Straddling the Line

by Sarah M. Anderson

“Ben, that hurts.” Bobby made a sad face at him, somehow managing to look exactly like their mother when she was disappointed in him. “Come with me in a few weeks and I’ll show you what I’ve been working on.”

  “We can’t afford it.” Whatever “it” was, Ben was not footing the bill this time. Despite his best attempts, Bobby had not managed to do lasting harm to the company. Not yet, anyway. Ben couldn’t help but feel that the whole business was just one Bobby-based incident away from financial ruin, and it fell to Ben to contain the youngest Bolton.

  “Boy, the camera is going to love you, big brother.” Bobby held up his hands like he was framing Ben for a shot. “Brooding, handsome, rich—”

  Camera? Hell. Ben picked up the most recent bank statement—the one with all the charges from swanky New York hotels and martini bars—and flung it at Bobby. “Not that rich, thanks to you.”

  “That’s all going to change, I swear. This deal—”

  “No. No more deals.”

  “Yes.” Bobby shot back at lightning speed. “I already talked to Dad about it.”

  The pain clobbered Ben in the forehead, the kind of instantaneous headache he imagined rhinoceroses got when they hit a brick wall going full tilt. Bobby’s ultimate trump card—he’d already talked to Dad.

  Ben felt like he was a kid again, back when he’d wanted to go to some science center on a family trip. Billy had been too old to care one way or another; Bobby had wanted to go to the zoo. Bobby had always wanted to go to the zoo, but Ben had wanted to see something besides pitiful animals.

  He and Bobby had gotten into a big fight over it before Mom had broken them up. Ben had gotten a whipping while Mom had cuddled her “poor baby” and kissed the satisfying goose egg Ben had managed to get in on a parting shot. And after everyone had calmed down, Dad had glared at Ben and firmly announced that they were all going to the damn zoo.

  Ben looked around his office. Was this any different from being a tiger on display, doomed to spend his life within these four walls, dying to get out and do something different?

  Bobby was sitting there, grinning smugly at the victory. Ben should be used to this—losing the battle before he knew he was fighting one—but some things never seemed to change.

  He looked down at his desk. The bottom half of the brochure was peeking up at him, with a map and directions to the school barely visible.

  He made a snap decision. Bobby went to L.A.; Billy went on test drives. Ben wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life staring at financial reports in this cage of an office.

  It was high time Ben hit the road.

  *

  Josey surveyed the blanket of newspaper covering every possible flat surface in the multipurpose room. “Great job, girls.” Twenty-seven faces beamed at her. “Now, who wants to stir the paint?”

  “Me! Me! Me!” a chorus of little girls all shouted at once as they crowded around the cans.

  Josey couldn’t help but grin at them. The girls didn’t care that the school wouldn’t be done in time, or that she’d failed to get shop equipment. They didn’t even care that the guy who’d promised her some band instruments had called this morning with some lame excuse about a “mix-up” in accounts payable, which meant her “free” trombones would now cost a cool thousand—unless she wanted to get together on, say, Saturday night and “talk” about her donation “needs” a little more. That kind of bait-and-switch wasn’t uncommon, but it was as irritating as all get-out. Plus, she was still without instruments.

  No, none of the kids—the girls clutching their cheap chip brushes, ready to paint, or the boys outside, hacking away at two-by-fours with half-rusted hand saws—cared about any of that. All they cared about was getting their very own school—and helping finish it.

  Josey picked the two oldest girls, Livvy and Ally, to stir. As she crouched down to demonstrate how to pop off the lid, the hair on her arms stood up. Livvy made a noise that sounded like someone had poked her with something sharp. The rest of the room got very still, and the youngest, Kaylie, started to whimper. Josey looked up and saw everyone’s eyes focused on someone behind her. She spun on her heels to see a tall white guy in black motorcycle clothes with dark hair and baby…blue…

  Ben Bolton. Here. Now.

  “I’ll find you after the show.”

  He’d come for her.

