rosebud.”
“Okay. Rosebud. I’m not trying to confound anyone.”
“That’s what makes it so interesting.” Rosebud continued to study her.
Maggie decided maybe she didn’t feel so comfortable making small talk. She decided to try taking over the conversation. “Tommy said you’d gone to school with Mr. Carlson.” Just saying his name out loud made her think back to the sight of him standing in her garden, looking happy to see her. Maybe she could get some answers on what kind of man James was.
“Did he, now?” A small grin flashed across Rosebud’s face, but it was gone before Maggie could figure out what it meant. “That’s true. He was top of the class. He’s a damn good lawyer.” She added, “Agent Yellow Bird mentioned that he told you a few things about how James operates.”
“He just said Mr. Carlson likes to have insurance policies.” Tommy hadn’t mentioned anything about generous gifts or hot touches, though. Maybe that wasn’t how James normally operated.
“That’s correct. When James promises that he won’t use your deposition unless he has to, I can personally guarantee that he will keep that promise. He will only use your information if the rest of his case falls apart. A worst-case scenario, if you will.”
A lawyer who kept his promises? Rosebud seemed nice and all, but how could Maggie take the word of one lawyer about another? “Will that happen?” She’d had enough worst-case scenarios to last her the rest of her life. “Tommy said he’s never lost a case.”
“It’s possible, but not probable.” A sad sort of smile pulled at the corners of Rosebud’s mouth. “He’s never cashed in a policy, so you should be safe. He’s offering you quite a deal in return for your information. Expunging a record isn’t something done every day, you know, and relocation would cost him thousands.”
“I wasn’t sure.” About anything. More to the point, she wasn’t sure if she should want what she wanted, because she wanted to see James again. But seeing him again would mean telling him about what happened all those years ago, and if that happened, he’d see exactly how much of a nobody she was.
Rosebud didn’t seem upset by that answer. Instead, she nodded and smiled. “Is there something else you wanted from James? Something he didn’t offer?”
The way she asked the question put Maggie on edge. “Why? What did he say?”
There it was again, that smile that was too quick for her to interpret. “It’s safe to say that he’s not trying to screw you over. His morals are surprisingly well grounded for a lawyer. He did mention that he botched your first meeting badly, and he was trying to make up for that.”
A special prosecutor would tell another lawyer he’d messed up? A new idea occurred to Maggie. James had said he’d picked up on the Lakota tradition of gifts “along the way.” Rosebud Armstrong was a Lakota. “How well do you know him?”
“We’ve been friends for a long time.” Her gaze didn’t waver. “For a man of his station and aspirations in life, James has a unique talent. He is singularly able to see a person as they really are—not as they were or as they should be, and not as everyone else sees them. He judges a person on who he—or she—truly is.” She got a wistful look on her face, as if she was seeing things that had happened a long time ago. “I think you can understand how hard it was to be the only Indian in law school, and a woman at that. But James never saw me in those terms. And in return, all he asked was not to be judged as the scion of the Carlson dynasty. That’s why he’s out here, scraping by as a prosecutor instead of being a lobbyist in D.C. Everything he has, he has earned.”
While Maggie tried to guess what scion meant, she realized something. It sure sounded like Rosebud was talking around something, and that something sure seemed to be that maybe, just maybe, she and James had dated. Maybe he liked Indian women, Maggie thought. Suddenly, the prospect that he liked her seemed more plausible, less daydreamy.
Maggie chewed on all of that information. For so long, her life had been quiet and predictable. She beaded shirts and quilled moccasins and planted gardens and baked muffins. Every Thursday, she went to the post office in Aberdeen. She watched silly TV shows and drank tea.
Now James Carlson was in her life, whether she wanted him there or not. She thought back to how he’d looked at her, with that strange mix of desire and respect. Did he see her for what she was? Was it possible for someone to know about her past and not sit in judgment?
Was it possible he was interested in her?
