There were no more marble countertops, four-place eating bar, hardwood floors, industrial-sized fridge and freezer, walk-in pantry, six-burner gas range top, two wall ovens, and a breakfast area built into the bay window that overlooked the deck and pool to enjoy coffee and the newspaper. Jude sagged against the table.
“It’ll be okay.” Emery removed the digital kettle from a box. “Once we get everything unpacked, it’ll be as cozy as—”
“I don’t need a pep talk.” Jude dug inside another box for mugs.
“I know, but you lived in a beautiful house.” Emery filled the kettle. “You had a six-figure job.”
“And I’ll rebuild.” Jude set the cups on the dining room table that had no business being in the kitchen. “I’m not sure how, but I’ll figure out something.”
If only the general public knew the difficulties band members faced. A building loan? Not happening even with a five-star credit rating, because banks and other financial institutions couldn’t enter the reserve to foreclose, so a person had to have enough equity or collateral to match the loan, located off the reserve the bank could access.
Then there was the ministerial guarantee, which meant the involvement of band council. Dad had gone this route to build his house. Jude would, too, depending on who sat at the leadership table after April’s election. If Clayton Kabatay became the big pooh-bah, crumbling ground zero might become Jude’s forever home, or until the next election.
Another option was putting his name on the housing list, but he’d have no say in the design or size. The reserve purchased construction packages, which was why every damned house on an Indian Reserve looked the same, starting with this junk pile of wood and nails.
“Your vein...” Emery grinned. “The one on your forehead...”
“Is sticking out?” Jude switched on the water taps. “I’ll give these a cleaning.” He set the mugs in the sink.
“Don’t wash too much. Mom said she’d be here bright and early to get the house settled. She knows you want to go to the school right away.” Emery dug around in another box. “Where are the tea bags?”
“Forget it.” Jude switched off the taps because the bottle of Sunshine Soap was hidden in one of the bazillion boxes.
Emery moved to the sink. “Sit. I got this.”
Jude plopped in the chair. “Y’know, I’d let the kids stay in the city to finish the school year, instead of coming up to this disorganized mess, but the last year has been difficult enough for them.”
“Disorganized? True. But Mom’ll settle you in. She kept a fire burning ever since we left for Thunder Bay.”
A woodstove. Jude stifled the spittle itching to escape his mouth and hit the smooth wood finish of the table. He’d have to figure out how to keep the place warm, but not too warm. At least the house was located a road away from the school in the district everyone referred to as downtown, so he could sneak over on his lunch hour and reload the woodstove.
“I learned how to make a fire when I was eight. I had to know. The kids’ll grow up fast here,” Emery said, as if reading Jude’s mind.
Jude glanced away from the woodstove in the corner of the living room. “They’re seven and eight. I don’t want my kids near a fire.”
“They’re going to be eight and nine in the summer. They have to learn.” Emery withdrew the dish soap from a box. “I was chopping wood at their age. It’s different up here for kids. They’re a part of the community and expected to participate, not like in the cities or towns where they can be sheltered. We don’t have that luxury up here.”
“It was a different time when you were growing up.”
Emery threw on the taps. Water shot from the faucet. “I turned twenty-nine in November. I’m not that old.”
“Okay, you can teach Noah how to build a fire, but you have to supervise him at all times.” Jude lifted his finger.
“I’ll watch him,” Emery replied in a reassuring tone. “And don’t be pointing. You’re as bad as Dad. You know it’s considered rude.”
“He only does so to get his point across.”
“I know. He did it to me all the time.” Emery’s cell phone dinged. “It’s Darryl. He’s on his way. I’ll wash a mug for him.”
“How goes your schooling?”
“Good. It keeps me too busy. A lot of papers, research, and studying. Sometimes I wonder if I should have been content with my BSW.” Emery kept digging around in the boxes and setting the items on the counter.
“Is that why you didn’t apply for the mental health counselor job? I thought for sure you would’ve. You were a shoo-in.”
