Home at Chestnut Creek

by Laura Drake

When the worst of the emotion passes, he lifts my chin. “I will want you always, Nevada. You have a home forever. With me.”

  His lips come down on mine, and for the first time in my life, I hold nothing back; my tears, my love…myself.

  I know we’re going to have to call someone about all this. Soon. But just for now, I’m content to sit with Joseph, watch the sun peek over the mountains, and begin to dream.

  * * *

  Nevada

  One week later

  When Carly suggested she could dye my hair back to its natural blond, I gave her a knee-jerk no. But when she argued that I couldn’t go out to meet Joseph’s mom with a skunk’s stripe of blond roots, I gave in. Now she’s standing over me in rubber gloves and an apron, pulling glop through my hair. “Ow, dammit!”

  “Oh, quit being a baby. Anybody who can face down a cartel can handle a little pain. Don’t you know it hurts to be beautiful?”

  “Can I just do it until I’m pretty?”

  She puts her hands on her hips, which outlines her baby bump. “Hey, you don’t want me telling everyone in town the hero of Unforgiven is afraid of a few chemicals, do you?”

  “Oh, okay, but once this is done, you’re not coming near my head again.”

  “See, you’re assuming I want to be near your cement head.” She goes back to her torture.

  My eyes are watering from the stink. “I know, you’re right. I’m being ungrateful. Sorry.”

  “Holy McMoly. Nevada Sweet, apologizing. Did the earth just move?”

  “Oh, shut up, Red.”

  Her face appears in front of me. “How are you feeling, really? I know you’ve been all tough for the townsfolk, but this is just me asking.”

  I’m not sure there are words for the way I’ve felt the past week, but this is Carly. I owe her. “I’ll wake up in the middle of the night, frantic, that I somehow forgot that Cisco was coming for me. That I’ve relaxed and now I’m going to pay…Joseph holds me and talks to me until he convinces me that it’s over.”

  “That’s what a good man does.” She gives a smug little nod. “I’m so happy for you, I could wag my own tail.”

  “I wouldn’t. That’s what got you preggers to begin with.”

  “Oh, stop.” She smacks me on the shoulder and starts pulling again.

  Once the cops checked out my story, I was cleared of all charges. It helped that, when they caught Jovie, he caved like a trailer park in a tornado. He gave them the name of the guy Cisco was going to give me to in exchange for a solitary cell 24/7. Seems he was worried about his longevity in prison. Maybe he’s not as dumb as I thought.

  So, me and the cops are square, but the cartel? I only gave up Jovie (and if they’re smart, they know that’s no loss), so I’m hoping the vendetta died with Cisco and I’m in the rearview. But I have no way of knowing for sure.

  All I know is that I’m alive today, and I’m sucking the marrow out of every minute. Well, except for the last thirty or so. “Ouch! What good is blond gonna be if I don’t have any hair left?”

  “Stop being such a wimp. How do you think I got to be rodeo queen? It took a lot more pain than this, let me tell you.”

  “Then you’re tougher than I thought.”

  “And don’t you forget it, Sweet.”

  * * *

  Nevada

  Two weeks later

  Thanks to the rains, the high country is dressed for spring. Scrub is blooming in the landscape rushing by the truck’s window. You have to look close to see it, but nowadays, I look.

  Joseph raises his arm from my shoulder, takes a piece of my hair, and rubs it between his fingers. “It’s so weird. You’re the same Nevada on the inside but you look so different outside.”

  “For me, it’s the other way. I feel like I finally look like the old Nevada, but inside, I’m way different.” It was worth all the torture at Carly’s, to see his face when he saw my hair. She made it even better than normal, with highlights and lowlights, whatever they are. I might be getting into this girly stuff, just a bit. I even put on makeup this morning. But today is a big deal.

  “It doesn’t matter, because I’m in love with the whole package.” Joseph takes my hand, lifts it, and kisses my fingers.

  Warmth floods my chest, melting the jitters. He loves me. That’s all that matters. That’s all I’ll let matter. His arm drops back on my shoulder. It feels right there.

