by Peggy Bird
A wide belt and her dressier boots accessorized her choices. She added the little bit of makeup she wore—her coral lipstick—and she was ready to go. At five-thirty.
If she thought her work shift had crept by slowly, the half hour until Jack was due moved with a speed that made a glacier look like Road Runner.
Finally, at five of six, there was a knock at the door. When she opened it, Jack was shifting his weight back and forth from one boot-shod foot to the other, as if he were nervous. Thinking maybe he was a little anxious about this, too, settled her down somewhat. The deep breath she took to calm herself gave her a whiff of the familiar smell of his sage-y soap, which also helped. He, too, was in jeans as crisp and new looking as hers were. His white shirt set off his tan face handsomely. She was pretty sure he was freshly shaved.
Clearing his throat, he handed her a bouquet of wildflowers wrapped in brown paper and said, “Hi,” his voice a bit higher than usual. He coughed again before continuing in a more normal tone. “I brought these for you. You’ve said you like the plains so I figured you’d like wildflowers. Thought maybe you’d like to have them in your apartment to remind you of what’s outside the city.”
She took the bouquet and touched the coneflowers and lupine before smiling and saying, “I do love them. Thank you.” She gestured for him to sit down. “Let me get them in water before we go.”
• • •
Jack couldn’t remember when he’d felt less sure of himself. It was worse than when he was in high school. Of course, then he’d had a steady girlfriend and only had to worry about grades and getting into college. He didn’t have to be anxious about how an evening out would go. Like he was tonight.
He watched Quanna rummage through a kitchen cabinet until she found a clear glass vase, the kind a million florists use. Someone had sent her flowers at one time or another, he’d bet. He wondered if she’d smiled at the guy’s flowers the way she’d smiled at the ones he brought her. That other guy couldn’t have known to give her wildflowers if he sent her something from a florist. He congratulated himself on being smarter than the other guy.
What the hell was he thinking? He was stupidly jealous of some nameless, faceless guy who wasn’t around anymore. But would anyone blame him? She looked beautiful. She was wearing some little bit of a top that made it obvious, without looking trashy, there wasn’t a bra underneath. The fabric of the shirt-top-whatever-it-was moved gently around her as she trimmed the stems of the flowers, stripped off some of the leaves, and arranged them in the vase.
And then there was the view he was getting of her rear end in those jeans that fit like a glove.
Stop. He had to stop thinking of how good her body looked. If he didn’t, he’d be drooling like some old guy looking at the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated before they got out of the place. He had to find something else to look at, to talk about. Something. Anything.
At first glance, there wasn’t much to distract him. Her apartment was a small studio with only the bare essentials. He was sitting on a futon he was sure doubled as her bed, which was another direction he had to steer his thoughts clear of. The only other furniture was a wooden rocking chair and a small bistro-style wrought iron table with two chairs. The kitchen was across the room from where he was sitting, and a door next to it led, he assumed, to the bathroom.
In spite of the tiny space, however, it was not boring once he began to look more closely. Quanna had surrounded herself with color—pillows and a throw on the futon, a rug under the small table, and a curtain swagged over the window, all in shades of brown and sage green, soft orange and gold. Displayed on a small bookcase along with what looked like textbooks were two baskets and a piece of beadwork. Probably created by modern Umatilla artisans. On the wall were photos of Eastern Oregon landscapes, like some of the work in his house.
“I didn’t notice much about your apartment when I was here on Monday,” he said. “It looks nice. I like it.”
She smiled. “Thanks. Most of it is from the room I had in Portland. I missed the colors of home and decorated it to remind me.” She pointed to the photos. “My brother Frank took those pictures and had them blown up for me as a present when I said I was homesick for the plains.”
“He’s a good photographer.”
“He’d like to sell more of his work, but he’s got kids to raise. So he works for the tribe, running the campgrounds near the resort, while he does his photography on the side.”
“He should keep at it. He’s got a good eye.”
“I’ll tell him you said so.” She put the vase on the small bistro table. “Thank you again for these. I love wildflowers. Better than cultivated flowers, actually.” She dried her hands on a cloth towel and looked around as if trying to see what else needed to be done. “I guess that’s it. I’m ready to go if you are.”
• • •
She had warned her coworkers she’d be back with a date, but when they got to the resort, Jack didn’t head for the Traditions buffet where she worked. Instead, he guided her to Plateau, the fine dining restaurant where she’d never eaten. She wasn’t sure if she should suggest they go to the other restaurant or keep her mouth shut and enjoy the luxury of the place she’d heard such good things about from her coworkers.
As if he were reading her mind, Jack said, “I never asked which restaurant you worked in but decided I’d make a reservation at the one I’ve never been in. I’ve eaten at Traditions but not here.” He pulled out the chair for her to be seated.
“I’ve never eaten here either. Traditions is where I work.”
After a few minutes of perusing the menu, he asked, “Have you heard what’s good?”
