Goats ducked his head toward the mic. "Do you need a permit when you pray at your church? The American Indian Religious Freedom Act of 1978 guarantees Indian people access to their sacred sites and protects our right to pray in the traditional way. When the police broke up the sweat lodge, frightening and manhandling our sisters, they broke the law."
Then it was Adam Caywood's turn. "Native people are losing sacred sites across the continent. What happens to Indian people, especially urban Indians, when these places are turned into strip malls and parking lots? If our ways of life are to survive, these sites, and our access to them, have to be protected."
Grandpa Red Crow nodded. "The land is our bible. How can I teach my young people if our ceremonies are interrupted and we are driven off the land?"
The look on his dear face told Kat that he was trying desperately to communicate what for him was a profound and important truth, but it was clear the reporters didn't understand.
"Did you have a permit or not?" the reporter asked again.
Kat bit her tongue.
CHAPTER 3
GABE SAT AT the corner table with his back to the wall, watching the restaurant's front door as a couple of silver-haired seniors in jogging suits entered and were seated. He glanced up at the clock. It seemed that Katherine James had stood him up. It was only lunch--lunch with conditions tacked on to it--but she'd stood him up.
What in the hell had he been thinking when he'd asked her out? Or maybe it was less a question of what he'd been thinking and more a question of which part of him had been doing the thinking.
Your dick getting you into trouble again, Rossiter?
Except that he hadn't been out of Samantha's house--or, for that matter, out of Samantha--for an hour yet when he'd asked Katherine to go out with him. It's not like he'd gone without sex for a month and had been desperate to get laid. In fact, the more he thought about why he'd asked her out, the less it made sense to him. One moment he'd felt perfectly sane, and the next his mouth had started talking.
He supposed he ought to be grateful that she was a no-show. It might bruise his ego, but it helped make up for whatever had gone wrong with his brain Saturday night when he'd--
The restaurant door opened, and she walked in, the wind catching her dark hair for one last moment before the door closed behind her.
Gabe felt a little hitch in his chest.
Okay, he could cut that shit out right now. He was not going to get tangled up in her. He didn't even know her--where she was from, what Indian nation she was a member of, whether she was even single. Hell, yeah, she was pretty--okay, more than pretty. And, true, he respected her for the strength she'd shown after she'd fallen. And, sure, he supposed he felt a certain protectiveness toward her, but that was probably just the Neanderthal part of his brain stuck in rescue mode or some shit.
Have you ever felt protective of the other people you've rescued?
Ignoring the question, Gabe stood, watched her scan the crowded eatery, her gaze finding him. She threaded her way through the tables, her limp still noticeable. She wore a gray boiled-wool coat with Indian designs on it, a long denim skirt and brown leather boots, a brown leather purse hanging from one shoulder. As she drew closer, he saw that her cheeks were rosy, as if she'd been outdoors all morning, her hair tousled by the wind.
"Sorry I'm late." She set her purse on the chair beside her, sat, and slipped off her coat. She was wearing a shirt the same rosy color as her cheeks, a turquoise and silver bear claw hanging from a slender silver chain to nestle distractingly between her breasts. "I hope you weren't waiting long. I've been covering the protest at the municipal building and was about to leave when the mayor came out for an impromptu press conference."
"Covering it? So you're ... a reporter?"
She nodded. "I'm part of the Denver Independent's I-Team."
That's why she'd made him agree
Then it was Adam Caywood's turn. "Native people are losing sacred sites across the continent. What happens to Indian people, especially urban Indians, when these places are turned into strip malls and parking lots? If our ways of life are to survive, these sites, and our access to them, have to be protected."
Grandpa Red Crow nodded. "The land is our bible. How can I teach my young people if our ceremonies are interrupted and we are driven off the land?"
The look on his dear face told Kat that he was trying desperately to communicate what for him was a profound and important truth, but it was clear the reporters didn't understand.
"Did you have a permit or not?" the reporter asked again.
Kat bit her tongue.
CHAPTER 3
GABE SAT AT the corner table with his back to the wall, watching the restaurant's front door as a couple of silver-haired seniors in jogging suits entered and were seated. He glanced up at the clock. It seemed that Katherine James had stood him up. It was only lunch--lunch with conditions tacked on to it--but she'd stood him up.
What in the hell had he been thinking when he'd asked her out? Or maybe it was less a question of what he'd been thinking and more a question of which part of him had been doing the thinking.
Your dick getting you into trouble again, Rossiter?
Except that he hadn't been out of Samantha's house--or, for that matter, out of Samantha--for an hour yet when he'd asked Katherine to go out with him. It's not like he'd gone without sex for a month and had been desperate to get laid. In fact, the more he thought about why he'd asked her out, the less it made sense to him. One moment he'd felt perfectly sane, and the next his mouth had started talking.
He supposed he ought to be grateful that she was a no-show. It might bruise his ego, but it helped make up for whatever had gone wrong with his brain Saturday night when he'd--
The restaurant door opened, and she walked in, the wind catching her dark hair for one last moment before the door closed behind her.
Gabe felt a little hitch in his chest.
Okay, he could cut that shit out right now. He was not going to get tangled up in her. He didn't even know her--where she was from, what Indian nation she was a member of, whether she was even single. Hell, yeah, she was pretty--okay, more than pretty. And, true, he respected her for the strength she'd shown after she'd fallen. And, sure, he supposed he felt a certain protectiveness toward her, but that was probably just the Neanderthal part of his brain stuck in rescue mode or some shit.
Have you ever felt protective of the other people you've rescued?
Ignoring the question, Gabe stood, watched her scan the crowded eatery, her gaze finding him. She threaded her way through the tables, her limp still noticeable. She wore a gray boiled-wool coat with Indian designs on it, a long denim skirt and brown leather boots, a brown leather purse hanging from one shoulder. As she drew closer, he saw that her cheeks were rosy, as if she'd been outdoors all morning, her hair tousled by the wind.
"Sorry I'm late." She set her purse on the chair beside her, sat, and slipped off her coat. She was wearing a shirt the same rosy color as her cheeks, a turquoise and silver bear claw hanging from a slender silver chain to nestle distractingly between her breasts. "I hope you weren't waiting long. I've been covering the protest at the municipal building and was about to leave when the mayor came out for an impromptu press conference."
"Covering it? So you're ... a reporter?"
She nodded. "I'm part of the Denver Independent's I-Team."
That's why she'd made him agree
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