Shelter for Sophie: Badge of Honor, Book 8

by Susan Stoker

  All in all, she looked fresh and clean. Chief still berated himself for being such an ass at The Sloppy Cow and assuming shit about her. That wasn’t like him. He usually sat back and gathered all the facts before acting, but after learning she was his neighbor, single, and had a crush on him, he’d gotten excited. Then on the heels of that, he’d overheard, and misinterpreted, the conversation about the medical trials, and it had brought back too many bad memories of his childhood.

  He was pretty sure she’d forgiven him, but he’d make sure she understood how badly he felt for the misunderstanding.

  As he’d told Crash, he liked Sophie. Really liked her. He didn’t know her well yet, but what he did know, he was impressed by. Her passion for her job, her willingness to befriend people who others would deem “undesirable,” and her friendliness. Not once in his home-owning life had someone mowed his lawn for him.

  Knowing his OCD was showing, Chief cleaned as he cooked. When he used a spoon to stir the noodles in the pot, he rinsed it off before placing it on a small towel next to the stove. After he’d drained the noodles, the pot went directly into the dishwasher. When he spilled some sauce on the countertop, he immediately wiped it up.

  By the time their dinner was plated and ready to eat, the dishes that he’d used to prepare the meal were already in the dishwasher and the kitchen was spotless.

  “Want to eat here at the bar, or at the table?” Chief asked as he stood holding both their plates.

  “Table. If that’s all right,” Sophie said.

  “Of course.” Chief carried the plates to the square wooden table off the kitchen and put them down. “I forgot to ask while we were at your place if you wanted to bring some wine over to drink or something. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. Water would be great.”

  Chief nodded and held out one of the chairs for Sophie. She sat and he helped her scoot closer to the table. Then he went back into the kitchen and grabbed two glasses and a bottle of water from the fridge. After pouring the water, he put the empty plastic bottle under the sink in the recycle container he kept there. He grabbed two paper napkins and joined Sophie.

  He sat catty-corner to her and reached for her hand. Relieved when she didn’t pull away from him, Chief said, “Thanks for coming over.”

  “Thanks for inviting m-me. This looks amazing.”

  Squeezing her hand once more, Chief let go and they ate.

  Thirty minutes later, with the dishwasher running, the table wiped down, and their glasses on coasters on the coffee table, Chief settled next to Sophie on his couch. They weren’t quite touching, but if he reached out, he could easily pull her into his embrace.

  “Want to watch a movie?” Chief asked. “I’ve got a few to choose from.”

  Sophie shook her head and scrunched up her nose. “I’m not m-much of a m-movie person, I’m afraid. I get bored easily and m-my attention s-span is about this big.” She held up her thumb and forefinger, indicating a tiny amount.

  “TV?”

  “Can we just…talk?”

  “Of course,” Chief told her. He wasn’t much of a talker, but with her, he found he wanted to talk. Wanted to get to know her. Wanted her to get to know him. It was just one of a hundred ways he knew she was destined to be more than a casual fling. “Why don’t I start?.”

  Sophie shrugged. “If you want.” She turned toward him, resting her elbow on the back of the couch and putting her head in her palm. She curled her legs up, pulling her skirt down over her knees and giving him her full attention.

  “So…I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m a bit of a neat freak.”

  She giggled. “You think?”

  Chief took heart in the fact that she was laughing and not frowning at him.

  “I picked this house because the front door faces east. I don’t know what you know of Native American history and customs…” He paused.

  “Not a lot,” Sophie said.

  “Don’t apologize. Most people only know a few things here and there. I’m Navajo. I grew up on the reservation in western New Mexico. My people don’t live in villages and don’t have pueblos. We live in groups of what are called hogans, which are generally circular. Back in the day, they were built with mud and sticks or logs and stone. Today we use wood or cement, but they’re still circular in nature, most of the time…six-sided. The front door faces east to receive the blessing of the day’s first ray of sun.”

