120 miles from Pine Ridge, a long and seemingly endless drive and they were only halfway through it.
“So this is the route your delivery trucks take?” he asked.
“Yes, but because of the distance, the weather can vary, particularly in the winter. Sometimes a truck leaves Rapid City, where it’s sixty degrees and hits the reservation in the middle of a whiteout.”
“A blizzard?”
She nodded, and he pictured the land blanketed in snow. “Some of the homes aren’t accessible during heavy snows or rain, are they?”
“No, they’re not. We try to provide propane fuel and heating stoves. We haul firewood, too. But there are so many people to reach, so many families who need to keep warm.”
He thought about the years Tamra and her mother had spent dodging the cold. “Do you have any extended family? Anyone who’s still alive?”
“I have some distant cousins on my dad’s side, but we don’t socialize much. They tend to party, drink too much.” She heaved a heavy-hearted sigh. “I’ve tried to help them get sober, but they shoo me away. They think I’m a do-gooder.”
“No one could say that about me,” he admitted.
“You’ve never offered to help anyone?”
“Not firsthand. I send checks to charities, but I’ve always thought of them as tax write-offs. I don’t get emotionally involved.”
She slanted him a sideways glance. “You will today.”
He tried to snare her gaze, but she’d already turned back to the road. “So where exactly are we going?”
“To meet one of the trucks at a drop-off location. It’s my home base, where my office is.”
They arrived about forty-five minutes later. The drop-off location was a prefab building equipped with garage-style doors. A group of cars were parked around the structure, where volunteers waited for the delivery truck.
Michele and her daughter, Maya, were among the volunteers, ready to help those less fortunate than themselves. Walker was impressed. Michele was living in an overcrowded home, trying to make ends meet, yet she was willing to drive her beat-up car to other communities on the rez, delivering food to hungry families. He suspected the Oyate Project was paying for her gas, but she was offering her time, her heart, for free.
She greeted him and Tamra with a hug. Maya looked up at them and grinned. Soon another volunteer engaged Tamra in a conversation and she excused herself, leaving Walker with Michele and her sweet little girl.
As casually as possible he removed some cash from his wallet and slipped it into Michele’s hand.
She gave him a confused look.
“For Maya’s birthday,” he said, as the child played in the dirt, drawing pictures with a stick.
Michele thanked him, giving him another hug, putting her mouth close to his ear. “I hope you hook up with my friend. She needs a guy like you.”
He stepped back, felt his pulse stray. “I’m not hooking up with anybody.”
“You sure about that?”
Was he? “I’m trying to be.” He’d been doing his damnedest not to touch Tamra, not to kiss her again.
Michele angled her head. Her long, straight hair was clipped with a big, plastic barrette, and a bright blue T-shirt clung to her plus-size figure. “Maybe you shouldn’t fight it.”
He shifted his feet. They stood in the heat, with the sun beating down on their backs. “It would never work. I live in California.”
“Yeah, but you’re here now.” She gave him a serious study. “And my friend is getting to you.”
So he was supposed to live for the moment? Make a move on Tamra? Have a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am with a woman who’d been through hell and back? Somehow he doubted that was what Michele had in mind. “You think I’ll stay. You think that if I hook up with her, I’ll make this place my home.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
Not that strange, he thought.
Tamra returned and invited him into her office. He entered the building with her, eager to escape. As much as he liked Michele, he didn’t need to get side-tracked by her hope-filled notions.
Determined to keep his distance, he refrained from getting too close to Tamra. But once they were in her office with the door closed, he didn’t have a choice. Her workspace put them in a confined area: a standard desk, a narrow bookcase, a file cabinet that took up way too much room.
She dug through the top drawer, removed a folder and sorted through it, gathering the papers she needed. Walker took a deep breath, and her fragrance accosted him like a floral-scented bandit. If he moved forward, just a little, just three or four small steps, he could take her in his arms.
Damn the consequences and kiss her.
The phone on her desk rang, jarring him back to reality.
She answered the call, and he cursed Michele for messing with his mind, for encouraging him to be with Tamra. Walker hadn’t gotten laid in months. Of course, he knew Michele was talking about more than just sex.
“Are you ready?” Tamra asked.
He simply looked at her. He hadn’t even realized that she’d hung up the phone. He’d been too busy feeling sorry for his neglected libido. “Ready for what?”
“To go back outside. Or would you rather wait here?”
“For what?”
“The truck.” She made a curious expression. “Are you all right, Walker?”
A bit defensive, he frowned at her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“How would I know? You’re acting weird.”
Did she have to be so pretty? So smooth and sultry? She wore jeans and an Oyate Project T-shirt, but it could have been a nightgown, a breezy fabric, an erotic temptation. “Maybe I’m just sick of the reservation.”
She crossed her arms. “Then go home.”
He didn’t want to return to California, not without putting his hands all over her first. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Anxious, he leaned against the file cabinet. “And I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Me, neither.”
She sighed, and he almost touched her.
Almost.
He decided it was safer waiting outside, even if Michele would probably be dogging his heels, giving him conspiratorial glances.
But luckily that didn’t happen. The truck arrived, and the pace picked up. So much so, Walker got absorbed in the activity, helping the driver unload the food.
