Chapter Three
Emma didn’t need to be a telepath to recognize the false laughter and the wild cat’s throaty worry. What had she said to change Bronco’s mood? She turned to search his expression for some clue, but his formerly easy-to-read face had undergone a transformation. Flat and cold, his eyes belonged to a killer, not to the gentle man she’d bantered with for the last hour. A chill slithered down her spine. When he appeared at her house, all tattoos and testosterone, she’d taken him for just another arrogant jerk—and she’d had her fill of them in the service.
When the bobcat jumped out of his backpack and wrapped himself around his neck like a domestic feline, she’d been forced to adjust her opinion. Against her better judgment, she’d been warming up to this ink-illustrated man, enjoying the banter—not to mention the primal pleasure of his male presence triggering the alarm on her biological clock. Oh, my aching ovaries. This man was a pheromone weapon of mass distraction, a natural hazard to any woman between the age of eighteen and eighty-five.
Over the course of the ride to the hotel, she had begun to know a gentle, kind man capable of risking his life to protect a helpless, vulnerable creature—or so she thought. This shift into a dead-eyed robot disoriented her and made her touch her hunting knife to reassure her it was still there—just to be safe. Is this how he looks when he’s undercover? He was good, scary good at wearing the mask of evil. She wondered if the strain of pretending to be one thing, while actually being another had forced him into his new line of work with Homeland. He’d been about to tell her something, then abruptly switched topics.
The clandestine division Bronco worked in was full of odd people with talents and skills that didn’t fit neatly into any other agency’s boxes. Was this an evil twin of the man Emma thought she was getting to know or was it the real Bronco?
Purring loudly, Gaucho stood, put his front paws around Bronco’s neck and head-butted him until the man laughed. “Okay, okay, big fella.” As if waking from a trance, the Bronco she had begun to know and like returned from wherever he’d gone.
“How close are we? This guy needs a relief area and some food.”
“Right around the next bend,” Emma said blowing out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He—the good-natured hunk with the mischievous smile—was back, and she hoped that other guy, the creepy one, never returned.
As she spoke, the Victorian mansion came into view at the end of the long driveway, and the modern world fell away. She could picture fine carriages at the entryway and horses tied to the railing, cowboys and gentlewomen flirting in the afternoon sun. Even today, the green rolling plains provided a jewel-box setting for the spectacular two-story manor. Light reflected off the Yellowstone River in the distance, inviting fly fishermen to cast their lines and try their luck catching trout. As they nosed the truck up to the grassy verge of the partially filled parking area and parked, several mule deer lifted their heads away from the grasses, twitched their ears, and then went back to grazing.
At the sight of the small herd, Gaucho’s eyes widened, and a low growl rumbled in his throat. Holding the lead to the cat’s harness, Bronco opened the door and allowed his four-legged partner to hop down and search for the right spot. The bobcat ducked behind a bush, and Bronco whistled a song about sitting on some dock on a bay while he waited for the cat to finish.
The damn man could even carry a tune—what couldn’t he do?
Emma called, “If he’s so smart, why isn’t he using the toilet?”
Dirt flew into the air from behind the shrub, and Gaucho reappeared, trotting ahead of his owner’s long fluid steps. “He can. Just likes to mark his territory, let other predators know there’s a new boss in town.”
“Who needs a watchdog when you can have a watch cat?” Or a watch man. Oh, stop, you are not going there, Emma. The guy was here on an assignment, not a booty call. “So he keeps everyone in line, is that what you’re saying?”
“Exactly.” Bronco grabbed his backpack out of the truck, slung it over his shoulder, and closed the door. “This place is beautiful. What can you tell me about it?”
Heading up the path, Emma began to provide a brief history of the majestic hotel. “This place has always been in my family. It was built in the early 1900s by Lucius Stewart, the man my brother said would be an asset to your team. He’s my great-great-great—well too many greats to count—grandfather.”
Sputtering in protest, Bronco reminded her of a cartoon character she’d enjoyed as a child. She chuckled and held her hand up. “Hold on there, Rooster McFusspot.”
Mouth agape, he stared at her with an expression of disbelief. “Rooster McFusspot?”
“Yeah, I’m looking at you, mister. When I told you I was descended from a great Medicine Woman, I wasn’t kidding.” She pointed at the mustachioed man standing on the verandah. “That’s Lucius Stewart. My ancestor, Beautiful Blackfeather, cursed him to limbo when her daughter—his wife—died in childbirth. Trapped in the LaBelle for over a century, he wandered the halls and watched his beloved hotel disintegrate around him, unable to do a damn thing about it.”
