Which was how she found herself maybe not playing soccer, but refereeing the game. Jamie turned out to be the oldest kid at the center, maybe ten or eleven. And he was the son of the mysterious Nobody—adopted, Tammy told her in quiet tones from where she sat in the shade, keeping an eye on the babies.
“Are they related?”
Tammy shook her head, but then added, “We’re all related somewhere along the line, you know?”
Summer remembered Clarence had adopted Tammy’s son, too. The whole thing was so unusual. She’d encountered more than her fair share of relatives who refused to take a child into their home for whatever reasons. She’d seen kids get shunted off to foster care, alone and unwanted. Black, white—it hadn’t really mattered.
But here, relatives stepped up. Non-relatives stepped up. People took care of the kids—or they tried, anyway. Summer looked at Georgey as he coached his team of kids, ranging from ages three to nine, up and down the field. Was she really it?
But then she thought of Tim Means. He’d had Georgey sleeping on his couch rather than leaving him in a cell. He’d fronted the money for the glass to replace the broken window.
“He’s doing well,” Tammy observed as Georgey yelled, “No, no—the other way—the other way!” as a little kid headed for his own goal.
Summer didn’t even try to hide her smile as Georgey went “Argh!” in frustration—but didn’t cuss.
“I’m still trying to understand everything,” she told Tammy. “Where is his mom?”
Tammy sighed. “I hate it when a kid slips through the cracks. But the thing is, the cracks out here on the rez are so much bigger and there are so many more of them. We do the best we can but before the center here opened, there was no place for kids to go. They either stayed with relatives while their parents worked or they were home alone.”
“Seriously? I can’t imagine leaving a little kid home alone like that.”
“It happens. I just wish we had something for the older kids. Jamie only comes because Melonie adopted him with Nobody. Kids like Shorty and Blaine—Georgey’s friends—they’re too old for this.”
“Great job, buddy!” Georgey yelled when a little boy went the right way and actually managed to kick the ball.
“They don’t have anywhere to go or anything safe to do and that’s when the gangs get them,” Tammy finished sadly. “Tim’s doing his best, but one or two men can’t hold back the wind.”
“Aren’t there any after-school programs? Sports or drama?”
Tammy gave her a sad smile. “Most kids drop out before that point.”
“Tim mentioned that I might be able to pick up teaching some GED classes at…um…”
“Sinte Gliske? I got my associate’s degree from there. That’d be great. If you’re going to stay for a while…”
Summer looked out at the gaggle of kids running and kicking and—yes—falling down, all laughing and shouting and having fun. All the kids had the same dark hair, the same brown skin—and the same huge smiles. This was as close to the way she remembered the pow wow had made her feel yet. The sense of community pulled at her.
No, it wasn’t community. It was something stronger. Family. “I want to make sure things with Georgey are really settled,” she told Tammy. Not to mention things with a certain sheriff. “And Tim said there was a pow wow in a few months. I haven’t been to one since I was twelve.”
“Where are you staying? With Dr. Mitchell?”
Summer’s cheeks got hot. “Um, no—actually, we’re staying with Tim. Sheriff Means,” she added stupidly, as if Tammy didn’t know who Tim was. But suddenly it felt important to talk about Tim in his professional capacity—without all the familiarity. “He’d been letting Georgey sleep on his couch instead of in a cell at the jail,” she added.
Tammy opened her mouth to say something, then she winced and rubbed at her belly. “Oof, sorry. Well, I’m sure Tim has things for Georgey to do, but I’m always happy to have him help out. The kids love him.”
That much was obvious as someone scored—possibly even on Jamie’s team—and everyone lined up to high-five everyone else. Georgey had a small knot of excited children clinging to his legs and he had on what might have been the first real smile Summer had seen on his face.
If she took him back to Minneapolis with her, he’d lose this. He’d lose people like Clarence and Nobody and Tammy—and, yes, Tim. People who’d go out of their way to give him one more chance, to give him the push he needed.
