Page 15 of Native Hawk
Drew Hawk wasn’t listening. He was too busy looking over his shoulder as he and his twin brother, Chase Wolf, headed on foot to the Redding stage stop.
Chase was jawing on again about the vision he’d had and the message from their dead grandmother. Apparently, the vision had told Chase to go to the ranch where their grandmother had been kept as a servant. That was why, for the first time since they were infants, they were venturing south to the little mining town of Paradise, the place that had once been the land of their father’s people, the Konkow.
At least that was why his brotherChasewas on the journey.
Drew had his own reasons.
They might be twins, but he reckoned their looks were the only thing they had in common. The blood of their native father seemed to flow in his brother’s veins while Drew had the spirit of their white mother.
His brother was a decent, honorable man. He was an upstanding member of the tribe. He lived on the Hupa reservation, where they’d both been raised, and he earned a respectable income from his work as a blacksmith.
Drew, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to leave home and go to the big city. He’d never cottoned to the peaceful ways of the Hupa. He preferred to have a poker deck in his hand, a Colt in his holster, and the open road under his feet. He was as restless as a rolling stone.
Although lately, he felt more like a loose cannon.
His last escapade proved that. He’d been lucky to get out of Shasta with his neck intact. But it looked like his luck might not hold out.
He’d learned that the Shasta sheriff’s son, Billy, had done more than knocked himself out in that fall. Word was he’d hit his head so hard on the saloon floor that he’d never woken up. They’d put him in a pine box the next day. The crazy thing was the sheriff was blaming Drew for his death.
He blew out a long breath.
Chase misread Drew’s sigh. “You know, it’s not too late for you to turn back.”
“Turn back? Why would I do that?” Hell, if he turned back now, he’d run straight into the sheriff’s posse on his trail. He’d made the mistake of telling the boys in Shasta he was from Hupa. They’d know right where to find him.
Chase glared at him pointedly. “You keep looking back like you’ve got a hankering to go home.”
“I’m just…watchin’ forminim’millediliw.”
Chase snorted in disbelief. They both knew there weren’t any mountain lions around at this time of day. They walked another five steps before he quietly added, “All I’m saying is you don’t have to come.”
“O’ course I do.” Drew bumped him with his shoulder. “Who else is gonna keep you out o’ trouble?”
He was teasing, of course. Chase never got into trouble. If he ever did, Drew was the last one he should depend on to get him out of it. But it was the same lie he’d told their folks—that someone had to watch over Chase.
The truth was Drew needed to get out of Hupa fast, and he had to get his identical twin out of there too. A case of mistaken identity could mean they’d string up his innocent brother for a crime neither of them had committed.
Going along on Chase’s vision quest was as good an excuse as any to leave the reservation. It sure beat either of them twisting at the end of a rope.
The thought made Drew wince. It was too easy to imagine a noose around his neck. He adjusted the strap on his knapsack and cast another anxious look over his shoulder.
“What the hell are you looking for, brother?” Chase demanded. “And don’t tell me wildcats. What is it? Someone following you?”
Drew scoffed. It was unnerving the way Chase could sometimes tell what he was thinking—unnerving and inconvenient. “Prob’ly the little filly I left back in Shasta.” He winked. “I think she might have been startin’ to hear weddin’ bells.”
Chase growled out a sigh. Drew knew Chase had no patience for his romantic escapades and didn’t understand Drew’s special affection for the ladies.
Drew was a heartbreaker. There was no denying that. He adored women, and they were drawn to him like ants to honey. But most times he didn’t take things any further than a kiss on the cheek.
He might be a silver-tongued flirt in the saloon. He might buy a lady a drink or offer to cover her bet when she lost.
But though he was a risk-taker when it came to poker, he played his cards close to his chest when it came to matters of the heart.
It was probably because his parents had such romantic beginnings. They’d built a bridge between two very different cultures—whites and Konkows. Against all odds and a heap of disapproval on both sides, they’d managed to make it work.
His mother had left civilization.
His father had left his tribe.
