Nobody (Men of the White Sandy) (Volume 3)

by Sarah M. Anderson

  Then, before he could come up with a response to that, she kissed him. Hard. Not a kiss of passion or heat, but a kiss of domination. A kiss that left him no choice.

  She hoped.

  When she broke the kiss, she leaned her forehead against his. His arms went around her waist, which she took to mean that he’d made the correct choice. “Trust me,” she said in a quiet voice.

  A long moment passed—one in which he looked as if he were really struggling. Good lord—what if he didn’t trust her? But then he said, “Okay.”

  She hugged him. That was as good as that was going to get. “We’ve got to go. You’ll stay out of trouble, right?”

  Nobody nodded, but he didn’t quite meet her eyes. Then he was gone, slipping out the door and into the dark. “Stay away from the police station!” she called after him, but he was gone into the night.

  Damn that man.

  He wasn’t going to make this easy on her.

  *

  “He’s over there,” Sheriff Tim Means said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. He had some sizable bags under his eyes, making it look like he hadn’t slept in a week.

  Point of fact, Sheriff Means did not have Jamie in a cell. The boy was curled up into a ball on a ratty looking sofa in the police station, which was apparently a fancy way of saying ‘an office with two cells in the corner.’ A man was in one of the cells, mumbling to himself. Melinda couldn’t tell if the man was asleep or just drunk.

  Jamie had a stuffed pillowcase at his feet and no socks on. Clearly, he’d been woken up and hustled out of the house. Melinda felt like grabbing the sheriff by his shirt collar and yelling at him. That was no way to wake up a kid, especially not for this.

  “Jamie?” She sat down next to the boy and rubbed his shoulder. “Honey, I’m here.”

  Jamie awoke with a start. “Huh? Oh.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Can we go home now?”

  “No, honey, not yet.” Jamie’s face fell and Melinda felt worse than old gum stuck to the sidewalk. “You’re going to have to go to a foster home until I can get approved.”

  “So … they’re really dead?”

  Melinda looked at the sheriff, who said, “I didn’t show him the pictures. He doesn’t need to see that.”

  Melinda decided to dislike Sheriff Means a tad less. At least he hadn’t gone that far.

  “Yes. I’m sorry, honey.”

  Jamie burst into tears and threw his arms around Melinda’s neck. She held him and rubbed his back as he cried it out. “I want—I want—I want Nobody!” he wailed at one point.

  “I know, honey.” She shot a mean look at the sheriff, who promptly busied himself at his desk.

  The drunk shouted something that sounded like “Butterflies!”

  Melinda tried to block him out. “It won’t be long and you can see him again.”

  Rebel produced a box of tissues from somewhere and set them next to Melinda. He then sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them, just like Melinda had seen him do when Nobody was wounded. Just waiting, she thought. Just in case.

  Finally, after a long time, Jamie calmed down. He wiped his nose on his arm before Melinda could hand him a tissue. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not looking at anyone in the room.

  Boys. She gave him a tissue anyway. “It’s okay.”

  “I’m just …” Jamie blinked furiously. “They’re not coming back, right?”

  “Right.”

  Jamie thought on this for a while, sniffing. “Good.” Then he looked at Rebel. “Does that make me bad?”

  “No, son. Just human,” Rebel replied without hesitation.

  They waited, mostly in silence—except for the sniffing, of course. Jamie dozed off with Melinda’s arm around his shoulder. If she hadn’t been so worried about him—about Nobody—she would have probably fallen asleep, too.

  But she was worried. She half expected that man to come busting up in here like some demon from the night. But he promised me, she kept telling herself every time she heard a noise. He promised he wouldn’t.

  Dawn had barely cracked when a late-model sedan pulled up in front of the station. A plump woman who looked to be in her late fifties got out. Despite the early hour, her helmet of curled hair was firmly in place and she was wearing a skirt suit with those shoes that older women wore—not quite dress shoes, not quite sneakers, but some unholy combination of the two.

  “Jamie, honey—wake up,” Melinda said, giving him a squeeze.

