Lovesick Braves Read online

  Lovesick Braves

  Crooked Rock Urban Indian Center Book 2

  Pamela Sanderson

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  THANK YOU FOR READING

  Endnotes

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Pamela Sanderson

  Copyright © 2017 by Pamela Rentz. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover design by Holly Heisey (www.hollyheiseydesign.com)

  Editor: Lorelei Logsdon, (www.loreleilogsdon.com)

  Visit the author’s website at www.pamelasanderson.com.

  1

  Ester hurried across campus, head down against the bitter wind. She pulled her flimsy coat more tightly around her shoulders as if that might help. In the brief time since she'd left her desk, the cold drizzle picked up and turned into a driving, slushy rain. Any other day and she would have abandoned this mission. Now that the center had moved to campus, she had plenty of opportunities to sneak into the computer lab.

  However, today she was ready to talk to the guy. She would throw out a confident smile and make small talk like regular people. She'd open with a comment about the weather followed by a question asking what classes he took. The words would come out naturally, except that was a joke because every time she stood in the same room with him, she got so nervous there was nothing natural about her.

  Ester entered the computer lab from the back door and found an open terminal in the corner. From this spot she would be able to keep an eye on him until she was ready to say something. She typed in the login borrowed from Audra and loaded the clips she was working on. Would he be wearing the gray hoodie, or the gray hoodie? She peeked over the monitor.

  A long-limbed blonde with don't-mess-with-me eye makeup sat at the front of the room. She caught Ester's eyes and tilted her head to one side, as if to say, Not the lab assistant you're looking for?

  Ester sank back into the seat, embarrassment turning into disappointment. Then she grew cross about being disappointed. This turned into annoyance because her feet were ice cubes, her pants were damp and she had to walk back across campus in the crap weather before she could be safe at her desk, deluxe space heater doing its job on her chilly bones. She'd gotten herself into this predicament so she could run into and, seriously this time, say hello to a guy. A guy who probably would have said hi back and never thought of her again.

  The man in question was the usual lab assistant at this hour. He was a big guy, both in terms of height—he had to be a least a head taller than Ester—but also brawn. This guy looked like he spent his spare time tearing trees out of the ground and smashing them over his knee. He'd caught her eye because of his warm brown skin and long black ponytail. She liked the way he moved, his giant hands working over the computer keyboard, or his careful sidestep when he worked his way through a row of computer terminals, like Godzilla, only trying to avoid knocking over a building. And the way he responded to requests to put paper in the printer with a weary suppressed scowl. She was ninety percent certain he was Native.

  She'd planned her entire day around running into him today. Probably wasn't a tragedy that he didn't show up. She would have chickened out or sputtered and forgotten what she'd planned to say. The Ester who existed in her head was much braver than the Ester who put on pants every morning.

  She turned her attention to the screen and reviewed her clips and images. The lab’s larger screens and faster machines made it more fun than using the computers at the center. The current project was another short film to appeal for help in finding a permanent home for the Crooked Rock Urban Indian Center. After much cajoling, her boss, Linda Bird, the executive director of the UIC, relented and did another interview about the various homes the UIC used or hoped to use.

  According to the online tutorial, the challenge of telling a good story was getting all the information in, placing the images in the best order, and timing it right. She rearranged the same bits: the Chief Building they planned to buy, the cramped space in the strip mall they'd vacated months earlier, and their current home, which was a meeting room on campus. She added an early photo of their founder, Margie, typing into a boxy computer on her kitchen table, then shuffled the clips back and forth, unable to sense what worked best.

  A quiet tone sounded on her phone. She glanced at the display.

  Linda texted: Conference call?

  Crap. Once her head was in a film project, everything else fell away.

  On my way.

  She hit save, yanked on her coat, then grabbed her backpack and hurried from the room. Students crowded the hallway, forcing her to push through before she ran out of the building and into the cold rain. Someone touched her shoulder.

  "Excuse me."

  Ester turned to find herself face-to-face with the guy. Her mouth went dry. His golden-brown eyes gazed into hers, narrow with suspicion. He must have taken over the lab while she was working and figured out she wasn't a student. Instead of her rehearsed small-talk, he was busting her for using the lab. This was not the conversation she'd envisioned having with Mr. Super-Ind'n and she didn't want it to continue.

  "You in Kathleen Stone's vis-comm class?" he asked.

