Heartbeat Braves

by Pamela Sanderson

  Ester sank back into the seat, embarrassment turning into disappointment. Then she grew cross about being disappointed. This turned into annoyance because her feet were ice cubes, her pants were damp and she had to walk back across campus in the crap weather before she could be safe at her desk, deluxe space heater doing its job on her chilly bones. She'd gotten herself into this predicament so she could run into and, seriously this time, say hello to a guy. A guy who probably would have said hi back and never thought of her again.

  The man in question was the usual lab assistant at this hour. He was a big guy, both in terms of height—he had to be a least a head taller than Ester—but also brawn. This guy looked like he spent his spare time tearing trees out of the ground and smashing them over his knee. He'd caught her eye because of his warm brown skin and long black ponytail. She liked the way he moved, his giant hands working over the computer keyboard, or his careful sidestep when he worked his way through a row of computer terminals, like Godzilla, only trying to avoid knocking over a building. And the way he responded to requests to put paper in the printer with a weary suppressed scowl. She was ninety percent certain he was Native.

  She'd planned her entire day around running into him today. Probably wasn't a tragedy that he didn't show up. She would have chickened out or sputtered and forgotten what she'd planned to say. The Ester who existed in her head was much braver than the Ester who put on pants every morning.

  She turned her attention to the screen and reviewed her clips and images. The lab’s larger screens and faster machines made it more fun than using the computers at the center. The current project was another short film to appeal for help in finding a permanent home for the Crooked Rock Urban Indian Center. After much cajoling, her boss, Linda Bird, the executive director of the UIC, relented and did another interview about the various homes the UIC used or hoped to use.

  According to the online tutorial, the challenge of telling a good story was getting all the information in, placing the images in the best order, and timing it right. She rearranged the same bits: the Chief Building they planned to buy, the cramped space in the strip mall they'd vacated months earlier, and their current home, which was a meeting room on campus. She added an early photo of their founder, Margie, typing into a boxy computer on her kitchen table, then shuffled the clips back and forth, unable to sense what worked best.

  A quiet tone sounded on her phone. She glanced at the display.

  Linda texted: Conference call?

  Crap. Once her head was in a film project, everything else fell away.

  On my way.

  She hit save, yanked on her coat, then grabbed her backpack and hurried from the room. Students crowded the hallway, forcing her to push through before she ran out of the building and into the cold rain. Someone touched her shoulder.

  "Excuse me."

  Ester turned to find herself face-to-face with the guy. Her mouth went dry. His golden-brown eyes gazed into hers, narrow with suspicion. He must have taken over the lab while she was working and figured out she wasn't a student. Instead of her rehearsed small-talk, he was busting her for using the lab. This was not the conversation she'd envisioned having with Mr. Super-Ind'n and she didn't want it to continue.

  "You in Kathleen Stone's vis-comm class?" he asked.

  The ground grew unsteady under her feet. Instead of a gray hoodie, he wore a gray T-shirt, the filmy kind that clung everywhere. His chest was ridiculous. Out in the cold air, her ears stung, and he stood there without a coat. She slipped a hand into her pocket for her hat, then stopped when her fingers touched the fuzz of the frayed wool. No way would she put on the dingy hat in front of this guy.

  Whenever she complained about getting nervous talking to guys, Rayanne would say, Act natural. Don't over-think it.

  Ester didn't know how to act natural. She shook her head.

  "Which class, then?" His voice wasn't what she expected. She'd imagined pure bass but this was more baritone, warm and buttery. She guessed he had a nice singing voice. What was the question again?

  "I have a conference call?" she said, not sure why she made it sound like a question. Who knew what the punishment was for using someone else's login? What if they kicked her off campus? That would make going to work a challenge.

  "Are you in the digital arts class?"

  "Nice talking to you," she said. She turned around and considered how it would look if she sprinted across the greenway.

  "Hang on," he called. His hand tapped on her shoulder again. "You forgot this."

  Brawny guy held her portable hard drive. The drive was common except for the round sticker with the Crooked Rock Urban Indian Center logo on it.

  She stared at it. His hand was huge. She wanted to put hers next to it to compare.

  He said, "If you don't take it, I have to plug it in and snoop through all the files to figure out who it belongs to."

  "It's mine," she said, trying to remember whether she had any files worth snooping. There were a few he might find interesting. Her fingertips grazed his palm when she took the drive.

  "One more question," he said.

  This time she looked at him. He wore a gray knit cap with a Pacific-Northwest-style whale on it. She'd seen similar caps at the crafts market in the park. His eyebrows knitted together like an angry cartoon character, equal parts menace and humor.

  Brawny guy pointed his chin at her. "You in the Native American student group?"

  "Not really," Ester said

  "But you're Native."

  Ester nodded.

  "From where?"

  "Eastern Shoshone."

  "Wyoming?"

  Ester nodded again.

  "I'm Theo," he said. "Jicarilla Apache. I lived on the rez when I was a kid."

