“I just want to find my father. I want to find out who I am.” She swallowed, staring at Damon’s face. “I want to know why he didn’t want me. Why I wasn’t good enough.” Tears burned paths down her face like small drops of acid.
Without hesitation, Damon pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her. He rocked her in a slow side-to-side rhythm. With her face pressed against his torso, the rumble of his voice buzzed by her cheek. “It’s his loss. Come home.” He rubbed his hand up and down her back.
The comfort of his touch calmed her. She nodded slowly. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. I need to give the diner owner a couple days’ notice. He didn’t need to hire me but he did. I owe him that at least.”
Damon sighed. “I need to head home. Are you going to be okay?” He left his hand on her back she pulled away. He studied her face.
“Yeah. I think so. Thanks.” She smiled softly at him, gratitude welling inside her where only irritation had been shortly before. Irritation and loss. Damon had dispelled that. No matter what was expected of her, she wouldn’t give him up – even if all she could have of him was a friend.
After he grabbed his things from his room, they walked down to his truck parked in front of the building.
“Wow, the weather here is like home.” Damon looked up into the cloudy sky where there had been only blue and sun an hour ago.
A light rain had started, more like a mist, but the rumble in the distance promised more would be coming.
The fine rain didn’t bother Rachiah as she leaned her hips against his damp truck. He opened the driver door and loaded his bag.
She watched him. “I’m really glad you came down. Thank you for getting me a room.” She chewed on her inner cheek, how much could she say? That the prospect of going home was only made appealing because he was there? That she would give up her chances to find her dad for him? He made her feel like she was worth something?
Tiny drops of misty water clung to the brim of his hat and the shoulders of his flannel shirt like dew on morning grass. He finished tossing his bag into the front seat, and starting the engine. He closed the door and leaned back.
Placing a hand on either side of her, he moved in close. “You’re wanted at home. We want you there. You have family there.” His voice lowered, and grew husky as he studied her face and stared at her lips. “I want you there.”
An overwhelming urge to be closer to him crashed over her. “I don’t think you know what you want.” She wrapped her fingers into the sides of his shirt and pulled him close to her.
They studied each other in close proximity, her hands buried close to the warmth of his sides.
She needed him. She needed the connection. Rachiah lifted her lips and pulled him into a deep kiss.
The expectations of the tribe would have to wait.
She was in North Fork, Wyoming, and in that space in time she was neither Salish nor a Two-Claw. She was just Rachiah, a girl looking for her father, grateful for the man who had befriended her and stayed by her side.
Nothing else mattered. There was no name for her feelings right then, nothing but what it was.
As their lips moved together she pushed aside the sad reality that her attraction to Damon would have to remain an attraction.
Right in that moment, in North Fork, with her lips on his and his arms wrapped around her, drawing her closer, she could pretend they had the freedom to be so much more.
Chapter 8
Damon
The drive between North Fork and Taylor Falls wasn’t short, but then again it wasn’t long either. Not in Montana terms anyway.
Chasing Rachiah to North Fork had been a spur of the moment decision. One Damon was profoundly glad he had made.
He pulled into the driveway of the house he rented with Ryland. Calling it home didn’t seem natural since Damon and his brother had agreed it was temporary. Knowing Rachiah had called it home, even for a short time, made it easier to return.
Being in her room made him feel closer to her from so many miles away.
Damon was too close to the situation with Rachiah. He wasn’t the type to get involved like this. Commitment really was something that freaked him out. He’d never found anyone he wanted to be committed to.
The situation with her father though boggled the mind. He shook his head, as he climbed into bed. Staring up at the ceiling, he watched the moonlight cast pitted shadows with the different textures.
Giving her the money had been a no-brainer. He wanted to help her. He wanted to do as much as possible for her. Somehow she had worked her way into his heart. If nothing else, commitment aside, he was a friend. He had to be there for her.
He wanted so much more than that.
Then he’d gone and hurt her feelings, angered her. Upsetting her had been like slicing him in half with a hot spoon – dull and inefficient but no less painful.
In the situation with her dad or her father or whatever she referred to him as, Damon didn’t want to press for more information. He had a feeling the mechanic knew more, was more, than he was willing to admit.
From down the hall the sound of the front door opening and closing pushed Rachiah to the back of his mind. He threw back the blankets and padded into the kitchen.
Ryland shed his coat, shrugging the thick jacket from his shoulders and draping it on a stool. He jumped slightly when Damon came into view.
Soon they would need to turn on the heat in the evenings with the chill pushing to get into the house.
Damon leaned against the wall to the kitchen, crossing his arms at his waist. “Where’ve you been?”
A haunted look flashed across Ryland’s eyes. Shadows from the one light on in the kitchen made him appear more upset or more concerned than he was.
“Glad you’re back, we have to work in the morning. You probably should get some rest.” Ryland rounded the counter into the kitchen, getting a glass from the cupboard and pouring himself a drink of water. “When did you get home?”
