Against Me (Cedar Tree Book 3) (3 page)

"Come have dinner with me tonight? I'll save you a spot in the dining room."

His hopeful expression has my determination of ‘not to get too attached,’ wavering. At least once or twice a week he asks me to have dinner with him in the dining hall, and I have a hard time refusing the man. He apparently has children, but I rarely see anyone come and visit him.

"I'll be there. Five o'clock okay?"

One of the things I’m still getting used to is the food service hours. Based mostly on the needs and desires of the seniors, who make up about eighty-five percent of the population here, it’s unusually early for me. Not that I have a particular time for any meal, I’ve just been used to eating on the run most of my life. This type of structure is a bit confining for me, but when in Rome and all that.

The response I get from Juan is a big smile and two thumbs up.

Encouraged by the best physio session so far this afternoon, I make my way over to the table where Juan has reserved a spot for me.

"So what's on the menu for tonight?" I ask him, wheeling my chair up to the table.

"Grilled chicken or lasagna," he smiles, already knowing what my favorite will be.

"No-brainer. Lasagna of course," I confirm.

"Love to see a woman enjoying her food. I can't stand those people who fuss over every bite they put in their mouths. Have you noticed that most of those folks seem unhappy?"

I laugh, having heard this theory of his before.

"You know I have no problems enjoying food. Heck, look at me. I've indulged a bit too much lately," I motion to my uncooperative body that’s been getting softer and softer over the past months.

Juan just shakes his head at me. "Men like to feel the softness of a woman, my dear. Don't doubt that for a minute."

I’m relieved at the interruption when a server comes to the table and asks our choice of meal. Both of us order lasagna and Juan gives me a conspiratory wink. Cheeky old geezer.

"So, tell me how the search for your birth family is coming along?" he prompts me.

When my father died three years ago, I was going through some boxes from his office and found adoption records. It completely threw me off; I’d never been told that I was adopted. I’d always figured I'd had shitty luck for parents, but until that moment, I hadn't realized I had shitty luck times two. Go figure. My first parents give me up for adoption, and the second set of parents made me feel like a burden. Part of me is relieved to find that the people who raised me did not in fact create me. I just hope my genetic donors are a bit more... let's say, palatable.

I haven't been in touch with my mother for years, not since she walked out when I was fourteen. I couldn't tell you if she's alive or not. I never did much with the discovery of my adoption, not until I came to Larchwoods. With nothing better to do, and Gus not letting me in on any cases, finding out more about my biological parents seems like the closest I'll get to an investigation. A bit of a diversion, I suppose, although I must admit that it’s become more than just a passing of time. Juan is the only one I've told about my search for my family so far, and he's been very encouraging.

"I've narrowed the adoption lawyers' names down to a handful of candidates, but no one I talk to seems to want to provide answers, not as long as there’s a possibility my adoptive mother is alive somewhere. First, I'll have to find her."

I know there’s a quick way to get some answers, but I don't really want to involve Caleb or GFI at this point in time. Call it being stubborn, but this is something I want to do for myself, if only to prove that I'm not completely useless.

"H
ow is she really doing?" Emma has me pinned down in the kitchen of her and Gus's newly renovated house.

"Hard to tell. She recovered most of her basic skills without much effort, but using her legs seems to be an unexpected challenge. I'm thinking she’s losing faith."

"I would if I were stuck in a facility with mostly seniors. I don't care how good a reputation this place has, being surrounded by elderly people all day, every day, must become depressing at some point, don't you think?"

I can tell Emma is working up to something. She has this diplomatic way of laying out the groundwork in order to get her point across more effectively. Curious to see what she has up her sleeve, I nod my agreement.

"Excellent. I knew you'd be on board," she smiles brilliantly.

Wait. What did I miss here? I can't remember agreeing to anything, but the big grin on Emma's face tells me I'll find out soon enough.

"I have already talked to Faith's therapist, and she says she will even come work with her at home if needed."

Faith is Seb's younger sister who also suffered a head injury, but at a much younger age and frankly, with much more devastating results. Confined to not only her wheelchair, but with the capacity and mental maturity of an eight or nine-year-old. She lives in a nursing facility in Cortez.

"Wait a second. What home? Katie doesn't have a home anymore. She let go of her apartment in Grand Junction and hasn’t explored any other options."

Emma smiles like the cat that got the canary. "Of course she has a home. Now that you’re buying your own place in town, the guesthouse is free, and what more perfect place since it’s completely accessible."

My boss's wife has rheumatoid arthritis, among other things, that has limited her physical abilities. Not that that would ever slow down Emma. Good lord, no. The woman can be like a bulldozer if you don't watch it.

"Uhm, Emma? Have you discussed this idea with Katie? Or even with Gus? I mean, the two do have a history. They might not be as comfortable with this idea of yours."

I hate bursting her bubble, but the reality is that Katie was hurt when Gus fell in love with Emma. I'm pretty sure there’d been some hope that her occasional entanglements with Gus might’ve turned into something more. Not that she ever told me, but I’m able to read that woman like a book. Katie might not be so eager to live with the daily view of something she missed out on, and I have a feeling Emma may not have considered all the emotional pitfalls that Katie's moving here might open up. Sounds like a potential minefield to me.