  She knew she was supposed to share something about her background except she didn't want to get into it right then. If she had social skills like a normal person, she might steer the conversation in another direction but instead her brain ground to a halt. She tried to smile but sensed that she was peeling her lips back from her teeth while the corners of her mouth twitched.

  She couldn't tell whether the conversation was finished. She asked, "Do you have to go back to work?"

  "Work?" Theo smiled as if he'd heard something amusing. "You mean lab assistant? Nah, that job didn't work out."

  "Oh, sorry," Ester said.

  "The guy in charge of the lab assistants would rather schedule the lady students. I lost out." Theo shrugged.

  Ester stared at his mouth and the hard line of his jaw, the way the muscles worked in his neck, the goose bumps that covered his upper arm. He scrubbed his hand over it as if to brush them away. Her eyes flicked from his hand to his face. She'd never stood this close to someone so attractive.

  "How about you?" he said. "You said you had a call."

  "I do," she said, the importance of her work at the office flooding back to her. "I have to get going. Thanks for bringing my drive…" She patted her backpack and edged away. "Theo," she added because she wanted to say his name.

  Crooked Rock Book 3

  Sweetheart Braves

  Tommy Weaver wants to stay sober and that means steering clear of challenging situations, avoiding difficult people, and staying away from personal relationships. Unfortunately, he has a cousin unsuccessfully rehabbing in his spare room while Crooked Rock demands more than he can give, and in the midst of his growing troubles, the irresistible Elizabeth appears.

  * * *

  Elizabeth Lewis couldn't wait to finish college and get back to the security of her home and family on the reservation. But when her granny, a well-known Indian activist, seeks to right a family wrong, Elizabeth finds herself back in the city and seeking assistance from Crooked Rock. She convinces Tommy to join her and as her mission grows more complicated, he never leaves her side.

  * * *

  Neither of them expected to fall this hard, so what happens when it’s time for Elizabeth to go back home?

  Excer
pt: Sweetheart Braves

  Tommy led with the pink box, but the three Ind'n women who made up the rest of the staff were having none of it.

  "You're late," Rayanne said, barely glancing up from her computer. She was the Crooked Rock employee most likely to volunteer for extra projects.

  "I'm here now," he said.

  Linda took the box. As the boss, she was as dedicated as Rayanne, but ten years into the job, her enthusiasm had worn down and she was frayed around the edges. She broke the tape and popped the box open. "What's your excuse?" she asked.

  He could tell them about the funny shimmy his aging car had developed along with new sounds—a series of melodic chirps that Margie said sounded like someone practicing elk calls. Life was toast if the car died.

  He could tell them about his roomie-cousin Angie, the practicing alcoholic he was supposed to help sober up, only she'd gone out the day before and hadn't returned.

  If he really wanted to get personal, he could tell them he was tired and lonely, and living a life that consisted solely of working and maintaining his own sobriety, and the whole thing was a sad, monotonous hamster wheel that he couldn't exit.

  He stuck with the truth. "I took Margie and her gang of elders to bingo. The ball blower malfunctioned, resulting in threats of a brawl. Margie gave me money to get pastries to calm them but it went long and I still had to take everyone home."

  The final member of the staff, Ester, hovered close by. Her eyes widened when she looked in the box. "Is that an apple fritter?" She grabbed it and took a big bite and then swirled her hips a few times. You're my favorite, she mouthed at him. Ester's stated job duties involved health programs, but she fixed their computers, managed the center's social media, and could be counted on to cheer them up, as needed.

  Rayanne got up and proceeded to cut a giant cinnamon roll in half with a plastic knife. "Excuse accepted."

  He helped himself to a muffin and went to pour himself a cup of coffee.

  Ester drifted over and caught his eye. In a low voice, she said, "Everything okay?"

  Tommy flicked his eyes to the ceiling and barely shrugged.

  "I worry about you," she said.

  Tommy put a finger to his lips. She was the only one who knew about Angie. The fewer people who knew, the easier it was for him.

  "Your secret is safe," she reassured him.

  Linda finished chewing and thumped a fat file that was wrapped with big rubber bands. "We all need to get out of here so come sit down. We'll fill you in on what you missed. Today we finalize the Chief Building purchase so we can get on with our lives."

  She talked him through her list. Rayanne had an important meeting, too, and Ester updated the funding situation. The three of them traded remarks in the foreign dialect of non-profits: soft dollars, cost sharing, indirect rates, set-aside funds. He formed what he hoped was an attentive expression, the whole time thinking about what he should do to find Angie.

  The office phone rang and Rayanne grabbed it. She listened for a moment, then made some distressed sounds and did something at her computer.

  Linda said, "New business. Tommy, I want you to go to the intake coordinator training with Ester."

  "Me?" What did an intake coordinator do?

  Linda nodded with special meaning. "Once we're in the new building, we're going to have to get this operation up to speed. When Ester goes to her film workshop, we'll have a big gap to fill."

  "I don't know if I'll be accepted," Ester said.

  Linda shot her a tired look. Ester was crazy talented. There was no way she wasn't getting accepted.

  "I can do more," he said, hearing the lack of conviction in his own voice. Way back when Linda gave him the job, conveniently downplaying his shortcomings, they'd intended that he'd take on more responsibility.