“Darryl kept telling me we didn’t need the money and he wants me to concentrate on finishing my master’s.”
“Speaking of finishing schooling...” Jude folded his arms. “I need to get on the adult education files, pronto. I’m meeting with Dad tomorrow morning at the school.”
“He’ll be glad to hand that stack over to you. The one student isn’t very cooperative.” Emery filled the digital kettle and plugged it in.
“Oh? Who?”
“Raven Kabatay. I guess she was doing terrific. Straight A’s, except for math. Now, she’s arguing with Dad about everything.”
“Great. One of Clayton’s sisters, right?”
“Yes.” Emery set three teabags into the teapot.
“Anything I should know about her?” Scratching his brow, Jude stifled a sigh.
“She works at Cookie’s. A waitress. She’s big in the recovery program, too.”
“Recovery?” He sat up in the chair.
“She’s a recovering addict.” The kettle beeped. Emery lifted it off the stand and filled the teapot. “Darryl said she moved back about two and a half years ago after she got out of treatment.”
Shit happened. Bridget’s husband was a recovering alcoholic. “Good on her. If she wants to better her life, why’s she—Never mind.” Raven was a Kabatay, and the Kabatay family were determined to keep the so-called family feud burning.
Headlights appeared in the kitchen window. Jude’s brother-in-law had arrived. A truck door slammed. Barking ensued.
“He brought your fur kids?”
“Of course.” Emery placed the mugs on the table. He dug around in another box and produced the honey.
The back door opened, then slammed shut. “Aniin. Aaniish naa ezhiyaayin?”
“Quit showing off and speak English,” Jude muttered. “As for how I’m doing, I’m here, aren’t I?”
Darryl swaggered into the kitchen, having doffed his parka on the hooks next to the door. “You’re still not enjoying yourself?” Amusement glimmered in his small, dark eyes.
“What do you think?” Jude couldn’t help the dryness in his tone.
“Easy. Now that we got you cornered, I need to talk to you about something.”
“You make fun of me, and now got the nerve to ask me for a favor?” Jude shook his head, a smirk forcing his lips to move upward. “What is it?” He took the cup Emery held out.
Darryl accepted the other teacup Emery offered. “I’m running for chief.”
This wasn’t a big shocker. Darryl already served on band council, and he’d gotten in on his first try at the leadership table. Considering he held a master’s in Indigenous Governance, his education and personality made him a winner in the political ring.
“And... “
Darryl’s vest had embroidery of his clan stitched in a circle on the left breast. He reached inside the inner pocket and produced a fist-sized leather pouch.
Jude held his breath.
Darryl pinched the tobacco between his thumbnail and index finger. He placed the contents in front of Jude.
“What am I—” Jude took the tobacco.
“I’m asking if you’ll be my campaign manager.” The slant of Darryl’s eyes confirmed how serious he was.
“Campaign manager?” Jude couldn’t say no. To be asked was an honor. Especially since
most candidates didn’t campaign on reserves, not like in Western culture. Communities were small and very tight-knit. Roughly over two thousand people lived in Ottertail Lake. Everyone knew everyone.
He cleared his throat. “I was under the impression you were running for council.”
“That was the plan.” Darryl added a dollop of honey to the tea. “But Roy asked me if I’d run for chief.”
Roy Morrison was Dad’s BFF, and he also sat on band council. “Why?”
“Politics. What else?” Darryl set his elbow on the table and rested his round chin in his palm. “Roy figures with Willie gone, Clayton’ll go for chief and try his best this time to have a quorum in his favor.”
“He hasn’t in the past, has he?” Of course not, otherwise Dad would have been ousted as principal.
Darryl sipped his tea. “There’s the self-governance model that I developed.”
The project was the reason for Darryl’s return to the reserve. He’d been hired on to manage the self-governance initiative, which was now complete.
“Do you think he’ll readjust the model you developed?”
“More so.” Darryl lips firmed. “What Clayton wants is everyone with white blood off this reserve.”
