A Man of His Word

by Sarah M. Anderson

  That was the sort of statement that was easy to say after the fact. “Yeah?” She flipped to the more interesting stuff—the mug shot. “Tell me about college, then.”

  “Man,” he groaned. “Remind me to avoid you in a courtroom.”

  “Don’t think of it as the Red Creek tribe asking about why you got arrested your sophomore year.” She scooted around in her seat and tucked one leg under the other. “I’m asking. Just me.”

  “We haven’t even had a date yet, and you want to know about that? That’s third date stuff, at least.”

  “Maybe this is a date.”

  He glanced at her, a wide smile on his face. “Yeah?”

  She had no right to feel so giddy about the smile he was wearing, but she couldn’t help it. “Maybe. Now spill it. Destruction of college property? That doesn’t seem like you, Dan.”

  He sighed again, but it seemed heavier this time. “When you went to college, what did you do?”

  Not a good sign, if he was going to start turning the tables on her this early in the “date.” “Well, I studied—”

  “No, I mean, what did you do? Because when I went to college, I was tired of being Lewis Armstrong’s boy, tired of eating steak, tired of being the poster boy for an oil company.” He shook his head at the memory. “I missed my dad, but I didn’t want to have to live up to him anymore.”

  Suddenly, this seemed like it was about a lot more than a drunken prank. “Like how?”

  “You’ve heard of the metaphorical preacher’s daughter?”

  “Sure. The more religious the preacher, the more rebellious the daughter.”

  “I’m the son of a cattle-raising, oil-drilling, shotgun-owning, good old boy.”

  So that’s why his hair had been past his shoulders and he’d been wearing those round glasses like John Lennon always wore. “You were a hippie?”

  She liked him embarrassed—it was both cute and a little bit sexy at the same time. “I tried. Did you know vegetarians don’t eat any steak?”

  “Shocking,” she said in mock surprise. That explained the alternative channels. “How long did you last?”

  “Almost two years at school, but the moment I came home, I was dying for a good hamburger.” He chuckled at the memory. “I tried it all out. Smoked a little weed, burned a little incense, carried a few protest signs.”

  Normal hippies weren’t known for their destructive tendencies. However…she put two and two together. “Hung out with a few ecoterrorists?”

  “Proto-ecoterrorists,” he corrected. “I made friends with some people.”

  “I’ve noticed you make friends with everyone.”

  “Not everyone,” he corrected her with more force than she expected. He didn’t like someone, that much was clear. “But most any reasonable person. That one time was the first and last time I ever did anything I truly regretted.”

  Despite the deep confession going on, Rosebud couldn’t help but think that he didn’t regret kissing her—either time. Her giddiness level rose. “What happened?”

  He rubbed his seven-o’clock shadow. “When campus security showed up, I was the one holdin’ the matches in front of a burning Dumpster. Oddly enough, no one believed that I was just trying to draw attention to the amount of garbage the school produced.”

  “You burned Dumpsters?” That wasn’t proto-ecoterrorist in her book. “What did your mother do?”

  “Well, first she cried, then she threatened to let the judge lock me up and throw away the key before I dragged my father’s good name into the mud, then she cried some more.” He shrugged in that embarrassed way again. “If I recall correctly, there was a lot of crying.”

  “I think I like your mother.”

  He chuckled, like maybe he agreed with her. “Between all the cryin’ and the community service—I scrubbed a lot of garbage cans—I saw the light. A man doesn’t like to upset his mama, you know.”

  “Not a good one, anyway.” He shot an appreciative look at her.

  This whole conversation had an air of the unreal to it. Rosebud should be holding on to this info, saving it for when she needed the leverage against Dan during negotiations, but instead, they were just talking. “So?”

  “So, I grew up and joined the family business. Some of my old friends grew up and joined ELF.”

  She flipped through her notes. “The same ELF that targeted seven Armstrong Holdings derricks?”