  The ground grew unsteady under her feet. Instead of a gray hoodie, he wore a gray T-shirt, the filmy kind that clung everywhere. His chest was ridiculous. Out in the cold air, her ears stung, and he stood there without a coat. She slipped a hand into her pocket for her hat, then stopped when her fingers touched the fuzz of the frayed wool. No way would she put on the dingy hat in front of this guy.

  Whenever she complained about getting nervous talking to guys, Rayanne would say, Act natural. Don't over-think it.

  Ester didn't know how to act natural. She shook her head.

  "Which class, then?" His voice wasn't what she expected. She'd imagined pure bass but this was more baritone, warm and buttery. She guessed he had a nice singing voice. What was the question again?

  "I have a conference call?" she said, not sure why she made it sound like a question. Who knew what the punishment was for using someone else's login? What if they kicked her off campus? That would make going to work a challenge.

  "Are you in the digital arts class?"

  "Nice talking to you," she said. She turned around and considered how it would look if she sprinted across the greenway.

  "Hang on," he called. His hand tapped on her shoulder again. "You forgot this."

  Brawny guy held her portable hard drive. The drive was common except for the round sticker with the Crooked Rock Urban Indian Center logo on it.

  She stared at it. His ha
nd was huge. She wanted to put hers next to it to compare.

  He said, "If you don't take it, I have to plug it in and snoop through all the files to figure out who it belongs to."

  "It's mine," she said, trying to remember whether she had any files worth snooping. There were a few he might find interesting. Her fingertips grazed his palm when she took the drive.

  "One more question," he said.

  This time she looked at him. He wore a gray knit cap with a Pacific-Northwest-style whale on it. She'd seen similar caps at the crafts market in the park. His eyebrows knitted together like an angry cartoon character, equal parts menace and humor.

  Brawny guy pointed his chin at her. "You in the Native American student group?"

  "Not really," Ester said

  "But you're Native."

  Ester nodded.

  "From where?"

  "Eastern Shoshone."

  "Wyoming?"

  Ester nodded again.

  "I'm Theo," he said. "Jicarilla Apache. I lived on the rez when I was a kid."

  She knew she was supposed to share something about her background except she didn't want to get into it right then. If she had social skills like a normal person, she might steer the conversation in another direction but instead her brain ground to a halt. She tried to smile but sensed that she was peeling her lips back from her teeth while the corners of her mouth twitched.

  She couldn't tell whether the conversation was finished. She asked, "Do you have to go back to work?"

  "Work?" Theo smiled as if he'd heard something amusing. "You mean lab assistant? Nah, that job didn't work out."

  "Oh, sorry," Ester said.

  "The guy in charge of the lab assistants would rather schedule the lady students. I lost out." Theo shrugged.

  Ester stared at his mouth and the hard line of his jaw, the way the muscles worked in his neck, the goose bumps that covered his upper arm. He scrubbed his hand over it as if to brush them away. Her eyes flicked from his hand to his face. She'd never stood this close to someone so attractive.

  "How about you?" he said. "You said you had a call."

  "I do," she said, the importance of her work at the office flooding back to her. "I have to get going. Thanks for bringing my drive…" She patted her backpack and edged away. "Theo," she added because she wanted to say his name.

  2

  She was gone before Theo could catch her name. The Native woman fled into the falling rain. He didn't blame her for running after he'd rushed after her like that. She'd caught his eye when he worked in the lab, always choosing a seat in back and keeping to herself. She would stare at the screen with complete focus, her dark eyes narrowed while she struck the keyboard like a pianist picking out notes. Her intensity was wildly appealing and he would have introduced himself the first time he saw her if he thought he had time to make friends.

  But Professor Stone's project gave him a good reason to talk to her. His instructor needed help finding a Native family for a film she was making and she counted on Theo to deliver. The only problem was, Theo never met Natives on campus. His mom was always urging him to look for a Native student group and he might have given it a shot except for the half-dozen jobs he juggled every minute he wasn't at school. All the leftover time was for homework. The only thing left to give was sleep and there wasn't much to give. Even if he showed up at a meeting, clubs did things, and doing things took time.

  He headed back into the building to get his backpack and get to class. The chase after the girl made him late again and a closed classroom door greeted him. No way to get around it; he ducked inside and closed the door softly behind him. Professor Stone's eyes flicked to the classroom clock and then to him, her expression radiating disapproval. Theo had two classes with Stone this quarter, lucky him. The vis-comm class, his favorite, and this media writing class, which was kicking his butt.

  Only five minutes, he mouthed even though it was closer to ten. He mustered up his most charming smile. A lone empty seat beckoned from front and center. Professor Stone paused long enough to ensure that everyone's attention drifted to him as he worked his way to the empty spot. The woman in the adjacent seat jerked her backpack out of the empty chair without meeting his eye.

