Harlan chuckled. “Imagine that. All those problems and you expect to blame them on the man whose truck you stole and smashed up. You and your mother have a little scam going? You wreck cars and she sues for damages?”

At the criticism of her mother’s ethics, her defiance wavered just a little. “My mom’s a lawyer,” she admitted eventually. “She sues lots of people.” Her eyes glittered with triumphant sparks as she added, “She wins, too.”

An image suddenly came to him, an image of the new lawyer he’d read about just last week in the local paper. The article had been accompanied by a picture of an incredibly lovely woman, her long black hair flowing down her back, her features and her name strongly suggesting her Comanche heritage. Janet Something-or-other. Runningbear, maybe. Yep, that was it. Janet Runningbear.

He surveyed the girl standing in front of him and thought he detected a resemblance. There was no mistaking the Native American genes in her proud bearing, her features or her coloring, though he had a hunch they’d been mellowed by a couple of generations of interracial marriage.

“Your mom’s the new lawyer in town, then,” he said. “Janet Runningbear.”

She seemed startled that he’d guessed, but she hid it quickly behind another of those belligerent looks she’d obviously worked hard to perfect. “So?”

“So, I think you and I need to go have a little chat with your mama,” he said, putting a hand on the middle of her back and giving her a gentle but unrelenting little push in the direction of Mule’s car. Her chin rose another notch, but her shoulders slumped and she didn’t resist. In fact, there was an air of weary resignation about her that tugged at his heart.

As he drove back into town he couldn’t help wondering just how much trouble Janet Runningbear’s daughter managed to get herself into on a regular basis and why she felt the need to do it. After raising four sons of his own, he knew a whole lot about teenage rebellion and the testing of parental authority. He’d always thought—mistakenly apparently—that girls might have been easier. Not that he would have traded a single one of his boys to find out firsthand. He’d planned on keeping an eye on his female grandbabies to test his theory.

He glanced over at the slight figure next to him and caught the downward turn of her mouth and the protective clasping of her arms across her chest. Stubbornness radiated from every pore. The prospect of meeting the woman who had raised such a little hellion intrigued him.