by Myrna Temte
“I felt the same way at first. But you know, some really terrible things happened on reservations when our mothers were young women,” Maggie said. “Your mother may have been trying to protect you.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
Maggie stopped walking and turned to Julia. “Is it really important anymore? You’re here now, and nothing you do can hurt your mother. Don’t you need to live your own life at this point?”
Julia nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right, Maggie. I do.”
“Well then, if I get a positive reference from your principal, the summer job is yours. If you’re interested in a full-time job in the fall, you’ll have to have a formal interview and get a permanent Montana certificate.” Maggie paused, then inclined her head toward the tribal center.
“In fact, why don’t you come into the office and call your principal with me? Then you can give him permission to fax all the paperwork. Once we get your temporary certificate, your permanent one will show up in about three weeks, anyway, so that’s no big deal.”
“All right,” Julia said. “But let’s just focus on the summer for now. You said I’d only work three mornings a week, right? So I could get another job if the hours were compatible?”
“I don’t see why not, although there’s not much available here on the res right now.”
Julia grinned. “No problem. I’ll get one in town. I already have an idea where I can look for one.”
Maggie reached over and hugged her. “I love that kind of confidence. You want to start with the kids on Monday? I can give you the full job description and materials right now.”
“You’re on.”
Fifteen minutes later, Julia walked back to the restaurant and slid into the booth with her father and grandmother. Daniel’s and Sara’s eyes filled with tears when she told them she was going to stay. After wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, Sara took a long look at Julia.
“What’s wrong?” Sara asked. “You don’t look very happy about getting this teachin’ job.”
“It seemed like a good decision at the time,” Julia said, “but what if Sam Brightwater is right and I can’t teach these kids because I don’t understand them?”
“Bah!” Sara waved a hand in dismissal. “Sam is a good man, and he’s done many good things for our tribe, but he’s awful stiff-necked sometimes. All of your young cousins like you a lot. But, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll bring some of my pals by the first few days you’re with the kids. We’ll make sure you get along okay.”
“Thanks, Grandmother.” Julia leaned across the table and kissed her grandmother’s cheek, and then her father’s. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me again, I need to see if I can find another job in town. I’ll be back by suppertime.”
Through the window beside the booth, Daniel and Sara watched her walk outside and step into her car. When she backed out of her parking space, Daniel turned to his mother.
“So what do you think?”
“I think it’s gonna be a real interesting summer.” Sara chuckled and shook her head. “And that girl of ours is such a pistol, I think Sam Brightwater’s finally met his match.”
Daniel tipped back his head and laughed out loud. “You’ve noticed his interest in her, eh?”
“You bet. He don’t like the idea much, but every time I’ve seen him lately, he’s been watchin’ her like a big cat gettin’ ready to pounce. And she’s always watchin’ him, too. ‘Course, they try to hide it and pretend like nothin’s goin’ on, but they’re feelin’ somethin’ powerful.”
Smiling, Daniel nodded. “Yeah, and they’re actin’ pretty funny about it.” He sighed and his smile faded. “I love ’em both so much, I just hope they don’t end up hurtin’ each other.”
Sara shrugged. “You gotta have rain to get a crop, son. Neither one of those kids is gonna go down easy, and there’s not a thing we can do about it. Our job is just to be here to kiss their bumps and bruises when they come runnin’ home in tears.”
Daniel considered her last statement for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “What if we help things along a little?”
“You want to play Cupid?”
“No, but remember what Grandmother Talkhouse used to say about those love charms they used to make? She swore by ’em.”
“Those old medicine charms?” Sara snorted with laughter. “I’ve heard legends about ’em, but I’m not so sure they were ever very reliable.”
“Do you know how to make one?”
“I could probably figure it out,” Sara said. “They just look like a necklace, you know. Little beaded pouch on a leather string. I know a few ol’ gals who oughta know what goes in the pouch. They used to make ’em for fertility, too.”