  Her mouth went dry as her eyes met his, which flashed with that dangerous desire again. Lord, he looked good. His cheeks were tinged red, his hair was mussed up and his eyes sparkled with mischief. And here she was, looking like she hadn’t showered in two days. She’d fallen into bed after midnight and had been back out here at six this morning. Had she even brushed her teeth today?

  “What are you doing here?” Her voice came out in a stutter. Excellent. She sounded as good as she looked. At least she managed to stand without landing on her butt.

  One corner of his mouth moved in an upward motion. Was that a smile?

  “I came looking for—” Kaylie squeaked and buried her face in Josey’s overalls. Ben startled, as if he was realizing there were other people in the room for the first time. “The school,” he corrected himself. “I came to look at the school.”

  In the awkward silence that followed, Josey found herself wishing that, for just once, she was ready when she saw this man. After the meeting at the bar, she wouldn’t have thought she could be less prepared. Heck, she didn’t even know what to say right now.

  Ben looked around the room. The older girls were protectively standing in front of the younger ones; only the smallest ones were actually looking at him. “I’m sorry,” Josey said, patting Kaylie’s head. “They’re not used to…outsiders.” Which was the nicest way she could think of to say “white people.”

  Ben’s cheeks got the tiniest bit redder. Oh. Blushing. Some of her panic melted into warmth. All kinds of hot.

  “Hi, girls,” he said with a cautious wave. At least he was trying not to be scary. She gave him a few extra bonus points for that. And the way his jacket fit his chest.

  “Hey!” Suddenly, thunderous footsteps echoed down the hallway. “Who the hell are you?”

  As if this situation could get any worse, Don Two Eagles burst into the room. Ben had the good sense to get the heck out of the way—without getting any closer to the kids.

  “Hey, wasicu, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  That, in a nutshell, was why she should not even be attracted to Ben. God forbid, if she acted on that attraction, she’d run a real risk of having people like Don treating her just like this. A few of the braver girls giggled at the Lakota word for white devil—that, and Don’s tendency to cuss no matter who was listening.

  “Don,” Josey said in her meanest polite voice, “this is Ben Bolton. He’s here to take a tour of the school.” She shot a glare at Ben for good measure. Although he didn’t look the least bit concerned by this new development, he played along and nodded.

  Don cranked his head to one side, cracking several joints at once. “Bolton? As in Bruce Bolton, the chopper guy?”

  “That would be my father.” Ben managed to sound cool, but he took a wary step back. A man like Ben Bolton wouldn’t be afraid. He would, however, have a healthy respect for the situation. “You know him?”

  Don cranked his head to the other side. More popping. “I broke my hand on his face back in ’87.” He unnecessarily cracked his knuckles, as if he wouldn’t mind breaking his hand on another Bolton.

  So that’s why Don had argued so vehemently against her going to Crazy Horse Choppers in the first place. It was personal—going back twenty-five years.

  “Sturgis? ’87?” Ben didn’t even look a little intimidated. In fact, the grin on his face said he was amused. “You’re the one who broke his jaw? He was wired shut for a month after that. Most peaceful month of my life.” Ben advanced on Don. Now it was the older man’s turn to be confused. “Let me shake your hand, Mr….”

  Don glared at Ben for a moment before he returne
d the grasp. “Don Two Eagles. I’m the shop teacher and coach.” He looked at Josey as if to say, what the heck? All she could do was shrug. Now that she’d met the senior Bolton, she had to admit she was equally impressed that Don had knocked him down. Even if he had broken his hand doing it.

  “A real pleasure.” Ben seemed to mean it, too. He pumped Don’s hand and gave him a hearty slap on the back. “Not too many men have put my old man down for the count.” He chuckled, like this was some cosmic joke. “I’d steer clear of the shop if I were you, though.”

  “I ride Harleys,” Don said, as if that would somehow make this whole interaction less weird.

  Ben grinned, perfectly at ease. “Miss White Plume and I didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation about donations for the school when we last met. I hope you don’t mind me dropping by—I wanted to see the school for myself.” He turned a huge, almost blinding smile to her. She barely recognized him.

