Suzanne Carey - The Bride Price

She just wasn’t sure she had the guts to take him up on his invitation. It was entirely possible that, if she drove out to his house without warning, she’d find that Suzy Horvath had beaten her to the punch.

There was only one way to find out.

“Dad…everybody…I’m developing a nasty headache, probably from poring over court files and driving out to the rez,” she said, employing the local epithet for reservation, “to talk to witnesses without my sunglasses.” She massaged her temples for emphasis. “If it wouldn’t be too detrimental to your fun, I’d like to opt out of cards tonight…take a drive instead. A little fresh air might help.”

Before Dale could try to talk her out of it or offer to come along, the Miners begged off, too. “Red was out at that accident scene until 3 a.m.,” Flossie said. “And, like a fool, I waited up for him. We really aren’t up to counting trump this evening.”

Giving Flossie a grateful look while avoiding her father’s unspoken questions, Kyra snatched up her purse, a cardigan sweater that matched her pullover and her car keys. You’re probably crazy to do this, she chastised herself as she got into the Cherokee and headed northeast on her way out of town. Nothing good can come of it.

At the same time Kyra was heading out the door, David received a call from Suzy Horvath. “I know it’s a little late to call with an invitation, but have you eaten yet?” she asked, when he answered on the first ring. “If not, what do you say I pick up a bottle of wine and some steaks… come out and cook for you?”

Briefly silent, David admitted to himself that, before Kyra had come back into his life, he’d probably have taken her up on it. “Not tonight,” he answered, declining to add a word of explanation.

Her voice betrayed disappointment, incipient jealousy. “Sure I can’t tempt you?” she persisted, her bright, friendly manner failing to hide her urgency.

Though he hated to hurt her feelings, his answer was unequivocal. “Sorry. But I have other plans.”

After hanging up the receiver, David headed back to the island range top in his cozy wood, stone and copper kitchen in order to add some seasoning to the slow-cooked Navajo lamb stew he was making. He wondered if those plans he’d referred to would be realized. The worst that could happen was that he would dine alone, he guessed. In view of his mood, it was probably his second-best option.

He was probably mad to expect that on the strength of a casual, nonspecific invitation, Kyra would materialize. Yet as he’d removed the lamb chunks from the freezer after finishing his day’s work, he’d had her in mind. Wanting her there, in his house, had become an obsession from the day Jody Ann Daniels had informed him she’d be helping her father with Paul’s case.

In a way, this house was built for her, he acknowledged, though he’d never really thought she would set foot in it. He got out the ingredients for the corn dumplings that would steam to delicious tenderness atop the bubbling, aromatic stew his grandmother, Mary Many Horses, had taught him to make.

He, who had balked at marriage when she’d been so eager to wear his wedding ring, had built her a house. If she was everything he remembered, everything he’d dreamed about, he would beg her to wear it now, given half a chance. First, he knew, he’d have to set things straight— plead with her to forgive his young man’s lust for freedom and selfishness.

Arranging the bowl of fresh corn kernels and the dry ingredients on the counter, he decided not to mix them with the butter and milk yet. First, he’d wait a little. Learn to believe in miracles. Though it was getting on toward eight-thirty, it wasn’t too late for her to darken his doorstep.

As she drove northward on Route 89, which seemed a lot less familiar after dark, Kyra was having second thoughts. What an idiot you are for taking his casual remark so seriously, she reproached herself. At the very least, you could have waited a few days…gotten more specific directions. He’s going to think you’re still crazy about him.

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