Grace groaned. “Don’t call me boss. It makes me feel old.”
“No, calling you Mrs. Yellow Hawk would make you feel old.”
Her smile faded as she closed the door.
“Bad joke. I’m sorry.” When Grace didn’t immediately respond, Tate said, “Grace? Oh man, what’s wrong?”
“N-nothing.” Before she could try to convince Tate everything was just sunshine and rainbows like she always did, Grace’s voice caught on a sob and tears fell.
Tate’s flip-flops smacked her heels loudly in the silence as she zipped across the room. She pushed Grace into a chair and perched herself diagonally from her friend. Their knees touched so Grace couldn’t escape. “Talk to me.”
“I-I’m fine.” Grace tried to dismiss Tate’s concern.
Tate was having none of it. “Cut the bull. Don’t tell me nothing is wrong because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry.”
Grace squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s because I don’t make a habit of it.”
“And you don’t make a habit of sharing your troubles with your friends either.”
Grace’s eyes opened. “What do you mean?”
“That you’re perfectly willing to let me unload my frustrations on you anytime I want. I’m assuming Val does the same thing. Why don’t you let us return the favor?” Her gaze sharpened. “Is it because we’re not trained psychologists and you don’t think we’ll be able to help you?”
“No.” Grace’s hand shook as she wiped under her eye. “It’s more like the ‘physician, heal thyself’ philosophy. I keep thinking I’ll get a handle on it. Usually it works, but not this time.”
Tate rummaged in her backpack-sized purse. She thrust a box of Kleenex at her.
Grace’s eyes went wide at the jumbo-sized package.
“I saw that look. I started carrying them because Val’s pregnancy hormones cause these erratic crying jags. When she gets started, Lord, she uses damn near the whole box.”
Grace managed a feeble smile. “You must think we’re both crybabies.”
“Hardly.” A beat passed. Tate demanded, “So are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“You sure you want to hear this?”
Tate nodded.
“Luke and I are having some problems.” She sighed heavily. “Major understatement. We’re having huge problems.”
“When did this start?”
“About six months ago.” Grace chewed her thumbnail. “An old friend of his died. A female friend. Luke started acting distracted. He was gone a lot, but when he was home he was moody. We hardly spent any time together. Consequently our life—sex and otherwise—went from awesome to awful.”
“Go on.”
“Of course, I immediately jumped to the conclusion he was having an affair.”
Tate’s eyebrows lifted. “Is he?”
“No, thank God. The truth of what he was doing is almost worse.” Grace let her gaze drift out the window. “I found out he’d applied for two new jobs. Both in Rosebud.”
The Rosebud Indian Reservation was a long way from Spearfish. “Why didn’t he tell you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. If I hadn’t found the letter confirming his appointment time, I don’t know if he would have told me at all. He refuses to talk about it. Or tell me why he wants to make a career change. So I still don’t know if the money is better or whether or not this would be permanent. Yet, he expects me just to drop everything I’ve worked for and go with him if he’s offered the position.”
“Do you think he has a chance?”
“We already know he didn’t get the first one. But he’s on his second interview at the Rosebud Boys Home. Truthfully, they’d be stupid not to hire him. A Sioux man who actually grew up on a reservation? Add in his master’s degree in counseling…”
“I can see why you’re worried.” Tate leaned back in her chair and looked outside the window along the cracked sidewalk, where rose bushes bloomed in a profusion of red and pink. “Is his job at the Boys Club here in jeopardy?”
“It will be if the board finds out he’s been sending out his resume.”
“So you haven’t talked to anyone about this because if word gets out…” Tate angled forward, knowing her eyes were filled with reproach. “Dammit, Grace. I can see why you were discreet, but you know you can count on me not to blab. I hate that you’ve been dealing with this alone. Why didn’t you tell me the other night?”
Grace retreated to the sink for a drink. She clutched the waxy Dixie cup and looked at Tate. “The reason I didn’t unload on you is because you’ve had more than enough things to worry about with your own job situation and now the city mandate. Have you heard from Nathan?”
“Are you kidding? He’s avoiding me.” Her mouth made a moue of distaste. “In fact, I get the distinct impression the man is scared of me.”
Grace managed a hoarse chuckle. “Sorry. It’s just you are the least threatening woman I know. Why on earth would he be scared of you?”
“Because I want to strip that hunky stud naked and have my wicked, wicked way with him until he screams for mercy.”
“And that’s a problem because?”
Tate lifted her shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t most guys have jumped at the chance to jump on me? I know I’m not a statuesque redhead like you.” She grinned. “But come on, I’m not exactly the Hunchback of Notre Dame either. So, I wondered if maybe it’s a Native American thing. Did Luke insist you two should get to know each other before you got naked together?”
“No. It’s not an Indian thing.”
“Then what do you think might be going on?”
Grace blushed. “Have you asked Val if he has, umm…a problem with erectile dysfunction?”