The brilliance has gone off Emma's smile, but she shrugs her shoulders and stands as tall as she can. "I know Gus wouldn't hesitate in welcoming Katie if it meant she'd have some friends around her to motivate her. And Katie, well, I had hoped you might broach the subject with her."

It's been three weeks since I forced Katie to come with me for the re-opening of Arlene's Diner, and although she finally conceded, it wasn't entirely convincing.

I'm a selfish bastard, I know. It was as much for my benefit as hers. I'm ready to make Cedar Tree my home. I even bought property, but I can't see moving here with Katie stuck in Grand Junction, keeping herself locked away in that damn hospital like a hermit. I’m not gonna let her hide out there licking her wounds for much longer. I want her to reconnect to people and know she has a safe place. The hospital isn't it.

Ever since she was attacked, while on protective detail last year, she’s withdrawn from everyone she knows. I suspect in part because the person she was protecting was her boss's new girlfriend, but I wouldn't be surprised if she wasn't partially relieved not to have to see her ex-lover with his new woman on a regular basis. I know Gus felt pretty casual about their former relationship, but I’m not so sure about Katie. Add to that little fiasco a blow to the head – so fucking hard that she had to relearn even the most basic of things – and it's not surprising she wants to crawl in a hole. Not that I'd let her, but still.

I want her close. It's that simple. For years I've watched her keep everyone at a safe distance, even Gus, our boss with whom she had a relationship at the time, had not been able to penetrate the determined and independent barrier Katie pulls up around her, but I can see the secret longing there. Always have, and from day one, I've felt the urge to scale those walls, but I've bided my time.

Not like me to tread on someone else's territory for one, and for another, I don't think she was near ready for me.

The moment I saw her lying crumpled in that hallway, blood pooling away from the gash in her head and not knowing whether she was dead or alive, all that changed. Fuck ready. The thought I might have lost her before ever having had her still makes me break out in cold sweat. Not a chance in hell I was going to let her get too far from me, be it physically or emotionally.

"Hey Caleb. Been here long?" Gus walks into the kitchen with a chin lift to me, then turns to Emma to corner her against the counter for a kiss I probably shouldn't be witness to.

"Mmmmmm, followed the scent of baking in. Smells good in here, Peach."

Hard to miss the mouth-watering fragrance coming from Emma's oven. She provides her friend Arlene's diner in town with all their fresh baked pies and has quite a collection lined up on her counters already.

Emma smiles at him, "Don't worry, I have one of your favorites put aside."

"Great. Caleb, wanna pop in my office? I have a new case I wanna go over with you."

"Sure." I grab my coffee and follow him into the new addition that was recently built onto their bungalow. It houses the new offices of GFI, the security and investigative company that I have committed myself to working full-time for now. The decision hadn't been too hard. After my years as a Ranger, working free-lance suited my need to feel independent, but for the last while, I’ve been wanting to set down some roots. Funny, for the longest time all I wanted to do was to fucking rip out every last one of my roots, but a lot of anger and bitterness I nurtured when I was younger has long since dulled to a slight bruise. Leftovers from growing up on the reservation.

Now with Katie's future uncertain, I feel even more set to find some stability. For me, and hopefully for her.

"Sit," Gus indicates the chair on the other side of his desk, which is littered with maps and pictures.

"A small plane crashed just outside of Shiprock, New Mexico, about a week ago. Pilot died on impact. The single passenger was rushed to the hospital, but died a few hours later. Close to a hundred pounds of meth was recovered from the wreckage."

A whistle escapes my lips. "That's near a million and a half street value. Airplane? You thinking cartel?"

Gus nods. "That's what the feds are going with, especially since they believe the passenger to have been Hernan Duarte, the youngest of three brothers running the Agave cartel. Last three years, the cartel has been slowly making its way north from the Jalisco region of Mexico, up the West coast and across the border into the United States. They haven't been able to pin connections, but suspect crystal meth is being fed into the US through some reservations in the Four Corners region."

When he looks at me his eyes are solemn.

"You want me for my connections to Shiprock," I say, perhaps a bit short.

"The feds want you. You have a reputation as a tracker and you grew up on the reservation. I understand what I'm asking you is opportunistic and probably not easy for you but fuck, Caleb. Those kinds of numbers scare me. What it translates to on the streets scares me, and what it will do to the reservations scares me. All of it scares the crap out of me."

I drop my head in my hands. Jesus. For years, I've avoided going back as much as possible, not wanting the reminders of either the good times that won't come again, or the bad ones that are too fresh in my mind still. I can count the times I've returned home on one hand.

I grew up on the reservation near Shiprock, New Mexico - in a pretty regular family. My dad was a carpenter by trade, but did a lot of local general contracting work. Mom chose to stay close to home and take care of us kids―three of us. I was the oldest, my sister Nascha followed behind me, and my brother, Malachi, closed out the trio. A normal childhood, enriched by our culture and never crippled by it, not until in the short span of three months, cancer took out my sister and left devastation in its path. She was only fifteen. I was a year older and had seen my mom become a shadow of grief, no room left for anything more than the pain she carried. My pop found solace in a bottle and lost all care.  I was angry and made some seriously fucked up choices I wish I could take back, but Malachi... poor Mal was only twelve years old at the time and had no one to steer him straight, so he sank to the bottom.