Nobody (Men of the White Sandy) (Volume 3) Read online

  Plus, the center was brand new. Maddie had promised Melinda that she could do whatever she wanted with it. She could make it her own.

  Maddie fixed her with one of those know-better looks. “You did a great job fostering. This won’t be that different.”

  “That was only the one kid. And aren’t you the one who told me how hard it was to come out to the rez—how no one looked at you for weeks, and everyone spoke Lakota so you wouldn’t know they were talking about you?”

  “Not everyone. Mostly just me.” Maddie’s face broke into a wide grin as her husband, Rebel Runs Fast, came into the kitchen to get the venison steaks he was grilling for dinner.

  A pang of naked jealousy spiked through Melinda as Rebel snaked an arm around Maddie’s waist. Her sister had had, what—two boyfriends, tops?—before she came out here and landed the hunk of the century. Melinda had gone through more men than she could count and had now been reduced to living in her big sister’s spare bedroom as she started over.

  One of these days, she thought as she started chopping the broccoli with more force than she really needed, the right man will come along. She could only hope she’d recognize him when she saw him.

  Maddie cut her a break and let the rest of the Tyrone disaster lie as they sat down to dinner, which was fine with Melinda. She tested out the venison. Don’t think of Bambi, don’t think of Bambi. Which, of course, made her think of Bambi.

  She was in the middle of her taste buds hashing it out with her brain when the knock on the door came, sharp and short. The suddenness of the reverberations sent Melinda right out of her chair. Maddie looked equally alarmed.

  “Who is it?” they said at the same time.

  Rebel smiled, looking surprised and pleased and just a little bit wicked. Was it wrong to be jealous of her sister, Melinda wondered? Because Maddie had landed one hell of a hunk. “It’s Nobody.”

  The knock was, if possible, louder this time. “Doesn’t sound like nobody to me,” Melinda said, looking around the trailer for a defensive weapon. Maddie had hinted that Rebel was a psychic or something. Which left the distinct possibility that there was a ghost banging on her door. Which meant a defensive weapon would probably be useless, but she picked up her butter knife anyway, just to be safe.

  “Don’t be a smartass,” Maddie said as she threw a napkin at her husband. She no longer looked alarmed. She actually looked happy. “For Pete’s sake, let him in!”

  “Who?” Melinda repeated. But by the time she got the question out again, Rebel was up and throwing the door open with abandon as Maddie set another spot at the table. Whoever this nobody was, he sure had people hopping to attention.

  “Maddie?” she whispered as a strange voice bit off short words.

  “Rebel’s friend. Don’t worry,” Maddie added. Of course, any time Maddie said that, Melinda had good cause to worry. “He’s not as scary as he looks.”

  “What?” But the question died on her lips as Rebel led someone who decidedly did not look like a nobody—or even a ghost, for that matter—back to the kitchen.

  Scary was not the right word. Rebel’s friend looked terrifying. He was a few inches shorter than Rebel, but he filled the doorway with millimeters to spare as he scanned the room with hard eyes.

  “Mellie, I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine.” The unexpected formality of the moment did nothing to distract her from the cowering fear that had her wanting to get behind the table. “This is Nobody Bodine.”

  Her mouth didn’t move—she was pretty sure it was open, but she was powerless to get it shut. Rebel paused only for a second and then continued without her. “Nobody, this is Melinda Mitchell, of the Columbus, Ohio, Mitchells—Madeline’s sister. She’ll be staying with us for a while.”

  Maybe a while shorter, was all Melinda could think. Because all she could think was that she needed to put a state line between her person and the likes of Rebel’s ‘old friend.’ The man looked like he’d come straight from the UFC cage fight, and she honestly couldn’t tell if he’d won or lost. He had a long scar down his left cheek that didn’t look old and burn marks on his right arm that spoke of nothing good.

  And then he took his cowboy hat—black, of course—off.

  The gasp was out of her mouth before she could stop it. If his face didn’t say brawler, his hair did. It was pulled back into a high, tight braid, but shaved on the sides. That wasn’t the worst of it, though. Not by a long shot.