Tate snorted. “Leave it to a shrink to turn it into a flowery phrase. No, I’ve felt his erection on more than one occasion. I know he doesn’t need a heavy-duty dose of Viagra. And I’m assuming the continual presence of a hard-on means he’s somewhat attracted to me. As for the asking-Val thing? I’m not allowed to talk to her about anything that’s going on between Nathan and me…not that there’s much to tell.”
“But you’re telling me,” Grace pointed out.
“Precisely. He only told me I couldn’t talk to Val. He didn’t mention anyone else.” Tate smiled slyly. “So here I am, asking the expert for advice.”
“Expert? Need I remind you we were just discussing my rocky marriage?” Grace lifted her cup for another drink.
“Sorry.” Tate felt contrite for a second before her expression turned crafty. “But I’m not worried about getting into a relationship with him. I just want to get into his pants.”
Grace nearly spit out her water. She wiped her lips on the crumpled Kleenex in her hand, and Tate giggled. “I take it back. Nathan LeBeau has every right to be frightened of you.”
“I’m serious.”
“Me too.”
“What was it like before you and Luke hit the skids? I mean, how much of your problems stemmed from his Native ancestry?”
“Some of our problems are directly related to his Sioux blood. Luke looks Lakota, so he’s always dealt with insults, racism and prejudice—even among his tribe members. The fact he married a white woman, a wasicu…well, I think his family performed a mourning ceremony after we eloped to Vegas.” Grace fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s not easy, the glares we get from strangers for having different colors of skin. Spearfish is a long way from Pine Ridge and Rosebud—in miles and mindset.”
Tate considered her words. “Nathan’s been raised with a white mother and a half-Indian father. He doesn’t seem to care much about his heritage.”
“He should. In fact, Luke started a support group at the community center for Lakota men. They do everything from talk about problems in business and with family, to studying Lakota traditions and language. You should tell Nathan to come. I bet he’d love it.”
“Probably. But he’s so swamped with work that
he’s not making any time for me. Or sex. Especially sex.”
“Is that really the most important thing to you in this deal with Nathan?”
“Absolutely. No regrets, no promises, just a case of condoms and a good imagination.”
Grace looked like she didn’t buy Tate’s flip attitude. “Here’s where the counselor imparts a word of caution. Despite your bravado, I don’t think you are the type of woman who can just sign on for a totally sexual fling.”
“But—”
“Trust me. I know these things. More specifically, I know you.”
“Are you telling me not to have sex with him?”
“God no. I’m telling you to be careful. Don’t fall for him, because he will break your heart.”
Tate frowned. “Because he’s Native American?”
“No. Because he’s a man.”
Grace scooted into the chair next to Tate, shuffling through the brightly colored papers on the table, ending the conversation. “Now, how about if you show me your ideas for the mosaics?”
Saturday morning Nathan pulled his flatbed truck up to Tate’s house and parked.
After the loading ramps clanked to the ground, he hoisted himself onto the trailer. Once the tie-downs were tangle free, he unchocked the wheels and climbed into the Bobcat’s cab, dropping his ass into the ripped leather seat.
Thick black smoke poured from the stack as he started it up. Checking in the rearview mirror, Nathan eased the stick to reverse and the Bobcat jerked backward. His ears automatically honed in on the loud beep beep beep echoing behind him. He grinned.
God, he loved the smell of diesel fuel in the morning.
He sped to the work area, and grabbed his notes, earplugs and hard hat before he hopped out. Once he’d made a few last-minute adjustments, he glanced at Tate’s house.
No doubt she was awake now, with machinery grinding underneath her window at seven a.m. Was she bleary-eyed and cursing him for the interruption? Or were her eyes twinkling, wearing that hard-to-resist smile? What he wouldn’t give to witness her waking mood of the day firsthand…after leaving her bow-legged and exhausted in her bed.
He tried to focus on the enormity of the task ahead, but his mind kept wandering. What if he rang the bell and she answered the door in pink satin baby-doll pajamas? Her body soft, warm and rumpled from sleep? Or wrapped in a scarlet robe? Her wet hair slicked back, skin coated in that sweet smelling lotion she always wore? Her phantom scent beckoned him inside. He followed the mental path like a bloodhound, imagining her spread across the kitchen table as a veritable breakfast feast. A car backfired, jarring him from his vision with enough force that he dropped his clipboard.
Damn. Concentrating on dirt work instead of conjuring sexy situations with his dirty mind would be sheer hell for this entire job. Especially knowing tempting Tate lay just a few feet away, willing to make any fantasy a reality.
Her wholesome innocence coupled with a hot body…double damn. He could’ve gotten laid for the first time in months. Months. And he’d walked away? And being a true lout, he’d been too busy to call her this week.
Smooth. Add his comment about needing romance and Tate probably thought he was gay.
