Straddling the Line

by Sarah M. Anderson

  She managed to swallow. Coming from him, it managed to sound like both a threat and a promise. Mostly a promise. “I’m aware.”

  He gave her a quick kiss before he pulled her toward the motorcycle. He put the sunglasses back on, making it impossible to read him. “Good. You ever been on one of these before?”

  “Nope.”

  Ben gave her a decidedly nonerotic once-over. “You’ll be fine in those boots and jeans, but you should braid your hair.”

  So much for styling it. He leaned back against the bike and watched her as she plaited the braid, that strange look on his face. It felt like he was watching her undress. When she was finished, he hesitated and said, “I suppose we have to go to this thing, right?”

  She wouldn’t mind bailing. The whole concept of walking around a social event with him had her on edge. Would people think they were together? Would there be a scene? But she shoved those worries to the back of her mind as best she could. Mom had invited him; Josey was responsible for getting him there. That was that. “We should put in an appearance.” That didn’t seem to make him happy, so she added, “There’ll be food.”

  “And drumming?”

  “And drumming.”

  “Better be.” For all the world, he sounded like a pouting child. She had to resist the urge to laugh at him. “But afterward, can we agree that there won’t be any musicians or mothers around?”

  Was being “with” him crossing a line—a line she couldn’t uncross? Or would sex with Ben be something she could do—something she could enjoy—without losing all the ground she’d gained within the tribe?

  She didn’t know. But she wasn’t turning back now.

  *

  “Of course,” she said, her chin lifting up in what looked a hell of a lot like defiance. “After the powwow.”

  Damned powwow. “Good. Here. I brought you a helmet and a jacket. Even though it’s hot, the wind can still get to you.”

  So Bobby’s marketing decision to stock Crazy Horse Chopper jackets wasn’t a total waste, and Ben appeared to have guessed right about the size. She zipped the snug leather over the tank top that had him wishing they could forget powwows ever existed. An appearance. Some food. Some drumming. That was it. Then, for the rest of the night, this woman was his and his alone.

  He handed her the full-face helmet from a safe distance. It had taken every last ounce of willpower not to drag her up to her apartment and peel those tight jeans right off her. One more kiss—one more touch—would put him past all reason. Damn it, how was he supposed to drive anywhere with her sitting right behind him?

  She took the heavy thing, the crease between her eyebrows getting deeper. “You don’t need to worry. I rarely go more than ten miles over the speed limit, and I haven’t had an accident in years.”

  “That’s not exactly comforting.” Her voice got muffled at the end by the shield on her helmet. She pulled it right back off, undid her braid and shook out all of that hair.

  It was the most wonderful color of not-quite red, long and silky and begging to be touched. She looked a lot like the various people he’d met on his two trips to the rez, but her coloring was lighter. Not quite as light as her mother’s—that woman was so fair as to be a strawberry blonde—but still exotic. Different. Special.

  Not another woman like Josey White Plume on the planet.

  She redid her hair, the braid starting lower against the curve of the back of her neck. He stared at her with wide eyes as her fingers wove all that hair into a thick rope. She let the finished braid drape over her front, the tip swinging below the swell of her breast. This time, the helmet stayed on. Despite the leather and the helmet, she was still decidedly, unmistakably feminine.

  Jesus. Would he make it to tonight?

  Josey took a hesitant step toward the bike. The sooner they got this part over with, the sooner tonight could happen. “Just like riding a horse,” he said as he snapped on his own helmet and motioned for her to get on behind him.

  “Mmhmum hmmh mmumm.”

  Laughing, he turned around and lifted her visor. “What?”

  “Not too fast,” she said again, forcing a smile.

  She was nervous. Was that because of the bike or because of him? “Not too fast. And you won’t fall off if you hold on to me.” Assuming, of course, that the weight of her body pressed against his didn’t crash them both.

  She bit her lip. “Okay.” A woman shouldn’t be as beautiful as she was. That was really all there was to it. “I’ll, uh, point you where you need to go?”

