“Yeah. She was here for about an hour. She left a few minutes before you came.”
“Is she coming back?”
Chenoa shrugged. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“No reason. Just wondered.”Why the fuck am I asking my kid about her snobby social worker? What the hell’s up withthat?
Just then he heard footsteps and looked at the door, his pulse quickening a bit. When he saw Mika walk to the bed, a twinge of disappointment ran through him. He turned his head toward Chenoa.
“Hi, baby. It’s great seeing you up. You must be feeling better.” Mika put her purse down on the tray, then turned to Steel. “You brought her lunch?”
“Breakfast, actually.” She smiled at him. He rose to his feet. “Sit down. I’ll sit over there.” He headed to a chair in the corner of the room and sank down, watching the two of them talk. He noticed how Mika’s long black hair fell to her waist. Back when he’d met her in high school, her long hair had charged every teen hormone he’d had in his body. Back then, he’d been constantly hard for her, and when they’d started dating, he’d fantasized twenty times a day about being with her.
When he’d hit thirteen years old, his sonofabitch father, in one of his many alcoholic rages, had told him to make sure that he never made a bitch pregnant because it would tie him to her for life. The example he’d always give was how he’d knocked up Steel’s mom and had to marry her. He’d then tell Steel that he was the bastard who forced him to marry. As he’d grown older, he’d listened to his father less.
One night when Mika had been fifteen years old, she’d sat on top of his dad’s beat-up pickup and looked up at the stars glittering in the summer sky. She’d grabbed his hand and told him she was carrying his baby. At first he’d just stared at her as thoughts spun through his mind like a spinning top. When he hadn’t said anything, she’d begun to cry. He’d wanted to say something, but he’d lost his ability to speak. He hadn’t been able to comprehend that he was going to be a father at sixteen years old. He’d figured he’d knocked her up the night he had taken her out to Dolores River Canyon, spread a blanket on the ground, and popped her cherry.
Seven months after Mika had told him he was going to be a father, his baby daughter was born. They’d named her Chenoa, meaning “dove” in Navajo. Steel had loved his daughter right from the start when he’d seen her strip of black hair and her tiny fisted hands jerking all around. From that day on, Mika had taken more than a possessive interest in their daughter. He’d always felt that Mika had wanted to keep Chenoa closer to her than to him.
And she was still doing it. Mika constantly accused him of not doing enough, but he was always there whenever their daughter needed anything. He jutted out his chin.Mika and the damn county are the ones who’re keeping Chenoa from coming to the club. If she were able to come, I’d see her all the time.
He stood up. “I gotta go. I’m going to see yourAnálí.” He went over and kissed her.
“TellAnálíI said hi. Maybe she can visit me?” Chenoa picked up the remote and changed the channel.
“If she’s up to it, I can bring her by tomorrow. I’ll see you later tonight.” He left the room. On the way out, he snickered when he saw several of the nurses checking him out. He took the elevator down to the lobby, then headed to the parking lot, hopped on his bike, and drove to his mother’s.
She lived in the same house he’d grown up in on the reservation. He pulled into the driveway next to an unfamiliar blue Ford Focus. Swinging open the screen door, he walked into the living room, expecting to see his mother in her favorite recliner, but it was empty. As he glanced around, he heard her softly talking in the kitchen. He shook his head; he’d often come over unannounced and find her in a conversation with herself. He strode into the kitchen, then stopped dead in his tracks. His mother sat at the kitchen table, her hands clasped together on top of it, and the back of a woman faced him as she stood in front of the refrigerator. The woman had long blonde hair tumbling down her back, touching the top of her ass.That ass. I know it. I fucking thought about it last night far too much.
“Steel, how are you?” his mother asked.
Breanna whirled around, and he laughed inwardly at the shocked expression on her face. In her hands, she held a carton of eggs that were ready to hit the floor. He jumped over and grabbed it, his hand grazing her soft breast. Static electricity shocked his system.
Whoa! What the hell?
He placed the carton on the stove and took a step back in order to get a better view. His gaze ran over her, lingering on her to-die-for hips and full breasts.I didn’t notice how stacked she was last night. What’s wrong with me? I’m acting like a fool. I’ve seen stacked babes before. I’ve fucked enough of them. And what’s up with her scent?It wasn’t in-your-face; rather a fresh, clean smell, like rain on a spring day. It was enticing and was playing havoc with his dick.
Focus, man.
He crossed his arms. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“You don’t go in for pleasantries, do you, Mr. McVickers?”
“Steel, watch your manners,” his mother admonished. “Ms. Quine is here about my food stamps.”
Steel pulled his gaze from Breanna to his mom. “Why the fuck are you on food stamps? I keep asking if you need money and you keep telling me no. I don’t want you taking anything from the goddamn government.”
His mother looked down and unclasped her hands.
“We have food stamps to make sure everyone eats,” Breanna said.
Steel glared at her. “The government wants to make everyone dependent on them. They’d love to cripple us all.”
She smiled. “You’re a bit paranoid, aren’t you?” She picked up the carton of eggs and went over to the stove. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Your antigovernment attitude is becoming annoying.”
Steel narrowed his eyes. “Your fucking meddling in my family’s life is pissing me off in a way that’s gonna get you hurt.” When she stiffened and stayed silent, he rocked back on his heels. With a dismissive nod, he turned to his mother. “You’re getting off the goddamn program, and I’m giving you money for groceries.”
“You always react before you know what’s going on,” his mother said softly as she brushed stray hairs from her face. “I’ve got a lot of mouths to feed. The grandkids live with me and they’re all eligible for the program. I called the department to report the loss of my card. Ms. Quine is who they sent. She’s trying to help me.”
