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The man she wanted was sitting kitty-corner across the bar, big as life.
Heather Reardon felt hot and damp all over, her gut gone goosey, like a silly teenage groupie, but one with no friend along to poke her and remind her not to stare. The tinny chords from a steel guitar looped round and round her, while a dying bulb in a beer sign above the door marked "Can" did a crazy dance.
Can, indeed, she thought giddily. Can and did. Searched and found. She had followed her leads and her instincts deep into the backwoods, nearly to the Canadian border, and found the man she'd been looking for perched on a run-of-the-mill bar stool.
She wasn't staring. She didn't have to. Heather Reardon was a professional. She had the eavesdropping ear of an owl and the peripheral vision of a horse. Staring was no way to get what she'd come to the Minnesota backwoods for, which was not so much the man as his story. But the man -- seeing him in the flesh, hearing his voice live, remembering his public deeds as well as the personal stories she'd been told -- the man was something else.
His name was Kole Kills Crow, and he was acting remarkably ordinary, sitting there, minding a beer on the stained bar, the sportscaster on the small screen above the fat bartender's head, and the occasional comment from the younger Indian man sitting two stools down on his far side.
He didn't resemble any fugitive she'd ever encountered -- and she'd met a few -- nor did he strike her as a martyr. He didn't look like a rabble-rouser or a terrorist or a messianic leaderof Native people or a convict. He certainly didn't look like a murderer, but Heather had interviewed enough murderers to know that you couldn't tell by looking at them.
And he knew she was looking at him, if furtively. That much she could tell by the way he studiously ignored her.
She was fairly certain that being the only woman in the Cheap Shot Saloon rendered her somewhat noticeable. She was also the only Caucasian, although the bartender was probably more white than Indian. He was the only person who'd said anything to her so far -- "What'll it be?" and then "Never heard of it. You got a second choice?" She'd ended up with red wine vinegar in a juice glass.
"How is it?" the bartender asked her after he'd delivered a couple of beers at the other end of the bar. "The wine."
Heather looked down at the glass. Not that she'd forgotten, but she couldn't bring herself to look the guy in the eye when she said, "Fine."
"Didn't know if it would keep. Opened it up for a lady last month."
"Last month? Well..." She flashed a tight smile. "As long as you keep the cap screwed on tight."
"Lost the cap, so I just --"
"Are you palming off some of that stuff you make yourself, Mario?"
The bartender raised his voice as he shot the younger man a scowl. "Put a cork in it."
"Damn, we lose more tourists that way."
The exchange drew a chuckle from the reticent Mr. Kills Crow as he set his beer down after taking a sip.
"They come all this way to soak up the flavor of, uh, the native..." The young guy made a rolling gesture. "What do you call it, Kola?"
"Not that. The atmosphere. The whole cultural --"
"That ain't hooch, hey. That there's genuine --" The bartender grabbed the bottle, checked the label, then shoved it under the younger man's nose. "Italian. It's Italian wine. Imported from Chicago. I got a cousin there."
Heather slid Kills Crow a quick glance. She had the edge. She knew who he was, knew from her reading that kola was the Lakota word for "friend," knew that they were both visitors to the woodsy Northern Minnesota Blue Fish Indian Reservation that was home, not to the Lakota, but to their traditional rivals, the Chippewa. He, on the other hand, knew nothing about her.
Not that he was interested. Clearly he meant to spare her no more than a glance as he lifted his beer, but he stopped short of a sip and lowered the bottle. A spark flashed in his dark eyes, like a secret smile. "Youre supposed to let the lady check the cork, Mario," he said.
He no longer wore his hair in the braids he'd sported when he'd waved an assault rifle above his head and defied the South Dakota National Guard with a chilling whoop that echoed across the airwaves into living rooms across the country. Heather had only had a passing interest at the time -- much like that reflected in the look he was giving her now -- but she'd since gathered every piece of news he'd made. His hair had been jet-black then. It was shorter now and streaked with an abundance of silver for a forty-year-old man. She could count the years in his tawny face, too, but he wore them well. And his eyes promised a fascinating story.