  Without the hat, his eyes were in the full light. Black as pitch around the edge, with flecks of a lighter brown near the center, the man named Nobody was glaring. At her. Like he was looking for a cage. Then he looked down at her hand.

  She shuddered. As if a butter knife would make a dent in that kind of chest, because that was the kind of chest that had been around the cage match on more than a few occasions. Broad didn’t begin to describe the muscles that were barely contained by a thin gray t-shirt, tucked into a ragged pair of jeans that looked like they’d been through a few fashion cycles. The belt was, hands down, the most fashionable thing about the whole outfit, scars notwithstanding. A huge silver disk, it didn’t seem to fit the man who was wearing it.

  Maybe he won it, she thought as she tried to stop staring in the general direction of his crotch.

  Rebel cleared his throat at the same time Maddie stepped on her toe. “Nobody,” Maddie said, sounding nothing like the terrified Melinda felt. Instead, she sounded more like her normal bossy self. She even had her hands on her hips, like she was going to scold this fearsome man. “Been taking care of …” she glanced at Melinda. “Yourself?”

  Was the woman insane? Would she even think of trying to boss someone as clearly dangerous as this Nobody was?

  “Ma’am,” Something weird was happening, Melinda noticed. The cage-fighter look had bled into something more … embarrassed? Was it possible that this strange man was embarrassed? “It healed real nice. Much obliged.”

  Maddie broke out in a grin that Melinda hadn’t seen since, well, it had to be years. “Glad to hear it. Won’t you join us for dinner?”

  Melinda squeaked. Not that she heard it, but all three eyes turned to look at her. Damn, damn, damn. She needed to get it together and fast, before she managed to embarrass Nobody Bodine right back into fighter. “It’s, uh …” her brain froze. Come on, she scolded herself. Pull it together. “Nice. To meet you.”

  Wonderful.

  The hard lines around Nobody’s eyes flexed. “Ma’am,” he said again, with a short nod of his head in her direction.

  And that was all he said for the rest of the night. Maddie and Rebel didn’t seem to mind—hell, they didn’t seem to mind that Melinda said next to nothing. They carried on as if this whole situation was the most normal occurrence in the world as they argued about whether a sick someone needed a sweat lodge or just bed rest. At one point, Melinda began to wonder if they’d forgotten they even had dinner guests.

  Melinda hadn’t forgotten. She was sitting on Nobody’s right side, and she could not stop staring at the marks up and down his arm. It was a nice arm, if a girl didn’t look at the burns. Matched his chest—broad and ripped. Nothing like the pasty twigs that passed as limbs on all those pretentious asses she normally dated. No, this was a solid man. And now that she’d gotten over her initial shock at his appearance, she was getting a different vibe off him. As she watched him stare at the broccoli like it was an alien substance, she wasn’t getting cage fighter anymore. Which wasn’t to say that he didn’t still look like he’d hold his own. She decided he was a man who fought not by choice, but only when there was no other choice. And he had the scars to prove it. Lord, he had a lot of scars.

  She wasn’t a doctor—never had the inclination, the desire, the focus, and most especially not the grades. Hell, she’d practically passed out when she’d gotten her first period because she couldn’t handle the blood. Maddie had been pasting on the bandages and pulling out the splinters for as long as Melinda could remember. Dad
had been disappointed, sure, but Mom had encouraged her to follow her heart into art, and art was where Melinda had stayed.

  She could not stop staring at the marks. It was art, all right. A horrible collage on a skin canvas.

  They were burns—old ones, she guessed. The newer skin had grown around the semi-circular marks, distorting the topography of his arm. They looked like cigarettes—she’d seen some kids, some of the kids who needed the art the most, that had cigarette burns. She’d called the Ohio Department of Job and Family Services on more that several occasions. She’d fostered Shawna Gell for a month just to keep the girl safe from her father until the Mitchell Foundation provided her grandmother with a bigger apartment. Someone had to look out for the kids. And she was someone.

  He caught her looking, and an angry fire raced out across his cheeks. But he looked away. He didn’t meet her gaze. He didn’t even manage to glare. Nothing.

  Suddenly, she knew with absolute certainty that no one had ever looked out for this strange man. Her heart just about broke.