Daniel grinned at the thought of having some grandchildren to spoil. “Find out about those, but let’s try the love charm for starters. No need to get ahead of ourselves. Just make sure you put in the right medicine for those kids.”
Four
Sam followed his men into the Hip Hop Café for lunch on Wednesday afternoon, as eager as the rest of the guys for a meal and something tall and cold to drink. The calendar said June 24, but outside it felt more like late July. Taking off his hard hat, he wiped the back of one hand across his sweaty forehead.
Melissa North, the café’s owner, stepped from behind the hostess stand, counted out five menus and led the way to the crew’s favorite table in the center of the room. It was big enough to seat eight regular-size people, but every guy in his group stood over six feet tall, and they all appreciated a little extra room to spread out. It was just one of many small, accommodating touches Melissa was known for that kept Sam and a lot of other folks coming back to the Hip Hop on a regular basis.
Waiting until they were all seated, she passed out the menus and described the daily soup-and-sandwich special. Sam was so used to the routine and so hungry, he opened his menu and almost missed her last remarks.
“You’ll have a new waitress serving you, gentlemen. This is Julia’s first day with us, but she’s doing a great job, and I’m sure she’ll take good care of you. Enjoy your meal.”
A warning bell went off in Sam’s head, but before he could ask Melissa to repeat what she’d said, she went back to the front of the restaurant to greet a new batch of customers. The kitchen door swung open. Julia Stedman hustled into the dining room, a big, oval tray loaded with sandwich platters balanced on the palm of her right hand and shoulder.
Sam wanted to bellow with outrage. He’d already figured Julia would get the summer reading job at Laughing Horse. Maggie Hawk really wanted to get that program up and running this year. If Julia Stedman was the only certified teacher available, it didn’t surprise Sam that Maggie would hire her.
He could accept losing that argument. He could even tolerate having Julia hang around the res for the summer. He could always claim he was too busy with work to show up at the activities she was likely to attend; it would rarely be a lie.
But he sure as heck didn’t want to accept the idea that she was now going to wreck his favorite restaurant for him.
Not only did the Hip Hop have the best food, the best service and the best prices in town, but most of the other restaurants in Whitehorn weren’t all that welcoming to Indians. What the heck could he do? The guys would think he was nuts if he suggested they eat somewhere else. Why didn’t the dang woman just go on back to Colorado?
Oh, cripes. She leaned over a nearby booth, passing out the sandwiches on her tray. The motion made her pink uniform skirt ride up the backs of her thighs, and his men were watching and nudging each other like a bunch of adolescent boys.
Well, he had to admit she did have a pretty spectacular pair of legs on her. She also had a slim waist, nice hips and a curvy little rear end that— Sam forced himself to turn his head away before he finished that particular thought.
It didn’t matter how attractive any part of Julia Stedman was. As far as Sam was concerned, she was strictly off limits. She sho
uld be, anyway. This was the summer he’d planned to find himself a wife. A nice, traditional, Northern Cheyenne wife.
Julia finished with the customers in the booth, tucked the tray under her arm and approached Sam’s table, her pen and pad poised and ready to write. She wore her hair braided into one long, thick plait that hung over the front of her left shoulder. She’d tied a little white ribbon in a bow at the end, and it lay across the fullness of her breast, right about where Sam figured her nipple ought to—
No, dammit, Sam told himself. Don’t think about her breasts or her nipples. Or how friendly her smile is. Or how much he’d like to untie that little white ribbon, run his fingers through the long, glossy strands of her hair and kiss her full, sweet lips. Damned if he wasn’t sweating worse than he had been out at the site all morning.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said. Her soft, clear voice reminded Sam of his mother’s, and a pleasant trace of memory flashed through his mind. “Are you ready to order?”
“Yes, miss, we sure are,” Harvey Running Deer said, sending her what he undoubtedly thought was his most charming smile. Harvey considered flirting a sport, and he practiced every chance he got. He aimed his right thumb at Sam. “Give him the check, though. He’s the boss of this outfit.”