Jude glanced at his brother. Irish and German descent ran through their veins from Mom.
“And you know he’ll go after the church again,” Darryl added.
“Naturally.” Jude sat back and massaged his temples. “What about the school? We have two non-native teachers.”
“He’ll oust them. He’ll oust you, too.”
“Nope. I didn’t give up six figures, a great pension, and my dream house for nothing. And he’s not screwing around with my kids’ education.”
“That’s why I need you as my campaign manager. You’re a natural leader.” Darryl kept gazing at Jude, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Jude glanced at Emery, who sat in silence across the table, nursing his tea.
“We talked about it,” Emery began. “I agree. I think you’d be an excellent campaign manager. Politics... you know it’s not my field.”
“It’s not my field either.” Jude picked a pen off the table and stuck the end in his mouth.
“Sure it is. You’ve served on the pastoral council at your church in T. Bay. You served as president for the Catholic Men’s Association. You sat on the board for your golf course. You became a principal before you were thirty-five. Not too many people your age achieve what you’ve accomplished. Leadership’s part of you.” Darryl tapped where his heart lay beneath his vest.
“Becoming a principal was a lot of work.” Jude set aside the pen. “A lot of night school.”
“Isn’t that why you and... ah, well, your ex-wife held off on kids? You both wanted to concentrate on your careers first.”
True. Well, Jude was starting over here. Starting over at thirty-eight. This was his new home, and his kids’ new home. Becoming involved in the community was imperative. He wasn’t going to sit on his ass while others did the work to make Ottertail Lake the best place to live.
“Okay. I’m your campaign manager.”
“I knew you’d say yes.” Darryl’s palm came out. “With you as my wingman, I know we can go up against the Kabatays.”
Jude clasped Darryl’s hand. “They’re a huge family, aren’t they? We got our work cut out for us.”
“We sure do.” Darryl grimaced.
“They won’t fight fair.” This came from Emery.
“Yeah, they’ll try dig up dirt on you. If there are skeletons, you’d better let me know. Pronto.” Jude winked.
“None that I can think of.” Darryl shrugged.
“What about when you lived in Winnipeg?” Jude’s brother-in-law had been a single man and hurting big-time after being dumped by Emery.
Red crept onto Darryl’s face. He glanced away. “I was in my twenties. I went out bar-hopping and whatnot.”
Emery’s normally fair skin pinkened. “Maybe we should focus on our strategy.”
Jude’s gaze darted to a still-staring-at-nothing Darryl and then to a still-pink-faced Emery. Was there something they weren’t telling him—something possibly dirty enough to cost Darryl the election?
Chapter Four: There’s Something I Like About That
Frost nipped at Raven’s exposed skin, the kind of frost that burned. At least there wasn’t a wind chill, or minus thirty-seven would become minus forty-seven. She scurried from her sister’s truck she’d parked, dashed up the shoveled walkway, and into the school.
All was quiet, classes for the kids having finished for the day. The scent of pine cleaner permeated the squeaky-clean hallway. She hurried to the adult education classroom. Since her vehicle was the lone truck in the lot, she might be the only one here. Even the new principal wasn’t present, unless he’d foolishly walked over.
She entered the classroom to Jude Matawapit sitting at the teacher’s desk, hunched over, writing on some paper.
“I was beginning to wonder if any of my students would arrive.” His strong fingers gripped a pen. His jet-black hair with blue undertones was slicked off his face and tapered to a short-trimmed back. Dark irises richer than a moonless night, so dark his lashes gave the illusion of a generous coating of mascara and liner-rimmed eyes, stared at her.
Not gawked, not ogled, not leered like every other guy did. He simply stared. His plump lips didn’t form into a flirty smile, either.
Jude stood. A white dress shirt hugged his pumped biceps and shoulders that formed into the size of baseballs. A black belt wrapped his ultra-slim waist. And a gold clip kept his line-striped burgundy tie secure. “Have a seat. It looks to be you and me tonight.”
