Chapter Fifty

“But you wanted me to get a job,” Karl said, wincing as his voice edged toward a whine.

“Not by stealing our cultural heritage!” Molly had her lower lip outthrust, which wasn’t helping Karl with his thinking, because he just wanted to bite it. Main Street was deserted and the going was slow in the deep snow.

They’d already brought Cookie to Frannie McIntyre, the local vet who lived just outside town. Frannie had a back-up generator on her little clinic and had assured Karl she could patch up Cookie, even as the bitch had been growling nastily at the vet. Good thing Frannie kept a supply of extra strong muzzles just for the sled dogs.

He sighed heavily as they crossed the street to the Laughing Loon Café, which was missing its front window. Marie was going to be real pissed about that. Sam had asked them to rummage up whatever supplies remained so they could feed their prisoners and possibly keep them from freezing. Karl was of the opinion that freezing mafiya thugs wouldn’t be such a bad thing, but he wasn’t the police, so…

They both looked up as a white pickup steered slowly around the corner of Fourth and onto Main. It drew to a stop before the Laughing Loon Café. Tick opened the front passenger door and jumped down next to them.

He slammed the door shut and thumped it. “Thanks!”

The driver, wearing a baclava and brown insulated coveralls, waved a leather mitten-clad hand and pulled away.

Karl stared at Tick. “Where the hell have you been, man?”

“Got stuck out past 52, spent two nights in the squad car, and then hitched a ride into town. You cannot believe the crap forty-eight hours I’ve had. Only half a Snickers and an old granola bar to eat, melted snow to drink. Right out of one of those survival shows.” Tick shook his head. “Hey, what happened to the window of Tracy’s Antique Shop?” He glanced around across the street and did a classic double take. “What. The. Hell?”

Karl grinned. The municipal building—and indeed most of Main—was looking the worst for wear. “We’ve had a bit of trouble ourselves. Better check on Sam, he’ll fill you in. He’s in the police station.”

“Uh… sure,” Tick said faintly. He stumbled across the street.

Karl pushed open the door to the Laughing Loon Café and got back to important business. “I didn’t steal any cultural heritage,” he patiently explained—again. “I made the arrowheads myself, which means—Hey! I’m actually promoting our Native American heritage by making the tools of our ancestors.”

He turned to grin in triumph at Molly, only to be met by the Stare of Exasperation, which, sadly, he had quite the experience with. “Karl, you’re not promoting anything by making fake arrowheads. It’s got to be breaking some kind of law to sell fake artifacts under pretenses.”

“I never actually say the arrowheads are artifacts,” Karl pointed out. “Is it my fault that people on eBay see my ad and think the arrowheads are ancient?”

“Yes,” Molly said decisively. She stepped into the kitchen and began going through drawers, although how she was going to find crackers in there, he didn’t know.

Karl kicked the floor, which only hurt his toe. “It took me a lot of practice to make those arrowheads. It’s, like, a true talent. Do you want to suppress my natural creativity?”

She snorted at that, not even bothering to look around.

He watched her a minute, her hands working neatly and swiftly, as she rummaged through the drawers. A sort of longing welled up in him. He’d give away everything he had—his trailer, his truck, and his dogs—just to have Molly in his life. She was all he’d ever wanted, really.

“Molly,” he said softly, creeping up behind her. His hands hovered over her shoulders. He wanted to touch her but was afraid of her reaction. “Molly, ’member when we were kids and you showed me how to bait a hook? And I showed you how to catch crayfish in the rocks? Do you remember laying out under the stars and you could name every one?”

She’d stopped rummaging, stilling as she listened to him. “Not every star.”

“It seemed like every star to me,” he said low and he dared to lay his hands on her shoulders. They were just the right height. “You knew the planets and the constellations and… and everything, Molly.”

She breathed quietly under his hands.

“You’re the prettiest woman on the reservation. Or even outside it,” he said, going all out. “The prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

She turned, her brows knit and her voice sounded impatient. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, you are to me.”

Her eyes widened, and he felt for the first time in days that she was actually listening to him.

“I’m not educated like Walkingtall,” he admitted. “And I’m not as tall as he is—”

She snorted again. “I don’t care about that.”

He smiled. “Good. I know I’m not everything you want me to be, but Molly, I can try to be. For you.”

She looked distressed at that, and he wondered what he’d said wrong until she laid her mittened hands on his chest and said, “You don’t have to change for me. I just want you to live up to your full potential.”

“But I am,” he said, very earnestly, because maybe she didn’t see. “I know I don’t make a whole lot of money, and I probably never will, but I help out. I fixed Mrs. Thompson’s kitchen sink and didn’t charge a dime, although I did eat the stew she made for me. I brought Crazy Ole a mess of sunnies just last week and even stayed to hear his war stories. I volunteer-coach midget hockey, and we might even win a game this year. I might not be a lawyer or a doctor, but I don’t know that the rez needs more lawyers or doctors. Maybe it just needs people to help out. People like me.”

“Oh, Karl,” Molly said, sounding helpless and tender.

And he brought it home, leaning in to whisper, “I’ll give up my arrowhead making, I’ll give back the twenty-five thousand to that guy I already sold a couple of arrowheads to. Hell, Molly, I’ll even give up my mushing if you want. Just… just give me a chance.”

He kissed her and it was just like in the movies, if the movies took place in a back kitchen without any heat, but that didn’t matter because between them they made heat, Molly and him. He saw stars, he heard trumpets, and he was pretty sure he was on his way to heaven when Molly pulled back.

“How much did you sell those arrowheads for?”