  "I want you to consider point of view when you tell your story," Professor Stone said. "If you commit to telling the truth, whose truth are you telling? What do you bring? What is your unique point of view for the story?"

  When Theo had signed up for digital journalism, he'd prepared for regular reporting, only, on the Internet. He hadn't been prepared for Professor Stone who challenged them to think about the act of reporting itself. They had a responsibility to the subject and the readers, she had told them.

  The time passed quickly and Professor Stone wrapped up the lecture. She complained about late and missing assignments as she did at the end of every class. Subtle remarks intended for him. Sure enough, as the class cleared out, Professor Stone called him over.

  "Walk me to my office?" she asked.

  He followed her out. She put on a wide-brimmed rain hat with a funny cord that she tightened under her chin. The sky was cloudy and the air heavy and damp from the earlier rain. A brisk wind stirred the tree branches, spattering them with cold droplets. Theo wished he hadn't left his sweatshirt in the car.

  "What happened with the lab?" she asked.

  "I'm surprised you heard about that."

  "It's a good job for you. Not so much scrambling. You can stay on campus and focus on school."

  "Not going to argue with you."

  "So, what happened?" She made it sound like he'd lost the job on purpose.

  She wouldn't understand the real explanation. "The guy in charge of the staff prefers to schedule a different type of student."

  "You mean, one who comes to work on time?"

  Theo had been late twice. That was the official reason for letting him go, but the student in charge of scheduling was socially bereft and there were lots of cute young women who wanted the job.

  "We can go with that," Theo said.

  Professor Stone slowed her step as if in deep contemplation over his future. She was in her late thirties and one of those high energy, outdoorsy types. He imagined her cross-country skiing, or biking across town. As an instructor, she rode that fine line of being approachable but no-nonsense. She encouraged her students but refused to hand-hold. When she'd first taken an interest in him, he hadn't been sure what to make of it, but she understood his financial aid troubles and volunteered to be his advisor.

  "I'm doing fine juggling school with my other jobs," Theo assured her. He gave her a rah-rah student smile.

  She made a doubtful noise. "You're already behind. You're averaging three journal entries a week. The assignment is five. You're already a good writer but you need to take these assignments seriously."

  "Unexpected setbacks," Theo said, which wasn't entirely true. There was nothing unexpected about his situation. "I can keep up. Can I make up the missing work?"

  "Can you?" she said. "You're already hanging by a thread. We barely got you through class last quarter. What about vis-comm?"

  "I'm bumping along," Theo said. Every minute they spent re-hashing his academic shortcomings was time away from study or making a buck.

  "Are you certain there are no untapped resources so you don't have to work so much? You need to pass all your classes to stay in school."

  As if this would be his first choice if he had an easier way.

  "I'll get an app and organize my time better," he said. "If I can get it done, can I do extra journal entries?"

  "I'll read whatever you turn in," Professor Stone said.

  "You said I could get credit for helping if I found someone for your film project."

  "You said you didn't know anyone."

  At this point he would do anything to pass those classes. "I might have someone."

  "Sounds vague. Tell me more," Professor Stone said. She didn't sound convinced.

  "You said
you want several generations in one home? I have someone in mind but we're still getting to know each other."

  Professor Stone turned her head away. He imagined her rolling her eyes. They arrived at her office, where she unlocked the door but left it shut. "And your class project, how is that going?"

  "I have a friend who does yarn installations."

  "I wouldn't have predicted that. The yarn bit, not that you have friends." She smiled.

  He smiled, playing along with the joke. "It's a group of women, some of them with rough backgrounds. They knit together for a social thing and they plan these art things only with yarn."

  Professor Stone nodded. "I hoped you'd do something with your heritage."

  "Why is that?" Theo asked.

  "Don't you have a story you're in a unique position to tell?"

  This was what she thought? He had an exotic story to tell?

  "I thought that's what I was doing." It came out more sharply than he intended. He smiled again. "I'll keep working on it."

  3

  As soon as she got through the door, Ester sank into her desk chair and snapped on the space heater she kept at her feet. She gave herself a few moments to thaw before she got up to start a fresh pot of coffee. In their current office, the kitchen was a narrow table with a coffee maker, a box of sugar packets and a box of creamer packets. They used heavy cardboard cups since there was no place to wash dishes. Ester tried to use the same cup one more than once because otherwise it seemed wasteful.