Three Sacred Words
Golden Arrow #2
Christina Lee
Contents
Christina Lee
Other Titles by Christina Lee
Dear Reader
Dedication
1. Meadow
2. Alex
3. Meadow
4. Alex
5. Meadow
6. Alex
7. Meadow
8. Alex
9. Meadow
10. Alex
11. Meadow
12. Alex
13. Meadow
14. Meadow
15. Alex
16. Alex
17. Meadow
18. Meadow
19. Alex
20. Meadow
21. Alex
22. Meadow
23. Meadow
24. Meadow
25. Alex
26. Meadow
27. Meadow
28. Meadow
29. Alex
30. Meadow
31. Meadow
32. Alex
33. Meadow
34. Meadow
35. Meadow
36. Alex
37. Meadow
38. Meadow
Thank You
About the Author
Where to Find Me
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from TWO OF HEARTS
Copyright © 2015 by Christina Lee, all rights reserved
Cover design by Natasha Snow
Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission.
THREE SACRED WORDS is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
* * *
From the author of Two of Hearts comes a standalone adult romance about finding love where you least expect it.
Other Titles by Christina Lee
Adult Contemporary Romance
Two of Hearts
Between Breaths Series (New Adult Romance)
All of You
Before You Break
Whisper to Me
Promise Me This
There You Stand (m/m)
Male/Male Romance
There You Stand
The Darkest Flame
Dear Reader:
We can probably all agree that there needs to be more diversity in romance novels. Probably all novels in general. Having said that, writing about diverse characters in books can feel daunting for an author. It can be tricky and scary to take on the challenge, because we desperately want to get it right.
This is my third time writing about this Native American community. The first time was in WHISPER TO ME, a book in my New Adult series. The second time was in book one of the Golden Arrow series, TWO OF HEARTS.
In this companion novel, I wanted to show the reservation from a singular perspective—through Meadow’s eyes. Her experiences growing up on the same land as Dakota, from book one, were vastly different.
As this book goes out into the world, I again remember what one of my sources said from my hours of research. That within each culture, gender, age, or socioeconomic status, there are variances—in opinions and traditions and mindsets. And unless you’ve actually lived in the community or culture you are writing about, you won’t inherently know it. You can only try your best in your interpretation of it. That’s what I’ve aimed to do here.
Still, any mistakes or misinterpretations are my own. I painstakingly tried my best to create a story that I hope you will enjoy.
This is for the Two of Hearts readers who had puffy heart eyes for Shane’s co-worker, Alex. Thanks for your enthusiasm.
1
Meadow
At my table beneath the roadside tent, I punched at the calculator on my phone to tabulate some unpaid expenses in my head. My job in housekeeping at the Golden Arrow Casino was certainly steady work but it didn’t always pay the bills, not when you were a single mother.
And my ex hadn’t exactly surfaced recently to help with child support. His envelope of cash always arrived late—when it arrived at all. Last time, I could actually buy decent shoes for Joaquin, who was growing at the rate of a Cherokee warrior.
Shaking my head, I banished that negative thought. There was no room for self-pity. We did what we needed to get by. We always had on the reservation, which had seen it’s dismal days, the worst being when my parents were alive. I wished they could see how we had turned it around, how the casino had been profitable, even if many in our tribe disagreed with the methods.
A group of boisterous older ladies entered the tent from a limo bus. They must’ve been celebrating something. A birthday, a promotion, or a second marriage. Regardless, they were here to have a good time. I’d probably see them later at the casino getting rowdy at the roulette table, throwing around their cash.
A customer with fluffy blond hair approached the table and drew my thoughts back to the task at hand. I needed to sell some jewelry to keep my family afloat. Jayden, my neighbor from the same trailer park, was keeping an eye on my six-year-old today because child care was expensive.
This was why I never questioned where the support money was coming from; I had long ago given up that right. It was my ex-boyfriend’s business now, and since our messy separation, and his retreat from this town, I was simply grateful for any help.
Though I realized the other shoe was bound to drop. We’d already had one unsavory visitor on our property asking where Frankie Sparrino, or Sparrow, as my ex was known, had been hiding out. I figured more trouble was on its way.
“Are these hand made by you?” The customer asked. She had pale skin and based on her rhinestone-encrusted outfit, looked to be from middle-class suburbia.
“Yes, ma’am.” I tucked away my phone and straightened the handmade bracelets in front of me. I had stayed up late to finish the one with the pink and jade rhinestones. I imagined it would sell well here today to the tourists passing through town to gamble or commemorate some occasion or another at the casino.