Rosebud interrupted her thoughts. “So what I’d like now is for you to tell me the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. James thinks he knows what happened a long time ago, but he wasn’t there, and neither was I. Before I advise you as your lawyer, I have to know everything.” Rosebud got out a recorder and turned it on.
Maggie told her everything. Her life’s story took three hours and two pots of coffee.
James’s phone buzzed to life on his desk. Rosebud’s number. “What did she say? Is she okay?”
Rosebud sighed heavily. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. And the boys are great, but they miss Dan. He’ll be back from Texas this weekend, though.”
James rolled his eyes, grateful she couldn’t see him do it. “Business first. How is Maggie doing?”
Maybe he was imagining things, but he swore he heard Rosebud smile. “She’ll do it—on one condition.”
“I already laid my cards out on the table. What else could she possibly want?”
Rosebud chuckled. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re crushing on her.”
“Get real. She’s a witness.” His defense mechanism was hardwired. At this point, Rosebud could have accused him of being white, and he still would have flatly denied it. Besides, crush was such a juvenile term. James would prefer to think of it as being attracted to Maggie. Because, after spending more time in her company, he was definitely attracted to her.
“I know you, James. It’s unlike you to not play close to the vest—unless you’ve got a vested interest in the outcome.”
This was exhibit A of why a lawyer should avoid working with an old lover. There were no secrets. “Have you considered the possibility that I’m concerned for her well-being?” That was a completely honest reason that had nothing to do with the way he’d let himself touch her on the shoulder. Even that small touch had left him humming the whole drive home.
Again with the knowing chuckling. “That is the only possibility, my friend.”
James debated hanging up on her, but that would only make the situation worse. He decided to redirect. “What does she want?”
“I’ll let you off easy—this time. But don’t think I’m going to let this drop. She also wants the record of Nanette Lincoln expunged.”
“What?” Or, more specifically, who? Maggie had introduced the older woman as Nanette Brown.
“Look it up. You always do.” Now Rosebud was teasing him. “Are we still on for dinner next Sunday?”
This was his one chance to get back at her. “As long as your housekeeper is doing the cooking—not you.”
“So crushing.” She giggled like a preteen girl. He half expected her to break into the “K-I-S-S-I-N-G” song from his playground days. “You’re welcome to bring a guest, you know. And get back to me on that.”
What, was she suggesting he bring Maggie as a date? That would be a clear violation of the rules, and there was no way James was going to make such a rookie, public mistake. He couldn’t imagine a quicker way to derail all he had worked for.
Business first. He had to remember that. Nanette Lincoln. He scrawled out the name as he hung up the phone and then stared at it. There was only one possibility, really.
Maggie Eagle Heart wasn’t the only reformed criminal living in that house.
James pulled into an empty spot in front of Rosebud’s office. Next to Rosebud’s Audi was a Jeep wagon covered with equal parts rust and mud. Maggie was here. He tried to tell himself that he was only excited because this was another piece of his case. But what was the point of lying? He was looking forward to seeing her again. The two weeks since he’d been out to her house had seemed longer than normal.
Clark was waiting with a cup of coffee. “You can go into the conference room, Mr. Carlson. The court reporter is here. They’ll be in momentarily.”
James took his seat at the base of the table and got focused. He had a job to do today, and that job was getting a complete deposition from Maggie Eagle Heart. Nothing more and nothing less.
The door swung open, and Rosebud stepped into the room. “Morning, James,” she said with a smile that verged on coy. Before James could process what that smile could mean, Rosebud stepped to the side and Maggie entered the room.
For one excruciating second, James forgot how to breathe. He’d seen her looking sweetly pretty and covered in grime. He’d liked her both ways, but he’d never dreamed she could be this stunning.
She wore a cream-colored suit with silky piping and a ruffle at the bottom of the jacket. The skirt was pencil thin, clinging to her hips like an old lover. Her toes—with nails painted a siren-red—were peeping out of soft pink shoes that matched the top underneath the jacket. Her hair was sleek and smooth, not a wisp out of place, and her makeup was ready-for-a-close-up done. Someone had spent a lot of time polishing this woman.

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