  “Are you nervous?”

  I snort. “A bilagáana meeting both your mother and your entire tribe for the first time? What’s to worry?”

  “It won’t be bad. What with the rodeo and art show, the focus won’t be on you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh yeah, probably.” I tuck my now-long-enough-to-tuck hair behind my ear and drop my hand back on his leg.

  “Everyone already knows about you, and no one has been ugly about it, promise.” He glances down at me. “You won over the Wings. If you can do that, this will be a breeze.”

  “Dóola bichąá.”

  “I should have known when you wanted to learn Diné, you’d learn to curse first.”

  “Hey, I can only say what I know.”

  “Well then, we’ve got fifty miles to improve your vocabulary.”

  An hour later, we pull onto the Pine Hill Fairgrounds. At least I’ll be comfortable with the venue. It looks a lot like the rodeos I traveled to on the food truck last year, only miniaturized. It’s mostly an open field, covered in kiddie rides, booths selling food and stuff. Farther out is an arena with three-step bleachers around it. Tons of people mill around the booths. My stomach turns into a butterfly zoo. I’m the only white person I can see, and a blonde to boot. “I should blend right in.”

  Joseph turns off the ignition. He turns, grabs my face, and kisses me, and I forget everything else.

  I’m still not easy with saying it out loud, but I love this man. It never occurred to me that he wouldn’t buy me trying to drive him away that awful night. Though, looking back, I should have known. Joseph sees. It used to make me nervous, but now, it’s so nice that someone gets me, down to the soles of my shoes.

  And likes me anyway, holes and all. I get it more now, about holes. I heard somewhere that nature hates a vacuum, so it tries to fill it. Maybe that’s why I ended up here—nature, trying to fill a hole. Joseph thinks his grandmother had something to do with it. Hey, who am I to argue?

  We’re both breathing hard by the time he backs up, takes my hand, opens the truck door, and pulls me out. “Come on. It’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”

  I push my shoulders back and tip up my chin. I may feel like the albino horse in a herd of beautiful chestnuts, but I’m not going to act like it. The only thing is, I’ve changed. Since I let people in—people can hurt me now. But even if it goes bad, I’ll still have Joseph. How can I lose?

  I follow Joseph’s braid and fine, tight butt across the grass.

  “Yá’át’ééh!” Asdzáá and the other girls from the Wings run down the booth-lined corridor toward us.

  “Yá’át’ééh!” I say back.

  They stop. One says, “Not too bad for a white girl.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  An older man calls out to Joseph, and he walks the few steps to the guy, leaving me alone with the Wings.

  Asdzáá punches a fist in her hip, and if her frown had sound, it would be thunder. “I still think Joseph should be with someone in the tribe.”

  I push out my chin. “If you think—”

  “But I guess we could’a done worse.”

  I take a small breath.

  “I mean, he could’ve picked an ‘Oh My God, Brittany!’” Her voice goes all emo teenie-bopper and she flips her braid over her shoulder.

  Another says, “Or a Jenn-i-fer!” She simpers and bats her eyelashes.

  Asdzáá punches me lightly in the arm. “If I can’t have him, I guess you’re okay.”

  “Just okay? I can outrun you, ya tsisteeł.”

  She shakes her head. “I
really gotta look up what that means. Come on, you have to see my mother’s jewelry and all the other stuff. And the rodeo starts in an hour.”

  Joseph walks back to hear the last.

  I plant my feet. “Thanks. We’ll do that later, but first…”

  “I have people for her to meet,” Joseph says in a doomsday voice.

  “She’s meeting your mother?” When he nods, Asdzáá’s eyes get big. “Oh, poor you. She’s yíiyáh!”

  My fingers in my pocket tighten on Mom’s NA chip, and the butterflies take shelter. “Scary? Did she say scary?”

  The girls giggle.

  “She’s teasing you. Come on, let’s get you over there before you have a meltdown. Girls, we’ll see you at the rodeo. Save us seats.”

  I stick my nose higher in the air. “I do not have meltdowns.”

