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the lakes.”
    â€œReally?” Peter’s assumptions echoed the accusations being bandied back and forth in the media and the halls of the Minnesota legislature lately. It chilled him to realize that it wasn’t just the so-called sportsmen he had to worry about. It was the kids Peter’s age who had no reason to question what they were hearing. The books from which they learned their history told a distorted story. Popular culture had turned his people into stereotypes and foolish-looking mascots. The critics were legion, and there were so few Native American voices left to be heard.
    And for Peter, who was growing up surrounded by caricatures and critics, it must have been scary to hear all this stuff, then look in the mirror and see himself, living and breathing inside real Chippewa skin. It had to make him wonder, What the hell is this all about?
    And Jared had neglected to leave the answer book behind.
    Which left Gideon.
    He gestured instructively. “Spearfishing is a sport that non-Indians indulge in during the winter, so they’ve made sure it’s legal then. But spearfishing for our people is a food-gathering skill. We have traditionally practiced it in the spring for hundreds of years. And there are still plenty of walleye.”
    â€œYeah, but they say there won’t be if you guys get your way.” Hearing himself, Peter instinctively looked to his mother for help, then shook his head, as though coming to his senses. “I mean, if you get this treaty settlement thing.”
    â€œWho says that?” Gideon asked.
    Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. Some of the guys whose families have lake cabins and stuff.”
    â€œWhat they say and what’s true are often two different things. Our people have never endangered the fish, and we don’t ever intend to.”
    Now it was time, welcome or not, for Gideon to lay that friendly hand on Peter’s shoulder again. The boy did, indeed, need him.
    â€œI think your mother’s right. It’s time you did a little fishing with your uncle Gideon.”

Chapter 2
    G ideon had taken her fishing only once before. They’d had a good time together—the best of times. And the worst, as well. As she pulled on a comfortable pair of khaki slacks, Raina remembered how the day had begun all those years ago with an admonishment from her roommate, Paula, to “dress warm.”
    She had bundled up in her down-filled jacket and her insulated boots. The snow pants she’d borrowed were so thickly padded that she could barely bend her knees as she climbed into Gideon’s battered green pickup. Lifting her onto the blanket-covered seat was like tossing an armload of satin pillows onto an army cot, he’d teased.
    Oh, she remembered that deep, rich chuckle close to her ear. She couldn’t have worn enough layers to protect her from the quick shiver that exciting sound had sent shimmying from the side of her neck to the tips of her toes. Gideon had always had a way with shivers, a way that continually challenged herto anticipate his next move. It had been a talent too titillating, too unpredictable.
    It had scared her silly.
    And silly was the way she remembered behaving when she’d ventured reluctantly onto the frozen lake. The glare from the distant winter sun had nearly snow-blinded her. Despite Gideon’s assurances that the ice was well over a foot thick, she hadn’t been able to forget that it wasn’t all ice. That there was still water down there somewhere. Deep, cold, breath-stealing water that would swallow her up if her foot found a patch of thin ice….
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    â€œIt could happen,” Raina insisted. She tested her footing and found that, sure enough, ice was ice, and it was slippery. “I’ve read about shifting currents, treacherous weak spots.”
    â€œI’ve got a treacherous weak spot, darlin’.” He was unloading fishing gear from his pickup, but he