Hawk: (9 page)

Tildy tucked the medal back into her shirt and slid behind the wheel of her newly fixed car. It started immediately and idled smoothly. She pulled out of the lot and headed home. When she got home, the house was still empty, as usual. Her father had gone back to the bank, and her mother was surely still working. The smells of cooking filled the first floor though, and Tildy went to see what was for dinner.

“Hola, Carmen,” Tildy said upon entering the kitchen.

The slightly older woman smiled politely. “Hola.”

Try as she might
, Tildy was not close with the woman, who’d been working for the Fletcher family for the last five months. Cooks rarely stayed longer than a year. Tildy never asked why; she didn’t have to. Tildy had been working for her parents since graduating college, and her mother pinched, poked, pulled, and prodded her like livestock if she upset the bank’s clients. Tildy had never seen her mother actually treat anyone else that way, but her exacting demands wore everyone out just the same.

A ring would actually be a little
better
, Tildy thought, as she snagged an apple out of the fruit bowl. She could quit the bank and volunteer more at the Community Center as they started their family. Surely Tate would turn into a mini-version of her father: a workaholic, hardly at home, an
idea
of a husband rather than a
real
one. Unlike her mother, Tildy would actually enjoy spending her nights alone.

Upstairs
, she stowed the necklace and changed for dinner. Her parents arrived home at the same time, despite the fact that they took two separate cars. Tildy wondered how long it would be before they had separate bedrooms. Thankfully, she’d be out of the house before that happened.

At the table
, her hopes of finishing quickly and without incident were soon dashed when her father asked, “How’s the car?” Tildy’s mother paused over her plate as well.

“Car?” Deirdre asked.

Tildy kept her face blank. “Fine,” she told him. “It’s working fine now.”

Deirdre frowned. “What’s wrong with the car?” she asked.

This forced Tildy to say, “Nothing,” and that was skirting dangerously close to arguing.

“Apparently, there’s a problem with it,” her father declared.

Tildy’s mother’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t mention anything,” she told Tildy.

“Well, now it has to be checked out at the dealership by a
real
mechanic,” her father declared.

Tildy almost pointed
out that Hawk
was
a real mechanic, but she thought better of it since she wasn’t supposed to know him personally. Deirdre sighed. Tildy stiffened. “I can take care of it,” Deirdre told her husband.

He shook his head. “No. I’ll do it. I want to make sure it gets done
right
this time.”

The glare Tildy got from her mother made it clear that Deirdre considered
this
exchange with her husband to be too close to arguing, and, if there was one thing Deirdre Fletcher
did not do,
it was argue with her husband.

After dinner
, Tildy’s mother busied herself by chasing Tildy’s father through the house in an attempt to fetch him anything he might need.
Just like a faithful dog
, Tildy thought.

It was too bad
Blake Fletcher never concerned himself with things like fidelity. He might have appreciated her efforts. Tildy escaped to her room where she was all but forgotten about for now. The weekend would come soon enough, and then she’d have to make herself scarce.

Hawk was diligently trying to finish up a fuel line before 5 o’clock, because it was Friday. The night before he’d actually managed to win a few hands at Shooter and Slick’s place, mostly because the women were in the kitchen, where Slick was attempting to teach Vegas how to make a peach pie. If either of those two females got near the cards, then you might as well pack it in before you lost your shirt. And your pants. And your boots. And quite possibly the Harley you rode in on.

Hawk was feeling good about taking his brothers’ money
, when his cousin rambled into the lot in his truck. He scowled and set the coupler down. Shooter raised his eyebrows, but Hawk shook his head. “I got it,” he told his boss.

“You sure?”

Hawk nodded and started off across the lot where Garrett was getting out of his rig.

“Hey!”
Garrett said, grinning.

“
Garrett,” Hawk replied cautiously.

Garrett
looked around the lot and at the garage, nodding to himself. “Nice,” he said. “Real nice.”