  “I know a rattlesnake that might dispute that.” He walks me over to the first booth, where the tables are covered in hanks of wool and dyed yarn. Joseph’s mother is sitting behind the table. I know, because Joseph’s face is a male version of hers. She’s beautiful. Her eyes flick to me and down to where my hand ends in Joseph’s.

  He steps up, but I step in front of him and put out a hand to her. “Yá’át’ééh. Shí éí Nevada yinishyé.” God, I hope I didn’t butcher that.

  She ignores my hand; her steady gaze takes me in. “I know who you are.”

  I told Joseph this was a bad idea. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mat—

  Her tight expression loosens. “You are not who I would have chosen, but you are the one who put stars in my son’s eyes.” Her face softens when she looks at Joseph. “You shamed him into facing his old shadows, and helped him put them behind him.”

  “But I didn’t. I wouldn’t shame—”

  “Not on purpose.” Her eyes stay soft when she looks back to me. “By example. He must have felt small to be running from his fears when you faced yours.”

  I look down, and sink my fingers into the clean, soft wool. “It’s not like I had much choice.”

  “I know also what I see. Is it true that you want to learn our ways?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  In the silence, I have to look up.

  She reaches across the table and takes my hand. Hers are calloused, probably from the spinning. “I will call you Es-ta-yeshi.” She drops my hand.

  I look up at Joseph.

  He has a smile in his eyes. “Es-ta-yeshi was the only Diné warrior woman.”

  “I’m floored, uh, honored. But I don’t want you to think I’m brave, when—”

  She raises an eyebrow. “You don’t want to begin by arguing with me, do you?”

  “No. No, I do not.”

  A customer steps up to the table.

  His mother’s smile is dazzling, like the sun coming out on a gloomy day. “Good. You two go see the fair. We’ll talk later.”

  Joseph’s hand tightens on mine. “Ayóó anííníshni, Má.”

  “And I love you, son.”

  We walk on to the next booth, but I couldn’t tell you what’s in it. Even my eyes are jittering. Did that really happen?

  “Told you it wouldn’t be bad.” He smiles down at me.

  “One down, a whole tribe to go.” I blow a sigh of relief. “Your mother is beautiful.”

  “She looks a lot like my grandmother.”

  “Then you do, too.”

  “Let’s wander. Then we’ll get something to eat and head over to the arena.”

  My mood lifts from doom to hope. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

  “Like I believe that.”

  “Are you gonna feed me now? I could eat the butt end of a running—”

  “We’re going, Es-ta-yeshi.” He drops an arm on my shoulder and leads me down the midway.

  Grinning like a fool, I put my arm around his waist as something like peace seeps into my soul.

  * * *

  Joseph

  Six months later

  “Atsa, dude, whatcha’ doing? The pumpkins go over here,” Nevada shouts from beside the road, and points to the ground. “We’ve gotta pile them high, so people will notice the sign.”

  “Oh, okay,” Atsa yells out the window and backs the truck up the incline to the road.

  Turns out, he’s as good with the truck as he is with the tractor, laying perfect rows.

  I walk up from the field that fronts the road, and pull sunscreen from my back pocket. “If you’re going to insist on wearing that baseball cap backward, you need this.”

  Nevada smiles up at me, and my heart tugs. I wrap my arms around her and drop a kiss on her lips. As always, a small thing turns into a big thing, and by the time she steps away, I’m hard, and she’s blushing.

  She reaches out and tugs my finger. “Ayóó anííníshni, Joseph.”

  “And I love you.” I squeeze her hand. This bird is settled in my nest, happily tamed; well, at least as much as a wild thing will ever be tamed. She keeps my days interesting, my nights hot, and my life full to overflowing.

  Atsa walks by, carrying a massive pumpkin. “Why are we wasting pumpkins? People won’t buy them out here by the road.”

  “That’s called marketing, dude.” Nevada carries a small pumpkin for the top of the stack. “It’ll sell lots more than it costs us, promise.”

  This whole scheme was Nevada’s idea. I read the whimsical lettering on the sign:

  UNFORGIVEN PUNKIN PATCH & CORN MAZE

  GET A PUMPKIN, THEN GET LOST!

