Redeemed
Page 7
“Maybe you should. What if he hurts someone?”
“Kwe, that’s his business. Not mine.”
“I can’t help someone who might hurt others. It doesn’t matter if Sheena’s foster parents acted negligently. There’s a system in place to handle irresponsible caregivers.”
“He lives by the Seven Grandfathers Teachings. He lives by the twelve steps. He’s not gonna hurt anyone. If he did, it’d go against everything he believes in.”
“You have to remember I never met him. I don’t know what kind of person he is.”
“I can guarantee you he’s not gonna send out a war party.”
“I know you wouldn’t, but I don’t know him.”
“You trust my word, don’t you?”
Trust? He dared to ask about trust after betraying her? But for this situation, Bridget could trust him. Adam wouldn’t lie about the safety of another human being. At least she hoped not.
“You still don’t believe me, huh?” His dark eyes crinkled.
“The parole board believed you, didn’t they, otherwise they’d never have granted day parole and full parole.”
“I don’t care what they think. I care what you think.” He continued to study her.
Bridget hugged herself. What was she doing here? She had Kyle to think about. She had a job to think about. She had her own reputation to think about. The diocesan council wouldn’t approve of her helping a felon, even if he was her former fiancé.
“What did Cutter do for you exactly?”
“Let’s get our coffees to go.”
“Okay.” A drive might do them both good. In the truck, they had a full console and a floor shifter between them. Out here, only air separated them.
A left turn was required to remain on Fort William Road, but Bridget kept going straight since the road changed to Water Street, although there wasn’t a view of the water because of the railroad tracks. For a clear view of the bay and the Sleeping Giant, she kept driving until reaching Pearl Street that took them to a nice park. There were docks here, even a small peninsula they could walk and sit at a picnic table.
Kyle loved these drives. He’d gape at the massive rock formation resembling a man resting on his back. Too bad they couldn’t drive to Sleeping Giant Park, her favorite place to take Kyle on the weekends, but Adam had a curfew.
Bridget guided the truck into the sparse lot and parked. She grabbed her tea. They walked the paved path, the wind blowing off the bay. She drew the fresh scent of Lake Superior into her lungs.
Adam led them to a bench. While Bridget sat on the seat, he stepped up and plopped on top of the backrest.
Seagulls fluttered high above them.
Adam withdrew a cigarette. He stared out at the water.
Bridget lowered her gaze to Adam’s running shoes. His toes moved beneath the material. She shifted her attention to his face, as unreadable as a book written in Vulcan.
“I didn’t wanna die in there.” Adam lit the cigarette. “Met Cutter in the kitchen. He helped me.”
“Your uncle was in there.”
Adam directed his hard eyes at the bay.
For over a minute only the seagulls talked, the wrong species. If this was going to result in playing twenty questions, forget it. Bridget stood. “Let’s go. I have stuff to do still.”
“Sit down, kwe.”
“No. I’m not wasting any more of my evening prying something from your mouth. If you want to talk, then talk. Otherwise, let’s go.” She wrenched the keys from her purse.
Just as Bridget was about to huff away, he said, “I couldn’t sober up for my kid. I couldn’t stay sober for you.”
She stopped and turned.
Adam stared straight ahead. His toes kept moving beneath his running shoes. “I learned I had to do it for me.” Smoke curled from his mouth. “When Angela told me she was pregnant, I... my... my first thought was—I can’t let my kid grow up the way I did.”
Bridget sank back on the bench.
“We saw the addictions counselor at the Friendship Center.” He took another drag off the cigarette that didn’t tremble in his thick fingers, but his toes kept twitching, stretching the material of his shoes.
“He got us into treatment. Angela went to one place, and I went to another. Thought it worked for me. Thought I was ready to live a sober life. It’s why I split when she went back out there. Split with Kyle.”
