Page 31 of His Tenth Dance

He wanted her to know more about him, and the only way that would happen was if he talked to her. He’d lost a little bit of sleep last night just thinking about such a thing. But now, he tucked his phone away and said, “I won’t ask Molly then. Do you have a hair-cutting kit?”

“I used to,” she said. “I can get another one.”

He nodded and took both of her hands in his. “Did you decide on what kind of pizza you want?”

“I want to try the pan-style Hawaiian,” she said. “But with Alfredo sauce, not red sauce. Will they let you do that substitution?”

He looked down at her fingers with her manicured nails, though she wore no polish. “They let you do whatever you’re willing to pay for, kitten.”

He lifted his eyes just enough to look at her face and catch a smile.

“Great,” she said. “Then that’s what I want.”

“You want a salad or anything?”

“Yeah, a garden salad would be great.”

“Let me order, and then we can talk about where we want to go to eat and watch the sunset.”

She nodded, and Mission pulled his hands back to send in the order. He did it via text, and with the message sent, he looked up again.

“You can text San Diego’s?”

“Yep,” he said.

“And they deliver out here?”

“It’s an extra charge,” he said. “But totally worth it.”

He took her hand again, and this time, led her into the living room. He sat on the couch first, hoping she’d choose to cuddle in next to him the way she had at her house last night. She did, and Mission traced a slow circle on her shoulder.

His nerves tightened his vocal cords and rendered him silent, but he knew he needed to tell her more about his past. He hoped and prayed that would allow her to open up about hers as well.

“I was raised by my grandparents,” he said. “In this tiny town called Steel Blade, in New Mexico.”

“Is that right?” Kristie asked, her voice barely more than a murmur.

“Yes,” Mission said. “From about the time I was two or three. That’s always what Granddad says.” He gave a light chuckle that didn’t really hold any happiness.

“See, my mom and dad weren’t married. And my momma wasn’t ready to be a momma, so she ran off and left me with my dad when I was a baby. My dad tried, but Granddad says he just didn’t have it in him, and he dropped me off at their place and left town too.”

“Wow,” Kristie said. “I’m so sorry.”

“My grandparents were good people,” Mission said. “But quiet. Steeped in Navajo tradition though my grandmother was White. I wasn’t great at reading, or math, or writing—or any of it—and to stay out of trouble, I got a job at a farm on the outskirts of town.”

Kristie rested her hand on his knee, and Mission dang near jumped out of his skin. He settled down and said, “I was only twenty when Paul Bluefeather made me foreman.”

Kristie turned her head and looked at him then. Mission simply gazed down at the denim where her hand sat.

“I did my best, but I think I was a lot like my dad—I didn’t have it in me.”

“That’s just not true,” Kristie said. “You’re the foreman now.”

“Twenty-three years later,” he said.

“Only twenty-two,” she whispered.

Mission finally looked at her, but he couldn’t muster up the courage to smile. He didn’t mind their back-and-forth, and he actually liked that Kristie felt comfortable enough to speak her thoughts.

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