Damon sighed, uncrossing his ankle. He stood and rubbed his forehead. He needed a sounding board and Ryland usually was a terrific listener. “I can’t sleep. Rachiah —”
“Enough about Rachiah. Enough about Melissa. Enough.” Ryland slammed the cup onto the counter. He turned, yanking his wide-brimmed cowboy hat from his head and tossing it to the counter. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. They aren’t the same girl.” Eyes wide, Ryland faced Damon down with his arms akimbo.
Recognizing Ryland’s penchant for fighting when he was in a mood, Damon held his calm. “No, it’s more than that. This has nothing to do with me. She has this situation with her father, he abandoned her. I don’t know how a man can just leave his kid like that. I feel bad for her. This really doesn’t have anything to do with Melissa and that whole thing.” Damon couldn’t get worked up about Ryland and the way he was acting.
Something was bothering his brother. The rational thing to do would be to figure out what had Ryland so angry and see how he could help.
“It’s more than what?” Ryland deflated at the mention of Rachiah’s father abandoning her.
“I don’t know.” Damon shrugged. “I’m not sure what, but it’s something.”
Ryland studied him, taking a few steps closer and peering at Damon’s face from a few inches between them. After a moment, realization dawned on his face and he backed away. Accusingly, he laughed without humor. “You’re falling for her. You. Are. Falling. For. Her. I can’t believe this. We can’t get involved with those girls. We can get involved with any other girls. Messing around with a Salish girl? Not only a Salish, but a full blooded? You’re messing with something you can’t predict, Damon. She isn’t one of your girls that you love and leave.”
He paused to breathe deep as if to prepare himself for more or to consider what more to say. Ryland didn’t take long to continue. “While you were gone MT made a point of stopping here and pointing out that if it weren’t for Sherri, we wouldn’t be on the reservation. He also said
you’re making a fool of yourself over his sister when she’s already spoken for.”
Already spoken for. How was that possible? Rachiah had said he wouldn’t understand. Had she been talking about her fiancé? Was the guy a fiancé? Would she be that honest, if she knew she wasn’t available for anything? Why would she kiss him? Damon pressed a finger to his temple to push the forming headache away.
He ignored Ryland’s accusation Damon was falling for her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not involved with anyone. I’m being friends with her.” But the comment refused to be ignored. Pestering
Could he be falling for her? Could Ryland see something Damon couldn’t?
He couldn’t stop thinking about her, that much was true. She was intoxicating in ways he never experienced. She was fast becoming an all-consuming aspect of his life.
Damon hung his head, studying the floor at his feet. After a long moment he raised his gaze to his brother. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I feel. All I know is if I am falling for her, I’m in a lot of trouble. MT won’t like us anymore than he already does which isn’t saying much.” On top of everything else he didn’t need to add more contention to their already tumultuous lifestyle. “Let’s keep this between us.”
Ryland watched him, crossing his arms in his chest. “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Damon nodded, hopefully he slept. With all the crap going on in his head, it wouldn’t help anybody, especially himself, if he couldn’t sleep.
Unfortunately or fortunately, he couldn’t decide, thoughts of Rachiah would most likely keep him up the rest of the short night.
~~
The next day, everything MT did pointed to his suspicious of something like he had been a fly on the wall in the kitchen watching the night before. Punishing Damon and Ryland for missing a few days, he was out to make up for lost time. Was busting the backs of laborers a sport? MT could’ve been competing for the Olympics, if it was.
Their lunch break came after an eternity of digging and breaking into solid rock.
Again, they sat in front of the bushes at Mrs. Metcalf’s property. Her trees were the only ones around on the plain focused south side of the reservation.
Damon tore into his sandwich with gusto, his thoughts returning yet again to the woman he’d left back in North Fork. She said she’d be coming home in a couple days. He had to call her or text her and he couldn’t wait to see her. Maybe she’d see him that weekend. The faster he got done with lunch, the faster he could use the rest of his break to call and see when she was leaving.
A shadow fell across his legs. Damon looked up, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun.
Mrs. Metcalf stood beside him. Her hands folded at her waist, her white hair had been drawn up neatly into a braid. A blue and white floral print housedress draped from her shoulders. “Hello Damon. I was wondering if you could help me next week. My roof needs to be fixed, and my son will be here, but he can’t do it by himself. I can pay you.”
Damon jumped to his feet, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “It’s okay, Mrs. Metcalf, I’d be happy to help you. Can I walk you back to your house?”
“No, thank you. I’m going to go see my neighbor. I will see you next week.” She reached out her weathered hand and patted his arm.
Damon lowered himself back to his seat. He was hoping an opportunity to speak with her or her son would arise. He had to know what happened to Melissa. Find out where she was, or if she was okay. He needed to be able to apologize to someone.
If not Melissa herself, then Melissa’s family would have to do.
With Mrs. Metcalf’s son there next week, Damon would be able to broach the subject at some point. He needed to find out more.
He needed to apologize to Melissa. Not Rachiah.
If he wanted to maintain any semblance of sanity, he had to separate the two women in his mind. The last thing he wanted was to fall in love with Rachiah under the guise she had something to do with Melissa. He’d spent all that time with Rachiah and hadn’t thought of Melissa once.
