In the Enemy's Sights. Marta Perry
knock her off her high heels.”
“Wait till we’ve finished her project,” he suggested.
That earned him one of those rare smiles that lit Julianna’s face and made her eyes sparkle. He’d like to see that expression more often, but it hardly seemed likely.
He leaned against her desk. “Look, about what we were saying earlier. Please believe me. I don’t suspect Jay because he’s Native American.”
“Pueblo,” she said. “He’s Zuni Pueblo. Like me.”
“Pueblo,” he agreed. “Wasn’t your father—”
“My father was Anglo,” she said evenly. “I never knew him. He left before I was born. I barely remember my mother. My grandparents raised me after her death.”
Add that to the list of things he’d never bothered to learn about the shy girl who’d sat in front of him in senior English. “I’m sorry. That must have been rough.”
“Not at all. My grandparents were wonderful. Still are, in fact.”
She’d mentioned that her grandfather knew Jay’s family, he remembered. It was a link that probably made her unwilling to think anything bad about the boy.
“In any event, I’m not suspicious of Jay because of his ancestry. Just because he was here, and because of what you said about his connection to a street gang.”
She frowned, but at least she wasn’t reacting with anger. “I can see why you might think that. All I can say is that I know Jay, and I don’t believe he’d do anything that would hurt me. Surely he’d realize I’d be affected by vandalism where I work.”
“Teenage boys sometimes don’t think with their heads.” He grinned. “Believe me, I have vivid memories of the stupid things Quinn and I did at that age. Luckily our parents never found out about most of them.”
She smiled in response, but he could still read the concern in her eyes. “Just…be careful of what you say to Jay. He admires you.”
That admiration put a sour taste in his mouth, but somehow he’d have to deal with it.
“Look, I’ll be tactful, I promise.”
He put his hand over hers where it lay on the desk. A sensation of warmth spread up his arm, taking him by surprise, and for an instant he forgot what he was saying.
Then he straightened. “I’ll be tactful,” he repeated. “But I’ve got to get to the bottom of this vandalism. Quinn’s counting on me. I can’t let him down.”
She was late for work, Julianna realized as she pulled into her parking space on the gravel lot in front of the office the next morning. She’d had coffee, but still her mind felt fogged, as if the bad dreams that had plagued her all night long were affecting her ability to concentrate.
Well, maybe another cup of coffee would clear her head. She grabbed her bag and hurried toward the office. With any luck, no one else would be here to see her late arrival. Quinn often stopped at one of the job sites before coming to the office, and Ken—
Ken was already here, and he wasn’t alone. She stopped just inside the door, her throat tightening. Her grandfather and Ken between them seemed to fill the room—both big men, each with his own aura of power and strength.
Harvey Red Feather sat on the edge of her desk, while Ken leaned against the file cabinet. They each held a coffee mug, and they seemed to be chatting like old friends.
“Good morning, Grandfather. What are you doing here?”
She glanced from him to Ken, realizing that she was the only thing they had in common to talk about. What did Ken think of her grandfather, with his shoulder-length white hair and his serene, weathered face that seemed to have seen and accepted all the world had to offer?
Grandfather got up, smiling, and put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s good to see you, little one. I’m a delivery boy. Your grandmother sent lunch over for you. She thinks you don’t eat enough.” He nodded toward the basket that sat on her desk.
“Some traditional Pueblo dish?” Ken asked.
Grandfather chuckled. “Only if you’re from an Italian pueblo. It’s gnocchi. Grandma’s experimenting with her new Italian cookbook.”
“It’ll be delicious, whatever it is.” She couldn’t resist leaning against him. His solid strength reassured her, as it had as far back as her memory went. “But she shouldn’t have sent you clear over here just to bring me lunch.”
“What do I have to do that’s more important than seeing you?” He hugged her. “Besides, I hadn’t seen your new workplace yet. Kenneth offered me coffee, so we’ve been shooting the breeze while I waited for you.”
“I’m sorry I’m late.” She darted a sideways glance at Ken. He wasn’t her boss, but she disliked appearing less than competent in front of him.
He shrugged. “Only five minutes.” His gaze seemed to search her face. “You look tired. Maybe you should have taken a few more minutes.”
“I’m fine.” She evaded his gaze.
Grandfather tilted her chin up, and she couldn’t evade his wise, observant eyes. “You do look tired, Juli. Bad dreams again?”
“It’s nothing.”
She used putting her bag on her desk as a reason to turn away from him. This was why she didn’t want the two sides of her life touching. Ken, of all people, didn’t need to know about the dreams.
Her grandfather opened his mouth as if to pursue the subject, but Ken broke in first.
“Your grandfather was telling me about the powwow that’s coming up soon. I didn’t know about the Native American dance competitions. That must be something to see.”
He was talking at random, she suspected, trying to edge her grandfather away from a subject that he could see embarrassed her. She hadn’t expected such sensitivity on his part.
The least she could do was help skim over the moment. “Grandfather’s one of the best dancers. You’d think he was twenty when he gets into the arena. He puts the youngsters to shame.”
“Flatterer.” Her grandfather hugged her again. “I’d best get home, or your grandmother will wonder what I’m up to. Enjoy your lunch.”
“I will. Thank Grandma for me.”
He nodded and held out his hand to Ken. “It was a pleasure to meet you. If you’d like to visit the powwow, you’d be more than welcome. Get Juli to bring you.”
“Thank you, sir. I just might do that.”
Her grandfather went out, letting in a wave of cool morning air that cooled her warm cheeks. Once the door closed behind him, she glanced at Ken.
“It was nice of you to express an interest, but you don’t really need to attend the powwow. I don’t think it would be something you’d care for.”
“What makes you so sure?” He came to perch on the corner of her desk where her grandfather had sat. Unfortunately the feeling she had when he was that close was entirely different. “Sounds pretty interesting to me.”
She shrugged. “It’s mainly for Native Americans.”
“Your grandfather said I’d be welcome.”
Why was he so persistent about something that couldn’t possibly interest him?
“You’d be welcome,” she said shortly. “I just don’t think you’d enjoy it.”
“Is it that you don’t want to take me?” He leaned toward her across the desk. “Or are you ashamed of your heritage?”
Her head came up at that. Maybe she’d felt that way once,