No use worrying about that situation now. He inserted his earplugs, donned his hard hat and climbed back into the Bobcat. The bucket on the front end clattered to the ground. For the next hour he concentrated on ripping out spotty patches of crab grass, focusing on the smooth motion of the bucket as it scraped rocks and scattered piles of dirt into a single manageable mound.
After a while the repetition numbed his brain. Nathan’s attention roamed to the application he’d dropped off for the Maxwell Landscaping Competition. Luckily, he’d squeaked in under the deadline by two days and had a week before he had to submit his final design. The elderly woman in charge seemed skeptical about his qualifications, until he’d handed over a copy of his xeriscaping certification.
Unlike some of his construction colleagues, he hadn’t spent the off-season loafing. Not that he’d confessed to anyone he’d been learning both the Latin and Lakota names for various vegetation. Easy to imagine the rash of shit he’d get from the guys for wanting to plant posies.
He gripped the stick hard. In this section the ground resembled cement. No big surprise. For the last few years Spearfish had been in damn near drought conditions. Any landscaper that could guarantee heartier plants, less chance of winterkill and virtually maintenance-free growth, would garner extreme interest. Not to mention piles of cash.
And that interest had the potential to change the focus of his business. Show his competitors he meant to establish himself as a serious landscaper. If all went as planned, the extra cash would enable him to hire someone to oversee the utility end, freeing him to concentrate on building his reputation as a conservationist landscaper. If he had a trusted employee to share the load, he’d work fewer hours. After the excruciating week he’d put in, that was the most appealing prospect of this plan.
He scowled. Yeah right. He was pathetic if the prospect of additional work held more appeal than a naked Tate.
A twinge of guilt tightened his stomach. No matter how he justified the effects of the contest’s outcome, the fact remained he was withholding vital information from her and the Beautification Committee.
But wasn’t Tate leaving? She wouldn’t care if the house she planned to sell won an award or not. The end result, improved curb appeal, guaranteed she’d receive top dollar from any buyer. Although footing the bill for expensive rare plants and natural stone without her approval was crazy. He believed she’d be so enthralled by the final arrangement she wouldn’t remember to ask specifics.
But if the committee members discovered his nondisclosure…not only would he be disqualified, the solid reputation he’d maintained with his father’s utility business might suffer. So, he wouldn’t tell her anything except on a need-to-know basis. And right now, she didn’t need to know anything except he planned on working his ass off to create an outdoor masterpiece. He snagged a rock and turned his concentration back to the ground where it belonged.
Nathan worked steadily all day. The afternoon turned brutally hot. Lifting and hand stacking the heavy chunks to create a layered retaining wall took its toll on him. He’d sleep like the dead tonight.
After refilling his water, Nathan brushed the dust from his jeans. He blotted the mixture of sweat and dirt from his neck with a stained bandana and stretched out his tired legs under the shade of a large oak. A hot breeze rustled the leaves. Heaven. He closed his eyes to bask in the beauty of the day.
A better slice of heaven teased him as Tate’s sweet scent drifted to him. He opened his eyes slowly, hoping it wasn’t a figment of his overworked imagination.
“Hi.” She stood underneath a low-hanging branch, her hands in the back pockets of a tiny pair of frayed, cut-off Levi 501’s. “How’s it going?”
His mouth dried at the provocative sight of all that exposed skin. Nathan reached for his water bottle. “About like I expected.”
“Got a better idea of how long this project is going to take?”
“You antsy?” He squirted a stream of water in his mouth. “After the first day?”
“No.” Her gaze lingered thoughtfully on his lips. “Although I am antsy for some things.” She pointed at his Bobcat. “That’s a pretty cute little machine you’ve got.”
Nathan groaned. “Tate, honey. Never, ever refer to a man’s equipment as cute or little. It’s like you’re commenting on my—”
“Manhood?” she supplied with a grin.
“Yes. Besides, that cute machine is loaded with sixty horsepower and maneuvers like a dream. I even modified the cab roof myself, replacing the steel lattice with a roll bar—”
Tate held up a hand. “More information than I need, thanks. I started painting the hallway and lost track of time, so I thought I’d better check on you. Can you believe it’s after four?”
He had a lot to do before the day ended.
“Well I haven’t been loafing under this tree all day.”
She scanned the new cinnamon-colored retaining wall and then him, head to work boots. “I can tell. It looks great. Did you eat lunch?”
Her concern startled him. “I had a ham sandwich at noon. Why?”
Tate was frowning at her left forearm. Her short fingernails scraped intently at the splotches of purple paint.
When she still hadn’t answered, he prompted, “Tate?”
“What?” Her uncertain gaze met his. “Sorry. Just thinking about us having dinner and…stuff.”
By the redness dotting her cheekbones, Nathan knew the type of stuff she’d been contemplating. Heat shot straight to his groin. Her alternating boldness and shyness was becoming her most endearing trait. His gaze dropped and got an eyeful of her
Dirty Deeds Page 7
