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“Maybe not. But all one hundred pounds of me is gonna try. How long has he been out there?”
“Not long. A few minutes before you got here. But you can’t just…”
Maggie narrowed her eyes at him. “Get the hell outta my way.”
He hesitated, then moved aside. Magaskawee bolted to the door and came up against a wall. When she stepped to the side, so did the wall. Only it wasn’t a wall, it was the big biker who she had locked eyes with.
“Not gonna happen, sweetheart.” He folded his arms across his big chest and continued to block her way.
“What?” Magaskawee shook her head in confusion as she moved to work her way around him again.
“Your brother is in the alleyway getting the shit beat out of him, and you’re gonna try and stop it, yeah?”
She looked up at him and nodded.
“Numbers Smackdown.”
“Numbers what?” he rasped out.
“What they are gonna do to my brother. It’s called the ‘Numbers Smackdown.’”
“Explain,” he demanded.
“They’re gonna tie Taki’s hands together and hang him up from a rope,” she said fearfully, “like a side of beef. Then they take turns rolling the dice. Seven gets him beaten from his head to his chest for five minutes. Eleven gets him beaten from his stomach to his feet for ten minutes. If he passes out? Then the clock stops and they start again.”
The big man nodded, then he lifted his chin to Johnny. “They armed?”
Johnny nodded in affirmation. “Knives … Guns …”
“Let me have the bat, princess.” Maggie’s attention shifted to the man who was suddenly standing next to her. He was as tall and muscular as the first man, but he was leaner—more sinew than bulk. And despite the leathers, tattoos, and overall badass appearance, he also had the sort of boyish, all-American good looks that Magaskawee found appealing—and the bluest pair of eyes she had ever seen. She stared into those eyes and clutched the bat tighter to her chest.
“Okay, pretty lady, you hold on to that block of wood if it makes you feel better.” He grinned at her, and when he did, two dimples leapt out. “But know this, there’s not a man in our crew who’s gonna let you go through that door. So why don’t you take those keys to that truck and drive yourself on home. We’ll get your brother out to you before your beautiful head hits the pillow.”
Magaskawee’s look volleyed uncertainly from the door to the alleyway and back again.
“What’s your name?” he gently prodded.
“Magaskawee Whitefeather.”
“Hello there, Magaskawee. My Name’s Jack … Jack Winston.” Then he nodded to the big guy who was still standing between her and the door to the alley. “And this beast here with the winning personality is my buddy, Prosper. We’re gonna take care of this. Then we’re gonna see that your brother gets home safe and sound. You’re gonna be home waiting to see that he does, yeah?”
“There’s probably a lot of them out there,” Maggie warned. “They’re vicious and dangerous. They’re the kind of men who carry knives and—”
“Ah, darlin’, no worries,” Jack interrupted her, still wearing that winning grin. “Me and my boys? We eat their kind for breakfast.” Jack gave Maggie that winning smile again. “Now, you go on home and your brother will be there before you know it. Can you do that for me, Magaskawee? Can you go on home and let us handle this for you?”
Magaskawee looked into those topaz-blue eyes and could do no more than nod. Then she let Jack take the bat from her and lead her out the door, because in that moment, Magaskawee Whitefeather would have agreed to just about anything Jack Winston asked her to do.
“Going to be a beautiful day!”
“Yes, I believe it is, Nizhoni!” Magaskawee smiled at her friend. Nizhoni made little clay pots, and her husband, Mato, painted them. They had the space next to her, but there were other crafters set up on the road as well. They were a closely knit community, all of whom lived on the reservation and made their living selling handcrafted items. Turquoise squash-blossom necklaces, ribbon-woven shawls, hammered silver belts, and soaps made of mountain sage and lavender were priced to sell and sat in riotous displays of color and craftsmanship.
Magaskawee’s hand-beaded earrings were among the offered items. She spent hours designing them and working out the mathematical patterns for the intricate work. It gave her a sense of peace and accomplishment to work those tiny glass beads into miniature works of jeweled art. After Magaskawee put in a few hours peddling her merchandise, she would take the truck home for Taki or one of her cousins to use. Then she would pack up her supplies and get on her bike and ride along the hot, dusty roads of the reservation until she found a shaded, quiet spot. There, she would work for hours, dreaming of faraway places while her nimble fingers worked on the colorful patterns.
Now that her display was all set up and ready for customers, Magaskawee sat in her camp chair, sipped her coffee, and thought about how she had waited on the rooftop last night for her brother to arrive home. First Taki’s truck, then Johnny Bear’s car pulled into the long dusty road that led to the trailer, and Maggie had held her breath until Taki came stumbling out of the cab. Then, without so much as a glance in her direction, Johnny jumped out of the old Ford and hopped into the car that had followed behind. He had barely shut the passenger door before it sped away.
Magaskawee was relieved beyond description to have her brother home safe and sound—bruised and bloody, but still whole. But when Taki looked up at the roof where he knew his sister would be waiting, he gave her an unrepentant grin and a drunken salute. In that moment, Magaskawee knew that Johnny was right. Taki was never going to change. It made Magaskawee want to climb down from the rooftop and beat him herself. Disgusted, Magaskawee now turned her eyes away from her brother and towards the horizon, holding out a faint hope that Jack had followed Johnny Bear to the trailer.
It was ridiculous, she chided herself, that she should harbor any expectations that he would want to see her again. Why would he? In the few minutes they had met, all Magaskawee had to offer him was trouble. Not a great first impression. Still, she couldn’t help but hope. Jack Winston had the bluest eyes she had ever seen … and the whitest smile and the deepest dimples and … oh boy, Maggie felt herself heat up from the inside out just thinking about him.
