True Colors

Gradually the pavement ended, turned into gravel. Here, there were no well-swept sidewalks, no pots filled with flowers hanging from streetlamps, no merchants looking to sell souvenirs. There was just a rocky bit of road that led to a big parking lot. On the water side was Ted’s Boatyard and the alley that led to Cat Morgan’s ramshackle waterfront house. To their right, stuck back in a weedy lot, was the Outlaw Tavern. Multicolored neon beer signs decorated the windows. Moss furred the flat roof and grew in clumps on the windowsills. Beat-up trucks filled the parking lot.

Inside the tavern, they wound through the familiar crowd and around the stuffed grizzly bear that had become the tavern’s mascot. Someone had hung a bra from his outstretched paw. Smoke blurred everything, softened the tawdry edges. Behind them the band pounded out a barely recognizable version of “Desperado.”

When they reached the bar, the bartender poured three straight shots and set them in front of three empty stools.

“How’s that for service, girls?” Bud said.

Aurora laughed and sat down first. “It’s why we never miss a Friday night.”

Chapter Five

The Outlaw Tavern was filled with the regular Friday night crowd. While the band played a watery, slowed-down version of “Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys,” couples line-danced across the parquet floor. Vivi Ann sat at her usual barstool, swaying to the music. She had a nice buzz going. Swiveling on her seat, she looked for someone to dance with, but couldn’t find anyone who wasn’t already paired up. Aurora and Richard were back at the pool tables playing a game with some friends, and Winona was deep in conversation with Mayor Trumbull.

Vivi Ann was about to turn back around to the bar when she noticed the Indian standing by the cash register. Anyone unknown would have stood out in this crowd of locals, but she was certain that this guy would be noticeable in any crowd. With his long hair and dark skin and hawkish features, he looked a little like Daniel Day-Lewis in that upcoming movie, The Last of the Mohicans.

He caught her looking at him and smiled.

Before she could turn around or pretend she hadn’t seen him, he was coming toward her. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t make herself move.

“You wanna dance?”

“I don’t think so.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite change the harshness of his face. “You’re afraid. I get it. Nice white girls like you are always scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Good.” He reached for her hand, took it in his. She noticed the roughness of his skin—so different from Luke’s—and the possessiveness of his grip as he pulled her onto the dance floor and into his arms. The way he did it surprised her; even more surprising was the tiny thrill she felt.

“I’m Dallas,” he said at a lull in the music.

“Vivi Ann.”

“You got a boyfriend? That why you keep looking around? Or you afraid the neighbors won’t like you dancing with an Indian?”

“Yes. No. I mean—”

“Where is he?”

“Not here.”

“I bet he treats you like some kind of pretty little treasure. Like you’ll break if he’s too rough.”

Vivi Ann drew in a breath and looked up at him. “How do you know that?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled her close and kissed her.

For a split second—she was sure it was no longer that that—Vivi Ann felt herself giving in.

Then someone was pulling her away from Dallas. A group of men crowded forward, pushing her out of the way. They were muttering angrily to themselves and each other, but it was Dallas who held her attention. He looked deadly calm, and when he smiled, she thought: Someone’s going to get hurt.

“Get on outta here. Vivi Ann don’t need trash like you.” That was from Erik Engstrom, her third-grade boyfriend.

“Stop it,” Vivi Ann yelled. Her voice was like a rock breaking through glass, catching everyone’s attention. “What’s wrong with you?”

“We were just standin’ up for you, Vivi,” Butchie said, fisting his hands.

“You’re idiots, all of you. Go back to your tables.”