The IR jeep pulled them over just inside the Rez.

"May I help you, officer?" Bear answered as his daughter handed over the driver's license, insurance card, and registration she'd already pulled out.

"Going a bit too fast there," Mathias smiled. He looked again at the young woman, then at the older man. He didn't wonder anymore how the guy managed—he did, though.

When he glanced back down he caught the smile. His gut filled with lust. And something warmer, more uncomfortable. He quickly returned his attention to the paperwork she'd given him.

"Brand new to Wyoming?" he asked. The date on the registration was the same as that of the temporary license she'd gotten from the county. Yesterday. And the surname was that of the man seated beside him.

"My daughter has decided to try life here in the West," Bear stated.

"I see that." The grin broke out when he caught the similarities in the smiles. Her eyes were friendlier. World-weary, too.

He dug out a business card. Wrote his cell on it as well as the office numbers.

"Glad to have you. If you need anything—if anybody gives you a hard time and your Dad's not around, you call me, okay?" He handed everything back. "And slow waaay the hell down on my roads."

Her nose wrinkled as the smile moved into a true grin. It nearly killed him to walk away.

"Damn. It is not every day you get out of a ticket from the chief of res police."

"Shut up."

She waved as the cop pulled partially onto the road, blocking the non-existent traffic, then gestured for her to enter first. She was fairly relieved when he did a full u turn and headed the other direction.

"Does he live on the rez?"

"He does. The Cheyenne Nation is sovereign unto itself. We have our own council government, our own policing force, and we make and maintain laws following a traditional way of life."

"But also pursuant of those of the state and federal governments. This is true. We are very much our own municipality."

She glanced in her mirror again.

The back of her car was full of her most precious things. She was starting over. Which was fine. She'd done it before. She'd spent most of her time in the Coast Guard off of Astoria, Oregon in an apartment off base, so she'd needed little help with furniture when she'd gotten out. Her stuff had easily stored in her grandparents' house, where her mother had moved after their passing. Once she'd gone to work for the state & relocated her belongings to another apartment she'd made an effort to clean out and go through all the crap they'd accumulated in their long marriage. Some things she'd had professionally boxed & stored; some she'd trashed. She'd made a small fortune on eBay with some of the stuff that held no interest or sentimental value. Once her mom had passed she'd managed to really make headway. It was with great relief that she signed the paperwork transferring ownership of that house to the nice young couple with three small boys. Hopefully they'd be able to infuse new life & lightness to the home.

Her lifestyle had always been minimal. She wasn't a clothes horse, although she liked having nice things and boots and shoes had always been a weakness. She believed that old adage that it was better to save up for one nice, classic piece than to buy many cheaper versions. Books had once threatened to overrun her, and some of her favorites were still with her, but by-and-large she'd moved to the electronic readers. Her first upgrade to the property her father had shown her was a dish so that she could use her laptop. The installation guy had shaken his head and wondered about the wind and the weather. That gave her a little pause.

"Why didn't you offer me part of the land you own?" she asked suddenly.

"Would you now rather live in my home?"

"No. I think we're close enough."

He smiled and ruffled her hair. "That we are. It was a good find."

"We could have fit another building on your property."

"But this way you have yours, which you need. And I have mine. And there is space enough for privacy. Which you insisted upon. And I appreciate. And still the distance is not so great as to be a burden."

"We're seven scrawny trees away from each other. I can see your back porch from my kitchen window."

"Perfect, is it not?"

She smiled.

"I bought you a present."

"A swimming pool?"

She was looking into putting in an infinity pool. Her father assured her that if she had internet and a pool the local children would think she was Santa Claus.

"No."

She pondered anew the solution to the fact that she really, really badly missed swimming. She didn't want to endanger the children who would flock to her yard. And she didn't want to come in and start building fences.

"I'll think of something," her father said, gently touching her arm. It wasn't much of a challenge to discern the cause of her sudden frown.

"I'm thinking about just putting in a hot tub on my patio. That way the cover keeps critters out but I still get water at hand. There are public pools kind of close-ish. And the rivers and streams. I won't go into withdrawal."

"I told you, we will see what we can come up with. In the meantime-"

"It isn't a dog, is it?"

She wasn't ready for a dog. She liked them, but she professed not to have the time or energy for one. And worried about it getting lost or lonely while she worked.

"No. No dog." Not until Christmas, anyway. She looked longingly at every hound or retriever she passed. She discussed training techniques with everyone who owned them. And she wasn't alone anymore. There were people who could help her with he/she/it/them if she wanted to travel. Plus she was pretty tight with the guy who owned the bar where she would be working, so having to leave it to languish by itself became a non-issue.

She sighed. "Artwork?" she asked hopefully.

"No. You are out of guesses. Now you will just have to wait and see."

"The dog thing shouldn't count as a guess."

"Neither should the pool since those are hard to hide and even harder to get a bow around. But that is where you went with it."