An Indian Affair
Authors: Doreen Owens Malek
She Didn’t Know What to Do
If she continued to see Fox, sooner or later their mutual passion would burst out of control, but the thought of not seeing him any more was unbearable.
She’d never felt like this before, and her experience with men was so limited that she was unable to determine how to handle it. She couldn’t become just another one of Fox’s lovers, but she couldn’t give him up, either. With him, she was alive in a way that was new to her. Up until the time she met him, her books and studies and quiet life had been sufficient.
She hadn’t known what she was missing, like a person born blind who can’t appreciate the glory of a sun he has never seen. But now she couldn’t go back to that former existence.
It would never again be enough.
AN INDIAN AFFAIR
Doreen Owens Malek
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Published by
Gypsy Autumn Publications
PO Box 383 • Yardley, PA 19067
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Copyright 1986 and 2012
by Doreen Owens Malek
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Originally Published
as
DESPERADO
(1986)
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The Author asserts the moral right to be
identified as author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, scanning or any information storage retrieval system, without explicit permission in writing from the Author or Publisher.
First USA printing: 1986
All of the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For my godchildren,
Keith Francis Malek
and
Stephen Baldwin Freiberger
Table of Contents
New Releases by Doreen Owens Malek
Chapter 1
The Florida sun was losing strength, but still brilliant, as Cindy and Paula emerged from the restaurant in late afternoon. Cindy shielded her eyes, and then dropped her hand when they turned to walk down the street.
“How far is it to your apartment?” Cindy asked, watching as her friend pulled a pair of sunglasses from her purse and put them on.
“A couple of miles,” Paula replied. “The complex is right outside of town.”
Cindy nodded. Paula had picked her up at the Clearwater airport a couple of hours before, and they had stopped for a bite in Council Rock before traveling on to Paula’s house.
“When are you going to start the research?” Paula asked, rummaging in her shoulder bag for her car keys.
“Monday, I guess.” Cindy smiled slightly. They’d spent the whole meal catching up on their social lives and had never discussed in detail the reason for Cindy’s visit.
“So you’ve already contacted somebody from the university,” Paula said.
“Yes, the department chairman is going to see me.” Cindy was a graduate assistant in the folklore department of the University of Pennsylvania. The subject of her master’s thesis was the legends of the Seminole Indians, and she’d come to northern Florida to research the topic in the section of the country where the Seminoles had lived for hundreds of years. Paula was a college friend who’d offered to have Cindy stay with her when she heard that Cindy’s work was taking her to the Tampa area.
“What about your supervisor?” Paula inquired, glancing at Cindy.
“I have to mail him my ideas and get approval of my outline, but I don’t think that will be difficult. He’s working in the field himself.”
“Huh,” Paula replied skeptically, snaring her keys and then holding them aloft like a trophy. “Good luck to him. That egghead stuff you write all looks like nonsense to me.”
Cindy was about to reply when a thunderous crash made both women spin around and then jump back. In disbelief, Cindy watched as the picture window of a hardware store fronting the street exploded into sparkling smithereens. Glass fragments flew in all directions as two figures hurtled through the window. Cindy and Paula both threw up their arms to cover their faces. Shards tinkled to the ground as the men who’d shattered the window tumbled to the walkway, almost at Cindy’s feet, rolling over and over, locked in combat.
When the glass finally stopped falling, Cindy peeked through her fingers to see what was happening. One of the men was flat on the ground, face down, with his arms pinned behind him. The other was sitting astride him snapping handcuffs on his wrists.
Cindy looked at Paula, who appeared remarkably undisturbed by the whole episode, observing calmly as the taller man hauled the captive to his feet. Cindy turned her head to watch also. The prisoner stumbled along unwillingly as the victor dragged him to a pickup truck parked at the curb and unceremoniously cuffed him to the rear bumper.
Cindy leaned in to her companion and said in an undertone, “Paula, what is going on here?”
Paula shrugged. “It’s just Drew Fox bringing in another one.”
“Another
what
?” Cindy demanded, bewildered.
Before Paula could reply the front door of the store flew open with a bang. An irate man, obviously the owner, started berating the tall man in a loud voice, to the vast entertainment of the small crowd that had gathered. The object of his tirade patted his shoulder reassuringly, speaking to him in a low, comforting tone. Mollified, the proprietor calmed down, and was even managing a small smile when a patrol car glided silently to a stop in the street, its blue light pulsating. The fettered prisoner looked on grimly, resigned to his fate.
“Cheese it, the cops,” Paula muttered, and Cindy grinned. There was something amusing about this scene, which shouldn’t have been funny. But the nonchalant stance of the man who had initiated it all, lounging with his hands in his pockets and greeting the policemen affably as if he were the host at a block party, struck her as absurd.