If she took Georgey back with her, he’d be alone. Not completely alone—but he’d have her and that was it. He’d be cut off from everything he knew, his people and his culture.
Could she do that to her brother?
***
Tim dragged his butt home at a reasonable six-thirty in the evening. Everyone had been processed. Everyone with outstanding warrants had been handed up the food chain. Everyone who was going to make bail had made bail.
The FBI was all over the Los Perros lead and Tim had been effectively iced out. Normally, that might have sat wrong with him—but he was just too damn tired to care.
He hurt and he didn’t want to see the inside of the White Sandy police station again for another week. Which wasn’t going to happen. He was going to be right back there tomorrow morning sometime between seven and eight.
It was a sad day when twelve solid hours at home was like a vacation.
He should still be at the station. Jack was sleeping on the station couch tonight and—against Tim’s better judgment—Nobody was going to be out and about. Tim and Jack were running on less than fumes and if some shit went down, Nobody was going to be the first responder, anyway.
Tim did not like Nobody Bodine. But at this point, the man was acting almost as an unofficial deputy. It went against everything Tim held true about the law and if Nobody stuck anyone in a cell, Tim would have to let them go tomorrow morning.
But he needed sleep. Jack wasn’t much better. So Nobody Bodine was the last line of defense on the White Sandy tonight.
Summer’s car was parked in front of his house. Just about the only thing that had kept him going today had been the thought of coming home to her and picking up where he’d left off—half naked and wrapped up in each other. All naked would be better but Tim was happy to take what he could get at this point.
He put his shoulder in the door and almost fell in to his house. Okay, so maybe the all-naked thing would have to wait just a little bit longer.
From the kitchen, Summer spun and let out a squeak. She had his oven mitt on her hand and she appeared to be…cooking?
“Tim! You scared me!”
“Sorry,” he said, dragging his butt inside and getting the door shut. “The door sticks.”
Her lips quirked into a grin. “So I’ve noticed.” She looked at him. “You look exhausted. I’m making dinner, if you can hold out that long.”
Tim exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. For years, he’d come home to an empty, dark house. There was something so profoundly normal about Summer waiting for him that he didn’t even recognize the emotions that tumbled through him. He just suddenly knew he’d been missing this moment for a long, long time.
“I will eat anything you put in front of me,” he told her, slouching into the kitchen chair then sitting up straighter because slouching didn’t work with his ribs.
“It’s not fancy,” she told him. She opened the fridge and the next thing he knew, she set a beer in front of him. “You don’t have a lot to work with. Macaroni and cheese, hot dogs, and green beans.”
He stared at the beer for what felt like a stupid long time before he looked up at her. She was standing at the edge of the table and she had on this sweet little grin as she watched over him and all of a sudden, he thought, I could love you. The words tripped right up to the end of his tongue before he managed to clamp his jaw shut.
That was not the thing he should say right now. Yeah, he liked her and yeah, he’d enjoyed kissing
her earlier and okay, yeah, she’d been the one person who’d kept him going all day long. But even in his sorry state, declarations of love just because a pretty woman made him dinner and got him a beer before he realized he wanted one were a bad move.
He opened the beer and took a long pull. “It sounds wonderful,” he said sincerely. If he’d come home on his own, he probably would’ve had a couple hot dogs and fallen into bed. But macaroni and cheese had never sounded so good.
Then he realized they were alone. “Where’s Georgey?”
“In the shower,” she said in a severe tone. “He smelled like expired aftershave. It was not pretty. But,” she went on, sounding far perkier than Tim could achieve at the moment, “he got the window in and done and he spent the afternoon chasing small children around the field with a soccer ball. And he didn’t even cuss that much.”
Tim felt the grin on his face. “Is that a fact?”
“He’s welcome back at the childcare center any time,” she told him as she put his oven mitts back on and lifted the pot of boiling water and noodles. She carried it to the sink, but Tim knew he didn’t have a strainer. As he watched, she picked up a plate, held it over the lip of the pot, and slowly poured out most of the water.