  It all sounded great—perfect even—but the buddy-buddy smile didn’t match what his eyes were saying. His eyes were saying, I wanted to see you.

  Her insides got a little melty.

  “Yes—a tour.” She forced herself to look away from Ben’s contradictory face. “He wanted to be sure that we got what we actually needed.”

  Another lie—because she was pretty sure, from the way Ben looked at her, that what he needed was some wildly hot sex.

  Don’s wrinkled face was full of doubt. “Wačhíŋmayaya hwo?” Do you need me?

  “Taŋyáŋ naúŋžiŋpe ló.” No, we’re okay. She felt bad about using Lakota in front of Ben—it was exceptionally rude—but the last thing she needed right now was Don to get his nose bent any further out of shape. Plus, the girls would be more comfortable with the stranger if Josey could keep things calm.

  Don gave Ben the kind of look that made most white people pee their pants. “Aawáŋič’iglaka yo.” Watch yourself.

  Really? What was the point of threatening Ben if he was going to do it in Lakota?

  Ben only notched an eyebrow, like he was thinking, sure, you flattened my old man, but that was a long time ago.

  Josey cleared her throat loudly. “Thanks, Don, but we’re okay,” as if Don had offered to help. Now get out, she thought as she looked at him.

  The big man gave Ben a departing glare before he left. Ben looked around and wiped imaginary sweat off his head—much to the amusement of the girls. Kaylie even managed a small giggle.

  “So,” he said, shining that hundred-watt smile on the room, “about that tour?”

  “Yes. That tour.” What she wouldn’t give to have five minutes in the bathroom—alone—right now. Especially given the way that Ben was looking at her paint-stained overalls, her formerly white tank top and her frizzing braid. Heck, she’d settle for three minutes. “Well.” She made a sweeping sort of gesture, barely clearing Kaylie’s little head. “This is the multipurpose room.”

  God, those eyes—how could they be that blue?

  “Multi?”

  “Gym and cafeteria.” She pointed to the tables at one side. An old elementary school was building a new cafeteria addition in Iowa and had been happy to let Josey haul the ancient fold-up tables and benches out free of charge.

  “Music room,” Livvy said in a whisper.

  “Oh, yes. Thanks.” Josey pointed to the one deer-hide drum in the corner. “And music room.”

  “What is that—a drum?”

  Livvy sniffed in juvenile indignation. “A traditional drum,” Josey explained, shooting him a warning look. She stepped into him, keeping her voice low. “Her father made it.”

  He nodded. “I’ve never seen one that, um, tall. Very impressive.” Livvy rolled her eyes—but didn’t cop any other attitude.

  Josey fought the urge to stand there and gape at this man. He clearly had no idea what he was doing—but he was here anyway, trying to soothe a thirteen-year-old’s ruffled feathers. He’d already talked Don back from the brink. He’d even convinced Jenny they were going to talk about the school in the middle of a crowded bar. Not to mention he’d survived the tornado that was his family. He was a peacemaker.

  So why did he leave her so unsettled?

  She watched as his unnaturally large smile faded, replaced with a look she recognized from their first meeting—suspicious disbelief. “You have one drum for how many students?”

  “Sixty-three.” She couldn’t help taking a deep breath. The smell of wind-whipped leather filled her nose, and she had the sudden urge to be out there on a bike with him, to feel the summer wind rippling through her hair. Not here on the rez, not at that war zone he called a shop. Someplace where she wouldn’t have to worry about what anyone else thought of her—or Ben. “There’s a problem with the instruments. Munzinga backed out of our deal.”

  A shadow fell over her face, and she found herself less than a foot from the all-businessman who’d flatly refused all of her offers. She didn’t particularly care for the all-businessman. She kind of liked the drummer—not that she’d ever tell him that. He leaned over and whispered, “Munzinga? He’s a jerk,” in her ear.

  So much for sweet nothings. Despite the insult, his breath touching her skin set off an unfortunate round of goose bumps—that she chose to ignore. “I figured that out yesterday, but thanks for the heads-up.”

