Finding Their Son (7 page)

He understood. He’d seen the same scenario time and again on the job.

“As for my mother…” She let out a soft sigh. “She passed away a few years ago in Phoenix. Complications from Valley Fever. Too many vices, too many years of abusing her health. She was married to husband number four at the time. The best in a long string of losers. He was the reason she had a small estate to pass on to me,” she said, gesturing toward the business he’d been in earlier. “It helped with the down payment on this place.”

“What about your dad?”

“Died in a car accident when I was nine. He and Mom were divorced at the time. We moved back to Pierre when Grandpa got sick. Colon cancer,” she added.

Her childhood didn’t sound much happier than his, although he did have great memories of spending his summers on the reservation with his grandparents. His dad was rarely around, but Unci and Lala had been the two most special people in the world. He’d been surrounded by cousins—and kids the family took in and called cousins—and interesting adults who seemed to laugh a lot. At least, in his memories.

“Listen,” he said, repressing a yawn. “This is probably a lot to ask—especially after I tried to rob you…” Her smile made him forget what he was about to say. She was beautiful. Strong features that fit her face and seemed tempered by life. In a good way—even given what he knew about that life.

“Let’s agree that you weren’t really a danger to me or others. A B.B. pistol can’t hurt you if you don’t take the safety off. So what do you want to ask me?”

“I wonder if I could bunk here tonight. The couch. Even the floor would be a big improvement over where I slept last night. I don’t think I have the energy to wander around Sturgis trying to find my uncle tonight.”

“Or the right jacket,” she added. “You could have died of exposure, you know.”

He shook his head. “I had a sleeping bag, although it was only a three-season one. Barely adequate for the temperature. And to make things worse, at some point in the night I rolled down an embankment and ripped a big hole in it. I tossed the thing in the first garbage can I came to.”

“Oh. Well, it probably wouldn’t have done you much good tonight. I heard it’s supposed to snow.”

“Great.” His options were shrinking by the dozen. He’d probably have to call Bobbi in the morning to ask her to come pick him up. Lucky him.

“Of course, you can stay here. I have a guest room. My only regular visitor to use it is named Jordie.”

A guy. “You’re not expecting him tonight?”

She seemed amused by the question. “No. I saw him at the party today.” She consulted her watch. “He’s probably home in bed with a tummy ache after eating too much cake and ice cream. He’s seven.”

“Oh.”

“He’s my friend Kat’s son. She lends him to me when I need a kid fix. Something I didn’t even know I was missing in my life until she asked me to babysit one day. Heck, she had to twist my arm to do it. That was a few months back. Now I can’t get enough. Little boys are fascinating creatures.”

He pictured E.J. as a child. They’d done so much
together over the years. Less once puberty hit, but from age five to twelve E.J. and Eli had been best buddies.

“Do you have any aspirin? I’ve got a blinding headache.”

She looked at him a moment as if she might say something, but instead, she nodded and made a follow-me motion. “You can name your poison. I have every OTC drug and herbal potion known to man. I blame my aunt for this fascination I have with long, unpronounceable names for products that I usually throw out unopened when their expiration date comes up.”

He couldn’t imagine wasting money like that but he didn’t say so. Maybe his first impression was right after all. She was weird.

But she was offering him a warm bed, and he was willing to overlook her oddness—and the silent elephant hanging in mid-air between them—out of pure and simple exhaustion. “Thanks,” he said, meaning it.

“You’re welcome. No Lakota I’ve ever met would turn away a weary traveler.”

He kept his snide comment to himself. But as he followed her down the narrow hallway, he found himself thinking that the only thing better than a warm bed might be one with a warm body in it. Hers.

He shook his head, hoping to clear away the lingering effects of his uncle’s narcotics. That had to explain the irrational reaction he experienced when he was close to her. Good Lord, he had enough troubles without complicating things even more.

“Do any of those pills have a sleep aid in them?”

Her laugh was light and chirpy, like a birdcall he once heard. “That’s my favorite kind. I never use them because
I hate waking up groggy in the morning, but I’m a sucker for a good sleep aid ad. Dreams are not necessarily our friends.”

At last. Something they both agreed upon emphatically.

