Redeemed Page 6

  Children and Family Services provided an allowance for Kyle’s care. She did dig into her own wallet for his golf classes. Then there was soccer. Kyle’s first year of hockey had kept him amused this past winter.

  As the director of the Aboriginal Student Center at the university, Bridget made an excellent salary that afforded her many extras. Even with Kyle’s extracurricular activities, a house was doable.

  Mrs. Dale continued to take notes, peeking over her clipboard at Adam and Kyle. “How are you today, Ms. Matawapit?”

  “I’m good. How about you?”

  “Busy. There aren’t enough hours in the day.” Mrs. Dale ticked off a box on the sheet of paper.

  Bridget snuck a peek. The woman whom Adam referred to as The Hawk had checked off still uncomfortable regarding Kyle’s progress with his dad. Bridget glanced up at Kyle coloring away and grinning at Adam, both quietly laughing. Adam held a red crayon Kyle had picked out, and he helped color the picture.

  She shifted, clicking her nails against the bottom of the chair.

  “I went swimming... I went for a ride on Uncle Darryl’s four-wheeler... I helped Grandpa polish the important cups after church... I got to watch the stars come up...” Kyle kept coloring. “I always get to watch the stars come up. I never see them here. They’re really bright and pretty at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. There weren’t any dancing lights this time.”

  “Dancing lights?” Adam also kept coloring.

  “Yeah. The green dancing lights in the sky when it’s dark.”

  “He means the aurora borealis,” Bridget piped in.

  “Yeah, that’s the big name Mom calls it.” Kyle giggled and gazed up at Adam.

  Through his dark lashes, Adam peeked at Bridget. More than peeked. His tender look caressed the bare skin of her arms.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Bridget fumbled to call up the notes section on her cell phone. “I have to write a few things out I need to get after work.”

  “I don’t mind.” Adam’s tender gaze kept stroking the gooseflesh peppering Bridget’s skin. “You can join us if you want.”

  Bridget almost dropped the phone. “I’m fine. I need to make a list.” Dammit, she hadn’t meant to snap.

  Mrs. Dale’s bemused expression bordered on laughing at Adam.

  What was the caseworker finding amusing? Adam had a right to try. Kyle was his child. The words Bridget had furiously typed on the phone blurred. Where was her brain? Adam didn’t deserve sympathy. He was a big boy and could defend himself.

  “A wise decision.” Mrs. Dale wrote on her clipboard. “Men who’ve been in the system a long time never change.”

  “Thank you for your observation, but remember, you’re Kyle’s caseworker. I’m quite capable of handling my own personal life.” Bridget made sure iced coated her words.

  Mrs. Dale’s prim mouth moved into a half-moon. Her beady eyes remained gray cement. “I quite agree. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be Kyle’s caregiver, would you?”

  Was that supposed to be a threat? If the old witch thought to stick her nose in the inappropriate place, she was pulling out the gloves on the wrong person. “Adam asked if I’d care for Kyle. Your supervisor agreed.”

  “Yes, she did, based on my recommendation after I interviewed you in my office and assessed your home.” A warning lingered on Mrs. Dale’s words. “You have an excellent job. A condominium. A splendid mode of transportation. You’re... well, you’re not like... you do well for yourself...” She sniffed.

  What had Mrs. Dale meant? There was a ton of racism lingering in the non-aboriginal population of Northwestern Ontario. Bridget had run into those who’d divided the Indigenous people into the good tax-paying Indians who fit neatly into Western Society, and the drunken, drug-addicted, homeless bad Indians who were a drain on the taxpayers. She was nobody’s good little Indian.

  As for tonight, Bridget had promised Adam she’d go to The Gator. If Mrs. Dale found out, she’d probably class Bridget as another drunken Indian who relied on the handouts of society. The hard-assed woman might even terminate Bridget as a caregiver for Kyle.

  She must talk to Adam after. Going to The Gator might prove too risky.

  After dropping off Kyle at Jude’s for an overnighter, Bridget pulled up in the no-parking zone in front of the brown-brick, three-story building. Seven-thirty. The bar scene didn’t liven up until after ten o’clock. They couldn’t go that late because of Adam’s parole curfew.

