academy, but that’s it.”
“Better than most.” She didn’t have to tell him how many of their people dropped out before they earned their high school diploma.
He asked her about her family and she told him most of it. Not about her mother, of course, or her elder sister. But the rest. That she had two younger sisters and one older. Her father worked for HUD—Housing and Urban Development—fixing all sorts of problems, and her mother worked in the office registering payments and such.
“We got over a thousand people back there in Black Mountain waiting for housing.”
“Yeah. It’s bad on Salt River, too.” She wondered if she should tell him about her dad. No, she decided. It was too sad.
“I’ll bet your dad is plenty busy working for HUD,” said Kino.
She looked away. HUD oversaw the public housing projects that made up the bulk of all homes on the rez. Most of the housing was lousy and in short supply. Her dad had been part of the solution. He
had
been.
“Yeah. Something is always broken.”
“You know, last winter, up on Black Mountain, they had to give away wood because so many of the people couldn’t afford it and their pipes froze in the cold. HUD couldn’t keep up with all those ruptured lines. It was cheaper to give away firewood.”
“Same in Salt River. Plus, somebody keeps setting fires to one of the houses. Just one, but they’ve burned it down three times. My mom says they can’t catch the guy and are considering just plowing it under. But they really need every house.”
“It’s like the old joke,” said Kino. “One guy says, ‘The food here is terrible.’ And the other guy says, ‘Yeah, and the portions are too small.’”
She chuckled at that. “Exactly.”
He’d done it again, she realized. Taken her mind away from her troubles. He had a natural way of speaking and an earnest style of listening that put her at ease. She had expected him to interrogate her as the border agent at Cardon had, but he’d kept the conversation casual, sharing some of what he knew about the area as they drove toward town, like where to have breakfast and who made the best coffee. He surprised her by telling her which church he attended, not that it was surprising that he was Christian. Since the Spanish had come with their missions more than five hundred years ago, many of the Apache people were Catholic.
Her stomach rumbled.
“Wow. We need to get you fed,” he said.
She realized she hadn’t eaten anything since...before she’d left for the water station. Lea pressed a hand over her noisy tummy as the day’s events closed in on her again.
This time she couldn’t control the shakes, so she gripped her hands into fists.
Kino steered to the shoulder and pulled her into his arms. She needed the strength of him and the solid reassurance of his touch.
“Come here,” he whispered and she leaned toward him. He gathered her in.
He stroked her head as she allowed herself the indulgence of tears.
“It’s all right. I got you.”
If only that were true. But his recent charm was offset by the man she’d seen in the desert, the hard, cold man who hated what she did and what she represented. She pressed one hand against his chest, intending to move away. His grip tightened and she was trapped between the solid muscle of his chest and the strength of his arms. She found this was exactly where she needed to be.
“Give yourself a minute, Lea. You’re entitled.”
How did a man, no older than she was, get to be so wise? She relaxed, letting him hold her, calm her with the gentle stroking of his hand over her back. He didn’t try to kiss her. Maybe, just maybe, he was really a gentleman who was putting her needs above his.
When her breathing lost its hitch, she wiped the moisture from her eyes. He let her go with a kiss on the top of her head. As she pulled back, all Lea could think was how much she wanted to kiss that wide, generous mouth. She stared at him a moment and he sat
“Better than most.” She didn’t have to tell him how many of their people dropped out before they earned their high school diploma.
He asked her about her family and she told him most of it. Not about her mother, of course, or her elder sister. But the rest. That she had two younger sisters and one older. Her father worked for HUD—Housing and Urban Development—fixing all sorts of problems, and her mother worked in the office registering payments and such.
“We got over a thousand people back there in Black Mountain waiting for housing.”
“Yeah. It’s bad on Salt River, too.” She wondered if she should tell him about her dad. No, she decided. It was too sad.
“I’ll bet your dad is plenty busy working for HUD,” said Kino.
She looked away. HUD oversaw the public housing projects that made up the bulk of all homes on the rez. Most of the housing was lousy and in short supply. Her dad had been part of the solution. He
had
been.
“Yeah. Something is always broken.”
“You know, last winter, up on Black Mountain, they had to give away wood because so many of the people couldn’t afford it and their pipes froze in the cold. HUD couldn’t keep up with all those ruptured lines. It was cheaper to give away firewood.”
“Same in Salt River. Plus, somebody keeps setting fires to one of the houses. Just one, but they’ve burned it down three times. My mom says they can’t catch the guy and are considering just plowing it under. But they really need every house.”
“It’s like the old joke,” said Kino. “One guy says, ‘The food here is terrible.’ And the other guy says, ‘Yeah, and the portions are too small.’”
She chuckled at that. “Exactly.”
He’d done it again, she realized. Taken her mind away from her troubles. He had a natural way of speaking and an earnest style of listening that put her at ease. She had expected him to interrogate her as the border agent at Cardon had, but he’d kept the conversation casual, sharing some of what he knew about the area as they drove toward town, like where to have breakfast and who made the best coffee. He surprised her by telling her which church he attended, not that it was surprising that he was Christian. Since the Spanish had come with their missions more than five hundred years ago, many of the Apache people were Catholic.
Her stomach rumbled.
“Wow. We need to get you fed,” he said.
She realized she hadn’t eaten anything since...before she’d left for the water station. Lea pressed a hand over her noisy tummy as the day’s events closed in on her again.
This time she couldn’t control the shakes, so she gripped her hands into fists.
Kino steered to the shoulder and pulled her into his arms. She needed the strength of him and the solid reassurance of his touch.
“Come here,” he whispered and she leaned toward him. He gathered her in.
He stroked her head as she allowed herself the indulgence of tears.
“It’s all right. I got you.”
If only that were true. But his recent charm was offset by the man she’d seen in the desert, the hard, cold man who hated what she did and what she represented. She pressed one hand against his chest, intending to move away. His grip tightened and she was trapped between the solid muscle of his chest and the strength of his arms. She found this was exactly where she needed to be.
“Give yourself a minute, Lea. You’re entitled.”
How did a man, no older than she was, get to be so wise? She relaxed, letting him hold her, calm her with the gentle stroking of his hand over her back. He didn’t try to kiss her. Maybe, just maybe, he was really a gentleman who was putting her needs above his.
When her breathing lost its hitch, she wiped the moisture from her eyes. He let her go with a kiss on the top of her head. As she pulled back, all Lea could think was how much she wanted to kiss that wide, generous mouth. She stared at him a moment and he sat
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