C
HAR DIDN’T EXPECT
to sleep—not with Eli Robideaux in her guest room. She even pilfered two pale blue pills from the bottle she’d given him in case she tossed and turned for hours. Reliving the worst moment in her life was bad enough, but second-guessing her decision and all the hopes she’d had for her child’s future was even worse. But as she closed her eyes she’d found her attention drawn in a different direction.

The moment her head hit the pillow she relived in surprising detail the kiss they’d shared that afternoon. When she rubbed her cheek on the fine thread count pillowcase, she was sorry the fabric wasn’t rougher to mimic the sensation of his beard against her skin.

She didn’t know why he kissed her. And her usually outspoken subconscious was remaining uncharacteristically mum on the subject. But ruminating on the possibilities seemed to relax her and within moments she was sound asleep.

“What’s that about?” she asked her reflection the next morning as she brushed her teeth. “Eli Robideaux’s kiss is the cure to insomnia? Who knew?”

The words came out muffled and unintelligible, thanks to the toothbrush, but normally she didn’t even have to
think something to receive a lecture from the old black woman.

Today…nothing.

Not even a “Don’t you dare, chickadee!” just before dawn, when Char woke up breathing hard from her dream. She’d tingled in places that hadn’t seen action in months. For a minute she’d considered faking some kind of sleep disorder to accidentally-on-purpose wind up in his bed.

Her fantasies stopped the instant she tried to picture herself explaining the situation to her book club friends. They’d already heard Kat describe a bizarre Old West scenario that happened between her and Jack. Char didn’t think they’d buy her sudden-onset sleepwalking excuse.

She used a hand towel to wipe away the foggy condensation on the mirror. She stared into her eyes a moment. “Stonewalling, huh? That’s new.” Apparently her subconscious had adopted a wait-and-see policy.

She scrunched up her nose and stuck out her tongue at the face in the mirror. Leaning close, she frowned. Was that a zit starting on her chin?
No. Please, not now.

Before she could attack the tiny, mostly nonexistent blemish, the phone rang. She gave her image one last look before dashing into the adjoining bedroom. “Hello?”

“Oh, good. You’re alive. I called to make sure your mysterious old friend didn’t turn out to be a serial killer.”

Libby. Char glanced at the clock radio.
What took you so long?
She’d half expected her friends to start calling last night to check on her.

She pushed the speakerphone button so she could move around as they spoke. “I’m still alive and well,” she said, returning the portable unit to its cradle. “Thanks for asking. How was the rest of the party?”

She tossed her towel into the bathroom then slid open the closet doors. She knew all too well she had enough clothes for three closets crammed into one tiny space. As a bit of a pack rat, she was loath to get rid of anything.

“Fabulous. Everyone had a great time. Megan was in hog heaven. The balloons were a big hit and her Tinker Bell necklace was gorgeous. Really, Char, you’re too generous with all the kids. Tag’s still talking about the high-tech walkie-talkies you got him for his birthday.”

Char tossed a couple of layers over her shoulder to land on the bed then walked to the dresser to get her underwear. “Are you saying the necklace was too much? Too old for her?”

She slipped on her prettiest panties. For no reason other than today was…Sunday? “Is today Sunday?” she asked before Libby could answer her first question.

“Yes. Do you want to come for coffee? Coop and I are relaxing by the fire. Have you seen the snowplow go by yet?”

“Snowplow?”

Libby let out a little yip and said to someone other than Char, “She’s still in bed. Char, honey, are you okay? You never sleep in.”

Char leaned over to arrange her bosom in the lacy bra that she’d ordered from a catalog specializing in lingerie for the well-endowed. “Lib, nine o’clock isn’t exactly sleeping in. And, if you can’t tell from the noise, I’m up and at ’em. I just haven’t looked outside yet.”

“Oh. Well, to answer your question, Megan’s gift was very special and she knows that. Mac put the necklace in a jewelry box that was her mother’s, and until she’s older, Megan will only wear it for special occasions…like when
he and Morgan get married.” The last came on a girlish squeal.

Char knew Lib was happy for her brother—especially after the recent loss of Libby and Mac’s grandmother. “Have they set a date?”