  To fit in at the bar, she’d kept her dress simple. Jeans, a t-shirt, and sandals. Only a hint of eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss. Her hair was bound in a long braid.

  Adam emerged from the double-glass doors in his customary jeans, t-shirt, running shoes, and cowboy hat. With his hard onyx eyes, firm jawline, and the stony set to his lips, he’d fit right in at The Gator. He swaggered down the walkway and stopped at the truck.

  With the windows lowered, his low whistle carried inside.

  “Nice ride.”

  “Thanks.”

  Adam opened the door. His muscular form consumed the over-sized bucket seat, so much he removed his hat and set it on his lap. His waves of hair kinked. He adjusted the chair all the way back. “Yep. Nice.” He glanced behind him. “A guy could stretch out there, too. You always dug trucks.”

  “We’re in Northwestern Ontario. Trucks are a necessity.”

  “Not too many women drive ‘em in the ‘Peg. Hell, you don’t see many trucks at all. Lots of SUVs instead.”

  “I’m not any other woman.” Bridget slid the floor shifter into gear.

  “That you sure ain’t.” There was a huskiness to Adam’s compliment.

  Warmth crawled along Bridget’s skin. She guided them away from the curb.

  “This an Annihilator edition? Sure is sporty.”

  “Yes.” Pride blossomed in Bridget. She loved her ride—bucket leather seats, ten-speed transmission, four-wheel drive, and a top-of-the-line stereo. There was even a moonroof and sliding back window Kyle preferred over air conditioning.

  “Where’s the boy?”

  “At Jude’s. We won’t be done until after nine. I thought it was best he stayed overnight so he can go to bed on time.”

  “Oh?”

  Bridget stopped at the light. When she turned her head, the breath jumped from her throat at the sight of Adam’s dark eyes that first glittered with distress and then eagerness.

  Chapter Seven: Sympathy for the Devil

  They drove south on Brodie Street. The Gator was at the corner of Brodie and Victoria. Adam kept his visor down because of the sunlight penetrating the interior of the truck.

  He shouldn’t have interfered with Kyle’s evening. His son came first. But having Kyle staying at Jude’s for the night produced a rush of adrenaline that chugged through his veins.

  He squeezed his toes to keep himself in check.

  “About The Gator...” Bridget pressed her lips together. She tapped one long nail on the steering wheel.

  “How’d you do that?” He pointed. Rather sexy.

  Bridget lifted her hand. “Do what?”

  “Get that gradient look. The red’s darker at your cuticle and goes lighter to the tip.”

  “Ask my manicurist. She’s the magician, not me.”

  “They look great.”

  Pink crept onto Bridget’s cheeks.

  Adam’s lungs expanded against his chest. He shifted to face her, what he’d always done in the past because this beautiful woman deserved a man’s undivided attention. Aww shit, this wasn’t going to work. Even in a full-size cab, he couldn’t maneuver into a good position, but if he angled his knee in Bridget’s direction and set his hand on the console between them, she’d get the hint that what she had to say was important to him.

  “I’m worried if Mrs. Dale finds out I’ve been there, she might cause problems. She doesn’t seem to think much of Anishinaabeg.”

  “She doesn’t.” Adam fingered the brim of his hat. “Look, I don’t want you doing
anything you’re not comfortable doing.”

  Didn’t Bridget understand her feelings meant everything to him? If she wasn’t comfortable, then he wasn’t comfortable.

  The pink brightened to red on Bridget striking cheekbones. “I know how the police are. They don’t put much effort into the deaths of our people. I do want to help. She was only sixteen and deserves the truth revealed about her death.”

  “Maybe it’ll help if you know what her ol’ man means to me. What you say we do coffee? We can always go another night if you decide you wanna.”

  “Coffee?”

  “A harmless cup of coffee.” She’d better not think he was out to score. Damned straight he’d give anything to have Bridget beneath him again, her slim thighs spread, sleek arms draping his shoulders, drawing him against her tits, but if anything happened, she’d make the call, not him.

