A moment later, Naomi heard the door shut.
“How often does the Team get called out?”
Winona set a big steel bowl of water next to Shota’s food bowl and left the wolf to its dinner. “In the summer, they can get called out three or four times a day. Things quiet down in the winter—for the most part.”
“Do people ever die?”
Winona nodded. “Sometimes they’re called out to evacuate bodies—suicides, avalanche victims, people who were killed in a fall.”
“That must be hard.” Naomi couldn’t imagine it.
Winona nodded. “They save many more people than they lose. I think that’s what keeps them going despite the difficulties. There are so many times when they are a person’s only chance of getting home alive.”
Naomi wanted to ask about the scars but didn’t want to offend Winona again. In the end, her curiosity got the better of her. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
“The scars on Chaska’s chest—how did he get them?”
For a moment, Winona was silent, as if thinking how best to answer. “Our grandfather is a hereditary Sun Dance chief. Chaska followed the path of a sun dancer for a time. Part of the ceremony involves piercing as a sacrifice.”
Naomi had never heard of the Sun Dance—outside of stories about Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid or the famous film festival. She hadn’t realized the name came from a Native ceremony. “It looks painful.”
“It’s not something we talk about with outsiders.”
Outsider.
Naomi had heard that word before. She wasn’t sure what Winona meant by it now—whether she meant that she’d told Naomi all she was willing to tell her because Naomi was an outsider or whether she meant to say she was trusting Naomi with this information despite the fact that Naomi was more or less a stranger.
Maybe she means that it’s hard to trust you because you didn’t trust her when she asked about your heritage.
Some part of Naomi wanted to answer that question now, to trust Winona with the truth and hope that she and her brother were different than the people she’d met at the Native American art and craft shows she’d tried to join.
Look, hot stuff, if you’re not a registered tribal member, you’re not a Native American at all. Pack your shit, and get out.
Naomi opened her mouth to speak—but nothing came out.
Chaska was wrong about her. She wasn’t the least bit brave.
Chapter 7
Chaska downclimbedwith Hawke and Moretti, the three of them acting as a secondary belay for Sasha Dillon, Mitch Ahearn, and Nicole while they lowered the uninjured climber safely to the ground. The kid had tried to free solo Harebell, the only route on the Spire. He’d been near the top—only about fifty feet off the ground—when he’d started shouting for help, paralyzed by fear.
The kid’s voice drifted up to Chaska, sounding more defensive than grateful. “I don’t know why I freaked out. I could’ve done it myself.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sasha reassured him. “It’s better to get help and be safe than risk a critical fall.”
The youngest member of the Team and one of the best sports climbers in the world, Sasha Dillon was the Team’s celebrity. She lived off sponsorships, climbing around the world and using Scarlet Springs as her home base.
The guy moaned. “God, how humiliating. I was just rescued by two girls and an old guy.”
Chaska’s feet had just touched the ground when he overheard this. “One of thosegirlsis a world-champion sports climber, and the other has been rescuing climbers like you for the better part of five years. That old man beside you—he helped invent this sport. Show some respect, man.”
Nicole shot Chaska an appreciative glance—making Chaska wonder whether he should regret his words. He did not want to lead her on.
The guy looked at Sasha, and his eyes went wide, as if he’d finally realized who she was. “Fuck. Sorry, man.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Nicole unclipped her harness. “We’ve encountered sexism in men we’ve rescued before.”