  “The very same. After the second time, when the police were still coming up empty, I started doing a little digging and all the signs pointed to my old buddies.” He shook his head. “They knew it was my company—just punishing a traitor, I guess. I busted them red-handed one night. Oil derricks are a long way from Dumpsters, but they couldn’t argue with a shotgun. They chose to negotiate instead of the alternative.”

  “Duly noted.” She couldn’t tell if that meant he had been willing to shoot, or if he’d have just turned them in to the authorities. She shivered. Her mind flashed back to that day in the valley—she’d never been sure if he’d had a gun on him or not. The what-if loomed huge in her mind. “So what was the truce? Take this exit, by the way.”

  He was silent as he took the exit that led to Bob’s Roadhouse Bar and Grill. A bright red neon T-bone blinked above the sign advertising Rapid City Rollers Live Tonite. A line of motorcycles took up half the parking lot in front of a long, low building that looked like it was slouching to the left; a line of trucks filled the other half. Two people she hoped were only kissing backed up against a pickup truck, and another group was standing in a circle. Were they cheering? A flash of movement caught her eye, and she realized that a fight was going on in the middle. She shuddered.

  Suddenly, Rosebud remembered why she’d never been here before. It was one thing for Tanner and Tom to go into a place like this—rough and gritty and full of people who were happy to throw a punch or three, all in the name of a good time. Tanner had always liked a game of pool and a loud band, and Tom—well, he’d never been afraid of anything, including what might happen to a couple of Lakota Indians in a white man’s bar. The two of them wouldn’t have had any trouble attracting plenty of feminine attention—or holding their own during the inevitable fights. Because the fights were inevitable.

  She hated the way Tanner would come home with his face a bloody mess, telling her all about how he and Tom had shown those “racist wasicu,” those white devils, what a true Lakota warrior could do. Tanner may have lived clean and sober, but he had still itched for the fight and lived to count coup on his enemy.

  As if his face wasn’t warning enough, Tanner had always lectured her on staying away from places like Bob’s. “Promise me,” he’d say, his eyes serious as she patched up his cuts. “Promise me you won’t go to a place like that. It’s too dangerous for you.”

  He’d made her so mad back then. Always trying to tell her what she could and could not do. He’d been the one who’d sent all the cute boys packing because no one was good enough for his sister. He had been the one who’d told her she had to go to law school. And every time he told her to make that promise, she’d wanted to strangle him. “Oh, you’re the only one allowed to do stupid things?”

  But every time, Tanner would only shake his head. “Just promise, little sister.”

  At the time, she hadn’t thought Tanner would ever run into something that was too dangerous for him. She’d always thought he’d be able to take whatever came his way. Until that night… “Promise.”

  The neon sign seemed less bright, and more like blood spilling into the night. This place was dangerous. The promise was old and Tanner was dead, but that didn’t change what she’d promised.

  She looked over at Dan, the words Let’s go somewhere else right on her lips.

  But then she saw the look on his face—a broad smile, fingers tapping on the steering wheel. “Now this is my kind of joint!” he said, checking out the row of bikes.

  “Are you sure you don’t want something else? Something nicer?”r />
  He only shook his head. “There’s a lot to be said for a good old-fashioned honky-tonk on a Saturday night.” He turned a blinding smile to her. “Almost feels like home.”

  Shoot. Well, she’d gotten herself into this mess. Unless she wanted to admit—out loud—that she was scared and had no clue about dining options of any sort, she had no choice but to tough it out. And if she stayed close to Dan, no one would give her any trouble, right?

  Swallowing down her hesitation, she turned to Dan. It took a second for her to remember what they had been talking about. Oh, yeah. Ecoterrorists staring down the business end of a shotgun. “So, about that truce?” She’d just focus on Dan—which was also dangerous, but in a totally different way.

  “Bribery,” he said as he unbuckled his seat belt. “Once, they were my friends. I couldn’t forget that. So certain people who shall remain nameless are on the company payroll.”

  Not what she’d expected. “Seriously? That’s the truce?”

  “That and the fact that if anything else happens to my pumps, the FBI will be all over them like white on rice. I’m literally the only outsider to know who some of these people are.”

