Excerpt of Sleeping With The Enemy by Myrna Temte

"Yes, Aunt Sally, I'm still listening," Jackson Hawk said into the telephone receiver, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation. "Of course I'll be polite. I'm always polite. Tell Uncle Frank he can stop nagging me any time now."

While Aunt Sally rattled on with a seemingly endless stream of advice, all of which he didn't need, Jackson propped his feet on the corner of his desk and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

"Whoa! Ne-xohose-neheseha! Say it again in English, Aunt Sally. Yes, I've been studying Cheyenne again, but I can't follow you when you talk so fast. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Oh, yeah? Tell him I said he's been lying around like an old woman for too long. If he doesn't like the way I'm doing his job, he'd better hurry up and get well so he can do it himself."

Aunt Sally dutifully relayed the message. Jackson chuckled when he heard his uncle's outraged howl in the background. "Yeah, I thought that'd get a rise out of him."

A knocking sound drew Jackson's gaze to the doorway. A pretty young woman he'd never seen before stood there, clutching a black leather briefcase. The color of her hair, skin and eyes told him she had a substantial amount of Indian blood, but the gray wool coat draped over her arm, her conservative navy blue business suit, her sensible pumps and her short, chic hairstyle made her look out of place. And there was an obvious air of tension about her that made him wonder if she'd ever set foot on a reservation before. He held up one finger to indicate that he'd just be a moment.

"Aunt Sally, I have a visitor," he said when his garrulous aunt paused to take a breath. "I don't know. I don't know that, either. I'll call if anything important comes up. All right. Take good care of yourself, too."

Jackson hung up the phone, swung his feet to the floor and swiveled his chair to face the desk again. The woman still stood in the doorway, looking as if she'd rather be someplace—no, make that anyplace—else. Must be from the government. He'd guess she was a Fed, although she certainly had better-looking legs than the last one he'd had to deal with. The rest of her wasn't too shabby, either. But a Fed was still a Fed, and it never hurt to be cautious.

"May I help you?" he asked.

She gave him a tentative smile. "I'm sorry I interrupted your phone call." When Jackson merely shrugged at her apology, she continued. "I'm looking for Mr. Frank Many Horses. I believe he's the tribal chairman?"

"He's on a medical leave," Jackson said. "I'm filling in for him at the moment. And you are?"

He'd never seen a Fed blush before, but this one did. Quite prettily, too. Then she uttered a soft, husky laugh that charmed him right down to the scuffed toes of his cowboy boots. He decided she was more cute than pretty. But on her, cute looked damn good.

"Excuse me," she said, stepping into the room. "I guess I've spent so much time alone in the Library of Congress lately, I've forgotten my manners. I'm Maggie Schaeffer. From Congressman Baldwin's office in Washington."

Baldwin? Jackson thought, barely managing to keep a grimace of disgust off his face. What was that snake up to now? He'd never met the man personally, but he'd heard enough about him from Uncle Frank to be suspicious.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Schaeffer?"

"Oh, dear." She walked closer to the desk. "You weren't expecting me, were you, Mr., uh… I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

Jackson stood and briefly shook the hand she offered. It was small and soft and delicate, and he felt oddly reluctant to let go of it. "Hawk. Jackson Hawk. I'm the tribal attorney here at Laughing Horse. And, no, I wasn't expecting you."

She shot him a startled glance, as if she couldn't believe he was really an attorney. Of course, she probably hadn' t met many male lawyers who wore their hair in braids. His jeans and faded blue sweatshirt weren't exactly standard office attire, either. Well, tough. He didn't live or dress by the white man's rules anymore.

A worried little wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. Then she squared her shoulders and gave him a rueful, lopsided grin. Damn, but she really was cute. And young. Probably only in her mid-twenties, which made her at least ten years younger than he was. Maybe that was why she worked for an S.O.B. like Baldwin—she was too young to know any better.

"Well, I apologize again, Mr. Hawk," she said. "Someone from the congressman's office in Whitehorn was supposed to call and set up an appointment for me for the first of March. Obviously, there's been a mix-up. I can come back tomorrow, if this isn't a convenient time."

