Nobody (Men of the White Sandy) (Volume 3)

by Sarah M. Anderson

  Melinda and the sheriff stopped in front of his cell. She didn’t say hello or ask him how he’d been. She just looked down at him with nothing but contempt. “When did you get him?” she asked the sheriff. Her eyes—cold and unfeeling—stayed on him.

  “A few days ago.”

  Nobody ignored the sheriff. Melinda had come to see him. Maybe she’d come to get him out?

  Melinda turned enough to fix that scowl on Means. “You were supposed to call me when you got him.”

  Ah, so that’d been Means’ punishment. “Been busy,” Means replied. But he did wipe that grin off his face. Even a lawman was afraid of Melinda when she was mad.

  And she was mad. Means’ words came back to her—”It’s the woman you should be worried about.” He hadn’t just been blowing smoke up Nobody’s backside, that much was obvious.

  “I can see that.” Melinda’s voice would have turned the White Sandy river to ice in the middle of July.

  Then she swung that scowl back to him. “Why isn’t he in the cell with the window?”

  “It was occupied by another ‘guest’ when we got him here.”

  “It’s empty now. Move him.” It was not a request.

  That was when he realized she hadn’t come to get him out. She was going to leave him here. With a window, but still. More than anyone else in the world—even more than Jamie—she knew what being behind bars did to him. And she was going to leave him in here.

  He knew he deserved it but it still went down bitter.

  “I’ll have to call Jack in. In case he tries anything funny,” Means said. “That’s extra overtime.”

  “So call him in.” Means opened his mouth to argue, but Melinda cut him off. “I’ll wait.”

  Nobody wanted to smile at her for putting the sheriff in his place, but he didn’t. He couldn’t—not when she turned those pale blue eyes in his direction. They were all the more cold now.

  She waited until the sheriff headed back to his desk and picked up the phone. Then she crossed her arms and glared at Nobody as if she were going to reduce him to dust with looks alone. “You should have trusted me.”

  Nobody swallowed. He didn’t know what to say to that but he got the feeling if he didn’t say something, she might tell the sheriff she’d changed her mind and Nobody could stay in the cell without the window. He wanted to tell her that he’d tried, he really had—but he’d needed to see with his own eyes that the boy was okay. Which would have just proved her right—he hadn’t trusted her.

  So he just said, “Yeah,” and hoped that was the right thing.

  It wasn’t. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she got even meaner looking. “I needed you to trust me. I needed a reason, Nobody.”

  For the first time, her voice softened. Hell, her whole face softened and she looked sad. Worn down and worried and tired, but above all that, sad. She knew exactly what being locked up would do to him. And she was going to leave him in here anyway. “I needed a reason to trust you. And you …” Her voice caught. She looked like she might cry because of him and it tore him up. Just tore him up. “You didn’t give me one.”

  He stood and tried to go to her. He wasn’t so good with words, but there were other ways to say he was sorry. Except there were some damn thick bars in between them. They clanked when he put his hands on them. He didn’t know what he was going to say until the words were already out and he couldn’t stop them. “I tried. But I didn’t … I didn’t know how.”

  Which was true. He’d never trusted anyone. Albert had saved him, Rebel had welcomed him to the fire—but he’d never trusted either of them enough to even know where he lived. How he lived. He’d let Jamie into his world because the boy … the boy had needed him.

  Melinda had needed him. And he’d let her down.

  “Everything okay over there?” the sheriff said in a loud voice. Nobody’s sudden movements must have caught his eye.

  “Fine.” Anything soft or sad about Melinda vanished and suddenly Nobody was eye to eye with a woman who would leave him to rot. “So,” she went on, all that ice back in her voice, “Ms. Winking decided not to press charges against you, but because you didn’t do what I asked you to—because you didn’t trust me, you will stay here until I get custody.”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, as if he were apologizing for having to stay. He couldn’t argue with her—and even if he tried, it wouldn’t make any difference. She could walk right out of here and he couldn’t. “But the boy?”