  “Okay. Coffee.” Bridget nodded. “A harmless cup of coffee.”

  Adam pulled at the scooped neckline of his t-shirt where sweat was beginning to form.

  * * * *

  The truck rolled in to the Reggie’s Donuts on Frederica Street, since Bridget had spied Mrs. Dale many times patronizing the establishment on Arthur at this hour. If the caseworker saw Bridget and Adam together, trouble would erupt. At least Adam hadn’t asked why they’d driven so far south.

  She guided the Annihilator into one of the parking spots. Tension skittered across her shoulders.

  They vacated the vehicle. As they walked to the restaurant, Bridget snuck peeks at Adam’s confident swagger, his get out of my way strut. She’d never forget when he’d first walked into the big hall at the job fair, filling the room with his overabundance of testosterone that seemed to seep from his hard muscles.

  Adam pulled on the handle and opened the door.

  Legs moving in short jerks, Bridget ducked inside. Gosh, he still performed every task like a gentleman. She couldn’t believe he’d been raised by an abusive father. Raised was a joke. Adam’s older sisters had cared for him since his mother had been too busy bar-hopping. Maybe being the only boy in the family and the youngest had something to do with his view of women.

  “How’re your sisters?” Bridget fought for long strides, even as she jerked to the counter where a young girl stood.

  Adam shrugged. He stared at the menu board. “Same ol’. Same ol’.”

  Since he most likely didn’t have any money, Bridget withdrew her wallet. “I got this.”

  Folding his arms until his biceps bulged, Adam grunted and hardened his gaze at the juice cooler.

  Irritation crept under Bridget’ skin. If he hadn’t leapt off the wagon into a vat of alcohol, he’d have money, so he could stuff his male ego back into his jeans pocket.

  Once Bridget paid for their coffees, she directed them to the table by the window, far from the only other couple in the restaurant. She took the chair facing the street. Instead of sitting opposite her, Adam dropped in the adjacent chair.

  Finger-like caresses teased Bridget’s thighs, threatening to invade a spot very much off-limits. She gripped the coffee mug. Adam studied her the way he used to, his gaze tracing her skin, stroking her arm, feathering her taut hand.

  “You—you wanted to tell me about your friend.” She snatched her braid and twisted the uncoiled ends around her fingers.

  “Always did that whenever you were nervous.” Adam used his chin to motion at the braid. “Played with your hair.”

  In her most business-like voice, she choked out, “Your friend?”

  “Cutter.” Adam’s big hands smothered the mug he cupped.

  “He was at Stony?” Bridget spoke right away before her brain ran off at his hands overpowering everything and anything, and the way they’d once... She coughed.

  “Yep.” Adam sipped the coffee. “Was my recovery sponsor.”

  “When’s he getting out?” Her heart shifted to a slower gear, and she high-fived herself at being back in control.

  Adam’s eyes moved up and to the right. He frowned. “Hard to say.”

  “What’s he in for?”

  “Murder.”

  The saliva drained from Bridget’s throat. She fought to spill the words from her mouth. “A murderer was your sponsor?”

  “He’s a good man.” Adam sipped more coffee. “He’d already served ten years before I got sent down below.”

  “Ten years? That’s a long time.” What kind of prison allowed a murderer to sponsor someone?

  “It is. Just ‘cause someone’s gotta live out their life in the iron house doesn’t mean they gotta do it the way everyone expects them to.”

  “He found religion?” Emery had mentioned many prisoners turned to God while incarcerated.

  “Nope. He found himself.”

  “Himself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “Did his own version of a vision quest. Gave him direction. He’s big in the Aboriginal Healing Program. Sweat lodge. Twelve-step recovery.”

  “He worked with an elder?” Emery had said elders could conduct the programs for Indigenous men.

  “Yep. Still works with the old guy. Introduced me to him.”

  “What happened? How did... Cutter... end up in there?”

  The look Adam directed at Bridget said only innocent ten-year-olds were dumb enough to ask such a question.

  “It’s only a question.” She drew back her shoulders.