  Rebel uncurled from his sitting position on the floor and even Sheriff Means straightened the cuffs of his sleeves.

  The woman entered the building. “Good morning.” Her voice was so perky it hurt Melinda’s ears. “I’m Bertha Watterkotte.”

  Whoa—talk about an unfortunate name, Melinda thought as she barely managed to contain her smile. Morning people should be illegal. She must be getting slap-happy. Not a good sign.

  Bertha smiled down at Jamie. “And you must be James Kills Deer.”

  He flinched. “Jamie,” he said in such a quiet whisper that Bertha had to lean forward.

  “Of course, dear,” Bertha replied in a remarkably good-natured tone. The longer Melinda looked at her, the more the older woman looked like a tough-love granny who’d stopped by the police station on her way to Sunday school.

  “I’m Melinda Mitchell, the director of the White Sandy Child Care Center,” Melinda said, approaching Bertha with her hand out. Bertha had a firm grip—the kind that said she took no crap from grown women or little boys.

  Behind her, the drunk shouted, “Red butterflies! Ohhh …”

  Melinda winced. “Can we talk outside?”

  Bertha gave a stern look to the drunk. “I suppose that would be best. Jamie, why don’t you use the restroom and wash your hands before we leave?”

  Jamie looked up at Melinda, who nodded in agreement. He headed toward the back of the station while all four adults headed outside.

  “I’m trying to get custody of Jamie,” Melinda began with no other introduction. “But my application to be a foster parent is still in process. Obviously, the night’s events have both made things simpler and harder. We won’t have to work around his parents, but I think you can understand why I was trying to get custody.”

  Bertha nodded her head, listening intensely. “The trooper I talked to made the situation quite clear. And you have a place for the child?”

  Damn it, no. Melinda forced herself to sound upbeat. “Not yet. The house is due to be installed next Thursday.”

  “Installed?” Bertha’s eyebrows quirked up.

  “Modular housing,” Melinda replied. “The site’s almost ready. And, just so you know, I was a foster parent in Columbus, Ohio, a few years ago, so I understand how the process works.” And how long it might take. But if she could get someone like Bertha Watterkotte on her side, it might not take as long. “I want to make sure Jamie’s in a secure home but not removed from the support system he already has on the rez. This is Jonathan Runs Fast, the medicine man for the tribe.” Rebel’s other name felt weird on her tongue, but this was all about making a good impression.

  Bertha shook Rebel’s hand. “A pleasure.”

  Rebel nodded.

  Behind them, a sound like a twig breaking caught all of their attentions. Bertha’s head whipped around. “Is someone there?”

  “I’m sure it’s Nobody,” Rebel replied. Sheriff Means glared as he looked off into the distance.

  “I understand that the process will take time,” Melinda repeated, trying to regain Bertha’s attention. “I’ve enrolled in the required classes and am about halfway done. The home study will need to be completed as soon as the home is ready, which should be in a week or two. But in the meantime, I’d like to be able to come see Jaime. I don’t want him to feel alone.”

  Bertha glanced at the odd circle of people around her. Melinda gave her credit for not looking over her shoulder again. “Yes, well,” she began, sounding less warm as she dug a card out of her pocket. “W
e have rules, as I’m sure you can understand, regarding in-home visits by non-family members. Any visit with the child would have to be supervised at my office. Foster parents do not appreciate unscheduled visits, as I’m sure you can understand,” she repeated

  “Absolutely,” Melinda readily agreed, knowing full well that meant Nobody wouldn’t be a part of it. She took the card Bertha offered. “You have a place for him in the meantime?”

  “Oh, yes,” Bertha said, brightening up. “One of our best homes, I believe. She just had an opening. I’ll make it clear to her that this should be a short-term arrangement. We just need to make sure we do what’s best for the child, you understand.”

  “Completely,” Melinda said, hoping that Bertha had spoken loud enough that Nobody had heard the ‘short-term’ part. “I’ll email you later today with my information. I’d appreciate being kept in the loop regarding Jamie’s care until my application can be approved.”