  “That’s beautiful. I like the thought of s-starting the day off s-so positively.”

  Chief smiled at her before continuing. “I grew up living near a small group of hogans. We set up near a creek, which ran through the reservation nearby. My dad wasn’t around much, he spent his days, and many nights, hanging with his friends, drinking and gambling. He died in a drunk-driving accident when I was around sixteen. My mom worked her butt off trying to make sure I had everything I needed growing up. We were poor, but generally happy.”

  Sophie moved her arm from the back of the couch to rest on his thigh. Chief placed his hand over hers and continued. “I was an only child, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have a lot of brothers and sisters. All the kids in the small group of hogans hung out together. We called each other brother- and sister-cousins. We played, ate, and went to school together.”

  He took a deep breath. “So a lot of the way I am and think is a result of my upbringing. But we’ll tackle my OCD first. Living in the desert meant there was always dirt around. Red clay, specifically. Blowing in the air, sticking to our shoes, encrusting itself in our skin as we sweat. And our hogans aren’t like regular houses. We had a dirt floor, mostly covered with wood planks…but not like a floor in regular houses. And the entryway was nothing more than a buffalo hide hanging in the doorway. Not one thing I owned growing up was ever clean. I mean really clean. I picked dirt out of my food on a daily basis. My feet were stained red from the clay-like dirt. When it rained, there was literally a river of mud that flowed through our house. My clothes were constantly covered in the stuff.

  “When I got old enough to move into my own apartment, I realized how wonderful it was to be clean. To not have to worry what others would think about me if I had dirt on my clothes. To not be concerned when someone came over to eat whether they would notice the gritty texture of the bread because of the dirt that had gotten into the bowl as the dough was rising. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame my mother, or anyone else, for how I grew up. It was what it was. There were a lot of awesome things I experienced that kids today don’t, but there’s just something inside me that cringes when I see dirt on the floor, or an unwashed plate or glass sitting in the sink. All I can see is the dirt accumulating and taking over.”

  “Your house is beautiful, Chief,” Sophie told him. “And I totally get that. I’d probably be the s-same way if I grew up the way you did.”

  “It’s why I couldn’t even bring my last girlfriend into my space. I saw how she lived, clothes thrown everywhere, dirty dishes piled up in the sink, papers strewn across every flat surface. It sounds horrible, but I didn’t want her to contaminate my place.”

  Sophie bit her lip, then bravely said, “I’m not a neatnik.”

  “I know, but you aren’t a slob either.”

  “How can you tell? You were only in m-my house for like five m-minutes.”

  “I’m a professional dirt sniffer-outter,” Chief teased, then got serious. “Seriously, yes, you have some dust on your shelves, and there were things out of place here and there, but it’s nothing I can’t deal with.”

  “I s-straightened up yesterday,” Sophie admitted.

  “Soph, stop,” Chief ordered. “I don’t expect you to be as neat as I am. As long as you don’t suddenly start throwing your shit all over the place, I can deal.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment. Chief held his breath. He knew he was more than a little OCD. He just hoped it wasn’t a deal breaker for the woman sitting next to him.

  A small sound interrupted their intense m
oment, and Chief looked over at the hallway. One of his cats was standing there meowing, as if asking for permission to enter the large, airy space.

  He leaned over and snapped his fingers. “Come ’ere, Mósí,” he said softly. “I want you to meet someone.”

  “You have a cat?” Sophie asked, disbelief easy to read in her tone.

  Chief waited until the black cat ambled over and was close enough to pick up. He placed the cat on his lap and ran his hand over its head, the purring coming from the animal easy to hear. “Two.”

  “You have two? The m-man who is obsessed with cleanliness and takes his s-shoes off before he takes one s-step into his house?”

  He smiled at her. “Yeah, weird huh?”

  “M-Maybe not weird, but s-surprising, yes.”

  Chief had noticed that Sophie had stopped avoiding using words that started with m or s, and it pleased him to no end. He never wanted her to be worried about watching what she said around him. He hardly even noticed her stuttering anymore. It was as much a part of her as anything else.