  He touched a gloved finger to her lips. “Anywhere you want to go, as long as I’m with you.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, the pupils in her eyes widening considerably. “Okay.”

  They needed to get going. Kissing came after. Against his will, he flipped down her visor and fired up the engine.

  As his machine rumbled to life, Josey threw her arms around his waist. Even though he’d known that was coming, his body stiffened at the sudden full-body contact. How long had it been since he’d had a woman on his bike? Since he’d made time to take a beautiful woman out for a ride on a sunny summer evening? Since he’d wanted to be with a woman bad enough that he’d suffer through meeting her family, much less a whole tribe of people?

  Ben was in trouble, and he knew it. But as he accelerated toward the open road, with Josey clutching him to her chest and her helmeted chin resting on his shoulder, he couldn’t figure out if it was good trouble or bad.

  By the time they were on the highway, the sun setting over their shoulders, Josey had loosened up a little, which meant that she was only holding him tightly instead of crushing him. He’d take it, though. He made sure to stick near the speed limit.

  A surprising thought hit him. He was having fun. Wind all around, his bike eating up the miles—sure, he loved all that stuff. But everything about it seemed better knowing that he was showing it to Josey for the first time.

  Soon enough, she was pointing to an upcoming exit. Before long, they were on pea-gravel roads, and then onto things that were roads in name only. Just when he was sure they were lost in the middle of nowhere, the road opened up and ended around a huge site. Tents were pitched next to cars and lean-tos made of branches were next to horses. In the center was a wide circle ringed with lawn chairs and blankets. People were everywhere—kids running all over the place. Some people were in regular clothes, but some were wearing wild outfits, with feathers and colors sticking out in every direction.

  He’d thought the school was a different world? This was a different galaxy.

  Josey tapped his shoulder, pointing him toward a white van with the words Pine Ridge School painted on the side. Ben parked next to it.

  He removed his helmet before he realized Josey was still holding on to him. After he pulled off his gloves, he ran his fingers over hers, prying them away from each other as gently as he could.

  She let go and swung off the bike. Immediately, she stumbled backward. It was all Ben could do to grab her before she landed on her backside. “Whoa! You okay?”

  Her head didn’t so much nod yes or shake no as go in confused circles. Still holding her up, Ben got off the bike and then pulled her helmet off.

  Her eyes were plate-wide. Then, to his great relief, her face cracked into a wide smile. “That,” she said, her voice a little shaky, “was the scariest thing I’ve ever done!”

  “Then you need to get out more.”

  Unexpectedly, she lurched up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on him. He grabbed hold of her—to steady her, really—but she looped those arms around his neck and held fast.

  God, what he wouldn’t give to not be at a powwow.

  As suddenly as the kiss had started, it ended. She jerked back, licking the lips he could still taste and wobbling for a short second before she landed firmly on her feet. Her cheeks burned bright red, and suddenly she couldn’t meet his eyes. Hell, she couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Her boots had just gotten that interesting, apparent
ly.

  “Okay,” she said, more to herself than to him.

  “Okay,” he agreed.

  Wouldn’t take much to be way more than just okay, but they were still in public, and she was clearly not comfortable with everyone around. He’d have to settle—for now.

  Once he wasn’t touching her, their surroundings registered. A deep, constant drumbeat filled the air around him, along with some singing that was closer to keening.

  Off to one side, a group of guys were milling around, stuck between giving him the stink eye, ignoring him and staring at his bike. A motley crew of punks, some with Mohawks, some with long hair, all trying their damnedest to look intimidating.

  They didn’t look like the kind of kids who would hang around for formal introductions. So he cut to the chase. “You guys ride?”

  The kids shifted, as if they were discussing whether or not to acknowledge him. This “outsider” thing was starting to really bug him. Finally, the tallest kid—one of the long-haired ones—broke rank. “We ride war ponies, wasicu.”