It was nuts how much watching her do that affected him. Jesus, he must be more tired than he’d thought, but seriously? Not only could he love her, she could fit in his world. He knew she had to have a better life back in Minneapolis—one that included basic kitchen utensils like strainers—but she’d just slipped right into his as if she’d always been here.
He couldn’t tell her that, not without sounding like a wacko. But…
Tim pulled himself to his feet. “How long has he been in the shower?” he asked as he walked toward her.
“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. He…”
But whatever she’d been about to say faded away as Tim reached her. “Then we’ve got a few minutes,” he said low and close to her ear as he trailed his fingers over her shoulder and down her back.
She carefully set the pot upright so she wouldn’t lose all her noodles, then turned. Tim’s hands came to rest on her waist and he leaned into her. “I suppose we do,” she said in a breathy voice as her arms came around his neck and she tilted her head up.
“This counts as later,” he told her as he brushed his lips over her forehead and her cheek before working his way toward her mouth.
“Definitely later,” she agreed.
God, she felt so good in his arms. The warmth of her body drove the pain in his chest away and the way her mouth moved against his?
He’d been kissing girls since he was at least Georgey’s age. But not recently. He’d forgotten how much he loved the soft touch and sweet little noises women made. It was entirely possible he was just too tired and everything was affecting him too much but he didn’t think so. He didn’t feel so.
He had a vague sense this was all out of order. There hadn’t been anything that could count as a date, but all he wanted to do was walk her back to the bed and sink into her body.
“Tim,” she whispered against his skin as his hands begin to slide up over her ribs. To his ears, it sounded a hell of a lot like yes.
“A-hem.”
Summer jumped in his arms and Tim knew what that sound was. That was a no, plain as day.
He half-turned—it was as far as he could go without releasing Summer—and found Georgey staring at them. His hair was wet and his eyes narrowed and he’d crossed his arms in disapproval. For some reason, the combination made Tim want to laugh. Even though the kid was all of a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, he was pulling off a very good impression of intimidating at the moment. All because Tim was kissing his sister. A sister he hadn’t even remembered having until last week.
But Tim didn’t laugh.
“Georgey!” Summer gasped, trying to wriggle out of Tim’s arms. He didn’t let go. “We were just—I mean—um…”
“Heard you got the window in,” Tim said, pivoting until Summer was behind him. She was embarrassed, that much he could tell. He wanted to protect her from that. “It better still be there tomorrow.”
Georgey looked indignant. “I’m not gonna break it again.”
“You might not. But someone else might. And wouldn’t that be a shame.”
The kid’s eyes got even wider. “You mean you’d make me fix it again if someone else breaks it?”
Tim shrugged. “You know how to do it.” When Georgey glared at him, Tim said, “It’s not much fun when people trash your shit, is it?”
“You’re an ass—”
Instead of hiding behind him, Summer stepped around him. Tim shouldn’t, but he put his arm back around her waist.
Georgey stumbled on asshole so quickly he all but bit himself. “Jerk,” he bit off.
Tim grinned at him over Summer’s head. “You’re coming with me tomorrow morning,” he told the kid. “My jail got trashed by a bunch of gangbangers and state troopers and you’re still doing community service.” When Georgey groaned, Tim added, “If you can make it through the morning without pissing me off, I’ll let you go play soccer with the kids again in the afternoon. I heard you did a good job.”
Georgey’s mouth flopped open, but whatever remark he'd been about to make died in the face of the compliment. “Oh. It was fun. Better than putting in a window,” he mumbled, dropping his gaze. He almost looked like he was blushing.
There was hope for that kid yet. Tim was lifted by a feeling he was doing something right—he and Summer. Together, they were holding Georgey back from the edge of disaster. “Your sister made us dinner. Set the table.”
There was a moment where no one moved. Summer hadn’t said anything since Georgey stumbled upon them kissing. Georgey looked like he was debating whether he was going along with any of this. And Tim was just waiting to see who’d give first.