I couldn’t fathom a weekend getaway at this stage in my life, let alone afford one. My escape came in the form of the creations I’d made at my worn kitchen table after Joaquin was tucked safely in bed.
As the woman’s manicured nails trailed over my wares, I could picture her in a cushy home with her Lexus and pearl necklace throwing extravagant dinner parties.
Not that I’d ever want that life for myself. I had always been proud of my culture and my tribe, even though this reservation had its share of struggles. But truth be told, working in housekeeping and living in a trailer park had never been my life’s dream.
“Can I try on a necklace?” The women asked, pointing to a row of sterling silver bead ball chains. My most popular line, possibly because they were modern and simple, and I hoped that was why my sales had been pretty decent lately.
“Of course,” I said, reaching for the hand mirror that I kept beneath the table.
The necklace she was now stringing around her neck was in the shape of an eagle feather and reminded me how I’d been wearing something similar on a certain day a few months back.
I felt oddly warm beneath the collar as I zeroed in on the piece.
Every now and again the same attractive man would break through my thoughts. He was a Federal Marshal who had been in town after the casino’s owner, Linden Nakos, was murdered, and was assisting in the investigation.
His name was Alex Flores and each time I spotted him back then my palms grew clammy and my pulse sped up. Alex was tall with wavy brown hair and had the most soulful hazel eyes I’d ever seen.
One of the last times our gazes connected was at the Nakos house blessing ceremony. I’d caught him staring, unless it had been my imagination. But given the line of crimson that had crawled along his neckline, I didn’t think I was far off.
Smiling and nodding my approval at the customer, I remembered that I’d been wearing my hair in a braid adorned with eagle feathers, and the necklace the woman now fastened around her neck.
“I’ll take two of these,” the lady said. A satisfied grin lined my lips not only because she liked it so well but also because I had crafted it with my own hands.
This jewelry made a great keepsake, but I was only one of dozens of artists selling wares around the community, including the casino gift shop. So while we were familiar to the surrounding neighborhood, to tourists arriving for their gaming weekend, we were sentimental.
Once a week we’d set up this roadside stand to sell to the public. Many of the sightseers were looking for what they considered traditional Native American mementos. Though all tribes were different, any souvenir with a warrior headdress or teepee always sold the quickest.
I reached in my bag for my water bottle that I refilled daily from the tap. From the far end of the tent, I received a little wave and a smile from Mr. and Mrs. Black, two elders from the reservation. Now there was a relationship that had withstood the test of time. I bet they didn’t have too many secrets between them. Secrets that were so dark they formed an abyss that became impassable.
Much like they had between Sparrow and me. We both grew up poor—me, in the trailer park on the reservation; him, in the public housing in town—but there were still parts of Sparrow I’d never understand. With each passing month, I was facing up to the reality that he was in some serious trouble.
Mrs. Black arranged a new row of pottery that she must’ve completed this past week. They were tiny bud vases that were swirled with traditional turquoise and sand painted colors that the visitors would love. They’d feel like they received a little piece of our history, despite the misconceptions that stood between us, so many decades later.
A flash of orange gleamed from the tent entrance. My pulse thrummed steadily in my veins when I spied a shiny Jeep Cherokee, as bright as the sunrise on a clear morning.
It was the same vehicle my eyes had sought out months back, not only because of its owner but its unique color. It was as if my very thoughts had materialized him, and now pinpricks settled along the fine hairs on my skin.
Would there be a reason for Alex Flores to be back in this town? But before I even finished that thought I already knew the answer.
2
Alex
The Coyote Moon exit led me toward the Golden Arrow Casino. I hadn’t been back since the Nakos case when I’d helped Shane Garrity find his killer last year. Now my former co-worker was employed under the Bureau of Indian Affairs and I hadn’t seen my friend in months.
I understood why he transferred. He wanted to be closer to his fiancée, Dakota, and to this community. But I missed running cases with him and Charlie, even though we still collaborated on plenty of information.
I knew our paths would cross again eventually. I was working on a huge drug investigation, chasing down a fugitive, and it possibly intersected with somebody on this reservation.
I turned left at the light and headed toward the looming golden tower. A large white tent appeared on the side of the road and I remembered how the native people sold authentic handmade pieces. My mother and sister’s birthdays were fast approaching, only two days apart¸ and I was suddenly curious to see what I could find.
The usual guilt washed over me that I hadn’t visited them nearly as much as I should’ve even though we lived in the same city. So, maybe some gifts would ease that discomfort until I was home again in the apartment that felt like a temporary resting spot. I’d cross one thing off my list in the process.
