The sweet, almost innocent action was the sexiest thing he’d ever experienced.
“Your garage reallyisincredible.” She took in the entire space.
“My dad taught me well.” He chuckled, happy for the lighter topic, and reached into the back seat to grab her little suitcase.
When he was a kid growing up on the reservation, his family lived a modest yet fulfilling life in a double-wide trailer. His dad was a civil engineer, and his mother was a stay-at-home mom who volunteered at their school. If there was a fundraiser, she was the first in line to sign up.
Like his dad and his workshop, his mom took a great deal of pride in keeping a tidy home and maintaining a bountiful garden that provided them with enough fruits and vegetables to can for year-round enjoyment. His parents knew what it was like to go without, and they didn’t want that for their kids.
Hawk and Daniel grew up without some of the modern conveniences other kids had—dishwasher, dryer, cable television, fancy computers. But, to Hawk, hand-washing and drying dishes and hanging clothes on a line outside was a worthwhile trade-off to live in a home surrounded by hundreds of acres of some of the most beautiful land ever created.
Daniel hadn’t felt the same way—he’d always resented not having those things and had been willing to do whatever it might take to attain them. Even break the law.
Charlotte followed him to the door that led into the house and waited while he tapped the four-digit entry code into the keypad. They stepped into a small mudroom with cabinets, a built-in bench, hooks to hang coats, and open storage cubbies for shoes and boots.
Hawk quickly disarmed the alarm, unlaced his tech boots, and toed them off. She sat on the bench, removed her hiking shoes, and placed them next to his boots in one of the cubbies. Remy moved past them and trotted over to his water dish.
“Come on in.” He gripped the handle on her suitcase and carried it into the kitchen. The thing had wheels, but he didn’t want to hear theclack-clack-clackof it rolling across the tile kitchen floor. “We’ll put your things in the guest room, then I’ll open a bottle of wine.”
Hawk hoped her suitcase and its contents would be the only thing staying in the guest room. He would never rush her into anything she wasn’t ready for, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to sleep knowing she was right across the hall.
Once Remy was done slobbering water everywhere, he moved over to his basket of toys, plucked out one of the ducks, then plopped down on his bed.
“Wine sounds great.” Charlotte surveyed his kitchen. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a kitchen like this.”
“My mom helped me with the design.” She also helped him select the walnut cabinets, the complementary paint colors, and convinced him the black granite with the reddish-brown and white veins running through it was the perfect choice for the countertops. “She was the one who told me about cabinet fronts for appliances.”
He reached out, tugged on a cabinet handle next to him, and swung open a door to reveal the inside of the refrigerator.
“I love that.” She walked over to the sink. “Let me guess, dishwasher?” She tapped the front of the cabinet on the right side of the sink.
“Yep.” He was right-handed, so it made sense for the dishwasher to be on that side of the sink.
“Your mom has great taste, and the way she laid everything out is functionally perfect.” She leaned back against the edge of the counter.
The house was open-concept, so the kitchen opened up into a great room area with a dark leather sofa, two matching side chairs, a coffee table, and a table at each end of the couch. They all sat atop a large, woven area rug in brown, burnt orange, light blue, and yellow, with Native American designs of overlapping diamonds and arrows bordered by a zigzag pattern.
The rug had been on the floor of his grandparents’ home and had been kept in climate-controlled storage since they died. His folks knew how much he loved it, so they’d gotten it professionally cleaned and gave it to Hawk as a housewarming gift.
On one wall, there was an authentic Blackfeet medicine shield made from the hide of a buffalo stretched around a wooden hoop. A black bison was painted in the center, and attached below it was a cluster of feathers with colorful wooden beads. The piece was given to him by his great uncle, who never had any children of his own.
“What an interesting-looking man.” Charlotte stood in front of a large black-and-white photograph on the wall across from the medicine shield. “Is he part of your family?”
He strolled over to stand next to her.
“That’s my paternal great-grandfather. He was ninety-three when my brother took that picture.” He’d insisted on wearing his full ceremonial dress for the photo. “He died eight months later, when I was fourteen.”
Daniel had been a gifted photographer, and their parents had done their best to nurture his talent. They’d paid for photography classes. Their dad built a small darkroom at the back of his shop. They even saved money to buy him a high-tech camera for Christmas one year.
Unfortunately, none of that was enough to ward off the demons that tormented his brother.
“There is so much character and wisdom in his face.” Charlotte seemed enthralled by the image.
The photo emphasized each deep line and wrinkle in his great-grandfather’s skin, weathered from years of being outside. And the feathered headdress he wore was a bit haggard. His once-sharp brown eyes were milky with cataracts he’d refused to treat because, as he used to say, “I don’t want nobody pokin’ around in my eyeballs.” The last few years of his life, he’d been nearly blind and unable to track. But in this photo, his shoulders were powerfully set, and his chin lifted proudly as he stared directly into the camera.
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed for a closer look. “That looks just like the medallion you’re wearing.”
“It’s one and the same.” He told her how his great-grandfather had wanted him to have it. “It’s supposed to bring the wearer luck or good fortune.” He turned and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You being here with me is proof that it works.”
