by Warren, Rie
She and Madge were surrounded by kinfolk, elders, cousins . . . and probably freezing their tits off.
The only people noticeably not present were Kimimela’s family.
Jade looked up. Her gaze met mine.
She smiled so wide the little silver piercing almost dimpled.
“Not your woman, huh?” Mom chuckled.
I dropped my eyes and turned my back.
This wasn’t the time.
This wasn’t the place.
Too much had happened here.
Shappa—Red Thunder—my mother towed me along with her, talking just as fast as Jade. She was a linguist—a freakin’ multilinguist in fact. A traveling college professor of languages and Native American studies around the country. Breaking boundaries. Making a new renaissance for our tribe. She wasn’t just Red Thunder. She was Sheila Red Thunder. Sought after by Ivy League universities.
But she always came home.
Unlike me.
Half of my gifts came from her.
The other side—the warrior—I’d inherited from my dad.
Jade, Madge, and my dad caught up. He carried all our bags, stomping behind us, sending up fresh billows of snow.
Another two-dozen folks fell in step behind him.
Jade looked longingly at her pack with the Beretta safely stowed inside.
I put my hand on my holster, the steady weight of the Smith & Wesson slapping against my thigh.
The only reason we used weapons here was to hunt. Kill game. Stock for the winter and feed.
Jade and I killed for money.
A paycheck.
We relied on our intel and decided we were doing something for the good.
What could be more for the good than living off the land?
Killing no one.
Being at peace.
“What about Lakota?” my mom asked.
“Wha-?”
“Does she speak our language?”
“You can probably talk freely.” I chewed on the corner of my lip.
As we shuffled toward the house—a rambling log cabin where snowdrifts rose knee high—I drew Jade forward.
I kept my arm clasped around her shoulder, taking the brunt of the snowfall.
Despite Mom’s efforts to be subtle, her questions and observations were totally obvious even to someone who didn’t understand Lakota as she gushed over Jade.
She’s very beautiful.
Remarkable eyes.
Is she in your same line of work?
Do you love her?
Okay. Those last two questions . . . not answering.
When we reached the house, Dad dismissed all the prying folks and closed us inside where we listened to the departure of dozens of feet from the porch and down the steps.
My dad dropped our bags and dusted the snow off his robe before placing it on the back of a chair beside the big open fireplace. Leaving Jade’s side, I approached the burly man who still hadn’t said more than two sentences to me.
My mom bustled around the huge old cookstove where the kitchen area and a long timber table took up a corner of the large room.
“Madge and I will just go see if your mother needs any help,” Jade called over.
I looked at her like she was crazy. Only thing she knew how to cook up was trouble—or microwavable meals.
“What finally brought you home?” Dad glanced at me from under bushy eyebrows.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I cringed. “About that. We got into a little bit of a bad situation.”
“You never get into anything little, Wakiza.” He sat down, gesturing toward the great oak mantle for his hand-carved tobacco box. “Out with it.”
I handed him the box with his pipe and tobacco and watched him pinch out the aromatic flakes and push them into the bowl.
“There are some people searching for us.” I scraped a match across the mantle and brought the glowing tip to his pipe. “We need shelter for a couple days.”
He took a deep inhale then invited me to sit in the chair beside his. “Explain some people.”
There was no love lost between Native Americans and the federal government. I knew my dad would keep quiet on the matter. I quickly and quietly laid it on the line, giving few actual details about who Jade and I worked for or what we did.
But my ’rents weren’t stupid. They were aware I was in a dangerous business without knowing the ins and outs of it.
“So, we can now add the Feds to the list, apparently.” I breathed in the scent of the smoke rising from his pipe, listening to the low voices of Madge, Jade, and my mom behind us.
“And you thought what better place than the reservation to keep a low profile?”
I nodded.
My dad let out a booming laugh, a big, free, full-body rumble until tears streamed from his eyes. “Outsmart the Feds? Count us in.”
“I wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t a last resort kind of thing.”
“You are a son of the Nation. You’re always welcome, and your guests, son.” The corners of his eyes crinkled through the soft trail of smoke. “Seems to me you shouldn’t need a reason to come home. And we sure have missed you.”
With a heavy pat to my shoulder, he ended the conversation. He lumbered to his feet, emptying the remnants of his pipe into the fire.
“Majedah and Jade, there’s a room with double beds down at the end of the hall if you want to clean up before we eat.” He prodded me in the back. “You stay in your old room.”
No freakin’ way was I gonna miss the chance to spend another night with Jade.
“Jade is my mahasani.” I pulled back my shoulders and firmed up my stance. “We’ll share my room.”
My mom clapped a hand over her mouth, no doubt to hold in a whoop of glee.
My dad glanced at her, his features stern. But when he cut his eyes to me, they danced in the firelight. “I can agree to those terms.”
Later after we’d eaten a small bite, my mother and father excused us.
But it wasn’t to be for long.
“Wakiza?” My mom called gaily, holding Dad’s hand across the table. “There will be a gathering tonight.”
They sputtered with laughter as I stomped down the hallway.
Would I never get more than a few minutes alone with my woman?
