Thinking about Matt, she eyed the clock. Matt sold tools to engineering companies, and his job required lots of travel. But…on the weekends? No! she told herself. She had to trust him, didn’t she? Yes. But it was late. He’d said he would call. Had he gotten busy with his client? Did he miss her?
Did she miss him? She closed her eyes and saw his green-eyed smile. She missed him. She knew Redfoot didn’t like Matt, but her foster father wouldn’t like any man she brought home. Which was too bad. Redfoot was going to have to accept Matt. The relationship was going places.
Her cell phone rang. Rolling over, she snatched it up. “If you were here, I’d have you naked so fast you wouldn’t know what happened.”
The answering chuckle made her feel fuzzy inside. “What if it hadn’t been me?”
“Oh, is this Matt?” she teased.
They chatted about silly things, like what Matt had eaten for dinner, and then she told him about Shala Winters and how Sky had confiscated her camera.
“Does Redfoot still think she’s Sky’s soul mate?” Matt asked.
“I think so,” she replied.
“Does he ever have dreams of us being soul mates?” Matt paused. “Wait, don’t answer that. He probably has visions of scalping me.”
“Matt!”
“I know, bad joke. Sorry. I just don’t know what he has against me.”
Maria knew: Matt wasn’t Jose. Redfoot had been so sure that she and his son would come together. And they had, only it hadn’t meant anything to Jose. Maria also knew that sooner or later she needed to tell Matt everything. He had a right to know, but…not now. She could only hope it wouldn’t change things between them.
The front door opened and then slammed. A loud thud followed, as if someone hit the wall; then the light in the hallway went out.
“Hold on a second,” she told Matt. “Something doesn’t sound right.”
“Viejo?” she called to Redfoot. When he didn’t answer, she got up to go see.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sky watched Shala drop down in a chair.
“You know, I thought we could talk about this in a reasonable manner. Obviously I was wrong.”
He took a bite of omelet and studied her. The spark of anger in her eyes was back. Much better. Not that he liked angry women, but her play-nice routine had been as believable as a sock-stuffed bra on a bearded crossd-resser. And knowing that he could rile her so easily was thrilling. He wondered if she was as easy to rile in the bedroom.
“Your omelet is getting cold,” he pointed out.
She pushed her plate away. “I’m suddenly not hungry.”
“That’s a shame. I make a mean omelet.”
“Look, Mr. Gomez. I’m in town to do a job. I can’t do that job without my camera.”
“I can see how that might be difficult.”
“It wouldn’t be if you’d just…” She closed her eyes. “If you’d just accept my sincerest apology for overlooking the rule.”
He picked up his toast. “I can’t do that.”
Her eyes popped open. “You mean you won’t do that.”
He considered. “You’re right. I won’t do that.”
Her mouth tightened. “You are impossible. It can’t be legal to just steal someone’s camera!”
“I didn’t steal it. I confiscated it, just as the rules stated I would.” His cell phone, still on the coffee table, rang. Sky decided to just let it go to voice mail. Fighting with Shala was fun. “Seriously, you should eat before it gets cold. Nothing’s worse than cold eggs.”
His home phone rang. He debated answering, but the woman with fury in her eyes tempted him more. The answering machine picked up and played his outgoing message. Then a frightened voice spilled out.
“Sky, answer, damn it! It’s Maria. Redfoot’s hurt. Bad! Oh, God, there’s so much blood.”
Sky shot out of the chair so fast that it slammed backward onto the floor. He ran across the room and grabbed the phone.
“Maria? What happened?”
“Someone broke into the lodge. Redfoot caught them.”
“Christ! Have you called an ambulance?”
“He won’t let me. He said to call you. He keeps muttering about having to tell you something.”
“How bad is it?” Terror constricted Sky’s chest.
“I don’t know. He’s conscious, but…there’s so much blood.”
“I’m on my way. I’ll call the ambulance.” He dropped the phone and ran across the living room, snatching up his keys and cell phone and dialing 911.
