of his grasp. “I’m not leaving in the morning.”
“Yes, you are,” he said, his response annoyingly succinct. When he unrolled the top of the sack, he pulled out a loaf of bread, smooth peanut butter, grape jelly, and a bag of chips.
My eyes widened as I watched in stunned silence. Lakota hadn’t left my motel room because he didn’t want me to be his problem anymore—he’d just gone to bring me food, and the fact that he was providing for me made my wolf stir just a little bit.
“Sour cream and onion,” I said, nodding at the chips. “That should make my breath smell nice.”
He gave me a sideways glance. “Are you planning on kissing someone?” Lakota sighed and looked down at his offering. “Your wolf is probably craving meat.”
I splayed my fingers across my stomach and sat on the edge of the bed. “She’s going to have to wait. Thanks to the local cuisine, my stomach has trust issues at the moment.” While he twisted open the bag of bread and began making a sandwich, I decided to address the elephant in the room. “Are you working undercover?”
“Yes.”
Relief washed over me. He still wasn’t being his usual self, but at least I had a definitive answer for why he’d ignored me. Deciding not to reveal that Hope had confided his secret to me, I said, “I haven’t seen you in a long time, so I kind of figured as much. Is there a reason I shouldn’t trust Shikoba? I’m down here trying to close a deal with him, but if he’s under investigation for a crime, then maybe that’s something I should know.”
He gave me a cross look while pouring the potato chips onto my paper plate. “You don’t belong here.”
“So I gathered from the friendly welcome wagon. If you can’t tell me why you’re here, can you at least tell me if Shikoba is a man your sister can trust doing business with?”
He pulled out a chair. “Sit down, and we’ll talk.”
The lamp by the bed was on the low setting, and it somehow made our conversation more intimate. When I drifted over to take a seat, he pushed my chair in like a gentleman—a far cry from the man who, in front of all his buddies, had hopped into my Jeep without opening my door.
Lakota sat across from me and put the sack on the floor. He reached into the potato chip bag, grabbed a handful of chips, and dropped them onto a paper plate in front of him. “You can trust Shikoba. He’s a good man with integrity and honor. I respect him.”
I pushed his phone aside. “He turned me away because I’m not native. Their behavior isn’t normal. I’ve never experienced this kind of animosity between people just because of their skin color or heritage. Usually it’s packs not trusting cougars or something along those lines.”
“The tribe doesn’t hate nontribes. They just don’t understand them. They’ve been wronged in the past, and since they’ve lived here all their lives, what else can they do but draw from their own experience? That’s how it is in small towns, and it’s hard to weed out the prejudices when your life span is centuries. People hang on to the past. Shikoba barely trusts me, and it took a long time to earn his acceptance. He would never have let me in if I didn’t have the same blood running in my veins. My blue eyes remind him to stay guarded.”
“You should have worn contacts.”
Lakota pursed his lips for a moment and rubbed his neck. “I thought about it, but if one of them fell out, it would look like I’m hiding something. If any good comes from this, maybe he’ll learn that he can trust someone who isn’t like him. Small changes start with ripples.”
“You’re starting to sound like your mother.” When I bit into my sandwich, I heaved a sigh and relaxed.
“Nobody eats the food at that bar,” Lakota said with a chuckle. “I knew you were in trouble when I saw you scarfing down those fries.”
“Now you warn me.”
He reached into the sack and produced a can of root beer. I tamped down the urge to smile because I was still a little mad at him. Lakota hadn’t just selected random food out of the store—he’d specifically chosen foods that I liked. Root beer had always been a favorite of mine.
He crossed his arms on the table and gave me a pointed stare. “Now that you’re