He said the last with such disdain she knew all was not right with his love life. “You and Bobbi aren’t together anymore?”
“Maybe we never were.”
She hated the way her heart did a crazy flip hearing him say that. “Three kids might be hard to explain,” she pointed out.
“Two, not three.”
“Pardon?”
His elegant black eyebrows drew together above his nose. “How long is this stop going to take?”
Char deliberately slowed the car to a crawl to make her point. “As long as it takes. If you don’t like waiting, I can drop you off here,” she said, pointing to Elana Grace’s corner coffee shop, the Tidbiscuit. “It might get a little chilly in the car, and I’m not so trusting I’d leave the engine running and hope to find either you or the car here when I came out.”
“The cold doesn’t bother me.”
She stepped on the gas. “My friends would never turn away a stranger, Eli. There’ll be food. You look like you could use—”
“I’m fine. I need to get to Sturgis before dark.”
“What’s in Sturgis?” Not that she had any right to ask, but…
He hesitated so long she didn’t think he’d answer, then he muttered two words, “Bear Butte.”
Bear Butte was a landmark in the northern Hills that had significant historical and spiritual significance to his people. She’d attended a festival and powwow there a few months earlier with Jordie Petroski, Kat’s younger son.
She turned into the cul-de-sac where Mac McGannon lived. There were a lot of cars spread out along the street. She pulled to a stop behind Libby’s white SUV and turned off the engine.
“Here,” she said, handing Eli the money she’d lifted from her till. “It’s not much, but business has been slow since the Hollywood people left. You don’t have to pay me back. Like I said, if you want to leave, fine. If you want a ride, I’ll be back in half an hour or so. I promised Megan I’d be here and a promise is a promise.” The old black woman had taught her that.
He looked at the money but didn’t say anything. She wasn’t surprised.
She stuffed her purse under the seat. There wasn’t anything of value in it—she kept her credit cards locked in her wallet in the glove box. She got out and retrieved the balloons that Eli had shoved into the backseat.
“Thank you.”
The low, gruffly spoken words made her smile. “You’re welcome.”
She was still smiling when she knocked on the front door of Mac’s house. Given the din coming from inside, she only hesitated a few seconds before turning the handle and poking her head in. “The balloons are here. Where’s the birthday girl?”
“Miss Char.” Megan’s loud squeal of joy made Char’s heart swell as full as one of the helium balloons she carried.
The dark-haired child raced to Char and threw her arms around Char’s legs. “You’re here. And you brought balloons. They’re so beautiful. I love you.”
Tears pricked the corners of Char’s eyes. She wasn’t a crier—ask any of her book club friends--but those three words from the mouth of a child could bring her to her knees. She knew why. Until today, she’d chosen to ignore the reason behind her particular Achilles’ heel.
But now, with the cause of this weakness sitting in the front seat of her car, Char knew fate had come full circle. She needed to make peace with her past—one way or another.
Chapter 3
Eli watched his rescuer walk into the average-looking ranch house. Not all that different from the one he’d lived in with Bobbi and the kids since their move back to the reservation. Nothing fancy, but he did his best to keep it from falling down around them like some of his neighbors’.
Poverty wasn’t something confined to big cities. The people of the plains—particularly people of color, as some liked to say these days—were in a constant battle to stay above the poverty line. Cultural differences that weren’t easily explained to outsiders also accounted for the shabby, often run-down, appearance of some houses in his neighborhood.
But the families living in those homes were just people. Probably a lot like the folks Char Jones was now visiting. He’d been to his share of little kid birthday parties. His daughters—Micah, fifteen, and Juline, recently turned twelve—had been social butterflies their entire lives. They also knew a lot of people, thanks to Bobbi’s large, extended family and her job at the local casino.
His stomach made a loud, complaining sound the moment the door closed behind Char. He’d sampled one of the cookies Char had left on a plate beside the coffee thermos at the store, but it hadn’t done much to fill the void. He honestly had no idea when he last ate a substantial meal. Fasting hadn’t sounded like a bad idea when his uncle suggested it—especially after the self-indulgent binge that had brought Eli onto his uncle’s radar.