“Precious Emergency. Ms. Winters, is this you again? I’m—”
“Martha, get an ambulance over to Redfoot’s. He’s been hurt. Get it there now!” He flipped the cell phone closed before his secretary had a chance to ask him any questions, then started out the door. “Damn!” he swerved around as he remembered the silent woman at the kitchen table. “I’ve got to go.”
She nodded, eyes wide. “I understand. I hope he’s okay.” She stood up as if to leave.”
“I have to go,” he said again. “I…I’ll call you.” His gaze shot to the food on the kitchen table. “Feel free to finish eating.”
Shala stood in the same spot until she heard Sky’s truck start and the sound of his tires slinging dirt outside. She noticed the omelet. Her stomach grumbled, but her mind shot to the old man she’d just met, and she tried to imagine him hurt and bleeding. She also remembered getting a call very similar to Sky’s from her grandmother’s neighbor. Nana had fallen. Before Shala got to the hospital, her grandmother had died.
Shala’s chest clutched, and she hoped Sky’s emergency ended better than her own. Then she wondered who Redfoot was to him. Was he family?
Picking up the two plates, she emptied the food into the garbage and put the dishes in the sink. She didn’t feel comfortable enough to clean much more, but at least he wouldn’t come home to a dirty table.
Putting the butter back in the fridge, she emptied the milk from their glasses and rinsed them out. Then she went to the living room.
Shouldering her purse, she got halfway to the door before she remembered why she’d come. To get her camera.
Sky slammed his truck into park and jumped out before the vehicle came to a full stop. As he made his way to the front door of the home he’d lived in since he was twelve years old, the memory of his arrival hit hard.
He’d been full of anger and resentment back then, certain Redfoot and Estella would grow tired of him like the two foster homes before. They hadn’t, even when Sky made their lives hard. Estella hadn’t given up on him because she was too kind, and Redfoot had hung in there because…well, he’d said he was too stubborn to let a twelve-year-old boy win a battle of wills. In so many ways, Redfoot had been right. It had been a battle. Not so much because Sky hadn’t wanted them to love him, but because he hadn’t thought they could.
“Maria?” He heard voices coming from the kitchen and took off almost at a run. Logically, he knew Redfoot couldn’t live forever, but he hadn’t come to a place where he could let the old man go. Not yet, he prayed, and especially not at the hands of some murderer. Rage filled him.
“In here,” Maria called.
Redfoot sat at the kitchen table. Maria sat in front of him, her hands gently separating the old man’s hair. He pushed her hands away. “I am fine. Leave me be.”
Sky’s gaze shot to the blood-soaked towel in Maria’s hands. “You’re not fine,” he said. Then, to Maria, “An ambulance is on its way.”
“I’m not getting carted off in some noisy van like a cripple!”
“Yes, you are. I don’t care if I have to handcuff your ass.”
“Stubborn ol’ Indian,” Maria muttered.
“I do not need an ambulance.” Redfoot waved Maria’s hands away. When a new stream of blood flowed down his forehead, she pressed the cloth back to his brow.
“How bad is it?” Sky asked.
“Not as bad as I thought,” Maria admitted. “But he nee
ds stitches and to be checked for a concussion.” She gazed down at her foster father with tenderness and concern.
“I am not a child to be coddled!” Redfoot’s gaze shifted to Sky. “We have bigger problems than the scratch on my head. This person who broke in, he—”
“What’s important is that you’re okay.” Sky moved closer, but his gut clenched as he thought about the work he and the others had put into the powwow and their plans for the money in the lodge safe. No doubt that was what the intruder had come for—and had probably taken. But did he want to rub salt in the old man’s wounds by discussing it?
“I need to get dressed,” Maria said.
Sky noticed her nightgown for the first time, and thought of the woman he’d left at his house.
“Watch him,” Maria commanded. “I’m going to change before the paramedics show up.” She handed her towel to Redfoot. “Keep that on that cut to slow the bleeding,” she said, then tenderly touched his cheek.