Lucius waved at her and grinned. She waved back and called, “Be with you in a minute.” She turned back to Bronco, continuing her story.
“That is, until Tallulah showed up. His wife, who must be inside, is Tallulah Thompson. Also a descendant of a powerful Medicine Woman, only Choctaw, not Crow. She was called in by the current owner to inspect the hotel and help him reboot his renovations efforts. She saw and heard Lucius after no one had seen him or heard him speak in over a hundred years. With help from our Crow ancestors and her visions of Beings without Bodies that we couldn’t see, Tallulah was able to lift the curse and bring him out of limbo.”
The sputtering sounds of disbelief coming from Bronco stopped, and he pursed his lips, almost as if he was puckering up for a kiss. She stepped closer and poked him on his extremely hard, exceptionally muscular chest, just above a patch on his denim cut that read, “It Is What It Is.”
“If you believe what this flash says, then hold your judgment in check. Just as few would ever believe in your ability as a remote viewer, the same is true for what I just told you. To the rest of the world, Lucius is a distant cousin come home from long travels. But to our family, and now to you, because you need to understand his gifts to do your job, he is truly a man from another time.”
“If you weren’t Bert’s sister and if I didn’t work for the Anomaly Defense Division, I wouldn’t believe a word you said.” He shook his head. “Wow. Just wow. You’re right. Things and people aren’t always what they seem.”
“One more thing—” For an instant, the present, here and now disappeared and an image flashed into her mind of the two of them in a darkened barn, her back against a wall, her legs wrapped around his waist. She blinked, stumbled backward, and took a deep shuddering breath. Nipples hard as erasers, her nether regions in a tizzy, she stared at the man in front of her in the here and now. Had he sent her that vision? Discerning not even a hint of a smirk, she gulped and continued in a raspy breath, “—they have a dog. I hope Gaucho and she get along.”
He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Let’s go find out.”
She grabbed his arm. “If that cat hurts Franny, you are going to be in a world of pain.”
As the words left her mouth a shrieking beige and black sphere streaked toward them.
Bronco burst out laughing, gasping, “What. The. Hell?”
“That’s Franny. You didn’t know pugs could sound like banshees?”
She glanced at the wide-eyed Gaucho who, for his part, appeared to be equally astonished at the noises coming out of the meteoric approach of the fur bowling ball. The cat stood its ground, not backing down, but not going after the dog, either. Franny skidded to a halt, stood on her hind legs and danced in front of the cat, her shrieks subsiding to yips. Gaucho plopped down at Bronco’s feet, occasionally glancing up at his partner, as if to say, “What is this thing?”
“It’s a dog, Gaucho,” Bronco explained. “She’s just—different.”
The pug dropped to her feet, rolled on her back, and offered her belly. With her ears flopped back on the ground, the dog resembled an overweight, grinning bat. To Emma’s astonishment, the bobcat flopped over onto his back next to Franny on the brick walkway at the foot of the steps and rubbed his angular head against the dog’s flat nosed one.
Lucius’s voice boomed from the porch. “Well, I’ll be doggoned.”
“Looks like Franny has a new friend.”
“I see you do, too,” Lucius said and winked. “Bout time you got yourself a beau.”
“Lucius!” Heat flooded her face and filled her chest where her heart jack hammered on her ribs. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s here on business.”
“I bet he is.” Lucius rolled his eyes. “Monkey business.”
Frowning and shaking her head, she tried to lower her heart rate, which was racing in annoyance at her persistent relative, not in response to the hot wild man on a bike. She lowered her voice, “Government business.”
“Oh. In that case, let’s talk inside.” He waved them up the stairs, toward the door. “The guests are out fishing.”
Emma held the door for the pug. Once in the foyer, Lucius embraced her in a bear hug, lifting her off the ground, her words of introduction muffled in his chest. “Lucius this is Bronco, Bronco this is Lucius.”
Lucius extended his hand to Bronco. “Nice to meet you and your cat. What’s his name?”
“Most times—” he grinned and shook hands—“he answers to Gaucho.” Rubbing her enormous belly, a smiling Tallulah made her way into the foyer. “He kicked me—again. I think we have a soccer player in the making.”
Panting, the pug sat in front of Gaucho and tilted her head back and forth.