  She sighed so heavily that he thought she might deflate. “The boy is fine, Nobody. He was fine before. He didn’t need to see you getting hauled off at gunpoint, but he’ll be fine again.”

  “Can I see him?” He knew the answer before the words got out of his mouth.

  “No,” she said, her voice somewhere in between disgust and menace and sadness and pity. It looked like it hurt her to say it. It sure as hell hurt to hear. “You’re going to have to trust me. You have no choice.”

  “Will you come back? I need you.” The words were out before he knew it—an admission of his weakness. He swallowed. He was all in. Might as well be all in. “I need you more than this.” He’d always thought that other people would use his attachment for Melinda and Jamie against him, but now?

  Now he saw he was wrong.

  She would. Because she knew what she meant to him.

  She touched him then. Her hand slid between the bars and her fingertips stroked over his cheek like the answer was going to be yes. But it wasn’t and they both knew it. “I need you, too. I just wish you’d realized it sooner.”

  He tried to lean into her touch—to hold the contact for as long as he could—but then her hand was gone and her back was turned to him. “Rebel will be by,” she said. Then she stalked toward where the sheriff was sitting, watching them. “Move him to the cell with the window,” she said as she stalked past him. “But don’t let him out until I say so.”

  “Will do, Ms. Mitchell.” But the sheriff’s words fell on deaf ears.

  Melinda was already gone.

  Nobody sat down to wait for Jack to come so he could get a window to look out of.

  He had no choice in the matter.

  *

  Melinda sat in her car and cried. Ugly cried. She was trashing her conservative, understated makeup all to hell but she couldn’t stop.

  God, what was she doing? She couldn’t just leave him in there.

  Could she?

  She’d seen Nobody when he was wounded and bleeding, when he was in so much pain he couldn’t even sit up in his chair. She’d seen him anxious and nervous and worried and mean. She’d seen him take out six men.

  She’d never seen him like that. It’d been like … like he wasn’t even in there. His eyes had been as close to dead as she’d ever seen them—and, considering how close he’d gotten to actual death, that was saying something.

  She’d wanted him to sit and think about what he’d done wrong. Like a time-out for a grown-up.

  But that wasn’t what was happening. She couldn’t help but feel that she was killing him, one day at a time in that cage. Because that’s what it was. A cage. Like he was nothing more than an animal that had gone feral.

  But she had to, she told herself. She hadn’t told him any lies—she couldn’t trust him not to muck things up worse than he already had. She had to leave him in there, for his own good.

  For so long—most of her life—she’d been the flighty one, the weirdo, the black sheep in the family. The one who made a scene at fundraisers and a mess of her personal life. She was not the responsible one who got good grades and made wise decisions. She was the flake, the screw-up with horrible taste in men.

  That part, at least, hadn’t changed. She was in love with a man who she’d not only not bailed out, but who deserved to be behind bars in the first place.

  For maybe only the second time in her life, Melinda had a greater responsibility than herself that she had to consider—Jaime. The boy had n
o one else in this world now, except for her and Nobody. And if she didn’t do the right thing here, that child wouldn’t have either of them. Melinda would lose custody and Nobody? Well, she didn’t even want to think what would happen to that man if Jamie were taken away.

  She couldn’t leave him in there. But she had to.

  She couldn’t stand to see him locked up like that—caged and desperate. She just couldn’t stand there and try to be the grown up when he said he needed her. In that moment, she’d wavered. But if she’d made the sheriff unlock the door, what promise did she have that he wouldn’t slip off into the night to check on Jamie again? What guarantee did she have that he wouldn’t wind up behind bars again?

  She couldn’t trust him. And she couldn’t bear to see him suffer. She’d never felt so miserable in her entire life.

  Being the grown-up sucked.

  Slowly, Melinda managed to get herself back under control. She had some powder and lipstick in her purse, so she tried to fix her face as best she could. There was no solving the red eyes, but it’d have to do.