He slid down in the seat and as casually as possible reached for her purse. Women always carried snacks in their purses, didn’t they? Gum or breath mints at the very least, he reasoned.
The bag was made of stiff wool and leather. He could tell it had been made by hand. He’d seen others like it at the gift shop in the tribal headquarters.
Keeping one eye on the house, he poked through the usual things you’d find in a woman’s purse: cell phone, a package of tissues, a romance novel that had a man, a woman and two kids on the cover. He resisted the urge to throw it in the back seat. He opened a tube of lip gloss because it smelled like coconut. Unfortunately, that only made his stomach growl louder.
He spotted the well-worn notebook he’d seen on the floor of the shop but didn’t pay it any mind.
“No food,” he muttered. “Maybe she’s a chronic dieter.” Bobbi was constantly fretting over her weight. As if he could tell whether or not she’d put on a couple of pounds.
In an act of pure desperation, he upturned the purse so the contents fell across his lap.
“Aha.” He spotted a single stick of foil-wrapped gum. He didn’t care if it was a hundred years old—he was eating it.
He unwrapped it and closed his eyes as he laid the stiff, spearmint-flavored chewing gum across his tongue. His taste buds erupted as he chomped down, causing him to smack his lips.
Best damn gum he’d ever had.
After savoring the pleasure for a moment, he began returning Charlene’s stuff to the purse. As he reached for the notebook, he spotted something odd. Something familiar that caught his eye. His name surrounded by an elaborate doodle that included hearts and flowers.
“Weird.”
He flipped open the page and to his even greater surprise, he found every single line filled with some variation of his last name and Charlene’s first name: Char Robideaux, Mrs. Charlene Robideaux, Mrs. Eli Robideaux.
She had a crush on me. He winced, uncomfortable with that kind of adoration. And confused…until he spotted the date on the lower right-hand corner of the page. The year he’d graduated from high school.
Poor, dumb kid. If this notebook had belonged to an adult, instead of a teenage girl, he might have labeled her a stalker. But he’d seen his daughters and their friends develop crushes on boys at school. He also knew that a young girl’s fancy was almost always passing.
He hoped Char’s crush had been short-lived. To satisfy his curiosity, he flipped forward a few pages, pausing only when he spotted his name. “Yep,” he said with a sigh of relief, “hero worship.”
Totally misplaced, his conscience added.
He was about to close the journal and stuff the entire bag under the seat where he’d found it when the book seemed to flip open on its own. To a page Char had read more than once, he figured. He skimmed the page.
“No way.” He sat up a little straighter.
He read it again, more slowly. “No, freakin’ way.” He was on his third time when the words finally sank in and he let out a low cry, “This can’t be true.”
Any hope Char might have harbored that her passenger would go unnoticed by her host and the guests was d
ashed when Jenna asked, “Who’s that in your car?”
“You brought somebody with you?” Kat asked. “Why didn’t you invite him in?”
“Uh-oh,” Libby said, hurrying to the window. “She’s grinning. Char never grins. This is serious.”
Libby, founder and rudder of the Wine, Women and Words book club, was uncannily omniscient when it came to her friends’ lives. She rarely needed a talking stick to obtain information.
“His name is Eli Robideaux. He’s an old friend from high school. He dropped in unexpectedly at the store. He’s a little down on his luck and needed a lift.”
She thought for a moment she might have pulled it off…until the real actress in the bunch, Morgan, called her bluff. “Nice try. I like the way you mostly stuck to the truth. He’s probably all of those things, but your eyes were sparkling when you walked in. That kind of sparkle only comes from one thing.” She looked at Kat meaningfully.
“Swoo,” Kat cried dramatically. “Char’s been hit with a powerful dose. Quick. We have to do something.”