Tallulah stared at the cat and extended her hand slowly. “Is he—”
“This is Gaucho,” Bronco said. “He’s my partner and won’t hurt anyone—unless they’re coming after me.”
“Duly noted.” Tallulah gasped, snatched up her husband’s hand and placed his palm on her abdomen. “Did you feel that?”
“You mean the attempted jail break?” He grinned. “I sure did. He wants out.”
“Only a few more weeks, or so the doctor says.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how much longer I can take the kicking, punching, and dancing baby visions. He’d better not try to overstay his check out time.”
Emma’s stomach growled, and they all turned toward her, including the animals.
Shrugging, she jerked her thumb at Bronco. “Had to calm down a dozen neighbors who saw him ride onto the rez.”
Bronco frowned. “Neighborhood watch?”
“Something much more powerful: Indian telegraph.” At the puzzled expression on his face, she said, “The kids playing ball in the street you passed? They told the adults talking on the sidewalk you looked like a bad man. The adults watched you pull onto my street and the grandmothers saw you, too. See something, say something, is a way of life with my people. We watch out for each other. All eyes were on you, my scary looking friend.”
“Welcome to our world, Bronco.” Tallulah smiled. “Bison burgers okay?”
As they headed to the kitchen, Emma pointed out the long, smooth registration desk made of highly polished mahogany, and the intricately carved walls and ceiling of the same wood to Bronco. “Ask Lucius to tell you about the artist he hired to create the carvings of the deer, fish, and waterways—he wanted to be another Frederic Remington. Anyway, the elevator was one of the first in Montana,” she said, feeling like a tour guide. She loved the gleaming wooden stairs and the metal lattice work surrounding the wooden box that comprised the elaborate cage elevator. “I personally polished all that blackened brass and made it shine again.”
Turning in a slow circle, Bronco let out a long low whistle. “This place is amazing. It’s like I stepped back in time.”
“It took a lot of elbow grease, hard work, and love to bring the place back to her original glory.” Hard to believe only a year had passed since Tallulah and Lucius had become wife and husband. Even harder to believe how their love had transformed the two-story building from a half-assed restoration from the previous profligate owner, Will Wellington. The historic Hotel LaBelle had experienced a complete rebirth to her original glory and grandeur, albeit updated and modernized in tastefully understated ways.
Emma noticed a new display of intricate beadwork, along with the hefty price tags next to them, courtesy of a Crow interior decorator, a laughing cousin named Stephanie. A sign noted the names of the Crow artists who had created them, along with a suggestion to take home a lovely memento of a wonderful vacation in Big Sky Country. Leave it to Steph to come up with a great marketing strategy to benefit the tribe. Emma would have to tease her and ask if they were made in China.
“You haven’t even seen my saloon yet,” Lucius called over his shoulder. “Now, that’s a beauty.”
Emma snorted at Bronco’s slack-jawed expression at the sight of the bar. “You want to move in?’
“Yes! With the player piano in the corner, the brass rail and the animal trophies on the wall, it feels like we’re in another century.” He pointed at the stuffed jackalope, a mythical creature created topping the taxidermied body of a jackrabbit with antelope antlers. “Even I know that thing isn’t real.”
Lucius guffawed. “We keep it here for fun, alongside the deer, bear, and bison.”
“Let’s eat in the kitchen,” Tallulah broke in. “It’s easier for me to talk and cook.”
“Shouldn’t you be letting Lucius wait on you hand and foot?” Emma teased.
“Nah. If I sit too long, the baby gets restless. He dances and uses my belly as a drum.” The blonde pointed to a large wooden table in the kitchen. “Emma, could you set the table, please? Lucius, would you get the water?”
“What would you like me to do?” Bronco stood in the doorway glancing around the large sunny space. “Other than read your sticky notes that appear to be on every surface of this beautiful kitchen.”
Lucius smothered a laugh and hid his face behind a cabinet door with a yellow sticky note that read “Water glasses.”
Tallulah flushed. “I’ve always had a thing for sticky notes, but with the baby, well, I’ve been forgetting a lot. Like I open the refrigerator door and wonder what I was getting out. Wait. What was your question?”
“What would you like me to do?” Bronco repeated with a smile.
“Well, for one thing, you can have a seat and for another, you can keep that big cat off the table. Princess Franny would be miffed if a visiting pet was able to get closer to the food than she could.”
