“Hanyanke’ci,” Albert hollered from the kitchen, where he was frying venison steaks. Tomorrow. At least Albert was keeping track of these things. But he always did.
“I hate it when he talks Lakota,” Jesse whimpered, wrapping his arms over his ears. “I hate it here.”
Which meant staying with Albert was good for the twerp. “Nelly doesn’t whine this much. You sound like a baby,” Rebel scoffed, turning up the volume on a program about seed pods. Static rippled across the TV. He headed into the kitchen where Albert already had the tea cooling. The tension eased out of his body. Man, it was good to come home.
Albert looked over his shoulder and nodded with a tired smile. Yeah, Rebel wasn’t the only one who had to put up with Jesse’s bitching. But then he squared around. “You like her.”
Not a good sign, not when Albert spoke English. “Just helping out,” he replied, hoping that was enough.
Albert’s smile was a whole lot less tired. “Ayup, wacáŋto wagnaka,” he said again, repeating himself in Lakota. The language may change, but the sentiment did not.
His face shot hot. It could be worse. This was Albert. More than anyone else on this rez, Albert would understand. He had understood long before Rebel had.
But that didn’t mean he wanted to stand here and have his grandfather break down his school-aged crush for him. He’d rather take his chances with Jesse. Jesse wasn’t nearly as perceptive. What could go wrong?
Lots. Jesse came up firing. “Heard you were back at the clinic again today.”
Rebel stiffened. Albert was one thing. Jesse was an entirely different beast. But it wasn’t like Albert to gossip. Was word getting around that fast? Shit. He was in trouble. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” For a man who was supposed to be in agony, Jesse sure as hell looked like he’d just won the lottery. And, like usual, Rebel would have to foot the bill. “Same as yesterday. And the day before.”
Damn it. Damn it all. He should have known this was coming. He’d walked right into it, and now he had no choice but to brazen it out. “So?”
He hated that smile of Jesse’s. All the more so because people said that was when they most looked like brothers. He hated smiling like Jesse. He hated being like Jesse. “So I thought you swore off white women. Women in general, in fact.”
It wouldn’t be fair to punch that smile in. The man was defenseless. “This has nothing to do with that.”
“Right, right. I forgot. I forgot you were the high and mighty Rebel Runs Fast, better than everyone else. You never chased a skirt. You never did anything for a woman. You certainly never married a white woman. I just forgot.” Jesse glared at him from the couch, the TV throwing the blue light of PBS onto his face until he looked like a sica, a spirit. And not a good one. “Or maybe it was you who forgot, Rebel. Maybe it was you who forgot who you really are.”
Still. Be still. Because moving would mean punching Jesse’s lights out. “I hope your leg gets infected.”
“What, so you can take me back to the clinic and hit on the pretty doctor again? Go right ahead. I can’t hurt any worse.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Hey!” Albert appeared in the doorway, wielding the kitchen knife Rebel had gotten him three hunting seasons ago. “Knock it off.”
Rebel didn’t doubt the old man still had enough in him to at least do some collateral damage with the blade. Well, Jesse would get what was coming to him, that much was sure. “Yes, Tȟunkášila.”
“Not my grandfather,” Jesse said with more pout than Nelly ever got away with. That’s what you got when dealing with a grown man who didn’t know who his father was. Pouting.
It was time to leave before someone in this house lost it, and he was at the top of the list. “Tȟunkášila,” he said, mindful of keeping the respect proper. And he walked away. He walked away, no matter how good the dinner he’d hunted and given to his grandfather smelled. Blue Eye trotted after him, but he wasn’t in the mood to ride right now. He needed to just walk away. He walked away from his little brother, his mother’s only remembrance of a one-night stand with a white man she met at a truck stop. He loved Jesse, but he could not be around him when he was irrational. Not when he reminded Rebel of everything he’d almost been once.
Not when Jesse reminded him of everything he could still be.
He was done with white women.
It was better this way.
Chapter Five
A month. One month. Madeline had made it one long, overworked, underpaid month.
Only four to go until she broke the last guy’s record.