Naomi couldn’t help but laugh. “It was an uphill battle just to be noticed. There are so many artisan jewelers, all of us competing for clientele. I set up tables at trade shows and farmers markets when I could afford it. I thought I was going to end up waiting tables forever.”
She told them how the buyer for a western jewelry catalog had come by her table at a trade show in Phoenix. “She invited me to submit images of my work and suggested I get a website. The catalog picked me up and started carrying my work. My clientele grew. I finally launched a website, and things really took off after that.”
Winona set her fork aside and dabbed her lips with her napkin. “I love stories like that—about people who find success doing what they love. When I left home to go to college in Fort Collins, a lot of people were against it. Chaska had already moved away, and they didn’t want me to go, too. But I knew that it was what I was meant to do. Is that how it was for you?”
Nothing about Naomi’s life had been simple—except for her love of jewelry-making. “Yes, that’s exactly how it was for me, too.”
Chaska had sat, listening, until now. “We are all born with a gift, and part of the journey is finding out what that is and learning how to share it.”
Naomi liked that. “Your gift is engineering?”
“I used to think so.” He told her how he’d moved to Colorado to go to college but had seen people rock climbing and decided to try it. “It’s like engineering in motion. It’s geology and physics and engineering wrapped together. Every climb is a different equation, a different problem that has to be solved. Putting my abilities to use for the Team and helping to save lives—that means a lot more to me than building propulsion systems.”
“My brother has designed a lot of the gear the Team uses during rescues,” Winona said. “He’s always in his workshop, trying something new.”
Chaska’s gaze fell on an empty saucer that sat in the center of the table, his brows knitting in a frown. He took some chicken from the serving dish and set it on the plate, together with a tiny amount of potatoes and salad.
“Is that for Shota?”
Chaska chuckled. “It’s a spirit plate.”
Winona explained. “We share a little bit of everything we eat during the day with the spirit world. It’s a way of showing our gratitude, of being mindful of the abundance in our lives.”
“Don’t the animals just eat it?”
Winona nodded. “Yes, but that doesn’t matter. It’s the offering that counts.”
Naomi didn’t know much about Lakota customs or culture.
“Where do you get your blood?” Winona’s question—inevitable as it was—sent a jolt of adrenaline through Naomi.
Why did it always come to this? Everyone assumed that everyone else came from normal families like they did, but it wasn’t true. Not everyone was comfortable making small talk about their families—or lack thereof.
Naomi tried to deflect the question with a joke. “I get it from the same place as everyone else—my bone marrow.”
As the words were out, she regretted them. They sounded less like a joke and more like she was being a smart ass. Chaska and Winona had been so kind to her. They’d shared a meal with her, given her a place to stay. They had saved her life. The last thing she wanted to do was offend them. But why did her heritage matter?
Winona didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile, her gaze flicking to her brother. Chaska watched Naomi for a moment, his dark eyes inscrutable. Then he got to his feet and carried the spirit plate out the back door.
Chaska spreadout the work he’d brought home on the drafting table, the door to his office closed. Winona occasionally brought Shota inside for a while after dinner, but Chaska couldn’t share his workspace with a hundred pounds of energetic wolf. Shota could destroy everything in a room in a few minutes if he felt like it, and there was nothing here that Chaska was willing to lose. Monday’s meeting with the NASA team was coming up fast, and he needed to make progress. Still, he couldn’t get his mind to focus on propellant loads, pressurant subsystems, and cavitating venturi, and he didn’t have to be a genius to know why.
Naomi.
He’d spent only a few hours in her company—not counting helping with her rescue—and yet something about her got to him. He had met lots of beautiful women in his life, but until Naomi, he hadn’t met a woman who could knock the breath from his lungs with a smile. She was talented, too, her work showing not just skill but artistry. And there was that strange combination of courage and vulnerability.
His reaction to her was probably just the result of having helped to save her life. He’d never had contact with anyone he’d helped rescue afterward. He’d never watched them struggle with the aftermath of almost losing their lives. Whatever he was feeling would surely fade as she recovered.
Where do you get your blood?
I get it from the same place as everyone else—my bone marrow.
The woman confused him. Her art showed a deep respect for all life—the four-legged, the winged ones, even the metals of the earth—but her response to Winona’s question had been flippant. And yet it hadn’t been disregard he’d seen on her face—it had been fear. Her pupils had dilated, and she’d inhaled—a sharp little gasp—as if she was having a full-on adrenaline reaction.
Of course, Chaska had met people who felt the way she did—people for whom Native heritage was a burden or didn’t matter at all. He couldn’t understand that. Blood mattered. Chaska would be nothing if not for his ancestors and histiospaye—the broader community of his relatives.
You were led to her.
Yeah, right.