  Josey’s shoulders dipped, like this pronouncement disappointed her, but Ben found the attitude to be amusing. Did this kid think he was intimidating? Please.

  Ben made a mental note to ask Josey what wasicu was—he would guess “white guy,” but he had a feeling there was another meaning to it. “Yeah? How do those handle on the highway?”

  A chunkier guy with shorter hair cracked a grin and punched the leader in the shoulder. “Hey, the wasicu is funny! Where’d you get that thing?”

  “I built it.”

  “No way!” The group began to edge toward him, although the leader was still scowling.

  Questions began to come at Ben like arrows. “How’d you do that? How fast does it go? Do you get a lot of girls?”

  At that last one, the rest of the group fell silent. Ben glanced at Josey, who was somewhere between mortified and amused. Ben chose his words carefully. “I built this when I was in high school. When most guys were trying to borrow their dad’s car, I had my own bike. Because there’s a lady present, I’ll just say that Saturdays were the best day of the week.” She shot him a look that said, I bet, as loud and clear as if she’d spoken it.

  “Cool!” Even the leader was edging closer as the guys began to talk in a mix of English and Lakota. Ben didn’t catch half of what they said, but he did hear someone say, “Like a two-wheeled war pony, Tige!”

  “Josey,” the chunky one said, “can we build one at school? Don would let us in shop, wouldn’t he? Like a school project, right?”

  Everyone turned to look at Josey. Her mouth opened and shut once, then twice as the color on her cheeks deepened.

  “You’ve got to get the shop finished,” Ben said for her. He crossed his arms and leveled his best glare at the kids. “If you can’t build a building, you can’t build a bike.”

  “Tige, Corey,” Josey said over the resulting chatter, “don’t you have to get your outfits on?”

  The group of guys moved off, some still pointing to the bike. Not too bad, Ben thought. He still didn’t know what wasicu was, but at least everyone could agree—a good bike made the world a better place. He turned to look at Josey, expecting to see the same sentiment on her face. Instead of appreciation, she had her hands on her hips and was giving him the look.

  “What?”

  “Saturdays are the best days, huh?”

  “Were. Past tense.” Her toe began to tap. She wasn’t buying it. “Okay, so Saturdays are still the best days, but that’s because of the band.” She still didn’t look mollified, so he added, “Recently, though, Wednesdays have begun to look up.”

  “You can be quite charming when you want to be, you know.” He couldn’t tell if she meant that as a compliment or not. Then her eyes cut to someone behind him.

  He braced himself for another confrontation—who was going to call him wasicu now? But instead of a glowering Indian, a blondish boy who was maybe fourteen stood behind him in a full pout.

  “Jared? What’s up, buddy?” Josey’s voice took on a soft, motherly tone as she stepped around Ben and went to the kid.

  “They’re calling me it again.” The kid was way too old to sound like he was on the verge of crying, in Ben’s opinion. “The girls won’t even talk to me.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Josey put her arms around the kid’s shoulders and gave him an awkward squeeze. “We discussed this. You can’t let them get to you.”

  “What?” When Ben spoke, both the boy and Josey looked up at him like they’d forgotten he was there. “What’s the problem?”

  “Tige and his gang call me a half-breed,” the boy said as he rubbed his nose on the back of his hand. “No one likes me.”

  “That’s not true. Seth likes you.”

  “That’s because he’s your cousin. The girls all laugh at me.”

  Ben could not stand here and watch this kid cry. It wasn’t dignified. Josey might be trying to help, but she was in serious danger of smothering the kid with pity. “Look, Jared, right? You’re going about this all wrong.”

  The kid looked up midsniffle. “Huh?”

  Ben grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from Josey’s misplaced sympathy. “You want girls to like you, right?”

  The kid shot Josey a terrified look. “Yeah?”

  “Then you’ve got to be someone they want.”

  “But I’m—”

  “Doesn’t matter what you are or aren’t. Girls want what they can’t have. You’ve got that wounded, sensitive thing down, but whining like a baby about how no one likes you? You’re killing any mystery. You,” he said, poking the kid in the chest, “don’t go to them. You make them come to you. You don’t give a damn if they want to be your friends or not.”