Hawk rubbed the back of his neck. “You need some work done?” He could pay for
Garrett’s parts if needed and work off the clock for free labor.

Garrett
shook his head. “Nah, man. Don’t need work
done
. Need
work
.”

Hawk sighed. “It’s a small garage,” he told
Garrett.

“Looks like everyone’s working.”

“Yeah,” Hawk agreed. “But we don’t have enough work for any other mechanics. And besides...you aren’t a mechanic.”

Garrett
waggled his eyebrows. “I learned,” he said. “Time off for working in the prison garage.”

“
Garrett-”

“Now, look,”
Garrett interrupted, finally losing his jovial demeanor. “You
owe
me. And I’m trying to go straight here. And you do for family,
right
?” He looked beyond Hawk at the garage. “Unless you forgot who your family really is.”

Hawk bristled. “They
are
my family!”

“They’re nothing!”

“I served with them!”

Garrett
stepped closer. “And I served
for you
!”

Hawk was silent for a moment, unable to contradict the truth. “My boss...” he replied. “He’s a goo
d guy, but he isn’t going to hire a felon, Garrett.”

“You mean he only hires felons who haven’t been
caught
.”

“Hawk?”

He turned and saw Shooter behind him. Damn, the man was still stealthy. Few people could sneak up on Hawk.

“Hey,”
Garrett said, his grin returning. “I was just asking my cousin here if you had any openings.”

Shooter smiled politely. “Sure don’t, sorry. Barely pay the kid who sweeps the floors.”

Garrett remained firm. “Maybe Hawk and I could split it on payday. If-”

Hawk shook his head. “No.”

Garrett glared at him.

“I already give Raina and the kids a cut,” he explained.

Garrett scoffed. “No one goes hungry in the Red Cloud family, do they?”

“Not anymore,” Hawk confirmed. “Not you, either. Raina feeds me a couple of nights a week. If you want to come by, there’s room at the table. But I can’t get you any work. Sorry.”

Garrett rolled out of the lot and Hawk watched him go. Shooter turned to head back across the lot.

“Chris.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Hawk scowled. “Feels like I do.”

Chris sighed. “I don’t know who you were, David. But I know who you
are
. I wasn’t exactly the town golden boy myself,” he admitted.

Hawk and Shooter had both been born and raised in Rapid City, but most of the similarities ended there. Hawk grew up on the Rez
, Shooter in the Badlands Buzzards MC. Their paths hadn’t crossed until they ended up on the same bus to Basic.

“I boosted cars,” Hawk confided. Instead of being shocked or even irritated, Shooter grinned. “
We
boosted cars,” Hawk corrected. “Garrett and I. That whole summer. The night I got busted spray painting signs, our younger cousin Eddie got away. Garrett had swiped a ride parked downtown and was on his way to pick us up. I got busted, wouldn’t rat on Eddie. Garrett got busted, wouldn’t rat on
me
. He went to prison and I enlisted. He kept going
back
to prison, while I managed to get my shit together.” Hawk sighed. “If I hadn’t re-upped when he got out, I could’ve come home and kept him out of trouble.”

“Or he’d hav
e drug you down with him,” Shooter pointed out. “And you’d be where he is now, an ex-con who can’t get work. And Raina would never let you near those kids.”

“He’s family,” Hawk argued.

Shooter shook his head. “Doesn’t make it easier to save them. Just hurts more if you can’t.”

Tildy couldn’t help but glance at the clock on the wall.

“You
’re late,” Mariposa observed.

Tildy shook her head. “No. Just looking.”

Mari narrowed her eyes at Tildy. “Something is different.”

Tildy blushed. “No.”

“Ay.” She took hold of Tildy’s chin and lifted her head a little. “I know this look. Excitement. You have a boy.”

Tildy rolled her eyes. “No, I don’t.”

Mari waved her hand. “Yes. Boy. My girls? They get this look. Always the same. Always a boy.”

“He’s not a boy,” Tildy replied.

Mari grinned. “So it’s true.”