“Then I’d better start with him, don’t you think?”
Julia turned toward Sam’s end of the table. The instant she recognized him, her smile faltered. Wariness, if not active dislike, flickered in her eyes. In the next heartbeat it was gone, replaced by a cool, professional expression that wasn’t even acquainted with friendly.
“Hello, Mr. Brightwater.”
“Mr. Brightwater?” Bill Reynolds hooted with laughter, then grinned at Julia. “Shoot, we’re not that formal around here, miss. Just call him Sam.”
“Hey, how’d she know your name, Sam?” Tim Bear Paws asked.
“Yeah, how come you always meet all the prettiest gals first?” Ray Hawk, Jackson Hawk’s brother, demanded.
“Just lucky,” Sam said dryly. “I’ll have a barbecued-beef sandwich platter, a trip through the salad bar and a pitcher of ice water, please.”
Julia jotted on her pad, then took the menu Sam held out to her and quickly moved around the table until she had all of their orders. A moment of appreciative silence reigned over the table as they watched her walk toward the kitchen to turn in their menus and place their orders with the cook. When the swinging door closed behind her, the other guys were on Sam’s case like fleas on a stray dog.
“How long’s she been here?”
“Who cares about that? How long’s she gonna stay in Whitehorn?”
“Tell me she’s single.”
Sam scowled at the whole bunch. “Do I look like her social secretary? I’ve barely met the woman. You want to know something about her, ask her yourselves.”
“Well, how did you meet her?” Harvey asked.
“Her father’s on the tribal council. Dan Talkhouse.”
Bill Reynolds turned halfway toward Sam and hooked his right arm over the back of his chair. “Was it just me, or is there some reason that little gal doesn’t like you very much, boss?”
Ignoring Bill’s question and his scrutiny, Sam excused himself to go wash his hands. All the way to the men’s room he could hear his crew murmuring, but he ignored that, too. The guys who worked for him were good men and loyal employees, but he wasn’t about to discuss his personal life with one of them.
In his experience, a boss who did that seldom kept his employees’ respect for long. Dammit, he had too much to do and too much to think about, to waste his energy on Julia Stedman. Hell, he didn’t even like her.
Since she obviously didn’t like him, either, there was no reason to feel so…uncomfortable every time he saw her. Even if she spent the summer at Laughing Horse, it wasn’t as if she was going to live there forever. Surely she’d have to go back to her teaching job in Colorado by the end of August. He could stand anything for eight weeks, couldn’t he?
He returned to the table, convinced he’d gotten his thoughts sorted out and back on track. The other guys were arguing about a baseball game they’d seen on TV the previous night. Everything seemed blessedly normal again, until Julia came back into the dining room, hauling another tray.
His men were too involved in their conversation to notice her, but for Sam it was as if she radiated an electromagnetic energy field that commanded his attention. This time she stopped at a table for two and delivered soup bowls to an elderly couple. She smiled and chatted while serving them, and they responded with obvious pleasure.
Watching her annoyed the hell out of Sam. He wanted to see a frump; Julia was…beautiful. He wanted to see a klutz; Julia moved with efficient, unhurried grace. He wanted to find fault with her work; Julia was an excellent waitress. Her manner with the fussy, demanding old couple told Sam she honestly enjoyed people and tried to make her customers feel welcome, comfortable and relaxed.
Well, most of her customers, he thought with a grim smile. He doubted he would ever rate the warmth and concern she was lavishing on those old folks. It wouldn’t surprise him if she banged his plate down in front of him and stomped off to the next table without a word. The worst part was knowing he’d deserve it if she did.
But she didn’t. Julia was too professional for that kind of behavior. She talked and laughed with the guys while she worked, making the whole operation simple and pleasant.
She never spoke directly to Sam, of course, but only a keen observer would have noticed. By the time she left them to wait on her next group of customers, Sam felt as if there was an invisible wall around his chair that no one but the two of them could see. He should have been relieved by her attitude. Unfortunately, regret came a whole lot closer to accurately describing his emotions.