  She was silent for a moment. He really could keep a secret—did that include car repairs and dates? “Is that what this is? A bribe? My car magically gets fixed and I’m supposed to shut up and go away?”

  His hand was on the door, seconds from opening it, but he froze. Moving at glacier speed, he turned, his face hard to read in the flashing red light. And then his thumb brushed against her cheek before he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her to him until their foreheads were touching. She flinched. He was going to kiss her—the third kiss. Three and she was out.

  “I don’t want you to shut up,” he said in a whisper that made his drawl sound like it belonged in a bedroom. “And I most definitely do not want you to go away, darlin’.” His other hand traced the hollow in her neck before it drifted down to her shoulders, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

  But he didn’t kiss her. He didn’t even cop a feel. She wasn’t out yet.

  “What do you want, Dan?” Her heart pounded away in her chest as her hands found their way to his cheeks. The stubble scratched at her palms, small pricks of irritation that did nothing but turn her on. Kind of like Dan himself. Tell me the truth, she thought. A truth I can believe.

  “I want to buy you dinner, and if the band is halfway decent, I want to dance you around.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Nope.” He touched his lips to her forehead, leaving a scorch mark on her skin. Not a kiss, she quickly justified. Didn’t count if it wasn’t on the lips, which conveniently meant she wasn’t out yet. Anything to still be in—even Bob’s Roadhouse Bar and Grill. “But that’s all I’m asking for right now.”

  Nine

  His “please” smile got them a quiet table in the back of the restaurant—quiet, that is, by bar standards. They only had to shout a little over something that sounded like Charlie Daniels locked in a closet with KISS and an angry cat. “Halfway decent” was pushing it, but the dance floor was packed with every shade of hick, good old boy and white trash possible. The Rapid City Rollers were apparently quite a draw, Dan mused as they looked over the menus. He hadn’t been honky-tonkin’ for a good long time, and not with a pretty lady by his side for even longer. He was glad she’d picked this place. He wanted to show her that he wasn’t all thousand-dollar hats and million-dollar oil wells—he was perfectly happy being a regular guy, if that’s what she wanted to see. The night was shaping up real nice.

  “Four-drink minimum,” a skinny waitress with unreal blond hair yelled as she bounced her pen on the pad. She pointed her chin toward a handwritten sign over the bar. “4 Drinks, No Execptions. $4 Longnecks Friday and Saterday,” it announced. Exceptions and Saturday were misspelled. “What’ll ya’ll have?”

  “Bud—in the bottle—and the T-bone, bloody,” Dan shouted back. Then he looked at Rosebud.

  Her sweet mouth was twisted off to one side. She looked like she was five seconds from wrapping all her hair back up in a business braid and grilling him under oath. Great. Now what had he done? “I’ll have the New York strip, medium, and a Coke.”

  “Four-drink minimum,” the waitress repeated, slamming the tip of the pen for each drawn-out word, like she was talking to a little kid. “Four, understand?”

  “I can count,” Rosebud shot back, slapping her menu on the table.

  Both women bristled, and Dan had that weird out-of-time feeling again, like he’d waltzed into a saloon in 1886 instead of into a bar in the twenty-first century. What next—armed bandits holding up a stagecoach? “We’re here for the band,” he said with his best smile as he dug out two twenties and a ten and placed them on top of the menus he handed back to the waitress. Pre-tipping never hurt anyone. “Four drinks shouldn’t be a problem.”

  He couldn’t hear over the wailing music, but he thought Rosebud hissed. For her part, the waitress broke into an ugly grin and winked at Dan. “No, I guess not. Two steaks, coming right up, sugar.” So much for the night being real nice. This was starting to look like a bad idea.

  This time, Rosebud definitely hissed. He looked at her. She was hunched defensively, her eyes darting around the room. Anything good he’d started in the truck was long gone. “I take it you’ve never been in here,” Dan said, hoping to keep the conversation as light as possible while still screaming over the music.

