Marriage of Revenge. Sheri WhiteFeather
day, especially while he’d been married to another woman, had shaped Talia into the femme fatale she’d always wanted to be. Of course sometimes she faltered.
Like now, she thought.
Finally, she got her emotions in check and removed Danny’s present from her trunk, hoping he was an artistic child. She’d bought him a slew of crayons, markers and kid-inspired paint sets.
She knocked on the door and a fair-haired man answered. He wore a polo-style shirt and slightly faded Levi’s. Medium built and casually attractive, he smiled at her.
“I’m Jim,” he said. “Jeannie’s husband.”
“I’m Talia.” She smiled, too. He seemed kind and genuine. She’d heard that he was a carpenter. To her, it seemed like an honest profession.
“Aaron told us you were coming.”
Thank goodness, she thought. Jim invited her inside, then escorted her to the backyard, where the party was already underway. She took a quick look around and noticed that she and Jim were the only non-Native people there.
Suddenly she wanted to cling to him, but she realized how stupid that was. He was Jeannie’s spouse and Danny’s stepfather. He wasn’t an outsider.
She caught sight of the birthday boy jumping on a trampoline with his friends. She saw Danny every so often at the office. When Aaron, the weekend dad, was swamped with overtime on Friday nights, he brought his son to work, letting him play P.I. at an empty desk.
Jim accepted Danny’s present and put it with the rest of the festively wrapped gifts. Then he offered Talia a soda and directed her to a group of tables where the adult guests were gathered, snacking on chips and dip and waiting for the main entrees to be served.
Talia tried to relax, but she couldn’t. This party had Indian written all over it. In the center of the grass was a big round object, covered with a blanket. She assumed it was a drum.
Aaron spotted her, and their gazes locked from across the yard. He stood and came toward her with long, deliberate strides. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with the casino logo. By the time he reached her, her heart was pounding. He looked deep and dark and ethnic. His raven-colored hair was combed away from his forehead, and his eyes seemed more black than brown.
No wonder his culture was so foreign to her. Until today, she’d never been remotely close, emotionally or physically, to his Apache or Pechanga roots. He’d never offered to bring her into that part of his life.
“You made it,” he said.
“Yes.” She clutched the soda Jim had given her. Was this Aaron’s attempt to make amends for the past? To draw her into his world? Or was he proving, firsthand, that she didn’t belong here? That she would never fit in?
None of the other guests were staring at her, but she could feel their curiosity. An older woman in a brightly colored dress and silver jewelry was scowling. Was she Aaron’s mother?
“I can introduce you to everyone,” he said.
“I already know Jeannie.” She glanced up and saw Aaron’s ex-wife coming out of the house and carrying a casserole dish. Jeannie was graced with a noticeable figure and a braid that flowed to the middle of her back. She wasn’t classically pretty, not by Anglo standards. But Talia thought she was stunning.
“Jeannie isn’t everyone,” he said.
She used to be, Talia thought, recalling how envious she had been of the other woman.
Regardless, Jeannie greeted her first. She thanked Talia for coming, and they gazed at each other in a moment of silence.
Then Jim appeared at his wife’s side, and Talia realized how hard he must have worked to fit in, to be accepted as Danny’s stepfather.
To Talia, it didn’t seem worth it. Especially when she met Aaron’s family. The scowling woman wasn’t his mother. She was his disapproving aunt. His mother was more reserved, offering a proper hello. By no means was she rude. But she didn’t make Talia feel welcome, either.
Her name was Roberta, and she looked about sixty, with mildly graying hair, strong features and pale lipstick. At thirty-nine, Aaron was an only child. He’d given Roberta a grandson she adored, but he hadn’t been a good husband to the boy’s mother. Talia could tell that Roberta wasn’t pleased about that. She’d wanted Aaron and Jeannie to stay together forever.
A short while later, Roberta and her sister engaged in a conversation in their Native tongue, and Talia assumed this was commonplace. That most of the people at the party spoke some sort of Indian language.
Aaron sat closer to Talia than he should have. His shoulder kept bumping hers, and she wanted to push him away. He was bandying around Native words, too. Something she’d never heard him do before.
By the time all of the entrées were served by Jeannie and the women in her family, the kids had been rounded up to eat. Aaron led the group in a blessing of thanks, and Talia remained still. Why hadn’t he ever prayed in front of her before? Why hadn’t he ever blessed the food just the two of them had shared?
Talia picked up her fork. The meal was a combination of Mexican and Native dishes. She ate tamales and enchiladas, with beans and rice on the side. She was curious to try the Native food, but she decided not to indulge, not with Aaron sitting so deliberately close, the heat from his body radiating next to hers.
Finally, Thunder and Carrie arrived. He held his pregnant fiancée’s hand and apologized for being late. Then he greeted everyone individually, hugging his relatives and scooping the birthday boy into his arms.
Danny laughed, and Thunder winked at Carrie. They looked incredible together, Talia thought. It didn’t matter that she was Anglo. Thunder had always dated non-Native women. But his side of the family was open to mixed relationships. His parents, who lived in Arizona, loved Carrie as if she were their own. Of course, Carrie had a miniscule amount of Cherokee blood. But she wasn’t registered with the tribe, so to most Indians, that made her white.
Thunder and Carrie sat at the same table as Aaron and Talia, for which Talia was grateful. Carrie was her ally, a newfound friend. They’d gotten close while the other woman had been struggling to reunite with Thunder.
“It’s good to see you,” Carrie said, her highlighted hair blowing softly around her face.
“You, too.” Talia tried not to let down her guard, to make everyone aware of how much Carrie’s presence meant to her. But she sensed that Carrie knew. They’d confided in each other about the men they loved.
Or used to love, Talia corrected in regard to herself. She wouldn’t dare feel that way about Aaron again.
After the meal, the gathering turned traditional. Talia was right; the blanketed object was a drum. Aaron uncovered it, and he and a group of men sat in a circle around it and burned a fragrant herb.
A burning bundle of the same herb was passed among the guests, too. “It’s sage,” Carrie whispered to her. “You can purify yourself with it. Or you can choose not to. No one will be offended.”
“Because I’m not one of them?” she whispered back.
Carrie gave her a sympathetic look, and when the sage came Talia’s way, she didn’t fan the smoke over herself the way everyone else did. She was too uncomfortable to try to fit in, so she passed the small, yarn-wrapped bundle to the person beside her without participating. Aaron chose that moment to glance up at her. Talia held his gaze for as long as she could. And then he blinked and looked away, as though he shouldn’t have been watching her from his sacred spot at the drum.
Soon the men were singing. They started with “Happy Birthday,” honoring Aaron’s young son with a thumping beat. He grinned like the sweet child he was.
Talia’s heart reacted with a maternal ache. She used to imagine having children with Aaron. Danny, with his silky dark hair and warm brown eyes, should have been their little boy.
The