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During their meal, they caught up on what they’d been doing since high school, and Jim’s eyes lit up when he talked about his work with vets.
“You had a great idea before.” She placed her fork on the edge of her plate. “Art.”
“Sculpture?”
“Any kind of art—painting, sculpture, ceramics. Is there anything like that in any of the centers where you worked?”
“Not that I noticed, but I think that could work.”
“I could probably get a fair number of my artist friends to volunteer some of their time.”
“That would be incredible if you could provide the volunteers.”
Smiling, Scarlett picked up her fork. Jim’s approval gave her a warm feeling inside. She cut off a corner of her spinach lasagna. His approval was coming to mean a lot to her—maybe too much. He had demons to slay and she had an art show in West Hollywood.
“Hey there, Scarlett.”
She dropped her fork as she met the dark gaze of her uncle, a little frisson of fear glancing the back of her neck. He’d appeared out of nowhere, just like he always did, stealthy as a cat.
“Uncle Danny. Are you back in town?”
He spread his arms, his eyes flickering toward Jim. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“I—I just didn’t hear anything about your return.” She gritted her teeth at the way her voice wavered, but she had no intention of admitting she and Granny had talked about him. Her uncle could reduce her to a stammering child with one look from his cold eyes—even when she wasn’t lying to him.
“You shouldn’t depend on the reservation grapevine.” He formed his fingers into a gun and aimed it at her. “It’s usually wrong.”
“I’m sorry.” She tipped her head toward Jim. “This is Jim Kennedy. He’s a local. I went to high school with him. Jim, this is Danny Easton, my uncle.”
“I remember the Kennedy family—Slick and your brother. You a bigot, too?”
Scarlett drew in a quick breath, her eyes darting to Jim’s face.
Jim pushed his plate away and crossed his arms over his chest. “I guess they weren’t too bigoted for you and your boys to do some business with them.”
Scarlett held her breath as Danny’s lips formed a thin line and his black eyes glittered.
“Sounds like you’ve been listening to gossip from the rez, too.” He drummed his long fingers on the table. “I’d join you, Scar, but I’m meeting someone at the bar.”
“Are you going to drop in on Granny while you’re here?”
“Why? She never liked me. Never thought our family was good enough for your mother.”
Scarlett dropped her gaze to her plate and twirled the tines of her fork around a string of melted cheese. “She never had a problem with Dad.”
Danny released a soft snort, and the heels of his boots clicked away from the table.
“No family love there, huh?”
“Uncle Danny is no friend to the Quileute. He’s always been bad news. When my mom and dad started dating, Granny was concerned about her marrying into the Easton family, but like I said, she judges everyone individually. When she met my dad, she could tell he was one of the good guys—Danny, not so much.”
“I don’t remember Danny, and I sure don’t remember that he had some gang of his own.”
“That surprised me, too, but I do know that he was persona non grata around the reservation. After the accident that killed my parents, I never saw him.”
“So, another piece of the puzzle moves into position. We have Rusty, Chewy and my brother all converging on Timberline and now Danny Easton shows up. It’s like a dark cloud hovering over the town.” He shook the ice in his glass. “I suppose you’d have known if it was your own uncle holding a knife to your neck, wouldn’t you?”
“I would, but you know what’s unsettling?”
“Let’s see.” He held up his hand and ticked off his fingers. “Finding a dead body, arson, a defaced painting and a knife attack?”
“Besides all that.” She picked up her butter knife and ran her thumb along the dull, serrated edge. “The man who attacked me was wearing gloves.”