Raven inched up the aisle. Her boldness remained at the door, where she’d probably dropped her tongue. She clutched her books and sat at the desk directly in front of him.
“I’ve been reviewing your file.” He closed the folder, and just like Deacon Matawapit, crossed his strong arms. They even shared the same rich baritone—direct and full of authority. “You were an A-plus student, but as of late you haven’t been handing in assignments. Once you get behind, it’s difficult to catch up. I’ve seen this happen too many times during my years educating others. When a student falls behind, most give up.”
A flame of annoyance flickered in Raven’s stomach. Never mind Jude Matawapit’s handsome white teeth, flawless red-toned brown skin, or run-her-nails-along-his-muscles build. Who was he to talk down to her like a kid? He was worse than her siblings and Mom.
Raven stared up at the white stucco ceiling. “I’ve been extremely busy. Not all of us make big money and do what we please. I’ve been pulling extra shifts at the diner.”
“Did you review your last three assignments, then?” Jude stuck the end of the pen into his mouth.
There was something about the way his red lips and white teeth nibbled on the cap. And she hadn’t witnessed a man in his late thirties gnawing on one like a hungry beaver.
Jude popped the pen cap between his rich lips, as if sucking on a lollipop, and released it. When he rounded the desk, his thick fingers glided across the top. He stopped in the middle, the fingers of his left hand still lingering on the desk’s surface. He rested his buttocks against the edge while crossing his sturdy thighs.
His stance, a get-down-to-business sort of manner, should have intimidated Raven but failed. His brows-bunched-together stare and drawn-in cheeks seemed to coax her to lean in closer and rest her elbow on top of her own desk. She set her chin on her knuckles. “I’m completing them here tonight.”
“Do you have any questions?”
She shook her head, still holding his stare. “I guess I should get comfy, huh?”
“Comfy?”
“Removed my toque and coat.” She sat back, hands brushing the edge of her desk and arms spread wide.
* * * *
Jude shouldn’t care if Raven was about to undress. He’d seen
many students remove their outerwear in class. But the down parka on Raven didn’t swallow her ballerina-lithe body like a garbage bag. The coat was the fashionable snug style, silhouetting her supple form. Long strands of black hair lay against her sharper-than-razors cheekbones.
Her perfectly applied winged eyeliner gave her slanted black eyes a mysterious cat-shape appeal. Rich burgundy lipstick, matching the shade of his tie, plumped her lips to a sensual pout, or maybe her mouth naturally retained a pucker. As she stood to drape the parka over the chair, she gave him a nice view of the skinny jeans painted on her slender thighs and gently rounded butt.
She whipped her head around, peeking at him through the fringe of her super-long lashes.
Heat climbed onto Jude’s face. He shoved the pen back into his mouth and chewed on the cap. Adult or not, she was a student—his student. Maintaining a professional distance was a must.
Raven’s moist-looking mouth tugged at the corners. A hint of triumph flashed in her eyes. Well, well, she’d stolen a look purposely, expecting him to check her out. A hot coal flared in Jude’s chest. He rounded his desk, making sure to move slowly, heels clicking one after the other on the floor. She’d get the hint he meant business.
“Why don’t you catch up on your lessons? There’s no point in reviewing the next one until you’re finished those.” He used his pen to point in her direction. Traditionalist or not, she could suck up his supposed rudeness. In his world, pointing told another a man wasn’t screwing around or willing to play games.
Raven sat. She flipped open her textbook and binder.
“Which lesson are you working on?”
“History. A pity. We are the First People, but it’s all about... those who sailed over here.” Her husky voice, deeper than most women’s, with a light scratch to the tone, was sensual nails grazing Jude’s skin.
He gripped and re-gripped the pen. “At my former school, we were building the curriculum into the current courses.”
“Did you teach high school or elementary? You taught for the Catholic Board of Education, didn’t you?”
“Elementary.”
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