Steering onto the gravel alongside several other cars I noticed how busy the makeshift souvenir shop looked. I exited the car and zipped up my nylon coat against the chill. This was the Midwest after all and the spring weather was unpredictable. The tent boasted a large heater at the entrance and my skin immediately warmed.
But as my gaze swung across the tables of souvenirs, my skin prickled for different a reason. I was here for her after all, but I wasn’t prepared for a chance encounter this soon. To have my eyes snag on her lips and my throat constrict at the sight of her.
Meadow. With her shiny black braid and smooth copper skin a shade lighter than mine. Her delicate cheekbones and large doe eyes. Fuck, she was just as mesmerizing as I’d remembered.
She sat behind a long white table, her fingers jerkily straightening some shiny pieces in front of her, though they paled in comparison to her glow. As I approached, our gazes met and I felt a physical jolt. The last time I laid eyes on her at a picnic, I thought her one of the most gorgeous women to have ever graced my view.
I’d kept that information to myself however, because I figured there had been a man in the picture at the time. She had been tending to a child who was carrying a plate of fruit and I wondered where his daddy had wandered off to.
Now I knew. The sleazebag was on the run, had racked up his crimes, and needed to pay for them. Apparently he and Meadow had been high school sweethearts who’d had a child together. Thing about the criminals we chased was that plenty of them had families, were in fact pretty good to them, which was probably the case here.
According to our sources, Sparrow had remained in contact with Meadow and his son, Joaquin, and she was bound to be loyal to him. The interesting twist here was that he was still legally married to another woman from this town named Gloria Caraballo, but they had been separated for years. My job was to question these women about his whereabouts and find Sparrow as quickly as possible.
As I moved along the tent and smiled wordlessly at the other customers, my knees felt a bit weak when I stepped in front of her table. I blandly took note that she was selling jewelry because I had trouble pulling away from her eyes. She appeared momentarily speechless and I questioned whether it was because of the business that had brought me to town or because she was feeling as heated as I was.
We had certainly done our fair share of staring my last visit to town, especially at the house blessing ceremony where she took my breath away with her crown of eagle feathers and turquoise blouse.
We even shared a brief conversation after the service in the parking lot, where we introduced ourselves, mumbled awkwardly about the weather, and then went our separate ways.
Smooth, Alex. But few women had disarmed me that way. Goddamn just thinking about her over the past few months made my dick swell on more than one occasion.
I swallowed and steadied my gaze. “Ms. Starr.”
Her lips thinned. “Mr. Flores.”
“Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Finally, my eyes traveled down to her table where I noticed some striking looking bracelets and necklaces. “Is this . . .”
“My side business,” she said, straightening a row of earrings.
“Looks great,” I said, clearing my throat.
“Thank you,” she said, ducking her head. “Was there something specific you were shopping for?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “For the women in my family.”
A spark of something unreadable passed through her eyes.
“My mom and sister,” I said, motioning with my hand, unable to keep them steady.
She cast her eyes downward before I could read the quick change in her expression, which only heightened my curiosity. But what the hell was I talking about? I was here on business that involved the father of her child.
“Let me know if I can help you with anything,” she said before twisting toward a customer who had stepped up beside me. I could scarcely tear m
y eyes from her. But I forced myself to move through the tent and browse for gift ideas.
Maybe I was partial, but nothing looked as special as hers. So, without appearing too eager, I made my way back to her table.
Her eyes rose to meet mine and I saw two things at once: attraction and resistance. Made sense, I was conflicted as well. She was the ex of the person I was attempting to hunt down.
“I need some help,” I said and she practically flinched. She definitely expected me to be questioning her again soon, but in a totally different context.
“With?” she said through clenched teeth before gaining her composure.
“Gifts for my sister and mother?”
“Sure thing,” she said, releasing a breath. As if I’d interrogate her in her place of employment.
“Do you have any idea of their taste?” she asked.
My shoulders hunched. “I’m afraid I’m hopeless.”
When she smiled it seemed genuine. “I can tell you what’s popular.”
I leaned forward and whispered. “Your stuff is the best here by the way.”
When she blushed she was even prettier.
“Thank you,” she said and held my gaze.
I straightened. “So you sell your jewelry in addition to working at the casino?”
“I’m a single mom,” she said. “Have to make ends meet somehow.”
It was as if with that one statement she was warning me that she wouldn’t make my job easy. But nothing about my job was easy. Besides, I welcomed the challenge.
She helped me narrow my choices down to three necklaces and earrings, her eyes alight with contentment. I could tell she enjoyed making jewelry.
As my fingers smoothed over the carefully laid tablecloth, I found I was curious to know more. “Is this your passion?”
Three Sacred Words (Golden Arrow #2) Page 1