  Thin lines appeared around his eyes, and his mouth did something that could be smiling—a real, honest thing. Whatever it was, the shadows eased back, and Ben went from hot to intensely handsome. His eyes moved over her face with exacting precision. “So, the multipurpose room.”

  “Just a second, and we’ll go look at the shop.” Josey left Livvy in charge of painting the walls and headed out into the hall. Ben followed—close, but not too close. Just within hand-holding range. Not that she would dare hold his hand within the same area code as Don.

  The moment she opened the front door, the wind barreled across the hot grass, further demolishing her braid. “This way.” She moved quickly through the grass before he could change his mind and bail on the tour.

  The shop, if one could call it that, was a little ways off from the school. The bigger kids were sawing away at the two-by-fours while the smaller boys held the wood steady. Don saw them coming. Heck, everyone saw them coming—the whole lot of them froze.

  “This is a concrete foundation.” He seemed surprised about that.

  “Classrooms have a higher priority than the shop.”

  “I guess.” Josey pulled up short to look at him. Not what she’d expected to hear a valedictorian say. Ben shrugged, but they were within earshot of the still-motionless kids, so he didn’t clarify.

  Professional. Be professional. “Much like the cafeteria, this building will serve several purposes. In addition to housing the shop classes, we’ll use it for storage and for the school vehicle.”

  “Why aren’t they looking at me?” Crud. He’d noticed. “Do they have a problem with white people?”

  How could she tell him that the only time most of these kids saw white people was when their parents were arrested for drug and alcohol violations? Or when social services came to take someone else away from the rez and the tribe—the only family most of these kids had? How could she possibly explain that some Lakota people refused to acknowledge white people at all—by not looking at them, they could pretend white people didn’t exist?

  How could she hope to explain that’s why it was her job to be the face of the tribe to “outsiders”—because her grandfather had been an outsider himself? How some people still treated her and her mother like bastards at a family picnic? How some still whispered about her grandmother’s “betrayal” of the Lakota Nation, all because she’d dared to fall in love with a white man? How it would never matter how much her grandfather had given to the tribe, because he would always be a white man from New York?

  She couldn’t. No one could ever understand how freaking hard it was to walk in both worlds—one where she was too Indian, the other where she was too white
. She’d tried to explain it once—once, she’d been in love—and what had it gotten her? Nothing but heartbreak.

  “No,” she said, trying to keep herself together. “They’re just not used to outsiders.”

  Ben regarded her with open curiosity, like he was trying his darnedest to make sense of this strange new world he’d casually wandered into. But she wasn’t going to give him anything else.

  He nodded. He was going to let it slide—this time. “Why are they using handsaws?”

  Reality sucked. That’s all there was to it, but that’s not what she said. No, she was a professional, darn it. “I was attempting to negotiate for some power tools, but most shops operate on razor-thin margins and are unable to part with any equipment.”

  Ben’s eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. So maybe that wasn’t the most professional thing she’d ever said. Too late. It was out there now, and there was no taking it back.

  Josey gave Don the most meaningful look she had. The old coot seemed to get the message. He said something in Lakota under his breath, and everyone started moving again. They didn’t look at Ben, but at least they weren’t frozen in a workshop tableau.

  “We should let them get back to work.” She headed back to the building, but stopped short when she caught sight of the motorcycle. “Is that yours?”

  “Built it myself,” he said with obvious pride. “You like it?”

  “It’s beautiful.” She’d looked at the Crazy Horse website, seen all the wild bikes they’d be happy to build for a small fortune. But this bike was different. It had a vintage sensibility to it, with clean lines, a shiny gray body and normal-looking handlebars. Nothing like what was on his company’s website, but very much Ben.

  She looked from the motorcycle to the man. He was watching her. She cleared her throat. “Would you like to see a classroom?” Because they had only one that was done.

  He fell into step with her. “What about you?”

  She tensed. “What about me?”

  “Do you have a problem with white people? With me?”

  “With you being white? No.”

  He chuckled. “But you do have a problem with me.”