  Our first harvest. The government came through; we’re an official CSA farm as of three months ago, and we’re expanding. I was able to hire the local Diné to build a new barn and add an extension to the greenhouse. Next year, I’ll have jobs for any of the tribe who wants one. Asdzáá and the oldest of the Wings will have licenses by then and are already making a calendar of what days each of them will haul produce to the rez.

  Nevada calls Atsa over and slathers sunscreen on his nose.

  All my dreams have come true. And a few of Nevada’s have as well. When I quit the café, Lorelei gave Nevada the job she wanted from the first day she walked in. She’s learning our language and our customs, all while studying for the GED. Says she doesn’t need it, but that she’s doing it for herself. My uncle allowed Atsa to move into Grandmother’s RV to help me out in the fields, and he and Nevada study together at the kitchen counter every night.

  “What now, Fishing Eagle?” Atsa looks up at me.

  The hero worship in his eyes no longer hurts my guts. Probably because I’m trying so hard to earn it. “Lunch, that’s what.”

  “Whoop! What’re we having?”

  “Navajo tacos, of course.” Nevada smiles at his backside, running for the truck. “Hey, you leave the cook behind, you get no tacos, you know.”

  “Well then, quit kissing and hurry up, you tsisteełs; I’m starving!”

  I put my arms around my woman’s shoulder. She puts hers around my waist, and we walk for the truck.

  “You know, I was thinking,” Nevada begins, but falters, as if she’s not sure how to proceed.

  “Uh-oh,” I tease her, knowing that’s still the best way to get her to open up.

  “No, really.” She tugs my waist. “What do you think about having an old-fashioned barn dance after Halloween? You know, to kind of break it in.”

  “Hmmmm. Who would you invite?” Not that I’d say no to just about anything she asks; she wants so little.

  “Oh, I don’t know…the whole town?”

  I laugh, remembering the tough, withdrawn chick who blew into town not so long ago. “I think that sounds just right.”

  Epilogue

  Ma,

  This is the last letter I’ll write, and when I finish this, I’ll burn them all. I know it’s a little crazy to write a bunch of letters to a dead woman, but I was so lonesome and scared, I needed somebody to talk to, you know? And, it was my way of hanging on, trying to stay with you, I guess.

  I’m writing this last time just to
let you know I’m happy. Way happy. Joseph loves me, I love him, and every day is better than the last. We’re not getting crazy and talking about marriage, but maybe someday down the road…never say never, right?

  The whole Cisco thing is over. He’s gone. But I don’t want to talk about it. I’m still here. That’s the important thing.

  It’s been six months, and I’d think if the cartel was coming after me, they’d have been here by now, so I guess I’m in the clear. Hard to believe that I can plan a future now, just like anybody. Oh, and Jovie’s money went for good; I donated it to the school on the rez.

  That day I stepped into the bedroom, touched your cold hand, and realized you were gone, I lost it. What I did next set all this in motion, but I can’t be sad about it, because it started me on the road to where I am.

  The Navajo aren’t big on what happens after you die, but who’s to say you’re not reading over my shoulder?

  In case you are, I want you to know, I’ll always miss you, Ma. I know you did the best you could. I’m hoping you’re in a better place, and finally at peace.

  Hágoónee,’ Má. Which is a beautiful way to say, I love you.

  Your daughter,

  Nevada

  Also by Laura Drake

  The Sweet Spot

  Nothing Sweeter

  Sweet on You

  The Last True Cowboy

  Acknowledgments

  First, thank you to Laurelle Sheppard, my Diné sensitivity expert, for reading and your patience with my questions, making sure I got it right.

  And as always, a huge thank you to my ‘critters,’ Fae Rowen and Kimberly Belle, and to my lay editor, Donna Hopson.

  And to the Superwomen in my life, who always find time for me in spite of having enough to do to keep five women busy: the one who first took a chance on me—my agent, Nalini Akolekar, and my ever-patient editor, Amy Pierpont, who was brave enough to take a chance on this book.

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