Straddling the Line - By Sarah M. Anderson Page 0,30

gloves, he ran his fingers over hers, prying them away from each other as gently as he could.

She let go and swung off the bike. Immediately, she stumbled backward. It was all Ben could do to grab her before she landed on her backside. “Whoa! You okay?”

Her head didn’t so much nod yes or shake no as go in confused circles. Still holding her up, Ben got off the bike and then pulled her helmet off.

Her eyes were plate-wide. Then, to his great relief, her face cracked into a wide smile. “That,” she said, her voice a little shaky, “was the scariest thing I’ve ever done!”

“Then you need to get out more.”

Unexpectedly, she lurched up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on him. He grabbed hold of her—to steady her, really—but she looped those arms around his neck and held fast.

God, what he wouldn’t give to not be at a powwow.

As suddenly as the kiss had started, it ended. She jerked back, licking the lips he could still taste and wobbling for a short second before she landed firmly on her feet. Her cheeks burned bright red, and suddenly she couldn’t meet his eyes. Hell, she couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Her boots had just gotten that interesting, apparently.

“Okay,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“Okay,” he agreed.

Wouldn’t take much to be way more than just okay, but they were still in public, and she was clearly not comfortable with everyone around. He’d have to settle—for now.

Once he wasn’t touching her, their surroundings registered. A deep, constant drumbeat filled the air around him, along with some singing that was closer to keening.

Off to one side, a group of guys were milling around, stuck between giving him the stink eye, ignoring him and staring at his bike. A motley crew of punks, some with Mohawks, some with long hair, all trying their damnedest to look intimidating.

They didn’t look like the kind of kids who would hang around for formal introductions. So he cut to the chase. “You guys ride?”

The kids shifted, as if they were discussing whether or not to acknowledge him. This “outsider” thing was starting to really bug him. Finally, the tallest kid—one of the long-haired ones—broke rank. “We ride war ponies, wasicu.”

Josey’s shoulders dipped, like this pronouncement disappointed her, but Ben found the attitude to be amusing. Did this kid think he was intimidating? Please.

Ben made a mental note to ask Josey what wasicu was—he would guess “white guy,” but he had a feeling there was another meaning to it. “Yeah? How do those handle on the highway?”

A chunkier guy with shorter hair cracked a grin and punched the leader in the shoulder. “Hey, the wasicu is funny! Where’d you get that thing?”

“I built it.”

“No way!” The group began to edge toward him, although the leader was still scowling.

Questions began to come at Ben like arrows. “How’d you do that? How fast does it go? Do you get a lot of girls?”

At that last one, the rest of the group fell silent. Ben glanced at Josey, who was somewhere between mortified and amused. Ben chose his words carefully. “I built this when I was in high school. When most guys were trying to borrow their dad’s car, I had my own bike. Because there’s a lady present, I’ll just say that Saturdays were the best day of the week.” She shot him a look that said, I bet, as loud and clear as if she’d spoken it.

“Cool!” Even the leader was edging closer as the guys began to talk in a mix of English and Lakota. Ben didn’t catch half of what they said, but he did hear someone say, “Like a two-wheeled war pony, Tige!”

“Josey,” the chunky one said, “can we build one at school? Don would let us in shop, wouldn’t he? Like a school project, right?”

Everyone turned to look at Josey. Her mouth opened and shut once, then twice as the color on her cheeks deepened.

“You’ve got to get the shop finished,” Ben said for her. He crossed his arms and leveled his best glare at the kids. “If you can’t build a building, you can’t build a bike.”

“Tige, Corey,” Josey said over the resulting chatter, “don’t you have to get your outfits on?”

The group of guys moved off, some still pointing to the bike. Not too bad, Ben thought. He still didn’t know what wasicu was, but at least everyone could agree—a good bike made the world a better place. He turned to