He took a few more puffs off the cigarette, still staring at the enormous lake. “I was meant to be here. Not Winnipeg. There’s something about this place.” He pointed to the Sleeping Giant. “I felt it when I first got off the bus. Smelled cleaner. Looked cleaner. Even the people were cleaner. It wasn’t Point Douglas.”
A few moments passed while he continued to stare out at the massive rock formation. “I walked the river lots growing up, but it wasn’t the same as walking the bay here.” He flicked away the last of the cigarette. “There’s freedom here. In Point Douglas, you’re suffocating. The traffic doesn’t stop. The trains don’t stop. The noise doesn’t stop. Thunder Bay... it doesn’t feel like a city. More like a big town.”
Funny, everyone said the same thing about the beautiful place Bridget had lived her whole life.
“It’s easy to navigate. You just gotta look for the mountain to know where you are.” He pointed.
Bridget followed his finger toward the steep, flat mafic sill, crowned with spruce trees around its middle, rising to fourteen hundred feet over the city, nested in the south at the reserve.
“The mountain and the giant seem to guard this place.”
“Maybe they do.”
He turned, his dark gaze seeming to cup her face. “You know my uncle got shanked inside. First week I was there. I saw my own death. Saw what would happen if I kept doing what I was doing. When I met Cutter...”
He looked back out to the water. The material of his running shoes continued to shift. “I didn’t wanna end up offing anyone, kwe. I didn’t wanna get that bad. After... after what I did to that guy in the bar, I knew I was going as low as everyone else in there.”
Bridget clasped her knees together.
“I got a kid to think about.”
She pressed her knees even harder together. The conviction in Adam’s voice said he had a good chance at succeeding. He was determined—determined to win.
Chapter Eight: Please Don’t Touch
Adam clasped his hands together. “I get it, y’know? I got a lot of strikes against me. I deserve those strikes. I’m not asking for a free pass. I know trust’s earned.”
He’d better not be asking Bridget to trust him again.
“The Hawk sees a lot of guys like me who fucked up. I know it’s gonna be a tough road.”
The confession about Mrs. Dale’s far-from-the-truth report during Adam’s last visit poked at Bridget’s conscience.
“I’ve been saving money. Saving for first and last months’ rent for a bachelor pad. It won’t be much. I’m hoping The Hawk’ll eventually let Kyle come over unsupervised.”
“I see...” There went Bridget’s new life she’d built.
Trust the Lord, Emery had said. Bullshit. If Bridget didn’t take control, she’d lose Kyle. She weaved slightly in her seat. No court would side in her favor unless she proved Adam as an unfit parent. And smearing another’s reputation... her deception might win her Kyle, but at a horrible cost.
“Kwe?” Adam’s soft voice glided over Bridget’s skin.
Nail-driving-like spikes dug into her flesh. “Thanks for telling me about Cutter. We should go. It’s already quarter-after-eight.”
“I don’t gotta be back till nine.” His dark eyes held hope, and so did his gentle tone.
“I have things to do before I turn in.”
“What kind of things?”
Bridget raised her chin. “Things.”
“Kwe, the lobes of your ears are pink. They always turn pink when you’re not being upfront.”
“My ears turn pink?” Someon
e should have told Bridget about this quirk. Jude had probably refrained from saying anything so he’d have one up on her. Damned brothers.
“Yep. They do. And don’t say it’s your earrings.” Adam’s husky chuckle tickled Bridget’s skin. “They’re pretty. Where’d you get ‘em?”
She fingered the porcupine quill earrings with red, rose, and pink beads. “A young woman made them for me. She’s a regular at the center.”
“Where you work?”
“Yes. She designs and makes her own jewelry. She’s been on the powwow trail all summer, making a killing at her booth. She’s starting her second year for her BA at the end of August.”
“The rez here already hold its powwow?”
“July the first.”
“You and Kyle go?”
“No. We were busy.”
Adam frowned.
Tough. Mom and Dad had flown in. They’d all gone camping, Jude’s family included, at Sleeping Giant Park. “Now that you’re here, maybe you can take Kyle next year.”