Jackson gestured toward the straight-backed wooden chair on the other side of his desk. "It's as convenient as it's ever going to get. Have a seat." When they were both settled, he asked, "What brings you to Laughing Horse, Ms. Schaeffer?"

"I'm sure you're aware Congressman Baldwin serves on the House Subcommittee on Native American Affairs."

When he nodded, she smiled at him like a teacher rewarding a student for a correct answer. Then she went on in a brisk, businesslike tone that reminded Jackson of the years he'd spent working for a Wall Street law firm, pretending he wasn't an Indian. Her cuteness faded; when the gist of her mission became clear, it vanished completely.

"At the last meeting of the subcommittee, it came to the congressman's attention that conditions here at the Laughing Horse Reservation have not improved as much as they have on Montana's other reservations," she said. "He's quite concerned that we find a way to rectify the situation."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Jackson muttered.

"Excuse me?" She looked him straight in the eye, without the slightest hesitation.

It was a small thing, really, just one of those funny little differences between the Indian and white cultures that had caused tons of misunderstanding. It had taken him years to learn to look whites directly in the eye when he talked to them. That she did it so well told him a lot about how thoroughly she'd been assimilated into white society. He wondered if she even knew that most traditional Indians would consider such an action rude. Well, it wasn't his job to teach her.

"It's nothing. Go on, Ms. Schaeffer."

She shot him a doubtful look, but continued in that same irritating, businesslike tone after a moment. "My assignment is to interview some of the people here, make a list of the specific problems you're facing and formulate recommendations for legislation. If you could call a special meeting of the tribal council—"

"No."

Both of her eyebrows shot up beneath her wispy bangs. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"That's obvious, Ms. Schaeffer. You don't have a clue about what life is like on this or any other reservation, and neither does your boss."

Jackson saw sparks of anger flash in her eyes, and she opened her mouth, as if she were going to say something. But then she inhaled a deep breath and pursed her lips, obviously struggling to rein in her emotions and come up with an appropriate response. He could hardly wait to hear it.

She spoke slowly and distinctly, as if she were choosing each word with great care. "You're absolutely right, Mr. Hawk. Which is precisely why Congressman Baldwin has sent me here to collect data. I'll do everything possible to avoid taking too much of your time. One or two meetings should be enough."

"No."

He saw more sparks, and heard a huffy little note of indignation in her voice when she replied. "May I ask why not?"

Jackson leaned back in his battered swivel chair and smothered a grin as best he could. He probably should be ashamed of himself, but he wasn't. If he was honest, he'd have to admit he was enjoying this immensely.

Since taking over for Uncle Frank two months ago, he'd been forced to deal with representatives from the federal, state and county governments on a daily basis. All of them wanted something from him or his tribe, but they didn't want to give anything in return. And they didn't care whether or not they understood the people they were supposed to be serving.

Well, he'd finally had enough of trying to accommodate these idiots. He felt stupid for ever having thought this one was cute. Hell, she was just another insensitive bureaucrat. The fact that she was Indian herself only made it all the more inexcusable, as far as he was concerned. Damn it, she should know better, and by the time he was done with her, she would.

Lacing his fingers together over his belt buckle, Jackson stared at her until the tension nearly crackled between them. "Why not? Because we're sick and tired of being studied like bugs under a microscope. And because I don't think you really want to understand our problems, Ms. Schaeffer."

"I beg your pardon?" She drew herself up as tall as she could and still remain seated. It didn't help a whole lot, because she was only about five foot four when she was standing. "I didn't come all the way to Montana from Washington for the fun of it, Mr. Hawk."

"I'm sure you didn't," Jackson said. "You came here looking for easy answers, so you can write your little report and make points with Baldwin. Well, here's a news flash, Ms. Schaeffer. There aren't any easy answers. If you really want to understand the problems of this reservation, you come out here and live with us for a year."

"Don't be ridiculous. I couldn't possibly stay for a year."

"Then don't waste the taxpayers' money writing another useless report about Indians."

"Why are you being so obnoxious about this with me?" she demanded, poking the center of her chest with her index finger. "I certainly don't have any prejudice against Indians. I was chosen for this assignment because I am one."