“Look at that guy,” she said to Paula. “You’d never think he just splintered a pane of glass with his head.”
Paula chuckled in response, and the two women watched as the police took charge of the prisoner and led him away to the patrol car. As soon as it pulled away, the crowd began to disperse and the tall man sauntered over to them, pushing his hair back from his forehead.
“Hi, short stuff,” he said casually, talking to Paula but looking at Cindy.
“You’re out of date, Fox,” Paula replied dryly. “My brother stopped calling me that when I was twelve.”
“You still look pretty short to me,” Fox observed, smiling just a little with his eyes, which remained on Cindy’s face.
“Everybody looks short to you,” Paula said.
“Are you ladies all right?” he asked. “Some of that glass came pretty close to you.”
“We’re fine,” Paula replied, for both of them. “But I can’t say the same for you. You do realize that you’re bleeding?”
Fox blinked, surprised, and put his hand to his head again. It came away stained red.
“I thought my hair felt wet,” he said. He pulled a handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans and tied it around his head like a bandanna.
“Oh, very good,” Paula said. “Nice and sanitary. Why don’t you come by the emergency room tonight? I’ll tape that up for you.”
Paula was a nurse who worked the night shift at Lykes Hospital. “I just might do that,” Fox replied, still watching Cindy.
“I’m surprised to see you jumping through windows again, Drew,” Paula said. “It reminds me of the old days. I thought you’d long ago graduated to international criminal types.”
“I was doing a favor for Sheriff Tully,” Fox replied. “That joker escaped from his jail. I chased him into Barney’s store from the alley out back.” He glanced at Paula, then his gaze returned to Cindy. “Who’s your friend?”
“I’ve missed you too, Fox,” Paula observed acidly, and he grinned.
“Andrew Fox,” he said to Cindy, extending his hand. Cindy grasped it.
“Lucinda Warren,” she replied, her fingers lost in his big palm.
“Lucinda,” he repeated. “Sounds like the princess in a fairytale.”
“Everybody calls me Cindy,” she responded softly. She was mesmerized by his green eyes, which swept over her face, taking in every detail.
“But I’m not everybody, Lucinda,” he replied, continuing to hold her hand. He towered over her, his big, compact body at ease, and yet somehow alert, as if he were ready for anything at any moment.
He’s Indian, Cindy thought, gazing up at him in mute absorption. She could see it in his straight, midnight hair and in the dusky skin, a combination of copper and terra cotta, which complemented his high cheekbones and strong, prominent nose. His other features were European, however: light eyes and a finely molded, thin-lipped mouth. It was an arresting combination, a harmony of opposites that made him, not handsome, but unforgettable.
“What are you doing in town?” he asked, his tone muted, intimate.
“I’m researching my master’s thesis at Gulf Coast University. I’ll be staying with Paula for several weeks.”
He accepted this without comment and then released her hand slowly. As he let go, his two middle finger curled around hers possessively, and then fell away. He turned to Paula, as if remembering suddenly that she was present.
“Say hello to Johnny for me when you see him,” he directed. “I’ll try to stop by the hospital tonight for some T.L.C.” He smiled wickedly.
“Don’t forget,” Paula advised him. “That gash looks pretty bad; you shouldn’t neglect it.”
“I’ll live,” he said lightly. He looked at Cindy again and said, with a slight inclination of his dark head, “Welcome to Florida, ma’am.” Then he loped back to his truck and swung up into the cab, slamming the door shut behind him in one economical movement. Both women remained looking after him until the truck roared away into the distance.
“Kind of unsettling, isn’t he?” Paula commented, with a sly, sideward glance.
“What was all that about?” Cindy countered, ignoring the question. “What was he doing chasing that man, and handcuffing him, and then turning him over to the police. Is Fox a cop, too? Is he a plainclothes detective or something?”
“Whoa, there,” Paula said, laughing. She took Cindy’s arm and steered her in the direction of the parking lot where her car awaited them. “One thing at a time. First of all, Fox isn’t a cop; he’s a bounty hunter.”
Cindy stopped walking. ‘‘A bounty hunter! I thought they only existed in Westerns.”
“Well, Council Rock has at least one. Fox goes after and apprehends fugitives, prison escapees, some bail jumpers.”
“People waiting for trial who flee jurisdiction and forfeit their bail?” Cindy asked, falling into step alongside Paula again.
“Right. In return for bringing them back he collects a fee, which is a percentage of the set bail.”
“I see. So the higher the bail, the more money he makes.”
Paula nodded as they approached her car. “That’s why I was surprised to see him chasing down that guy today. He looked like a petty crook, and Fox doesn’t usually waste his time on them. But he was doing it for Sheriff Tully. He’s another Seminole, and they’re pretty tight.”
“I thought he was Indian,” Cindy said softly, as Paula unlocked her door and walked around to the driver’s side.