  “Language!” Josey scolded behind him.

  Ben kept going. “You don’t need anyone, okay? You’re better than them, and you know it. Everything you say and do should convince people it’s true. Look, I know what it’s like when people expect you to be this or that and you’re not any of those things.” Boy, did he know. “But you can’t let them define you. You have to define yourself. That’s how it works.”

  The kid looked less terrified and more confused. “But won’t that make girls like me less?”

  Was it possible that Ben had been this clueless back when he was a squirt? Lord, he hoped not. “Once girls think you don’t want them, they’ll be curious—why don’t you want them? What’s your secret? If you’re doing it right, they’ll get it into their girl brains that you should share your secret with them, because only they can take away your pain. Girls like a challenge.”

  For a second, the kid brightened up, but then his face fell again. “But I’m—”

  “No buts. And you’re what, fourteen?”

  “Fifteen,” the kid said with a flash of anger.

  “Hey—that was good. Keep that anger. Drives girls wild. And what about that— Who was it, Josey? The one who’s father made the drum?”

  “Livvy?” The look on her face was one of pure horror.

  Ben ignored the horror. He was actually having a little fun. “Yeah. She was cute. What’s wrong with her?”

  The boy rolled his eyes—something he’d clearly practiced. “She’s, like, eleven, mister.”

  “Listen, kid,” Ben said, trying not to smile. “Give her a few years. Some girls are worth the wait. Until then, watch some James Dean movies and practice being the lone wolf, okay? Pick a few fights, take up a dangerous hobby, stop doing that to your hair,” he said, waving to all that styling gel, “and for God’s sake, stop sniveling. Chicks don’t dig wimps. They dig bad boys.”

  The kid had definitely stopped sniveling. “You really think it will work?”

  “I don’t think. I know. When you know who you are, everyone else will want to know, too. And when you’re sixteen, maybe we’ll get you on a bike, okay?”

  “Really?” The kid flipped his hair out of his eyes, puffed out his chest and adopted what was probably
supposed to be a look of disdain. “How’s this?”

  “Good start. Keep trying.”

  “I’m going to go tell Seth! Thanks, mister!” He took off like a shot.

  Ben watched him go. “Kids,” he said to himself.

  “Men,” Josey countered. She wasn’t smiling. “Pick a few fights? Take up a dangerous hobby? Really? He’s just a boy.”

  She could try to be mad at him, but he wasn’t buying it. “A boy who needs to figure out how to be a man. So he gets a few black eyes—it’ll be good for him. You can’t coddle boys. The sooner he learns to fight for what he wants, the better off he’ll be.”

  Josey stared at him. He had no idea what she was thinking—he was a jerk? He’d permanently damaged that kid? “Besides,” he added, “I thought you liked the ride.”

  Finally, her face relaxed into a rueful smile. “I’d argue with you if you weren’t so right. Come on.”

  He walked next to her as she threaded her way through the crowd. It wasn’t that difficult—people got out of the way with feet to spare on either side. He looked around. Not too many “outsiders” were around. He picked out Josey’s mom at a hundred paces. As they closed the distance, he noticed that people were quick to smile and exchange a few words with the older woman, but no one stayed long—and no one was sitting near her. It was almost as if she had a demarcated line around her that no one dared to cross.

  Again, he wanted to ask what the deal with that kid had been, but he picked up the scent of fried bread and beans and meat—venison, he’d guess—about the same time the drummers kicked the beat up a notch or two.

  By the time they reached Sandra White Plume’s blanket, a hush had fallen over the crowd. “You’re late,” the older woman whispered.

  “Got sidetracked with Tige and Jared.”

  Sandra looked mortified. “They weren’t fighting, were they?”

  “No.” Josey shot him a look that might be admiration, but it was gone before he could tell for sure. “Ben talked to them.”