Native Born

“Listen. There was some trouble. You’ll see it on the news.”

“Mom?” Her daughter’s voice was now calm. Unlike some of her fellows, she had never hidden what she did from her daughter. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, fine. But I’m still in Tucson.”

“Did you see my brothers?”

She glanced to Gabe and then to Clyne. “Yes.” She gripped her neck with her opposite hand so hard that her back began to ache.

“I want to meet them!” Her daughter’s voice filled with longing.

“Maybe soon.”

And maybe forever. Cassidy’s heart ached low down and deep, reminding her of a pain she had not felt since she’d discovered her husband had been killed in action.

She needed to get them out of Arizona. If only that would work. But she knew that moving wouldn’t protect Amanda from one particular threat. The ICWA, Indian Child Welfare Act. Sovereign rights. Tribal rights.

“Are you listening to me?” asked Amanda.

“What was that, pumpkin?”

“I asked if you will be back in time for Saturday’s game?”

She glanced to Clyne, the newest of the tribal council and enemy number one in her book. Oh, if she could just find something to bury them but all she’d come up with was something ancient on the third brother, Clay. She stiffened. A brow arched as she looked at Clyne, who narrowed his eyes at her.

“I’ll try, pumpkin.”

“Oh, Mom!”

From the phone, Cassidy heard the sound of a scoreboard buzzer.

“I’ve got to go.”

Cassidy pictured her in her red-and-white basketball uniform, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, her lips tinted pink from the colored lip gloss her daughter had begun wearing. It was her last year of elementary school. Her last year of eligibility in the youth basketball league. Next year Cassidy would have a teenager on her hands. She hoped.

“I love you,” said Cassidy.

“You, too.” The line went dead.

She held the phone to her chest for just a moment, eyes closed against the darkness that crept into her heart. What would she do if they took her daughter away?

“Was that her?”

The gruff male voice brought her about and she faced Clyne, who had snuck up on her without a sound.

Cassidy straightened for a fight with Clyne—her daughter’s eldest brother and the first name on the complaint petitioning to have her daughter’s closed adoption opened and overturned. She knew he’d win. He knew it, too. She saw not an ounce of pity for her in those deep brown eyes. Just the alert stare of a confident man facing a foe.

His face was all angles where her daughter’s was all soft curves and the promise of the woman she would soon become.

An Apache woman. Not if she could help it. Amanda would be whatever she wanted and not be limited to one place and one clannish tribe who clung to that mountain as if it were more than just another outcropping of stone. Cold as his heart, she suspected. What did he know about Amanda, anyway? Nothing. According to his records he’d been deployed with the US Marines when his sister had been born and hadn’t been discharged until after the accident that took his mother.

“Was that who?” she asked. But she knew. Still she made him say it.

“Jovanna?” he said, breathing the word, just a whisper.

Her skin prickled at the hushed intimate tone.

“Her name is Amanda Gail Walker.”

“Amanda?” Clyne spat the word as he threw up his hands. “I’ve never met an Apache woman named Amanda.”

“And you won’t meet this one if I have any say in it.”

“We are her family,” said Clyne. “Her real family.”

“Hey, I’m just as real as the family that didn’t even know she was alive for twelve years.”

“Nine,” he corrected. Nine years on July 4 since his mother had died in that auto accident.

“If it were up to you all, she would have been raised in a series of group homes in South Dakota.”

“You are not a mother. You’re a field agent.”

“And?”

“You have no husband, no other children.”

“What’s your point?”

“You are alone raising my sister and you have a very dangerous job. You were shot today! You could get killed at any moment. A good mother doesn’t put her child at that kind of risk.”

“It’s an important job.”

“So is motherhood,” said Clyne. “So is teaching her who she is, who her people are, where she comes from. She belongs where her tribe has lived for centuries. You move her around like she’s a canary.”

“You finished? Because it isn’t up to you. It’s up to the judge. Until then I do my job and you keep away from my daughter.”

“Walker!” She turned to see her boss closing in. “Outside. Now.”

She followed him out into the hallway.

“What was that?” asked Tully.

“Custody battle,” she said.

“I know all about that. What I’m asking about is why are you fighting with a tribal councilman?”

“Perhaps I’m not the right one for this assignment,” she said, hating herself for saying it. She’d never turned down an assignment before.