  “That’s fine,” Bertha said as Jamie trudged out of the station, head down and shoulders slumped. “Ah, there you are, dear. Come along.” She walked back to the car and opened the backseat door. A child’s booster seat was ready at the waiting.

  Melinda knelt down besides the boy. “It won’t be for long, all right? Take care of yourself, follow the rules and listen to the foster mom, okay? The next thing you know, I’ll have the house all ready and you can come back.”

  Jamie sniffed again. His lower lip quivered, but he was doing a darned good job of not crying, all things considered. “Will you come see me?”

  “I’ll arrange it with Ms. Watterkotte.” She tried to smile for him. “I won’t forget about you—none of us will.” Especially Nobody, she thought. She fought the urge to check out the shadows. At this point, all she could hope was that he wasn’t about to materialize out of thin air and grab the boy. Stay hidden, she thought. But she didn’t look. She couldn’t. “It won’t be long. You’ll be back before school starts.” She hoped. She really, really hoped.

  “Come along, dear,” Bertha Watterkotte repeated.

  Melinda crushed Jamie in a hug. “It’s going to get better,” she whispered. “I promise.”

  Then Jamie was squirming out of her grasp. Sheriff Means patted him on the head and Rebel shook his hand. Then, just before he climbed into the car, Jamie stared off into a patch of darkness and waved.

  Bertha frowned and looked at the same spot, but she must not have seen anything because she shut the door, got into the driver’s seat, and drove off.

  Melinda, Rebel and Sheriff Means stood there until the taillights disappeared. Then the sheriff spoke. “Dwayne’s not really in a position to press charges. The feds picked him up on drug charges and he hasn’t posted bail. The feds could care less about how his arm got busted in seven places.”

  “I see,” she said quietly, hoping Nobody could hear.

  Sheriff Means scratched his head. He looked more tired than she’d ever seen him. “I think the rest of his gang are scared shitless, so no one else will be stirring anything up. But I’m not going to have a vigilante running around my rez. I see Nobody Bodine, I arrest him. There’s plenty of unsolved cases that I can link back up to a man no one saw.”

  “Understood.” Except she didn’t, not really. Why was he telling her and Rebel this? “Are you going to look for him?”

  Sheriff Means ground his heel into the dirt. “I have better things to do than waste my day looking for a man I’ll never find. But if I see him …” He looked at the line of shadows that was fading with the rising sun.

  “Got it.” She wanted to tell the sheriff that Nobody was working on being good, that he’d kept his promise not to kill Lou Kills Deer—that he’d given her a reason to trust him. But she didn’t. She just waited while Rebel and the sheriff shook hands, then got into Rebel’s truck and drove back to the house.

  It was only then that she allowed herself to feel the tiniest bit optimistic. She wished ill on no man or woman, but it was God’s honest truth that, with Lou and Myra Kills Deer out of the picture, Jamie was suddenly much safer than he’d ever been in his life. Plus, she wouldn’t have to live in fear of a drunken Lou showing up at her house with a gun and a grudge.

  Jamie being in a foster home made things more complicated right now, but in the long run?

  Now she just had to make sure that Nobody didn’t decide to do things his way. Like the sheriff said, this was not the time for a vigilante to be running around.

  This was going to be harder than she thought.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “He’s doing fine,” Melinda said in that voice that Nobody didn’t like because it sounded like she was talking to an idiot who couldn’t grasp a basic fact like two plus two was four.

  It’d been eleven days since Jamie had been taken—eleven days that felt like a year in prison. “Where is he?”

  It was only when she scowled at him, with her hands on her hips just like Dr. Mitchell did, that he realized that he’d maybe said that a little too loud, a little too mean.

  Damn it. But he was worried about the boy. That didn’t make him the bad guy here. Well, he was already the bad guy here, but it didn’t make him even worse.

  “You, sir, will sit down and chill the hell out,” Melinda said in a voice that was downright icy. “I am not going to tell you where he is because I know that you’ll slink off into the dark to check on him and that is the absolute last thing that you should be doing right now.”