The pug in question settled the matter by coming to Bronco’s feet and dancing on her hind legs. Gaucho touched noses with the bug-eyed creature. Franny’s curlicue tail wagged faster, until her whole body shook, and she licked the cat’s face.
“Okaaaaay.” Tallulah, blue eyes wide, glanced between the animals and Bronco. “We know Emma’s a horse and dog whisperer. Are you a cat whisperer?”
Bronco laughed and rubbed Gaucho’s back. “Not all cats. Just this one. He’s pretty special.”
“I want to see him use the toilet,” Emma threw over her shoulder as she filled water glasses. “And flush it.”
“Please,” Bronco said covering the cat’s tufted ears. “You’re embarrassing him. He likes his privacy in the bathroom.”
A short time later, over mouthfuls of bison burger dripping with caramelized onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and pickles, Bronco relayed the tale of the biker bar and the orphaned kitten, probably the runt of the litter, because of Gaucho’s relatively small size for a male at twenty pounds. The cat and he had bonded, and over time, he realized he could send images to the cat and Gaucho, in return could do the same with him.
“He’s like a feline remote viewer,” Bronco said.
“Good thing the CIA didn’t know about animals having that ability.” Emma shuddered, thinking about her bond with horses and dogs. “God only knows what kind of experiments they might have cooked up.”
In the seventies, the CIA had a program to see if certain paranormal methods would have intelligence applications. One of these activities was remote viewing. Researchers would ask someone to envision a place or object that a sender would be looking at. In other experiments, they would put a photograph into an envelope and ask the person to describe the picture. The program continued for about twenty years. A large evaluation study of the program found the results were positive. However, while the statistics were good, the intelligence wasn’t detailed enough for practical uses in the field. They discontinued the program, but Bert Blackfeather, Director of the Anomaly Defense Division of Homeland Security’s Science and Technology Directorate found a way to bring these talented people into his domain to fight terrorism.
Tallulah sighed, “I know. Not much oversight nor interest in animal welfare in those days.” She dropped a piece of meat on the floor, and the pug vacuumed it up.
Emma rubbed Franny’s head with her free hand. “You ready for a little brother or sister?” Franny chuffed and snorted. “Think of all the dropped food you can get from a baby. You’ll be in hog heaven.”
“Don’t encourage her. She’s five pounds overweight now,” Tallulah said and sighed again. “Pugs live to eat. What about Gaucho? Will he eat bison?”
Bronco nodded. “He will. But he only eats what I give him—or what he catches outside.”
Tallulah slid her plate across the table. “Please. I can’t eat large portions anymore.”
Lucius patted her belly. “You’ve got no room, darlin’, what with L.J. taking up space.”
“L.J.? You have a name?” Emma asked around a mouthful of meat. “So you do know the sex!”
“Ha! Not really.” Lucius chuckled. “I need a name to call the little one. Can’t just keep sayin’ ‘the baby this’ or ‘the baby that.’ L.J. is for Lucius Junior.” He smirked and rolled his eyes. “After all, we can’t call him ‘Love ’Em and ‘Leave ’Em,’ it wouldn’t be right.”
Tallulah jabbed his arm, and he winced in mock pain.
Pushing his plate aside, Bronco wiped his mouth with a napkin and tapped the table with his index fingertip. “I hate to have to talk business, but the boss sent me here on an assignment. He’ll have my hide if we don’t get started.”
Lucius stretched and said, “We’re all ears.”
“Emma’s on my team as a ‘consultant’ since she doesn’t officially work for Homeland. However, you two”—he pointed at the couple—“work for Bert and have an idea of what to do.”
“I’m in the room, sitting right next to you,” Emma objected. “I was the one who nearly got killed, so despite my dear brother’s discounting me, I’m invested in finding out who did this and why—even more than you are, Mr. Biker Man.”
“Point taken.” He patted her hand, and she snatched it away.
“How dare you patronize me!” A rush of anger made the scar on her chest throb. What made her think he might be different from the rest of the testosterone drenched jerks she had to deal with all her life? It was the military all over again. Well, she paid her dues, served her hitch, and now she was in charge. She didn’t have to take his crap. “I can kick your ass and mop up the floor with you.”
Bronco threw his hands up. “Hold on. I wasn’t trying to downplay your role. If you’ll let me continue—”
“Whoa, Nelly!” Lucius chortled. “What’s all the ruckus? Do I need to get you two a pair of boxing gloves so you can duke it out?”