Sworn to Protect. Kimberly Van Meter
women in my profession to recognize the signs but I never realized it would be so difficult to pick up the pieces and try to move forward. Each time I thought about dragging myself out of my bed toward reclaiming my life, an overwhelming terror took over and I would end up a shaking, crying mess. It became easier to just accept that inside equaled safety, out there—” she gestured outside “—meant danger.” Tears pricked her eyes as she admitted, “I’m such a coward.”
“You can get through this,” he said, holding her stare without reservation. She saw strength, determination and even a hint of anger in those familiar eyes, and she drew comfort in knowing Sundance was ever the same, even if she had changed irrevocably. “And don’t you dare bow your head in shame. You did nothing wrong. Remember that.”
Her breath caught and she started to shake her head, a litany of reasons why she was to blame came to her tongue but she swallowed the instant response and jerked a short nod. “I’ll try.”
He seemed satisfied with her answer and the rigid set of his shoulders softened just a little as if he’d been holding back a tremendous wind at his back, or shielding her from some terrible calamity. Moisture blurred her vision again and she realized tears would never be far from the surface when she dared to broach this subject with him or anyone.
“I’m going to find who did this to you,” he assured her in a quiet but hard voice and she didn’t doubt his sincerity. Sundance had always borne the weight of his responsibilities with stoic resolve. He was hard as granite, as unrelenting as a puma on the hunt. She held no illusions that he wouldn’t turn that focus on her when he felt it was time. And apparently he’d felt the time had come. “Iris, I need a formal statement from you about that night,” he said.
A shaky smile from suddenly numb lips formed as she shrugged. “Formal or informal, I’ve told you everything I remember, which isn’t a lot.” The memory of someone giving a god-awful rendition of Aerosmith’s “Dude Looks Like a Lady” banged around in her head for a moment. She could smell the alcohol that had splashed on the bar, the sour perspiration of too many bodies and the faint scent of something sharp and tangy—cologne perhaps—but then nothing. She cleared her throat when it felt as if something were stuck there. “I’m sorry…it’s just blank. The stuff I remember…it’s nothing of value.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“Sundance, trust me, there’s nothing there unless bad singing can be considered a crime.”
His mouth firmed. “Whoever did this to you was in that bar. Someone was watching and waiting for the right person. Did you talk or dance with anyone?”
Sweat popped along her hairline and she wiped at it with shaking hands. Music throbbed in her head, the laughter and alcohol went hand in hand. She’d been having fun. She’d gone alone to The Dam Beaver, the only bar actually on the reservation, not the least bit apprehensive about being by herself for it would’ve been like being afraid of her local grocery store. “I…I don’t remember,” she stammered, feeling sick. “There were a lot of people that night. Karaoke. Singing. I was laughing at…someone.” She rubbed at her forehead, the nausea rising in her throat. “I was thirsty. It was so hot…I ordered a club soda with lime because I knew I’d have to drive home eventually.”
“So you’d stopped drinking at some point. How much had you drank at that point?”
“I was tipsy but not drunk,” she answered, trying to remember, though her head had begun to spin. “I can’t do this right now. I feel sick,” she said, dropping Saaski’s leash to run to the bathroom. She slammed the door and put her head in the toilet in just enough time to lose the little food she’d eaten from earlier.
As the heaving subsided, Iris shuddered and rested her forehead on the cold porcelain, devastated by her body’s knee-jerk reaction to the trauma she’d been through. She knew she suffered from post-traumatic stress. From a clinical viewpoint she recognized the signs but as the person soaking in her own sweat over a memory flash, she couldn’t remain in that detached, clinical state.
She dragged her hand over her mouth and rose on shaky legs to rinse the sour taste away. She stared at the door, knowing Sundance was still out there, waiting for her. Her eyes squeezed shut as she willed strength into her legs, prayed for some semblance of control, and when it didn’t happen, she cursed her weakness with all the bitterness she could muster because she was fairly certain she’d never be the same again.
Sundance winced as he heard her retch from behind the closed bathroom door. The reaction had been almost instantaneous. He felt helpless and useless, standing there with a dog leash in his hand while Iris barfed her guts out over a simple question. He muttered an expletive and Saaski cocked his head at him. Restless with the need to do something productive, he went about the business of filling a bowl of food and water for the dog. Then he went to the Durango and put the kennel in the small garage. As a habit, he did a perimeter check and double-checked the lock on the side door. Satisfied things were secure, he returned to the house to find Iris curled on the sofa, stroking Saaski’s fur. She didn’t immediately look at him when he walked in—embarrassment, he supposed. Mya was always telling him to be more sensitive.
“You feeling okay?” he asked.
She shook her head, her eyes and cheeks red and splotchy from retching. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disappear on you like that.”
“Don’t apologize. You’ve been through a major trauma. Nobody expects you to bounce back immediately. Least of all me.”
She looked at him, surprise in her gaze. “Really?”
“Of course.”
“Then what’s with the dragging me out of bed, bringing me a dog and suddenly caring about my mental health?”
He supposed hers were valid questions. He was acting out of character. He couldn’t very well tell her that his head was a muddled mess about certain things. The woman had enough to deal with, she didn’t need his drama, too. But if he had the guts, he’d tell her that seeing her so broken made him want to break the law and nothing made him want to do that. He wanted to find that rotten SOB and make his life a living hell for what he’d done to her. All the things he prided himself on—being the responsible, dependable one with a cool head—went right out the window when he saw Iris hurt. But hell, no! He couldn’t say that because he didn’t know what to make of it himself. Looking away, he shrugged in answer. “Maybe I don’t like the idea of sparring with an unarmed person.”
Recognizing his attempt at a joke, she offered a faint smile. “You always were so competitive.”
“And so were you,” he countered, wishing her eyes would flare to life with that spark he was accustomed to seeing when she was seriously pissed off or determined to make a situation go her way. Instead they remained defeated and listless. And he didn’t know how to fix that. He rubbed at the back of his neck, the frustration getting to him. “Hey, make sure you eat something. Okay?” he said.
“I will,” she replied, but he didn’t believe her. She sighed in irritation and he welcomed the sound. “I have enough food to feed an army. I’ll pick something or else Mya will start an IV drip. Don’t laugh, she’s actually threatened me.”
“Good.” He approved of his sister’s threat. Iris was fading away and he didn’t like that at all. He walked to the door, turning as he let himself out, saying, “Make sure you lock this right after I leave. And if you take Saaski out, keep him on the leash so he doesn’t run. He’ll need a few days to get used to your place. Best to keep him in the house unless he’s needing to relieve himself.”
Iris nodded as she rose to follow his instructions. The door closed behind him and he heard the lock sliding into place. A short but wry smile fitted to his mouth. That right there—Iris doing as she was told—was a surefire sign that she wasn’t all there yet. Iris, as a rule, never did as she was told.
Especially when the instruction came from him.
Hard to believe he actually wanted