Rode Hard, Put Up Wet (Rough Riders #2)(52)

Rifles? Shotguns? Bazookas?”


“Settle down, Annie Oakley.”


“But I want to shoot something besides this little plinker.”


“The Walther P22 is plenty for you to handle right now.” Cash scratched his chin.


“Although, next time I might let you try the Colt revolver. It’s heavier, with a little more kick, but since you’re shootin’ high, you might have better luck with something that weighs more.”


Macie opened the box of bullets and started loading clips. “How do you know so much about guns?”


“Been around them all my life. Wasn’t a lot to do for fun on the rez. My tunkasila used to take me shootin’ when I was a kid.”


“What’s that word mean?”


“Grandfather.”


“You don’t speak Lakota very often.”


“Don’t remember a whole helluva lot. It’s a use it or lose it thing. I never spoke it fluently anyway, though I mostly understood what my tunkasila said to me. ’Course, purposely misunderstandin’ him or my unci, my grandmother, worked to my advantage on occasion too.”


“Know what sucks? I don’t know anything about your—our—family. Mom didn’t tell me stuff like that.”


“I know you don’t wanna believe it, but that’s probably a good thing you don’t know nothin’ about that side.”


“Why not?”


“It ain’t pretty and it ain’t happy.”


Slide click slide click echoed as she slipped bullets in the steel clip. “So? I still deserve to know. And I’m gonna be a total pain in the butt until you talk to me about it.”


Cash directed his gaze away from her. “Macie, it ain’t like the Big Crow family has anything to be proud of in recent years. We’re not like some of them families, keepingwith Lakota traditions. Talkin’ ’bout our glorious past. I never much cared about my Indian heritage.”


“Why’s that?”


“There’s so much wrong I don’t even know where to start.”


“Start with your parents.”


When he hesitated, she used a sad, doe-eyed look that would net her anything she wanted. He’d’ve been putty if she’d done that as a little girl.


“Please?”


“Fine. My mom died from alcohol poisoning when I was nine. My dad ended up in the state pen long before that.”


“Then where’d you live when you were growin’ up?”


“With my mom’s parents until I lit out on my own.” Right after he found out about Jorgen’s pregnancy. There was a proud moment in his life, running from his responsibilities.


“What happened to your dad when he got out of jail?”


“Died in a drunk drivin’ accident.”


Thick, uncomfortable silence weighted the air.


“So you’re like me, basically alone?”


“Basically. Why?”


“I guess I’d always heard Indians had big families. You don’t have brothers or sisters, aunts, uncles and a billion cousins?”


“I only have one brother, Levon. And he’s repeatin’ the family history.”


“How so?”


“He’s in the pen on narcotics charges. Long story.”


The lift in her eyebrow reminded him of Gemma for some odd reason. “Have some place to be that you can’t tell me now?”


I don’t want to tell you now. Or ever.


Cash sighed. “Long story short: I felt sorry for him after his wife kicked him out, so while I was off rodeoin’, I let him live on the ranch our grandparents deeded to me.


Stupid son of a bitch was makin’ meth in the barn. So when the DEA caught him, the state of South Dakota confiscated the ranch and sold it at auction to pay legal fees, and the hazardous waste clean up bill, and the back property taxes. Nothin’ I could do. I lost the only thing that was ever really mine.”



“I had no idea.” She studied his face. “When did that happen?”


“Four years ago.” Cash finally found the guts to look at his daughter. Comprehension dawned in her big brown eyes, before those same beautiful, wise eyes filled with tears.


Shit. He’d never dealt well with tears.


“Oh Dad. That was right around the time mom died, wasn’t it?”


He nodded.


“Why didn’t you tell me?”


“Because you had enough shit to deal with, Macie, without me addin’ to it. I’ve never given you anything—”


Macie threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and sobbed like her heart was breaking.


Cash held her tightly, offering her comfort she’d never sought from him. Soothing her. Holding her. His child. Feeling like a total selfish prick because on some level, he was happy, happy, that she’d turned to him for something.


Macie’s cries slowed to the occasional hiccupping stutter. Still she didn’t release her grip on him. He had the good sense not to let go of her either.