  “Mellie,” Maddie said with that pay-attention-right-now-or-else tone of voice.

  “Sorry?”

  “I asked you how you liked the venison.” A benign enough question, but Maddie was shooting huge daggers at her. Stop staring, her eyes demanded. Be normal.

  Poor Maddie. Always asking for the impossible.

  “What happened to your arm?”

  The only sound in the room was the clank of silverware hitting ceramic.

  Nobody didn’t move, but somehow, he shrank into himself, as if a man that big could just disappear into thin air in the middle of dinner. Then something happened, something … weird. Like he shimmered on the edges. Was that even freaking possible?

  The hairs on her arms stood, like she’d been shocked. “Mellie,” Maddie hissed under her breath. In the quiet room, it sounded like nails screaming down a chalkboard.

  “They’re older than the one on your face,” she added, sliding her legs out of the way of Maddie’s incoming kick. Melinda knew all of her sister’s moves. And, after all this time, a girl would think that Maddie would know all hers, too. “How did you get that one?”

  Head down, Nobody stood. Moving with all the deliberation of a man who was ready and willing to bulldoze his way out of a tight spot, he settled his hat on his head. Melinda couldn’t take her eyes off him. She felt no fear this time, none. Instead, she was fascinated. What would he do? He’d said all of what, seven words? Would he tell her to go to hell? Break a dish? Cuss her out in Lakota?

  Underneath the brim of his hat, he met her eyes. They were deep in the shadow, but she could see him looking at her. Surprisingly, he wasn’t angry or even a little pissed. She could see a hint of worry shadow his face, but what she really saw was curiosity. Like she wasn’t acting like he thought she’d act. Like he didn’t know what to make of her.

  No, she decided. She didn’t need to be afraid. Not of him.

  Then the corner of his mouth moved—just as slowly as the rest of him, but still. She detected movement. It was a smile, she realized. A blink-and-you-miss-it smile, but all the same, a smile. For her.

  Time seemed to slow down at the same moment the ground opened up. Nothing moved—not Nobody, not her, not Maddie or Rebel or the sun or the moon or the stars above. Everything stopped.

  In that instant, she didn’t feel like the flaky little sister, the artsy-fartsy weirdo, not even the girl who always, always picked the wrong man. In that instant, she felt like a woman in possession of the kind of power she only dreamed about, and maybe that made her a little dangerous, a little to be feared. In that instant, she felt alive—not the treading water she’d been doing for years now, but top-down, damn-the-torpedoes, full-speed ahead alive.

  Because that’s what she looked like in his eyes.

  And then he was gone, so fast and so quiet that all she heard was the sound of the door opening and hoof beats fading into the silence.

  “That went well.” Rebel was already laughing.

  “Mellie,” Maddie groaned. “I can’t believe you did that!”

  “Who was that?”

  “That,” Rebel said with a grin, “was Nobody.”

  Chapter Two

  Morning came way too freaking early. Melinda ignored it as long as she could—she turned her phone off when it chirped at her and pulled the pillow over her head when Madeline knocked.

  However, when her sister stood over her and said, “If you don’t get up right now I’ll dump this water on you,” Melinda was forced to open her eyes.

  Of course, Madeline wasn’t actually holding any water. Instead, she stood there with a perma-scowl on her face and her lab coat on.

  “What?”

  “Get up.”

  Melinda rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

  “I’m leaving in ten minutes,” Madeline said by way of answer as she turned on her heel. “It’s seven miles to the clinic—a hell of a long walk especially if you don’t know the way.”

  Melinda shot a dirty look at her sister’s back. Madeline could be so irritatingly punctual sometimes. Most of the time. It was something that Melinda had never mastered.

  She rolled out of bed, threw on the first tank top and skirt she grabbed and headed to the bathroom. This was technically her first day at her new job. The least she could do was brush her teeth.

  When she got to the kitchen, she found Rebel sitting there. Shirtless. Damn it. Why did her sister have to marry a man who was just so … well, just so? “Morning,” she mumbled, trying to figure out where to look.

  Melinda had no freaking idea how Madeline and Rebel’s relationship worked. The Madeline she’d grown up with was the textbook definition of the uptight, type-A, overachieving control freak.

