Free One Brave Cowboy by Kathleen Eagle

worlds.”
    â€œGet yourselves something to eat,” Logan said. “I can’t wait to hear this guy put his money where his mouth is.”
    Celia was thinking the same thing. Cougar didn’t strike her as the speech-making type, but he spoke of his fellow soldier—he called her an outstanding warrior—from the heart. She was a dog handler and trainer, and when the time came, Cougar spoke reverently of the lives Mary’s dogs had saved. The handlers in his MP unit “talked up their Tutan-trained dogs like they were smarter than the average GI. And the average GI wholeheartedly agrees.”
    There were several testimonials, including onefrom Mary’s shy but very proud mother, but there were even more expressions of appreciation and camaraderie in arms from veterans. Celia had heard about the generations of American Indians who had served in the military, but she was seeing the evidence, hearing the voices for the first time. She paid close attention and mentally recorded each comment having to do with a way of life that hadn’t really touched her until now. For all her close listening and mental note-taking, her thoughts were with Cougar. What was he remembering? How did he feel about it?
    She felt chosen when he came to get Mark and her for the Honor Song. They cued up behind the VFW color guard, followed by Mary and her husband and family. The slow iambic cadence of the drum echoed the earth’s heartbeat, and the procession grew. The singers pitched their voices ever higher, calling the stars, one by one, to the purpling sky.
    And then came the dancing. The young Fancy Dancers’ colorful feather bustles covered their back from head to toe, and when they twirled it was like watching a spinning carnival ride. Shawl Dancers used their flashy fringed shawls to create wings worthy of hovering on the wind, and the Traditional Dancers’ porcupine roach headdresses bobbed in perfect imitation of a tall grass prairie chicken all puffed up and “booming” to attract female attention.
    â€œLook at Mark.” Cougar laid his hand on Celia’sknee and nodded toward the drum circle, where children gathered like groupies.
    Mark was dancing! He was imitating the other boys—whirling, stomping, nodding like a playful grouse—but he was moving in perfect rhythm with the drum.
    â€œPretty damn good,” Cougar said. “How long has he been at it?”
    Celia couldn’t take her eyes off her son. She shook her head slightly, spoke softly, as though he might hear her and feel self-conscious. Her heart fluttered wildly. “He’s never done it before.”
    â€œHe’s sure feelin’ it.”
    â€œThat’s it, isn’t it? He feels the drum.” Not quite the same as hearing it, but it was an acknowledgment, wasn’t it? He was being reached. “I dance with him at home, but he just stumbles around. It must be the live music. The bass drum. I should’ve tried this before.”
    â€œHaven’t you been to a powwow?”
    â€œWe’ve been to a couple, but only to watch. We sat on the bleachers. This is the first time he’s…”
    â€œFirst time you’ve let him get in there with the kids?”
    She glanced at him warily. “I try to keep a close watch on him. I really do.”
    â€œAnybody can see that, Celia. Anybody with honest eyes.” He smiled and nodded toward the clutch of kids. “Either Maxine’s trying to make some pointswith you, or she’s a little mother hen. Probably both, huh?”
    â€œA little prairie chicken hen, right?” Her shoulders settled down. She hadn’t even realized she’d hiked them up. He had a way of smoothing her ruffled feathers with a single stroke.
    She laid her hand over his. “Do you have children?”
    â€œNope.”
    â€œYou connect with them. Most men don’t unless they have their