continue, a small smile on my face from her revised cussing.
“No wonder Stella Mae’s PR people whitewashed her background.” She stopped, but her fingers were still moving and the screens overhead were flashing to life with what looked like posts from a defunct online site dedicated to . . . sex. With photos . . . I stared.
Jo said, “The typical country music fan would hate to learn that their pure Christian singing star was in bed with a bunch of people. I count six heads. No, seven. It’s all out of focus, which is probably a good thing. I do not need to see what they are doing.”
“Mmmm . . .” My ability to speak failed me. I dragged my eyes away, got up, and walked down the hall to the locker room. And inside. I used the facilities. Washed my hands. Several times. I fixed my hair. Pulled a tiny leaf. I dawdled. I dillydallied. I might have loitered.
I had grown up in a polygamous church where everything in life revolved around marriage, concubinage, and the punishment and abuse of women and girl-children. But sex, sex like I had seen in the photographs, was not something that was ever discussed. Not ever. Churchwomen were chaste by modern standards. They had a husband. The lights went out. The husband crawled into a wife’s bed. There were relations. The husband went to sleep, snoring. That was it. The next night he was with a different woman, doing the same thing in her bed. What I had seen in the photographs . . .
Did modern townie men want that? Did Occam want that?
From me?
I walked back into the hallway, let the locker room door close, and came to a stop. The big boss was standing in front of me, leaning against the wall, partially blocking the way. Not totally, not enough to activate my “trapped” instinct, my fight instinct, but more just the size of his body, his broad shoulders, his six-foot-three-plus inches of height. I caught my breath.
FireWind’s arms were crossed, his long, beautiful black hair down and shimmering across one shoulder. He looked at ease. His expression blank. Or, no. It was . . . maybe faintly kind? As kind as he could manage.
“What?” I demanded.
His lips smiled ever so slightly. “I saw the images. Are you all right?” He dropped his arms and tucked his fingers into the pockets of his black pants, much like the way Rick stood. It was an odd gesture, deliberate, as if to demonstrate peaceful intents and try to get me to relax. “I understand how the photographs might affect you. Strike you.”
“Yeah? How would you know anything about me?” I demanded.
“Because my wife was a woman of her time, a woman of her upbringing. Such photographs would have deeply offended her. The women of God’s Cloud of Glory Church are not promiscuous, do not understand that their bodies belong to them and not to the man who owns them.”
“I was not owned.”
“Were you not?”
I closed my eyes, blocking out my boss, his probing questions, his insults. His . . . his truths. Ayatas FireWind spoke truths. “Yes,” I whispered. “I was owned. I sold myself into sexual slavery to keep me safe from even worse things.”
“And you would do it again. I understand that. And you survived.” He stopped as if to give me time to speak, but I had nothing to say. “You are strong. I offer you what comfort I may as you face your memories. I honor your journey.”
Tears I did not expect shot down my face like a fire hose had opened. Burning tears. I opened my mouth. Closed it. Managed a shuddering breath. I honor your journey . . . “Well, damn,” I said, the curse shocking me. I opened my eyes to see FireWind watching me, his eyes gentle. I struggled with what to say and settled on, “Thank you.” He gave me the barest of nods. “Your wife?” I asked.
“She was a good woman. Stronger by far than I could ever hope to be. My people did not see sexual relations as her people did. It was difficult for us at first with our differing perceptions and expectations.”
I thought about Occam. About what he might want. “You miss her,” I said.
“I will miss my Forever Heart until the day I die.”
“Forever Heart?”
He closed his eyes for a moment and his face lit with deep, powerful emotions: joy and intense grief. “Igohidv Adonvdo,” he whispered, the