Jackson had to chuckle at that. "You may have the blood, honey, but you don't have the soul."

Red patches bloomed over her cheekbones. She jumped out of her chair as if the seat had suddenly caught fire and propped her fists on her hips. "If you're implying—"

"I'm not implying anything," Jackson said, rising from his own chair. Bracing both hands on the top of his desk, he leaned forward until his nose nearly brushed hers. "I'll call you an apple right to your face, if you want. You know what that means, don't you? Red on the outside, white on the inside?"

"I've heard the term."

"I'm sure you have. You're trading on a heritage you know nothing about to further your career, and I'll be damned if you'll do it at my tribe's expense. Go on back to Washington and find somebody else to write about."

Her chin rose another notch. She slowly lowered her fists to her sides, her movements stiff and jerky enough to make Jackson suspect she was having a hard time fighting off an urge to punch him in the face. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Hawk. And might I remind you that I'm a federal employee?"

"So was Custer, lady. He didn't belong here, either."

She gave him a glare that should have singed his eyelashes off.

Then she put on her coat, picked up her briefcase and rested the bottom of it on the seat of the chair. "You really think you know everything about me, don't you?"

"I know enough."

"Perhaps. But then again, perhaps not."

He didn't like the grim smile that slowly curved the corners of her mouth. He straightened to his full height. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's not important. But get one thing straight. With or without your help, I will write my report. Congressman Baldwin will be using it to draft legislation that will directly affect the people on this reservation. Since you have refused an opportunity to offer input, you'll have only yourself to blame if you don't like the results. Have a nice day, Mr. Hawk."

Jackson remained standing behind his desk, listening to the angry clicks her heels made on the tile floor as she marched down the hallway. When he heard the exit door open and close, he swore under his breath, plunked his butt into the chair and reached for the phone.

Not only was the woman an apple, he'd bet his law degree she was an apple with some kind of an ax to grind. One of his old friends from Georgetown University's law school worked on Capitol Hill. Bennie Gonzales had a network of contacts among congressional staffers that a gossip columnist would kill for. If there was anything worth knowing about Maggie Schaeffer, Bennie already knew it, or he could get it within an hour. The call went through, and when he'd chitchatted enough to be polite, Jackson made his request.

"Maggie Schaeffer," Bennie said. "That name's familiar. Let me think a second. Maggie Schaeffer, Maggie Schaeffer… Yeah, I've got her now. Research aide for Baldwin. Native American. Kinda short. Cute. Hair like Katie Couric's?"

"That's the one," Jackson said, grinning to himself as he imagined Bennie sitting behind a desk piled high with papers, tapping his forehead, as if that would help him spit out pertinent facts faster. "What do you know about her?"

"I've met her once. She's got a good rep. Supposed to be one of the best researchers on the Hill. Has a master's in public administration from Harvard."

"Do you know if she's ever worked with Native American issues?" Jackson asked.

"Not that I remember. She's done a lot of work on labor and transportation issues, though. Did a report on the timber industry a few months ago that was really excellent."

"That's all you know about her?"

"Professionally," Bennie said. "I heard a rumor about her last week, but I doubt there's any truth in it."

"What?"

"You know Washington gossip. Everybody's always supposed to be sleeping with their boss. I can't imagine Maggie with ol' horse-faced Baldwin, though."

Jackson couldn't imagine that, either, and it was surprising how distasteful he found the idea. "Are you sure this rumor was about the same Maggie?"

"Oh, yeah. The word was, Baldwin was shipping her out of town because his wife was jealous. The source really wasn't all that reliable, Jackson. I wouldn't jump to any conclusions."

"All right, Bennie. Thanks. I owe you one."

Jackson hung up the phone, then leaned back and propped his heels on the desk again. Should he call his uncle about Maggie Schaeffer or not? Kane Hunter, the doctor who served the reservation, had said they weren't supposed to upset Uncle Frank, but it had been two months since his heart attack. At this point, Jackson figured discovering he'd been kept in the dark about a potential problem with a congressman would upset his uncle more than hearing about it now.