“There are some sick fuckers out there.” Jason had spent his life tracking them.
“True that.”
Jason finished the conversation, got to his feet, and went out back for firewood, the details McBride had shared running through this mind. It sickened him to think of some asshole taking advantage of Winona’s skills and repaying her by trying to take her life. She’d drifted into unconsciousness, believing she was dying.
Fucking bastard.
Jason knew so many Native women whose lives had been destroyed by violence—child abuse, partner violence, sexual assault, murder. He’d rescued dozens of Indigenous women and children from trafficking operations. He’d witnessed their helplessness, their terror, their desperation. All he’d been able to do was bust the bad guys, one by one.
It didn’t feel like enough. It was never enough.
Jason wasn’t especially religious. He didn’t attend Mass regularly. But he had no trouble believing that evil was real and alive in the world.
When the fire was going, he turned on the TV, but he was too restless to sit. He carried in more wood, then found a pot and set Jack’s chili on the stove to reheat. While that simmered, he sorted through his gear and checked his Glock, making sure he was ready for tomorrow’s hunt.
He’d just put the pistol back in its case when he heard Winona’s key slip into the lock. Certain the sight of his pistol would unnerve her, he tucked it into his pack.
She stepped inside, a bright smile on her face. “Hey.”
He got to his feet. “Hey.”
“Oh! You started dinner.”
“I can’t claim any glory. I just dumped the leftover chili into a pot.” Still, he liked the way her eyes lit up.
“Look what I got you.” She held up a six-pack of amber bottles. “I saw that you liked the beer at Knockers, so I brought you this—Golden Aspen IPA.”
“Thanks.” Jason thought he just might be in love.
Chapter 8
While Jason washed up,Winona got dinner on the table—an easy task when it was already made. She set butter next to the warmed cornbread, got a glass out for Jason’s beer, poured seltzer water over ice for herself, and set out an old plastic coffee can lid for the spirit plate.
She’d never actually had a man over for dinner—if you didn’t count her brother or her grandfather. The last time she’d set two places at her table, Naomi had been out of town, and the second plate had been for Chaska. She couldn’t help feeling a little nervous, especially now that she knew Jason was single.
“That smells good.” Jason twisted the cap off a bottle of beer and poured it into his glass. “Want one?”
“No, thanks.” Winona sat. “I don’t drink.”
“Got it.” He took his seat across from her. “How are Naomi and little Shota?”
While they ate, Winona shared the news. Naomi’s preeclampsia had improved, but she was still in pain from the C-section. Her doctor thought she’d be able to come home by the end of the week. Shota was thriving and had the nurses wrapped around his tiny pinky finger. Chaska had slept at home last night and had finally gotten a shower. Doug and Star were watching over Grandpa. Chaska had been approved for eight weeks of paternity leave.
“The last time I saw my brother so happy was on their wedding day.” Winona realized Jason didn’t know any of these people. “I’m boring you to death.”
The warmth in his gaze made her pulse skip. “I asked, remember?”
She broke eye contact, shifted the conversation to him. “Do you have any nieces or nephews?”
“I’ve got three older sisters, and between them, they’ve got seven kids—three boys and four girls. They moved away, one by one.” There was a disapproving edge to his voice. “I do my best to stay in touch. I don’t want the kids to grow up not knowing what it means to be Tohono O’odham.”
“Your sisters will teach them.”
Jason didn’t look sure of that. “They all married non-Natives. They don’t speak the O’odham tongue to their kids, and they’ve never brought them home to Sells. How can you teach someone what it means to be O’odham—one of the Desert People—if they’ve never seen the desert and don’t speak the language?”
Winona could see how much this bothered him. “Do you think they left because of what happened to your parents? After my mother died, I couldn’t walk out the front door, not even with Chaska holding my hand. I had to go out the back way. I was so glad when our grandparents took us away from that house.”
“I’m sure that was part of it. More than that, I think they just wanted easier lives.” He sounded disappointed.