Authors: Debra Kayn
She
knew the moment he learned she was witnessing the exchange, because his chin
came up and his mouth hardened. Reminding herself that his private life was
none of his business, she turned and hurried to bring the truck around.
Once
settled in the truck, Trace directed her to drive past a few rows of houses and
turn down the last street on the left. She'd barely made the corner, and he
ordered her to stop.
Weather
and time painted the row houses with a coat of poverty and desperation. It
seemed in this area, the houses were set apart from the others. Dogs ran wild,
and litter tumbled in the wind. Sadness washed through her. Unlike the active
and populated roads she'd gone through upon arriving on Lakota land, no one
worked outside or tended their yards here. Most of the houses appeared
abandoned and in disarray.
"Honk
the horn." Trace lifted himself off the seat, dug in his back pocket, and
removed a money clip.
She
chewed on the inside of her cheek. The area appeared deserted, but she followed
his directions and pushed down on the middle of the steering wheel.
The
loud sound seemed to alert the inhabitants in the shack and the door opened.
The same girl from the stables came out and ran straight toward the truck.
Trace opened the door. Joan leaned forward, and watched him pass a handful of
cash to the girl. She frowned as the child wadded the bundle of bills up in her
fist.
The
child beamed, leaned inside the cab of the truck, and kissed Trace's cast.
"
Ah-kee-shnee.
"
Trace
waited for the girl to run back inside the house and shut the door. She'd hate
to assume anything, but what other reason would Trace have to give the child
money than he was her father.
"You
can go now." Trace closed his eyes, let his head fall back on the headrest
of the truck, and deliberately ignored her.
Trace's
silence gave her more time to try and put the pieces of this new puzzle
together. Had Trace been married before, or was the little girl back on the
reservation a child from a relationship he'd had in his past? Why wasn't she
living with him? How could he allow his child to live in such poverty when he
was snug and happy in a home big enough for twenty children?
Half
way home, Trace still feigned sleep, ignoring her every time she cleared her
throat or sighed loudly in her attempt to rouse him. Fed up with his cold
shoulder treatment, she decided on her own to stop in Durham and pick up her
mail without asking his permission. If he wanted to pretend she wasn't in the
truck with her, she'd pretend that it was all right to drive his vehicle the
two extra miles out of their way.
She
turned down First Street and followed the road down into the old business
district. At one time, the buildings were a work of popular architecture and
class but today, maybe because Trace was with her, they appeared run down and
half of them were vacant. She rubbed her forehead. The similarities between the
road where the little girl lived on at the reservation and the street she lived
on weren't lost on her.
She
slowed down, and searched for an open parking spot along the curb. Finding one
in front of the bakery, where she lived upstairs in the one-bedroom apartment,
she pulled off the main road and shut off the engine.
"What
are you doing?" Trace gazed out the window. "Sudden urge for a
donut?"
"I'll
be right back." She exited the truck.
He
wasn't the only one with secrets, and the way he was acting gave her no reason
to share anymore of her life than she already had. She ran down the alley to
the steps that led to the upstairs. Glad that he wouldn't be able to follow,
she slowed down and took the stairs at a normal pace.
The
sweet, vanilla smell of donuts wafted out of the bakery downstairs. Her stomach
growled. She'd missed home. Although, she didn't have to worry about gaining
weight living out at the ranch the way she did buying the day-old pastries from
her landlord three times a week.
Unlocking
the door to her apartment, she let herself in and scooped up the mail lying on
the floor. Shuffling through the stack, she groaned. The electric company had
sent the final notice while she'd been gone. She glanced at the clock radio.
The display was unlit.
Crap.
Unable
to do anything about the lack of electricity, she shoved the mail in a paper
bag to take back with her and relocked the front door. She descended the steps
slowly, putting off returning to the truck. It hurt to know Trace didn't care
enough about his daughter to see to her welfare. She'd expected more from him,
knowing how much he gave to the other guys and the people of his tribe.
When
she got down to the street, Trace was standing outside the truck, leaning
against the fender.
He
motioned with his hand. "Let's grab a bite."
She
clutched the bag to her chest. "Here?"
"Why
not?" He challenged her with his eyes.
She
shrugged, and followed him inside the bakery. He plunked down at the nearest
table, and gave her a twenty-dollar bill. She raised her brow in question.
"Whatever
you get, make sure it has chocolate on it," he said.
She
tilted her head, studying him. "O…kay."
Bruce
Cahill smiled at her from behind the counter. Besides being the owner of the
shop, he was also her landlord. She stood between Bruce and Trace's line of
vision, hoping Bruce wouldn't mention her living situation.
"About
time you showed up." Bruce placed his elbows on the glass case and leaned
forward. "Where have you been, Joan? I haven't seen hide nor hair of you
and that sassy little sister of yours lately. I'd almost believe you skipped
out of town, except I did receive your rent payment this month."
Joan
glanced behind her, before pointing at a row of donuts and holding up two
fingers. "I've got a new job, but it's temporary. I should be back in a
couple of weeks."
"Is
Katie coming home too?" Bruce grabbed a napkin, and gathered the donuts.
"I miss her stopping by and entertaining me with all her stories."
"Not
quite yet." She forced a smile. "I hope before too long. I miss
her."
"I
bet you do." Bruce passed her the order, took her cash, and stepped over
to the register. "Your daddy doted on you girls. You've had a rough time
lately, and I worry about you both."
"Thanks,
Bruce." She lifted her chin. "We'll be fine, once we get back
together."