  Then she made the long drive into Rapid City to meet with Bertha Watterkotte for her official foster-parent interview.

  One step closer to having custody of Jamie. The modular house was hooked up now and she’d started moving her things in, getting things for Jamie set up in anticipation of the home study. If everything went according to plan, she might get custody of him in two weeks.

  Two weeks. It was a long time to keep Nobody behind bars. It’d already been close to three weeks since he’d been arrested. She’d missed him more than she could even put into words. No little taps on the window at night. No man walking out of the shadows to sit at the fire.

  No Nobody. And after seeing him like that today?

  But what choice had he given her?

  This was the only way.

  She had no idea how to make it better.

  Chapter Twenty One

  The days were long. The nights were long. Basically, being in jail was one of the better ways to stretch time.

  Rebel did come and sit with him. He brought in his beading and sat on the floor, telling Nobody what was happening in the world without him. If Nobody closed his eyes to block out the bars that separated him and Rebel, he could almost pretend they were back around the fire.

  Melinda had gotten herself approved to be a foster parent. Jamie was due to be handed over any day now, Rebel said. He’d helped get some of the furniture in Melinda’s new house put together, too. Said it shouldn’t be too much longer, but what did that mean when Nobody was locked up in a place where time had very little meaning?

  Rebel told him what else was going on, too. Said Clarence was getting mighty tired of doing Nobody’s job for him. Said Dr. Mitchell was tired of listening to Clarence complain about doing Nobody’s job, but she hadn’t hired anyone to replace him. Nobody couldn’t figure if that meant that he was going to get out soon or not.

  Melinda had said he had to stay in here until she got custody, hadn’t she? And if Rebel said she was going to get custody soon … she’d come for him, wouldn’t she?

  Maybe she wouldn’t. He hadn’t given her a reason to trust him. How could he, when he was behind bars? For all he knew, he might be in here a while longer.

  On the whole, it could be worse. He knew that first-hand. He didn’t have to share his cell with anyone, no one picked a fight with him and he got to keep his window. He spent a lot of time staring out of it—so close to being outside, but so far away. Fall was coming in fast. His horses would start to grow out their winter coats. They were probably doing okay now, but if Nobody didn’t make it back to take care of them before the winter snows buried the grasses, they could starve. He didn’t want that. If he didn’t get out of here soon, he’d have to tell Rebel how to get to his camp. Maybe, if Melinda got Jamie, Jamie could take Rebel out there. Just so long as someone took care of the horses.

  Sometimes, he retreated into his imagination and played out one of his stories—a man alone, making hard choices in a hard land. That’d always been how Nobody had felt before. Now? Now the stories he’d spent years reading seemed to ring hollow for him.

  But most of the time, when he looked out his window, he thought about Melinda. She’d be settling into her own place now. Would she have a fire pit outside, like Rebel did? Would she build her own fire and spread a blanket out next to it?

  Or maybe she was doing crazy things to her house—cutting metal to fit over the door in wild patterns, painting rooms in bright colors that wouldn’t suit anyone but her. He wanted to see what she did with her own place.

  He didn’t know if he’d get to.

  Even if he got out of here, he had no idea if she’d let him back into her bed. She’d let him see the boy, he was pretty sure. Kind of sure.

  He had to trust her. He was beginning to realize he didn’t have the first idea how to actually do that. And that wasn’t even including the fact that she’d left him in here.

  He’d thought … he’d thought he might get to be happy. With her, he’d been closer to happy than he’d ever thought he’d get to be, right up until he’d gone off and done things the way he’d always done them before. He’d brought her into his world and she’d made a place for him by the fire. A place for him in her bed.

  Why hadn’t he let that be enough?

  He couldn’t go back to the way things had been before. He knew that now. That was the truth of coming into the light. For a short while, he’d been a part of something that had always been beyond him—the love of a good woman at the end of a day, the boy looking up to him. Things had been better than he’d ever thought he deserved them to be.