“The salmon is good in both restaurants. I hear the whiskey steak is delicious.”
“I usually prefer my own steak, but the buffalo Bolognese looks interesting.”
“Which no Italian would claim, I’m sure,” she said, laughing.
Their server interrupted and asked if they’d like to order drinks. When she turned to take Quanna’s order, her eyes widened. “Quanna! I didn’t recognize you at first.”
“Hi, Kimi.”
Kimi looked back and forth between Quanna and Jack. Finally Quanna said, “This is Jack Richardson. Jack, this is Kimi Miller. We worked together at Traditions until she got the job here.”
Glasses of wine were ordered and the specials recited. A somewhat awkward silence fell when Kimi left.
“Are you uncomfortable being seen with me?” Jack asked.
“Uncomfortable? No. I can’t imagine why you’d think I am.”
“You’re quieter than usual. I thought maybe you were uneasy being out with someone so much older than you are.”
“I don’t know how old you are, so I couldn’t be uneasy about your age.”
“I’m sixteen years older than you are. That’s quite a span.”
“So it makes you uncomfortable.” She waved off the objection she was sure was coming. “I’m a lot older than my chronologic years, Jack. Your age isn’t an issue.”
Their wine arrived, and he tilted his glass toward hers so they could touch the rims together and toast. “Cheers. Thank you for agreeing to this,” he said.
“I should be thanking you.” She took a sip of her wine. “Even the wine tastes better here.”
He laughed. “Probably because it’s a higher quality than the kind I gave you the other night.”
They ordered salmon for her and buffalo Bolognese for him. Both, it turned out, delicious. The conversation over their entrees was mostly about what the boys were doing in Portland and how the wheat crop looked for the season. But when their dinner plates were cleared and they waited for their desserts, Jack returned to the conversation they’d started before dinner.
“I’m curious about what you said—about being older than your years. I realize I don’t know a whole lot about you other than the glowing references I got from everyone who ever employed you. And the clean criminal background check I got.”
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“You did a criminal background check on me?” She wasn’t sure if she should be angry or surprised.
“I would have done it for anyone I was leaving in charge of my kids. Didn’t you have to have one at Golden Years?”
“Yes, but I never thought I’d have to have one to work in someone’s home.”
“It was important to know my kids were safe.”
“I understand. I shouldn’t have sounded so surprised.”
“Or angry.”
“Yeah, a little bit.” She picked up a spoon and stared intently at it, twisting it in her fingers. “I’ve heard too many times how Indians can’t be trusted. I’d like people to trust me.”
“And I do. With what I value most—my two boys.” He reached across the table and took the spoon from her hand. “Are you avoiding talking about your personal life? If you are, that’s okay. It’s not any of my business.”
“Of course it’s your business. I practically live in your house. It’s just that my family’s not particularly interesting.”
“Why would you say that? Your mom’s Umatilla. You told the boys the first time you met them your dad was from Central America. There must be an interesting story about how they met.”
“He came through here as migrant labor and stayed when they fell in love. They got married and proceeded to have a bunch of kids. He had very little education so work was hard to find. We never had much money. I don’t think he ever considered himself a success at much of anything. Not like you and your family.” She was trying hard not to sound defensive about her family, but it wasn’t easy. Compared to Jack and his siblings and their family ranch, her family wasn’t very successful.
“Do you speak both your parents’ languages?”
“Not as well as either my mother or father would have liked, but I can get along in Umatilla and I’m pretty good with Spanish.”
“Did—does—your mom work outside the house?”
“She doesn’t. Miguel, the youngest of my siblings, was born with Down syndrome and a congenital heart problem. He needs full-time care.”
“So, two brothers ...”
“And a sister, Aiyana. She’s the oldest. Then Frank, me, and Miguel.”
“How come Frank doesn’t have an interesting name like the rest of you?”
She laughed. “He’s actually Franco. The boys got Hispanic names like our dad. The two girls got Indian names like our mom.”
“As long as I’m prying into your life, mind if I ask something else?”
“Of course not.”
“What made you move to Portland? You lived there for quite a while even though you said you love the plains.”
“My mom wanted both her daughters away from here so we wouldn’t end up like her, no education, early marriage, bunch of kids. Aiyana went to Bellingham to live with a cousin while she went to school to be a nurse. I thought Portland was a better choice for me to get my degree so I could teach.”
“You moved back before you finished. How come?”
“It was hard to make enough money to live in Portland and go to school while I was working full-time shift work. And the boyfriend who I thought might be serious someday broke up with me about the same time my dad died. It seemed a good time to move back and help my mom.”
“I can only take so much of the city. I admire you for sticking it out for all those years. I can’t make it through much more than a weekend.” He sat back in his chair and began to play with the spoon he’d taken away from her. “Can you get the degree you want from Blue Mountain?”
“Maybe. I’m working with them to see what we can do with the credits I have, the classes they teach, and their transfer program. We’ll see.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“You already have. You gave me a full-time job. It’s not only the best job I’ve ever had, but because of you, I didn’t have to give up my apartment and move back into my mother’s home.”