As Maria walked out, Sky sat down in her chair. “Do you feel up to telling me what happened?” he asked. The money didn’t matter, but catching this creep did.
“I was walking and saw a light through the window of the lodge.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Sky asked.
“By the time you got here, they could have robbed us blind.”
“It’s just money. Your life is worth more than that.”
Redfoot pulled the towel from his head. “The intruder was not there for money. This is about Blue Eyes.”
Sky flinched when he saw a stream of blood flow down the old man’s face. “What about her? Why don’t you lie down?”
“I’m fine. I told you of my dream of the mad bulldog? For some reason, I think this man is that dog.”
Redfoot had gone on and on about the dream that afternoon. It hadn’t made sense then, and it still didn’t. “Why do you think this has anything to do with her?” Sky took the towel and pressed it to Redfoot’s head.
“Because the thief wasn’t there for money. All he wanted was Blue Eyes’s camera.”
“Her camera?” An ambulance siren sounded in the distance.
“He asked me where we keep the cameras we take. I pointed to the cabinet. We still have two small ones that people never came back for, but he opened the cabinet and got mad. He said he wanted the one from today.”
Sky tried to wrap his mind around all this. Had Shala gotten someone to steal her camera for her while she distracted him? The thought rolled around his brain but he didn’t believe it. She’d come to him looking for the camera, and she hadn’t known he was chief of police. Sky supposed someone had seen her with it and, knowing its value, had simply wanted to steal it from the lodge.
“Did he take anything?” he asked Redfoot.
“Nothing.”
“The money?” Sky pressed.
“The safe was in front of him. He was big enough he could have carried it out with him. He didn’t. I’m telling you, he came for her camera. That’s all he wanted.”
“I guess it’s good that the camera wasn’t here,” he said, almost to himself.
“I know.” Redfoot swayed a little in his chair. “You need to listen, Sky. Your woman, she needs you. This man is after her.”
Why would anyone be after Shala Winters? Because of her work bringing tourism to Precious? He recalled the troublemakers in town trying to stop the Chamber of Commerce from hiring her.
“Did you get a good look? Recognize him?”
The sirens seemed to stop in front of the house.
“He wore a ski mask. Big guy. Light eyes. Don’t think he’s from around here.”
The doorbell rang. Sky got up to answer.
“I’m not getting in that noisy…”
Redfoot’s words faltered, and Sky looked back. His foster father had stood up. “Sit down!” he ordered, but too late. Redfoot stumbled. Sky managed to catch him before he hit the floor, and said, “I got you,” but when he laid the old man down, he realized Redfoot was unconscious.
Maria came running into the room. “What’s wrong?”
“He passed out,” Sky replied.
“Dios!” Maria said, and Sky saw her tears.
“Open the door,” he ordered. “The paramedics are here.”
When Maria ran off, Sky looked back at Redfoot. The man had been more than just a foster father; he’d been the only real father Sky ever knew. His chest swelled with emotion, and for the first time ever he wondered if he’d actually told the man thank you. Had he ever said the words I love you? Probably not.
“Redfoot, don’t you dare die on me.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Shala felt the moral heaviness in her chest expand, but this wasn’t wrong. It was her camera, damn it!
In the kitchen and pantry, she found all sorts of cooking appliances, but in spite of searching every nook and cranny, she didn’t find her Nikon. She did, however, learn the man had a fixation on Lucky Charms cereal. Three boxes made it a fixation. Considering her cabinet at home held two—she’d just finished one—she couldn’t judge.
With the kitchen deemed Nikon-free, she searched the television armoire in the living room. In there, she discovered Sky’s DVDs. She expected to find a few porn flicks, but nope, adventure movies, mostly. Amazingly, she’d seen all but two.
By the time she got to the computer room, she’d made up her mind to only take the memory card if she found her camera. She should have asked him for that in the first place. She would have, too, if she hadn’t been so distracted. This way, she could still download the images and get some work done. She’d even eventually pay the fine to get her camera back, though, come hell or a freaking huge tsunami, she would not shine his shoes. None of this meant she felt Sky had any right to keep her camera, but she didn’t feel right searching his house for it while he was gone.