Tildy sighed. “Well, there’s...
someone. But he’s not a boy. He’s a man.”

Mari looked at her. “How old?” she demanded.

“Um. I don’t know. Thirty-ish?”

Mari considered this and nodded. “My
Joseph was ten years older. It’s not so important. Nice man?”

“We’re just friends,” Tildy insisted.

Mari smirked. “That what he calls it?”

“No, really! He just wants to be my friend.”

Mari scrutinized Tildy’s face for a moment. Finally, she patted Tildy’s hand. “Friend,” she repeated. “Well, you don’t have so many that you can throw away new ones. But guard your heart, Matilda, yes?”

Tildy nodded. “I will.”

After 5 o’clock, Tildy headed to the house of the only other friend she had. She parked in front and headed around back. Skylar’s parents had let her move into the pool house when she started at SDSU, mostly because Skylar’s comings and goings over vacations were otherwise likely to wake her parents. Tildy and Skylar would have moved in together after graduation, but Tildy’s engagement seemed imminent and there appeared to be no point in going to all that effort. Who knew when Skylar would strike out on her own? She had barely scraped by with a business degree, but seemed to have no interest in taking over her mother’s clothing boutique.

Tildy let herself in
to the pool house where Skylar was in front of a full length mirror, trying on outfits for her Saturday night out.

“What do you think of this?” Skylar asked, running her hands over a skin tight
, red dress.

Tildy frowned.

Skylar smiled. “Awesome. If you hate it, it’s fabulous!”

Tildy laughed and stretched out on the bed. Her cell phone vibrated and she slid it out of her purse.

“Is that your Indian?” Skylar asked.

Tildy shook her head. “It’s Tate. He’s going to 1082.” 1082 was a lounge downtown that h
ad never really impressed Tildy. Tate and his friends liked it, which meant Skylar and
her
friends liked it. “And he’s not my Indian. And it’s not PC to say Indian. He’s Sioux.”

Skylar rolled her eyes. “Whatever. What’s
he
doing tonight?” There was a slight edge to her voice that told Tildy that her friend really didn’t care what Hawk was doing tonight, since he’d made it painfully obvious that, whatever he was doing, it wouldn’t be Skylar.

“I don’t know. Probably going to that bar again.”

Skylar made a face, but Tildy watched her expression change in the mirror. “You should go,” Skylar encouraged. “That kiss was super-hot. He’s into you. You should meet up with him.”

Tildy guessed that Skylar’s newfound enthusiasm for Hawk had less to do with Tildy having a good time and more to do with Skyla
r and Tate having a good time in Tildy’s absence- not that Tildy actually cared much.

Skylar turned from the large mirror, opened her nightstand drawer, and pulled out a smaller one. From her purse she dug out a small vial and shook out its contents onto the smooth glass surface. She finished off a line and tucked the glass straw and accompanying vial back into her purse. She’d long since given up on offering Tildy a toot.

“You gonna wear that?” Skylar asked, frowning at Tildy’s light green sweater and green and white floral sundress. Tildy glanced down at it. She didn’t think there was anything wrong with it.

“Yeah.”

Skylar snorted. “At least ditch the ballet flats.”

Tildy wrinkled her nose. “For what?” She couldn’t imagine wearing high heels at Maria’s bar. Well, she could imagine
tripping
in her high heels in Maria’s bar. Friday night’s at Maria’s appeared to be a bit more rowdy than her parent’s cocktail parties.

Skylar threw open her closet and inspected the contents. “Here,” she said, pulling out a pair of cowboy boots. Tildy actually thought they might be an improvement. She kicked off her flats and tried them on.
She stood side-by-side with Skylar in the mirror, Skylar’s long, blonde hair managed to look perfectly curled at the ends, which Tildy’s never did. Skylar’s perfect makeup paled Tildy’s bare face. Skylar’s curves and long legs highlighted Tildy’s waifish figure.

“Better than nothing,” Skylar declared.

That seemed to sum up Tildy perfectly.