At the end of the lunch break, MT pulled Damon aside. The hard lines of his face were enhanced by the dark tan of his skin. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but you’re not jerking her around. She’s been through too much.”
“I don’t...” Damon glanced behind him to see if he had backup should he need it. MT wasn’t messing around and his tone didn’t leave any doubt about it.
“That’s all I’m going to say about it. You’ve been warned.” MT sliced his hands through the air in a gesture of finality.
Damon watched him walk away, confused. Was MT talking about Rachiah? Or Mrs. Metcalf? And what exactly did MT know about any of it?
Chapter 9
Rachiah
Defeat burrowed inside Rachiah, leaving a hollow ache she would never be able to fill. She had to go home. She had to admit she failed.
Had she really though?
Ratchet was her father.
There was no denying it. He wouldn’t declare his name and he so calmly lied to her face when other men in town – who had no investment in the situation – had recognized the name she’d searched for.
She had the sinking realization she’d been fighting the truth staring at her. There weren’t a bunch of Ratchets running around the west. There just weren’t. She didn’t want to face it, own it. He was more vocal in his denial, going so far as to lie.
He wasn’t Salish. He wasn’t any defined nationality which made her half a puzzle.
Or, for her sanity’s sake, she could look at it from the “maybe perspective”.
Maybe, he was telling the truth.
Maybe, he wasn’t her father.
Maybe, she’d been given the wrong information all around those three states.
Maybe she was supposed to go into North Dakota to find her long lost father.
Or maybe he was Sioux and she had to actually go onto other reservations.
Or the maybe perspective wasn’t enough to fight the logical steps she’d followed to get herself into North Fork, Wyoming and into the work place of Ratchet.
She refilled the salt containers for the tables, wiping down the bases, and placing them carefully on the dark brown plastic tray. She could work mindlessly, like a robot, just keep going. Work. Work. Work. While her mind turned possibilities over and over like a washing machine.
Going home didn’t feel her with excitement like it should. The only thing going for her back home involved seeing Damon again. She had to talk to Tom some point that morning. She couldn’t just disappear on him. Not when he’d done so much for her.
A slight draft ran along the floor when someone opened the door and closed it. Cool air chilled around her ankles like a whisper.
Finishing the salt and pepper shakers, Rachiah glanced toward the kitchen. Tom bobbed his bald head in rhythm to the beat of Led Zeppelin. He hadn’t heard anyone come in.
If she hid behind the pantry, maybe they’d go away.
Another maybe. She was drowning in maybes.
From behind the tall coffee station, she patted the front pocket of her apron to find her pad and pencil. Well, wait, her eraser had fallen off somewhere in her pocket. She dug around for it, walking toward the occupied table.
She didn’t care enough to even look up. All she wanted was to be done with it all.
She drummed up enough compassion to smile as she approached the table and finally looked up. Her eraser was going to have to wait ‘til later.
Time froze.
Ratchet sat at the table, his hands steepled as he watched her approach. He didn’t look away when her gaze settled on his.
She cooled. How dare he come in there after dismissing her claims so thoroughly?
He’d said no.
He knew the truth and he’d denied her rights to it. The man was nothing more than a smooth liar.
Her smile tightened and she blinked as she settled onto her left foot an
d jutted out her hip. “Do you want the special?” Meatloaf. Always meatloaf. Tom’s easiest dish. She was learning fast. It was also her favorite meal of his. The mashed potatoes were thick and fluffy.
He cleared his throat and jerked his chin forward then back. “No. I would like to apologize. I’m...” He shifted in his seat and dropped his hands to the table. “I’m Jeffrey Howard. I’m, well, I’m who you’re looking for.”
“So you know you’re my father?” She couldn’t believe it. He’d known. Having his declaration spell out for her what she’d strongly suspected stung even more.
He nodded as if someone had lassoed his tongue and served it up to a bull.
Why was he admitting it now? She had to ask. “Yeah? What’s changed since yesterday? You get some coffee in you or something? Regret lying?”
“Yeah, about that.” He opened his hands, palms up. “I’m not sure why I did that. Usually when people come looking for me... it doesn’t have good connotations. You startled me.” He leaned forward, beseeching her with his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’d like to get together and talk. Are you okay with that?”
She didn’t look away. Finally she had found him. She would be able to find out what she needed to know. She would be able to learn about who she really was.
Because, facing all the facts, she had grown up believing a lie. She was not full Salish. Too many pieces of who she was had counted on the truth of that fact.
No, not fact. Fiction.
Rachiah nodded jerkily. “Okay, yeah, sure.” But what did that mean? Could she believe the things he said? Would he answer her questions? Did she want to know the answers he gave?
“I’m off work at five. Maybe we could get together and talk some more.” He gave her side smile, the chip in his front tooth adding to his charm.
“That sounds good. I’m off about then, too. Should we meet here?” She lifted the pad of paper in her hands with the pencil, ready to take his order. “Since you’re here, what can I get you?”
“Yeah, let’s meet here. I’ll get the special. Thanks.” He smiled at her, and winked, as if they shared a secret.
Forgotten Trails Page 6