Closing her eyes, she sent up a small prayer that Redfoot would be okay. She remembered how he had called her Blue Eyes, and she liked the idea that he’d given her a nickname. Her granddad had called her Pumpkin. Her dad, when he was alive, had called her Princess. Something about being called by a nickname made her feel special. She vaguely remembered asking her ex if he had a nickname for her. He’d laughed and said, “Yes—my fuck bunny.” And she hadn’t even been his only fuck bunny!
Pushing the past into a mental Dumpster, she poked around the computer room. Lots of drawers and file cabinets, lots of places to hide a camera, but they held only documents and old files. She didn’t take the time to check each out; her goal wasn’t to snoop. However, shutting the desk, she accidently jarred the computer awake. She heard it yawn, spit, and come alive. The screen lit up with a picture of her. Well, not just a picture of her, but her web page. He hadn’t been lying about visiting her site. He’d definitely done his own checking out, so maybe she shouldn’t feel as bad about searching his place.
The Internet isn’t the same as rummaging through his home.
She ignored the nagging guilt and bounced out of the chair. As she turned to leave the room, she spotted framed photos on a shelf: pictures of Sky with a family. Shala looked closer, and she realized the man in the picture was Redfoot. Was he Sky’s father? Again her heart clutched with hope that everything turned out okay.
Shala next found herself standing in the door of the master suite. She could smell him here. The scent of sleepy male skin filled her nose, and light from the hall sprayed inside. Her gaze caught on an unmade king-size bed with dark tan sheets and a darker, mussed comforter. For just a second, she allowed herself to imagine Sky in the bed. Her imagination took it one step further and she saw herself in that bed with him.
Oh, hell! What in freaking frack was wrong with her? Had being humped by that dog turned her into a divorcée on the make? Shaking off her desire, she stepped into the room. “If I was a camera where would I be?” But her gaze stayed on the bed. The low lighting created an intimate setting.
Did Sky bring a lot of women home? I’m not prone to tellin
g beautiful women they can’t stay in my house…or in my bed. That’s what he’d said. Of course Sky brought a lot of women home.
“If I were a camera, I wouldn’t be in that bed.” She hit the light switch, hoping to chase away her lascivious thoughts. Like the rest of the house, the room’s decor stood out—not like an interior decorator had spent time pulling it together, but the owner was a person of good taste.
Forcing herself to get it over with, she went to the pine chest of drawers and opened the top. It contained underwear, socks rolled into balls, and a box of condoms. The second drawer held folded shirts and shorts—neat, but not to the point of obsession. None of the other compartments held her camera, either.
She next attacked the dresser. There she found some sweats and another box of condoms. Okay, the man liked sex. She’d already figured that out, thank you very much. Slamming the drawer, she stood straight and faced herself in the dresser mirror. “It’s my camera I’m looking for. And I just want the memory card.”
Shaking off her sense of guilt, she headed to the bathroom. All sorts of dirty little secrets lurked in a man’s bathroom. Standing inside it, she glanced around. He clearly had someone who came out and cleaned his house. Men didn’t keep house this well.
She checked below his sink. Only cleaning supplies. No condoms. What, he didn’t keep them in every room?
Opening the medicine cabinet, she stared at a row of over-the-counter meds. Aha! Finally. She knew the man couldn’t be perfect. There, between the Advil and peroxide, rested a tube of athlete’s foot cream. Then she looked at the john and found his second flaw. The seat lid was up. Arrest the guy right now. She knew he couldn’t be perfect.
That’s when it hit her, and hit her hard. She hadn’t been looking for her camera in here. Damn! Damn! Damn!
She stormed out of the bathroom, ready to storm out of his house and out of his life, eager to outrun the crazy feeling that her emotional insurance was about to be tested. She almost got out of the bedroom before she spotted the closet door.
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