"Ain't nothin' wrong with the cork. See? Just a cork." Mario snatched it out of the sink and thrust it under each nose along the bar, as though he wanted them to sniff for spoilage. "Damn, you guys," Mario said, flicking the cork in the young man's face when he grimaced. "She said herself, it's good wine. Right?"
"I said it was fine." She offered another tight smile to the bartender as she grabbed the glass, then cast a quick glance at the man she'd come two thousand miles to find.
Dare ya, said the eyes with the secret smile.
She drank, willing her tongue to let...You Never Can Tell. Copyright © by Kathleen Eagle. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Posted September 14, 2012
I have always enjoyed Kathleen Eagle books ever since her debut book "Someday Soon" many years ago, but I'm not sure what's happened to her. The story lines are a bit draggy, the dialog very heavy with tired cliches and the characters don't give me the warm, happy feeling I like to get in stories like this. Frankly, I had a hard time finishing the book, it just didn't hold my interest.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted July 29, 2001
Heather Reardon is a writer on a mission. She is searching for Kole Kills Crow, a Lakota fugitive with a story to tell. Years ago, Kole was an activist for the Native American cause, trying to make things better for his people. But he dropped out of sight after the death of his wife and his escape from prison. <br><br> After Heather discovers Kole in a northern Minnesota bar, her life is forever changed. For she follows the hero of her dreams to his cabin where she begins to know him as the man shaped by the hardships he has endured. Heather and Kole embark on a cross-country journey to other reservations, gathering supporters for their journey to Hollywood, where they plan to make a stand against the bias of the entertainment industry against Native Americans. <br><br> Heather struggles to keep her personal attraction for Kole separate from her desire to write his story. And Kole tries to prevent an emotional attraction to Heather, a white woman who has put a dent in his hardened heart. <br><br> The banter between Heather and Kole is wonderful, ripe with innuendos and very quick-witted. Their relationship goes very deep, first beginning as purely physical, but gradually changing into an enduring ability to trust each other even in adverse circumstances. For a wonderful read proving that love can transcend anything, YOU NEVER CAN TELL can¿t be beat.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted July 27, 2001
Kole Kills Crow, an AIM-type activist turned mystical flute maker after his escape from federal prison, has been living underground for years, hiding from the law as well as the political enemies he can't name. That is, until Heather Reardon, a freelance journalist, tracks him down on an Ojibwe reservation in Northern Minnesota. She's been following the story of Kole for as long as she can remember, and as far as Heather's concerned, it's time for his story to be told. And she has the skills and the reputation to do so. But will he be a willing participant? Ms. Eagle commands witty dialogue and conveys the sensuality of Heather's and Kole's relationship in such a manner that this book would also be enjoyed outside the romance genre. Fans of Russell Means' 'Where White Men Fear To Tread' and the movie 'Thunderheart' will love this book and feel like they have the 'inside activist story.'Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted December 9, 2008
Free lance reporter Heather Reardon finds Kole Kills Crow, known for defying the South Dakota National Guard, in a local bar in the Minnesota backwoods. The journalist searched for the recluse to hear his side of the story of what happened in prison after he was convicted of kidnapping during the Guard incident. Just before his sentence ended, Kole fled prison when another American Indian standing near him is killed. Kole and Heather talk with her explaining that she spoke with people from his past such as the actor Barry Wilson, Kole¿s former mentor. Barry left the cause for Hollywood, allowing Kole to take the rap for the South Dakota incident. <P>Though he says he is only a flute maker, she and a Native American reporter persuade Kole to lead a Native American rights March on Hollywood to provide a more accurate picture of the American Indian. Along the way, Kole and Heather fall in love even as other American Indians join the march and other people want Kole dead so their exploitation can continue. <P>Best-selling and award winning author Kathleen Eagle provides readers with an exciting ethnic romance that showcases the modern day American Indian. The story line is very exciting, but it is the charcaters, especially the lead duo who turn YOU NEVER CAN TELL into a classy reading experience. As usual Ms. Eagle demonstrates with this novel that you can tell why books like THE NIGHT REMEMBERS and THE LAST TRUE COWBOY are so popular with readers. <P>Harriet KlausnerWas this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.