Straddling the Line by Sarah M. Anderson Page A

the girls would be more comfortable with the stranger if Josey could keep things calm.
    Don gave Ben the kind of look that made most white people pee their pants. “Aawáŋič’iglaka yo.” Watch yourself.
    Really? What was the point of threatening Ben if he was going to do it in Lakota?
    Ben only notched an eyebrow, like he was thinking, sure, you flattened my old man, but that was a long time ago.
    Josey cleared her throat loudly. “Thanks, Don, but we’re okay,” as if Don had offered to help. Now get out, she thought as she looked at him.
    The big man gave Ben a departing glare before he left. Ben looked around and wiped imaginary sweat off his head—much to the amusement of the girls. Kaylie even managed a small giggle.
    “So,” he said, shining that hundred-watt smile on the room, “about that tour?”
    “Yes. That tour.” What she wouldn’t give to have five minutes in the bathroom—alone—right now. Especially given the way that Ben was looking at her paint-stained overalls, her formerly white tank top and her frizzing braid. Heck, she’d settle for three minutes. “Well.” She made a sweeping sort of gesture, barely clearing Kaylie’s little head. “This is the multipurpose room.”
    God, those eyes—how could they be that blue?
    “Multi?”
    “Gym and cafeteria.” She pointed to the tables at one side. An old elementary school was building a new cafeteria addition in Iowa and had been happy to let Josey haul the ancient fold-up tables and benches out free of charge.
    “Music room,” Livvy said in a whisper.
    “Oh, yes. Thanks.” Josey pointed to the one deer-hide drum in the corner. “And music room.”
    “What is that—a drum?”
    Livvy sniffed in juvenile indignation. “A traditional drum,” Josey explained, shooting him a warning look. She stepped into him, keeping her voice low. “Her father made it.”
    He nodded. “I’ve never seen one that, um, tall. Very impressive.” Livvy rolled her eyes—but didn’t cop any other attitude.
    Josey fought the urge to stand there and gape at this man. He clearly had no idea what he was doing—but he was here anyway, trying to soothe a thirteen-year-old’s ruffled feathers. He’d already talked Don back from the brink. He’d even convinced Jenny they were going to talk about the school in the middle of a crowded bar. Not to mention he’d survived the tornado that was his family. He was a peacemaker.
    So why did he leave her so unsettled?
    She watched as his unnaturally large smile faded, replaced with a look she recognized from their first meeting—suspicious disbelief. “You have one drum for how many students?”
    “Sixty-three.” She couldn’t help taking a deep breath. The smell of wind-whipped leather filled her nose, and she had the sudden urge to be out there on a bike with him, to feel the summer wind rippling through her hair. Not here on the rez, not at that war zone he called a shop. Someplace where she wouldn’t have to worry about what anyone else thought of her—or Ben. “There’s a problem with the instruments. Munzinga backed out of our deal.”
    A shadow fell over her face, and she found herself less than a foot from the all-businessman who’d flatly refused all of her offers. She didn’t particularly care for the all-businessman. She kind of liked the drummer—not that she’d ever tell him that. He leaned over and whispered, “Munzinga? He’s a jerk,” in her ear.
    So much for sweet nothings. Despite the insult, his breath touching her skin set off an unfortunate round of goose bumps—that she chose to ignore. “I figured that out yesterday, but thanks for the heads-up.”
    Thin lines appeared around his eyes, and his mouth did something that could be smiling—a real, honest thing. Whatever it was, the shadows eased back, and Ben went from hot to intensely handsome. His eyes moved over her face with exacting precision. “So, the multipurpose room.”
    “Just a second, and we’ll go look at the