  And he’d thrown that all away. Because he hadn’t trusted her.

  So he sat and he waited. He hoped he’d get out soon.

  He hoped he could give Melinda a reason to trust him again.

  He just wasn’t sure how he was going to do that.

  *

  Sheriff Means answered the phone. “Yeah. Yeah? Hey—that’s great. Now? Yeah.” He hung up the phone and announced, “Today’s the day!”

  Nobody looked at him out of the corner of his eye. What did that mean? And why did he sound so damn happy about it? Besides, the sun was on the verge of setting. The day was mostly over. “The day for what?” His voice felt creaky from lack of use.

  Means waltzed up to the cell door, handcuffs in his hands. “Four whole words that time,” he whistled. “A new record.” He bounced the cuffs in his hands. “You know the drill.”

  Nobody did. He turned around and stuck his arms out behind him. Means slapped on the cuffs. Then he stepped forward so Means could get the door to the cell open.

  It didn’t happen. Instead, Means looked at him for a moment. “Don’t get any funny ideas,” he said. His hand was resting on the butt of his pistol.

  Damn it, he was getting really tired of people saying that to him. He turned around to give Means a proper glare. Behind bars and cuffed? What funny ideas was he going to get? A career in comedy?

  Outside, a horn honked.

  “Let’s go,” Means said. Finally, he opened the damned door. He grabbed Nobody by the arm and started walking him up front.

  Nobody didn’t like the man touching him like this. Suddenly, after weeks of not being able to do anything, he tensed. His hair stood on end and he felt it—whatever the hell it was—move over his skin.

  The shadows were growing long. He was so close to being free. So damn close.

  “Hey, what the hell?” Means yelped in what sounded like actual pain. But he let go of Nobody. “What the hell was that?”

  Nobody didn’t reply. He didn’t know what was waiting for him on the other side of the door. Another cop car, another move to another jail—another cage? Or something else?

  If it were just him, he’d head-butt Means until the man was down and then he’d kick him just for good measure. Then Nobody would be gone. He’d get the cuffs off somehow and …

  N
ever see the boy again. Never have the chance to prove to Melinda that she could trust him.

  He stopped. Just stood there while Means got his act together again. “Don’t you ever do that again,” Means said. He didn’t put his hands back on Nobody but he didn’t shoot him, so that was something. “Walk, damn you.”

  So Nobody walked. He walked right out the front door and into the dim light of early evening.

  He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dusk after weeks of non-stop fluorescent lighting. The back of his neck prickled as he breathed in air that didn’t smell of the sheriff and stale piss.

  He was still alive, by God. He’d survived this far. He could make it.

  “Why is he handcuffed?” Melinda’s voice cut through the air like a knife.

  Melinda. She’d come back.

  “Ma’am,” Means said in a voice that wasn’t quite respectful enough for Nobody’s tastes, “Mr. Bodine is still a guest of the tribe.”

  “You’ve got to cuff him to let him go?”

  Nobody smiled—actually smiled for what felt like the first time in months. Let him go. He was almost free.

  But he also smiled at the way she said it—she wasn’t buying Means’ line of bull. He focused on the direction her voice had come from. His eyes adjusted to the low light and she came into focus.

  Melinda was leaning against her car. Gone was the harsh suit and slicked-back hair. She looked just like he remembered her—wildfire hair all around, one of those skirts she liked so much and a tank top that gave just a hint of what was underneath.

  And she had a grin on her face that made him think that maybe it was going to be okay. She was glad to see him—not like the last time, when she’d left him behind bars.

  Jamie stood next to her, vibrating with so much energy that Melinda had to keep an arm around his shoulders. He waved, the biggest smile Nobody had ever seen on his face. The boy looked happy. Actually happy—the kind of joy that wasn’t crowded out by worry or pain. He looked like a kid should look.

  They were okay. They were fine, just like she’d said.