little laugh, though he noticed the strained sound of it. “I wanted to be where you were, Dan.”
Do you now? he wanted to ask her. Do you want to be where I am now?
“I guess I didn’t really know where I wanted to be,” he said, leading her into the dance hall. “But I never meant to force you to do anything that made you uncomfortable.”
“You never did, not really.”
He drew her against him for a dance. The ersatz country swing music was whiny and slow, but somehow satisfying. It was, he conceded, more than likely the fact that he was dancing with Isabel. She felt like heaven in his arms, her frame supple and willowy, her soft hand cradled in his, her face shy and shadowy in the dim light.
“Care to ditch that no-count Indian for a cowboy, ma’am?” someone asked.
Isabel gasped in outrage, but Dan stepped back, laughing.
Clyde Looking, head of the tribal council, lifted his ten-gallon hat in greeting, and Dan made the introductions. Within moments, Clyde danced away with Isabel, and Dan eased back to the refreshment table to help himself to a drink.
Lucy Raintree served him. Theo Sohappy stopped by. People were easy with one another, chatting and joking, some just smiling and tapping their feet to the overdone percussion from the cheap keyboard. The music should have made Dan cringe, but instead it was as comforting as a greeting from an old friend. Later, he would perform a song or two; he always did.
Dan felt—had felt from the start—an unexpected sense of community with these people. The feeling had always eluded him in the city. He’d had friends, sure, but with them he had never found this level of comfort, this quiet settling of the soul.
Dan had never known he was missing it, but maybe it was part of the reason he had been so savage inside, had made mistakes on important matters. Like Isabel.
Had he ever told her he loved her?
“So she’s still here.” Theo watched Isabel dance with Clyde Looking. “And you didn’t even have to tie her up to make her stay.”
Dan laughed, his eyes following the dancers. Clyde was the perfect host, pausing in his two-step now and then to introduce Isabel to someone new. She looked flushed and bright-eyed. Dan had feared she would feel awkward here, that her laughter and conversation would seem forced, but he could tell her enjoyment was genuine.
“Nope,” he said, “I didn’t tie her up, not that the thought didn’t cross my mind.”
“Don’t blame you. God, she’s a looker. Part Indian?”
“Yeah, but she was raised in an Anglo foster home.”
“Ma told her she had to step out of the shadows, be herself. You know how Ma is.”
“If anybody can thaw out Isabel, Juanita can,” Dan said.
Theo clapped him on the shoulder. “Looks like you did a pretty good job of that yourself. Is she going to stay for the race?”
Dan felt a twinge of apprehension. He was signed up to ride his motorcycle in the Yakima Suicide Race. He owed it to Isabel to tell her, but he just hadn’t found the right time. She’d try to talk him out of it. And he already knew he wouldn’t listen.
“I don’t know, Theo,” he said. “I guess that’s up to her.” His gaze was riveted to Isabel. The song ended, and she excused herself from Clyde and made a beeline for the pay phone in the corner of the hall by the drinking fountain.
Dan’s gut sank like a stone. Quite obviously, nothing had changed, and she couldn’t wait to call her boyfriend and tell him so.
Everything had changed, and Isabel knew she could no longer put off calling Anthony. Her fingers felt cold as she lifted the receiver and dialed his number, punching in her credit-card code and then waiting with growing impatience through six rings.
The answering machine kicked on. She listened to the bland, cheery message, then said, “Anthony, it’s me, Isabel. If you’re there, pick up. We need to talk. You see—”
“Sure, babe.” Anthony Cossa’s real voice interrupted her.
Do you now? he wanted to ask her. Do you want to be where I am now?
“I guess I didn’t really know where I wanted to be,” he said, leading her into the dance hall. “But I never meant to force you to do anything that made you uncomfortable.”
“You never did, not really.”
He drew her against him for a dance. The ersatz country swing music was whiny and slow, but somehow satisfying. It was, he conceded, more than likely the fact that he was dancing with Isabel. She felt like heaven in his arms, her frame supple and willowy, her soft hand cradled in his, her face shy and shadowy in the dim light.
“Care to ditch that no-count Indian for a cowboy, ma’am?” someone asked.
Isabel gasped in outrage, but Dan stepped back, laughing.
Clyde Looking, head of the tribal council, lifted his ten-gallon hat in greeting, and Dan made the introductions. Within moments, Clyde danced away with Isabel, and Dan eased back to the refreshment table to help himself to a drink.
Lucy Raintree served him. Theo Sohappy stopped by. People were easy with one another, chatting and joking, some just smiling and tapping their feet to the overdone percussion from the cheap keyboard. The music should have made Dan cringe, but instead it was as comforting as a greeting from an old friend. Later, he would perform a song or two; he always did.
Dan felt—had felt from the start—an unexpected sense of community with these people. The feeling had always eluded him in the city. He’d had friends, sure, but with them he had never found this level of comfort, this quiet settling of the soul.
Dan had never known he was missing it, but maybe it was part of the reason he had been so savage inside, had made mistakes on important matters. Like Isabel.
Had he ever told her he loved her?
“So she’s still here.” Theo watched Isabel dance with Clyde Looking. “And you didn’t even have to tie her up to make her stay.”
Dan laughed, his eyes following the dancers. Clyde was the perfect host, pausing in his two-step now and then to introduce Isabel to someone new. She looked flushed and bright-eyed. Dan had feared she would feel awkward here, that her laughter and conversation would seem forced, but he could tell her enjoyment was genuine.
“Nope,” he said, “I didn’t tie her up, not that the thought didn’t cross my mind.”
“Don’t blame you. God, she’s a looker. Part Indian?”
“Yeah, but she was raised in an Anglo foster home.”
“Ma told her she had to step out of the shadows, be herself. You know how Ma is.”
“If anybody can thaw out Isabel, Juanita can,” Dan said.
Theo clapped him on the shoulder. “Looks like you did a pretty good job of that yourself. Is she going to stay for the race?”
Dan felt a twinge of apprehension. He was signed up to ride his motorcycle in the Yakima Suicide Race. He owed it to Isabel to tell her, but he just hadn’t found the right time. She’d try to talk him out of it. And he already knew he wouldn’t listen.
“I don’t know, Theo,” he said. “I guess that’s up to her.” His gaze was riveted to Isabel. The song ended, and she excused herself from Clyde and made a beeline for the pay phone in the corner of the hall by the drinking fountain.
Dan’s gut sank like a stone. Quite obviously, nothing had changed, and she couldn’t wait to call her boyfriend and tell him so.
Everything had changed, and Isabel knew she could no longer put off calling Anthony. Her fingers felt cold as she lifted the receiver and dialed his number, punching in her credit-card code and then waiting with growing impatience through six rings.
The answering machine kicked on. She listened to the bland, cheery message, then said, “Anthony, it’s me, Isabel. If you’re there, pick up. We need to talk. You see—”
“Sure, babe.” Anthony Cossa’s real voice interrupted her.
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