Jenna tossed her lush red hair. “Like what? Hose her down with flame retardant? Where’s Mac? I heard him mention going back on active duty with the fire department, maybe he can get us some.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny,” Char said. “If this is swoo, it’s seventeen years too late. He’s married with three kids. I’m giving an old friend a lift. Period.”
A tall, handsome man who had been standing near the front window spoke up. “He resembles the hitchhiker I picked up this morning. Didn’t say more than ten words the whole time. Looked like he’d been on the road for days. Smelled like it, too.”
Char couldn’t deny either observation. “Yeah. Eli needs a bath. That’s one reason he didn’t come in. He said he’s on a spiritual journey, and I gather it started out in a sweat lodge.”
Jack strolled over to Kat and put one arm around her. She relaxed against him with a slight purr of contentment—something Char rarely spotted in the busy, single mother.
“Is Jordie here?” Char asked. She hadn’t seen the little boy in over a week and needed a fix.
“Out back with the others. Shane and Cooper are in charge of games. Mac’s making sure no body bags are needed,” Jenna said. “I think it’s time for cake, don’t you, Lib? Especially since the balloons have arrived.”
After greeting Char and giving her a joyful hug, Megan had raced back outside to be with her friends. Char knew that passing around helium balloons outdoors was a good way to lose them, so she’d loosely tied the ends of the bundle to the back of a chair. The large, pale green Tinker Bell balloon made a musical tinkling sound when it moved.
“Hi, Char,” Mac said, striding toward her—a black and white soccer ball in his hands. “Great balloons. Thanks for bringing them. Miss M,” he called over his shoulder, “did you see the Spiderman and Batman balloons Char brought for Tag and Jordie?”
All of the children—six total—rushed to the table, their small bodies pressing against Char. Char didn’t recognize the other little girls, but she greeted Kat’s boys with a hug and a friendly chuff on the shoulder, respectively.
“Cool balloon,” Tag said, snapping his finger against the shiny black and silver image of Batman.
“Spidie,” Jordie cried. His slight lisp from the missing teeth he’d knocked out was barely noticeable. “He’s my favorite.”
Char knew that.
“The Tinker Bell balloon has a special present with it, Megan,” Char said.
“Awesome,” Megan exclaimed, sounding older than five. “Look, Daddy, see the little box? Can I open it now?”
Mac looked at Morgan for guidance. “Cake first, then presents?”
“Cake.”
“Cake.”
The chant caught on in a hurry. Char’s ears rang, but in a good way. She’d have loved to stay and watch all the excitement, but Eli Robideaux was in her car. The chance of that happening was so remote that it simply had to possess some kind of significance. Without getting all woo-woo, as Jenna would say, Char knew he was here for a reason.
“Meggie,” she said, motioning the child to her. “Give me a hug. I’m sorry I can’t stay for cake and ice cream, but I have to help a friend.”
Megan pouted for a half a second then brightened. “A boyfriend?” Giggling, she put her fingers to her lips as if she’d given away a secret. “Miss Char’s got a boyfriend.”
Char felt all eyes turning her way. The last thing she wanted was to answer questions that didn’t have answers. Not yet anyway. “Have fun with your friends, sweetheart. I’ll call you later to see if you liked your present. Bye,” she said, fleeing without a backward glance.
Libby would text her before the day was over. Jenna and Kat would follow up, too. They were her friends. They cared about her. But at the moment, she was more concerned about an old friend.
Fur-rend? Don’t you be lyin’ to yourself, Chickadee. He weren’t never your friend.
The old black woman was right. Back then Eli was a god, a rock star and Michael Jordan all rolled into one. He and Char shared the same space in the way the sun and an unnamed asteroid both hang out in the sky. He pretty much confirmed this morning that he barely knew she existed. The only reason he did the evil deed with her was because…well, because he was a hot-blooded, horny boy.
She stopped halfway to the car. The air was cool, the breeze crisp. It should have helped calm the giddy, ridiculous buzz of expectation swirling inside her head and chest.
“Focus. Focus. Don’t forget he tried to rob you.”