Sighing inwardly, Sam forced himself to focus on his meal. His appetite had dwindled, but he needed fuel to get him through the afternoon ahead. He left Julia a generous tip, then stopped at the cash register to pay his check. While he was shoving his wallet into his back pocket, the door opened and two men stepped into the restaurant.
The younger one wore a Sheriff’s Department uniform. The other guy was the cowboy Sam had recently encountered right here at the Hip Hop, J. D. Cade. Cade nodded at Sam and followed the deputy to a pair of empty stools at the counter. That odd sensation of recognition hit Sam again, but he still couldn’t place Cade.
Telling himself the tension from being around Julia Stedman was enough to make any man start imagining things, Sam swore under his breath and stepped back out into the heat. Damn, but it was going to be one long, hot, uncomfortable summer.
“Oh, gosh, Julia, there he is. It’s J.D., and he’s sitting in my section of the counter,” Janie Carson said, her voice practically squeaking with excitement. She motioned Julia over to the small window in the swinging door that led from the kitchen to the dining room. “He’s that cowboy sitting at the counter. The one by the pie case, right next to Reed. Don’t you think he’s a babe?”
Julia chuckled at her co-worker’s enthusiasm. “I can’t see him, Janie. Your head’s in the way.”
If Janie heard Julia’s complaint, she was too busy smoothing down her uniform skirt, patting back the sides of her hair and making sure her ponytail was adjusted exactly right to pay much attention. “Do I look okay?”
“You look fine,” Julia said.
Cute, blond and perky, Janie always looked great. Most of her male customers tried to flirt with her, but Julia had never seen the other waitress show the slightest bit of interest in anyone but J.D. Cade. From the number of times she’d already heard the man’s name, Julia expected Mr. Cade to be one gorgeous hunk of man.
She followed Janie into the servers’ station and snuck a peek around the corner at Mr. Heartthrob. No doubt about it, he was a nice-looking man. But he seemed awfully serious and, well… old for Janie. She was only twenty-four, and this guy had to be at least forty, possibly even older.
; Reed Austin, the young deputy sitting beside Cade, would probably be a better match for Janie, and from the way he was smiling at her, Julia surmised he was interested. Janie grabbed a coffeepot and sashayed out to the counter. Reed’s gaze lovingly followed each swing of her hips. Oh, yeah, he was definitely interested.
Grabbing a coffeepot of her own, Julia checked in with her customers, topping off cups and making sure they had everything they needed. The teenage busboy who was busily clearing Sam Brightwater’s table flagged her down when she would have hustled past him.
“What is it, Mike?” she asked.
“You’ve got a nice tip here.” Mike handed her a folded stack of bills. She thanked him and tucked the money into her apron pocket without pausing to count it. By the time she returned to the kitchen, however, her curiosity about Sam’s tip was driving her crazy.
She checked to make sure no one was watching, then took out the bills and quickly counted them. Good grief, the man had left her close to thirty percent of his bill. She was a good waitress, but who was that good? And in a little town like Whitehorn, ten percent was much more common.
Given his obvious dislike for her, she was surprised Sam had left her a tip at all. So why had he left her such a nice one? Maybe he felt guilty for acting like such an old grump. A bell dinged loudly behind her, startling a yelp out of her.
“Pick it up and hash it out, girly,” the Hip Hop’s occasionally irascible cook hollered at her.
“Aw, Virgil, put a sock in it.” Returning the balding man’s scowl, Julia loaded her tray and carried it from the kitchen, determined to put Sam Brightwater out of her mind for the rest of her shift.
The lunch crowd slowly thinned out. Janie hovered close to J. D. Cade and Reed Austin at the counter. Julia wiped down the vacant tables with a clean dishcloth, then grabbed a stack of place mats and napkins and started setting up for the dinner hour. Every time she went back to the servers’ station for supplies, she passed by the lunch counter.