  “So, growing up on the res, there were stray dogs everywhere. Pathetic creatures, really, and I was scared to death of them. They were always hungry and had no problem running right up to you and stealing food right out of your hand. Every now and then they’d get brave enough to come right inside our hogan. I don’t mind dogs, especially Beth or Adeline’s, but I’m much more comfortable around cats.”

  “But s-still…aren’t they hairy, s-stinky, and m-messy?”

  “They can be,” Chief admitted. “But in my experience, dogs are way more stinky and messy. I don’t let my cats get overly hairy, I clean their litter box as much as possible, and they really aren’t that messy. Mósí here is actually very dainty when he eats.”

  “How do you s-spell that?”

  “M-o-s-i,” Chief told her.

  “M-Mo-see.” Sophie attempted the Navajo pronunciation. “Figures you’d have a pet with a name that s-starts with an m,” she said, elbowing him lightly in jest. “What’s it m-mean?”

  “Cat.”

  “Really? That’s um…not very original.”

  Chief smiled and shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to mind.”

  “True.”

  Mósí wasn’t the bravest of animals. Chief had rescued him and his sister from a house fire. They had been feral and their mother had been killed. He’d brought them home and it had been two weeks before he’d been able to coax them out from under the bed in his guest room. Mósí was the braver of the two, but Chief had never seen him actually lean toward anyone other than him in order to get affection.

  “What’s the other one’s name? Cat Two?”

  Chief loved this playful side of Sophie. “Good guess, but no. It’s Łibá,”

  “And that m-means?”

  He smiled. “Gray.”

  “Let me guess…s-she’s gray?”

  His smile grew. “Actually, she’s black too.”

  Sophie blinked.

  “But she was gray when she was a kitten.”

  “You’re s-strange,” Sophie declared with a shake of her head. “I thought I heard once that Native Americans are s-superstitious. Aren’t you afraid to have two black cats?”

  Chief relaxed against the couch. He loved that Sophie asked him about his culture. Too many people were afraid of being politically incorrect to have the guts to ask him anything. Even people he’d known a long time. He hoped it meant Sophie felt comfortable with him. “In some ways, the Navajo are superstitious,” he told her. “For instance, we don’t talk about the dead, and we don’t talk about skin-walkers.”

  “What are those?”

  Chief didn’t answer, but raised his eyebrow at her instead.

  He smiled when she blushed.

  “Oh yeah, s-sorry. You just s-said you don’t talk about them. I’ll look it up.”

  “Anyway, so yeah, in some ways I’m superstitious, but just as you wouldn’t understand the things me and my people are leery of, I don’t understand why white people are afraid of black cats or walking under ladders.” He shrugged. “So no, I’m not afraid of Mósí or Łibá.”

  She nodded, and Chief watched in awe as Sophie held out her fingers to his skittish pet and Mósí head-butted them, demanding she pet him. “They’re really easy pets,” he said, bringing the conversation back to his cats. “I have no problems leaving them for a few days at a time when I’m on shift. I make sure they have plenty of water, their litterbox is clean, and their food dish is filled. They’re very low maintenance.”

  Mósí purred as Sophie scratched behind his ear. He turned on his back in Chief’s lap and Sophie giggled.

  “Łibá is probably hiding out. She’s not much of a people person, I’m afraid,” Chief said

  Sophie shook her head. “I s-still can’t believe it.”

  “What? That I have pets?” Chief asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Am I that much of an ogre?”

  “No, it’s not that,” Sophie reassured him quickly. “It’s just that I didn’t peg you as the pet type. And then after s-seeing your house, and hearing your s-story…it’s just s-surprising.”

  “You like animals?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, but I’ve never really had a pet. M-My s-stepfather didn’t like them, and when he and m-my m-mom broke up, s-she was too busy.”

