Straddling the Line - By Sarah M. Anderson Page 0,35
accent was. Josey’s wasn’t as strong, but if he remembered right, she’d said her MBA was from Columbia. He’d just assumed she’d grown up here on the rez. And was this the same grandfather who had left her in charge of a trust fund?
“I remember she’d swoop me up on a horse, and we’d go flying over the grass.” Josey’s voice was far away. Either that, or the ghosts were really, really close—because Ben got the distinct feeling that spirits were hanging around. “That’s what it felt like, anyway. Flying. She’d hold me up on the rock and say, ‘Never forget who you really are, Josey-girl.’” Josey gave Ben one of those vulnerable smiles. “She called me that. Josey-girl.”
“She loved you.” Man, he hoped that was an appropriate thing to say. Talking was not something that usually happened in great quantities on his dates. Maybe that was why he hadn’t been on one in a while.
“She did.” Josey uncurled and stood on the rock. Ben couldn’t help but watch as she stretched out, her lithe form close enough to touch and yet still so damn far away. “Grandma, she walked in both worlds and loved them both.”
What did that mean, walked in both worlds? Was that code or something? Before Ben could ask, Josey turned to him, her eyes a little brighter at the memory. “She took me to the Met my first time, and the Statue of Liberty, before she got sick. I have a picture….” She trailed off again, and turned her eyes back to the vista in front of them. He saw her swallow. A minute passed before she said, “Mom couldn’t do it. She never belonged to that world. She tried once, but she doesn’t talk about it. So she married a Lakota warrior and came back to the rez. Permanently.”
Ben was pretty sure he’d remember meeting a Lakota warrior. He pictured someone a lot like Don, but with more feathers. “What happened to him?”
“He died. A long time ago.” Her voice was flat. She didn’t elaborate.
“Yeah. My mom…” Even though it had been a long time—sixteen years—it still hurt. Time had taken the sharp edge off the loss, but dull pain was still pain.
“Yeah.” Josey took a deep breath and stretched out her arms, like she wanted to hug the wind or something. Maybe the wind was looking for a hug, because it picked up the pace and started to blow with meaning. “I try. I really do. When I’m out there, I smile and nod and ignore the people who laugh because my last name means I’m not white enough. And then I come home, and I smile and nod and ignore the people who laugh because my hair, my mom’s hair, means we’re not Indian enough.”
People laughed at her? A surprising anger hit him in the gut. Who cared what her last name was, or what color her hair was? Who cared if her granny liked New York or her father was a warrior? He didn’t. What he cared about was protecting the woman standing before him from the small-minded people of the world. She was too sweet, too gentle, too damn good for people to laugh at her.
He was about to say as much when she turned to him, her eyes wide open and knowing. “I still come here when I need to remember who I am.”
“Who are you, really?”
“You know what? No one ever asks me that.” She stepped down off the rock and stood on the edge of the bluff.
“I’m asking.”
A breeze came up the side, doing sexy things with her hair. He couldn’t help it. He took a step toward her.
She shot him a mysterious smile over her shoulder. Whatever distance she’d put between them seemed to blow away with that breeze. “Maybe that’s why I like you.”
His blood began to hammer in his veins. Maybe he understood what she was saying about walking in two worlds and remembering who she was—maybe he didn’t. He could understand never being what people wanted him to be, because he was never going to be Billy and he was never going to be Bobby and no matter how many gigs he played or how well he managed the money, he was never, ever going to be someone his father could be proud of. He would never be the son his father wanted.
What he knew for sure was that this place was special to her, and she’d brought him here. Because he was