Delia Kincaid came from anything but a reputable background. Her father, an alcoholic and wife beater, had been put in prison and subsequently executed for the murder of a man he thought was making eyes at his wife. It was through his lineage that flowed the blood of an African ancestor.
Delia’s mother was the great-granddaughter of a Cherokee chief, one that had been forced to leave his Georgia home and travel the Trail of Tears to Oklahoma. Each succeeding generation had been raised in the Cherokee Nation, and some, like her mother, had succumbed to the ravages of alcoholism and poverty.
Delia was a precocious child, though, and dreamed big dreams of breaking the cycle of poverty and alcoholism. She excelled in school and earned a coveted full-ride scholarship to the college of her choice. Her only problem at this point was that she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. So she took a variety of general courses the first couple of years, and then leaned heavily toward business classes for a couple of more years.
By this time, she’d had to go to work full time and take classes part time, so she indulged herself in several classes that were just for fun—photography, oil painting, and a course in basic auto maintenance. She figured since she was now on her own, she ought to know how to take care of her car, since mechanic shops seemed to delight in ripping off women who are ignorant in the ways of cars.
The job she had secured was as a sales associate in Peters and Son Department Store. She had thought at first that it would just serve as a steppingstone to something else. But she hadn’t counted on enjoying it so much. Thanks to her business courses, and a natural talent, she was able to interact with customers in such a way as to endear herself to them and boost store sales as well. Within just a few months, she had been promoted to lead sales associate, and had worked in nearly every department in the store.
But when she was placed randomly in the men’s wear department one day, both she and the store manager knew that was her calling. Because she was beautiful, men gravitated to her. Because she was skillful, men bought clothing, and lots of it. Even the women who shopped with or for their men loved her and came back time and again. Within two years of Delia’s being in charge of the men’s wear department, Peters and Son was outselling all the other stores in the area in men’s wear. The rest of the store prospered, also, due at least in part to Delia’s presence.
The day that Delia waited on Ivan and his grandparents, she had no clue who they were, and to her it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, except that she’d have had butterflies in her stomach. Delia was the sort who would treat a homeless man who came in to shop with just the same courtesy and dignity that she had shown to the Peters family.
The second time that Ivan came in, however, and she thought he might have flirted casually with her, she did get a few butterflies. But it was only because she was attracted to him, not because she knew who he was. Now in her late twenties, Delia was beginning to long to meet Mr. Right. She had dated off and on throughout college, but had never found a man whom she thought she would want to look at over the breakfast table for the rest of her life.
Delia was especially cautious, too, about dating just anyone. Having been partially raised by an alcoholic and abusive father, she was determined that she would never find herself in a situation like that. Ever. She had developed a strong aversion to alcohol and was determined that the man whom she would someday marry would feel the same way as she.
Since she had yet to meet a man like that, Delia contented herself with excelling at her job and enjoying her time off. She had many acquaintances, both at work and in her neighborhood, but only one true friend. That was something else she had learned growing up—not everyone is your friend. It’s good to know a variety of people, to be able to socialize with many, but only take a select few into your inner circle and allow them into your heart.
Delia had met Kendra the first day of college, and they had hit it off right away. They were both of mixed heritage, both from abusive homes, and both far away from home. While Delia was black and Cherokee, Kendra was black and Korean. Even though they had gone their separate ways after college, they kept in daily touch via Facebook and phone texting, with the occasional actual voice-to-voice phone call.
Delia hadn’t been back to Oklahoma since she graduated from college. Her mother had died from alcohol poisoning, and Derek, her only sibling was making the Army his career. She had found a new life in Arizona and wasn’t about to regress. Although her mother was an alcoholic, she had never forgotten that she was the great-granddaughter of a chief, and had instilled that thought in Delia, too. Delia was the one who capitalized on it and was determined to live up to her royal heritage. Between drunken rages, her father claimed, too, to have descended from an African chief. Whether that was true or not, or whether he was trying to compete with his wife’s claims, was irrelevant to Delia. She came from people who had been somebodies, and she was determined to become somebody.
The day that she met Ivan Peters she had a deep-down gut feeling that he would play a significant role in her life. When she saw him again two days later that feeling was confirmed. She didn’t realize that in an indirect way, he was already playing a role in her life just by owning the store in which she worked. She wondered just how he could affect her life when she didn’t even know his name, where he lived, or anything about him. He had paid for his purchases in cash, so there was no record of his name on the transaction.
But she needn’t had concerned herself. Ivan would interject himself into her life in ways that even she couldn’t imagine.