A Long Tall Texan Summer: Tom / Drew / Jobe. Diana Palmer
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returned the enthusiastic hug, and chattered brightly about the meal they were going to have as he carried her effortlessly into the house.
“Gosh, you’re strong, Mr. Tom,” she said with a grin. “I’ll bet you could lift my pony.”
“Not quite,” he mused, setting her back on her feet. He shook hands with Luke and then turned to Elysia.
Her face was drawn. She looked frustrated and even a little frightened.
He reacted to her expression rather than to her cold greeting. “It’s all right,” he said gently, searching her eyes quietly. “We’ll call a truce for tonight.”
She drew in a steadying breath, ignoring the comment. “Dinner’s ready, if you’d like to sit down.”
“Come on and help me bring in the food, Crissy,” Luke said to the child, herding her out of the room.
Tom heard the kitchen door close and he searched Elysia’s worried face for a long moment. “I’m not very good at this,” he began slowly.
“At what?” she asked tersely.
He shrugged. “Apologies. I don’t think I’ve made two in my entire life. But I’m sorry about what I said to you the other day.”
“You needn’t butter me up because you like Crissy,” she said coldly. “Regardless of your opinion of me, I’m not vindictive.”
He searched her eyes. “She’s a unique young lady. You’ve done a good job with her.”
She moved restlessly. “Thank you.”
He stuck his hands into his slacks pockets with a long sigh. “Are you and Luke close?” he asked suddenly.
The question should have surprised her, but it didn’t. “Yes,” she said. “We were physically abused children, so I guess we were closer than kids who had a normal upbringing.”
His face grew very hard. “It’s a damnable world for some children, isn’t it? Even with the new protective laws, the secrecy hangs on. It’s so hard for a child to accuse a parent, even one who deserves a prison term.”
“I know.” She searched his lean face with quick, curious eyes. “You want to know if Luke told me what you said to him, don’t you?”
“He did, of course,” he said knowingly.
She nodded. “He thought…it might help if I knew it all.”
“And did it?”
She lowered her eyes to his chest, flushing. She’d been more intimate with this man than with anyone in her whole life. It hadn’t bothered her before, but now it did. Vivid memories flooded her mind of that night with him. They were embarrassing and they made her self-conscious around him.
“I won’t stop you from seeing Crissy, if that’s what you mean,” she said, evading a direct answer, her tone cold with her inner turmoil.
“Thanks,” he replied.
Neither of them spoke, having too much trouble finding the right words.
When Luke and Crissy came back, two pairs of eyes looked toward them with open relief.
“Shall we eat?” Luke murmured.
Crissy reached up and took Tom’s hand. “You have to sit beside me, Mr. Tom, so you can tell me about Indians.”
“Native Americans.” Elysia corrected her without thinking and then flushed at Tom’s keen glance.
“Is that right?” Crissy asked her companion.
“Actually it is,” he told her. “Or, if you prefer, indigenous aborigines.” He grinned. “Those two words get a workout lately.”
Crissy tried to pronounce it and finally succeeded.
After they were well into their meal, Tom explained the divisions of Sioux to his young daughter. “There are Lakota, Nakota and Dakota,” he said, “which refers to the use of the l and n and d in each of those languages. Then, there are Brule, or burned thigh, Sioux, Nez Perce, Blackfoot and Sans Arc.” He explained to her that Sans Arc meant “without bows” and came from a sad incident in that tribe’s history during which the group were advised by a shaman to put their bows and arrows into a pile. They were subsequently attacked, with tragic results.
“Tell me about your great-grandfather,” Crissy persisted.
“He was one of the warrior subchiefs,” he explained. “He fought and was wounded in the Little Bighorn fight.”
“Massacre,” Crissy said knowingly.
He gave her a long look. “A massacre is when one group is totally unarmed and defenseless. Custer and his men had plenty of weapons.”
“Oh,” Crissy said respectfully.
“Back in the old days, trackers could tell by the shape of a moccasin which tribe he was tracking.
The arrows were unique to each tribe, and even to each warrior.”
“Goodness,” Crissy exclaimed. “Can you track?”
He chuckled. “I can track my way to the nearest burger stand,” he mused. “But out in the woods, I don’t think I’d be much good at it. Now my sister’s husband is a real tracker. And he’s got Native American blood, too. Their little boy is just your age. He looks a lot like you,” he mused, studying Crissy. “He has green eyes, too, despite his dark skin and hair.”
“Have you seen the Cades lately?” Luke asked.
Tom shook his head. “I’ve been too busy, what with this move to Jacobsville. But I thought I might go up there for a few days next month. I don’t know what I’ll do with Moose while I’m away, though,” he added thoughtfully.
“You got a moose?” Crissy asked, wide-eyed.
“That’s his name,” Tom said, correcting her. He chuckled. “Moose is sort of like a walking disaster. I’ve been around dogs most of my life, but he’s unique. Kate saw him once and called him an albatross.”
“What’s that?” the little girl wondered aloud.
“There was a poem by Coleridge. The ancient mariner was forced to wear one around his neck—”
“I read that in school.” Luke interrupted. “It was one of the only poems I liked.”
“We could keep your dog for you,” Crissy volunteered.
“No, you couldn’t,” Tom said before Elysia or Luke could speak. “Moose would shatter every fragile thing your mother and uncle have, and you’d have to recarpet the floor. He’s a digger. If he can’t get his paws into dirt, he’ll try to unearth the carpet. Everything I own is saturated in lemon juice to keep Moose out of it. He really hates the taste of lemon.”
“Why do you keep him?” Luke asked.
Tom made a face. “I don’t know. I like him, I guess. He was a stray. I felt sorry for him. Now I feel sorry for myself. But he’ll grow up. One day.”
“We have two cats that somebody abandoned,” Luke murmured, with a speaking glance at his sister. “I was going to take them to the pound, but she—” he gestured toward Elysia “—wouldn’t hear of it. They went to the vet instead, for shots. Good thing she makes a good living at her boutique, or their appetites would bankrupt her.”
“They eat an awful lot,” Crissy agreed. “Especially Winter.”
“Winter?” Tom ventured.
“It was when we found her,” she replied. “And the other one is named ‘Damn—’”
“Crissy!” Elysia burst out.
“Well, that’s