“I will.” Brightness returned to Adam’s eyes. “Already thinking about getting him some new regalia. There’s a woman at the Friendship Center who does that stuff.”
“So does the girl who made my earrings.” Bridget again fingered the one on the right of her lobe.
“She does?” Adam’s lips came together, eyes still shining. “Maybe you can ask her if she’ll make one for Kyle.”
“I can...” Bridget clutched her purse against her chest. “I can do that.”
“Great. It’d mean a lot to him. He seems to enjoy when I show him his culture.”
“Yes, he does.” Bridget wet her lips. “What was it like in there?” The question popped out before she could think or wonder why she’d asked.
Adam scrunched his eyebrows. “The pen?”
She nodded.
He withdrew the cigarettes and lit one. He puffed on the filter while pocketing his lighter. “Same ol’ bullshit,” he muttered as smoke escaped from between his lips and drifted over his crinkled eyes.
“What bullshit?”
“Keep your head low. Try stay outta trouble. Watch your back.” He shrugged.
“Try?” There couldn’t have been trouble if he’d been released on parole.
“Yep.” The cigarette made a suction-popping sound from how hard he must have sucked on the filter. “There’s always trouble going down.” He held the butt between his index finger and thumb.
“How’d you stay out of trouble?” She set her purse on the bench.
“Told you already. Stuck to guys in the recovery program. Kept my mouth shut.”
Bridget couldn’t resist pointing out the obvious. “Uh... you never say much.”
Adam took another drag. “I’m talking now, ain’t I?”
“True.” The heat in his gaze seemed to touch Bridget’s cheek. She rubbed the purse strap.
“I don’t got nothing to hide. ‘Kay?”
“You were hiding something last time?”
“Nope. But I know my not speaking pissed you off.”
“There’s no reason to bring up the past. I told you I’d help and that’s what I’m doing.”
“Yeah, you agreed to help...” His gaze roamed around her face.
Bridget recoiled and glanced away.
“Y’know, kwe, we’re doing a lot of dancing.”
“Dancing?”
“Lookit me.”
She forced herself to raise her head.
His dark eyes smoldered. He leaned forward. His hand stretched out, and he ran his strong fingers along her braid.
Sensuous heat and angry lightning erupted under Bridget’s skin. “Don’t you dare.” The words hissed from her mouth.
“What’re you afraid of, kwe?”
“Quit calling me that.” The order snapped from deep inside Bridget’s constricting chest. “You have no right calling me by that name. Not after what you did.” She stood and yanked her purse off the bench.
He tilted his head up, his jawline tightening. “I know what I did, kwe. You remind me all the time.”
“I do no such thing.” How dare Adam turn this around as her fault.
“Yeah, you do. It’s in your eyes. They hang me like a noose. It’s in your lips. They condemn me like a villain. It’s in your voice. You slap me with your tone.”
“What’d you expect after what you did?” she huffed out. “You were charged with aggravated assault. The judge had every right to throw the book at you.”
“I know what I did, kwe.” Adam’s voice remained flat. “I live with it every day. I don’t take the easy way out and blame it on the booze.”
“You were skidding around four months. I can only imagine what else you did.” And no, she wasn’t jealous.
“I drank. I drank some more. I did something really bad to another human being. Got arrested. Sat in remand until my trial. I won’t say he deserved it. I won’t say anything. I did it. I went to prison for it.”
“And did you only drink?” She silently cuffed her rear end for continuing to poke at the damned same question.
Adam’s thick lips tugged at the corner. “If you mean was I out screwing around? Nope. You’re the only woman for me, kwe.”
Delight exploded through Bridget’s veins. Then she clamped a lock on her heart. Only a moron bought his answer. He’d been drunk for four months in Winnipeg. He must have picked up some woman in a bar.
“I was hurting bad.” His voice sagged. “You think I was happy when you told me to fuck off? You killed me, woman.”