“No. First, we get Kat hitched then we can work on Mac and Morgan.”

Char wondered if she’d even made the edge of Libby’s peripheral, happily-ever-after vision. Hard to live happily ever after alone.

“So what happened with the guy in your car?”

Char smiled as she reached for her black turtleneck. Oh, yeah, she was in Libby’s headlights. “He’s still here,” Char said, trying to keep her voice as offhand as possible. “I gave him a shower and a hot meal, and then put him in the extra bedroom,” she explained, emphasizing the last.

Silence.

She sat on the bed to pull on her silky long johns followed by jeans. Normally she would have dressed up more on a Sunday, but if it was snowing hard enough to require plows, she probably wouldn’t get much business. Might as well be comfy and warm, she figured.

“Lib? Are you there?”

“Um…yeah. I’m just processing the fact that you took in a scruffy drifter off the street and let him stay at your house. That’s not like you, Char. You’re the smart and savvy skeptic of the book club, remember?”

And I gave him one of my best pairs of moccasins.
“Eli isn’t drifting. He’s on a vision quest. I already told you that.”

“Are you part of the vision?”

Libby was quick. And intuitive. Char didn’t want to
give away anything until after she and Eli had talked. In the shower, she’d come up with a plan she intended to run by him over breakfast. If he agreed to it, she was going to need Libby’s help.

“He was pretty wiped out last night. We didn’t talk much. If the road’s open, I’ll probably give him a lift to his uncle’s place in Sturgis.
If
I can get Pia to come in. I didn’t talk to her last night.”

“You let her close without double-checking everything? Wow. This guy really does have some swoo over you.”

Char ignored the comment. “How bad is this storm supposed to get? Should I even bother opening?”

They talked weather for a few minutes longer, as Char put the finishing touches on her outfit. Jewelry—her personal addiction—came last. Three silver necklaces. A wide, pounded silver bracelet from a Santa Fe artist. And last, her favorite turquoise ring.

Finally Char told Libby goodbye and walked to the bedside table to push the off button on the unit. That was when it struck her that she so rarely had guests she truly had no idea how well sound carried through the walls. When you were used to living alone, noise was not an issue.

Now you ask.

Char applied a moisturizing lip gloss that didn’t require her to look in the mirror then she opened the door of her bedroom and marched down the hall. If he heard, he heard. More than likely, he was still sound asleep.

“Hey.”

Or not.

She missed a step as she entered the combination kitchen and dining room. He was standing near the window.
Same clothes as yesterday, of course, but clean. And he was wearing the moccasins she’d given him.

“Good morning. I thought you’d probably sleep in.”

He looked at her in a guy way—not a cop way—his gaze lingering on her squash blossom necklace. Or her breasts. For once, she hoped it was the latter. She liked her body a lot better now than she had as a teen. Men liked her body, too. Sometimes that was okay…depending on the man.

“The sound of snow woke me. Thank you for not making me sleep outside last night. That would not have been fun.”

“You’re welcome.” She paused to turn up the thermostat then she walked to the sink. She twirled the wand of the miniblinds. The whitish-gray sky seemed to absorb the outline of the teepee. Even the dark green roof of the cabin was buried under a couple of inches of fluffy white snow. “Wow. We’ve got ourselves a storm.”

She reached for the handle of her coffeemaker’s thermal carafe. “Coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks. A quick cup and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Self-consciously, her fingers brushed back a still-damp lock. She’d finally found a hairstylist who understood that the right cut could save hours of wasted time. “Your hair has a life of its own. You need to respect that and work with it,” she’d explained to Char. “Stop trying to make it be something it isn’t.”

That simple credo had become a turning point for Char in several aspects of her life. She’d added the money in her breast-reduction-surgery fund to the inheritance from her mother and bought a business. She’d quit her government
job and moved to the Black Hills, where she found new friends and a fresh start—with hair she still colored, but no longer tortured.

“I suppose you’re wondering about the highlights, huh?” She kept her focus on the task at hand. “They were bright orange last week. For Halloween.”

From the freezer, she grabbed the bag of Kona blend she bought online. “For years I went to the same hairdresser. She used a technique she called ‘glitzing.’ I don’t know what it was, but my hair looked okay. Nothing out of the ordinary, but okay. Then Margie moved and the girl who took her place was straight out of beauty school.”