* * *
Jade practically jumped on me after I closed the door of my bedroom. “Oh my God, Walker. I never thought I’d see where you come from!” She clasped her hands to my face before spinning free. “This is your history.”
“Safety measures only,” I grumbled. “And I’m not exactly part of the Powwow circuit.”
But in truth, I was proud of where I came from. Proud to show her off, too, as long as everyone else kept their mouths shut about me in front of her.
I’d become a black sheep.
She squinted at me. “What was that you called me earlier?”
“Huh?” Play dumb, Walker.
“When you were talking to your dad about the rooming arrangements. You’ve said the word to me before too. In Somalia.” Jade advanced with that hip-swinging strut that really did make me dumb. “Need I remind you I pick up languages easily?”
I hooked my hands at her hips and drew her to me. “What I said was on a strictly need-to-know basis.” I kissed her, my tongue dipping inside to mate with hers. “And you don’t need to know.”
Jade leaned against my chest, her kiss-fresh lips nice and pouty.
I plucked at them again before swatting her on the ass. “Now, get changed. We got a gathering to go to.”
She stripped down with no compunction at all and no consideration for my hard-on. I wanted to keep her naked and take her out to the front room to lay her down in front of the fire just to see her skin glowing, framed by the bright flames.
I wanted my hands on her.
“So explain the nature of this gathering to me.” Pulling on panties—lacy and black, her signature color—she tossed the length of her hair over
her shoulder, and the bright maroon streaks in the black sheaf looked soft and glossy.
“Only if you don’t wear a bra, with something low cut.” I bent at the waist, drawing one of her berry-colored nipples between my lips.
Her fingers curled into my hair. “Ahhh. Walker!”
I lapped my way to the other crest and lashed it with my tongue. Straightening up, I squeezed both plentiful tits in my hands. I rasped my palms over them before willing myself to step away.
Jade took a shaky breath. She slipped a body-hugging dark blue shirt over her head that dipped into a deep, almost navel-grazing V.
“Will this do?”
“Until I can get my hands on you again.” I grasped the nape of her neck and dragged her to my mouth.
Lush lips opened in surprise. The velvet feel of her tongue, the tight nibble of her teeth, the sweet low moan cranked my need for her higher.
Gruff and ready to fuck, I explained, “Music. Food. Celebrations. Tradition.” I backed her up to the wall, flexed my cock against her belly, and palmed her cunt through her panties. “And I’d rather be fucking you.”
“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Jade shoved me back. “I’m not missing my one chance to see you in your element.”
She continued to get ready, fitting her legs and her hips and that ass into a tight pair of leather pants I hadn’t seen before.
Her eyebrow rose when I discarded my day-old clothes and swapped them for suede breeches and moccasins laced up my calves. Hell, if I only returned to the rez once every five years, I was gonna do it right. As befitted the son of the chief. I braided my hair and tied it off with a feathered leather thong. I tossed an old flannel shirt on top, worn through years of wear and washing. At my waist I looped a long-handled tomahawk whose blade shone with a fine edge.
Jade started clipping on her holster.
“Babe. You can ditch those.”
“You have a weapon.” She pointed, frowning.
“Ceremonial only. We’re not going all Wounded Knee here or international spy tonight.”
She caressed the butt of the Beretta she held in her hands, reluctant to part with it.
“And you think I have trust issues?” I asked.
“Ugh. Fine.” She placed the gun on my dresser.
“Now, place nice with the Natives.” I bit back my laugh when she huffed.
She started for the door, but I halted her. “Hang on.”
“I thought it was women who always dawdled.” She rolled her eyes.
Rummaging through my pack, I located the wanted item and slipped it into my palm. When I returned to Jade, I handed it to her.
She stared down at her cell phone. “What’s this for?”
“Peace offering.” I smirked.
She rolled her eyes again and tossed the phone toward her bag. “I’d rather have my Beretta,” she grumbled.
“I know.” Fitting my hands against her face, I gently rubbed my thumbs beside her lips. I leaned forward and kissed the twinkling silver piercing that was like a beauty mark. “Just wanted you to know I trust you, Jade.”
Her eyes lifted to mine. The smile spreading across her lips warmed me from the inside out.
When we entered the main room, Mom, Dad, and Madge stood from the table. My parents looked sepia-photo-op ready in their tribal garb. Madge wore a more than presentable outfit that accentuated her generous curves, and gold bangles glittered up and down her arms before she covered her upper half in the same winter jacket she’d been wearing during our journey.
“If Jade would permit me?” My mom drifted forward, her long silver hair shining.
She held up a decorative hair comb detailed with a pattern of brightly colored beads from which an abundance of feathers in every color of nature fell, and Jade assented with a nod.
“White Buffalo made this for me. And he adds a feather for every year. That’s why it’s so long. As long as our love.” She glanced at my dad, a smile flitting across her lips. “We call him Brian at home.”
“Woman. Why you have to give all my secrets away?” My father’s brusque voice boomed.
“Because that’s what thirty years with you has earned me.” Mom lifted a buffalo cape, showing it to Jade. “And my mother helped me make this when I was twelve. I felt like a real woman then. Couldn’t wait to catch me a man.” Her soft eyes twinkled. “I would be honored if you wore it.”
