Read Online A Certain Kind of Hero by Kathleen Eagle - Free Book Online

really. Peter needs to learn how to find his own answers.”
    â€œWhat does he want to know? Who his parents are?” He peered at her, his eyes burning with the question. Abruptly he turned away. “The answer to that is you and Jared.”
    â€œHe knows he’s adopted.”
    â€œHe knows you raised him. That makes you his mother.”
    â€œHe needs to learn more about his Native heritage, Gideon. And with Jared gone…”
    â€œJared didn’t know his heritage from—” Jared had answers, but not those answers, damn it. Those were the answers Gideon had. At least, he had some. A few. “Look, Raina, the problem is that this whole treaty rights issue is pretty dicey right now, and people are circling their wagons up here.” He chuckled. “Some analogy, huh?”
    â€œIt’s an interesting choice of words.”
    â€œThese are interesting times. It can be tricky just figuring out who your friends are. Tell you what—we’ll take in the powwow tomorrow, give Peter a taste of smoked fish and frybread. How’s that?”
    â€œWill you take us canoeing before we go?”
    â€œI could,” he supposed. “With a canoe you can avoid the boat landings. One of these days I’m liable to blow my cool and bash somebody’s face in. Then I’d sure as hell make the front page of every newspaper in the state. And not the way I’d want to.”
    She touched the back of his hand with her cool fingertips. “After what I saw today, I don’t know how you’ve resisted this long.”
    â€œNo choice.” Her soft touch had the same effect on himas her scent had. Old reflex, he told himself. The evening shadows covered for him nicely. “Anything I do reflects on the people. Gotta mind my manners.” He smiled playfully. “Mostly.”
    â€œI won’t ask what ‘mostly’ means.”
    Â 
    It meant that as long as he was playing the gentleman escort, he would behave himself and dress the part. Gideon’s idea of dressing up coincided in some ways with Raina’s. He broke out a bottle of men’s cologne that reminded him of the north woods on a chilly spring evening. He thought he could detect a hint of spruce, a touch of balsam and a splash of fresh water from a swift, icy current. And he wore his dress shoes—moccasins with floral beadwork—and his hair-pipe choker with the abalone shell tickling his Adam’s apple. The small leather bag he wore tucked inside his shirt was generally not for show, but the beaded belt was.
    Damn, he felt good-looking.
    It was too hot for the sport jacket he usually wore for official occasions. And the jeans, well…short or long, jeans were always Gideon.
    The powwow was held in a traditional circular bowery. The focus was music and dancing, and the costumes splashed color in every corner of the fairgrounds. The prizes for the dance contests drew dancers from out of state, and even though styles had blended in recent years, Gideon was able to point out the differences between the American Chippewa and the Canadian Cree moccasins, both with floral beadwork. He noted the Ojibwa influence on the local Dakota designs, as opposed to those of their Western Lakota cousins. There were even visitors from the Southwest, and Raina was impressed with Gideon’s knowledge of Zuni, Hopi and Navaho silver work, which was available for sale at some of the stands.
    Peter was interested in everything that was going on around him—the costumes, the dance steps, the people, the food—but Raina could tell he was feeling a little awkward. He was like a saddle horse’s colt catching a glimpse of a herd of mustangs. Was this really who he was? If he left his mother’s side, would those strangers let him run with them, or would they kick up their heels in his face and leave him standing there looking stupid?
    â€œWhat do you like to eat, Peter?” Gideon asked