The sharp tone of his last statement was pure insult, an affront to the feminine strength that had dragged Bridget up from the depths of Hell where Adam had stuck her. “If you want to continue speaking, tell Dirty Harry to leave. I only deal with Mr. Darcy.”
Adam stood and set his enormous hands on his hips. “Mr. Who—? Look, I’ll tell Dirty Harry to take a hike if you call off Sarah Conner. I’m not the Terminator sent back in time to harm you.”
At his full height, Adam towered over Bridget, made her five-nine stance shrink to a doll. He’d reduced her to a doll, helpless in the possession of his hands, made to dance, talk, or walk under his orders.
Heat built in her lungs. She was too independent to draw back and scuttle away. No man provoked fear in her. The worst part was, she didn’t fear Adam’s physical presence, she feared the thick, steamy aroma of testosterone he forever used to challenge her, weaken her, seduce her. The masculine aroma dripped from the pits of his arms, his thick chest, and the bulge of his biceps.
“Out of my thirty-eight years, I fucked up thirty-seven of ‘em. I ain’t fucking up again.”
“Thirty-seven?” His scent kept assaulting Bridget’s knees, swirling around her, until she wobbled.
“Yeah. Thirty-seven. I can’t count the year the three of us were a family. Me. You. Kyle.”
Bridget’s resolve continued to crumble. Adam kept dusting her femininity with his husky declarations, fierce scent, and sensual stare.
She pivoted on her heel and bolted for the truck. She’d dump him off at the halfway house and go home. If he wanted to tease and torment her during their drive, he could, but she’d don her mask of hate-fueled resentment created by him.
She pushed the button on the keys, and the locked doors opened.
The crunch of Adam’s shoes carried on the cement. He was walking his determined strut without Bridget having to look—legs slamming one in front of the other, hands fisted, chin jutted, and eyes mean slits.
She slid into the truck. The passenger door opened, and Adam got in. His big presence saturated the cab.
This drive would be the longest ten minutes of Bridget’s life.
* * * *
When the truck pulled up at the halfway house, Adam’s disgust threatened to spill over. No woman could slam on the brakes like Bridget. He threw off his seat belt. “I didn’t mean to make you pissed.”
“I’m not pissed.” She stared straight ahead.
The twelve-step program, the anger management classes, his one-on-one counseling all screamed at him to leave his desires in the hands of his higher power. Yeah right. Creator had forgotten He’d shaped and breathed life into a woman a pack of mules couldn’t push.
Welp, he could be stubborn, too. Adam shut the door.
Bridget almost jumped in her seat. “What’re you doing? I told you I have things to do.”
“Cut it. It’s only eight-thirty. You’re going home to pout.” Adam folded his arms and sat back.
“P-p-pout?”
Any second his beloved kwe’s internal volcano should erupt. Time for the countdown. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five...
“Listen here. Don’t you dare assume anything about me. Got it?” Bridget swiveled to face him, steam almost exploding from her flared nostrils and flaming-red ears.
“Got it.” Keeping his cool was easier than expected. Maybe because Bridget’s temper had never unsettled Adam. Her spunk was the lighter to his wood. Any kind of wood. A certain kind of wood in his pants.
He shifted as much as he could in the seat. And these were big, comfy seats. He met Bridget’s glittering eyes.
“Kwe, you’ve been pissed since you first looked at me. Let loose. I’m serious. Tell me what you really think of me.” If cussing him out cleared the fog thickening between them, Adam could hack a slap or two.
Bridget’s red lips flattened. “I have nothing to say because we have nothing between us but Kyle. That’s it.”
Adam’s own temper grumbled at the back of his neck. His skin burned. This woman’s words always cut a man’s balls in half. No con in the pen knocked the wind from him like Bridget Maria Matawapit. He had one up on her, though. She’d never taken an anger management class or earned praises from the instructor.
This might secure him a smack or something else, but at least he’d know the score. “Kwe, did I ever tell you how beautiful you are when you’re pissed?”