The tightness in my throat wasn’t just because of this homecoming.
It had a lot to do with what I’d lost, given up, what I thought I’d never find again.
“It is my honor, Shappa.” Jade beamed.
“And you can call her Sheila.” Dad teased Mom.
A round of laughter broke up the seriousness of the moment. We journeyed outside where the snowfall had lifted, leaving a dark velvety sky above set with brilliant stars undiluted by clouds, or smog, or cityscapes.
The soft white fluff muffled the sound of our footsteps. We made an unusual group, but it worked. Misfits. Loners. The wanted and the hunted, and the feeling of deep-rooted heritage and belonging no matter what.
Despite the ease of family and the companionship with which they’d welcomed Jade and Madge, an uncomfortable twist knotted in my stomach.
Five years.
Besides my parents, there were two people I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid no matter how much I wanted to.
I just didn’t want Jade to find out.
The music hit us first, loud and distinct. Then the lights and torches shining bright from the longhouse.
Once we entered the great meetinghouse with the ancient carved totems, people openly rubber-necked Jade. Word must’ve already traveled about how I’d referred to her, no thanks to my mom, no doubt.
Mahasani.
My step faltered when I saw them. There’d be no duck and dive this time.
That twist in my stomach tightened like a screw. The pain I’d sought to outrun slammed back into me like a fist.
My former in-laws moved toward me.
With a last squeeze of Jade’s hand, I cut away from the pack, hoping to head them off.
Twenty
Lost
I COULDN’T IGNORE THE tears on Wachiwi’s lined face or the ghosts hiding in her welling-over deep brown eyes. Before, they’d always been merry and slightly mischievous, so like Kimimela’s. I couldn’t disguise the glut of emotion resurfacing when tall, sturdy Hotah took me into his hard hug.
My chest ached. The anguish, the wound of my past reopening from the embraces of my mother- and father-in-law.
The clawing sense of guilt and grief suffocated me. Something I only relegated by being on hyper-drive, danger-watch twenty-four hours a day so it didn’t consume me whole.
So I could forget.
So I could pretend that life, that loss, had never happened.
“I’m sorry.” Stepping back, I dropped my head in shame. “I couldn’t face you. I was less than a man.”
Hotah’s strong hand on my shoulder guided me back to him, and I’d never felt more young, more unsure.
“I’m sorry about Kimmy and . . .” Her name raked from my throat, and I swallowed over the lump lodged there.
I hadn’t said her name for years.
Thinking it had been like drawing a sharp knife over my own flesh.
My flesh and blood.
“We know that, Wakiza. It was an accident. Don’t you think we know that?” Wachiwi pulled me around.
“I should’ve been more careful. If I hadn’t—”
Wachiwi grabbed my chin. “You stop that. Five years you’ve been gone. We have lost something that can never be replaced, but we haven’t lost you, chinkshi.”
She called me son, and I wiped my nose on my sleeve like I was a nine-year-old runt again.
Suddenly the old animation, the gleaming mischievousness was back in her eyes.
Wachiwi surprised me, asking me, “Is it true? About this Jade?”
“I’m sorry.” I apologized a third time. “I
didn’t want to.”
I felt Jade’s watchful eyes on me and decided ignoring her in this moment would be the best bet, because I’d never felt more flayed open in my life.
Wachiwi tipped into my embrace, and I tucked my arms around her. “We only want you to be happy, Wakiza. You need to forgive yourself.”
“I’m not sure I know how.”
“That one looks like a good start.” Hotah smiled, wiping at his eyes. “It’s okay to love again.”
The hot sheen of tears brimmed in my eyes, but I blinked them back. “I haven’t told Jade any of it. Not yet. We have . . . issues.”
“Everyone has issues. The best part is working them out together.” Hotah moved to stand beside his wife, and she released me to take his hand.
“I hear that.” I nearly grinned before relapsing into private torment. “I was worried about seeing you again.”
“And we’ve all been worried about never seeing you again.” Wachiwi patted my face familiarly. “Don’t stay away so long next time.”
Relief lifted the stone in my chest as I rejoined Jade and Madge. Veritable magpies surrounded them, women and girls inspecting their hair and dress, asking them about where they came from, where they’d traveled, and if they had boyfriends or husbands.
The vibrations of the past meeting the present in all ways.
Other elders filed inside, granted their moments of respect they deserved. Children filled the room, their high voices like sparkles of laughter. Festivities in the air for this nation that had seen decay, depression, poverty.
More folks arrived wearing a mix of ceremonial dress and everyday clothing . . . a rebirth, a meld of modern and tradition.
A new kind of harmony.
Not just found in the musicians, who blended Lakota love flutes and hand drums with rock star rhythm including Mahpee on the bass guitar.
Several iPhones flashed in my direction, probably with the hashtag old school, but I didn’t care. Unless of course they were posting that shit on Instagram.
Mahpee loped toward me. He’d been my best friend, Kimmy’s thibló, her older brother.
Part of me wanted to run and hide. He’d been there that day. He’d seen it all.
