Kimberly Van Meter - Sworn to Protect

“I will,” she replied, but he didn’t believe her. She sighed in irritation and he welcomed the sound. “I have enough food to feed an army. I’ll pick something or else Mya will start an IV drip. Don’t laugh, she’s actually threatened me.”

“Good.” He approved of his sister’s threat. Iris was fading away and he didn’t like that at all. He walked to the door, turning as he let himself out, saying, “Make sure you lock this right after I leave. And if you take Saaski out, keep him on the leash so he doesn’t run. He’ll need a few days to get used to your place. Best to keep him in the house unless he’s needing to relieve himself.”

Iris nodded as she rose to follow his instructions. The door closed behind him and he heard the lock sliding into place. A short but wry smile fitted to his mouth. That right there—Iris doing as she was told—was a surefire sign that she wasn’t all there yet. Iris, as a rule, never did as she was told.

Especially when the instruction came from him.

Hard to believe he actually wanted the old Iris back.

Sundance walked into The Dam Beaver, the place where Iris last remembered being, and after his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he approached the bartender and flashed his credentials.

He’d been here right after the incident with Iris, but he liked to remind people that he was still on the case even if everyone else had moved on in their interest level.

When it had first happened, the talk among the tribe had been about the unexpectedly violent attack but now, it was old news.

“You’re killing business,” Butch grumbled, leaning against the bar with a frown. A few patrons cast furtive glances Sundance’s way as they ambled away. He let them go but he made sure they knew he’d seen them. Butch sighed and grabbed a towel to sop up the wet spots left behind. “What can I do for you?”

“I want to talk to you again about the night one of your patrons was attacked.”

“Come on, Sundance,” he said, scowling, “how many times do I have to tell you that I don’t know anything about no woman getting attacked. Whatever happened to her, happened outside of my place.”

Sundance narrowed his stare at Butch. “That night was karaoke. What was the crowd like? Anyone stand out? Maybe someone who wasn’t local?”

Butch grumbled under his breath but made a show of searching his memory. Unfortunately, the surly bartender failed to pull anything of value from his brain. He shrugged. “Karaoke always brings in the numbers and it’s hard to separate the locals from the off-rez, you know? Besides, I’m too busy slinging drinks to ID every Tom, Dick and Harry who walks in.”

Frustration ate at Sundance. “You know it was Iris who was attacked. You’ve known her since she was a kid. Hell, you probably served her mother back in the day. Doesn’t it bother you that whoever did this was in your bar?”

Butch glowered then looked away, shamed. “I’m real sorry she got banged up. She’s a good girl. I never had no problems with her.”

“Yeah, well, show you care by giving me a bit more cooperation. I’m trying to catch whoever did this to her.”

“Can’t give you what I don’t got,” he maintained stubbornly, but when he realized Sundance wasn’t going anywhere until he left with something useful, he added, “I’ll keep my ear open for anything. People start to drinking, their mouths start to flapping. Maybe someone saw something. I’ll let you know if anything important comes up.”

Sundance handed him a card. “You do that.” He turned and surveyed the motley group huddled in small clusters. Given that it was midday, the place was nearly empty. He could imagine how quickly it filled at night. No doubt Butch Jones enjoyed the monopoly of having the only bar on the reservation. He’d have to return on a karaoke night to see what kind of crowd the bar attracted. He’d never been a fan of karaoke himself. Mya had tried to talk him into giving it a try, simply for the entertainment value, but Sundance didn’t believe in “letting his hair down” as Iris had put it one time when she’d accused him of being as rigid as an oak. He failed to see how listening to a bunch of tone-deaf drunks doing their best to murder their favorite songs was good fun. He’d rather spend the time fishing or camping. Alone.

He left the bar and headed for the cramped building he called an office that also served as a detainment center/jail for anyone on the reservation who got caught breaking the law. Since the reservation was so small, he was a one-man army as far as law enforcement went and he took that responsibility seriously. He knew the troublemakers and the ones who were harmless nuisances. He also knew who to keep a firm hand on to keep from going bad. And not having a clue as to who had nearly killed Iris in such a brutal attack kept him up at night.

He pulled up and saw Chad Brown waiting for him. Chad hailed him with a wave and a friendly smile, that he returned. “I figured if I waited long enough you’d come along eventually,” he said. “Just thought I’d stop by and say hello. I had a few free minutes in between running errands.”

“You settling in okay? Not getting lost or anything, are you?” he teased his friend.

Chad chuckled. “It’s good to see some things don’t change. It feels good to prowl around the old stomping grounds. Weird, but good. I’d have thought there’d been some things that were different but, nope, everything looks the same. Down to the cracked wallpaper in the men’s bathroom of The Dam Beaver. Damn, doesn’t Butch know that’s unsanitary?”

Sundance laughed. “I try not to frequent the bar if I can help it. You might try it.”

“Quite possibly excellent advice, but I think drinking at home alone says something about you, doesn’t it?” Chad winked.

Sundance laughed and gestured to the station. “Come on in, I’ll show you around, not that the tour is extensive or anything. It’ll take all of five minutes and that’s if I draw it out and show you the backyard.”

“Hey, at least that’s five minutes not spent being my dad’s errand boy, so I’m game.”

Sundance chuckled. He didn’t know the Director of Indian Affairs well—he was just a kid when they’d lived on the reservation—but he’d heard through other channels he was a bit of a bear most times. He supposed working for him—family or not—was probably a major pain in the butt. Sundance went to his minifridge and offered Chad a soda. “Root beer or cola. Sorry no alcohol. Pick your poison.”

“I’m a root beer man,” Chad answered with good humor, accepting the cold beverage. He cracked it and took a good slug. “So, what’s it like being the law here?”

Sundance shrugged, cracking his own soda. “It’s honest work. So, what can I do for you?” he asked.

Chad smiled. “Still, the same old Sundance…to the point. Well, here goes…as you know, my father has given me the title of reservation liaison, that means absolutely nothing in terms of pay grade but means he gets to stay hobnobbing with the bigwigs and I get to do all the travel. I wondered if you might help me get to know the community again so that I’m not a total outsider. I don’t think anyone but you remembers me from when I was a kid.”

“You’d be surprised. Memories are long here,” Sundance said, adding with mock seriousness. “That, for you, might not be a good thing. Remember that time you shaved Miss Mamie’s cat? Yeah, well, she’s still alive and there’s nothing wrong with her memory.”

Chad shuddered. “Damn, she must be a fossil by now. All right, I’ll just take my chances on my own then. Some friend you are,” he said with a snort.

“Hey, don’t blame me. I told you not to shave that cat. You didn’t listen. That’s your cross to bear.”