  “You don’t ask a man why he’s doing time.” Adam withdrew his cigarettes from his shirt pocket.

  Bridget stood to do what she used to do—head outside so Adam could have his cigarette.

  They carried their mugs, nodding at the girl behind the counter who’d probably witnessed many people going outside to have a quick smoke before coming back inside.

  Bridget should buy Adam one of those e-cigarettes. There were many shops around the city that sold them. “Did you ever try an e-cigarette?”

  “You mean a vape?” Adam held open the door.

  “Oh? That’s what it’s called?” When Bridget stepped outside, the warm air caressed her skin, and the smell of fresh doughnuts vanished.

  “Yeah. Nobody says e-cigarette. They say vape.”

  “Vape?”

  “‘Cause of the vapor it produces. Y’know—I’m going outside to vape.” Adam meandered toward the stand where a person could deposit their leftover cigarette butts.

  “Vape is used as a verb and a noun?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. I heard they come in all kinds of flavors.”

  “Too expensive.” Adam slid the smoke between his lips and tilted his head to set the tip in the lighter he’d flicked.

  Vaping couldn’t be any more expensive than smoking. From what Bridget heard, the taxes on cigarettes were enormous in Canada, even when someone purchased tax-free smokes at the reserve outside the city.

  “You never found out why Cutter”—how strange to call a man by his prison name—”was in Stony?”

  “I told you. Murder.”

  “What happened?”

  “Kwe...” His dark eyes narrowed. He puffed on the cigarette. The smoke curled upward. “You’re still full of a million questions.”

  “I think I have a right to know.” When Bridget folded her arms beneath her breasts, Adam’s gaze followed. Nor did his eyes shift elsewhere. Heat blanketed her underwear. She widened her stance, anything to cool off. But having her legs open meant... She set her feet together.

  “Okay. For you.” Adam sucked on the smoke, his hard stare killing the traffic. “He went down for second degree. His lawyer tried to argue self-defense, but the Crown wasn’t buying.”

  “Second degree is murder not premeditated.”

  “Gang-related.” Adam puffed again on the smoke. “They marked him.”

  Bridget gasped.

  “He was laying low at his ol’ lady’s. According to her, she said they threatened her into giving him up. They came. He shot and killed one. The other got away.�
��

  “Why did they mark him?”

  “Long story.” He licked his lips. “I did it, kwe. Got my diploma.”

  “I know. You said so in one of your letters.” She’d let him change the subject.

  “In time, gonna visit your center.”

  “Anything in particular you’re considering?”

  “Won’t be for another year. Wanna see how this job pans out. Worked in the kitchen in the iron house. Learned lots.”

  “You were always an excellent cook.” The memory of Adam grinning away in the kitchen, his booming laugh carrying through the condo while he whipped up another specialty, floated across Bridget’s eyes. “How’s your job going?”

  “Supervisor’s a good guy. Other kitchen staff are good. No dicks... yet.”

  “If there were... dicks?” Bridget shivered at the way Adam’s jaw had always molded to steel whenever someone had upset him.

  “That’s where the program comes in.” Adam kept puffing on the cigarette.

  The anger simmering beneath Adam’s skin failed to appear, such as when his upper lip used to curl, or when he’d run his thumb across the tips of his fingers, contemplating whether to hit someone.

  The thickness pushing against Bridget’s chest vanished. “Was Sheena his only child?”

  Adam flicked away the cigarette butt. “Nope. He has four boys and another girl. Three are back at his rez. The other two are in the ‘Peg.”

  “What about Cutter’s exes?”

  “One’s living with someone else. Not sure of the others. Sheena’s mother’s dead. Cirrhosis. Died while Cutter was doing his time.”

  “Is that when Sheena went into care?”

  “Yep.”

  “What does Cutter want you to do exactly?”

  “Find out what happened to Sheena.”

  Would Cutter go after Sheena’s caregivers? Men in prison still had contact with their gangs from the inside, and many of the gang members were also behind bars. “What’s he going to do if he learns the truth?”

  “Never asked.”