  He wanted to argue with her, except she was right about everything except the part where he shouldn’t go check on Jamie. “But I—”

  “No buts. No ifs or ands, either. Sit.” She pointed to the blanket.

  So he sat. At least they were outside. And alone. The house was dark, but it wasn’t that late, maybe only ten. Either Rebel and his wife weren’t there or they were sleeping.

  “There,” Melinda said, settling in next to him and resting her head on his shoulder. “Now, will you listen?”

  He nodded as he slipped his arm around her shoulder. He liked this part—sitting in front of the fire with her, just the two of them. He still found it hard to believe that someone like Melinda wanted to sit with him. Any normal woman would have run screaming from him when he got a little loud and mean.

  But not her.

  “Jamie’s fine. I talked to him today—as much as that boy talks on the phone.” She looked up at him. “He gets that from you, you know.”

  Nobody ducked his head, his cheeks hot. “Sorry.”

  “I’m going to go see him next week,” she went on. “It’ll be at the social services office and that woman—remember her?” He nodded. “She’ll be supervising.”

  “I … I shouldn’t go, should I?” The woman who had driven Jamie away had looked like the kind of woman who would not take kindly to a man like Nobody.

  “I’m really sorry, but no. You just have to trust me, okay?”

  He sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her—it was that he’d never really trusted anyone before. Most especially when it came to government offices. And government officials.

  He knew it wasn’t right, but he couldn’t help but see Jamie locked in some room, unable to get out. Even just thinking that made Nobody’s chest tighten to the point where he had trouble breathing.

  “I just want to know he’s okay.”

  “He’s okay, babe. I spoke with the foster mother, Ms. Winking. She seemed really nice. Said he’s eating well and is amazing at doing chores.” She looked up at him again, her eyes bright with affection. “He gets that from you, too.”

  That made him feel good—he’d done something right by the boy. But he couldn’t shake that image … “Winking? Is that her name?” He couldn’t tell if that was an Indian name or a white name. He tried to picture the woman that went with it—maybe a little older, a little round. Grandmotherly. Someone who would take care of a boy she didn’t know.

  If he could just see for himself, he could stop worrying.

  Bu
t how was he going to do that without breaking his promise to Melinda?

  “Nancy.” She yawned and nuzzled into his side. “Nancy Winking. He said she doesn’t really wink, though. He seemed disappointed.”

  She seemed unaware that she’d just given him exactly what he needed. “Tired?”

  She nodded. “It’s been a long couple of days. But I think I’ll sleep better tonight, now that I’ve talked with Jamie.” Then she stood, stretching her body right in front of him. Then she held out her hand. “Will you come inside tonight?”

  Yeah, that’s how it was. She asked him almost every night now, and he’d started using the door—walking into the house as if he owned the place. Him. Inside. Every night.

  Her house was here now, but still empty, still not hooked up to those things a woman like Melinda needed—lights and water. But by the end of the week, she’d be set up in her new place. And he’d be able to walk in like he owned the place any time he wanted. She’d said he could. No slinking around in the shadows anymore.

  “Yeah.” He’d stay until she fell asleep.

  And then?

  He had to find out where Nancy Winking lived.

  *

  It took a little work—Nobody had never turned on the computer at the Clinic before, but it was the only place he knew he could use the internet without anyone noticing.

  It took him over an hour to figure out how to use the Google, but by 3:15 in the morning, he had an address for Nancy Winking.

  He borrowed a car—not Melinda’s—and was gone. He’d be back before anyone noticed the car was missing.

  He had to go see about a boy.

  *

  Nobody tapped on the window—once, then paused for ten seconds, then quickly two more times. If Jamie were in there, he’d recognize the signal.

  He crouched low under the window and waited. He was pretty sure this was the right address—the number matched—but he had no idea if this was Jamie’s room or not. The house was a small ranch home, probably from the sixties, so he had that going for him, but it had draperies, so he couldn’t see inside. He’d chosen this window because the other one had what might be lace on the edges of the draperies. An older lady might have lace in her room.