  Everything that Melinda wasn’t.

  If Melinda’s significant other had been parading around half dressed, Madeline would have thrown a fit. Instead, she walked back into the kitchen, gave Rebel the kind of look that made Melinda all kinds of lonesome, and then reached out and stroked his arm. And his chest.

  Rebel pulled her into his arms. There was giggling. It was terrible.

  Melinda’s cheeks shot red as she tried to find somewhere to look. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Madeline had no luck with men, attracting only the most boring males on the planet. Melinda was the one who’d always had boys panting after her. She was the one who’d had six different guys ask her to prom. She was the one who liked sex—early and often. She was the one who loved everything about men, who never felt weird or awkward around a guy.

  She was the one hiding out at her sister’s house after another horrible break-up, watching her sister canoodle with the sexiest man she’d ever seen.

  Unexpectedly, Nobody Bodine popped into her mind. He was not sexy, not like Rebel was. He was hard and dangerous and scarred. By all rights, she should be terrified of him.

  But there was something about him that was, in fact, kind of sexy. Not like Rebel was—not sensual and easy-going—but still. Maybe it was the hard and dangerous part. Okay, he was hellaciously sexy when he wasn’t scaring the bejeezus out of her. All those muscles—damn. She’d never seen another man quite like Nobody.

  Funny, she’d sort of thought someone had been near the campfire the other night, watching them—her—from behind a tree. Nobody. She didn’t know why she thought it could have been him. Rebel hadn’t seen anyone, and he would know. He was the mystical Indian. Melinda was just the newest crazy white lady. She had to defer to him.

  She’d almost asked Rebel about the strange man, but for once had managed to put the breaks on her mouth. She wasn’t out here to rebound with anyone. In theory, she wasn’t even out here to lick her wounds. Or to be licked. Or do the licking.

  She shook her head. Coffee. Yes. That’s what she should be doing while Madeline and Rebel got all … smoochy. She kept her eyes focused on her feet as she worked her way around the table. She’d stayed up way too late playing with fire. As ir
ritating as it was, Madeline was right. Melinda had a job to do. Caffeine would help.

  “Ready?”

  Madeline’s know-it-all voice snapped her eyes up. Rebel was leaning against the counter, gazing adoringly at his wife. But Madeline looked less like a woman who’d just gotten frisky and more like the one who’d threatened to dump water on her only sister this morning.

  Melinda held up the mug. “Ready.”

  “See you this afternoon,” Rebel called out behind them.

  Once they were in the car, Melinda felt better. Less jealous. She didn’t do well with jealousy. This was just her and Maddie. It felt more normal.

  The clock in the dash said 7:53. Once Melinda got her bearings, she was going to drive her little Civic in all by herself at a more reasonable hour, that was for damn sure.

  They drove in silence. At least it was pretty. Even though it was early, the sun was already bright. The afternoon would be warm—but not sweltering. Not yet—it was only June. In another few months, the heat would be killer.

  They crested a low hill. In the distance was a building that would have been a hovel, if hovels were made of cinder blocks. Madeline slowed. “This isn’t it—is it?”

  Madeline shut off her Jeep’s engine in a flat, dusty lot in front of the ugliest box Melinda had ever seen. “Are you kidding? This is a significant improvement over when I showed up last year. You get the new half,” she added, pointing to the cleaner side.

  Melinda swallowed. “I know you said it was bad, but seriously?”

  Maddie had the nerve to smile. “Seriously. Come on in. I’ll show you what you’ve been working for.”

  First, Madeline took her through the Clinic. She pointed out all the newer equipment that the Mitchell Foundation had helped purchase. Melinda supposed it was all great—and yes, there were a lot of warm fuzzies when Madeline told her about the new x-ray machine and how the art auction Melinda had organized had paid for it.

  But even with that, Melinda couldn’t help notice how crappy everything was. Yeah, everything was clean, but the waiting room chairs were mostly duct-tape, a stack of what might have been phone books once upon a time propped up one leg of the receptionist’s desk. The linoleum looked like it had been scraped clean by angry bears—hungry angry bears—and everything that wasn’t something the Mitchell foundation had paid for looked like it was being held together with twine.