“Sounds like you do more for your family than you do for yourself.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I have friends. I go to school. All I ever wanted to do was teach, and I’m getting there. Slowly, more slowly than anyone on record, I imagine, but I’m getting there.”
“What’ll you do when you get your teaching certificate?”
“Teach on the rez. American Indians have the lowest high school graduation rates of any group in the country. I want to work to change that.”
“If you need more time off for classes so you can get there faster, we can work out a better schedule.”
“That’s generous of you, but you already do more than I could hope for.”
Finally, dessert arrived and she could concentrate on eating chocolate and not on the concern she saw in his eyes as she talked about her family. She didn’t need to feel any closer to or warmer about the man sitting across from her, the man who was growing more attractive by the minute and not because she’d had a glass of wine.
• • •
Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a meal as much as he was enjoying this one. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something social with anyone other than his kids or his siblings. Somehow this evening, it didn’t seem to matter that he was older than she was, that he was her employer. She was a beautiful woman and he was a man, and they were enjoying each other’s company and a good dinner. He wanted it to go on forever. Although he thought it might be a good idea if he let her lead the conversation for a while instead of quizzing her like he’d been doing.
He couldn’t get his wish that the evening not end. Eventually, the check arrived, and they had to leave. They both worked the next day. But he was determined to make sure they didn’t part without making plans for seeing each other again outside her job. He decided to ask her when they said good night.
It didn’t quite work out the way he’d planned.
When they got to her apartment building, she unhooked her seatbelt and started to open the door. “Thank you so much for a lovely dinner.”
“I should be thanking you. If you hadn’t agreed to dinner with me, I would have been all alone, missing my boys.”
“It does seem weird in the house without them, doesn’t it?”
“You miss them, too?”
“Of course I do. They’re amazing kids. You’ve done a great job raising them.”
“And you’re doing a great job with them.”
“On that note of mutual admiration, I better go upstairs.” She got the car door opened before he could stop her.
“Wait. Let me walk you upstairs.”
“I’m fine, Jack. I do this every day.”
“Maybe you do. But I’m still walking you to the door. Between your asshole neighbor and no security on the front door, I’m not leaving you until I know you’re safe.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, I give up. You can walk up the steps with me.”
When they got to her front door, she unlocked it and put out her hand to him, making it clear she had a handshake in mind and started, he assumed, to say good night again. He had other ideas. Taking her proffered hand, he clasped it to his chest. With the backs of the curled fingers of his free hand he touched her cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who is as strong and levelheaded as you are. I admire you for your persistence in going to school and what you’re doing for your family.”
“I’m flattered by your compliment, especially since it comes from the man rumor says is the most responsible person for three counties.” He was sure she was trying to lighten what had become an atmosphere heavy with the chemistry between the two of them.
“The rumor came from ...?”
“Your aunt, of course.”
“Ah, I should have guessed.” He ran his thumb over her lower lip and took a step closer to her, still holding her hand.
• • •
He was going to kiss her. She was absolutely sure he was going to kiss her. She’d spent the whole ride home from the restaur
ant wondering if he would try. And how she would react. Now she knew. He was going to try, and she was going to let him.
With one hand, she could feel his heartbeat, how it had kicked up a notch when he touched her face, pounded even harder when he rubbed her mouth. Her heartbeat wasn’t far behind.
When he moved closer to her, she swore she could feel waves of heat shimmering between them, warming her body, melting her insides. It didn’t matter anymore whether this was a good idea or not. It was going to happen. She wanted it to happen.
He released her hand and took her face in both of his hands. His dark brown eyes were pools of desire, drawing her in. Without thinking, she moved closer to him, so their bodies were only inches apart.
“Jack ...” she began, sure she moaned his name rather than spoke it.
However it came out, it seemed to break the spell between them. He dropped his hands and took a step back. “I ... I guess I better go. We both have to work in the morning.”
“Right. Work.” She took a breath to settle her nerves. “Thanks again. It was lovely.”
He smiled, that huge grin she loved, and was gone.
She closed the door and stood motionless for a few seconds. What had happened? He’d been about to kiss her; she was sure. But he didn’t. Why? Was it the whole employer/employee thing? Was he still worried about her age? Had she had too much garlic with her dinner?
She’d probably never know.
Chapter 10
After his hasty exit from the kiss at her front door, Jack sat in his truck wanting to pound his head on the steering wheel for being so lame. When the impulse passed, he started the engine but couldn’t make himself drive off. He didn’t want to go home. Not yet. Why had he screwed up his attempt to kiss her good night when it was obvious she was willing? What was he afraid of?
He turned the engine off, jumped out of his truck, and headed for the building. As he took the steps two at a time, he realized that if he were smart, he should probably haul ass back to his truck. But there was little evidence that anything related to what he was doing with this woman showed how smart he was.