  Rayanne got off the phone. "That tribal youth meeting changed their agenda. They need our statement this afternoon."

  Linda dropped her head into her hands and muttered a string of bad words.

  "He has to," Ester said. "I can't ditch the budget talk."

  Tommy had grown accustomed to them talking about him like he wasn't there.

  "Can you do it?" Linda asked him.

  "Sure," he said.

  "You know your actual title is Youth Program Director," Rayanne said.

  "I'm aware." Apparently he was unsuccessful at hiding his discomfort.

  Linda faced him. "It is critical that we have someone there." Her voice had become strained like it did when she was overwhelmed. "If you can't do it, tell me now, and I'll invent cloning or something."

  Out of sight, he could sense Rayanne reacting and Ester shutting her down.

  "Don't say you can do it if you're not certain," Linda said.

  "Do I have to do a talk?" he asked.

  Linda smiled patiently. "You need to read a prepared statement. If anyone asks a question, write it down and tell them we'll get back to them. Is that okay?"

  It did not sound okay but reading from a piece of paper was the least he could do. "Do I write the statement?"

  "Already written," Linda said, handing over a packet. "Look it over and ask if you have questions."

  "Take notes at the meeting," Rayanne said. "You can listen and take notes, right? It's literally the least you could do."

  He was already doing literally the least he could do. He drove elders to appointments and organized afternoon basketball for native kids. He picked up supplies and dropped off packages that had to be shipped overnight. He was not the staff member who experienced joy when an agenda was put in his hands.

  "I can help if you need it," Ester said.

  Tommy gestured vaguely and flipped through the file.

  Linda said, "Last item: Native Professionals is tomorrow night. We're all going together."

  Tommy groaned. Networking event. He'd end up standing against the wall wearing a Hello My Name Is sticker and clutching a sweating plastic bottle of water while he watched the clock.

  He mustered his most tragic look.

  Linda sighed. "No one is forcing you."

  He dipped one shoulder as if he would think about it but there was no way he was getting stuck at a networking event.

  Rayanne and Ester packed up and zoomed out. Instead of following them, Linda pulled a chair next to him. "I worry about you."

  "Did Ester say something?"

  "She said you had a lot going on and she was concerned."

  Tommy scraped a hand across his face. "Everything's fine."

  "Okay. I trust you, and I want to keep trusting you, but you aren't acting like you right now." If there was anyone in his life he could confide in, Linda was it, but he didn't know where to start.

  "You don't have to worry about me," he said.

  Crooked Rock Book 4

  Coming Spring 2019.

  Linda and Arnie are the should have been that never happened.

  * * *

  Linda Bird has poured her heart into building a community for Indians in the city, but the setbacks keep coming and her supporters are losing faith. In college, Arnie Jackson was a sexy-but-aggravating rival. Now she needs his help if Crooked Rock is going to succeed. Turns out he’s still sexy, he’s still aggravating, and she’s never gotten over him.

  * * *

  Arnie has dealt with every challenge Indian Country has thrown at him, but nothing could have prepared him for the accusations that bring his leadership into question. Linda has been his most loyal friend—equal parts stubborn and dazzling—and she’s the only one he trusts to help him through this crisis.

  * * *

  They have always been right for each other, but it's never been the right time—until now.

  Afterward

  There is so much misinformation and misunderstanding about native people in the mainstream. I don’t have all the answers, either.

  * * *

  Trying to define the typical Indian or tribe would be like trying to define the typical American or state. And just like Indi
an Tribes across America, there is no typical organization that serves urban Indians.

  * * *

  Indian communities, individuals and organizations are different depending on their history, culture, traditions, geography and leaders—this is true of individual tribes, and is true of urban Indian communities.

  * * *

  I've created Crooked Rock as a place to serve my stories. My intentions are always respectful and based on my experience and observations as an Indian, and in the course of my work in Indian Country.

  * * *

  You might be wondering about the cover. Are those native people?

  * * *

  Unfortunately, no. The cover is made from standard stock photos. The selection of stock photos of indigenous people is skimpy, and sadly, my numerous attempts to set up a photo session of my own failed.

  Acknowledgments

  Once again, thanks to all the terrific friends, relatives, and readers who support what I’m doing. I appreciate you until the end of time.

  * * *

  Special thanks go to Kira Walsh, Marguerite Croft, Michelle Osbourne and Sinead Talley. I am also eternally grateful to superstar editor Lorelei Logsdon (www.loreleilogsdon.com) and the multi-talented cover artist Holly Heisey (www.hollyheiseydesign.com).

  * * *

  Huge thanks to my sweetheart, Bob Hughes who did all the laundry and dinners when I was drafting. Another shout out to Mom for making sure everyone gets a copy.

  About the Author

  Pamela Sanderson is a citizen of the Karuk Tribe and lives in the Pacific Northwest. She is employed as a legal assistant working on behalf of Indian tribes and tribal organizations. When she isn’t working or writing, she enjoys baking, gardening and following Major League Soccer.