It was Summer. “The macaroni and cheese is almost ready,” she said and this time, when she pulled away from Tim, he had no choice but to let her go.
He did want to eat, after all.
Dinner was interesting. Georgey kept looking at him, then Summer, then him again. Summer kept laughing in a high, tight way Tim took to mean she was nervous. And Tim—well, dinner was a hell of a lot better than anything he would’ve cooked for himself.
He couldn’t quite figure out why Summer was so anxious, though. It wasn’t as if Georgey didn’t know people kissed. Knowing his mother, Tim wouldn’t be surprised if the kid had walked in on a lot worse. And the kid had to have had girlfriends. He was attractive enough, in that dorky teenager way girls liked.
She kept up a steady stream of small talk, about the soccer game Georgey had coached and GED classes out of the college and whether Georgey should get his GED or if he should reenroll and finish high school traditionally. Georgey, for his part, kept his mouth shut and his eyes down. Odd.
Finally Summer seemed to run out of things to talk about. Which was fine, because they were done eating.
“Well!” she said, standing and grinning like a loon. “Georgey, why don’t you start on the dishes while I check Tim’s ribs.”
Georgey smirked. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
Summer shot tomato red and before he knew what he was doing, Tim leaned over and smacked the kid upside the back of the head. “Don’t talk to your sister that way.”
Summer gasped, her eyes wide with shock. “You two,” she said in exasperation. Even though she was still bright red, she stood and pointed at Georgey. “You watch your attitude.” The kid had the good sense to look at least a little cowered.
Then she swung that dangerous finger toward him. “And you. You can’t keep smacking him around.”
“Why not?” The moment he said it, Tim realized that was not the right thing. But honestly, he was a little confused. He tackled people, he shot people—he was, at this very moment, giving Nobody Bodine more-or-less a blank check to do all the same things.
“Beca
use,” Summer said, clearly flustered. “We are not allowed to touch the children under any circumstance. Period.”
Tim couldn’t help it. He cracked a grin. He glanced at Georgey and saw Georgey was trying not to laugh, too. “You know we’re not in school, right?”
He was making this worse. Summer was so angry, he swore he could see steam start to come out of her ears. “Yes. Thank you. I’m aware I’m not at school. But there's still a code of conduct I believe must be upheld. And that includes no physical assaults on the children.”
“He barely hit me,” Georgey said, miraculously coming to Tim’s defense when he could have easily piled on. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Of course it is,” she shot back and stormed from the room.
“Get started on the dishes,” Tim told Georgey. He forced himself to his feet and followed Summer.
Georgey might’ve made some noises of disapproval, but Tim ignored him. The kid had no room to talk anyway. “Summer?”
She was pacing in the bedroom, worrying the nail on her thumb. “I’m—I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?” He needed to tread carefully here.
“I overreacted, didn’t I? I know I did.” She stopped pacing and took some deep breaths that involved her hands pushing imaginary air in and out. “We’re not allowed to touch the students,” she said again, as if that explained everything.
“I picked up on that,” he told her, easing himself down onto the bed. He left the door open on purpose because he suspected the fact that Georgey caught them kissing was at least sixty percent of the problem. “I don’t beat kids, you know.”
She looked stricken. “I didn’t say you did. I’m just not used to the rules here. If I touched a student like that, I might’ve even been suspended from work. Violence is never the answer.”
At that, Tim couldn’t help but snort. He began to work the buttons on his uniform shirt. “That’s a real pretty sentiment,” he said, and he realized it came out sounding patronizing.
Now she was glaring at him. “You think I’m ridiculous.”
It was not a question. “No, I don’t. Like you said, you’re not used to the rules around here. I’m sure in your world, people keep their hands to themselves and live in harmony. But in my world,” he went on, wincing as he moved his arm to slide the shirt off, “violence is a way of life.”
The Sheriff (Men of the White Sandy Book 5) Page 9