Nah, man, forget it.
He’d learned long ago that casual sex wasn’t worth it. It took the edge off his sexual need, but instead of contentment afterward, there was only emptiness. Besides, there was too much of a chance of someone mistaking physical pleasure for love and getting hurt.
Winona deserved better than that. All women did.
She set her backpack down inside the door and put the chili Jack had given them in her refrigerator. “Just make yourself at home.”
“Thanks.”
She led him to the spare bedroom, showed him where to find towels and washcloths, then gave him a quick tour of the kitchen. “Glasses are here. The coffee is in here. There’s wood outside the back door if you want to start a fire. The remote is on the coffee table, and my wireless password is taped to the fridge. I’ll be gone for about an hour, maybe an hour and a half.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“You’ve got my cell number, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Call if you need anything. See you in a bit.” She hurried out the door, locking the deadbolt behind her.
Jason took out his laptop and caught up on his email. An update about Ren’s condition. A reminder that the premium on his auto policy was coming due. And something from his supervisor—a notice of his disciplinary hearing date.
Shit.
He closed his computer, gave McBride a call, and explained the situation.
“West never asked us to spend the night.” McBride sounded hurt.
“You jealous?”
“Hell, yes.” McBride chuckled. “So, you and Winona?”
“It’s not like that.”
“That’s what you keep saying.”
“Hey, she offered me her spare room to save me time in the morning.”
“Right.”
Jason changed the subject. “She told me that you helped catch a guy who held a gun to her head.”
“Yeah. That was five years ago, I think.”
Jason didn’t think it was his place to ask what had happened, but McBride shared the story anyway.
“The asshole robbed a bank and got badly burned when the dye pack in the money bag exploded. He went to her clinic and forced her to give him medical care at gunpoint, then injected her with a lethal overdose of ketamine.”
“Jesus.”
“From the reports I read, he got ugly with her before he injected her, made all kinds of violent sexual and racist threats. I think the worst part of it for her was knowing that the dose he was giving her would kill her. If her friend Lexi hadn’t wandered in and gotten a call off to the police, Winona would have died on the clinic floor.”
Good God.
Jason could only imagine how terrifying that must have been. “Tell me you’re the one who killed this son of a bitch.”
“Nah, man. I didn’t have to. The bastard abducted Lexi and dragged her with him into an abandoned mine shaft. Chaska helped us track them. We’d just found them when the shaft collapsed. He died, but Lexi survived with the help of a tommyknocker—or so she claims. The Team got her out.”
“There are some sick fuckers out there.” Jason had spent his life tracking them.
“True that.”
Jason finished the conversation, got to his feet, and went out back for firewood, the details McBride had shared running through this mind. It sickened him to think of some asshole taking advantage of Winona’s skills and repaying her by trying to take her life. She’d drifted into unconsciousness, believing she was dying.
Fucking bastard.
Jason knew so many Native women whose lives had been destroyed by violence—child abuse, partner violence, sexual assault, murder. He’d rescued dozens of Indigenous women and children from trafficking operations. He’d witnessed their helplessness, their terror, their desperation. All he’d been able to do was bust the bad guys, one by one.
It didn’t feel like enough. It was never enough.
Jason wasn’t especially religious. He didn’t attend Mass regularly. But he had no trouble believing that evil was real and alive in the world.
When the fire was going, he turned on the TV, but he was too restless to sit. He carried in more wood, then found a pot and set Jack’s chili on the stove to reheat. While that simmered, he sorted through his gear and checked his Glock, making sure he was ready for tomorrow’s hunt.
He’d just put the pistol back in its case when he heard Winona’s key slip into the lock. Certain the sight of his pistol would unnerve her, he tucked it into his pack.
She stepped inside, a bright smile on her face. “Hey.”
He got to his feet. “Hey.”
“Oh! You started dinner.”
“I can’t claim any glory. I just dumped the leftover chili into a pot.” Still, he liked the way her eyes lit up.
“Look what I got you.” She held up a six-pack of amber bottles. “I saw that you liked the beer at Knockers, so I brought you this—Golden Aspen IPA.”
“Thanks.” Jason thought he just might be in love.
Chapter 8
While Jason washed up, Winona got dinner on the table—an easy task when it was already made. She set butter next to the warmed cornbread, got a glass out for Jason’s beer, poured seltzer water over ice for herself, and set out an old plastic coffee can lid for the spirit plate.
She’d never actually had a man over for dinner—if you didn’t count her brother or her grandfather. The last time she’d set two places at her table, Naomi had been out of town, and the second plate had been for Chaska. She couldn’t help feeling a little nervous, especially now that she knew Jason was single.
“That smells good.” Jason twisted the cap off a bottle of beer and poured it into his glass. “Want one?”
“No, thanks.” Winona sat. “I don’t drink.”
“Got it.” He took his seat across from her. “How are Naomi and little Shota?”
While they ate, Winona shared the news. Naomi’s preeclampsia had improved, but she was still in pain from the C-section. Her doctor thought she’d be able to come home by the end of the week. Shota was thriving and had the nurses wrapped around his tiny pinky finger. Chaska had slept at home last night and had finally gotten a shower. Doug and Star were watching over Grandpa. Chaska had been approved for eight weeks of paternity leave.
“The last time I saw my brother so happy was on their wedding day.” Winona realized Jason didn’t know any of these people. “I’m boring you to death.”
The warmth in his gaze made her pulse skip. “I asked, remember?”
She broke eye contact, shifted the conversation to him. “Do you have any nieces or nephews?”
“I’ve got three older sisters, and between them, they’ve got seven kids—three boys and four girls. They moved away, one by one.” There was a disapproving edge to his voice. “I do my best to stay in touch. I don’t want the kids to grow up not knowing what it means to be Tohono O’odham.”
“Your sisters will teach them.”
Jason didn’t look sure of that. “They all married non-Natives. They don’t speak the O’odham tongue to their kids, and they’ve never brought them home to Sells. How can you teach someone what it means to be O’odham—one of the Desert People—if they’ve never seen the desert and don’t speak the language?”