She
said her goodbye to Bruce and returned to the table. She handed Trace the two
chocolate éclairs. Trace handed her back one. Sitting across from him, she
tried desperately not to attack the donut in a raving fit to appease her
addiction. She moaned as the sugary treat hit her tongue.
"You
do like donuts, don't you?" Trace leaned across the table and wiped the
corner of her mouth, then licked the chocolate off his thumb.
She
licked her lips and gazed away from him, not liking how her body betrayed her
when she wasn't sure if she should be mad at him or not. "I'm
starving."
Trace
indulged in a bite of his own donut, swallowed, and then frowned. "I
should have had you stop on the way to the reservation, and we could've grabbed
a proper lunch. I'm sorry. All I was thinking about during the ride was how far
behind I'm getting with work, and I need to figure out how to make up all the
time I've wasted being laid up."
"You
needed to do whatever it is you do." She set her treat down and sighed.
"Can I ask you something?"
He
nodded once.
"This
is probably none of my business, but why don't you let your little girl live at
the ranch with you." She shuddered, remembering how pathetic the house was
that they visited.
Trace's
brows rose. "She has a house."
"Yes,
but you have to see how bad the living conditions were there. Wouldn't she have
more opportunities if she could live where it's safe and warm? It must be
terrible in the wintertime. You can practically see through cracks in the
outside walls." She leaned back in her chair.
It
bothered her that he wouldn't take care of his child, and want to give her the
best possible childhood. Throwing some extra money at the girl only went so
far. Nothing could be better than a father's love. She knew that personally.
She'd give anything to have her own father back, and she was a grown adult.
If
she had money, nothing would keep her from bringing Katie home. For her to
struggle with her own failure over not finding a job and not doing better for
Katie, she thought Trace's lack of doing something better for his daughter as
irresponsible.
Most
of all, Trace disappointed her. She thought better of him and learning
differently made her mad.
"You
don't know what you're talking about." Trace polished off the rest of the
éclair.
"Oh,
but I do." She stood up. "Every child should have a father, a family.
To deny her that is un…it sucks, Trace."
Her
appetite gone, she tossed her napkin on the table and left the donut shop.
Pacing the sidewalk, she grew angrier. If he expected a child to live through
hardships, maybe it would do a world of good if she stopped babying Trace. She
turned around, spotted Trace coming out of the store, and approached him.
"I
can't believe you. All this time, and you really had me fooled." She
clamped her lips together and muffled her scream of frustration. "Oh,
never mind. I quit. I can't do this anymore. You can find someone else to fight
with you every time your therapy is due or you want to sneak outside. I give
up."
Chapter Thirteen
"Get
in the truck." Trace held out her paper bag she'd forgotten in the donut
shop.
"No."
Joan snapped her sack out of his hands and crossed her arms. "I can't take
this anymore. One minute you're nice and I think you're the perfect guy and the
next, you're mean and well, you're coldhearted. You're not the only one in the
world with problems, Trace. That girl is…she's a baby still."
"Joan,
get in the truck." He softened his voice. "Please."
If
it weren't for the fact that she needed this job, the money, she would have
left him there standing on the sidewalk. She opened his door and waited for him
to climb in. She was probably making the biggest mistake of her life, but when
it came to Trace she found it hard to refuse him anything.
The
silence inside of the truck thickened, threatening to choke Joan. Pity for the
man who'd shied away from her at the pool mixed with the gentleness Trace
displayed with the little girl. Her anger simmered below the surface for the
injustices of the world, where fathers were always around, and kids were safe
and loved. Why some people ruined another person's life would always remain a
mystery.
"Savannah
is not my daughter." Trace's confession came softly.
"The
little girl? Her name is Savannah?" She glanced at him. "Whose child
is she then?"
Trace
shrugged. "Some lowlife who beats his child, and on a good day ignores her
completely."
"You
need to tell someone." Joan gripped the steering wheel. "She needs
protected."
"Maybe
in your world, but on the reservation things are done differently." Trace
gazed out the window. "No one wants to get involved, because the family
unit is sacred to the Lakota. We all bide our time, the best way we know how,
until we can escape…or repeat the abuse with our own children. It's a deadly
cycle that goes on for generations in some families."
She
shook her head. "No, I don't believe it. She could go to a foster home…a
shelter, or I don't know, somewhere safe. You could bring her to the ranch. Oh
Trace, she'd be so happy there. She could swim, ride horses, and receive so
much love. Most of all, she'd blossom with all the attention from you and the
other guys. I saw the way you looked at her. You do care."
"No.
She can't live with us. She's got a father." His hand fisted.
"Why
not? You're rich enough. Offer her father money…buy them a new home, whatever
it takes." She flipped the turn signal on and exited the highway.
"It's obvious the man—I hate even calling that bastard a man—can't even
afford to fix up his house."
"I
told you, the Lakota take pride in their family. It would be an insult, and
Savannah would be the one who pays the price for my charity. Do you want to
know what her father will do to her? I'll tell you. He'll starve her, and when
he's used all his money up on alcohol, he'll take his anger out on her when he
doesn't have a way to buy his next bottle. Do you know what it's like to see
bruises and split lips on an innocent child?" He swung his arm and hit the
side door. "Trust me. Savannah won't thank you for that."
"He'll
hurt her?" She whispered. The donut rose in her stomach.
"She's
nothing to him, but someone to get in his way and blame his own failings
on," Trace muttered, looking out the window. "It's a fucked up
mess."
"Oh
God…" She pulled to the side of the road, shoved the truck into park, and
rushed out.