She shook a domed mountain of aromatic grounds into the filter then pushed the brew button. Turning to rest the small of her back against the counter, she finished her story. “The first time she tried to duplicate Margie’s color, my hair wound up looking like Little Orphan Annie meets Pink.” She shrugged. “It was wild. We both cried. But she didn’t dare do a reverse color for fear all my hair would fall out. I had to live with it for a few weeks, and do you know what I discovered? When you’re in the business of selling things, it pays to stand out.”

She glanced over her shoulder when the first hiss of dripping coffee hit the carafe. “Since then I’ve found that I like being different. I change the color to suit my whims and moods. It’s rather liberating.”

Eli had a bemused look on his face. She had the impression he didn’t give a flying fig but was too polite to say so.

She spun back around. “Cereal or eggs?”

“Coffee will be fine.” He barely got the word out before a deep, punishing cough intruded. He put one hand to his chest and leaned over. Char filled a glass of water and
hurried to his side. “Here. Maybe you should go back to bed. I have a vaporizer I could set up on the nightstand. And several kinds of cough syrup.”

He accepted the glass and took a drink but waved aside her other suggestions. “I’m okay,” he muttered.

“You need a sweat lodge.”

“No, thanks. That’s what got me into this mess.” He gave her a flinty look. “What’s with your fixation on all things Indian? Is this your way of trying to make up for what you did with me?”

She backed up in a hurry, nearly tripping over her feet. She hadn’t been expecting such a sudden and unprovoked attack. “I like the heat,” she said, her brain stumbling over the shattered peace she’d hoped to build between them.

“Well, I like the truth,” he said after taking a gulp of water. “Comes with the job.”

His tone wasn’t as forceful and sincere as she’d have expected from a police officer. She wondered about the catalyst that had motivated the journey he now found himself on. “I told you the truth last night,” she said. “I don’t know what else you want from me, but I have something I want from you. Can we talk about it over coffee?”

He didn’t answer but he did pull out a chair and plunk down heavily.

“Exactly the reason I don’t take sleep aids,” she murmured, taking two large, Sioux pottery mugs from the cupboard. When she turned around, she caught the barest glimpse of a smile before his frown returned.

“Cream and sugar?” she asked, setting one of the cups in front of him.

His glossy black hair danced momentarily in the light
from the window. Thick, beautiful hair. Board straight but cut to lie nicely when it was clean and combed.

She hurried to bring him a spoon, the sugar bowl and a little cardboard container of cream that she took from the refrigerator. Finally she sat across from him.

She stirred her coffee and debated about how to broach her question. “You said the reason your uncle set you on a vision que—” He started to correct her, but she stopped him. “I know. That’s not the right terminology. I’ve tried to learn the Lakota language, but I seem to have a mental block.”

Eli could sympathize. He was the same. But he didn’t plan to tell her that. He’d slept well thanks to the pills he took, but in the early morning she’d come to him in his dream. He’d been sitting on a rock beside a fast-moving river. The water looked so cool and inviting he was tempted to jump in—even if it meant certain death. Then she appeared, smiling in that anything-is-possible way of hers. She fed him sun-warmed berries from nearby bushes then they made love in the soft grass near the water’s edge. At the exact moment of climax they’d both turned into birds, soaring high above the plains tableau, which to his surprise was now covered in snow. The river was gone, and he was forever changed.

He’d awoken choked up and turned on. Who needed that kind of emotional turmoil? His life was crazy enough without bird metaphors and thoughts of suicide.

“Joseph was messing with my head. I plan to find out with what when I see him. Does your car have snow tires?”

“Yes, but I’m not taking you anywhere until we talk about this. What if Joseph was right? What if the reason you’re here is to find the missing piece? Correct me if I’m
wrong, but wouldn’t a child you didn’t know about qualify?”

“Alleged child,” he said, mostly out of habit. He stirred a heaping teaspoon of sugar into the aromatic black liquid then picked up the cup. His mouth started to water, but before he could take a sip, he looked across the table. Her anger was obvious in the squint of her eyes.