  She shot him a smile that looked ferocious, but Dan watched as she got herself back under control. Her mouth untwisted as she leaned back in her chair, one arm slung over the back. At least she was trying. “No, I’ve never attempted this before.” The way she said it made it clear that she ranked honky-tonking right up there with skydiving without a parachute.

  If she’d never been here, why had she picked this place? There had to be other restaurants in this town. But rather than put her on the spot, he tried to keep things positive. “There’s a first for everything, huh?”

  For a second, Dan wished they were back in the truck. Not that he loved getting grilled about his past, but Rosebud was way too on edge in this place, and he had no idea why.

  He glanced around. Seemed like a run-of-the-mill honky-tonk to him. On second glance, he noticed everyone was looking at her, and not like he looked at her. No, just about every female in the joint was glaring at Rosebud out the corner of their eyes like she was wearing a huge scarlet A—and no pants. Most of the men had taken notice, too, but Dan decided he didn’t like those looks anymore.

  Dan couldn’t figure out where the attitude came from until it hit him like a bolt out of the blue. Rosebud was the only Indian in a sea of white faces. Over the din of the band, he remembered that weasel Naylor sputtering out savages and the way his uncle talked down to that slime Thrasher. No doubt about it, Dan thought as he mentally smacked his head. This attempt at a date was a bad idea.

  They should go. Dan started to stand, but he caught the defiant way Rosebud crossed her arms and lifted her chin. She may not be comfortable here, but she showed no sign of bolting. Of course she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t turn tail when Cecil wanted her gone, and she wouldn’t bail now. Somehow, he knew she would never give anyone the satisfaction of defeating her.

  He settled back into his chair, positioning himself between her and the crowd. If she wasn’t about to run and hide, he wasn’t, either.

  The waitress flitted past, setting down their drinks. Dan caught the way Rosebud stared at his beer. “Is this okay?” he asked, taking a cautious swig.

  She shrugged and scooted her chair next to his. It was only natural to put his arm around her shoulders and make sure she knew she was safe with him.

  “How much do you know about me, Dan?” The way she leaned up to speak in his ear, using a nearly normal tone, was more than enough to make him forget about all the dirty looks they were getting.

  “I’ve done my research.” A little bit of the internet went
a long way.

  “So you know about my parents?”

  Parents? Who the hell wanted to talk about parents at a time like this? But she was resting her head on his shoulder. She fit there real nice. He sighed and dredged through his memory. “They died in a car wreck, didn’t they?”

  “Dad was drunk—they both were. Drove into a tree. The official report blames the road conditions, but I know what really happened.”

  Midswig, Dan paused. “Tanner didn’t drink.” He remembered now—that was one of Rosebud’s main arguments against the suicide ruling. Tanner Donnelly didn’t drink; therefore, he couldn’t have been drunk enough to shoot his head off.

  She sighed, a sound of sheer weariness. “No.”

  “You don’t drink.”

  “No.”

  He swallowed and nearly choked on his beer. Suddenly, that four-drink minimum looked like a mountain because, as much as he wanted a few beers, having more than one and then climbing behind the wheel wasn’t an option. “I’ll just have the one, and we won’t leave until I’m stone-cold sober, okay?”

  “But the waitress—”

  Speak of the devil. The waitress leaned over his shoulder, grazing him with her boobs. “Get you another one, sugar?”

  Next time he managed to talk Rosebud into anything resembling a date, it was going to be someplace quiet and secluded. He’d thought the tribal members had given him the cold shoulder at that first meeting—but if this was how they were treated by white folks off the reservation, he couldn’t blame them.

  Rosebud had never treated him coldly, though—all of her chill seemed to be an occupational hazard. When she wasn’t being a lawyer, she looked at him with a gaze that was much warmer. Although he had no idea if he was going to get any warmth in this bar. He sighed in frustration. What they needed was some neutral territory. “You know, I’d like to buy the band a round.” He dug out two more twenties. “That’s…” he leaned forward and counted. “Four beers. Keep the change.” If that’s what it cost to buy them a little breathing room in this place, then that’s what it cost.