A sobering thought. Unfortunately, the image of a down-and-out Eli couldn’t quite overshadow the memory she’d secretly nurtured all these years of the young-sex-god Eli. How many first-meet scenarios had she imagined between them? Dozens. Maybe more. None had involved getting robbed, but most had led to the kinds of things she absolutely had no business thinking about. None. At all.
Uh-huh. Then whatcha doin’ thinkin’ about ‘em?
She shook her head and pretended to search her pockets for her keys, in case any of her friends were watching from the window. This was silly. She was freaking out for nothing. She knew perfectly well it was dumb—no, make that self-destructive—to hope for even a nanosecond that he’d re-entered her life with an actual purpose. Whatever force or forces—fate, God, the universe—might have orchestrated this meeting, Eli obviously wasn’t privy to any bigger picture. Not only had he failed to recognize her when she told him her name, he only associated her with that repugnant, misogynistic nickname. What kind of idiot would look for a sign in that?
Yo’ mama’s kind.
“I am not my mother,” she muttered with an indignant huff. “What do I have to do to prove that?”
Unlike her mother, Char wasn’t promiscuous. She didn’t party. She’d earned her own way since high school. She’d never been married let alone tied the knot with the first fairly cute loser who came along, divorced his ass a year or two later and started the whole cycle over again.
The single impulsive screw up in Char’s past that even vaguely resembled something her mother would have done involved Eli. And, then, she’d chosen to act responsibly—not a claim her mother ever could have made.
Did she regret her choice? Of course, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been the right thing to do. And having Eli suddenly show up out of the blue didn’t mean anything. Did it?
Her normally loquacious conscience remained atypically silent.
“Fine,” she muttered. “Whatever.”
She hurried along the sidewalk until she could see her car. Still there, she noted, trying desperately to ignore the fluttering sensation in her belly.
She was within two steps of the car when she saw that he wasn’t sleeping sitting up as she’d assumed but was intently reading something on his lap. Her heart rate spiked the instant she confirmed her worst fear.
“Oh, God, no. Not my journal.”
Chapter 4
Eli heard Char’s cry of outr
age but he was too numb to react. A drum was thumping inside his brain. The words she’d written in a girlish combination of print and cursive seemed burned into his mind.
Guess who took care of him? Yep, me. And by took care I mean what you think. Why? Because I knew I’d never get another chance. Who wouldn’t make love to a god?
She’d spent two pages describing a night Eli could barely remember. His bachelor party had started out like any other party. His cousin—and then best friend—Robert had taken him out to Lake Sharpe to meet a bunch of friends and teammates. At some point in the night he and Robert had gotten into a fist fight. Eli couldn’t remember what they’d been fighting about. He vividly recalled everyone freaking out.
“Holy shit, Robert,” someone had shouted. “Bobbi’s gonna skin you alive if Eli shows up with two black eyes and a broken nose.”
He vaguely recalled Robert helping him stumble up to the back door of the dyke nurse’s house. Everyone knew her sexual preferences—even if nobody in their right mind would have openly “come out of the closet” in such a conservative and close-minded atmosphere. The truth didn’t keep people in need from seeking her services. Got an itch that probably didn’t come from a toilet seat? Go see the elder Jones sister. Need stitches but can’t afford the E.R.? Pam Jones would help you out for a few bucks, a barter or for free, if it came right down to it.
People like Eli went to Nurse Jones when you didn’t want your business spread around town. He sorta remembered knocking on her door, but not much after that. He had no memory whatsoever of what Char had written. And he wasn’t sure he even believed any of it. Especially the part that showed up toward the end of the book.
I haven’t written for a long time because I didn’t want to take a chance on Mom or Aunt Pam finding this and reading that I was pregnant. I didn’t think it could happen from just one time, but it did. Too bad Eli’s happily married and living in San Diego.
Black Hills Native Son: a Hollywood-meets-the-real-wild-west contemporary romance series (Black Hills Rendezvous Book 5) Page 4