  “Your stepfather?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. M-My biological dad died when I was a baby.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I didn’t know him at all. I m-mean, it’s s-still s-sad for m-my m-mom, s-she really loved him, but I don’t m-miss him because I was too young when he died.”

  Chief didn’t like the faraway look she got in her eye. He gently placed Mósí on the floor and scooted closer to Sophie. “And your stepfather?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t m-miss him either.” She turned her head and looked anywhere but at him.

  And now he could physically feel the weird vibe in the air, not to mention hearing in her voice how uncomfortable she was with the topic. Chief reached out and put his palm on her cheek, turning her face toward him. “Did he hurt you?”

  Sophie didn’t answer for a long time, then she nodded.

  “Bastard,” Chief said softly. “Tell me?” He didn’t want to force her, but if she’d been violated, he wanted to know. He needed to so he could proceed with their physical relationship without hurting her or bringing up ghosts that might be buried skin deep.

  She shrugged. “He didn’t m-molest m-me, if that’s what you’re thinking. He only hurt m-me the one time…and m-my m-mom walked in on him doing it. S-She s-stopped him and left him that day.”

  “Good for her. What’d he do?”

  “Chief, it was a long time ago, it doesn’t m-matter anymore.”

  “It matters to me,” he told her. “Whatever happened still hurts you, I can tell. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll back off. But you should know, it doesn’t matter what happened. I’m not going anywhere. Every piece of information I learn about you only makes me more interested.”

  For a split second, Chief didn’t think she was going to tell him. Then she sat back, turned, and scooted closer to him. Chief immediately put his arm around her chest, locking her to him.

  “Is this okay?” she asked quietly.

  “It’s perfect,” Chief reassured her, kissing the top of her head tenderly.

  “It’s easier to talk about if I don’t have to look at you,” Sophie admitted. “It’s s-stupid. It happened s-so long ago and m-my m-mom was awesome. S-She wouldn’t listen to his excuses and went and s-saw her lawyer that day to s-start divorce proceedings.”

  “But it still affects you,” Chief guessed.

  Sophie nodded.

  “Take your time,” he said, shifting to make himself more comfortable and take more of her weight. For the first time ever, he wished he had a blanket on the back of the couch, like she did at her house, so he could cover her with it. The fac
t that he was okay with even thinking about having a blanket on the couch, out in the open, where it could collect dust, was a huge shift in his thinking. But it was something he’d ponder later. Right now, Sophie needed to be held as she talked about her past.

  Chapter 8

  Sophie closed her eyes. Why am I even considering telling him this? It’s our second date, for goodness sake.

  She felt Chief’s lips brush the top of her head, and his action made her realize why she was going to spill her guts. Because it was Chief. Because she knew deep down in her soul that he wouldn’t pity her. He wouldn’t make things weird between them if she told him. He’d be pissed on her behalf. He’d be worried about her. But he wouldn’t be flip or act like it wasn’t a big deal. It was. It was a huge deal.

  “I was s-seven,” Sophie told him, opening her eyes and staring at the pristine white wall on the far side of the room. “M-Mom had m-married Bruce the year before. I didn’t love him, but I didn’t dislike him either. I think s-she m-missed m-my dad, and m-missed having a partner, it’s not easy being a s-single parent. I don’t think there was any deep true love between them.

  “Anyway, I had been going to s-speech therapy for a couple of years and was doing better. I used to s-stutter over s-so m-many letters. D’s, w’s, b’s…the list was endless. But I’d gotten to the point where only m’s and s’s were s-still an issue. M-Mom had gone to the s-store, s-so it was just m-me and Bruce in the house. He was in the kitchen and I asked him if I could have a s-snack. He threw the s-spoon he had in his hand into the s-sink in disgust and told m-me to ask him properly. I didn’t know what he m-meant, s-so I asked for a s-snack again.”

  She closed her eyes and ground her teeth together, doing her best not to cry. It had happened forever ago; she was over it. Why was retelling the story to Chief so emotional?